#ain’t enough time in the day. and yet i never seem to do anything

[shitouttabuck]

wip wednesday

tagged by @rewritetheending @onward--upward and @alyxmastershipper 💓💓💓

i haven’t reeeeally started writing anything other than planning this out broadly because it’s very plot heavy but got a little lost thinkin about the intimacy of shaving the other day so this is from x files au in some shitty shared motel room while they’re cryptid hunting or chasing aliens idk we’ll figure it out

When he emerges, hair towelled dry and in clean clothes, Eddie frowns at him. “What?” he asks. “Promise I didn’t finish all the hot water.” “No, you just look—” Eddie gestures at Buck’s face, “—scruffier than usual.” “Oh,” Buck says, running a hand over his day-four stubble. “I forgot my razor.” “Oh,” Eddie’s face clears, “just use mine.” Buck swallows. “Um. Okay. Thanks.” Eddie nods at him and goes back to squinting at his phone, so Buck about-faces and re-enters the bathroom. It’s not a big deal, he tells himself as he foams up his face. It’s like—like sharing a hairbrush. Intimate, sure, not something you’d tend to do with people you don’t know well, but it’s not a big deal.  He wets the razor and brings it to his throat, heart hammering there so violently it feels like his Adam’s apple is trying to get out. If his hand doesn’t stop trembling he’s going to nick himself, and God, he is being absolutely fucking ridiculous. Deep breath. The razor glides over the thin skin of his throat, muscle memory even as he stares at himself in the mirror. Doesn’t think about Eddie doing this every morning, using this very razor. Blade edge kissing his jaw the same way it kisses Eddie’s. Doesn’t think about Eddie doing this for him, hand holding his chin as he shaves Buck carefully, grip firm when he turns Buck’s face this way and that. Doesn’t think about Eddie kissing where the blade kissed him first.  Doesn’t think about any of that when he rinses the razor clean and slots it back into the travel mug, where Buck’s toothbrush rests against Eddie’s with such easy familiarity it’s about to spark a whole new crisis. 

tagging @try-set-me-on-fire @jeeyuns @housewifebuck @anxieteandbiscuits @forthewolves @zahlibeth @athenagranted @buckactuallys @transboybuckley @icecreampotluck @diazblunt if you have anything to share today or later!

[nymphomatique]

gold star student

professor!logan howlett x fem!reader

⋆·˚ ༘ * one bad grade is one too many, so you ask one professor logan howlett, phd. for some extra credit after class. inspired by this art.

cw: reader lowkey has undiagnosed adhd, u want that cookie so effing bad, oral (m & f), praise, some degradation, swearing (it’s logan), shaky power dynamics so it can be considered dub-con, non specific age gap, college aged reader, logan puts stickers on your face while you blow him, face slapping, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up!!), finger sucking, spitting on the pussy, grey streak logan cause if he ain’t greying im not staying!!!, this is just me being horny idk what else to say i’m sorry yall. 18+ only.

wc: 8k

❤︎ a/n: this was…. a labour of love to say the least. i hate the ending but fuck it we ball. enjoy <3

Ever since you were a child, anything and everything that had to do with academia had been the bane of your existence. Sitting at a desk for eight odd hours in a day wasn’t only grossly unappealing to you, but a mental challenge as well. You had found it hard to grasp onto concepts and new materials as well as the other kids, unable to focus on whatever spiel of the day your teacher went on about and still found yourself struggling in higher education. From kindergarten, to elementary, to middle school, to high school, up until now in your college years, you find that not only has your attention deficit gotten worse, but so has your motivation in academia in general. 

A floater student is what you would consider yourself, showing up to class once in a blue moon, rather busying yourself with doom scrolling in your dormitory or shopping off campus at the mall, only showing up during exam time and barely passing. your prognosis would be one of the many hyperactive disorders, but you never bothered to diagnose yourself officially. In high school, your parents didn’t make a huge deal of your grades, thanking a graceful god out there that you even got your diploma to begin with. At this age however, with tens of thousands of dollars being poured into your tuition, your mother and father have seemed to coil up even tighter in terms of frustration with your nonchalant attitude towards school. 

A report card from your fall semester riddled with C’s and D’s, emboldened and italicized as if to taunt you silently, was the final straw, the cussing you received was enough for a lifetime. At your parents' discretion, before the start of the semester you consulted with your academic advisor in suggestion of a course schedule that wasn’t a twelve hour day, and professors who would accommodate you with in the case of your late assignments and missing homework. 

All classes but one would be easy- you had been told. Your world history class and its professor had been the only one where you had been saddled with a hardball teacher, rate my professor describing one Logan Howlett, teacher of Modern World History in the Context of Classic Literature, as a man with a foul mouth and harsh grading asshole— with an excellent curriculum but horrible grade weighting, as described by your fellow student body, the mandatory attendance and participation accounting for twenty percent of your grade alone pulling a groan from you as your laptop screen stares back at you, the blue light emitting from it seemingly silently taunting you with the course course outline. Get used to looking at my screen. Three hours in an auditorium, every Wednesday and Friday for twelve weeks at nine in the morning with this douchebag.

You mentally prepare yourself for the exhaustion of the upcoming semester, shutting your laptop closed with a huff of annoyance before laying in bed, mentally preparing yourself for this seemingly infamous professor Howlett.

After a rather inadequate night of sleep, a zero sugar monster energy (gotta give in for the sake of your health where you can) and a double shot latte, you feel something that briefly resembles yet still distant from awake, you find yourself struggling to get comfortable in the stiff chairs in your lecture room. You’re glad you tucked yourself away in a seat in the corner, four rows back from the front, embarrassed that your peers are silently mocking your struggle. 

It’s some odd minutes to nine on the dot, and you’re rather proud of yourself for being able to make it minutes early rather than stumbling in twenty minutes late like you’re prone to doing. Face resting on your hand, cheek squishing your right eye closed, your left eye flits around the room to the other people present, and you wonder if anyone else is stuck in your current situation: burnt out student who didn’t have a choice but to take this class at the least convenient time possible, simply for your graduation credits. Unfortunate kismet, you think, if anybody else in this room also had the privilege to have been born with the unlucky gene you possess. 

Your eyes are heavy, the seconds tickering away at the speed of minutes, and you can’t help it when the last open eye you have flutters close. You hum to yourself, relishing at the feeling of finally being able to rest some more. the quiet shuffling of your classmates feet and the soft scrapings of their chairs, clock ticking so quietly that it barely registers in your mind. The ambient noise is like a blanket to you. It’s not more than five minutes, just a micro nap— you tell yourself, counting the seconds of each minute down silently. 45, 44, 43, 42, what minute is this?, 30, 29, 28, so tired, 22, 21, time to sleep…

Your eyes shoot open when you hear the auditorium door slam shut, blinking away softly the sleep in your eyes. your heart sinks for a minute and panic sets in— did you sleep through the whole class? On the first fucking day? You look around, eyes wide, and immediately sigh in relief when you’re greeted with a full hall. Conversely, you see everyone’s attention to the front of the class with materials out, so you trail your eyes to the front of the room and that’s when you see him, finally. Not his face yet, the wide expanse of his back and tail of his coiffed head facing you all instead. Your eyes trail down his body to his feet, clad in a pair of black combat boots, you can’t help but quirk up and eyebrow, bootcut jeans that seem to be worn in well, seemingly like they’re tailored to his long, very legs, then you see his jacket, which now you catch in time to see him taking it off to reveal a black t-shirt underneath and your breath hitches a bit. You can only see his triceps flexing as he maneuvers his jacket off, but you can just tell he’s covered in rippling muscle, his arms straining against the fabric of his shirt. You can’t help but wonder what he looks like, wondering if his face is as captivating as the rest of him. Your eyes flit over to the girl sitting two seats down from you, and you can’t help but smile a little at her expression, teeth chewing her bottom lip and eyes widened slightly and blinking in slow flutters, seemingly thinking the same things about this Professor Logan Howlett as you are; He’s obscenely sexy even though I haven’t even seen his face.

When you focus your attention back to the front, your face warms immediately upon finally seeing his– Professor Howlett’s face and fuck, you feel stupid for even thinking that he wouldn’t be even a fraction of attractive. His hair, oh god his hair, styled as if he just rolled out of bed and ran his hands through it once, maybe twice even, streaked with gray at his temples, peppering down into his sideburns and disappearing in his scruffy beard. His eyes are an enrapturing shade of hazel, almost brown, almost green, you squint a little to see the mix of hues better, cursing yourself for sitting so far away. His nose, button-like yet poses so masculine at the same time. His lips look so soft and kissable, framed perfectly by his facial hair as if it’s screaming at you to kiss there, to taste each other, let your tongues touch and whisper your deepest secrets to one another-

Gravelly and deep, his voice rouses you from your rather indulgent fantasy. “Good morning. Lively bunch this semester,” he quips and a quiet wave of laughter reverberates and echoes around you. Your chest tightens at the sound of his voice and you want to smack yourself silly for it. “Gonna spare you all the pointless introductions n’ ice breaking crap, yeah? We’ll go over the syllabus and get this show on the road.”

He’s curt, forward, doesn’t bite his tongue, you deduce. Not the jackass his reviews seem to pin him as, though it’s only the first class. They didn’t seem to mention how ruggedly handsome he was as well, you think and pull your lips taut as Professor Howlett, continues to read off the syllabus. Two essays, three quizzes, and a final reading comprehension exam. Attendance is mandatory Your eyes quickly flit to the back of your skull as he reads off that point. No makeups. No late work. No excuses. 

You feel your heart hammer in your chest a little, a sense of anxiety bubbling up in you at how much this class demands. It’s nerve wracking, super fucking discouraging to say the least given your track record, but you know you have no other choice but to commit fully and pass this class, so help your parents. You suppose you can find the motivation in a hot professor and at the very least, make an effort to roll out of bed and be presentable on the days you show up to his class. You exhale softly, hearing the shuffling of books and closing laptops to rouse you from your thoughts. 

“And don’t forget, first five chapters of tulip fever for next class,” his voice booms in the auditorium, fighting with the noise of students desperate to leave and head to their next class or back to their rooms. You flit your eyes towards your professor, arms crossed and muscles bulging against his shirt, casually leaned against his desk. His eyes meet yours for a moment and your breath hitches immediately. His brow quirks at you silently and you’re sure you might disintegrate on spot. You feel your face heat up and you break away the eye contact to rush out of the lecture, both exhausted and perpetually embarrassed, not having enough energy to handle feeling both. In your haste, you miss the way Logan's lip quirks up for a split second at you, rushing out the door with Tulip Fever and streaks of grey on your mind. 

You find you can’t keep your modern history professor off the brain since leaving the lecture hall that wednesday, ever so flustered. You thought about his thick arms back at your dorm, and how they might feel wrapped around you in a warm embrace. You thought about those graying temples, and the picture it would paint with his head between your thighs. You thought about him in your humanities class as your professor droned on about morality and its many philosophical perspectives, but you tune her voice out and think of his instead, wondering what it would sound like whispering sweet nothings in your ear. The level of yearning you’ve reached is bound to get you in trouble, hell it’s gotten you in trouble already— completely neglecting to finish the first five chapters of Tulip Fever like Professor Howlett had assigned, losing yourself in the work from your other classes. Friday had snuck up on you and you smacked your forehead for being so forgetful, the beginnings of discourage and a knot forming in your stomach. I’m a failure, I suck at this, I should drop out, I’m such a fucking idiot.

The thought of letting down a man you barely know has you berating yourself even further. You need to get a grip and quickly— he’s your teacher for God's sake. You suck in a breath, finding yourself sat in the same lecture hall your vivid fantasies found themselves being born in, laptop open as you’re frantically reading the Sparknotes summary minutes before class is set to start. Today, you chose a seat in the second row, still far off to the right side. You weren’t sure you could stay coherent with his gaze on you so heavy.  You tell yourself you picked this spot for a better learning experience, closer seats meaning less of a chance you fall prey to your fantasies, but deep down beyond the denial you knew better than to convince yourself of a lie like that. You sat upfront because you wanted to see Professor Howlett better, to pinpoint the hues of his eyes you couldn’t make out yesterday from so far behind. You wanted to trail your eyes up and down his muscular frame, taking snapshots of the hair on his forearms, the freckles on his thick knuckles, the veins trailing his big hands—

“Good morning, everyone,” a gruff voice speaks and you feel a ball of energy sits itself deep in your stomach, it’s him. You've missed the deep baritone of his voice, you realize. “Hope you all read up the chapters, yeah? We’ll be discussing ‘em today, and I am the asshole who picks on students to participate.” There’s a soft wave of grumbles from some, but your panic is quiet and you hope to a God in heaven somewhere that he doesn’t pick you, god knows you barely retained any information from your flash round of Sparknotes earlier.

“Like any book, the first few chapters were mostly exposition, character and scene setting stuff. Tell me, what does Sophia’s marriage and lack of heir signify to us in these times?” Professor Howlett asks, and you immediately avert your gaze to the grooves and scratches in the table in front of you. Please don’t pick me, please don’t pick me, please please please— “Yeah, you,” your head snaps up, heart hammering in your chest when you see him nod his head at some girl, some girl with too much fucking chest out, you spit, her hand raised high and smile plastered across her smug little face. Your brows pull together and you barely contain the urge to roll your eyes at her enthusiasm. 

“Thank you, Professor,” This fucking bi- “I think that- that while Cornelius and Sophia are often representative of the way marriage was a lot of the times something more transactional, her being unable to have a kid being a main problem- shows how a lot of times a marriage with no evidence of, um, consummation, is seen as practically null and void.” Your fist tenses against the desk at her answer.

“Little long winded, but yeah, good job..?” his voice lilts off, and you smile a bit knowing he doesn’t even remember her name. “Oh, um, Amber,” she sputters out. He nods at her response and continues asking questions about the book. You feel a little bad as class progresses, your unprovoked and unwarranted jealousy towards another woman over a man who’s simply an authority figure to you both, no matter how attractive, makes you cringe. What is he doing to you? 

“Good answers, guys. Glad you all did more than skim the book,” Professor Howlett muses, turning his back to face you all as he digs through his briefcase. You take this time to admire how broad his back looks, draped in a black polo shirt today that practically has you drooling. “The rest of you I didn’t pick on today aren’t unscathed unfortunately,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. He turns around and presents the stack of papers between his large hands to you all and he smirks, “Pop quiz.” 

A myriad of groans come crashing from all over the lecture hall right down to your ears and you silently join, hands falling down against your desk. You sincerely hope these weren’t going to be graded, praying that Professor Howlett possesses some sense of apologeticness, knowing that the definite zero percent you’d get on this would completely fuck over your overall average for the rest of the semester, subsequently giving your parents ample reason to rip you a fucking brand new one. 

Row by row, he passes a stack of papers for each student to pass down and he stops in front of you, seeing as you so conveniently sat at the end of the second row. “Nervous?” he asks, brow quirked and smug fucking look on his face as you look up at him. You quirk your eyebrow right back at him, “Hardly.” A group of papers fall in front of you and he breathes out a laugh, leaving you to pass papers to the next row. You lied like shit, you were insanely nervous, knowing you hadn’t retained a lick of information from your mini crash course nor the class’ discussion prior.

“No tech, no cheating. You guys know the drill, don’t make me catch you and have to chew you out. Twenty minutes and I’m picking ‘em up.” Logan says, walking down the aisle and back to his desk, his hulking frame leaning against his desk and his arms crossed up against his chest so tight that his biceps practically bulge out of his shirt. Or maybe, he’s just that toned, that any movement, minuscule or major, would have him threatening to rip out of his clothes. You’re practically fighting yourself in your seat, tearing your eyes away from his thick arms and heavy pectorals and down to your paper. 

It’s one page, front and back, ten questions. It wouldn’t be so bad had you actually read the book, considering you can’t even remember the name of the main character in the book. You bite your lip, trying so hard to rack your brain for something that resembles a coherent answer to these questions that will give you at least a 75%, knowing it wouldn’t skew your grade average completely off. What does Maria’s role stand to symbolize in the context of 1600’s Amsterdam?. You clench your  fist so hard around your pen you’re almost amazed that it doesn’t break under the pressure. You didn’t even remember a Maria in the book.

Twenty minutes of writing later, grasping at straws for potential points that would make you feel better than getting a big fat zero on your first quiz in this class, in his class, you’re walking to his desk to place your quiz in a pile with the rest of your peers, just as he’d instructed. You kept your eyes down the entire time, feeling too embarrassed to look at him after that silly excuse for banter you had attempted earlier. Hardly. Yeah fucking right. 

After your quiz, you had been dismissed from class, and you felt the anxiety set in almost immediately. The phone call you had with your parents that weekend over your classes and grades so far only worsened, the stern and subtly implied threat of coming back home to learn at a local college looming silently above you if you didn’t keep your grades up. You had obviously avoided mentioning the pop quiz you had, choosing not to set them ablaze at the mention of the fact that you most definitely failed that pop quiz. The stress of your grades instilled a new found productivity in you, in which you took initiative to read ahead of the assigned chapters and annotate as well as take notes for your modern history class, hoping to be prepared next time he’d ask a question. Your stomach churns at the thought of his praise, Good answer. Very good, kiddo. Like that idea. you imagined he’d say to you. You bite your lip as you study your western civilization notes, maybe he’d even indulge in you, call you his good girl, his good little student, something that Amber would never have above you. 

Monday and Tuesday went by uneventfully, as you completed your labs and started on your assignments when assigned. Tuesday night however, you had been anxious almost, or maybe excited— you weren’t sure, but you did know you wanted to be prepared for this class, to prove to Professor Howlett that you could handle his class, show him that you wouldn’t let him chew you up and spit him out so easily. You took the time before bed on that Tuesday to prepare your books in your bag, organize your notes, and even pick out an outfit, neatly folding it and leaving it on your desk chair. Grades be damned, you were beyond ready to prove everyone wrong, yourself included. 

You sat in the front row again, enraptured in the world of Tulip Fever, but really you would rather focus on Professor Howlett. He was all you thought about these days, especially at night when it was only you and the dark of your dorm to entertain you before bed. You hear a giggle next to you and you snap your head to the direction of the noise. Amber. A deep rumble sounds in front of you, someone clearing their throat. You look forward again and see your professor and your face heats up. “Welcome back to earth, sweetheart,” he muses, humour painted all over his face. Your eyes widen at the pet name he’s given you and you feel like sinking into your seat. “I need you here next time, yeah? Not in that pretty little head of yours,” he says, quiet enough so only you and the front two rows can hear. Your head spins. Pretty. He called you pretty. He continues his lecture like nothing else happened, leaving you dazed at his affection. His eyes flit to you briefly and he smiles, before walking back to the front of the class. 

Little moments like these pepper themselves throughout your lectures with Profess Howlett in between the assignments and lectures and raised hands. You’d catch him looking at the juncture of your breasts sometimes as you wore low cut tops, his lilting voice calling you precious pet names, sweetheart, kiddo, sweets. They all have your face warming. Heated gazes, stolen smiles, one off banter, you were convinced you were being delusional. One particular moment after class where you had asked for details on an assignment had you reeling for days. You went up to him after class to ask your question. His face was insanely close, you could smell the mint off his breath from the gum he was chewing during the lecture, feel his words fan your face, deep rumblings and focused glares as you were only inches away from his face. His lips, oh God his lips… so close, so soft looking, so pink, you had been so caught up in him the entire time. And he had noticed, his fingers coming up to your chip to raise your gaze. He did it wordlessly, eyeing you as you eyed him. His look daring you to say something. Challenge me. I dare you. But you didn’t— you couldn’t, you had tried to focus on something else, his musky woodsy scent, his greying stubble, anything, as he continued to explain your question to you. You walked out of his class that day with jello for legs, replaying the moment in your mind. 

Next class you had seen him he had given the assignments back, adorned with little gold stars on those who had grades higher than a B minus. Your paper had come back to you with an A minu, a little gold star next to your grade. “Boosts morale,” had been Logan’s explanation when a student had asked why the gold star. You smiled. Cute. 

You had felt like you finally found your groove, despite the hiccup you had at the beginning. Your first test of the semester approached, and you weren’t nervous, in fact you showed up to class early, getting a chance to get a good spot and watch Professor Howlett walk in and begin setting up. You had waved, a meek good morning in your own words and he returned a wink back. Your insides tugged at themselves. He had waltzed over to you in your seat, starting up conversation. “Nervous?” he asks, curt and short. You smile, “Hardly,” using your own words once more. “I’m gunning on a gold star. I studied extra hard.” Professor Howlett hums, smile on his face. “I look forward to seeing your work. I enjoy reading it,” he says. He leaves you with those words as he walks back to his desk, more students beginning to pepper in the classroom as the test hour approached. You had been so sure you did excellent on your test, studying for days and days beforehand. So when you got back your test, a C Minus staring back at you with a gut wrenching empty space next to your grade right where a star would be. Tears prick your eyes as you look at the grade, feeling so disappointed in yourself. This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

You had promptly stayed behind after class to speak to him, and it seemed like Amber had the same idea, her body close to his as she spoke lowly. She didn’t spare a glance back at you as she spoke to him, hand grazing his bicep as she walked away and past you. Your eyes rolled in your head and you walked up to Professor Howlett next. He’s in the middle of packing up his papers in his bag when you come up to him, and he glances up in acknowledgment before going back to what he’s doing. You breathe out and his brown quirks as he pauses and looks at you. “Yes?” he asks. “I… I would like to see you after class if possible to discuss my grades,” you say, fist curling and uncurling with nerves. ”Tomorrow afternoon come see me at my office,” he says, arms crossing. “Don’t be late. Don’t get your hopes up either,” he quirks. You chew your lip before sighing. “I’ll be there. On time.” 

And true to your word, you showed up promptly and on time. Your heart was hammering in your chest cavity so hard you felt like it would burst through your ribcage. Your lower lip found itself between your teeth, chewing at it tenderly. You had been staring at the mahogany colored door, finished with a shiny golden plaque, L. Howlett, PHD. carved within the surface of the precious metal. His name posed just as intimidating as he did. You’d been standing in front of his door for almost three minutes now, fingers skimming along the hem of your plaid skirt. The accompanying white tanktop and white cardigan hand made your subconscious intentions loud and clear, as some part of you, a delusional part of you, had hoped this school girl-esque get up would grant you some sort of leniency with Professor Howlett as you begged for him to give you a retake, a makeup assignment, something for God’s sake.

Any moment more of hesitancy and you would be late for your two o’clock appointment time, so you bring your knuckles up to the door to knock, twice in succession, when the door swings open in front of you. Your knuckle is almost met with Amber’s face, her shock seeing you just as evident as hers. She doesn’t let it linger however, as she casts a glance over her shoulder and muses a “Bye Professor. Thank you so much, I’ll see you in class Monday,” before looking back forward and right back at you, holding your gaze as she walks right out the door and past you, making sure her shoulder doesn’t miss yours. You scoff. Bitch. 

“Right on time. Come in,” he gestures, refusing to get up from his comfy looking office chair. As you walk around his office you take in the interior briefly. The mahogany furniture, the lingering smell of cigar smoke, evidence of his nasty habit sitting on top of an ashtray on his desk, the glass bar cart, adorned with various bottles of whiskey and gin, and a mini fridge sitting on its bottom shelf— filled with ice and garnish you assume. You eye his book cabinet, shelves stuffed with various literary titles, old and new, classic and contemporary. You find yourself impressed, but you shouldn’t be, his teaching— albeit rough, brutish sometimes even— is a testament to his passion towards books and literature. You smile a little as you sit down in the foam lined chair in front of his desk. You try not to think of who sat in it before you as you feel the residual warmth of it against your thighs. You take in Professor Logan, black t-shirt and dark blue jeans— casual, but damn if he made it look good. You eyed his arms, veiny and bulging out his shirt, before flickering your attention back to his face, framed by those greying temples you oh so loved.

“So?” He trails, redirecting his attention from his desktop to you. You swallow a little and sigh. “Um, I know that you said no… no retakes or anything, and I understand your answer if it’s a hard no,” you say, pausing to look at him to try and assess what he’s thinking, but you’re simply met with a raised brow and crossed arms as he leans back further in his chair. “But I… I was wondering if- Well, my parents, they said that If I have a grade lower than an A on my report card this semester I had to drop out and transfer locally, and I don’t want to make this a pity story but I… It’s only this class where I’m having trouble. And I know what you said but my last test really fucked my average and I-” your nervous ramblings are cut off by him raising his hand. Your lips clamp and you watch him, waiting for his impending words. He makes you sit in the silence and with your words, instead opening his desk drawer, rifling between what sounds like various loose pens and papers before taking a lighter out. Small, sliver, zippo style and engraved with meticulous swirls. He picks up the already cut cigar out the ashtray, placing it between his pink lips, and lights it— two experimental puffs of smoke floating your way and you get dizzy. 

“You don’t mind?” He asks only now, and you try not to roll your eyes and that façade of chivalry. “No,” you shake your head. “Thought so,” he smiles, smug. He puffs from the cigar once more before he places it down on the glass ashtray once again before he speaks up. “As it stands now if you tighten up for the rest of the semester you can pass my class with a B something, which don’t sound too bad to me, sweetheart.” Your gut twists with tension. A B isn’t what you need. You brows furrow and you open your mouth to speak, but he continues. “I would love to help you sweetheart, trust me I would. But that wouldn’t be fair to all the other students who come waltzing in here dressed just like you, begging for an A,” he drawls, picking up his cigar again and slotting it between his lips before he stands up and your breath hitches. “Wh- dressed like me? I didn’t-” you begin, confused at what he’s implying. Your eyes follow his moving figure, his steps taking him around his desk to the side of your chair, conveniently eye level to his groin. 

“But you did, didn’t you?” he asks softly, thumb coming to your chin to direct your gaze up to his eyes. “I don’t understand…” you murmur, skin beginning to warm at the rather inappropriate contact and position. Your chest heaves up and down beneath your cardigan and he surely notices letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can put two and two together,” he continues, thumb rubbing softly back and forth against your chin before he drops his hand from you completely. Your eyes drop in sync to his limb, your mind racing a million thoughts a second. But… isn’t this what you wanted? What you needed? What you’ve dreamed of for weeks upon weeks? “Look at me,” he says, stern. And you do. “You listen so well,” he hums and you feel the makings of a fire ignite itself inside you somewhere deep. I’m being good. Good for him. “Kills you inside that you couldn’t get that shiny little sticker, doesn’t it?” he muses, looking down at you with mirth swirling in his eyes. You feel tears spring to your eyes at his words. He sees right through you. It did hurt. All you ever wanted to be was good for him. 

“We can fix that today. Tell you what, you be a good student for me, and I’ll be a good teacher to you, yeah?” he says, taking a puff from his cigar. “Nod your head like a good student.” And you do. Up and down, slowly. Your brain is fuzzy. This surely isn’t happening, is it? It couldn’t be. He walks away and back to his desk, propping his cigar down after asking it. He pushes a pile of papers from his desk, until he finds what he’s looking for. A sticker sheet. What is he…

“C’mere,” Professor Howlett gestures with a finger, simultaneously sitting back on his chair. Your legs are trembling under you as you get up and walk towards his side of the desk. Logan pivots his desk chair to the side as you walk over to him and you find yourself standing between his legs, quiet. “Take that off,” he says, flicking his head towards your cardigan. You let it drop off your shoulder promptly, standing only in your white tank top and plaid skirt. “Kneel,” he says, and you drop immediately. Pathetic. Your hands lay in your laps as you’re sat between his legs on your knees. Your breathing is as laboured as ever. You can’t believe this is happening— something that you spent nights dreaming of. Touching him, tasting him, feeling him. He reaches over to his desk and grabs the sticker sheet of gold stars, a fresh sheet of stars neatly arranged row by row. “You know what to do, don’t you sweetheart?” he asks, palm of his hand running against your face. You nod, reaching forward to the zipper of his dark denim jeans before his palm grabs your hand. “When I ask you somethin’, I want a verbal answer. Y’understand?” he says. Your voice feels caught in your throat. He’s so intense your head is spinning. “Y-yes,” you breathe. “Yes what?” he spits back and your heart hammers. “Y-yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he hums. He lets go of your hands, taking a sticker off the sheet and placing a small gold star right next to your left eye. Your face heats up at the praise and you almost let out a breath, but you don’t. Your hands go back to undressing Professor Howlett, fingers deft with his button and zipper. He lifts his hips up and helps you shrug his jeans down until they’re sitting on top of his black combat boots, clad only in black briefs. The heavy tent in his pants makes your eyes go wide but you persist, thinking of your grade on the line. With a tug at his boxer band his dick pops up over the elastic, and you pull down until the full sheath of him is bobbing freely. Your eyes widen a little at the sheer size of him, wondering how he could possibly fit inside your mouth let alone your pussy. He was long, eight inches you’d guess just by looking and insanely thick. He was heavy too— the length of him unable to stand up fully, bobbing haphazardly as he twitched from arousal. You looked up at him, and his gaze was steady. Expectant. You sucked in a shallow breath before grabbing his cock, warm to the touch. Your fingers barely touched. You’re hand jerked up once before Professor Howlett was grabbing your wrist, only to spit on his dick, the string of saliva landing on the shaft. “S’better. Go on,” he encourages, and you do— jerking him a little faster now with his spit lubricant, the sound of his slick skin making your pussy feel warm, wet. You jerk him faster, spitting in the palm of your second hand before you join your other, breasts bouncing up and down as you jerk him. Little grunts leave Logan, and it makes your tummy feel warm. You were making him feel— “Good, just like that, yeah. Use your mouth now,” he moans. You felt intimidated by his size, but you persisted still. You wanted to be his good girl.

You look up at him as your mouth opens, coy like a fish, and you wrap your lips around his tip. He inhales a sharp breath and it gives you some encouragement. Be good. Your head drops lower, lower and lower until your mouth his full and his tip is tickling your uvula, and you gag around him, sputtering spit all over him. You pull off his dick to cough and he chuckles at you. “Let’s try again together, yeah?” You nod, “Yes, Sir.” You reposition yourself, back on your knees in front of him. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out, open real wide,” he says, tapping your cheek. It felt soft slap more than a tap however. But still, you open your mouth wide, tongue hanging out. “Juuust like that, yeah…” Logan groans, slapping the warmth of his cock on your tongue. “Breath through the nose,” he says, before putting the length of him in your mouth and pulling your head down on him, fist clenched in your hair. He pulls you down deep, further than you managed to reach alone and you gag, spit everywhere, but he pays you no mind. His curses under his breath before standing up out of his seat, your head craning up as his fist pulls at your nape. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he breathes, thrusting his cock in an out of your mouth. Your throat feels rubbed raw, tears pooling in your eyes but you hold on, hands gripping his thighs. “Take it, fucking take it,” he grunts. His hand disappears before placing a sticker on your spit-covered cheek and you whimper around his cock. Logan’s brows pull together and he laughs. “That turn you on? You like being my good little student? You like sucking off your professor?” he laughs, fucking your face with a deep pace. You muffle a Yes, Sir around him as his spit soaked balls slap against your chin and he laughs. Sticker after sticker covers the expanse of your face, a juxtaposition to your debauched mascara-streaked-spit-covered face.

Your throat is raw, but you’re relishing in the attention, the praise, the intensity of it. “One more mouthful, c’mon,” he grunts, pushing your head down even further down his cock and you squeal around him. Your eyes snap shut, focusing on holding your breath as he brings his dick deep down your throat until your nose is buried in his greying pubes. “So fucking nasty,” he drawls, deep groan leaving his chest. “Take it, be good and take it,” he says breathless, before he’s spitting his cum down your throat, leaving you no choice but to swallow his bitter semen. Your eyes wretch open lowly, watch Logan’s face contort in pleasure as he finishes in your throat and you whimper, squeezing his thighs tightly. “Good student,” he coos, pulling his cock from your mouth and it’s a relief that’s long overdue. Your first unobstructed breath is a deep one, and you’re slightly dizzy from the oxygen after having it restricted for so long. You don’t think about it for long before a hand is pulling you up off the floor, and before you know it, lips are on yours, tongue finding tongue. Your eyes close by themselves and you melt into the kiss, Professor Howlett’s lips soft against yours, but kissing you so roughly. Your arms grip his biceps, desperate for something to hold onto, anything to steady yourself with. 

The kiss breaks and your mind feels hazy. Your eyes open and you see Professor Howlett staring back at you, hands roaming your body. “Pr-professor…” you moan out after a particularly hard squeeze at your ass. “Logan, baby,” he says, kissing your lips once in a peck, and again as a sloppy embrace, his tongue swirling in your mouth and you keen into him. His hands pull at the back of your thighs and you jump up in his arms, wrapping your arms around his thick neck. He walks you a few paces, still stuck in an embrace, until he puts on you down on his desk. He breaks the kiss between you two before pulling the front of your tank top down, revealing your breasts to him, nipples pert. He wastes no time kissing and licking your chest, and you throw your head back in a silent moan. He sucks on your nipples for a minute, pinching and toying with your breast until your chest is heaving and nipples are raw. “What a sight for me,” Logan hums, and you feel shy under him like this. “Lean back and spread your legs f’me,” he says low, kneeling as you do as he asks. He’s eye level with your pussy, only covered by your skirt and white panties. He lifts the plaid fabric up and groans, the little wet spot of your pussy a delectable sight. 

Logan leans forward and licks the wet gusset of your panties and you let out a shuddering moan. “P-please, Logan…” you breath, too wound up to wait. He smirks and indulges in you, pliant and needy. He hooks a finger in the crotch of your panties and pulls them to the side, hurrying his face into your wet and waiting pussy. It’s an enrapturing feeling, having him suck and lick and taste your clit and folds like this, groaning into you and he praises you for having such a sweet fuckin’ pussy, baby. He sucks your clit roughly, before pulling back to spit on your pussy, rubbing his nose against your clit before flattening his tongue against your gushing slit once again. The streaks of grey between your thighs sends blood rushing downwards to the center of your arousal and you can’t help but run your hands through his salt and pepper hair. He licks and tongues you until your legs go numb, teasing your orgasm from you time and time again until you’re nearly in tears for him, ready to cum.

 “Please Lo- Sir. Please, Sir. Wanna cum, I’ll be good. Just-” your begging is cut short as two thick fingers push themselves in you and you throw your head back at the stretch. “You’re gonna come for me in a little, sweetheart. Be good for now,” Logan coos, kissing your inner thighs. You’re heaving as he curls and scissors his fingers inside you in a way that feels so unfairly good that tears begin to streak down your face, gold stickers peeling and falling off your damp skin; scattering down on the desk and falling on your chest. “G-gonna… Oh my God, Sir,” you squeal, just about ready to… Until his fingers deftly leave you. Before you can whine about this, Logan’s thick fingers covered in your slick push into your mouth and you groan. “Hush, baby. You’re about to feel real good in a little,” Logan hums, rubbing his cock, now hard again, up and down your wet and sensitive pussy, the head of him hitching your clit so good it hurts. His fingers leave your mouth. “Beg for it.” And you do. You’re a babbling mess under him. “Inside, p-put it inside me, Professor,” you moan, and Logan's resolve snaps, thrusting into you in one fluid movement.

You see stars, no pun intended, at the stretch of him. Your stomach feels full and you shudder, laying back down against the desk. “Tightest, sweetest fucking pussy I ever felt,” Logan coos, fingers pushing back into your mouth. His unoccupied hand grabs your leg and throws it over his shoulder and he begins to thrust in and out of you, knocking the wind out of you with every push in and out. Your intermittent moans turn into a symphony of cries as his pace increases and he’s fucking into you at a brutal speed. Your hands are grasped around the wrist of his hand that’s by your mouth, sucking his fingers to soothe the burning part of the pleasure. “That’s it, fucking take it,” he grunts, pushing your leg from around his should back until your knee was touching your shoulder. The new angle made the pleasure unbearable, every movement rubbing against your g-spot. Your eyes begin to close, your body shutting down seemingly as you begin to enter a pleasure comatose, the bubbling pleasure, the fingers in your mouth, it all feels like too much. But Logan doesn’t let you stay in that place for too long, his fingers leaving your mouth to slap your cheek, pulling back down. “I need you right here, know it feels good but I want you with me,” he says breathy, thrusts still never faltering. 

Without his fingers in your mouth your moans are free to be heard, your incoherent babbles of “s’too much,” and “so deep in me, sir,” floating in the air between Logan’s heavy breaths and obscene curses. You’re breasts jump with every thrust in you, your head bouncing up and down from the sheer force of his thrusts. “T-Tell me…” you stutter out, eyes fluttering. “Tell you?” he asks, grinding his hips up and deep, and you’re sure he’s grazing your cervix. You grip his t-shirt and keel. He gets what you mean. “Good girl. My good girl. You’re the best girl. You want another star, don’t you?” he breathes out, a hand moving down to your clit as he thrusts up and out, up and out into you. You whimper, his words and ministration’s overwhelming, “Yes, Sir. M’good. So good. W-want it. Please, can I have it?” you babble. You belly feels warm, and the heat bubbles with every brush at your swollen clit and thrust in your pussy. He lets go of the hand at your knee, spreading you open to grab a sticker from the sticker sheet. “Stick your tongue out f’me,” and you do, overwhelmed with this moment. You’re being good. You’re being good. You’re almost there, keep being good. He spits in your mouth and you moan holding it there and waiting for him to tell you what to do. “Swallow it,” he huffs, thrusts faltering. He’s close, you deduce. I don’t want it to end. Please don’t let it end. You swallow and stick your tongue back out to show him and he groans.

He puts the star sticker on your tongue, and he thrusts in you harder, tweaking at your clit as he does. Your body seizes and you melt into a fit of moans and grunts, and you finally cum, Logan fucking you through it. “Yeah baby, just like that. Kneel for me,” he says, pulling out of you. You lay up off the desk and fall promptly to your knees, watching him jerk himself to orgasm above you with your tongue out, gold star on the middle of your tongue. He grunts with deep Fuck! before warm ropes of cum spray your partially sticker-covered face and tongue. Your eyes close and you hum, relishing in the warmth. Logan wipes the cum from your eyes with his thumb and sticks it in your mouth, and you suck, no questions asked. “Good fucking girl.” 

The moments following are awkward. Logan tucks himself back in his pants, and pulls his jeans up and you’re left laying on the floor, coming down from your ecstasy high. The zip of his jeans breaks the silence and you’re looking up at him, soiled with cum, spit, stickers, tears and mascara. He walks to his bar cart and grabs the cloth hanging off the handle bar, and he hands it to you. You clean yourself up, and when you’re done you find his cardigan in his hands. You fix your tank top back over your breasts and pull the crotch of your panties back into place before grabbing it from him. “Thanks,” you say quietly. “See you in class on Tuesday,” is the last thing he says to you before you leave his office. Stunned.

On Tuesday, he hands you back your test with a new grade, an eighty, and gold sticker placed on it right next to the new grade. He glances at you as you look over your test, and smirks. You read the note he left in red ink on the back of the test, heart beating a little faster once you look back up at him. Good girl. 

send me an ask!

[solar4seekstron]

Tf1! Orian Pax one day seeing this normally quiet miner! Reader sneaking off. And gotten curious he decided to follow. Leading to a very hidden place that he had no clue existed yet, forgotten and high up, he finally climbed up and he was in awe. As the reader found a rare glimpse of the starry night of the surface... you cook with the rest of it my dear.

That’s really good!!! I shall do my best.

Special Spot

Orion Pax x Cybertronian!Reader Oneshot

(I didn’t know if you meant actually on the surface or not but a few guys ago I went to the mountains with my family. Some people lived in really nice houses in the mountains so that gave me an idea! I hope you still enjoyed! Or just DM to yell at me if I got it wrong lol)

I decided this would be cute of Orion Pax finally gaining the strength to tell his crush his feelings and after finding their little special spot close to the surface. He’s so fixated, he forgets his nervousness and finally has a chance to get a spark mate.

Content: SFW

Introduction Movie Oneshot Masterlist

TW/Tags: Wholesomeness and fluff, Orion is precious, reader is quiet, this is so sweet you might get sick lol

Orion pax has always noticed you. Although you were always quiet and didn’t speak much. Until a superior or- Elita spoke to you. You always seemed in a good mood and when he tried talking to you. Your words are always sweet and soft. Hell to the others it seems like you don’t even know the concept of sarcasm. Since everyone else does it with him but when he’s with you. He actually feels no attacked.

Over time. He grew a bit of a crush on you. Although not with much to say. And would never threaten him with beating him with a shovel. Your actions always spoke louder. He knew that tonight is going to be the night.

So once everyone else has fallen asleep. He makes his way towards you and once at your sleeping spot. He noticed when pointing his helm out of the corner, you were- AWAKE?!?! He watched you

You were walking away and made your way out of the mining quarters. He followed behind you to where you don’t notice him

———————————————————————————

After some time you continue to make your way to a certain spot. Right between two buildings that are higher up a sort of mountain. A steep hill the buildings were set on

Once you made it there you leaned your back against the wall. There was an amazing view once you looked up. An opened window to the stars of the surface. Although it wasn’t that big. It was just enough for you to see. You continued to stare up. Not noticing Orion snuck up next to you. He then leaned down a bit close to your audio sensors and whispered as gently as he can “what are we looking at?”

This startled you. You were quick to back up your arms in front of you to protect yourself. Orion had his hands up and looked at you.

“Woah. Easy. I ain’t here to hurt ya or anything.” You just looked at him. Looking back at the ground and back at him a few times. He realized you were worried and thought fast.

“Hey,..I won’t snitch if that’s what you’re worried about…I have my secrets too around this city..” he chuckled. You stayed still for a moment looking at him. But then you’d slowly give him that usually warm smile and looked back up at the stars. Orion looked up too. Took him a moment but he was able to finally see them. He was amazed. So enchanted he was actually quiet for a moment.

You let out a sigh as you close your eyes “one day I’m going to fly under those stars. Only closer to them then…” Orion glanced at you and gently smiles. His optics soft

You two stand there looking up for a few more Nano Kliks until Orion finally spoke. His fight gently touching yours.

“So um….you wanna…goooo”

“Yeah Orion. I’ll let you court me”

Orion turned to the opposite side of you raising his arm and first as he closed his optics and whispered “yes!!!!”

You chuckled your helmet resting on his shoulders as you closed your optics. Your hand holding his until they interlocked. Orion continued to look at the stars. He was so happy.

Hope y’all enjoyed!

[pandapetals]

Nightmares

After dating for a while, you try to convince Logan to sleep in your bed despite his nightmares.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

Things between you and Logan had moved quickly after that long year of pining, flirting, and stolen glances that led to the inevitable confession. It had taken time, but once the feelings were out in the open, things fell into place—almost effortlessly. Logan was a gentleman, old-fashioned in the way he held the door for you or offered his hand whenever you stepped out of the car. 

While you appreciated all those gestures, what you longed for most was something simpler. You wanted to wake up within arm’s reach of him, to feel his warmth next to you when the early morning light crept through the window.

But that seemed impossible.

Everyone at the mansion knew Logan didn’t sleep much, and when he did, it often ended in nightmares—violent, heart-wrenching ones that sent his body into a battle of its own while his mind relived horrors buried deep within him. It had been that way for decades, and the others had grown used to the occasional sound of his muttering, the low groans that echoed through the mansion in the dead of night.

You weren’t used to it. You wanted to help. From the moment the two of you began dating, you had been determined to ease his pain. Yet, every time you mentioned it, Logan would brush it off, insisting that it was something he’d learned to live with. "It’s part of me, sweetheart," he would say, his voice low and gruff as if the weight of it all was too much to burden anyone else with. "Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it."

So, he kept his distance. Even as you grew closer emotionally, he kept you away at night, a silent barrier between the two of you. He feared hurting you—he feared himself.

One night, after yet another evening of him retreating to his own room, you had had enough.

"Logan," you said firmly, your voice a mixture of frustration and affection. "I’m telling you, I’ll be fine."

He was standing near the edge of the bed, his shoulders tense, the muscles in his arms coiled like he was ready for battle. He shook his head, not meeting your eyes. "You don’t understand," he muttered, his voice thick with that familiar rasp. "I could hurt you. When the nightmares come... I have no control. I can’t... I won’t risk it."

Your gaze dropped to his hands, those calloused hands you knew so well—hands that had held you gently, protectively. You also knew what lay beneath the surface. His claws retracted now, but always there, waiting. The thought of him losing control scared him more than anything.

"I don’t trust myself," Logan whispered, his voice barely audible now as if he was confessing a sin. "I’m sorry."

He turned to leave, but you weren’t ready to let him go—not this time. With a quick movement, you slipped out of bed, catching his arm before he could leave your room. "Logan," you said, your voice softer but firm, pleading. "Please. Just try for me. If it’s too much, I’ll sleep on the floor or... or whatever it takes. But just... be here."

He looked down at you, his expression torn, those stormy eyes filled with an internal battle you couldn’t even begin to understand. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, with a resigned sigh, he nodded—barely, but it was enough.

The first night he stayed with you, you had sensed it even before he woke. The way his breathing quickened, his muscles tensed beneath the blankets—small signs that told you the nightmare was taking over. You didn’t hesitate. Slipping out of bed silently, you moved to the chair by the window, watching him carefully from a safe distance. You weren’t afraid—you trusted him—but you knew Logan would never forgive himself if he hurt you.

Moments later, his body jerked violently, a low growl escaping his throat as his claws extended with a harsh snikt. He woke with a start, sitting up and panting, his chest heaving as he tried to get his bearings. His eyes scanned the room until they found you sitting there, calm and patient, waiting for him.

"You... you moved," he said, his voice hoarse, the pain of the nightmare still lingering in his tone.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Just giving you space," you said gently. "I’m here, Logan. I’m not going anywhere."

He stared at you for a long moment, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing as he realized you weren’t afraid. You hadn’t run. You were still here, waiting. It was then that he knew he didn’t have to explain—he never had to explain. While he rarely shared the details of what haunted him, on nights like these, when he felt safe enough, he would start to talk, his voice low and raw, as if the words hurt to speak aloud.

He told you about the wars, about the blood and death, and the faces that still haunted him. About the men he had killed, sometimes not even remembering their names. You listened, always listening, never asking more than he was willing to give. When he grew quiet, you would move back to the bed, curling up beside him, grounding him with your presence.

As time passed, Logan began to relax more around you, his nights spent in your bed becoming more frequent. The nightmares didn’t stop, but he learned to trust that you were there, that he wasn’t alone in the fight.

You made your room a safe place for him—a sanctuary of sorts. The dim light of the bedside lamp, the soft hum of a fan in the corner, and the familiar scent of vanilla from the candles you liked to burn. Everything in the room was designed to soothe, to ground him. 

Before bed, you created a routine—something simple but effective. You’d brew a cup of chamomile tea, and he’d drink it with that reluctant smirk of his, pretending he didn’t need it but secretly enjoying the quiet ritual. Afterward, you’d settle into bed together, and your favorite part came next.

"Alright," you’d say softly, pulling out a book from your nightstand. "What are we in the mood for tonight? Something classic?"

Logan would nod, his body already relaxing into the pillows. It became part of the routine, you reading aloud to him, your voice a soothing balm against the chaos that sometimes lingered in his mind. You’d start with a chapter or two, your voice soft and melodic, and by the time you’d finished, Logan’s breathing would have slowed, his head resting against your shoulder, his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

Some nights, he’d drift off peacefully before you even closed the book, the tension in his face softening as sleep claimed him. You’d smile to yourself, gently placing the book on the nightstand, and press a kiss to the top of his head before turning off the light.

One night, after you finished reading, Logan murmured sleepily, his voice rough but content, "Don’t know how you do it, darlin’."

"Do what?" you asked, brushing your fingers through his hair.

He shifted, tightening his hold on you. "Make me feel...safe."

You smiled in the darkness, your heart swelling at his words. "Because you are safe, Logan. With me, you always will be."

In the quiet that followed, with the moonlight streaming softly through the window, Logan finally let himself believe it. 

[catharticconsolation]

requests bot dump: valentine’s release

the iron claw.

♡David Von Erich- white wedding (by billy idol) Honeymooning on tour after a quick, rushed wedding was not the most romantic thing in the world. But to David, it was perfect, watching you sleep all soft and hazy next to him in a shitty motel bed. Because he’s with you.

♡Kerry Von Erich- someday we might (fallingforyou by the 1975)- Kerry’s been seeing you around, in the crowds of his matches, hanging around and cheering and so, so excited. Yet it still shocks him to see you in the back alley outside the venue, long after the fight is done, hands holding out a pen and a picture for him to sign, all alone in the cold.

shameless.

♡Lip Gallagher- enough for me to love (gypsy by fleetwood mac)- No one ever thought that Lip Gallagher would settle down. But here he is, with a girl and a baby boy, his little love, and a finally stable job. Maybe he’s healing.

♡Carl Gallagher- think you might hate me (girl, so confusing by charli xcx)- Neither of you know what’s going on between the two of you, and yet the bitterness and the hatred seems so, so satisfying.

challengers.

♡Patrick Zweig- jesus can always reject his father (family tree by ethel cain)- Patrick is in love with the pastor’s daughter, and communities like to turn on those who are different.

♡Patrick Zweig- make me dream of you (wicked game by chris isaak)- The world doesn’t know you. The world knows you from the stage, from being half naked and wrapped round a pole. But Patrick knows the real you, and he wants you.

misc.

♡Chandler Bing- so full of love, could barely eat (work song by hozier)- Chandler doesn’t often find himself being serious, but when his baby is upset, he suddenly knows just how to be tender, as if it’s second nature.

♡Carmen Berzatto- the street where mothers weep (i want you by bob dylan)- Family dinners never go well in the Berzatto household, and Carmy seems even more on edge just trying to keep you happy during your first time amidst the chaos. But he gets snappy, as always, and he always comes out as the asshole.

♡Kenickie Murdoch- born to handjive, baby- Kenickie is a sleaze, always has been and always will be. But it doesn’t deter you from hanging around, prancing around on his arm at every school dance.

♡Bob Dylan- melt back in the night, babe (it ain’t me, babe by bob dylan/ joan baez)- It’s easy for Bobby to switch up between oh so loving to closed off and empty. And yet, on mornings like this, you just wish that he’d come back to bed.

♡Spencer Reid- les (by childish gambino)-Spencer is getting tired of hiding you, and he might just be a little tipsy in the back of a taxi, sending the sneakiest of pictures of you to Morgan. He’s always said that he hates secrets.

♡Jake Peralta- crawling back to you (do i wanna know? by hozier)- Jake knows that he’s annoying, and he likes to think that he knows when to stop. But no, he doesn’t stop until you get scolded by the captain, and all of a sudden, he feels awfully, terribly sorry.

notes: these are all requested bots, sorry if they aren’t very good or valentines themed, it’s just that i didn’t really have much time to make anything else. credit to @toastray for the amazing dividers!

the link to each bot is the little red heart, happy Valentine’s Day, remember that bots aren’t real people, take a break if you find yourself getting too attached x

[honeychamomile1]

Ain’t Pretty

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summary: It really isn’t pretty when a heart breaks.

Warnings: Drinking, mention of alcoholic beverages, crying, shame, heartbreak, angst, all that nice lovely stuff. :)

Note: This story is inspired by “It Ain’t Pretty” by Lady A.

BTW: There might be a part two, sooo.

She looked into the mirror, forcing herself to get ready for the night. Her makeup was done, face full of life and ready to go out. But if you looked hard into her eyes, the entrance to the soul, you would see the hurt and brokenness that was displayed within them. She may have looked good, but her heart was cracking and chest swelling.

Thankfully everything was covered up with the products, not wanting everyone to see how destroyed she was. The more she thought about the concept the more she fell deeper into the hole of darkness, never to see the light of day again.

She took a deep breath, suddenly feeling sick to the stomach as if she might throw up. She held in a gag, wanting nothing more than to rip all this makeup off and crawl in bed, which is where she hasn’t been leaving much in the past few days.

She grabbed her lipstick, deep red in color as she looked back in the mirror, titling her head up so she could see her mouth. She couldn’t lie, she thought it turned out a little too bright for her liking but she ignored it, not wanting to deal with how her makeup looked like.

She sucked in a breath, locking eyes with her reflection. What she saw looking back at her was a hopeless little girl who was broken, chest burning so much so she thought of dying.

She grabbed her keys on the way out, heels clicking on the floor and the sound took her back to so much memories that she had to stop walking and shut her eyes, trying to squeeze them out of her mind.

No, she thought. I have no time for him.

She breathed in again, lungs filling with air as her eyes got wet, yet if she blinked enough times they went away. At least, for now.

Her hands gripped the wheel of her car, engine thundering beneath her body. She then pulled it into drive, looking back into the dark night as she pulled out, her chest missing a big piece that was once there.

They let her in without a cover of charge, something she wasn’t surprised at but she made her way to to the back of the bar instead of the dance floor, sitting in a corner on a stool.

She didn’t understand how some people could be that happy, the feeling of pain and hurt too flooded into her chest she couldn’t find happiness anywhere.

She saw everyone laughing and smiling, mouths open wide as they had the night of their lives. Their faces radiated happiness, practically being contagious for everyone. Everyone except her.

She had ordered a drink, the glass having condensation on the outside from the ice melting. She didn’t bother drinking even a sip, each second staring into nothingness as her mind broke herself apart.

Drinking reminded her of him, since he always seemed to have a beer in his hand, or bought beer for the group when they hung out. She didn’t want to do something that reminded her of him, yet she didn’t want to walk into a bar and not get anything; that would make her look weird.

So instead she found herself picking at a napkin in front of her, peeling off the corners so all the napkin was gone except the remains beneath the glass.

It looked ridiculous, she looked ridiculous, fibers of a napkin everywhere in front of her. She piled them up in her hands, squeezing it together in her first until she couldn’t breath properly. Tears flooded her eyes, mind taking over with memories of him.

Him.

The boy who broke her heart, ripped it out of her chest, spit on it, threw it to the ground, stomped on it, and forced it back into her chest again, rearranging her rib cage in the process.

A nice boy came up to her then, smiling flirtatiously as he asked her to dance with him. She felt numb, letting him take her hand as he led her to the dance floor.

It felt wrong, and it most certainly didn’t feel right, but every second of his touch she wished it was JJ’s, his soft hands have used to brush her skin in the best way. The whole time he pulled her close, whispering things in her ear she wished it was JJ’s lips touching her ear. And worst of all, when the man’s venomous lips touched hers, hands on her face, she wished it was Maybank.

The feeling of missing him was far too much, so much so her chest was burning and she could barely breath. She pulled away abruptly, rudely wiping her mouth with her hand right in front of him. He scoffed, calling her not such nice things compared to his sweet nothings in her ear moments prior.

She ignored the calls and insults, pushing people around and hearing them grumbling to themselves as a form of protest, but she didn’t bother to turn and apologize.

She headed to the bathroom, standing in front of the sink pathetically as she tried to dry her upcoming tears. She looked at herself in the mirror, ignoring the woman beside her dumping a bottle of beer down the sink.

The liquid reeked, burning her noise as it ran down the drain. The woman didn’t notice her drying tears, rubbing her fingers along her cheeks delicately.

How’d she even get here?

How’d she go from a happy in love girl to a hopeless one who’s now crying in a bar bathroom?

Not to mention she just kissed someone she didn’t know the name of, his lips tasting like poison, heating her chest knowing that she shouldn’t be doing that. She let him pull her close, JJ and her’s favorite song playing in the background, the one they used to sing together in the Twinkie, the one that lyrics were tattooed on her heart.

She ripped her phone out, feeling the strong urge to talk to him, to make things amend, to have his touch upon her skin once again.

She wanted to remind him what he did, to remind him that he broke her heart with careless actions and dialogue.

Her fingers frantically typed on her passcode, thumbs pressing the numbers. It unlocked, opening to her home screen. She clicked on the phone app, fingers hovering over the keyboard of numbers, his number engraved in her mind. The whole number was eventually typed, finger floating above the green button, but it switched to the side button, making the phone turn off all together.

The tears were too much, her heart breaking as she raced out of the place, looking absolutely pathetic.

She stopped on the way out, taking off her heels one by one before holding them to her chest, crying her eyes out.

She missed him.

She missed JJ.

She wanted him.

And he didn’t want her.

The realization hurt as heck, the rain drops that were now falling soaking her dress that she decided to wear. It was JJ’s favorite on her, the one he used to twirl her in every time she wore it, the fabric that once spun around her legs now sticking to them from the rain.

No wonder he broke up with her, she couldn’t even handle a break up. She thought she was okay, she really did, so she went out only to walk home in the pouring rain.

She started walking home, bare feet on the wet pavement of the sidewalk.

She got to her house, stepping on the splintered wood and standing in front of the door.

She looked ridiculous.

Crying over a boy.

She knew better than that.

But she couldn’t help but want him back.

She got her phone out of her purse, the wet fabric cold against her hands.

This time she did dial the number, pressing the green button before she regretted it.

She held it up to her ear, each ring haunting her as she waited to hear his voice again.

A sob broke out of her body, shaking it and it wasn’t from the cold.

He’d declined, hung up on her like she was nothing.

She was nothing to him.

She flung her phone on the porch, another cry escaping her lips as she sank down on the floor, her back leaning against the house as cries shook her body.

“JJ…” she whimpered, hugging her arms close to her body, heart yearning for him, wanting him to save her from this heart wrenching feeling that’s taken over her.

She didn’t care that she might wake up sick, or that she’s bone cold at the moment, the one person who she wanted most didn’t want her, and she was left in so many pieces that she couldn’t put together, since he had majority of them in the first place.

It really isn’t pretty when a heart breaks.

Part Two!

[chimielie]

cw f!reader , mild fraternal violence , atsumu’s terrible lying skills

“I know something you don’t know,” Osamu singsongs, standing in the doorway of their shared bathroom and peering over his brother’s shoulder at his reflection in the mirror.

“Yeah?” Atsumu grunts, yanking a comb through his hair and glaring back at his twin. “Spit it out, shitty ‘Samu. I got places to be, you know?”

“Ouch, don’t shoot the messenger,” Osamu drawls, leaning against the doorframe. “I know that you have a date tonight and you think you’re being sneaky about it.”

“Do not,” Atsumu scowls immediately, dropping the comb and turning around, because he is the worst liar ever. “I don’t even—what are you—I’m taking myself on a date, how about that, it’s called self care, ever heard of it? Huh? Okay? Huh?”

“Okay,” Osamu says, “You’re wearing a tie.”

“I can wear a tie if I want to,” Atsumu sneers, fiddling with it.

“Last summer, at Uncle Jun’s wedding, Ma had to literally threaten to shave your head to get you to wear one.”

“I’m a man now,” Atsumu sticks his chin up, examining his jaw. “I can wear a tie. Hey, did I miss anything while I was shaving?”

“You don’t have any facial hair to shave. And you have a hickey right there.”

“What? Seriously? Where?” Atsumu panics, turning back and forth.

“Ha, I got you—hey!!! Don’t hit me, asshole! I’ll tell Ma!!! And you—you left your fucking bouquet out on my desk, by the way. I told you to stop putting your stuff—no I swear I’ll kill you get offa me get off!—on my desk just because yours is too messy!”

“It was there for five seconds! You left all your laundry on my bed the other day—“

“Where was I s’posed to put it, the floor?”

“Your closet!” Atsumu roars. “Oh, shit, what time is it?” He drops his brother’s shirt collar abruptly.

“5:30,” Osamu says, dusting himself off. “What time you gotta be there?”

“She’s walkin’ over here now, probably,” Atsumu says, rushing back to the bathroom. “Fuck, well since you know, can I use your cologne?”

“It’s the same one you have?”

“It’s better, I don’t know,” Atsumu argues. “Just gimme it, it’s like one spritz.”

“Fine,” Osamu grumbles. “Hey, ‘Tsumu, I know something else you don’t know.”

“What,” Atsumu rolls his eyes as he walks around, frantically shoving his keys and wallet into his pockets, picking up the bouquet—delicate red and white flowers, not bad, scrub, thinks Osamu.

“This ain’t your first date,” he says smugly.

“What are you, Sherlock Holmes?” His brother says. “How d’you figure that?”

Osamu mock-stretches before counting off on his fingers. “One, you never walk home with me and Suna anymore. Two, there’s some flowery shit that appeared in our shower, and I know I didn’t buy it, and you’re not walkin’ around smelling like lavender and honey, so you’ve gotta be sneakin’ someone in. Three, you came to practice two weeks ago with an actual hickey, y’know, when you kept missing sets ‘cause you were in such a good mood.”

Atsumu blinks at him, finally lost for words.

“And,” Osamu says, tone somewhat gentler. “You seem a lot happier lately. Less, y’know, hard on yourself. Whoever it is, I think she’s good for you.”

“Thanks,” Atsumu says, swallowing roughly. “You’re so sappy.”

“Says the guy holding the flowers.” And trying not to let his eyes water over, but Osamu doesn’t say that bit. He can spare some of his brother’s dignity.

“It’s our six-month anniversary,” Atsumu says quietly. “Please don’t tell Ma yet, okay? She’s always on about volleyball bein’ enough of a distraction from school, I know she thinks dating is too. I just wanna—I want her to like my—”

He says your name just as the doorbell rings.

“Her? You’re dating—?” Osamu’s tone is incredulous. “Hold on, you can’t go yet. She’s like a million times out of your league—”

“I know!” Atsumu beams at him. “Keep your mouth shut or you’ll regret it. Tell Ma I’m sleeping at the dorms with Suna. Bye!”

[edenmemes]

red dead redemption 1 starters

❝ it’s wanting that gets so many folks in trouble. ❞ ❝ it ain’t no secret i didn’t get these scars falling over in church. ❞ ❝ if you win power, remember why you wanted it. ❞ ❝ you do a man wrong, he’ll shoot you for it. you do a man right…well, he still may shoot you for it. ❞ ❝ trust me. there’s things you’re better off not knowing. ❞ ❝ you remind me a lot of myself. how i used to be. stubborn and angry. ❞ ❝ i hope you will give me some warning if you get the sudden urge to kill me. ❞ ❝ my side wasn’t chosen. my side was given. ❞ ❝ a little sore, but apart from a couple extra scars, it will be as nothing happened. ❞ ❝ i don’t think you’re a bad person. a little stupid perhaps, but not rotten. ❞ ❝ i certainly don’t mind you asking, if you don’t mind me not telling. ❞ ❝ you are being deliberately obscure as a substitute for having a personality. ❞ ❝ so do tell me, have you needlessly risked your life since we last spoke? ❞ ❝ i came into this world fighting. and i’ll go out of it fighting. ❞ ❝ i hear you speak and suddenly i'm reminded of how the people i respected most in my life had a problem with authority. ❞ ❝ you're looking much better. considering you were almost buzzard food a couple days ago. ❞ ❝ power is like a drink. the more you have, the more you want. ❞ ❝ people don’t forget. nothing gets forgiven. ❞ ❝ sometimes in the service of what is right, you got to do terrible things. ❞ ❝ you have quite a story. i really am a little jealous. ❞ ❝ old friends make the worst enemies. ❞ ❝ i had everything, and gave it up in the pursuit of nothing. ❞ ❝ hah. you were always bad at lying. ❞ ❝ i’m not going to stand by and watch good people suffer. ❞ ❝ some trees flourish, others die. some cattle grow strong, others are taken by wolves. some men are born rich enough and dumb enough to enjoy their lives. ain't nothing fair. you know that. ❞ ❝ if you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop digging. ❞ ❝ now, if you don't mind, i'd hate to spoil such a beautiful afternoon on such beautiful land with any further unpleasantries. ❞ ❝ i, too, have a family, friend. and so that we may see our families again i suggest we part ways amicably. ❞ ❝ sometimes i tell myself that everything happens for a reason. ❞ ❝ i see the good in everybody. it’s a flaw of mine. ❞ ❝ well, try not to get yourself killed. ❞ ❝ see if you can keep your gun holstered for once. ❞ ❝ i don’t pay much attention to rumors. ❞ ❝ i swear, if it was down to me, i’d never have gone anywhere. ❞ ❝ lock all the doors. whatever happens, don’t come outside. you hear me? whatever happens. ❞ ❝ what would you care? i’m just a nuisance to you anyway. ❞ ❝ i’ve been hearing some things about you. ❞ ❝ i would rather be dead than a cynic like you. ❞ ❝ damn, a little gratitude wouldn’t kill you. ❞ ❝ trust me, i ain’t no hero. ❞ ❝ as it turns out, it's you or me. the way i see it, might as well be you. ❞ ❝ you live in a dream world. it ain’t like they tell it in books. ❞ ❝ i’m asking you to do what i say, before you get yourself killed. ❞ ❝ those who sit on the fence make a choice…in their own way. ❞ ❝ i’d do anything for you, you know that. ❞ ❝ better watch your mouth, my friend. i've cut out a man's tongue for less. ❞ ❝ there's nothing worse than a nobody thinking he's a somebody. ❞ ❝ you got it all wrong. i’ve always loved you, even now. ❞ ❝ what the hell were you thinking, going off on your own? ❞ ❝ first impressions are hard to erase. ❞ ❝ it’s a long story. too long to tell without a drink in my hand. ❞ ❝ i’m not angry. i’m disappointed. ❞ ❝ you know me. i’ll be late to my own funeral. ❞ ❝ that tone of voice ain’t so becoming on you. makes you seem all pent up and angry. ❞ ❝ you think i don’t know who you are. ❞ ❝ why don’t i get a warm and tender embrace? ❞ ❝ what do you want me to say? yippee? ❞ ❝ there’s always a choice. you’re just too blind to see. ❞ ❝ you’re not ready for that yet. one step at a time. ❞ ❝ every time you go off, i worry you’re not coming back. ❞ ❝ it didn’t have to be this way. ❞ ❝ come on now. try to look on the bright side. ❞

❝ after all i taught you…i’m ashamed. ❞ ❝ it’s easy to make promises you can never keep. ❞ ❝ we all make mistakes. i never claimed to be a saint. ❞ ❝ how does it feel to kill hundreds of men in cold blood? ❞ ❝ it ain’t the first time i had a gun to my head. ❞ ❝ you’re not perfect, and i’m sure not. but you’re better than they are. ❞ ❝ you alright? you’re not hurt, are you? ❞ ❝ this really couldn’t have gone more horribly wrong. ❞ ❝ you’re just like me. you can’t change who you are. ❞ ❝ my whole life, all i ever did was fight. ❞ ❝ you’re in no position to make demands. ❞ ❝ the bright side? there ain’t no bright side. ❞ ❝ my heart’s beating like a drum. ❞ ❝ are you sure you’re alright? i mean, i know all that business must have been hard on you. ❞ ❝ you’ll make me blush with all these kind words. ❞ ❝ i never took you for the jealous type. ❞ ❝ come now, you’re stupid, but you’re not that stupid. ❞ ❝ you’re weak. you always were. you never had the stomach for this. ❞ ❝ seems real quiet, don’t you think? ❞ ❝ you were always a hard and nasty man. ❞ ❝ see, i have nothing but your best intentions at heart. ❞ ❝ don’t talk about things you don’t understand. ❞ ❝ i guess there’s only one room for one hero in this family. ❞ ❝ for a wise man, you are a really stupid man. ❞ ❝ what would have happened if i hadn’t come along? ❞ ❝ you must have mistaken me for someone else, friend. ❞ ❝ you ain’t very talkative, are you? ❞ ❝ we cannot be too careful. the world is very dangerous. ❞ ❝ no, i’m not okay. do i look like i’m okay? ❞ ❝ you are so tense all the time. come, let’s have some fun! ❞ ❝ i will stay and fight. i am ready to die if necessary. ❞ ❝ i know i can’t change the past but i’m sure gonna do something about the future. ❞ ❝ i’ve given you no reason not to trust me. ❞ ❝ choose your tone rightly. remember who you’re talking to. ❞ ❝ there are guards everywhere. if they see you, they will kill you. ❞ ❝ it was nothing. i’m not a kid any more.❞ ❝ a lonely, forsaken place. some people say it’s haunted. ❞ ❝ i’m not sure your idea of paradise and mine are the same. ❞ ❝ maybe if you were more cordial to folks, they’d be better inclined to help you. ❞ ❝ i’ve been in far worse situations. ❞ ❝ you have the exterior of a violent man, but the soul of an angel. ❞ ❝ you’re not gonna pass out on me, are you? ❞ ❝ you’re no better. how many men have you killed? ❞ ❝ stay alert. something doesn’t feel right. ❞

❝ i'm going to hand you over to them and watch them tear you limb from limb…i'm just kidding. ❞ ❝ you love to talk badly of other people because it makes you feel better about yourself. ❞ ❝ it’s been a pleasure spending time with you. ❞ ❝ that’s a lot of sacrifice. i just hope it’s worth it. ❞ ❝ i’m not cut out for this. no, not cut out for this at all. ❞ ❝ i don’t need you to show me. ❞ ❝ men are born, and then they're formed. at least, that’s how i see it. ❞ ❝ a little flattery…now we’re finally getting somewhere. ❞ ❝ i thought you were supposed to be fearless. ❞ ❝ you are a man who has lost his spirit. ❞ ❝ if you were less secretive, people might be more inclined to trust you. ❞ ❝ me mean me no harm? this is funny. what harm could you do to me, exactly? ❞ ❝ come on, after everything we’ve been through, i think we can trust each other, don’t you? ❞ ❝ i can’t rightly believe it. just like in the books. ❞ ❝ i didn’t ask for your help back there. i owe you nothing. ❞ ❝ be careful. what’s stopping me from killing you? ❞ ❝ one day, i promise you, you’re gonna regret this. ❞ ❝ you know i’ll do whatever i can, but i have problems of my own. ❞ ❝ what would you know about leadership? ❞ ❝ you make a choice by not making a choice, you know. ❞ ❝ hold your excuses until you figure out which one to use. ❞ ❝ i'll give you a bad case of "someone just shot me in the head" if you don't hurry up. ❞ ❝ being honest though, this tastes bad enough to kill a man. ❞ ❝ do i look like i need saving? ❞ ❝ sarcasm should be beneath a man such as you. ❞ ❝ are you always this stupid or are you making an extra effort today? ❞ ❝ i don’t like to kill a man on his knees, even if he deserves it. ❞ ❝ don't forget you need me more than i need you. ❞ ❝ i’ll hunt you to hell and back. ❞ ❝ you’d best not be lying to me. ❞ ❝ let's get going. before the weather gets any worse. that sky don't look good.. ❞ ❝ thank you for telling me all that back there. it must have been hard for you. ❞ ❝ i know we ain't exactly old pals, but…have i ever done you wrong? ❞ ❝ your nobility's almost as affecting as your naivety. ❞ ❝ you are a romantic who wants to be a cynic. ❞ ❝ i apologize if i seem to be prying. ❞ ❝ strange place for a decent person to visit, if you don't mind me saying. ❞ ❝ well, you must admit…it's an unusual start to a friendship. ❞ ❝ i can’t really say i understand you. ❞ ❝ every man has a right to change, a chance of forgiveness. ❞ ❝ hello, old friend. it’s been a long time. ❞ ❝ i hope you understand now why i've been playing my cards somewhat close to my chest. ❞ ❝ nobody made my path but me. ❞ ❝ it’ll be a piece of cake. trust me. ❞ ❝ oh, don’t be so deliberately enigmatic. ❞ ❝ my word, what a difficult life you’ve lived. ❞ ❝ you have a strange sense of humor. ❞ ❝ stay and fight me, you coward. ❞ ❝ i ain't planning on staying very long. ❞

[kawakalalala]

Outlaw: 1

INTRODUCTION POST!

wc: ~1.8k

tags: pretty much just kissing, nothing too crazy yet!

a/n: thank you all so much for being patient with me while i crank this bitch out! i’m really excited to see what u guys think :3

You’d heard the voice before. Hundreds of times. His voice rattled your bones like a late August thunderstorm over the lake.

“Hands up.”

You turn with your hands in the air expecting just to see Jerry Anderson, the sheriff who’d been after you since you were old enough to run.

There was never even a thought to not run. You could weasel your way out of anything; you’d been running your whole life. But something in you kept you from grabbing at the gun on your hip.

“Ain’t nowhere to run no more, huh?”

You weren’t sure what came over you. ‘Easy’ wouldn’t have even begun to describe how quickly you could kill this man. In a hundred ways. But you knew what you needed, and you knew what the way to get that was. It was surprising for you to see a second person, behind him, taller and broader, with a face hidden by the shadow of a hat.

“Looks like it.” You drop down to your knees and lay down your revolver, kicking it out of reach. The Sheriff was surely on top of the world right now. He’d been trying to get you for years after the killing. It was personal, but not on purpose.

The broader figure starts to move, slowly becoming illuminated by the soft glow of your campfire.

You couldn’t remember the last time you saw Abigail Anderson. You almost didn’t recognize her, but there was no way you could've forgotten the way her freckles bit her cheeks, the soft bump in her nose, and the softness of her jaw. She’d worn her hair in a braid then too, but now it was long enough to dangle past her shoulder blades. Had that much time really passed?

She passed you and walked up to Belle, the liver chestnut overo mare. She wasn’t as fast as she was when you met her; she needed a little more grace around turns, and her white fur started to bleed into warm brown on her face. You loved her more than you could love anything, because there wasn’t much to love about the life you led.

“Don’t tie her to your horse,” you turn to face Abigail, “she’ll bite him in the ass.”

She exhales with the faintest likeness of a laugh.

“How d’ya suppose we’ll get her back to town then?”

You shrug, knowing she’d follow you wherever you went. You don’t notice you’ve been handcuffed until you go to stand up.

Jerry Anderson was kinder to you than he should’ve been, considering what you’d done to him. His hand is heavy on your shoulder as you pull yourself onto his wagon.

✦✦✦

You wake up to the light from your cell’s window prodding at your eyelids. Large enough to see everything, (including Belle, hitched up outside, still sleeping).

“They decide where I’m goin’ yet?” You shout at Abigail, scribbling away on some papers near the front door.

There were a handful of things that were convenient about your position: the sheer size of your town made it so it was only necessary to have a few cells in the sheriff’s department. (if you could even call it that.) And that you always had company.

“No. We ain’t even sent out the mail this mornin’. Give it some time.” She laughs.

“Whatcha doin' over there?”

“Nothing,”

“Well ‘nothing’ seems quite time-consuming.”

She finally turns around and looks at you, and you see her clearly now. The light scar across her cheek, her soft blue eyes, her supple, soft pink lips, and the toothy smile she gives you when she asks, “What are you getting at?” Seeming only slightly annoyed.

“Nothing.”

“I’ll be sure to get the mail with your papers sent out today,” A smile pulls at her lips, but you don’t notice it.

You’re picking at your nails when you ask, “This all you do all day? Seems like I’m a mighty fine companion to keep around.”

“What do you do all day then? Steal and kill?” She turns back around in her chair.

“Pretty much,” you stand up and stretch, a groan escaping your lips. “I love murder.” You try to stay as deadpan as possible, but you can't hold back a giggle, sitting down with your back against the cell door and peering out the window at Belle.

“I’m serious,” her tone changes, “Why on earth would you want to live runnin’?”

“It was freeing once, “ you tell her, the back of your head against the heavy metal bars of the door, “but freedom gets lonely sometimes.”

“Seems real convenient that this revelation is gettin’ had after you been caught,” there's an edge to her voice, but it’s still smooth and cool, like a stone in the palm of your hand.

“It ain’t no revelation, darlin’, I just finally made a choice,” you say matching her edge as best you could, “and your Daddy ain’t do no catching, I let him have me. ���

“Bless his heart,” she says, “but I’ll believe you there. He couldn’t pour water out of a boot if the directions were on the bottom.” You both laugh, and for a brief moment, you forget what brought you here in the first place.

She turns around to look at you. For a brief moment, you and Abigail are 12 years old again. The wind whispers her name, and you’re watching the sunrise on your walk to school. You like her because she doesn’t talk about boys. She doesn’t talk about much of anything. You like her company, and she likes yours. At the end of your twelfth summer, she doesn’t want to walk with you anymore, and you don’t ask, or even wonder why. You walk to school alone until you drop out at 15. You turn to look at her.

The door opens, and you watch as Jerry walks in. The way he looks at you makes your stomach churn.

“Mornin’ sir,” you smile at him, and he ignores you.

“You can put her outside y’know,” he says to Abigail, like you aren’t even there. “them stalls under the barn lock.” He laughs, and your blood boils.

“We’ll see.” Abigail tries to forget about the hard part of this job. She’s always trying to forget about the hard part of this job. She knew you once.

You hold your tongue until Jerry leaves. He talks to Abigail a bit longer, and makes another offer to “get rid” of you for her.

Part of him stays when he walks out the door. Suddenly you realize what you’ve done. The fantasy of a free life might’ve been attainable if you were a less successful bandit, but there’s no way you’ll ever be a free woman.

You’re never going to be free. You’re going to die here, with a failed childhood friendship and a man who wants you dead. You’re never going to feel the sun on your skin again.

You’re going to die here or somewhere worse. You’re going to watch your life walk by you and you’re stuck behind bars because of a stupid one-off thought you had. Your breathing gets heavy and your head spins, and suddenly you’re grabbing onto anything you can get ahold of.

You should’ve fucking shot him.

✦✦✦

“What in the hell was that?” her voice is cool and smooth, even when she tries to have any semblance of urgency.

“Dunno.” You’re both on the ground. Her right hand cradles the back of your head, holding your hair off your neck, and her left holds a glass of water to your lips.

“That ever happen before?” Her eyebrows are furrowed with concern, and you stay silent, taking a sip.

She doesn’t seem to mind. She watches you intently, readjusting her hand on your neck. You set down the water and look at her.

“Why’ve you been so damn kind to me?” Your eyes well with tears, and her furrowed brow softens, just a little. “I’m a criminal, Abigail, I’m not- I’m not a good person.”

“I ain’t a good person neither.” Her voice is almost a whisper. “Have some more water.”

“Okay.”

You’d never been one to listen to anyone. You were entirely uninterested in being told what to do. But the way she spoke to you was different. You didn’t seem to have a problem taking orders from her, because she genuinely seemed like she cared. She wasn’t patronizing or arrogant.

“I’m sorry I stopped being your friend.” Her hand is warm against your skin.

“That was so many years ago.”’

“Don’t make me less sorry.” Her hand moves slowly from your neck to your jaw.

“I’ll give you a second chance,” Your eyes dart from her blue eyes to her lips, and for a moment, everything goes silent.

“I’d like that I think.” She inhales sharply, and drops her hand. “I got some paperwork to fill out. D’you need anything?”

“Yeah, I think so,” You say before kissing her softly, just once. You pull away and look at her, and you lift one hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She looks at you like you electrocuted her. “Think that’s all.”

Something clicks in her head and she lunges to kiss you. It's sudden, but it’s soft. She’s soft. You reach down to replace her hand on the meeting of your neck and jaw, and she places another hand on the small of your back. Tension releases in your shoulders that you hadn’t noticed was there in the first place. You place a hand on each of her shoulders and push her backwards, still following her lips with yours. You can feel the muscle in her shoulders, but she’s pliable and obedient in your hands.

Your tongues dance against one another with the same cadence as the wind in the grass at the end of your twelfth summer. And as the light of the sun on your twenty-sixth summer falls over the same grass, you pull away from Abigail to look at the small smile pulling at her mouth, the flush across her cheeks, her pupils blown and her lips only slightly swollen.

“Whatcha lookin’ at me for?” Her voice is almost a whisper.

“You’re beautiful, Abigail. Damn near the most handsome woman I ever seen.”

She can’t bring herself to say anything in response. She can’t even bring herself to look up at you. She can’t bring herself to lock you back in here, and sit out at her desk and watch, let the state take you away and hang you for your crimes.

“I’m gonna get you out of this goddamn place.”

“You’re what?”

[loveandmurders]

Not sure if this is where requests go, don't do it often, but would love a part 2 for Ya ain't love me, Bo needs some lovin 💗

No rush or anything,just thought I'd ask

Hello love, thank you so much for having requested another part for this <3 In the end I wrote quite a bit and there will be 4 parts in total.

Hope you'll enjoy &lt;3

You can find part 1 here.

YA AIN'T LOVE ME YET - PART II (female reader x Bo Sinclair)

Warnings: no proof reading, obsessive!Bo, mentions of murders and violence, non consensual relationship (no sexual abuse), angst.

It was the first time in weeks you had been able to sleep without being tied up and you enjoyed freely moving around in the bed, even if Bo’s arm stayed wrapped around you the whole time. The man had fallen asleep with a little smile on his face. He was happy you were finally playing into his game and you were finally giving him a chance. He knew that if he was good enough you would forget about your dead ex boyfriend and about running away from him. He was certain everything was going to be alright from now on. It had to be or he would fully lose it.

At the same time, he knew he would need to agree on some rules with you so he could trust you. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe you weren’t going to try and escape at the first occasion. And it would kill him. He wasn’t certain he deserved love and happiness, because of the monster he truly was, but he still needed it more than anything. 

He snuggled against you, his face into the crook of your neck. Your scent was appeasing him so much. He woke up before you and watched you in his arms. You almost looked at peace too, and it was only making him hope even more. He thought how beautiful you were, such an angel in his embrace, and he started to play with your hair. He could have stayed like that forever. Actually, if you had wanted, he would have happily agreed to stay in bed all day with you. He couldn’t stop himself from quietly kissing your face. He was trying his best to be soft and tender. He wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t just a broken and angry man. He would do anything you would want from him, as long as you didn’t try to run away from him. You didn’t know you were his, and you didn’t realise it yet, but he was yours as well. It was scaring him a little, but there was nothing he could do to fight off the infatuation he felt for you.

You started to stir up, and for a moment, it felt like you were back in your previous life with your previous boyfriend. But you didn’t recognise his scent nor his touch. You fully remembered what was happening when you heard Bo’s voice whispering a gentle “goo’mornin’” against your cheek.

You hated his touch so much, but you knew you needed to be smart, so you didn’t push him away. And when he tilted your head for a kiss, you didn’t jerk away. You even answered the kiss back, which made him smile against your lips. He seemed rested and relaxed, like you had never seen him before. And you hated it too. You didn’t want to give him what he wanted, but it was your only chance to escape. You needed him to fully let his guards down. He stroked your cheek and you kissed his palm, like you used to do with the man you loved. It was easy to reproduce those gestures you knew by heart; it was simply making you want to throw up. Bo’s smile widened and his eyes lit up.

“Cuddly in the mornin’, ain’t we?” he commented and his words stabbed you in the chest because your now dead boyfriend used to call you a “cuddly kitten” when you were loving on him in the morning. You simply shrugged. “We need to agree on some rules” Bo continued as he settled on his back and brought you against his chest.

“What rules?” you asked with a raised eyebrow as you moved your hand on his torso

“Simple ones. One: for the moment, ya ain’t leavin’ the house, except if ya’re with me. Two: ya ain’t tryin’ to get people to “save” ya and ya ain’t tryin’ to run away. Three: ya start talkin’ to me.” he said.

“I start talking to you? What about?” you hummed, confused by the last rule.

“‘Bout what ya wanna from me to be a good boyfriend to ya” he explained without looking at you. It seemed it was embarrassing him to be so straightforward about his own desires and needs, but he wanted things to work out. He was certain you were the love of his life, so he couldn’t screw this up. You wanted to tell him that a “good boyfriend” wouldn’t kill people, but you knew he wouldn’t like those words so you stayed silent instead, which made him sighed. You looked up at him and he cupped your face in one hand. “It starts now” he hummed with a little frown. It was obvious Bo didn’t like being disobeyed, even by you, so you nodded.

“What am I allowed to do in the house?” you asked

“Anythin’ ya wanna. Just don’t go into the basement. It’s Vinny’s place, ya know it. Otherwise, ya can even redecorate the whole place if it can cheer ya up” he said as he leaned to brush your noses together “I’d like to see your smile again” he confessed and you had to admit it surprised you

“How so?” you heard yourself say

“When ya arrived, ya were a ray of sunshine, always laughin’ and smilin’. Just miss it” he murmured

“You killed my people” you coldly replied, before you could stop yourself, and you tried to get up but Bo was stronger than you. He forced you against his chest as he hummed in thought.

“Shouldn’t ya be happy I saved ya then?” he replied, he sounded a little bit annoyed now, but it was because he had hoped for another answer from you, he had hoped you would have seen how much he wanted you to be happy by his side.

“You could have let all of us go” you said back

“Nah, couldn’t do that; I need ya here” he kissed the top of your head

“That’s why you killed him” you murmured, your throat tight like always when you were thinking about your boyfriend. You wanted to cry, but you couldn’t do that in the arms of the man who murdered him.

“He wasn’t good enough for ya anyway. I mean he didn’t notice when I kidnapped ya, and he wasn’t strong enough to protect ya.” Bo defended his action, tightening his hold on you. He wasn’t too happy to talk about your ex boyfriend. He wanted to pretend he had never existed.

“Oh and you are strong enough to protect me?” you asked, trying not to sound too bitter or harsh but Bo heard it

“I’m a killer, baby. The safest place’s by my side.” he groaned and you let escape such a broken and sad laughter that it felt like a dagger piercing through his heart. It wasn’t the laughter he had needed to hear more than anything. His rising anger instantly died down in his chest to be replaced by pure sadness. He forced a kiss on your mouth to make you stop. You didn’t have the strength to answer it but you didn’t try to break it either.

“I’m scared of you. You killed the people I loved, with the help of your family. You are forcing me to stay in your house. You even kept me tied up in your bed for weeks. And I should believe that I’m safe with you?” you asked

“Ya are. Ya just ain’t seein’ it yet” Bo simply replied. “I promise ya, baby. Ya’re safe here, and I’ll make ya happy. One day, ya’ll even forget that any of those people ever existed, especially that man you used to kiss. Now all your kisses are mine, and only mine.” he possessively whispered to you.

But not my smile. You thought.

Bo finally got up and went to work. After last night and the way he had been able to cuddle with you in the morning, he had believed that things would go more smoothly with you but it wasn’t fully the case yet. At least you were letting him kiss, hell you were even answering his kisses. And you weren’t going to run away anymore for the moment. He was certain things were finally getting better, even if he still needed to be patient with you.

You freely wandered into the house, and Vincent checked on you a few times. Bo told him about the new rules, so the masked twin didn’t try to stop you from walking around. You fully discovered the place and you wondered how the boys could live in a house that seemed so out of time. Everything was so old, and some rooms were really dirty. At first, you told yourself it wasn’t your job to take care of a house that wasn’t even yours. But in the end, you just couldn’t stand not doing anything about it. You were bored out of your mind and you thought that cleaning up might help you feel better, and make this house more bearable for you. You started with the kitchen because there was no way you would keep eating food coming from somewhere that wasn’t completely cleaned. Vincent was a little bit surprised to see you doing the dishes and then sanitising every surface of the room, but he didn’t complain.

At the end of the day, you had done the kitchen and the living room. It felt like the house was all new and a lot more liveful. When Bo entered the house, with Lester, they both stopped in their tracks in surprise. They looked around, shocked. You heard the front door so you quickly joined them in the entrance.

“New rules guys, you remove your fucking shoes from my cleaned up floor” you pointed at their boots and they both looked at you in pure bewilderment. Bo felt warmth spreading inside his chest at the idea of you taking possession of his house so he quickly obeyed and he elbowed his kid brother for him to do the same.

You went back into the kitchen, satisfied with them.

You were so tired that day that you fell asleep in Bo’s arms without a fight and Bo rested with a smile on his lips. He would have enjoyed some cuddles, but he liked how he didn’t need to force you to rest against him.

You spent the whole week cleaning up the house. You decluttered it and you often asked for help from Vincent when you needed to move a piece of furniture around or when you wanted him to agree for you to throw away something that had been rotting for decades in a drawer. The boys truly enjoyed it, and it allowed you to stop thinking about the mess you were in. You also started to enjoy the place a lot more now and you knew it like the back of your hand, which could help when it would be time to escape. Plus, you were too tired at night to even have to cuddle with Bo, so it was really a win-win situation, even if a part of yourself was truly hating you were playing the angel of the house for them. At least, you weren’t making food; Bo was always the one making it and it was better than you wanted to admit it.

The three brothers praised you for your hard word, and you were a little bit surprised by how genuine they sounded. It was true that every time you asked Vincent’s help, he had always let go of whatever he was doing downstairs, to come to you (you were knocking at his basement door when you needed something, so you didn’t have to go down). Bo couldn’t stop himself from kissing your cheeks and shoulders. He loved how domestic it felt to be in a house you were making yours. Lester enjoyed how calm the twins seemed now you were around. Bo hadn’t yelled in so long; his whole attention was on you and his mind was solely focused on making you happy, so his anger was quietening down. He didn’t want you to see him like a violent man anymore either, so he was careful.

With the house all cleaned up, Bo took a day off work so he could spend it with you. He wanted to “reward” you. Truth to be told, you would have much preferred for him to go to work. The man was the clingiest, and he kept you in his arms all day, kissing and cuddling with you. You let him do without a fight, trying your best to not enjoy the constant attention.

You didn’t want to admit it, but if Bo hadn’t killed your people and if you hadn’t met him the way you did… You might have seen him as boyfriend material. You had often pouted at your ex because he wasn’t indulging you in a day full of cuddles, even when you were asking for it. And you were often arguing because you wanted more of his attention. Deep down, you had wanted someone to be a little bit obsessed with you and to see you like a divinity. You had never found this in anyone, and you had tried to convince yourself it was because only toxic love could give you this. At the same time, you hated that you were finding qualities in Bo’s behaviour towards you, and flaws in your ex boyfriend’s.

However one thing didn’t change: your ex was capable of making you laugh and smile. Bo couldn’t. And it was killing him, like a poison burning inside of his veins.

Each night, he was asking himself what he could have done better that day, so you would have smiled at him, even for a few seconds. He never found the answer, and it seemed like he couldn’t make you obey the third rule. He promised himself he would need to find a way. He was certain that the moment you would relax and laugh around him, you would realise you were meant to be.

--

PART III

--

Taglist: @lacychick ; @adalwolfgang ; @hollabackgrl ; @number1120 ; @the-number7 ; @hisokas-cardz ; @iwantsleepplz

[onecantsimply]

drunk!husband x reader for Jack, Hermes, Hercules respectively when they had just a bit too much and then see their wife?

Bet-

-

ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕝𝕖𝕤:

• I can imagine this man getting home with Ares helping him, and you’re just standing there with a blink. You were probably trying to eat a treat or drink tea until the door burst open, with Ares walking in after saying a small “excuse us.”

• He and Heracles were most likely drinking after a successful job, which must have been quite important if the two had the time to celebrate.

• Heracles really didn’t do much until you peeked over at him, and he saw you. Both of you blinked for a moment before he immediately had you in his arms, already confessing his love for you. Even if he was already your significant other. Married, too.

• Still, you of course accepted his confession, making him somehow slur his laugh. You may have heard him cry a little bit but you ain’t telling him until tomorrow morning- Even if you tried to pull away to get water for him, Heracles has clung to your begging for you to stay with him.

• How could you say no to that man when he was straight up begging?

• So, you stayed with him until he had fell asleep, and prepared some things that could sober him up. You placed some water by his desk, and placed the blanket over him before getting in bed with him again.

• He already had you in his grip again, hugging you as if you were a type of teddy bear. Yet, it seemed normal, so you had slept steadily and safely that night.

• The next day, you were helping Heracles sober up, teasing him about how he was while drunk. He seemed embarrassed about it, naturally.

𝕁𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕚𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣:

• He had come in with Hermes escorting him. Both males seemed drunk, but the God seemed to have more control than Jack did, surprisingly. You had quickly rushed over to see what the matter was until Jack had softly grabbed your hand, gently kissing it.

• He asked you to marry him, clearly not seeing the ring on your finger. Hermes never even got to explain anything, as he was already outside, and ready to go home.

• Back to you and Jack, you had arched an eyebrow, and told him of how you two were already married. He pulled the shocked Pikachu face before clinging onto you, thanking the Lord for sending you to him.

• You could only giggle at how he was before he looked at you with seemingly confused eyes. He then clung to you once more, now praising you and thanking you for marrying someone like him with teary eyes. However, before he could do anything other than hug you, you had him drink water.

• That seemed to sober him up enough, judging from how he was sitting by the table, keeping his hand over his head from the hangover that seemed to occur within his brain. He reeked of alcohol, and he didn’t like that-

• Yet, he felt amused when you had sat next to him, now explaining how he was while drunk. He now felt embarrassed, but had expressed how genuinely grateful he was for someone like you.

• He could only kiss your forehead before you told him to take a bath. He perked up immediately.

ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕖𝕤:

• He looked as if he had a very long day from taking care of Zeus. But however, it was just drinking with Jack. So while you were possibly reading a book, you heard the door shut and lock. Of course, you walked towards it to greet Hermes, but saw how the man looked.

• He definitely looked like he had been drinking. You could only help him get comfortable, in which he had thanked you for multiple times. He seemed to call you a Goddess for helping him, in which you had only smiled softly.

• That smile only reinforced his opinion on you. You are his Goddess, and shall always be.

• And so, while you had helped him get sobered up with some water, he had only gripped your hand, kissing it like how Gomez Addams called Morticia’s hand a dead fish.

• It was lovely until Hermes drank that water. The headache that came soon after was literally making him feel as if his head were pulsing. Of course, you helped the pain go away, in which he had thanked you for.

• He reminded himself to never drink again, in which he knew Jack would possibly agree in.

[pink-bandana-writes]

Margaritas and Misunderstandings

Raphael x Reader

Summary: Raphael never expected to meet his soulmate, especially not at a college Halloween party.

Notes: I love writing college-age turtles lol and I also really love soulmate aus and haven’t written any on this blog yet, so enjoy! Let me know if you want more parts to this one, I really like Raph and reader’s dynamic here.

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, swearing

Word Count: 2k

Reader Is: In college, female

Raphael had been convinced the words on his arm were a joke, some cruel reminder the universe had given him that he was unlovable. He wasn’t meant to have a soulmate. Look, he’d urge himself, standing in the mirror. Look at that. Ain’t no one gonna love all that.

The ink had appeared around the time Raph turned eighteen, about a month before his eighteenth birthday, in fact, when his existence was still, for the most part, a secret and every girl he’d interacted with thus far had fainted when they saw him, April included, though she was now a very dear friend of theirs. He was twenty-one now. He and his brothers were going to a human college on the surface, slowly but surely integrating themselves into human society.

Raph had been convinced, really truly convinced, that the words on his arm still didn’t mean anything, couldn’t mean anything. Until Leo met his soulmate, that was.

He remembered the frantic message to the group chat the brothers shared. Leo was at the library. The others were en route to study with him, but he’d gotten out of class before the others. Sure enough, he’d bumped into some quiet little bookworm in the library and said the words on her wrist, causing her to say exactly what was written on Leo’s in return.

That had been a few months before, right at the beginning of the school year. Leo was dating her now, obviously. Her name was Isabella and Raph thought she was…nice. It kinda made him sick how perfect she and Leo were together. Just reminded him how alone he was, but more than that, it stirred up the anxiety deep in the pit of his stomach, the constant reminder that he did have a soulmate and someday…they’d look him in the eye and say “Shit, I’m so sorry!”

Even if he did have a soulmate. Even if they did find him someday, what was the point? It seemed like they weren’t very happy to see him, whoever they were.

So Raph went about his life, trying to ignore the words on his wrist as best as he could, dreading the day when his soulmate would reject him, just as he knew they always would.

***

“Hey, (Y/N), you’re coming to the Halloween party this weekend, right? It’s at the Sigma House.” Your roommate said, sitting across from you at the library. Her name was Lindsay and she was a pretty blonde girl majoring in criminal justice. She was going to be a lawyer someday, ala Elle Woods and wanted to do her best to make the world a better place.

“I don’t know about that.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “You remember what happened at their homecoming party, right? I’m not much of a party girl, apparently…”

“Oh nonsense, you learned your lesson. You’re still just…learning your limits, is all. Gotta build up that tolerance somehow.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, from right beside the toilet maybe.”

“What, like lightning’s gonna strike twice? It’s Halloween! It’ll be fun! Plus, where else are you gonna wear your cute lil’ costume? It’s not like we can go trick or treating anymore.”

“Valid point.” You shrugged and chewed on the end of your straw. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“YESSSSS! I’m texting Isabella. She’s bringing Leonardo.”

“Ah yes, the elusive Leonardo.” You took a sip from your iced coffee. “Supposedly he has three brothers that all go here too, but I swear I haven’t seen any of them except him the, what, two times we’ve met him.”

“I think he’s nice.”

“I think he’s nice too, but you’d think it would be easier to spot them out and about.” You chuckled. “Oh never mind, I spoke too soon.”

“Where.” Lindsay turned around, catching a glimpse of the large, hulking turtle walking into the library, side by side with a slightly smaller turtle carrying a skateboard.

“Don’t look too fast, oh my god.”

“Ooh. He’s…”

“Hot.”

“I was gonna say ‘big’ but yeah, that works too.” Lindsay giggled. “Oh my god, (Y/N), I didn’t know you were into that. You know, I saw that Ice Planet Barbarians book at the B&N in the mall if you—”

“Shut up!” You hit her playfully with the book you had sitting on the table.

The large turtle in the red flannel caught your eye and smirked, giving a little half-wave. You waved back, cheeks fully flushed from your conversation with Lindsay.

“Oh my god he just waved at you. Oh my god!”

“Shut upppp!” You rolled your eyes, sliding down your seat.

***

The Sigma Halloween Bash finally arrived and you slipped into your costume, Raven from Teen Titans, right down to the cape you’d spent the better part of a day sewing yourself.

You looked over yourself in the mirror. You looked hot, you admitted, admiring yourself in the costume. It was no wonder she was everyone’s first cartoon crush.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.” You turned around to face Isabella, who was dressed as Belle from Beauty and the Beast. “Aww, you look cute!”

“Thanks! It was Leo’s idea.”

“Speaking of whom…are the boys coming over here first or…?”

“They’re meeting us there. Lindsay told me you guys saw Raph, huh?”

“Oh yeah. Forgot about that.” Your cheeks reddened at the mere mention of his name. “Raph, huh?”

“Raphael. He’s…nice. I don’t think he likes me all that much, but Leo says he gets better once you get to know him.”

“One of those.” You nodded. “Good to know in case I run into him completely shitfaced. Try to make a good impression.”

“Good luck with that.” Isabella chuckled, ushering you downstairs so you and your other roommates would walk the few blocks to the party.

For Halloween, it was pretty warm outside with a nice breeze, costumed college kids marching down every sidewalk to find whatever party they were headed for. And, as usual, you were following the biggest stream of kids, straight into the Sigma house.

The music was deafening and the second you stepped inside, one of the drunk frat guys handed each of you a can of White Claw, which you grimaced at and handed to Lindsay, who took it with a smile. Instead, you set out in search of a Margarita, the one drink you knew you liked, thus far. Your search was successful. You poured yourself a glass of the sweet lime drink and found your roommates again.

“There she is!” Lindsay pulled you to her and spun you around as you sipped from your drink. “You find your Marg?”

“Always.”

“The boys are on the way.” Isabella reported, bobbing along to the music while reading from her phone. “Should be any—Oh, there they are! Leo!” She waded through the crowd, pushing her way to the giant turtle who was dressed in the Beast’s suit from Beauty and the Beast. That was cute.

Raph wandered into the kitchen and out of your sight, but not before you saw the large foam spikes taped to his shell. He was dressed as Bowser. That was really funny, actually.

The party continued and you had a second margarita. You were deciding on whether or not to grab a third and then decided to commit when you saw him still hanging around the kitchen.

So, tipsy as ever, you walked through the frat house to the kitchen and poured yourself yet another drink.

“Ayo Raven! You look good did you make that yourself?” asked the shortest of the turtles, although he still stood at least six feet tall.

“I did! Thank you so much! I loved the show as a kid.”

He grinned. “I did too. I’m Mikey, by the way. You’re Isabella’s roommate, right?”

“I am indeed. (Y/N).”

“Well, (Y/N), it’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” You beamed, scanning the kitchen. Huh, not sight of Raphael. You wondered where he’d gone. You thought for a moment and second-guessed your third margarita for the night, decided to get a glass of ice water instead.

When you walked back out to the other room, you found him alright, stumbling right into him and spilling your water all over him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” You apologized, looking up at him. He stared back down at you, his eyes wide.

“It’s you? Yer…Wow, I just, uh…I…I didn’t think it would be you.” He stammered, reading through the words that had been etched onto your wrist since high school. You rolled up your sleeve, glancing down at them to be sure before looking back up at him, sobering up almost instantly.

“You’re my soulmate.” You whispered, starstruck in his presence.

“Let me get ya some more water, alright?” He offered, taking the empty solo cup from you, his giant hand gentler than you could have ever imagined it to be. “I’ll be right back.”

“O-Okay.” You nodded, still, for lack of better word, shell-shocked where you stood, the world crumbling around you until he finally came back with another cup of water.

He handed it to you and you were sure you were gonna drop that one, too, but you didn’t, miraculously, holding onto it for dear life. “You wanna get some air?”

“Yeah.” You nodded.

Tentatively, Raphael offered his hand to you in the crowded room. He didn’t expect you to take it. In no reality could he imagine this pretty girl dressed as a superhero to take his hand, but you did, slipping your hand into his and letting him lead you out into the backyard.

The sounds of the party faded away. There were a few people out on the deck making out, but the grass was wide open, the perfect spot to get away from all the noise in there.

You were both quiet for a while, your heart hammering in your chest as you sat down next to him. You took a long sip of water, chasing the edge of the margarita away.

“So uh…it’s okay if ya…uh…I shoulda practiced this.” He shook his head, letting out a pathetic chuckle. “I get it, I mean, if yer not…into me. I saw ya laughin’ at me at the library the other day.”

“Oh fuck, no I wasn’t I…kind of the opposite, actually.” You admitted, counting your blessings you had some liquid courage in your body for this conversation. “I’m Isabella’s roommate. Lindsay and I both are and I…I just kinda blurted out that you were hot and she…she was making fun of me, not you. I’d never make fun of you.”

“Wait, you…” He grinned, amused. “Yer not serious.”

“I am, I swear.” You laughed, pulling your cape around yourself. “I like your costume, by the way.”

“Heh. Yeah, thanks. Low effort costumes are kinda my forte.” He shrugged. “Mikey did the spikes for me. Was kinda hopin’ you’d show up dressed as Princess Peach, to be honest.”

“You still wanted me to be the Peach to your Bowser even when you thought I was making fun of you?” You asked, pouting up at him. “Raph…”

“I wouldn’t’a held it against ya even if you were.” He shrugged. “Hell, my own sister passed out the first time she met the four of us.”

“You have a sister?”

“Her name’s April. We ain’t blood, but we are family.” He smiled. “I’d like ta introduce her to ya someday. If ya want, of course. I’m…I ain’t ever done this before.”

“Well you’re doing great.”

“Ya don’t have to lie.” He nudged you playfully.

“I’m not.” You giggled, nudging him back. “You are doing great.”

“You still drunk?”

“Not much.”

“Mmm.”

“What?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Those margaritas might be clouding ya judgement, shorty.”

“They are not.” You giggled, reaching for his arm, which he gladly gave to you. You grabbed onto him, a little cold now that you’d been out there for a bit.

“If ya need me to warm ya up, I can’t. I’m cold-blooded.”

“Oh right. That’s okay.”

“Ya wanna go back inside?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I just wanna sit out here with you for a while.”

He smiled, withdrawing his arm and putting it around you instead. He rested his head against yours, letting out a long breath as you sat beneath the stars. “I like that plan.”

Tags: @thelaundrybitch, @turtle-babe83, @dilucsflame33, @happymoonangel, @leleouwu

[rreskk]

CHERISHED

Summary: You were still working at the Vanilla Unicorn with no hopes of changing your life around. Being older, more limited with your body, the job itself was a dead end until a new customer came to admire your presence. It was later known that he had a thing for… older ladies:

TW: Smut

Pairings: older fem!reader/ Trevor Philips

Word count: 2768

You were getting to that age now where sex work was no longer an accessible source of your income. All your co-workers, so youthful, within their early 20s; rare if you find any in their 30s and older. The rarity, you are included. The more years you worked, the less customers you were getting. The city life adored younger energy than people your age. On your average night, you’ll find men either too young or way too old. It’s getting harder with every passing day. Now it’s hard to keep up with the looks. The dresses your body once suited, it’s all damned. It’s hard dressing exotic when the preferences are clear skin, tiny waists, great legs, great boobs.

However, one time you were doing your usual routines. While serving a table of six as they ogled the stage filled with dancing women, you found yourself looking up at the entrance. A man walked in and you had never seen him before. Balding hair, dirty clothes, face full of fury, hands covered in muck. This was not the usual customer.

You observed him from afar before a supervisor whistled for your attention. He glared and pointed to the man, urging you to engage in your work and greet him “sensually.” Usually you’re fine, but something about him seemed eery. So you slowly approaching him, swaying your hips, a clog deep in your throat.

He caught your eye within an instance.

Before you could stand an arm’s length away, the guy stared down at your appearance, his face falling into a smuggest grin. He waited until you were in front and was the first to speak – a very unusual characteristics for a regular customer.

“Hey, gorgeous.” He murmured with a slight groan, like he was savouring his words.

“Could I help you with anything?” You managed to choke out despite feeling silly. It was hard acting youthful in front of a hefty guy. You wanted to cut the bullshit and act your age, but it would cause great losses to your work performances.

The man’s tongue sat on his bottom lip when you vocalised. He listened and stared intently, waiting as you finish your question and hummed thoughtfully. There was something creepy about how “respectful” he was being. While being all gentleman-like, his eyes don’t lie. He was looking through your clothes and visualising whatever he fantasied. You knew enough to recognise it.

“I wouldn’t want to waste your time, beautiful.”

Again with the nicknames. Your cheeks flushed. You haven’t of been complimented since your early 30s, it was flattering!

“It is my job. I ensure you, my time will not be wasted.” You tried to alure that typical sex-worker act but he see the real you.

“What do you have to offer?” The man leaned close, his nose inches from yours. His breath was absolutely disgusting. You held back a cough and closed your eyes for a moment, regaining focus and energy after the long shift. He felt your exhaustion and grumbled deep in his throat. “You ain’t had a break yet?”

It felt embarrassing to have your tiredness called out, especially by a customer. You sighed and felt his hands graze your wrist.

“What’s a gorgeous woman like you rotting in a place like this for? Don’t you got a husband at home? Kids?”

“I- Uh. I got one kid. He’s round his father’s at the moment...”

He watched your lips when you spoke and pulled you a tad closer. He was very touchy for a man who just walked in. Customers are usually all bark, never grabby, but this guy? He was both, in the most absurd way. He was what, a few years younger than you? Roughly?

“Mmm, not married?” His voice whispered with tainted excitement.

You shook your head with discomfort.

“Awh. I ain’t asking for too much, sugar. I’m just wondering why a lovely lady like you is still working hard. You should be resting at home, getting your back massaged… Rained with…” His eyes bored onto your chest, “affection, and such…”

“How can I help you, sir?” You forced yourself to respond to the client/customer limitation and advised him to depart from the personal subjects. However, your voice was faint and your eyes avoided his.

You heard him snarl at your aloofness before sucking it in and growing accustomed to your professionality. He gave you a tight, forced smile then offered his hand. “I wouldn’t mind a dance with you, dear. If that ain’t too much to ask for…”

He was danger. You were hesitant and stared at his hand before taking it. He was weirding you out hugely.

Passing the curtains, you reached the small dancing booths and picked the closest to the door. You gestured him to sit and, with a blink of an eye, he was sat there, legs apart, manspreading and rubbing his thighs with this boyish smirk. The man looked at you like you were delivering Santa’s presents on Christmas morning. His eyes worshipped the shape of your body and when the curtains were closed, you slowly stripped for him, feeling his burning desires inspect every detail.

Despite the heaviness of your tired, achy limbs, you managed to go through a few routines that included the least amount of skin to skin contact. You felt him outline your hips a few times when moving over his lap, but he behaved himself. Surprisingly.

Usually the dance would last double the stamina you had. You were already choking on your breath to avoid expressing the exhaustion as you sensually shake your backside against him. There were so many minutes to go and he was watching you struggle. You staggered backwards a bit until he grasped your waist and stabilised your posture.

“Easy…”

You wanted his hands off. You wanted to finish this dance without him making you slow down. It was stressing you out. The weight of holding so many pressures was backlashing your ability to keep within that youthful practice, unfortunately coming to a stop and leaning against the seat, sighing.

The man rolled his tongue around in spite of the silence and waited to see if you were going to continue before leaning forward, meeting with your gaze.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

You held your breath and looked at him, speechless.

“Take it nice and slow.” His voice vibrated deep in his chest as he kept the volume down.

“I’m trying to.” You argued back.

“Hey, I ain’t fuckin’ judging. I don’t want no stupid dances they do nowadays. They look like doped monkeys.” This made you crack a smile as he took your waist into his hands again, ushering you closer. He pulled you onto his lap and sighed contently. “See. This is just fine… A respectfully beautiful woman on my handsome lap.”

“Respectfully beautiful?”

“I can’t be disrespecting mothers, can’t I? I’m a man. I gotta treat a lady, such as yourself, with royalty and care.”

You gave him a “you serious?” look before glancing down at his lap, seeing how well your thighs felt against his. It was lucky the curtains were tightly closed since physical contact was prohibited, but you couldn’t deny this guy. His touch was weirdly smooth.

“Why don’t you come back with me? I got a condo nearby.”

“I don’t think I should.”

He frowned, “Why?”

“I don’t sleep enough. Them days are over. I’m just getting by.” You tried to explain.

His lap tensed up as he took in every word. There was a body of frustration that tormented him, leaving his system through a sharp and heavy exhale.

His body hoisted at the deepness of his breath before constructing a husky reply.

“I ain’t like the regulars here.” He lowered his tone, “I ain’t gonna blow a load and call it a day. I wanna make you feel good. Older women are to be cherished and I wanna make sure you know that, sweetness. You hear me?” You flinched when he grew passionate, his lap jolting. “I wanna give you the best 2 minutes of your goddamn life!”

A customer has never seemed so desperate for a side-job. Like… Ever. You didn’t know how to react to his enthusiasm, especially for 2 minutes. Now, you interact with men with weak games a lot, but 2 minutes is a new one for you. It made you intrigued. He was so confident in his small game, it was revoltingly attractive.

“I hear you. Loud and clear.”

“Good. Now it’s my turn to hear you loud and clear, honey. Swing by at the back and I’ll pick you up.”

“But – “

“I don’t give a shit.” He raised his voice and stared at you with purpose. “Just grab your things and come meet me.”

You sighed. There was too much responsibility to slack off work for a random guy, but he was too persistent and made you double the curiosity of a regular customer. So you rolled your eyes and nodded.

-

He mentioned his name was Trevor on the journey back to his condo. Like he said, it was a short journey. You reached his condo in less than 10 minutes. It was near the beach, a small 2 bedroom apartment. You’ve been around this area before and It was rather nice! However, you were dragged in by the arm and quickly assembled in one of the bedrooms without the chance to snoop around. There were muffled voices from outside the room but he ensured you to ignore it since it was one of his “roommates.”

It passed your mind despite the weirdness of it all. And before you knew, the situation extended further as clothes were ripped off and he was on top of you, his lips hungrily lurking down your neck like a vampire breaching for a pulse.

“God…” You whispered and wrapped your legs around his hips while your neck was experiencing this wave of sensation. It has been quite some time since you were last sexually active, so this was almost like a new beginning.

Trevor pulled away and looked down at you with an excited smirk. He placed his hands around your thighs, encouraging you to decrease the space between you both. His eyes darted over your body and, unable to control himself, dived onto your lips, pushing you further against the mattress, rough groans leaving his throat and vibrating onto your mouth. You sucked his noises in with pleasure and rocked through the minutes, thankful you accepted his offer.

Once again, he pulled away. This time, he had intentions of doing more.

You grunted when he opened up your legs – pussy on display – inviting him. Trevor’s pants were thrown off with a few kicks and you saw his cock; small, uncircumcised, eager, and bright red with excitement. He warmed himself up. You noticed the way he winced when rubbing his small erection. His hands were too cold and rough. It felt more painful than pleasurable. He looked back at you and went to push in, giving up on the extra mile, but you offered your hand.

Trevor raised an eyebrow at the gesture and murmured. “What?”

Without an answer, you gently took his cock into your palm and stroked it up and down, giving him this nice warm, heavy relaxation that also spiked some adrenaline. When you handled him, Trevor released repetitive low moans where he threw his head back and synced in with the feeling. He softly rocked his hips into your hand before you guided him down, placing the tip against your opening and whispered his name to start.

Trevor hissed when you whispered his name. It felt like a lullaby, a praise. He groped onto your breasts and thrusted, immediately shaking his head and moaning. “Ohh, fuck. Yeah…”  

Now he was fully turned on with the help of your hands. You nibbled your bottom lip and enjoyed the pace he was going at. You both made deep eye-contact during this whole exchange. Your body was being fondled on repeat, but you learnt that it was his way of worshipping your curves and shape. There were hand marks all over your skin, mainly breasts, which he was occupying at the moment, but it was enlightening and you were satisfied. Which is what he wanted.

He noticed your enjoyment and increased his pace. His tongue lapped around his lips as he continued working for your affection and praise. So badly he wanted to hear you say his name again. It made him croak out a beg from his big mouth while under the influence of lust.

“God… Just, say my name…”

You heard him and struggled to speak due to the pleasure. Distorted whispers exceled to silent pants. There was no hope.

“C’mon…” Trevor began getting desperate. His eyes burnt into yours. “C’mon, sugar. I want… Fuck…”  

He was already going weak. His thrusts were now sloppy and you grabbed onto his hips, regaining his pace and forcing him to work a bit harder for your love. He made small noises as he was being overworked but didn’t say anything against. Like Hell, the feeling of your hands on his skin was beautiful enough.

“So good.” You softly praised, back arched.

Trevor nodded frantically, “I’m so good for you. I’m making you… Ah – feel, oh… Jesus, fuck!”

“Get yourself together…”

“Huh?” He looked at you with want. He’s never been told to keep it together much, especially not from an older woman. It was heavenly! He was a boy again.

“Keep going…” Breathlessly, you clung to him.

“But… I’m gonna – “

“Keep going. Fuck. Trevor.”

How dare you say his name like that. It made it so much harder to control his urges. He had to swallow his tongue and clench real hard to avoid coming so early, just for you. It was painful, but it was worth it. As long as he could feel you grow wetter by second. You deserved the feeling.

So he carried on going. His thrusts were strong and his hands bruised your breasts, hugging it with his palm, watching it shake with motion. This was the sort of dance he wanted beforehand… Just naked, tits, you; him.

“Fuck me, Trevor!” You moaned loudly, forgetting about his “roommate.”

“Yes… Ma, I am! Ah – Ma!” The word slipped out. Trevor hadn’t of noticed but your stomach grew butterflies when he accidentally called you that.

“Trevor…” You grabbed onto his shoulders and pushed your foreheads together. “C’mon. Faster.”

He thrusted more crazily.

“Yes. Yes!”

Your words of encouragement praised him.

“I’m gonna fucking cum! – “

In a haze of derealisation, Trevor collapsed onto your body, his cum soaking up in your pussy as you experienced your hard orgasm. He scrunched his face between your breasts and felt your pussy squirt out cum, his hips shaking and hands drenched with sweat.

“Oohhh, mother!” He bellowed during the taunting load.

It felt like a relapse of pure pleasure. You lied there and stared up at the ceiling, breathing like you were running out of oxygen. He still had himself in you. It didn’t matter since you knew, from the condition of his overall health, that there were no concerns. Besides, your body couldn’t produce anything from his cum. The warmth as well… It was entrancing, inviting, addicting. You wanted him to cum inside you more. It was definitely something you hope to do again.

“Come… Again, soon.” You breathed while fingers mangled in his thinning hair.

Trevor grumbled something inaudible before rolling onto his back. He had this smirk on his face, eyes shut, scratching his upper chest and finally releasing his cock from your used pussy. He gave you a nod, and when you attempted to sit up, he pulled you back against the bed.

“Don’t go.” He said, tired.

“I’ve got to pick up my son.” You whispered back.

There was a pout on his face as he tugged at your wrist again. “Can’t he wait?”

“I can’t escape parental responsibility.”

“How old is he?”

“That’s none of your concern.” You muttered at him.

Trevor grinned, “Hmm… But I wanna keep you around for the night. You know… Relax…”

“I want to, Trevor, but I really got to see my son.” Your hand rubbed down his arm before standing up. You looked back at him. “You know where I am.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You know where I’ll be then.”

He sucked in his lips and watched you dress, sighing when you were gone. His eyes closed but then that annoying voice bullied its way into his peaceful senses.

“I- Uh… Trevor, your friend has lef – “

“SHUT THE FUCK UP FLOYD!”

[pumpkinsy0]

I ain’t the best writer, it’s real hard to write one shots 🙏

Everything was a mess, and he wasn’t only talking about the apocalyptic world. The surviving group he was currently with clashed together constantly, with their arguments, or different opinions on what they should be doing instead. But they always worked together properly when it’s most important.

But glory, he really wished Darry and Sodapop were here with him.

He was home that day when they left for work, along with Two Bit, who had offered to take care of him while they were out, quietly reading a book on the couch. They had said they would come back soon enough, but they never did.

He could understand why now however. During one of their searches, they had stumbled upon the DX station, hoping that there were some food that they could take, and even better yet, his brothers was hiding out in here. He was right. Not in the way he wanted it to be.

His mind constantly flashes him with pictures of his brother’s decomposed, rotting bodies, hissing and snarling towards him. He remembers his violent trembles, as he can no longer recognise Sodapop, the one who he was so close to, the one who he told everything, his movie star appearance was no longer of that sort. His skin was a sickly colour, a mixture of brown and grey that lingered the smell of rotting flesh. Darry being the exact same way. They were barely decomposed by the time they had found them.

One thing he could never forget however, before they were shot dead, was their position. Sodapop being cradled by Darry in a hidden room of the DX station, where they had been hiding out. Obvious marks of a zombie bite on them.

Finding the last bit of comfort between brothers before they die. He kills them so they would never have to live as these monsters.

He still constantly gets nightmares of the bullet shooting clean through their brains, with blood and brain splattering everywhere.

He was knocked out of his thoughts when a hand was placed onto his shoulder, gripping tightly. “Something on your mind?” Only to look up and see Tim Shepards eyes peering down on his.

Tim, Curly’s older brother, had found him along with the rest of his gang when they were in the midst of being surrounded by the undead. And since that day, they had stuck and been through everything together. Especially with the walkers and the constant raiders that come to try to steal their weapons, food, gas, everything they had that were useful.

Ponyboy had always thought of Tim Shepard to be an alley cat, hungry and restless, and a guy who will do anything necessary to get something or survive. His and the Shepards gang always had a mutual relationship, but he was always warned not to be affiliated with them by Darry, as he might end up in real deep trouble if he were to go along their schemes.

It doesn’t exactly stop him from hanging out with Curly Shepard, however. He wonders how he is now, last he heard, he was in the reformatory. He sort of missed him.

Ponyboy hoped he was okay.

He looked up to see that they were walking behind a bit from the rest of the group, who seemed to be talking amongst themselves, meaning it gave them time to talk without any distractions or eavesdroppers. Biting his lip nervously, he peered back up to make eye contact with Tim. “I’m okay.” Was all he responded with.

Tim wasn’t at all like Sodapop, he was a greaser but not like them. He was a real street hood and criminal who was friends with Dally, even if they do fight each other a lot. It wasn’t like he felt afraid to tell Tim anything, but he wasn’t easy to talk with either. Despite all they’ve gone through, all the people he witnessed being killed, both socs and greasers, being saved by the group time and time again, they would’ve become closer. And he truly did, especially with Tim.

But he could never replace his big brothers. Nobody would.

With an affirming nod, Tim calls back the rest of the group in order to get their attention. It had been only a few months since the apocalypse had started, and they were beginning to think that Tulsa wouldn’t be so safe anymore. Sure it had good enough buildings to hold down a fort and keep the undead away, but what were they going to do for food and drinks?

During the first few everybody had collectively brought everything they could, but now it was starting to run out. There wasn’t enough ammo for their guns anymore. Relying on close combat would be too risky when it comes to big herds, you’ll be a big fool to even try it.

But Ponyboy had dreaded when they talked of leaving town, possibly the entire state itself, but they couldn’t. This was all he has ever known, with his parents. With his brothers.

He wished he could properly say goodbye.

twd au,,,,in MY inbox????? the world has truly changed for the better, anon i love this sm<333

read this like the morning newspaper, im gonna shake u ferociously i loved this sm, maybe one day i’ll make a one shot of the au too,,,perchance i shall,,,one day,,,u have inspired me,,,

“he wished he could properly say goodbye”

EATING THIS UP WOOOOOO

[vincess-princess]

we, the psychos

ch. 11

Word count: 1957 Warnings: description of a psychotic episode A/N: i personally have never had a psychotic episode so this is me going off my imagination and what i've seen and read about them. hopefully it's close to reality!

“I’m very disappointed in you both,” said Dr. Duren with well-measured disapproval in his voice. Anything he ever said was always just the right amount of emotion. Nikki never saw him fly off the hook or lose control. It was almost uncanny – but very useful in constant contact with emotion-ruled psychos. “Very disappointed.”

Nikki glanced at Vince. He was leaning back onto the chair relaxedly, legs spread wide, expression mildly amused. If Nikki knew Vince a little bit less he would think he didn’t care what was going to happen to him. But Nikki knew Vince well enough to see the slightest tremble in him - he did care, didn’t want to be punished again. Yet he still assaulted Nikki in the canteen, knowing full well the consequences would be rather unpleasant. What did Hudson do to him that pissed him off so much?

“Who started it?” asked Dr. Duren. He addressed mainly Stradlin behind Vince’s back, but Vince replied instead of him.

“I did.”

“And why would you do that?”

“He looked at me the wrong way,” Vince said and smiled a crooked, bitter smile.

“Really?” Dr. Duren raised his eyebrows. He didn’t seem to believe Vince. “You have never had anything against Frank, but now one wrong look – and you pour soup on him?”

“You know me,” Vince replied, doing very good job of sounding nonchalant. “I’m a chaotic individual.”

“Did something occur between you two when you were on canteen duty?” Dr. Duren continued, now looking at Nikki. Damn it. Unlike Vince, Nikki was never good at lying, so he just shook his head.

“Nothing for Frank. And you, Vincent? Any complaints?”

“He was too slow at everything. I had to do most of the job myself.” Vince sent Nikki an overly grim look.

“Oh, so here it is.” Dr. Duren seemed satisfied. “Vincent, but you do see Frank’s hand is injured. Working one-handed is hard.”

“So what? I’m also injured, and I ain’t working at a speed of a turtle,” Vince complained a little too eagerly for Nikki to believe him. But Dr. Duren fell for it.

“Patience, Vincent. Patience. That’s what you lack. We’ll have to work on that.”

“Well, I’m sitting here listening to you, so clearly I’m patient enough.”

Dr. Duren gave him such a heavy look even Vince seemed to be slightly humbled by it. Only slightly, but still an achievement.

“You know I do not tolerate violence in my asylum, Vincent. Yet you chose to enact it. Clearly you’re not yet ready to go back to society. A week of solitary confinement in your ward for you. One of the nurses…” his gaze ran over the three nurses in his office, “Bailey, yes. You’ll deliver food for Vincent starting today evening and ending next Thursday. And accompany him to the bathroom. No more than three visits a day. And, yes, cuffs at night.”

Dr. Duren looked at Vince, whose face went so pale it looked almost like a death mask, and smiled.

“That will teach you patience, Vincent. If you are on your best behavior during that time, you will be released with no further punishment. Take him away.” He waved to Stradlin and Bailey, who took Vince by the forearms and led to the door. Nikki didn’t dare look at him, but Vince’s heavy gaze burrowed a hole in his back until he disappeared behind the door.

“And you, Frank…” Dr. Duren rubbed his temples tiredly. “You could have called the nurses, could have tried to avoid the violence. Yet you indulged in it, by all accounts, with energy and glee. This is unacceptable.”

Nikki nodded solemnly. Dr. Duren didn’t seem convinced.

“Since Vincent is now out of commission for a while, you’ll be cleaning the canteen on your own for the rest of your punishment. Hopefully cleaning up that soup you spilled will teach you the value of labor of cooking and cleaning staff.”

Well, it could be worse, Nikki thought, nudged up by the nurse. At least it was not solitary confinement, which drove already crazy men absolutely nuts. One smashed his head on the wall on the fourth day of the punishment. The other strangled himself on the sheets, which was why patients in solitary slept on bare mattresses and had their blankets taken during the day.

Nikki feared to even imagine what Vince would look and act like after a week in solitary. He was already pretty antisocial, in a sense that he didn’t really fit in a society, even a society of psychos. Vince himself loved society. He loved the attention people could give him; he craved it, he wanted to constantly be in the middle of it. And now no human connection at all besides a couple words with Bailey, who wasn’t the talkative type either…

And it was Nikki’s fault. Well, not entirely - Vince started the fight, after all. But that was revenge. To Nikki’s revenge. So Vince basically punished himself, didn’t he? He knew there would be consequences. Of course he knew. Was the soup he poured over Nikki’s head and a black eye he gave Nikki really worth a week of solitary? Did he think it would be worth it before he got it? Did he regret?

Nikki hoped he did. Because Nikki sure regretted starting it now.

***

Tommy soon realised nobody would hear him here, in the farthest corner of the asylum. The only other door nearby probably led to another padded cell, and it must have been empty. Only Simmons knew Tommy was here. And he would hardly take mercy on him soon.

What did Tommy even do wrong to get thrown in the padded cell, supposedly only for violent patients? He only asked to see the doctor. Which was kind of his job, seeing his patients. Duff even said he would try to carve out some time for Tommy today, so this was a possibility all nurses knew about. Then why’d Simmons react so harshly? Was there something the doctor didn’t know, and Simmons feared Tommy would tell him that? Was the padded cell a punishment for anyone daring to speak up?

Or Simmons could just be an asshole who didn’t care about patients whatsoever and only worked here to exercise power over vulnerable people. That was also possible.

Anyway, whatever the truth was, Tommy was in a pickle.

He sat down, leaning on the padded door. Its soft covering was pleasant to lean on, but Tommy would prefer the hardest of chairs. It was dark and quiet in there, and he was never on good terms with darkness and silence. When there were no outside stimuli, his brain usually began to make up his own.

And sure enough, soon Tommy started hearing steps. He first thought they were coming from the hall, but no one came to him yelling, so he decided this was his brain playing jokes on him. But then steps neared, became heavier and angrier, like someone was pacing back and forth just outside of the door of the padded cell. And they resembled Simmons’s steps so much a shudder ran down Tommy’s spine.

This was not real. He knew this was not real. There was no one outside the cell. It was just his brain playing tricks on him, as it always did.

Still, he crawled to the farthest corner of the padded cell, pressed his back into the wall, hugged his knees and stared at the small barred window, the only source of light in the cell. And every second he expected the light to disappear, cut off by a large, wide body of… Simmons? No, probably not even him. Probably something worse.

The only other thing besides the steps that Tommy could hear now was his own breath, and at least it was definitely real. So Tommy focused on it hard. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. Louder, louder. Calm down, his beating heart. In. Out. In. Out. In-

The steps disappeared. Oh god, they disappeared.

Tommy wiped his forehead he didn’t even notice get sweaty. It left, thank god. Whatever was there, it left. He sighed in relief and slid down the soft wall onto the floor. His chest heaved up and down. The psychotic episode was over.

And then he heard steps inside the cell.

They were quiet, much quieter than the previous ones. But they were closer. Tommy could almost feel the whiffs of air that legs moving produced touch him. He rubbed his skin there, to drown the feeling in something more intense. But the coolness of the air wasn’t overpowered even by intensive rubbing; it was there even in the hotness building up under the skin.

One whiff of air reached Tommy’s nose, and a trace of a scent tickled it. It smelled… like the asylum garden. Like rotting leaves, wet earth, upcoming winter chill. Tommy didn’t like that smell. He’d never felt close to nature and had no desire to get close to it now. The scent, at first faint, then quickly grew in strength, overpowering everything else, stuffing Tommy’s nostrils until he had to breathe through his mouth. But even his mouth could feel the taste of the earth, and it was exactly how Tommy imagined it to be, and he had to suppress retching, because it was disgusting.

His brain couldn’t create something so vivid and material. It was real. It was his punishment for not obeying the nurses, for refusing to do the work others did. He forgot who he was and where he was, and this was a reminder. You’re nothing but a speck of dust, and other people have total control over you, and you will have to spend the rest of your life here, and oh, does that make you feel bad? Well, tough luck. Get over it. The sooner you do it, the easier it will be.

The steps grew closer and closer. Tommy pressed his back into the wall even harder, afraid it would touch him. What scared him the most was that he could hear only one breath – his own. And it gave him away. It could hear his breath. It knew where he was. It was just playing with him.

And this went on and on and on. Steps. Tommy’s quiet breath. The smell. The taste. It was unyielding. It was merciless. It was all-consuming. It swallowed Tommy whole.

Until it didn’t.

“Tommy?” he heard as though from afar. “Hey! Wake up!”

Tommy opened his eyes and saw Duff’s face mere inches away from his. Incredibly detailed, with every pore visible, nostrils flaring, expression concerned.

“Do you hear me?” Duff said, and his voice drowned out the steps. Tommy could still hear them in the background, but they as though moved away and now were barely audible. He raised his hand and carefully touched Duff’s face.

There was warm skin under Tommy’s fingers, his fingertips could feel all the little skin defects. Duff was here. Oh thank god.

Tommy gripped Duff’s face with all his might.

“Did it go away?”

“Hey, don’t get too handsy here!” Duff slapped Tommy’s hands off. “Did what go away?”

Tommy thought it over for a bit. Really, what was that pacing in the cell?

“I don’t know. Something.”

“Very informative,” Duff said tiredly. He must have dealt with lots of such claims. “Anyway, Simmons told me you were here. I got you a spot in Dr. Duren’s schedule. I see now that you need it. Come on, he’s waiting for you.”

He helped Tommy up and led him to the door. While they were walking down the hall Tommy could still hear steps far behind them, just on the border of real and imaginary.

[octoooo]

Actually now that I’ve finished Sailor Moon (90s) I can finally talk about Usagi & Mamoru.

I don’t like them together.

And I’m not sorry about it.

Their 90s relationship feels like a fairytale love story born out of obligation to their past lives & not real feelings. That’s how it came off at least.

Keep in mind how I mentioned 90s specifically, this ain’t about the manga or Crystal.

Now maybe I’m smoking crack or I simply forgot, but,,didn’t they dislike each other for the longest time? Throughout Season 1 at least, Before either of them realized they fight together as Sailor Guardian & Tuxedo Mask I mean. Usagi hated Mamoru especially when he called her “Bun Head.”

And Mamoru seemed teasing sure, but not romantically interested from their meetings on the street. Usagi was crushing on Tuxedo Mask, but she actively hoped that Mamoru wasn’t him.

And then they learned of their past relationship as Princess Serenity & Prince Endymion and?? Now it’s like “oh let’s be together! I think we’re meant to be!” It’s just,,it felt like obligation to me.

Idk maybe they fell in love off screen but like,,,why couldn’t we see it? Isn’t this their story? Shouldn’t we see the main lovers actually develop so I can feel something for them?

I cheered when Mamoru broke up with Usagi, I was like genuinely happy about that lol.

Also the 90s fucked up their age gap. Mamoru is now a college student (no given age) & Usagi is still 14 (eventually 15 in season 2 I think then 16 by the end) but like??

Kinda odd it went down like that y’know? I dunno about you but I hear “college student” and “middle schooler” I’m 💀

I’ve seen speculation that 90s Mamoru is 16 like his manga counterpart but he’s just really smart & went to college early.

Okay

Not impossible I guess,

But we don’t really have any information to assume that? In canon at least, maybe the animators came out and said something about it that I’m not aware of.

I can use Ami as a reference.

Because she’s in Usagi’s grade she’s also 14-16 and We KNOW she’s smart. She’s always top of her class & getting perfect scores, She spends her free time studying & was even offered a spot in a foreign university. She’s the smart one, it’s beaten over our heads numerous times. When she has conversations with Mamoru about topics outside her friend’s knowledge it only benefits her. Those scenes don’t do anything to show “oh Mamoru is really super duper smart to know all of this,” like it does for Ami. As an eighth grader, she wouldn’t be expected to know much about the topics Mamoru’s interested in, but she DOES because she’s SMART & we’re told this all the time.

Mamoru though?? We’re told he’s a college student. So we are to assume he just,,has to/wants to know this, meaning he IS smart. But he’s not extraordinarily smart like Ami, so I don’t think I can’t believe he’s a 16yr old who went straight to college.

Seiya & Usagi had a more developed relationship tbh.

Like, Seiya starts off not really caring for Usagi but then they like her enough to be friends, and eventually develop romantic feelings for her. Also, from their perspective Mamoru is a shitty guy so ofc he wouldn’t want Usagi to be with him. Like, as long as Seiya had known Usagi, she had cried over her “botfriend” and had absolutely zero contact with the guy. Of course they eventually learn it was because of the Shadow Galaxia but before learning that, Usagi seems hung up on some guy who does not feel the same for her, and Seiya is RIGHT THERE and they’re SO devoted.

Also Seiya didn’t want Usagi to be Sailor Moon, because that would mean that Usagi might be their enemy (can’t be beefing with the love interest now can you?) even after learning that, Seiya went to many great lengths where their affection showed through clear as day. I mean, the amount of times they took a hit for Sailor Moon or cradled her to protect her,,,,

Of course they would never end up together. Usagi was very clear about not wanting to be with anyone but Mamoru, yet Seiya kept pushing Which is yikes. But at least I got to see actual romance ? Got to see romantic feelings for Usagi from someone who genuinely cared. I can tell Usagi loves Mamoru (I think) but Mamoru is like,,,,so stiff with her. He protects her because he has to, like the other Guardians, it doesn’t feel born out of love line Seiya’s protectiveness.

Siiigh anyway I’m ready to be eaten alive by UsaMamo fans. Keep in mind this only covers the 90s anime, I have no idea how they are in the manga or Crystal as I haven’t seen much of it yet. I’ve heard it’s better in them, but I don’t wanna get my hopes up.