#and right after he has a fresh stick kid too

[i3utterflyeffect]

haha idk if you're here right now as of sending this, or still looking for asks as you posted earlier, but i have had a thought based on saisk's AUposting today

sticks in the physical world but selkie au :) alan panicking and trying to care for this absolutely microscopic baby stick figure (though he does eventually get selkie'd himself... now he's also tiny...)

(selkies irl-kies)

MAN. NIGHTMARE FOR THEM.

he'd probably get turned into a selkie before then but it's very funny to imagine him having to take care of this baby that's smaller than his thumb. tiny tiny creature. even MORE nervous than in the version of selkie au where he's a cursor because now he's a thousand times the size of this baby

he'd probably keep them in a tupperware box or something for a while until he can get a better set-up like a dollhouse or something. not to mention the absolute nightmare that turning into a selkie would be. how do you get stuff from the store you're so small you can be stepped on!!!!!!!!!!!

it is also funny to imagine him getting booted after he moves to DJ's. pov your weird cursor-stick friend is suddenly in the real world and is freaking the fuck out

not to mention if chosen gets stuck. poor alan has to explain what humans are and address the question that yes, he was that big, and yes, he did somehow get stuck in the computer, no, he doesn't know how or why.

i imagine cursors would be more outernet sized in the real world though, so there's that. easier to handle without crushing them!

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [3]

during one of the final psych evals at Arkham right before he gets to be released, the whole thing wrapped up so tidy, just a little relapse which involved a robbery. Getting sent back to Arkham, but he got to stay at the asylum so long that he no longer has to serve a prison sentence, score!

But during that eval his overseeing psychiatrist recommended him to have a change of scenery, some fresh non polluted air.

Riddler was rather convinced the guy was making this recommendation to everyone in Arkham in their own weird way to convince them to just leave Gotham and become someone else's problem. should he notify Batman about it somehow? nah, it’ll be more interesting to see how this is gonna turn out in the long run.

But can he leave the state? Can he even leave the city? he never really bothered to look into it, at least not legally, up until now if he felt he needed to leave for one of his plans he just did it.

Turns out he can, it’s a whole hassle and a half though, first a judge and then a probation officer and he’s pretty sure both were like “what the hell is this psychiatrist guy thinking!?” but at the same time, shrink probably knows what he’s doing (WRONG) so he’s allowed to go visit out of state family or whatever.

he had to wear this nice ankle monitor though, Wayne Enterprises™ tech, not overly bulky but still very present. real fancy, and a fun extra challenge heh.

now as for a good reason to leave New Jersey he’s going to need distant relatives, and he finds some, great grandpa walker also has a son, who had a son who had a daughter Madeline, who married some guy Jack Fenton, and she lives somewhere out in the boonies Illinois. great he’ll visit her.

far enough away in all sense of the word that there is no way she knows anything about him. it would be best to call her first though, be polite about it.

“hello, you have reached Fenton works, this is Maddie speaking” 

“Riddle me this-” ah whoops, habit, oh whatever, “we don’t share parents, but certainly a part of your life, from laughter to strife. Who am I?”

there is a pause …  he’s going to be a bit disappointed if she hangs up if he’s honest.

“cousins~” comes the cheery reply.

“correct! the name is Edward Nygma, we are distantly related you and I and well-”

“oh you simply must come visit!” 

well this was rather easy, perhaps a little too easy, but she lives in the midwest so maybe just going with whatever some guy says over the phone is normal there? stranger danger not really a thing in a small town where everyone knows everyone?

things start to make a little more sense once he gets there and he’s starting to think some things might run in the family. like a preference for the colour green and weird hyperfixations and genius bordering on insanity. Though that remains to be seen, Jack does not seem like a very bright light after his very enthusiastic welcome.

their kids however are observant and sharp. young Jasmine is wasting no time trying to psychoanalyze him. and the boy, Danny, he had not really meant to and he swears he’s sticking with calling the kid Danny so he wouldn’t seem overly familiar, but he might have called him little bird a couple times now.

but that’s all whatever, he’s playing nice here. and he doesn’t even have to worry about his eccentricities tripping him up because this place is insane.

There actually is a local teen vigilante active but he seems about as loved as he’s disliked. and the ghost boy’s enemies are basically all his own kind, which another crazy thing to now know about. ghost. they are real actually, how is Gotham not completely overrun? and how do they even work? and where do they keep coming from?

Edward might be getting a little sidetracked here. He had fully intended to sneakily get his next big game plan underway all the way out here, ankle monitor be damned. but he hasn’t made any progress at all.

Instead he’s been listening to Madeline and Jack to maybe figure out what the deal is with these ectoplasmic entities, he has to know, at this point he might go crazier if he doesn’t. 

He’s making Jasmine promise him not to get her doctorate in Gotham, he’s going back and forth with space riddles with Danny.

so yeah the whole thing kinda just became a vacation, maybe the psychiatrist had the right idea after all? hmm nah, probably not. but this is fun. He’s thinking about recommending this place to some of the others.

It's different enough to get the vacation feel, but enough crazy shit happens to make it all feel like home.

it is not until Maddie wants to talk with him about potentially switching the position of godfather of Danny to him rather than some weird rich friend of theirs that Edward realizes he might have lost the plot somewhere

Apparently the little bird basically begged them with a powerpoint presentation on how he likes Edward so much more than that Vladimir guy. 

And honestly, the fellow sounds like a Dracula Lutho so even if it’s kinda sad Edward can understand why he’d be considered a better option. Even if the guy has more money and a huge company that makes him said money. And it’s not like the Fentons know about his Riddler activities.

Thinking it over, Edward does think that Danny would like Gotham and Wayne has that space program thing right? The kid is definitely smart enough for that (Nygma certified), and yeah Edward does quite like their space themed back and forth. So, fuck it, why not, what is the worst that could happen?

He doubts Maddie and Jack are gonna kick it any time soon anyway out here in the boonies, it’s just a title thing, a stamp of approval or something.

he should have known he was going to eat those words later… he had this whole beautifully elaborate trap set up for the whole Batclan, and he was just getting to the good part when his phone went off.

Had to put the whole thing on pause cause that particular contact wasn’t gonna get ignored. He did promise to be available.

If the whole thing he had planned now went tits up he could at the very least laugh later at the reactions of the bats as he told them to “hold up one second, I have to take this.” while they were all in various perilous positions. 

Sadly he did have to go, he had a very distressed godson to pick up.

[cloudyluun]

London Fever | neighbour!harry

Summary: Y/N moves into a high-end London apartment building, only to discover her new neighbor is Harry Styles—enigmatic, infuriating, and entirely too intoxicating. Their tension simmers beneath stolen glances, elevator encounters, and late-night mind games. But when she tries to break free from his spell with another man, Harry finally snaps—pinning her against her door with a dangerous confession.

He doesn’t like sharing.

And now, she’s in deep.

A/N: Me, writing this: Let’s keep it light, flirty, and fun! 😊Also me: What if he corners her in a hallway and says “I don’t like sharing” in a voice that ruins her entire life?

I am not responsible for any emotional distress caused by this man. He started it.

Part Two? Oh, you’re not ready. 😈

Wordt Count: 4,4k

Warnings: 

Explicit sexual tension (if that’s a warning or an invitation, I’ll let you decide)

Strong language (Harry has a sharp tongue in more ways than one)

Mutual pining & slow burn (this is torture, besties)

Jealousy & possessiveness (Harry is territorial, and it shows)

Masturbation scene (inspired by a voice that should be illegal)

Power plays & control games (who’s really in charge here? TBD)

Cliffhanger ending (because I love pain)

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

"Welcome home, sweetheart."

That’s what I whispered to myself the moment I stepped into the apartment, dropping my suitcase onto the gleaming hardwood floor. The words felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else. Someone who had their life figured out. Someone who wasn’t running from the wreckage of a messy breakup and a mother who never thought she was good enough.

But this was it. My fresh start.

The apartment still smelled like my aunt—lavender and vanilla, soft and comforting—but the silence was heavy. I hadn’t been back here since I was a kid, when she used to let me sit on the balcony and sip cocoa like I was some high-society socialite. It was surreal to think that this place was mine now.

And it was beautiful. Sprawling windows, high ceilings, a ridiculous amount of space for one person. The kind of apartment people only dream about having in London. But right now? It didn’t feel like home. Not yet.

So I spent the next few weeks making it mine.

I painted over the muted beige walls with warm, inviting colors. Deep greens and soft creams that made the space feel less like a museum and more like a sanctuary. I filled the shelves with books I’d collected over the years, lined the windows with plants that I prayed wouldn’t die, and threw myself into decorating. Gold accents. A velvet couch. Candles in every corner. The kind of place that made you want to curl up with a glass of wine and pretend the outside world didn’t exist.

By the time I was done, it finally felt like I belonged here.

And then I saw him.

It was in the building’s lobby, late afternoon, when I ran down to grab a package the doorman had been holding for me. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone, especially not him—tall, broad shoulders, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead, wearing black running shorts and a loose t-shirt that clung to his chest.

Harry. Fucking. Styles.

I nearly tripped over my own feet.

He barely glanced at me as he strolled past, his fingers brushing over his damp jawline, lost in whatever was playing through his headphones. The air shifted the moment he walked by—like he carried his own gravity, something that pulled people in whether they wanted it or not.

I swallowed hard, gripping my package like it was a life raft. Play it cool.

I turned toward the elevator, trying to ignore the way my pulse hammered in my throat. But before I could press the button, I caught him looking. Just a flicker. A half-second. But it was enough.

And I had the stupidest thought.

What if he knew my name?

The thought lingered long after I stepped into the elevator, my pulse still unsteady from that fleeting glance. He didn’t, of course. Why would he? He was Harry Styles. A global superstar. A man who had sold out stadiums and had the world at his feet. And I was just the new tenant, the girl fumbling her way through a fresh start.

Still, something about the way he’d looked at me stuck. Like a brief moment of recognition. Or curiosity.

I told myself I was imagining things.

Days passed without another sighting, and I let myself settle into a rhythm. Mornings were spent at the café down the street, afternoons arranging my bookshelves, nights curled up on my velvet couch with a glass of wine and a too-long list of unanswered texts from my mother.

I should’ve known it was only a matter of time before we ran into each other again.

It happened on a Wednesday. I had just come back from the grocery store, struggling under the weight of way too many bags, my arms aching as I fumbled for my key card in front of the elevator.

And then���a voice from behind me.

"Here, let me get that."

I turned, nearly dropping everything in the process.

Him.

Harry stood there, casual and effortless, one hand reaching out to hold the elevator door open. His curls were slightly tousled, damp like he’d just come from a shower, and he smelled faintly of something clean and expensive. His hoodie hung loose over his frame, sweatpants slung low on his hips.

My brain short-circuited for a second.

"I—uh—thanks," I stammered, stepping inside before my face could betray how flustered I felt.

He followed, standing at the opposite side of the elevator, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket.

The doors slid shut.

For a moment, silence.

Then—his voice, smooth and easy, breaking through the thick air between us.

"New here?"

I nodded, shifting the weight of my bags against my hip. "Just moved in."

His gaze lingered, traveling over me like he was committing me to memory. And then, that smirk. Just the faintest tilt of his lips before he looked away, dragging his fingers through his curls.

"That explains why I haven’t seen you before," he mused, almost to himself.

I swallowed. "Do you… know everyone in the building?"

"Not really," he admitted, glancing at me sideways. "But I would’ve remembered you."

My stomach flipped.

The air felt different now, charged with something I didn’t fully understand. He wasn’t flirting, not exactly, but there was a weight to his words. A casual observation laced with something else.

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but then the elevator jerked to a stop, and the doors slid open onto my floor.

A breath. A pause.

"See you around, then," he murmured, watching me as I stepped out.

I nodded, still breathless, and the doors closed before I could say another word.

I stood there in the hallway for a long moment, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I would’ve remembered you.

I should’ve known that was just the beginning.

Because after that, I started seeing him everywhere.

In the lobby, when he’d nod in passing, lips curled in a knowing smirk. In the elevator, where the air always felt a little too thick, a little too charged. Even at the café down the street, where he’d slip in unnoticed, baseball cap pulled low, fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee.

It was like once I’d noticed him, I couldn’t unnotice him.

And the worst part? I was starting to think he’d noticed me, too.

Maybe it was in the way his gaze lingered just a second too long. Or the way his smirk deepened whenever he caught me staring.

But nothing—nothing—could’ve prepared me for what happened next.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when it happened.

Rain drummed lightly against the windows, the city still half-asleep, wrapped in a quiet kind of stillness. I had nowhere to be, nothing to do—so I took my time in the shower, letting the hot water melt away the lingering heaviness of the past few weeks.

By the time I stepped out, steam curled thick in the air, my skin flushed from the heat. A towel was loosely wrapped around my body, barely hanging on as I padded across the hardwood floor toward my closet.

I didn’t think.

Didn’t even glance at the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that framed my bedroom.

Didn’t consider that my apartment was directly across from someone else’s.

I just stood there, half-draped in a towel, fingers carding through my damp hair, completely oblivious.

Until I felt it.

A presence.

That unmistakable prickle of being watched.

My heart stilled.

Slowly—so slowly—I turned toward the window.

And there he was.

Harry.

Standing on his balcony, coffee cup frozen mid-air, gaze locked onto me.

A dark flicker passed through his eyes, something unreadable, something that sent a sharp, unexpected thrill straight through me.

Neither of us moved.

Neither of us looked away.

I should’ve stepped back. Should’ve yanked the towel tighter, turned around, done something.

But I didn’t.

Instead, my grip on the fabric loosened slightly, breath caught in my throat as the realization sank in—he wasn’t looking away.

His jaw ticked.

Fingers tightened around the handle of his mug.

And then, his lips twitched, just the faintest flicker of amusement, a slow, knowing curve before he finally—finally—tore his gaze away.

I exhaled shakily, pulse hammering, my skin suddenly burning for an entirely different reason.

I didn’t know what the hell had just happened.

But one thing was certain.

This… this was dangerous.

Because now, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The way his gaze had burned through the distance between our apartments. The slow, deliberate way his lips had curled—not in shock, not in embarrassment—but in something far more dangerous.

Amusement.

As if he’d caught me in a game I hadn’t even realized I was playing.

And the worst part?

I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to stop.

In the days that followed, I kept catching him looking.

It started small—fleeting glances in the hallway when we passed each other. A slow drag of his eyes up my legs, a flicker of a smirk when he caught me watching him in return.

Then there were the elevator rides, where the air felt charged, thick with something unspoken. The way his fingers flexed when they brushed against the metal railing, the way he shifted just slightly closer when the doors slid shut.

One night, I was up late, sipping on a glass of wine on the rooftop terrace, letting the London skyline blur into a haze of city lights and half-formed thoughts.

And then—I felt it.

That unmistakable pull.

When I turned, I found him leaning against the railing, a cigarette perched between his fingers, watching me.

Not just in passing.

Not just out of curiosity.

But waiting.

The realization sent a shiver straight through me.

He wanted me to notice.

Wanted me to know that he was watching—that he was paying attention.

And I couldn’t tell if that made me want to run… or take a step closer.

It all came to a head in the elevator.

I’d just come back from a late-night grocery run, arms full, juggling my keys, my phone, and a bag that was already threatening to slip.

The doors slid open, and there he was.

Harry.

Dressed in a loose sweater and sweats, hair damp, like he’d just come from the shower.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then, with a lazy smirk, he reached out and held the door open, stepping back to let me in.

I muttered a breathless, "Thanks."

The doors slid shut.

And suddenly, we were alone.

The space felt smaller. The air thicker.

I shifted my bags in my arms, but one of them tilted—a carton of blueberries slipping free, scattering onto the floor.

“Shit,” I breathed, bending down quickly to grab them.

Big mistake.

Because the moment I crouched, I became acutely aware of how little space there was between us.

How close he was standing.

How his scent curled around me—something fresh, something expensive, something uniquely him.

My pulse hammered.

I reached for a berry just as he did, our fingers brushing.

Lingering.

And then, in the heavy silence, I heard it.

A low chuckle.

When I looked up, his gaze was already on me, dark, knowing, entirely too amused.

I swallowed hard.

“Need some help?”

His voice was low, dangerously smooth, like he already knew the answer.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Because this…

This wasn’t just a glance anymore.

This was a game.

And I had the sinking feeling I was already losing.

Because now, I wasn’t just thinking about him in passing.

Now, he was under my skin.

Now, every glance, every smirk, every moment of lingering silence between us was a loaded gun—cocked, ready, just waiting for someone to pull the trigger.

And maybe I was tired of pretending I didn’t want to.

Maybe I was done pretending at all.

!!!!

Because ever since that night in the elevator, something had shifted.

The way he looked at me lingered a fraction too long. The smirk he gave me every time we passed in the hallway felt a little too knowing.

Like he was waiting for me to slip.

And maybe I already had.

Because now, late at night, wrapped in the comfort of my own sheets, I was thinking about him.

Dangerous. Reckless. I didn’t care.

I poured myself a glass of wine, the rich red swirling in the dim glow of my bedside lamp. The city outside my window was alive, but in here—my apartment, my sanctuary—everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

I reached for my phone, flicking through my playlist until I found it.

His voice.

It was intentional.

I pressed play.

The song was slow, velvet-smooth, the kind that curled around my body and sank into my bloodstream.

The first note slipped through the speaker, and instantly, a shiver ran through me.

I exhaled, letting the tension ease from my body as I slid lower beneath the covers, my fingers trailing absently down my stomach.

Soft.

Light.

Teasing.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

But God, I wanted to.

His voice was everywhere, thick with longing, smooth like honey and sin, and I let it pull me under.

My thighs clenched as my hand wandered lower, fingers grazing sensitive skin, sending a ripple of pleasure up my spine.

Fuck.

I wasn’t quiet.

I didn’t want to be.

Because some part of me—some reckless, shameless part—wanted him to hear.

The thought sent a fresh wave of heat straight through me.

I pressed deeper, my breath catching as I found just the right rhythm, matching the lazy, sultry beat of his voice.

The apartment felt hot, suffocating, like he was here. Watching. Waiting.

My body arched, chasing that edge, my own whimpers slipping past my lips, louder now, unrestrained.

I imagined his hands instead of mine. His mouth.

And that was all it took.

Pleasure crashed over me, my back bowing, my breath catching on his name.

I didn’t hold back.

Didn’t muffle the sound.

Let him know exactly what I had done.

Exactly who I had done it for.

The air in my room felt thick as I lay there, heart pounding, skin flushed.

Fuck.

What the hell had I just done?

The next morning, I stepped out of my apartment, still half-dazed, still buzzing from the night before.

And then I froze.

Because he was there.

Leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, waiting.

Harry.

His curls were a little messy, his sweatpants hung low on his hips, and that smirk—that goddamn smirk—was already in place.

He dragged his gaze over me, slow and deliberate.

My breath caught.

He knows.

I knew it the moment he tilted his head, the moment his smirk deepened into something dangerous.

And then—

"Sleep well?"

His voice was low, teasing, laced with pure, unfiltered amusement.

I was absolutely, completely fucked.

That morning had changed everything.

He knew.

He knew.

And he made damn sure I knew that he knew.

The looks lingered longer. The smirks deepened. The air between us crackled with something unspoken but dangerous.

Every time we passed in the hallway, I felt his gaze skim over me, dragging heat in its wake.

Every time I stepped onto the rooftop terrace, he was there—watching, waiting, nursing a drink with that look in his eyes.

And then, one week later, fate decided to be cruel.

Because the elevator broke down.

With both of us inside.

It started out normal.

I had just gotten back from dinner—one of those “welcome to London” outings that my coworker insisted on. One glass of wine turned into three, and suddenly, my dress felt too tight and my skin felt too hot.

I just wanted to get home.

I stepped into the elevator, mind already wandering, and didn’t notice him until the doors slid shut.

Harry.

In a suit.

I swallowed hard.

I had seen him in a hundred different ways now. Sweaty from a jog. Shirtless on his balcony. In casual hoodies and ripped jeans.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

The black jacket was tailored to perfection, framing his broad shoulders. The white shirt underneath was undone just enough to hint at golden skin and a delicate silver cross resting against his chest.

He smelled like spice and cedarwood, a scent that curled around me in the small space, making my head spin.

I felt his eyes on me before I even looked up.

Dragging down my bare legs, lingering on the snug fit of my dress, pausing at the way the fabric clung to my curves.

I pressed the button for my floor.

The elevator jolted. Then stopped.

A small, dangerous silence settled.

I exhaled slowly, pressing the button again. Nothing.

My heart kicked up.

His voice, low and amused, broke the silence.

“Locked in, are we?”

I turned my head to look at him.

He was already looking at me.

I licked my lips. Bad move.

Because his gaze dipped to my mouth, and my stomach tightened.

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to focus.

“Looks like it.”

I shifted slightly, the air suddenly too thick, too warm.

He leaned against the mirrored wall, arms crossing over his chest, watching me with that smirk.

Like he was enjoying this.

Like he had been waiting for this.

“You like playing games, don’t you?”

The words were soft, but they slid over my skin like a touch.

I blinked up at him, heart hammering.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

A slow, deliberate step forward.

My back met the cool surface of the elevator wall.

His scent filled my lungs, woodsy and warm, and I bit the inside of my cheek as his fingers grazed the metal railing beside my hip.

Not touching me.

But close enough that my breath hitched.

I should say something.

I should do something.

But the moment stretched, hot and charged, and I realized—

This isn’t a game anymore.

It should have been. It should have been a passing attraction, a fleeting thrill—just the consequence of living next door to someone too charming for his own good.

But the way he looked at me in that elevator? The way he let the silence stretch, let the tension coil so tight it stole my breath?

That wasn’t a game.

That was something else.

And when the elevator finally lurched back to life, when the doors slid open and I all but ran out, Harry stayed behind—his gaze heavy on my back, the weight of unspoken words pressing into my spine.

It happened a few nights later.

The storm came out of nowhere.

One second, the evening sky was a deep, velvety blue, the next, rain came crashing down, drenching the city in a relentless downpour.

I had made the mistake of walking to the small café down the street, my coat hanging loosely over my shoulders, a book tucked under my arm.

By the time I sprinted back inside the lobby, I was soaked through.

My dress clung to me like a second skin, damp fabric trailing down my thighs. My hair dripped against my shoulders, cold water sliding between my shoulder blades.

I shivered.

And then I saw him.

Harry.

Leaning against the sleek marble counter, phone in hand, a smirk tugging at his lips.

His emerald gaze flickered over me—slow and deliberate. Taking me in.

I swallowed hard, ignoring the way my stomach tightened.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he murmured, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

My pulse jumped.

I scowled, wringing out my sleeves. “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t look away.

Just stood there, watching.

And I knew—this was dangerous.

Because Harry liked this.

Liked the way my breath hitched, the way my body responded to him before I could even think.

And the worst part?

So did I.

I didn’t think when I followed him.

Didn’t question it when he gestured toward the hallway, when my feet moved before my brain could catch up.

By the time I realized where we were, I was already inside his apartment.

And God, it was warm.

Dim lighting. Soft music. The scent of cedarwood and something undeniably him.

I hovered near the door, my breath uneven.

Why was I here?

He disappeared for a moment, returning with a white towel. Holding it out.

I hesitated.

Then reached for it.

Our fingers brushed.

And it was like a spark, like static curling up my spine.

I sucked in a breath, knuckles brushing his wrist as I clutched the towel between us.

His jaw tensed.

I knew then—I wasn’t the only one who felt it.

He felt it too.

The air between us thickened, pulling me closer like a current, like gravity.

He was looking at me.

Not just looking. Watching. Memorizing.

His lips parted slightly, breath steady but controlled. His hands flexed by his sides, like he was holding back.

I shivered again, but not from the cold.

My pulse pounded in my throat, something deep and primal settling in my stomach.

I didn’t stop him when he stepped closer.

Didn’t pull away when his fingers lifted, trailing up my bare arm.

I tilted my chin.

Our faces inched together, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes.

Close enough that his breath ghosted over my lips.

And just when I thought he was going to do it—just when my heart stopped completely—

He pulled away.

“Not yet.”

His voice was low, rough.

Like it cost him something to stop.

Like he wanted this just as badly as I did.

And then he stepped back.

Leaving me breathless, burning, and utterly wrecked.

That was the only way to describe it.

The heat of his touch lingered long after he pulled away. The ghost of his breath still kissed my skin, and I hated how much I wanted more.

Not yet.

The words curled around my thoughts, tightening like a vice.

He had been holding back.

Not because he didn’t want to kiss me.

Because he wanted to wait.

Because he thought he was in control.

As if this was on his terms.

As if I would sit around, biting my lip and twirling my hair, waiting for him to decide when.

I wouldn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because if I spent one more night lying awake in bed, skin too hot, pulse too erratic, mind filled with thoughts of him—

His touch. His voice. His mouth—

I was going to lose it.

So, I made a decision. A reckless one.

I said yes to the date.

Alex.

Blonde hair. Bright blue eyes. Charming, in a practiced kind of way.

He was polite. Sweet. Held doors open and paid for my dinner without hesitation.

He was everything I should want.

And yet, as he sat across from me at the candlelit restaurant, talking about his job in finance, I found myself drifting.

I stirred my wine glass, barely hearing his words, mind stuck on someone else entirely.

On emerald green eyes.

On dimly lit elevators and the smell of spice and cedarwood.

On a voice lower than a whisper, pressing against my skin.

You like playing games, don’t you?

A shiver rippled down my spine.

Not from Alex.

Never from him.

I forced a smile, nodding along as he spoke, but the restlessness inside me only grew stronger.

It ached.

And when the night finally ended, when he walked me back toward my building with a lingering glance, I knew what was coming next.

A kiss.

I should have let him.

I should have leaned in, let my lips brush against his, let myself pretend for just a little while longer.

But something in my stomach twisted.

Something inside me revolted.

Because no matter how hard I tried—

It wasn’t Harry.

And it never would be.

So, I pulled back.

Mumbled an excuse.

Stepped inside my building—

And froze.

Because he was there.

Harry.

Waiting.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the golden glow of overhead sconces, but I could still see every detail.

His shirt slightly rumpled.

His tie loosened around his throat, like he had been waiting a while.

A slow prickle ran down my spine.

I swallowed hard, pulse hammering as he watched me.

Not speaking. Not moving.

Just watching.

His gaze flickered past me, out toward the glass doors—toward Alex.

Something in his expression shifted.

Something cold.

Sharp.

Possessive.

“Fun night?”

His voice was casual.

Too casual.

But there was an edge to it. A razor-sharp tension that cut straight through me.

I lifted my chin, pushing past the sudden tightness in my throat.

I smirked. “Very.”

His eyes darkened.

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

I could feel the tension in the air, stretching tight between us.

Like a wire about to snap.

I took a step closer, tilting my head, poking at the bear.

“Why do you care?”

That was a mistake.

Because before I could blink, before I could even breathe—

He moved.

A slow, deliberate step forward.

Then another.

Until my back hit the door.

Until he was so close that I could feel his breath against my cheek.

The heat of his body just inches from mine.

The scent of spice and cedarwood, wrapping around me, making it impossible to think.

My stomach tightened, a pulse thrumming at the base of my throat.

This was new.

Harry had always watched. Always teased.

But he had never touched.

Not like this.

Not with his fingers tracing my jaw, with his body caging me in, with his lips hovering so, so close.

His emerald gaze flickered over me, slow and dangerous.

He studied me like he was memorizing something.

Like he was committing every single detail to memory.

I could barely breathe.

His thumb brushed against my cheek.

Featherlight.

A touch so delicate it made my knees weak.

Made my mind spin.

Then, his lips parted, voice dropping into something low and lethal.

“Because, sweetheart,” he murmured, tone dripping with something dark.

Something possessive.

Something I wasn’t ready for.

His fingers tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him.

Forcing me to see the heat in his eyes.

The warning.

“I don’t like sharing.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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[zombii-hoe]

𝙺𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚃𝚎𝚕𝚕

The Kid at the Back is an 18+ game and this post will contain 18+ content MINORS DNI

cw: semi public sex, description of a (possible) murder, grinding, fingering, all that good shit, etc.

//unedited

a/n: this goes to all my hyugo lovers out there

The sound of muffled whimpers and groans echoed in the dark alley, stood two figures pressed together against the brick wall. The freezing night nipped at your skin, causing a shivering to roll down your already arched back into Hyugo's clothed chest, nipples pebbled and hard.

Sighing at the contact, your hand releases its clenched grip of the fabric and tugs on the blue haired man's loose ponytail. Hyugo pulls away from sucking on your neck to let out a low moan, grinding his hips faster against your core.

Which brings Hyugo to think; What excuse can he come up with to avoid suspicion from his dear friend, Sunny?

Hyugo curses to himself, thumb moving to your clit to rub semi-circles. You whine, grinding against his fingers.

It feels wrong to even call him that when Hyugo was out here, fingering his friend's crush, his obsession.

But...

Hyugo opens an eye to gauge at your expression; there you were in his arms, pressed up against the wall, leg hiked up his thigh, his fingers deep inside your weeping and soaked pussy. Your hair was a mess, lips bruised from the make out session you both had earlier; you looked absolutely beautiful.

How could he not fall for you?

Upon meeting you, he thought you were cute, really cute. Though he had these thoughts, Hyugo knew better. You were off limits, said by our dear Solivan himself.

He could still remember the warning Solivan gave to him after meeting you.

“Don’t fucking even try.”

And try he didn't. He could imagine the rage in Solivan's orange eyes if he finds out about you and him. But he's not too worried about that. If push comes to shove, then Hyugo won't hesitate to take Solivan out of the picture.

Hyugo has skills, he knows people who'll get rid of any evidence regarding Solivan's disappearance and murder.

He’ll do it all for you…

"Pumpkin? Are you here?!" A voice called out, with a hint of desperation.

Clicking his tongue, Hyugo speeds up his fingers causing you to gasp at the sudden change of speed. And in no time, you gave out a few more choked out moans before rolling your eyes to the back of your head as you came, thankfully Hyugo covered your mouth with his other hand.

"Pumpkin is that you?" Solivan shouts, eyes squinting at your figures, Hyugo had maybe a few more seconds before Sunny's eyes adjusted to the dark.

Pulling away from you, Hyugo immediately goes to fix your appearance. Once satisfied, he cups your cheeks and presses a loving kiss to your lips.

Flustered, you weakly kiss him back before he pulls away. He gives you a cheeky smile and a wink before sticking out his tongue out to lick your juices from his fingers.

Cheeks hot from the sight, you don't notice Solivan's figure heading towards the both of you.

"Don't tell Sunny, okay?" Hyugo whispered, licking his lips.

Without thinking, you nod, brain too mushed and flustered to even ask why.

"There you are Pumpkin!" Solivan cups your face, scanning for any possible injuries. "What happened? Did something happen to you?" His face darkens at the thought. "Who did it? I swear I'll catch the bastard-"

"Woah, chill Sunny!" Hyugo laughs, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "[Name] didn't feel well and decided to come out for some fresh air, but now that I'm looking at her more closely,"

The blue haired man hums, pointer finger and thumb on his chin as he scanned you head to toe. "I think she's sick, we should probably start heading out."

Frowning at the lack of time with you, Solivan nods. "Yeah, you're right." He holds out his hand for you to take. "Here, I'll walk you back home."

Taking it, you and Solivan both walked ahead of Hyugo, who stared at the back of your heads.

He didn't miss the way Solivan stared at him when he walked past. Hyugo sighs before catching up with you both.

It'll only be a matter of time before Solivan figures out what's happening and Hyugo will be forced to say goodbye.

My tip jar! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

idk why but I was lowkey embarrassed writing this and had doubts because I haven't seen many smuts of Hyugo OH WELL WE PUSHED THROUGH IT!!

[adverbally]

More Than Words

Written for the @stmarchmm prompt “love confession” | wc: 660 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: Steddie, Steve POV character study, omega Steve, alpha Eddie, early relationship, falling in love, domesticity

———

Steve falls fast, as he always has. It’s different with Eddie, though– less like plunging off a cliff and more like sinking into a warm bath that he never wants to leave. More importantly, he thinks Eddie is right there with him.

There have been signs, subtle but there. Eddie can’t seem to keep his eyes off Steve, whether they’re driving home from the movies or wrangling the Party on D&D nights or making out on Steve’s couch. Then there are the constant touches– Eddie’s hand at the small of his back, linking their fingers, playing with Steve’s hair, tipping his chin up for a kiss.

Eddie listens, opens doors for him, calls him on the days they don’t see each other, gets him a fresh scent token for his nest every few days, tells the kids to knock it off when their teasing gets a little too harsh. He doesn’t complain when Steve has to cancel plans, whether it’s for a migraine or an unexpected double shift. He surprises Steve with flowers when he’s having a rough week. Eddie doesn’t expect more from him or say he’s too much. He seems to like Steve just as he is.

Which is great. Really. For most people, it would be a total non-problem. But Steve…

It’s never been like this before, is the thing. Dating has always been a performance for him, a way to show what a good Omega he could be. He could be pretty and sweet, and he could laugh at an Alpha’s jokes and compliment them and let them buy his dinner in exchange for a kiss goodnight. With Eddie, though, it doesn’t feel like a mask or a role to play; it’s real and vulnerable, it’s walking a tightrope without a safety net, and the scariest thing about it is that it doesn’t scare Steve at all. Not if Eddie’s there.

Steve doesn’t tell anyone, especially not Eddie, but he thinks about it for weeks. The words linger on the tip of his tongue any time he does anything with Eddie– wrestling for the bowl of popcorn on movie night or picking up the kids from their latest campaign session or saying goodnight at the end of their phone calls. A few times, Steve musters up the courage to test it out after he hangs the receiver back on the wall, whispering I love you into the silence of his empty house. It comes naturally, easily, and that’s how Steve knows it’s time to say it for real.

He had toyed with the idea of making some grand romantic gesture but in the end, it’s just the two of them, snuggled together under three layers of blankets in Eddie’s bed, laughing about something Dustin said earlier that day. The sheets and Steve’s borrowed pajamas smell like Eddie, sweet herbs and sharp citrus, and Eddie’s arms are secure around his waist as he curls around Steve from behind. Steve can’t stifle the purr of contentment that rumbles through him but he wouldn’t want to, not when he can let Eddie know just how happy he makes him.

“Comfy?” Eddie asks before stifling a yawn in the warm skin at the nape of Steve’s neck.

Steve hums in reply and nuzzles his cheek into Eddie’s pillow. He’s half-asleep already, his blinks growing longer and longer as he fights to keep his eyes open.

When Eddie snorts in amusement, Steve feels it more than hears it. “Okay, sleepyhead. Goodnight.”

The words stick in Steve’s throat for just a second before he sighs, “I love you.”

Eddie tucks his chin over Steve's shoulder and noses at his scent gland, inhaling deeply. “I love you, too, Stevie. But we can talk about it tomorrow.” He kisses the spot once, twice, three times, like he’s already thinking about how his bite would look there among Steve’s freckles. “Sweet dreams, baby.”

Steve falls asleep with the ghost of a smile still on his lips.

[keyaho]

summary: kyra returns to her hometown after ten years away. she ends up braiding the hair of the one man that had and still has her heart.

authors note: he was supposed to be breaking her in half like a glow stick. idk what happened. he's all soft and shit. sometimes I write and the characters will lead the way. terry was not with me bending kyra over so he could fuck......

wordcount: 2600

warnings: none

Kyra was home this time for good. Fontaine Street was lit up as her father hosted a block party in her honor. She had just finished her nursing program and was currently a registered nurse at the main hospital. It gave her a forty-five minute commute twice a day, but the pay was worth it. Plus, her father had given her his house as a gift, having moved to another closer to his ailing mother three months ago. Markus Fields was known around the block back in the day, having run the entire Fontaine block with his crew. Remnants of that still lingered with up and coming young men wanting to emulate him. 

She slipped in and out of the crowd, hugging older men and women who had watched her grow up over the years. Some neighborhood friends commended her on making it out the hood. She brushed them off, telling them she just wanted to be a nurse. Boasting around here led to rumors and the last thing she wanted was her hometown to think she had outgrown them in a way she thought she was better than them. 

Kyra moved towards her front porch, a few people lingered there, but she slipped into the house unnoticed just to get a break from socializing. The party was going to drag on for a few more house and if it wasn’t the weekend, she’d be sneaking to a hotel to get sleep. 

“Are you running from him,’ Markus sat at the kitchen table, eating a plate of ribs and baked beans. 

“Dad,’ Kyra sighed. “I haven’t even seen him. I just came in to get a break.” 

“Well, he’s been asking about you. He came in a few months ago. Retired from the Marines, some shit went down in some place called Rebel Ridge with his cousin,’ he rambled an Kyra grew concerned. “He passed. Terry showed up here a mess.” Markus sighs. 

“Oh,’ she replies, unsure of what to say.

“He asked if you still braid hair.” 

Kyra looked to her father and slowly folded her arms over her chest. “Dad…’ 

“He’ll be by here tomorrow morning.” 

“I don’t have anything to do his hair with,’ she admitted, slapping her thighs after throwing her hands up. 

“You hair box is still in the bathroom. Combs and shit still down there.” 

“Dad,’

“Braid his hair and talk to him. He needs it.” Markus watched his daughter grab a drink from the fridge. As she left he thought, he needs you. A man in love was easy to spot and Terry long had been in love with his daughter. 

Back outside, she popped the tab on her Coke and walked towards the end of the street where the ice cream truck had parked. She needed something cold to ice out her nerves. Terry had been her first. Everything. They had fumbled one night in bed and though the sex was awkward and rushed, neither knew what they were doing, the intimacy with him could never be matched. Leaving for school had been the hardest decision of her life. She’s glad he found himself a way out too. 

Kyra saw him before he saw her. Standing next to the spades table, red solo cup held between his full lips as he pulled up his slightly large black sweats. MARINE was embellished on his shirt, the material old and faded. His hair had grown out and it framed his face in a way that Narcissus himself would fall in love. The afro was very different than the low cut cesar he had when they were kids. When she last saw him it was fresh and he came right to her house to show off. She remembered her father swatting him off the porch because she couldn’t come out once the street lights were on. From the porch she had waved, laughed and secretly pointed to her bedroom window. 

Now he was a grown man. She was a grown woman and the butterflies were still there. 

Stepping up to the truck she eyed the vintage flavors not found in commercial stores anymore. The buttercup shaped popsicle called her name and she reached into her back pocket when a hand reached over her shoulder, two ones and the two quarters held against his palm by his ring and pinky finger. 

“Aye Terry!” The seller greeted. “What you doing back here bruh? Heard you was out with them Marines and shit.” 

Maybe it was another Terry. She didn’t turn around and when the popsicle was passed to her. She ripped off the paper. 

“I got out,’ his rich baritone filled her ears. “Did my ten years.” 

That’s how long it had been since they last seen each other? 

“It’s good seein’ yall two.” He said, eyeing the way Terry stood behind Kyra. 

The whole block knew how they felt about each other. 

“Are you going to turn around?” He asked, still standing close to her. 

He moved them from the line and towards the sidewalk, people giving them way with knowing looks on their faces. She ignored them. They stood on the side of someone’s house, her back to the old wood. The ice cream tucked between her lips as she sucked on the smooth creamy treat. 

“Hey,’ she replied, unsure of what to say to him. 

“How you been, Ky?” 

“Good, um,’ 

He placed his hands beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him. There was no hesitation in his next move. His hands slid up her cheeks to the curls at the nape of her neck. His lips were soft and he kissed her slow, tasting the ice cream, her strawberry lip gloss, and her. She dropped the ice cream and grabbed his waist. He took the initiate and stepped forward and pushed her up against the house. 

“Two deployments and I would do another one if it mean coming back home to kiss you.” 

He held her face in his hands, thumbs brushing her warm cheeks. He always said the most loving and romantic shit. Her knees weakened just a little and he smiled as she looked away from him. 

“Are you still shy?” He asked. “Can’t be if you’re coming out the house in those shorts.” 

The denim shorts were high waisted with ripped holes along the thighs and one in a particular place on her ass, showing just a sliver of cheek. 

“You put them on for me,’ he says, his lips dangerously close to hers. This was not the Terry she had grown up with. This was grown Terry.

“Fuck,’ she says, pushing him back to get some space to breath. 

He caught her hands and brought them to his lips. He wore a big smile, all 32 teeth exposed as his green eyes looked her over. He stepped back up to her and hooked his finger into the belt hook of her shorts. 

“I’ll be over in the morning to see you.” 

“Your hair.” She says, remembering what her Dad had told her. “I’m braiding your hair. $250.” 

Terry laughed, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Nah, how about head for head?” 

“Terry!” Kyra hissed. That was the Terry she remembered, shit talking. Only this time, she knew he could back it up.

He placed his hand on her stomach and pushed her back against the house. 

“You’ve been the source of all my dreams, my nightmares, Kyra.” He sighed. “All I’ve thought about was you for ten years. Hoping that when I saw you again there wasn’t a ring on your finger.” 

It was getting too heavy. His confession of his feelings were too much. She might have shared them, wondered where had been and doing, but hearing them aloud sent her mind into a free fall. 

“Tell me I’m not too late, Ky Ky.” 

Before she could respond he kissed her forehead. The sky had darkened and the music was louder, people yelling and enjoying themselves in the background. 

“You’re never too late,’ she admitted. 

Terry’s shoulders slumped and the tension between them snapped. 

“Kyra?” 

The pair looked up and Terry took a step away from Kyra.

“Yeah,’ she says, addressing one of her friends from college that had stopped by. 

“Your dad is looking for you.” Her eyes drifted to Terry and she made the connection. Kyra had talked about Terry plenty of times over bottles of wine and ice cream while they were in college. “I’ll tell him your busy,’ 

Kyra shook her head. “No no, I’m coming.” 

Her friend nodded, a knowing smile on her face. “Okay.” 

When they were alone again, Terry pulled her in for another kiss. He held her head back and she rose on her toes to meet his retreating lips. 

“We can finish this tomorrow.”

Up at seven thirty, Kyra grabbed her hair supplies from the bathroom. She sifted through the box for her rattail comb and rubber bands. True to form, she had some blue magic grease and pink lotion. She kept up with braiding and didn’t need all that edge control and gel. Just the basics. Her side hustle on campus kept her afloat. She walked into the kitchen where a pot of coffee was brewing. She had ingredients for breakfast, but knew she didn’t have time to cook and eat before he came over. Terry was punctual and she had a hunch he was going to be early. 

She wore a pink robe over her pajama bottoms and shirt. The old sleepwear was loose and worn in from constant wear. She had bought it on a trip to Italy a few years ago and the soft material still held up. Her slippers were somewhere under her bed and her long polka dot socks came up to her thighs. If Terry wasn’t coming over to get his hair braided one would think she was about to go back to bed, which she probably would once he left. 

As Kyra set up the area she was going to use in her kitchen, facing the tv, she heard the doorbell ring and three hard knocks followed. Of course he was early. Taking her time, she flipped on the foyer light and unlatched the two locks. The deadbolt clicked back and she opened the door to see Terry in a black hoodie and another pair of sweat pants. His hair was picked out and she noticed his beard for the first time. He looked rough. 

“Goodmorning,’ she said through the screen door while reaching to unlock the tiny lock inside the handle. 

“Morning,’ he hummed, stepping inside as soon as he could. He brought her lips to his while dipping his tongue into her mouth. “Where you want me,’ he asked. 

“The be-uh, table, shit, there’s a chair at the table.” Kyra stepped around him so flustered she almost stubbed her toe on the table as she walked past. 

She could feel him behind her. The last time they were in this house they were saying goodbye to each other. Horizontality. Their fingers fumbled over each other as they clung to one another. 

Terry smiled and pulled off his hoodie, a fitted black tank top clung to his muscular frame. He plopped down in the chair, legs spread as if he was waiting for her to sit in his lap. She moved behind him after checking on her coffee.

“How many braids?” She asked, her fingers reaching into his hair. She was surprised his hair was freshly washed. 

Reaching behind her, she pour pink lotion into her hair and rubbed them together before sinking them into his head. She pulled the lotion through his hair, grabbing oil to apply to his ends. 

“Do what you want, baby,’ he replied. 

She hadn’t braided men’s hair in a long time so she decided to have a bit of fun. Making the first zig-zag part, she used the comb to hold his hair to the side. She applied a little ore oil to her fingers and placed her hands at the top of his hair line, gripping the hair firmly as she started to braid. 

“Is that too tight,’ she asked. 

“No, feels good.” 

Thirty minutes passed when her stomach started growling. Terry tiled his head back. 

“I can order something,’ he says. 

“You heard that?” 

“It’s been grumbling for the past ten minutes. I just didn’t want to say nothing.” 

She smacked a hand over his chest as he stands up, half his head braided. He reaches into his hoodie for his phone, pulling up a menu from a diner a few blocks over. 

“Why didn’t you say anything,’ she folds her arms over her chest at his smile. 

“You already popped me with the comb!” He laughs. “I wasn’t trying to get beat up.” 

When he sat back down, he let her work for a few more minutes as he worked up the courage to start the conversation they needed to have. 

“I was serious last night,’ he began. “There’s never been anyone else….long term for me.” Terry sighed, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck. “No one was you.” 

On braid six, with two to go, Kyra listened to him. He poured his heart out to her, telling her about Rebel Ridge, losing his cousin, the hate in that town and how it almost killed him. She noticed a scar on his back and when he mentioned getting shot she glanced down at it. Her fingers touched over the raised scar. Kyra smoothed her hands up his arms and rested them on his shoulders. 

“There’s a lot I want to tell you,’ she admitted. 

He was numerous entries in her journal. Her thoughts and feelings were all on paper and it was much easier to have him read it than say it aloud, but she’d get to that later. She could at least admit to one thing. 

“Terry,’ she says, wanting him to look at her. 

He tilted his head back and his hazel eyes stared into her brown ones. His full lips were slightly parted and she leaned down, kissing him upside down while she whispered her deepest feelings against his mouth. 

I love you. 

Terry jerked up, almost flying out of the seat. Kyra jumped back as he turned around and pushed her into the fridge. Hand on her belly, he propped the other on top of the fridge. 

“Say it again,’ he begged, lips wet after licking them twice. “Say that shit again.” 

“I love me some you.” She looks down for a moment. “When I went off to school I had hoped you would stop me and beg me to stay.” 

“I wouldn’t keep you from your dreams Kyra. I knew how much you wanted to be a nurse. I would have hated myself if I kept you here.” 

“I know. I would walk around campus hoping you were there, but we both needed to find out way out of Fontaine before we could find each other again, I guess.” 

“You don’t have to wonder where I am anymore.” 

Kyra glanced up at him. His eyes were hooded and low. The emotions swirling between them was overwhelming. He bent his knees so they were eye level. 

“As long as you’re at 345 E Fontaine Street I’m here with you. And if you leave, baby, I’m right behind you.”

Taglist: @nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @harmshake @heauxvibez @avoidthings

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[steddieas-shegoes]

naked under there

for @steddieholidaydrabbles pop up event 'graduation'

rated m | 940 words | cw: mention of illness (flu symptoms), mentions of sexual content | tags: established relationship, modern au, college graduation, sick fic, the laziest possible almost handjob you may ever see (that's why it's not even rated e)

🎓🎓🎓🎓🎓🎓🎓🎓🎓🎓🎓

Steve worked his ass off to get here, and now his ass was fucking cold.

This was definitely his own fault, but he hadn't considered the fact that the graduation ceremony was inside. With air conditioning. And fans blowing on the stage to help circulate more air.

Steve was naked under his graduation gown.

He was standing in an arena filled with nearly 1500 students and probably 5000 family members and friends, and he was naked.

Admittedly, not his brightest moment.

And what was worse, what was actually going to kill him, was Eddie called him an hour before the ceremony crying because he had a fever and migraine and body aches and Wayne wouldn't let him get out of bed. So he'd done all this for nothing.

He only had a few people ahead of him now, and his body was shivering. He looked out to find Robin, but she was lost in the sea of people already called to get their diploma sitting back in their seats. Steve was the biggest idiot here. They shouldn't even give him his diploma.

"Steven William Harrington."

He quickly made his way across the stage, smiling as he heard cheering in the upper level of the arena. All his kids had made it, though a couple of them didn't fly in until earlier that day and had to rush, so he didn't get to see them before he had to line up and get to his seat. Wayne promised to be there too, more of a parent figure for him in the last four years than his own parents had ever been. Even Nancy had made it, explaining that there was no way she was missing this when she'd helped so much with editing his papers.

As he walked off the stage, diploma in hand, he paused to smile for the camera that was taking pictures. He didn't think he needed them, but Wayne insisted on buying one to celebrate his achievement. He wanted to frame it and place it next to the picture he has of Eddie on his high school graduation day.

He forgot for a moment that the flash would make the pale yellow gown a bit more see-through. He forgot that the camera recording the entire session would probably capture this moment, too.

Instead of panicking, he walked back to his seat quickly, head down and hands holding his diploma in front of his entire crotch area. He was such an idiot, holy shit.

If he wanted to blame Eddie, he probably could, but really, this was all Steve.

Eddie had made a comment last week while he was fucking Steve against the wall that he couldn't wait to fuck him in his cap and gown. Steve couldn't stop thinking about being pulled into a closet after the ceremony, while everyone waited for them, Eddie lifting up the back of the gown and fucking into him.

Hence, being naked under the gown. Easy access was crucial when time was of the essence.

Except now, Eddie was dying of the flu in bed, and Steve was naked for no damn reason under this gown.

The shivering started again as soon as he sat in his seat. Why the hell was it so cold in here?

By the time they got to the last names beginning with Y, Steve felt miserable. He was freezing, but sweating down his back and neck, and the gown kept sticking to his thighs. His whole body felt sore and the pain behind his eyes was making its way to the back of his head and down his neck.

Would he get in trouble if he left early?

He had his diploma, and they were mostly done. He could go.

He left.

A few people around him told him to sit, but must not have felt the need to argue when they saw how miserable he looked.

His phone was buzzing in the pocket of the gown, but he couldn't bother to check it right now. He needed some fresh air and some water.

The fresh air helped slightly, but the sun hitting his eyes made him want to lay down and die. The headache increased exponentially as he tried to find a shady spot with no luck.

He could just walk back to the apartment. It was only three blocks.

Eddie was there.

His vision was slightly blurry as he made his way home, but he didn't need to see details to know how to get there. He walked this area every day for the last four years and now he was done.

He was done. Holy shit.

He barely made it in the door before he unzipped the gown and let it fall to the floor.

"Stevie?" Eddie's rough voice called from their bedroom.

He was so dizzy.

"Hey, Eds," Steve said as he climbed into bed, naked, sweaty, shivering, sick with the same illness Eddie was bedridden with.

"Sick?" Eddie whispered, eyes barely open as Steve turned on his side facing him in the bed.

"Think so."

"You're naked," Eddie said, eyes closing as he wrapped a hand around Steve's soft cock.

Steve let out a small moan, but didn't have the energy to do anything else. Neither did Eddie, it seemed, as he let out a small snore only a few seconds later.

Steve smiled to himself as he placed a hand on Eddie's chest and closed his eyes.

Eddie could fuck him in his cap and gown in a few days, like they planned, but this time, he wouldn't have to risk being caught in front of thousands of people.

[starrystevie]

i love the idea of eddie working jobs that no one expects him to. eddie as a baker, hasn't slept at all between finishing his concert and needing to get to work, so he's surviving off coffee alone because he has to start on the muffins. eddie as a barista, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail as he smiles with fake politeness at overworked jerks complaining about the price of soy milk. eddie as a grocery store bagger, taking the time to put all the similar foods into the same bags to make it easier for the shopper to unload at home and his rings turn ice cold from holding onto a carton of ice cream for too long.

eddie as a daycare greeter, throwing kids over his shoulder to march them into their classrooms with a warrior's roar as they squeal and pound at his back with grubby fists. eddie as a valet at a fine dining restaurant, opening doors with an outstretched hand to assist guests and then peeling away in a too nice car once the driver was out of earshot. eddie as a florist, wrapping smiley face bandaids around his fingers that were pricked by one too many thorns before setting out a curbside vase with free flowers for tourists to grab.

and you know what else i love? steve falling for him in every possible universe. he's first in line to get the blueberry muffins that he's grown to crave every wednesday morning, and it absolutely has nothing to do with the man at the register. he's at the end of the mid-morning rush to get his coffee and blushes when he sees the barista give him a real smile instead of the fake ones he throws around. he stays long after his bags are tucked neatly in his shopping cart so he can invite the guy who went the extra mile to pack his things nicely to his house for dinner because they both know he bought enough for two.

he's the single dad who's a little rundown but sees a future in mr. eddie as he holds his crying kid to his chest and sings something to get her smiling again. he's the guy standing off to the side in the parking lot laughing because the hot valet doesn't know how to drive stick and he has to yell instructions to him for how to put it in gear so he won't get fired. he's the new to town fireman that's looking for a fresh start who takes a flower from the free vase every day only to bring it inside and give it to the guy who's prettier than all the other flowers combined.

the idea that they can find each other time and time and again and the love story feels right. the idea that they can be two strangers or best friends or enemies or teammates and let whatever blossom between them until they're madly in love. the idea that eddie is eddie and steve is steve and that they are a match no matter the circumstances.

[macsimagines]

Hello again dearest! I hope you’ve been doing well and that life has been treating you kindly ♡

With my second and third Uni midterms looming over me, I would like to request Yan! Izana, Ran, & Shin with a foreign darling~ One who is an international university student in Japan on a student visa

And if it’s not too long, I’d like a follow up of their darling taking them to visit their home country for the holidays since the Yan’s can’t bear to be apart from their darling especially when they would be overseas alone without them ♡♡

I've actually had foreign japanese students at my old school and uni though we weren't' close wish i couldve interacted more and maybe learned something from them hah

TW: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, MINORS DNI, BABY TRAPPING, SCUM BAG BEHAVIOR

Yandere! Izana Kurokawa

He was attracted to you right away, not even romantically or physically, just having been of mixed decent and then seeing someone who might relate to his own experiences interested him.

Became very romantically interested after a few interactions however, you had such a fresh perspective as a foreigner and some of the things he's had to live through seemed to resonate with you.

"Your step-mom was straightup evil. No kid should have to go through that, and I hope your kingdom is as beautiful as you make it out to be."

Hooked for life right away. And also distraught at the thought of you leaving, would constantly try to convince you to get a citizenship and just live here forever with him.

"Why even go back if I'm here?" Is one thousand percent serious, you've become such a huge part of his entire being so it must be the same for you right?

When you convince him to come with you on holiday home to meet your family though, something changes. You don't have to stay in Japan, you just have to stay with him.

As long as you're together than everything will work out. It wasn't like you could so much as leave his place without him being glued to your hip, good luck getting out of the country without him tagging along.

Yandere! Ran Haitani

He is sooo enamored by you. Fetishizing people because of their race is so goddamn gross but the fact that you're foreign definitely is what attracts him to you to begin with.

Ran is so toxic with it to. Calls you exotic like its some kind of compliment, tells you you're accent is soooo cute when you're doing your best to sound natural, makes fun of you for every mispronunciation.

But you don't know anyone in Japan and he's 6'1 so you put up with it. He's just so tall and pretty and he knows all the best spots in roppongi so of course you choose to suck it up.

Afterall, its not like it's forever. He's just your heavy and hot fling that you can go home and brag to your friends about, right? Wrong. He's sprung bitch and you're stuck with him.

"Hey, when are we going to your neck of the woods for this holiday?" "...We?" "Ya, I gotta pack and get my ticket soon, right?"

Hope you're ready to disappoint your folks now that you're bringing home this freak show. Don't forget his dream is to become a foreign celebrity so he wants to experience it all when he visits with you.

"Man, this trip is so much fun. I can't wait for next year."

Yandere!Shinichiro Sano

Worships you. He can't spit game for shit, but thankfully you don't understand him too well to begin with. It's a match made in heaven!

He doesn't make fun of you when you get your words wrong or fumble a sentence, but he does think its so cute. Shinichiro doesn't try to infantilize you but it does come off like that.

God the fact that you want him and you stick with him even though he's such a dork makes him love you so much, he doesn't even think he deserves you.

Hates it when you go home the first time. He can't even talk to you on the phone because of service issues, and trust me this dude was ready to take out loans for collect call just to hear your voice.

Bombards you with all kinds of questions like "Who did you see? Who were you with? Are you going back!?"

So my big headcanon is that he's a baby trapper. So when you talk about going next season he's already trying to figure out how knock you up.

Ends up fucking you with busted condoms (he poked holes) a few weeks before your trip because he needed to give you a VERY good reason to come back.

Just tells you "It's cause I'm going to miss you so much baby, I gotta get as much of you as I can. :)"

You end up surprising him with a ticket for him to come with you. He honestly could cry tears of joy, but he'll save it for when you discover his own little surprise.

[fumifooms]

Jinx’s eyes and lost innocence

This sequence.

A bomb like she made in her youth. Except that unlike then, this one works, this one explodes… With paint and glitter and powder, instead of intending to kill or hurt.

The man who shielded himself from it sure that it would be his end, surprised, checking himself for wounds with disbelief, covered in paint, as if it was just some harmless prank. Relief. But the second surprise comes with the sound of the gun behind him. We see their eyes shift, both of them, her steeling and readying her shot without urgency and him understanding with urgency that yes, he is going to die, at her hand, and the bomb was just a fluke, a cruel prank, a distraction at best.

And this. These are the seconds that interest me, what ties it all together. The way we linger. The way she lingers. To, during a fight scene, slow down the pace to watch her face as she pulls the trigger and feels the recoil of her gun, watch her take in how she just took another life, watch her mouth part and her eyelids flutter when she notices the kid.

There are not enough emotions on her face for someone who just killed, but also there are more than there should be for a cold-blooded killer showing as much practice ease as she is. Does she always have this moment when killing someone? Did seeing her paint bomb go off, shooting someone covered in her paint and glitter of it, make her feel anything? Did she see the change in her that empowered her that she both loathes and clings onto in that split moment, too? Why did she even remake that first bomb? Why make it work and make it work to shoot off harmless fun showy things? Why indulge in this remnant of her past, why with that innocent intent intact stills if it didn’t get warped with the use of distracting an enemy to better sneak attack? Why taint that memory? Is the reaction only when she sees the kid?

Why does the camera linger, why does she linger? We’re not sure, and I’m sure she herself doesn’t know, but what we know is that she’s changed, and yeah, we’re low.

The kid, watching the fresh corpse fall, with curiosity more than anything.

Jinx with the gun gesture, reflecting their earlier conversation, referencing it. A shared secret, shared smirks, a relationship forming. Complicity. Jinx is knowingly or not taking her under her wing, shaping her by example like mentorship. A little girl that she resembled once getting desensitized to violence at her hand, encouraged to see killing positively. Empowering.

Episode 2 explores her past and upbringing in many ways, talking about Silco, her many mistakes, seeking out Sevika the last remnant of a person of her life with him and sticking with her, doing something for her despite knowing she should be betraying her any minute now. But fast forward to episode 3, the next time she has to confront it and herself.

Jinx praises Vi for finally using the right name for her, Jinx, and Vi talks about how she’ll kill her so she stops sullying the memory of Powder, blahblahblah. They exchange some punches and rows of bullets, we see Jinx’s eyes take in and calculate and shift here too, react and then react. Vi using the same mirror Caitlyn shot into intending to kill Jinx to shield herself from Jinx’s shot.

But this is it. When Vi uses her huge metal hextech fists to rip her invention, her gun, apart. Jinx is not the only one sullying memories, Vi is here, as an enforcer for Piltover, using Vander’s choice of weapon, and she uses it to hurt her, destroy her things, her inventions whose worth was such a source of insecurity and identity growing up.

This is when Jinx sees so very closely, at the other end of it, her sister’s rage and murderous intent as she rips metal apart.

We see her expression shift again and again during these few shots and the ones before and after. Her face as she watches Vi’s through the wires of her gun. As Vi roars. She grows less confident, less sure, more nervous, dare I say more fearful.

The music kicking up. Jinx’s face right then cutting to Jayce’s with a very similar expression, staring at something he doesn’t understand. "What have we done" he says.

Vi has always always been stronger than Jinx, inventions were how she made herself strong, and Vi can destroy them, Vi can rip metal apart.

And oh. Oh. This is truly really for real now. A fight to the death. No punches pulled.

She crawls away from Vi and it’s only the hextech malfunction that saves her.

Sevika smiles at Caitlyn biting her hand, with newfound respect as she draws blood. At her will, her bloodthirst, how far she’ll lower herself to hurt and fight. This is a scene about corruption arcs.

Jinx stands before Vi whose symbol of corruption just failed her, chained her to the ground vulnerable, and Jinx pulls the trigger just like Caitlyn, just like Vi was ready to do. No punches pulled.

Except they are. Jinx has steeled herself but Vi is softening. Vi is strong but she is vulnerable too and she can be made weak with Jinx’s guns and bombs.

And despite this when Jinx falls from her own weapon misfiring at a shot meant to kill her Vi is reaching out to catch, not hurt. Hold, not claw. Deflect, not counter.

Push, not punch.

Jinx’s eye shines pink like shimmer and this is when Vi shifts on the offensive, just before Jinx fires the shot that barelly misses her as she throws Jinx roughly at a wall.

And now they’ve fully switched places. The longer Vi has to fight Jinx the more she’s conflicted, the more Jinx loses herself to the fight the more she rages.

The chorus swells. "Just when you’ve done it all / you will turn it all / to ashes and blood" No words left to say, nothing left to mend.

She’s ready to die when she lunges at Vi with only her fists, she expects to die, hopes so. Knows from experience their respective results in that punching arcade game full well, even if she were to try with all her might, having tried all her might. She’s felt cursed by fate for a long time and she accepts it, just wants to go out with the most fireworks, to have been seen, to have mattered one way or another.

Vi punches the altar next to Jinx even as she’s got her pinned down defenseless and she readies her fist. And she has all the time to do it, she could have done it, except she couldn’t. And it costs them the chance to killl her.

The scene as a whole has a split focus on Jayce, Jinx and Vi centrally, and the song lyrics match that quite well. The full ones lyrics are worth looking at but to keep it quick: "How does it feel to reach the line that no one ever got to cross? Does it make you a god now?" A rethoric question of course, the song spells it out like it’s a damning wake-up call. The scene is all about regret. Our choices have led us here, it says. Jayce is dreading and afraid of what he’s done, Jinx is empty and as self-loathing as ever, Vi wants to stop blaming herself and is still conflicted on what side she should be on. "Catch the fire burning out your soul / Just make it die or you will turn it all / To ashes and blood" Jinx, accepting this is where she dies. She’s said in episode two she wants to kill the last of her family, but we all know it’s a lie, she’s never wanted to destroy and break things, never wanted to cause ashes and blood. She wants to fix things. She wants things to fix. She just wanted glitter bombs and arcade games. She wants there to be something left she can fix, but it’s all just dust now.

Jinx has never been in that place before, she took the time to draw all those Powders and Vis on pillars while waiting for her to show up so they can kill each other. She’s lingering on the past again, bringing it into the now to use it as a stage for battle.

Jayce is reckoning with the consequences of what he’s created and done, that he might cause a lot of ashes and blood. Vi being corrupted too, by Piltover, by rage, by Jinx, by Powder. Vi is being turned to ashes and blood, this is what jinx has made of her, what she’s made of herself. Vi is being corrupted too, by Piltover, by rage, by Jinx, by Powder. Vi has changed, too. Their whole society, their whole lives, their world figuratively and literally, it’s all crumbling.

"Every sin will be forgiven / If you lay down your weapons to the ground" But that’s not really how this works, is it. Jayce or Jinx can’t fix what they’ve done. Vi can’t say this, can’t fix her. No, they’ve dug their graves and the ground is where they’ll all be. Powder is dead.

Just when you think you’ve lost everything. Everything can get ruined and marred a little more, always. The past is not only in the past, it’s here and it’s haunting. Jinx will keep sullying the memory of Powder for Vi and Vi will keep tainting Jinx’s memories of her sister and their childhood.

[bluemoviegirl]

UNDER THE SAME SUN CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 1 HERE

joel miller x reader

tw: death (ah oh)

wc: 5k

a/n: im really excited to turn this into a full story!! ive got so many ideas lined up. again, please do comment wether you liked it, what you liked etc. it makes my day!! also cant believe i got like 80 likes on chapter 1! i still have no idea how tumblr works lol

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Chapter 2.

It’s Thursday, two days since you went on that repair job with Joel Miller. You had thought about it a handful of times, thought about the sassier replies you could’ve given to his sassy answers, rolling your eyes every time you came up with something better.

You’re sitting on your bed with your sketchbook on your lap but your pencil is just hovering over it. Your mind is everywhere but the paper. Focus, just focus and draw something you like! Easy. Easy….. Nope. Nothing.

Instead, a different idea pops into your head. As you walk into your living room, you notice how bleak it really is. Even with the sun shining in on it, it’s just not you. At least not the you that you used to be. Maybe some paint will do it some good?  Your fingers start tracing along the walls. They’re so empty. Simple plain white walls, not even a single frame hanging on them.

As if the inspiration has taken over, you start sketching on the walls. They’re simple abstract lines and shapes, simple flowers making their way through it.

After a while, you step back and look. You seem satisfied as there’s a smile on your face you can’t seem to wipe off.

You need some fresh air, you’ve been cooped up in your apartment  and it’s now around 4pm.

After the sketching, the motivation to get it done tonight is too big to ignore. So you’re headed to the Workshop where they’d probably have some unused colors laying around. You put on your boots and coat and shut the door behind you.

The feel of the outside world is different from the stillness of your apartment. A sharp chill clings to your skin, slipping through the gaps in your coat. The cold air tugs at you, waking your senses, making you all too aware of the space around you.

By the time you leave the workshop, you’re lugging three paint cans—deep blue, light blue, and a pale yellow—and your arms are already burning. You jammed a couple of brushes into your coat pockets, their handles sticking out awkwardly. The buckets knock against your legs as you walk, heavier than you anticipated. Every few minutes, you have to stop and switch arms.

What the hell were you thinking?

“Y’need any help with that?” You hear a voice behind you. It takes you a moment to register that they’re talking to you. When you turn and see who it is, relief washes over you.

“Tommy,” you exhale, dropping the buckets onto the snow-covered ground. “Yes, please.”

He huffs a laugh and steps forward, easily scooping up two of the buckets. “Damn, you weren’t kidding. These things are heavy as hell.”

“Thank you, I was seriously about to just leave ‘m there.”  You chuckle as you pick up the last bucket. “To my place, please.” You say nudging your head. You were about a street away from your apartment.

“It’s no problem, couldn’t let you bust your ass like that.” The two of you start walking, the sound of crunching snow filling the silence. He gives you a sideways glance. “Not that it’s my business, but… what exactly are you doin’ with all this paint?”

“I’m going to paint my walls.” You say, kicking a ball of snow in front of you. “Like, a mural kind of. Not just paint the whole walls.” You sounded a bit unsure, you didn’t ask anyone for permission but you figured you didn’t have to right? Now talking to Tommy has you a bit nervous.

“Oh that’s cool! A mural.. I didn’t know ya were a painter.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I mean, I wouldn’t call myself a painter. But I like drawing. Figured I’d try.” You smirk. “Worst case, I’ll just paint over it.”

Tommy chuckles. “Well, if it turns out bad, just tell people it’s modern art. Folks’ll eat that up.”

You snort. “Noted.”

“So, is it big? Like, a whole wall kinda thing?”

“Yeah, pretty much the entire side of the living room wall.” You tuck your hair behind your ear. “I already sketched it out. Hoping to get it done today.” A pause. “Wanna see?”

“Yeah, I’m real curious.”

“It’s nothing crazy, a toddler could probably draw it.” You say, you’ve always been nervous about showing your art to others, even if it was just a sketch.

“I’m sure it’s good.” Tommy replies.

As you both enter the apartment, Tommy sets the paint buckets down inside and you remove the paint brushes from your pockets.

“Well look at that, that looks great already.” Tommy immediately says, his eyes actually lighting up a bit. You tug at your earlobe, at the little hoop earring you had in. “Really? You’re just saying that.”

He turns at you as you say that and his brows pulled a bit together with a smile at his lips. “I’m serious!” He turns back to the wall. “With the paint n’ all, I can see it lookin’ real nice.”

You smiled a bit wider, his remark giving you a bit of a confidence boost. “Thanks Tommy. Oh, would you like something to drink?” You quickly say, having forgotten he’s a guest in your apartment and also someone who just helped you carry those paint buckets.

Tommy looks at the time and back at you. “Oh no I’m okay, needda get going. Thank you though.” He makes his way to the door and turns around one more time before shutting it. “It’s gonna look great!”

You chuckle to yourself as you watch him close the door. He was being very cheerful, which influenced the way you were feeling too.

Time to bring this wall to life.

Okay, it’s been three hours. You’re covered in paint and the wall isn’t even halfway done.. You look at the wall, you’re just one woman trying to paint the entire wall and having set the deadline for yourself to today. Come on, set some realistic expectations, you literally haven’t painted since forever.

You deserve a drink. You can’t even be bothered with a change of clothes, the paint stained clothes will have to do.

As you enter the bar, the familiar mix of voices and clinking sounds of glasses immediately puts you at ease. Like it’s a little approval of you wanting to relax. You take your usual spot at the bar and Knox makes his way over to you from behind the bar.

“You’ve been painting?” He asks you as he leans his palm on the wood, glancing at your clothes.

You look down at your clothes, already forgotten you wore these clothes. “Don’t even mention it, I’ve been painting my ass off for hours and it’s not even close to finished.” You sigh and smile to Knox. Knox laughs, wiping down the bar. "Sounds like the canvas put up a hell of a fight. Want me to pour one out for your sanity?"

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” You say as you look around as to who else is here. You hadn’t realized it but Tommy and Joel were there too, sitting in a booth across from the room. They hadn’t seen you and you felt a bit silly for being covered in paint now.

Knox slides over the drink to you and you two catch up about your current ‘paint project’. “Sounds like to me you just need another set of hands.” He states.

“Ugh yeah maybe. But I don’t really know if I want to saddle anyone with this task. I want to finish it tomorrow so I just have it done. Otherwise my heads just going to keep spinning on and on about it.” You bring the glass up to your lips as you watch Knox just chuckle back at you.

“Knox, a beer and a whiskey will ya?” You hear a gruff voice a couple feet from you. It’s a recognizable voice and you look over to see Joel standing at the bar.

You’re subtly (not as subtle as you think) staring him up and down, you knew many women around here thought he was a catch. You could understand why, he doesn’t speak much, but when he does, his voice is low and rough, his jaw is strong, lined with just enough scruff to make you wonder how it’d feel against your ski-

“You’re starin’.” Joel says, without even glancing your way. Not expecting that, you choke a bit on the sip of beer you had just taken, quickly swallowing down another cough and your face immediately reddens. “I was not.” You reply quickly. You notice the smallest glance to you before his eyes turn back to Knox, who has two drinks in his hands.

You focus back on your drink, immediately starting to daydream again, you could always get so caught up in that. Your mind was thinking about the wall, and what the finished result would look like. You could picture yourself bundled up on the couch and staring at the art you’ve made.

“Here ya go, Joel.” Knox says, handing over the drinks as Joel nods and is about to walk back to Tommy.

“Actually Joel-“ Knox says as Joel stops walking and turns his head to Knox.

Joel had barely taken a sip of his whiskey when Knox leaned on the counter, smirking like he had something planned.

“You busy tomorrow?” Knox asked, way too casual.

Joel gave him a look. “Why?”

Knox shrugged, wiping down the bar like he wasn’t watching for a reaction. “Just got someone lookin’ for an extra set of hands. Figured you might be free.”

Joel exhaled, already tired of whatever Knox was up to. “What kinda work?”

“Painting.”

Joel huffed. “Pass.”

Knox grinned like he expected that. “Didn’t think you were the type to turn down a favor.”

“That depends on who’s askin’.”

Knox only smiled at that, tapping his fingers against the counter. “Well, let’s just say it ain’t anyone you gotta worry about.” He slid Joel’s drink back toward him. “And if you’re feelin’ charitable, all you gotta do is show up tomorrow.”

Joel eyed him suspiciously, but Knox had already moved on, pouring a drink for someone else like he hadn’t just set him up.

Suddenly two hands shake Joel’s shoulders. “What’s taking so long?” Tommy says.

“Knox asked me a favor.” Joel turns to Tommy, nudging his hands off of his shoulders.

“What favor?” “To help someone paint.” Joel huffed again, as if it was so crazy for Joel to paint.

“Paint? Who needs help paintin-“ Tommy’s eyes shoot to you, you were completely oblivious as you had zoned out but Tommy obviously remembered helping you carry paint, and the fact you were currently covered in paint. He grins and you could almost see a lightbulb lighting up above his head.  “You should help Knox out. Come on!” Tommy says, taking the beer from Joel’s hand.

Joel’s brows knit together. “What?” “Come onnn, I know you’re free tomorrow.” All Tommy could think about was that this could finally be the opportunity for Joel and you to tolerate each other. This way Tommy wouldn’t need to find someone else for the repairs. Plus, Joel could use some womanly influence in his life.

“Hm.”

-----

The next morning, you’re up and ready to start painting again. You didn’t bother changing out of your sleep clothes—a big sweater you cut the neckline off, some sweats and a pair of fluffy socks.— You still remember the day you found these socks two years ago, buried in the back of some abandoned store. It had felt like a gift from heaven.

You grab a paintbrush, dipping it into the soft blue before bringing it to the wall—

Knock, knock.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

When you open the door, you’re even more surprised by who standing there. And by the looks of it, he’s… also surprised?

“Joel?” You say, the paintbrush still dangling between your fingers as the cold breeze from outside makes it way in.

The cold morning air seeps into your apartment, making you shiver. Joel blinks at you, eyes flicking from your oversized sweater to the paintbrush still dangling between your fingers.

“Wrong house,” he mutters, already turning to leave.

But then his eyes catch on the paintbrush again, and something clicks. He exhales sharply, rolling his eyes. “Son of a bitch.”

You frown. “What?”

“Knox and Tommy,” he grumbles. “Set me up.”

Your confusion deepens. “Set you up for what?”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m here to help you paint.”

You blink. “To help me paint?”

“Yep.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

“I know.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Joel shakes his head, already stepping back. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Wait!” You’re not even sure why you stopped him. But something about the idea of having him here, working on this with you, doesn’t seem so bad. Maybe Joel wasn’t so terrible. And maybe—just maybe—this would make the upcoming job together more bearable.

“I could use the help,” you say quickly. “There’s… uh, some corners and edges I can’t reach.”

Bullshit, you’re tall and capable.

Joel sighs again, like he’s already regretting this, but after a moment, he steps inside and shrugs off his coat.

Now you’re standing in the middle of your living room, suddenly hyper-aware of how awkward this is.

Joel glances at the wall, then at the paint. “So?”

“Right, uhm.” You hand him some paintbrushes and point to the paint. “It’s simple, just paint over the lines.”  He nods.

"Let’s get this over with."

The room settles into silence as you both work. Minutes pass, the only sound being the soft scrape of bristles against the wall. You don’t mind the quiet, but it feels too heavy with Joel. Too thick.

So, instinctively, you start humming to yourself. Knockin’ on heavens door..

A few seconds later, Joel glances at you. “Bob Dylan?”

His voice startles you just slightly, and you glance over. “Yeah. Bob Dylan. You like him?”

He dips his brush into the paint again, nodding. “Mhm.”  After another moment of silence, Joel speaks up again. “You sketched all this?” His tone is unreadable.

“Yeah, ya like?” You smile, hoping for a tiny bit of approval.

He just grunts. “’S alright.”

“I mean, I’ll take it.”  Suddenly you feel kinda silly at the outfit you’re wearing. It’s as if he could read your mind cause he’s giving you a once-over before turning back to the wall.

You fiddle with your locket as you take a step back from the wall, checking out the way the paint is looking so far, but also quietly admiring how good Joel looks with a paint brush.

“What’s your favorite color?” You blurt out.

Joel thinks for a moment. “Green.” You both say at the same time, his eyes snapping to yours.

“I figured you’d be a green person.” You grin to yourself, feeling smart.

“What does that even mean?”

You shrug. “Nothing... Nothing at all.” You chuckle.

"You say somethin’ like that, you gotta explain it." He lowers the paintbrush, eyes meeting yours.

"Nope. You’ll just have to live with the mystery, Miller..”

"That’s ridiculous."

"Maybe." You chuckle as you continue painting. Why was this Joel Miller not that bad? It’s like his guard is let down just a little bit and he tolerated you just a bit more. And damn you enjoyed it. If it stayed like this, repair jobs would actually be fun.  

After a while, you guys are done. You can’t believe it, but you are. To your surprise the wall looks.. great. The shades of blue made a beautiful pattern across the wall, the flowers being accented with the yellow really pulling it together. This felt like it could actually be your home.

Maybe you guys hadn’t chatted a lot but it did feel like you booked some progress with this potential friendship.

You wipe your face, not realizing the blue paint you’re smearing across your cheek. “I can’t believe we finished it.” You say as you look at Joel, who’s put down the paintbrush.

“Don’t think I’ll pick up another paintbrush for a while after this.”  He says, his voice having a light huff to it. “Not exactly how I wanted to spend my morning.”

“You’ll live.” You reply, not bothered by his snarky comments.

You chuckle quietly, Joel having somewhat of a sense of humor made him come across more human instead of just the stoic guy he acted like. It was obvious to you that there was so much more behind the walls he put up, not that you would ever push him to talk about it. You barely knew the man.

Joel rubs his jaw as he turns to you. “I oughtta get goin’.”

“Oh yeah, of course.” You say as you follow him to the front door. He puts on his coat and walks onto the porch, turning to you again. You leaned against the doorframe. “…Thank you.. for today. Even though you were set up to coming here.” You grin as you look down to your feet before meeting his eyes again.

“Yeah well, had a free day. Don’t mention it.” He suddenly steps closer to you. Your breath hitches ever so slightly, which you quickly try to control again but are unable to when he raises his hand to your jaw.

His palm is warm, calloused, steady. His thumb swipes along your cheek, smearing away a streak of dried paint. It’s such a simple movement, but it knocks the breath right out of you. Your eyes widen just a little bit, Joel noticed, thinking he may have overstepped. He’s quick to retreat his hand and tuck it in his jean pocket.

“Some paint on your cheek.” He says, clearing his throat. You quickly nod.

“I’ll see you Thursday.” He says.

“Right, yeah. Thursday.” You manage to say before swallowing. Why did that just make you feel a bit flustered? Quit it, you’re desperate.

--

When Thursday finally rolls around, you find yourself lingering near the horses earlier than needed, arms crossed against the cold. Dread curls in your stomach at the thought of another trek into the woods, but—much to your own annoyance—the idea of spending the day with Joel Miller doesn’t seem quite as bad.

Which is probably why, for some unknown reason, you decided to put in extra effort today.

You had worn your hair down (something you never did when on the job). A nicer coat too, one that wasn’t as ripped, even though you’d changed four times before finally just going with it. Stupid. Dumb. And yet, here you were, tugging at the sleeves like it might somehow make a difference.

You scowl at yourself. It wasn’t for Joel. Not really. He didn’t even like you.

…Okay, maybe it was a little for Joel. But who could blame you? The world had already ended once—what harm was there in wanting to look a little nice for someone still standing in it? Even if that someone was someone who actually disliked you.

On the way to the outpost, everything was the same as last week. Not much for talking. Frankly, you didn’t know what to talk about. “The paint dried nicely.” You spoke. ‘The paint dried nicely.’ ??? Get a grip! You wanted to smack your forehead, but were able to resist. All Joel did was give you a little nod.

When you two finally arrived at the outpost, you tugged again at your sleeves. Sure, the coat looked nicer but it didn’t even fit well. It left your hands cold and you stupidly didn’t bring any gloves.

Again, as if Joel can read your mind, he throws some gloves at you.  

Your head snaps up at him and he’s just stood there, waiting for you to respond. “You don’t have to-“ You say, looking at his bare hands. “M’ fine.” Joel said before heading inside of the outpost. Your lips parted, as if searching for words, before closing again.

The repair went somewhat smoothly, now that the floorboards had been removed, it was time to put in some new planks. Joel would saw them and put them into the floor. Your duty was to hammer them down with the nails Tommy had brought by to you earlier that week.

You were doing a decent job, the nails going in smoothly. You could tell Joel was satisfied because no snarky remarks were being made.

You sat on the floor for a second, admiring your nail-skills. “Honestly, I’m doing amazing.” You say grinning. “Like, I could make this my thing. Nailing nails. The nailer.” You said, imaginging people coming to you to nail things down.

You chuckle at yourself.

Joel just rolled his eyes over to you and back to the wood. “Good luck with that. The nailer.” He mumbles as he shook his head at the fact you didn’t even realize what that sounded like.

“So what did you do before the world ended? Like, job-wise?” You say, finally wanting to start a conversation. He finishes his sawing before answering. “Contracting.”

“Contracting? No wonder Tommy wanted you for this job.” You say before ramming in another nail, completely missing it the first time as you were too busy looking at Joel. Oops.

Joel saw and just shook his head lightly. “You?”

“Oh, I was still in high school.” You felt a bit dumb saying that, like you were bringing attention to the ‘little’ age gap the two of you had. Not that it was relevant.

He scoffed and parted his lips to start another sentence before being interrupted by a noise coming from outside. His eyes snap to the door and he puts down the saw, immediately going for his rifle.

“An infected?” You whispered as you stood up, also grabbing your rifle. Ignore the fact that you’d shot a rifle maybe twice. He just brings a finger to his lips, telling you to be quiet. You quietly make your way next to him, your heart racing.

You guys step outside, the snow muffling your footsteps just a bit. The snow was falling down pretty heavily, making it harder to actually see anything.

But then Joel sees it, he holds up his hand, motioning for you to stop walking. There’s a man, just behind one of the trees, gripping a knife. He’s holding it up halfway, as if he’s unsure to surrender or not when we make eye-contact.

You and Joel both raise your rifle.

“Step out, now.” Joel raises his voice. “Now.”

The man steps out just a bit, slowly, bundled in layers of dirty clothing, fingers stiff with cold, face hollow with exhaustion. “D-don’t shoot, alright?!” The man says, his voice rough.

“You alone?” Joel’s voice was flat.

The man nodded quickly—too quickly. “Yes! I—I swear to God. I was just looking for shelter. It’s real cold!”

Joel’s rifle never wavered.

“Bullshit.”

The man’s breath hitched. “I—”

“I see your tracks,” Joel cut him off. “Heavy. Means you’ve been carrying.” He gestured his rifle toward the man’s feet. “Who were you with?”

“No one!” The man shook his head wildly, his voice rising, frantic. “I mean—I left them. They’re miles back—I swear.”

You look up at Joel as you’re not even really pointing your rifle at the man anymore. “Joel, he’s obviously alone.” You say to him.

He doesn’t reply, his eyes focused on the man.

“Joel?”  What is he going to do? The man just had a knife, he looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. He didn’t look like a threat. You furrowed your brows, Joel was ignoring you.

You inhaled sharply.

“Joel,” you repeated, quiet but firm. “He isn’t a threat.”  You plead.

He ignored you.

The man took a step forward, his eyes darting between you and Joel. “I just want some food man, a place to sleep-“ “Don’t move.” Joel said, firmly. His rifle stayed locked on the man’s chest.

You looked at Joel again and back at the man, your brows furrowing even more. Joel’s acting like you’re not even standing here.

And then—

The man shifted his weight.

Just barely.

Just enough for Joel to react.

The gunshot shattered the silence.

You flinched.

The man dropped his knife. His mouth parted—like he hadn’t fully registered it yet.

Then he collapsed, the red immediately soaking into the snow.

For a second, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Your eyes widening as it hit you. Joel just killed that man. Your voice had meant nothing to him.

You turn your head to Joel, your mouth hanging a bit open, eyes widened, brows fully furrowed. He’s just standing there, reloading his rifle as if this was the most casual case in the world.

Joel exhaled, lowering his rifle. He was already stepping toward the body, as if this was justanother chore.

Something in you just snapped.

“What the fuck is wrong with you! He was—he was dropping the knife!” You took a step closer, your breath coming hard and fast. “He was surrendering, Joel!”

Joel didn’t look at you. He crouched down near the body, reaching for the knife still clenched in the man’s lifeless fingers.

All you feel is rage. He just killed that man and now he’s taking the knife as if it’s nothing.  “What is wrong with you!” You yell again.

Joel just walked past you back into the outpost.

“He was going to surrender! It’s not like he stood a fucking chance if he would attack!” You yelled at him but he gave no reaction, just packing up his bag.

“I’m talking to you!” You’re about to shove him out of pure rage, but before doing so, he gets grip on your wrist, stopping you. His eyes finally meeting yours. Now he looked at you.

And you hated the look in his eyes.

Not cold. Not regretful.

Just unbothered.

“He was gonna lunge,” Joel muttered, standing. “You didn’t see it.”

“I saw enough, I was there!” she shot back.

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “No. Youdidn’t.”

All you felt was anger taking you over. “You don’t fucking know that, Joel! He was alone! And you—you just fucking shot him.”

You sounded hysterical. But you didn’t care. It was wrong, Joel was wrong. How could everything escalate this quickly?

Joel’s jaw flexed. “And if I’d hesitated? If he was lying? You’d be the one bleeding out in the snow, not him.”

You let out a harsh, humorlesslaugh. “Jesus Christ—do you even hear yourself?” You gestured at the body still laying in the snow outside of the outpost, your hands shaking. “He was just a guy, Joel. He wasn’t some monster!”

“You’re naive.” Joel just replied. His hand still gripping your wrist tightly. It wasn’t the fact that he called you that, it was the way he said it. With some sort of disgust, contempt. Like he actually despised you for wanting another human being to live. “You don’t get it, you think ‘cause you’ve survived so far you actually know what it’s like out here? You don’t.”

“Fuck you.”  You spat, forcing your wrist out of his grip. He didn’t even know you.

“No, fuck you,” he growled. “You still think there’s a choice? That we can afford to wait, or talk, or hesitate?” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That kinda thinkin’ gets people killed.”

He walked outside, packing his bag onto the horse. You followed after, you weren’t done with this conversation. The way he was giving you no emotion back whatsoever while you were here, losing it, enraged you.

“Does it even bother you?” Your voice rough. You don’t know why you’re as furious as you are. You’ve seen many people die, you’ve been the reason many people had died. Yet the way you were dismissed, the way he was so cold. It triggered your PTSD, reminding you of a man you had tried to have long forgotten.

You step closer, voice sharp: “Who was it?”

His brows pull together, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Who did you lose to make you like this?” you spit. “Your wife? Your kid? Who was it that died and turned you into a heartless asshole?” It wasn’t a long shot, everyone has lost someone in the apocalypse.

Joel goes still.

That’s when you know you hit something.

For the first time, you sees it—just a flicker, barely a second—but it’s real anger, the kind that simmers so deep it could boil over at any second.

He quickly steps closer. Too close. His voice is dangerously low. His hands fist onto your coat collar, pulling you forward.

“Watch your mouth.”

You should stop. You should back down. Reasonable you, non-triggered you, would’ve backed down.

But you don’t.

Instead, you scoff. “Guess I was right, huh?”

And that’s it.

Joel’s jaw clenches so hard you can see the muscle twitch.

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about me,” he growls. “Not a single goddamn thing.” He aggressively lets go of your collar, making you stumble back.

And then he walks off. Just leaves you standing there, the air thick with something neither of them can take back. You drag your hands across your face as you lean back against the wall, wiping away the anger-tears that fell over your cheeks.

God, you feel stupid. Stupid for thinking, even for a second, that this morning—when you stood in front of the mirror smoothing down your hair, buttoning up your nicer coat—meant something. Stupid for thinking maybe today wouldn’t be so bad.

You felt furious, furious that there was a dead man outside the outpost, furious that you had no control over the situation whatsoever. Furious that your words didn’t matter to Joel.

But mostly? You feel humiliated and awful. You know you overstepped. It was a low blow. Especially from you, knowing you’re not too different from Joel at all. But you were still furious, Joel acted in such a cold way, it had made your stomach turn.

And that’s all it took for you to really hate Joel Miller, and the feeling might just be mutual.

[20nugs]

Drinking (chris sturniolo x fem!reader)

summary: reader gets like hella drunk (idfk how drinking works yall) and Chris is like worried and whatever

a/n: again, I've never drank (I've been sober since I came out the womb) so if this is wrong I apologize.

warnings: THROWING UP! yall out there with the barf phobia.. watch out..

okay let's get into ittttt 😍🤞

An arm snakes around my waist as I'm on my sixth shot of the night. A hand gently takes my glass from my hand. "Hey," I protest, but my voice is slow and lazy. "What're you doin'?"

"I think you've had enough for tonight, sweetheart," a voice says. I smile, recognizing who it is.

"Chris," I slur, leaning into him. I wrap my arms around him. I hear him sigh softly and hug me back.

"How many of those have you had?" He asks, concerned eyes flicking between me and the glass he just took from my hand.

"Like... two, I swear," I mumble, obviously lying. "Lemme have it." I grab for the glass.

He holds it out of my reach. "Lets go home, you look like you're about to be sick."

He's right, my stomach has been turning. But, I want to keep drinking. "But I want moreee," I whine, pressing my face into his shoulder. He scoops me up, leaving my glass on the counter as he carries me out of the house. I sigh and give up, leaning my head on the junction between his shoulder and neck. I play with his necklace as he takes me to Matt's car. Matt and Nick are already inside, on their phones. "I love you," I say suddenly.

Chris laughs softly, and kisses my head. "I love you too." He opens the car door and buckles me in my seat. He sits in the back with me, letting me lean my head on his shoulder. I fall asleep on the drive back, listening to Chris and his brother's hushed voices, asking him about me.

I wake up when Chris carries me up the steps to his porch. "Chris," I murmur, my stomach lurching.

"Yeah?" He says, stepping inside.

"I'm gonna throw up." At my words, he immediately quickens his pace and carries me into the bathroom. I practically leap the the toilet before throwing up in it. I feel fingers graze my neck as my hair is pulled from my face. After a few moments, I finish. I sit back and Chris gently wipes my mouth with a damp rag. He flushes the toilet and puts the lid down before picking me up and sitting me on it.

"Where are your makeup remover wipes?" He asks, rummaging through the bathroom cabinets.

"Medicine cabinet," I mumble, my eyes shut. I feel a cool cloth on my face, and open my eyes to see Chris's focused expression directly in front of me as he wipes off my makeup with careful precision. I notice how his tongue sticks out a little while he focuses. "Can I take a shower?"

"In the morning," Chris answers, finishing taking off my makeup. "You could fall in the state you're in."

"M'not gonna fall," I murmur, but decide not to fight the decision. Chris wipes my face and neck with a damp rag to satisfy me. He hands me my tooth brush and some toothpaste while brushing his own teeth. "What's the time?"

"Around four in the morning," Chris answers after spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing off his toothbrush and doing the same to mine, and I immediately feel bad for keeping him up late.

"Sorry," I murmur. Chris gently turns my face to his.

"Don't be," he says softly before kissing my lips tenderly. "Wanna change into something more comfortable?" I nod, and he carries me into his bedroom. He sets me on the bed before taking out one of his old t-shirts that's grown soft with how worn it is, as well as some fresh underwear for me. He helps me out of my dress, and dresses me in the pajamas.

"Jesus, kid," he chuckles after I stumble for the millionth time. We finally get the clothes on me and then he changes into his own pajamas. We lay down in bed together, and Chris turns to me, concern in his eyes. "Hey, are you alright? I've never seen you drink so much in one night."

"I'm okay," I say softly, blinking slowly. Chris raises an eyebrow. "If there were anything wrong, you know I'd tell you." He nods before kissing my cheek.

"Come here," he murmurs before pulling me close to him, our legs tangling. "I love you."

"I love you more," I whisper before drifting off to sleep.

____

a/n pt.2: did I eat😍🤞 also sorry for like never updating school is beating my ass right now

[alwaysurvalentine]

fresh air - drabble

Written for Day 4 of @steddieangstyaugust - prompt: angst with a happy ending - word count: 629 - cw: one cuss word

also, apologies for being late!

It’s too dark.

Steve can’t see where the kids are. They were just in front of him but now they’re gone. The air is suffocating and it feels like he can’t take a full breath in, it feels like he’s back in the tunnels. Sweat has gathered at the small of his back but he can’t find himself to care that his shirt is sticking to him. The kids are missing; they were just in front of him in the tunnels, and the sounds of the demo-dogs chasing them down has gotten closer. It doesn’t matter that the stomping seems almost muffled, he knows that they’re right behind them. 

“Dustin? Guys?” 

Rumbling from further down the tunnel is his only answer. Steve’s breathless now, and something pushes against his back. 

“Fuck! Guys!” 

Another push and this time he stumbles forward, hands stretched out to catch him. But the ground doesn’t come, instead something wraps around his torso and pulls him back. The vines. How could he have forgotten about the vines? 

“-ve! Hey, sweetheart, hey. Come on, breathe for me.” All of the muffled noise from before becomes clearer. Steve’s breath is still stuttering but he can’t hear the dogs anymore. Instead he hears - people talking around him and Eddie. Eddie’s in front of him, hands resting on Steve’s shoulders from where he’s removed the headphones Steve wore to the concert. Because that’s where they’re at. Steve bought Eddie tickets to Black Sabbath and Eddie begged him to come. Uncle Wayne even let him borrow his heavy duty headphones to muffle some of the noise. 

“Sorry.” Steve chokes on the word and feels warmth rising to his cheeks. He can’t believe he lost his cool at a concert. He even made it to the last song! 

“None of that.”

Steve’s shaking his head at Eddie’s words, pulling back until he feels Eddie’s grip tighten slightly on his shoulders.

“I mean it. Don’t be sorry. Just take a breath for me sweetheart.” Eddie’s face is slightly pink from all of the jumping around he’s been doing for the last hour, and with the lights finally back on the crowd Steve can see a sheen from sweat dripping down from Eddie’s dark curls. His brown eyes are gazing at Steve, shoulders rising and falling with exaggerated breaths for Steve to follow. 

Steve loves him. 

“Those lights at the end were crazy, are you okay? I know light can bother your head sometimes.” Eddie’s cradling Steve’s face now, a thumb absentmindedly stroking at the dark moles Steve knows are under his left eye.

“I love you.”

It doesn’t matter that he’s said it before, everytime he says it Eddie’s eyes widen slightly like he still can’t believe it. 

“Charmer. I’m serious, you okay? Maybe some fresh air will help? C’mon let’s head out to the car, some fresh air might be good.” A quick peck to Steve’s right cheek and then Eddie’s backing up again, hands sliding down until one tangles with his. 

“I love you too, Stevie. Even when you try to give me a heart attack. Since I’m your knight in shining armor I get to have the first shower, right?”

The panic hasn’t fully left Steve, years of having to fight for his friends at the drop of a hat trains your adrenaline to stay high, but he’s glad Eddie’s giving him space to breathe. Fresh air will definitely help, sitting in the car will help even more, and Steve knows he’s got a special cup of the Munson Family's Hot Chocolate to look forward to after his shower.  So he lets Eddie tug him along, up the stairs of the stadium, through the crowds trying to get into the parking lot, and all the way to their car.

[katsukikitten]

just a little soft shared moment with Enjin I wrote it straight into Tumblr drafts. God speed.

Today was not your fucking day, the worst luck you'd experienced in a long time. Coin purse stolen, the last of your food expired and your 'friend' that owed you a favor bailed tonight.

Leaving you outside in a dank alley that smells a bit like piss and old frying oil right next to the best bar and grill in the damn city.

"Fuck today." You grumble, grabbing for your half crushed pack of cigarettes, eagerly opening the box only to be met with disappointment.

Your last fucking one.

Thankfully it wasn't crushed, placing it between your black lipstick clad lips before lighting it and taking a deep inhale.

Today fucking sucked.

A burst of sound pulls your attention as you see a broad shouldered man with a furrowed brow and snarl on his lips as moved more into the shroud of the dark alley.

"Shit. The hells my light?"

You look over to see the tall blonde patting down his jacket, cigarette dangling from his mouth as he searches his person, "God damn."

But he enunciates a little too roughly and his cigarette, his only cigarette, falls right into a pile of shit.

Guess his luck was worse.

Not just a trash pile, no his luck was so poor that it landed in a literal pile of shit, nestled into an old used plunger that got tossed into the trash outside. Funny how the entire city, your entire world, was made of trash and yet there were still things still too dirty to touch in the Abyss.

"Fuuuuck." He groans long and low, hand running through his blonde hair before his eyes meet yours. Bright yellow like the moon in the torn picture books your mother used to read to you as a kid.

"Got a smoke?" He gives a half smile, one that's a little too friendly for your liking but some cleaners were like that. Overly friendly, 'cleaning up' the abberant beasts just outside the city even if no one fucking asked them too. For a moment your cynical side thinks he expects it, that you dig around for a rare cigarette that took you ages to fucking scavenge for.

Then he sighs, running his broad tattooed hand through his hair, gripping at the back of his tattooed neck.

"Dumb question I know but I'll trade ya for it." He starts looking in his pockets for his free meal ticket he won off a bet with Riyo, tongue salivating over the thought of the fresh meal from his favorite watering hole but he needed the nicotine after his shit day.

"This is my last one." He looks at you bewildered, watches you take a drag and the ember burn the paper down.

"What?" He gawks incredulously.

"This is my last one." You repeat letting the smoke trindle around your damning statement.

He visibly deflates with the sound of his heavy exhale, eyes fluttering shut, tic in his jaw and fists clenched tight.

"I can share." You pull til the ember is half way.

"What?" He asks again, it makes you scoff but your pretty lips still turn up into a cat smile.

"All you can do is squawk? I said I'd share." You extend your hand to him, the burning stick between two delicate fingers with sharp claws, he studied it for a moment.

"Take it before I change my mind." Quickly his tattooed fingers brush yours as he applies the perfect amount of pressure to secure the stick as you let go. Bringing it to his lips right over where your black lipstick stained the unfiltered paper. He takes in a deep breath, holds it and lets it burn his lungs to make sure it sticks and exhales it as if it'd take away all his bad luck.

And maybe it did.

"Fuuuuuuuck." He groans again and the sound has you shifting from one foot to the other, made your stomach flip and you look away before you imagine him overtop of you groaning like that.

"Well, hope your night turns around. Seems pretty shit." Giggling at your own joke as you turn on your combat boot clad heel.

"Wait!" He has the stick dangerously dangling between his lips again, thick digits wrapping around your wrist, "I didn't get to pay ya."

"It was only half." You scoff but he's already producing a meal ticket from his pocket, holding it between two fingers, you can just barely read the details. Free three course meal, app entree and dessert.

"Then we can split this." He brandishes it some more, waving it around like it would entice you to sit across from this stranger with an easy smile that squeezes your heart like a vice. That smile made him dangerous. You avoided danger, people, more than anything your entire life, it was doubtful you'd be sharing a meal with a rowdy ass janitor.

"It's only faaaair. Don't wanna owe ya one." He chuckles, taking a short drag as he tries to get the most out of it before the ember can burn his lips. He gives a wolfish grin as if he can tell he's wearing you down, waving around that damn meal ticket again. It makes your stomach growl as you think of the mouth watering lava cake they were infamous for.

Your eyes snap up to his, there it is, that golden moon gaze that looks at you with a softness that no one has before. Makes you grit your teeth.

"Fine." You snatch the ticket from him, "But I get to pick the dessert."

"Fine by me sweetheart." Stubbing the last little bit of the smoke out before he gently guides you into the rowdy bar by the small of your back. You don't recoil away encouraging his feather soft touch to become a little more firm, a little more real. It causes you to turn your head up at him as he holds up the noren to duck under before he smiles down at you in reassurance with that deadly, dangerous smile of his. For once you smile back, wiping away the smudge of lipstick that transferred from your shared cigarette.

Maybe just maybe the two of you would turn your luck around.

At least for tonight.

[thegettingbyp2]

aaa ive never sent a request so idk if i'm doing this right but!!

can i request a billy the kid x a female character who has a terminal illness? like him comforting her after she almost dies due to her condition and it's cute and fluffy

I'm Not Going Anywhere

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You were laying on your bed, your face pale and blood speckled in the corner of your lips. You’d been suffering from consumption for the past couple of months and every day that went by, the weaker you felt. But something that made you feel even worse was watching your boyfriend stick by your side, knowing that this was hurting him too. Billy had lost his mother and younger brother to consumption a few years ago and it was killing you to put him through this again.

You were recovering from a particularly bad week or so and Billy hadn’t left your side once. He was sitting next to your bed, one of your small, cold hands wrapped in both of his big, warm hands, lifting your hands to his lips every couple of minutes or so. He even kept a damp cloth nearby in case you got hot or so he could gently wipe the blood from your lips.

‘I’m sorry,’ you practically whispered, not strong enough to speak any louder.

‘What are you sorry for?’ he asked gently, furrowing his brows slightly as he pressed his lips to your hand again.

‘Putting you through this, I would understand if you wanted to leav - ’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he replied, cutting you off, moving to the edge of his seat to be closer to you, using one of his hands to cup your cheek and stroke your cheek with his thumb as he looked into your eyes. ‘I love you. You can’t get rid of me that easily.’ You smiled at him softly as your eyes filled with tears that you refused to let roll down your cheeks as a shiver wracked your body. ‘You cold?’ Billy asked as he reached to grab another blanket for you.

‘Will you come and lay with me?’ you asked quietly.

‘You don’t need to ask,’ he said, instantly moving to lay down on the bed with you, being careful not to jostle you too much as he pulled you into his arms. You felt your body instantly relax just by being in his arms and his body heat felt amazing against your now-freezing cold body. Burying your face against him, you pressed a gentle kiss to the base of his throat, breathing in the scent that was just Billy.

‘Tell me about what we’re going to do when I get better again?’ you asked. You both knew that there was no getting better for you but you loved the way Billy would talk, how animated he’d get when he’d tell you about all the places he’d take you; it was a way for the two of you to forget about what was happening for a while.

‘Course, baby,’ he murmured, kissing the top of your head before pulling you against him tighter. ‘So, the second you’re better, I’m going to take you out on my horse and we’re going to go for a ride far away from here. We’ll go somewhere where it’s just grass and trees and we’ll spend the day just the two of us, the fresh air, no one around to bother us. And then we’ll get you a horse and I’ll teach you to ride and we can go out whenever you want, how does that sound?’

‘I can’t wait,’ you said, your voice muffled by his shirt as your tears began to track down your cheeks.

‘Me neither, how you feeling?’ Billy asked, lifting your head up to meet his gaze, his thumb wiping away your tears.

‘Tired,’ you replied with a sad chuckle as the sound of Billy’s voice paired with the feeling of his arms wrapped around you and his chest rising and falling underneath your cheek had your eyes fluttering closed.

‘Then go to sleep, love, I’ll still be here when you wake back up,’ he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, keeping his lips against your skin as you let yourself fall asleep, feeling safe in his arms.

When he realised you’d gone to sleep, Billy let a couple of his own tears fall, hating that you were the one suffering and not him; sending a silent prayer out that you’d wake up again.

[aesthetic-gamersnail]

What happened in the first family counseling session of the brothers (it contains a spoiler from Trolls 3 since it is based on the movie, so be warned)

Edit: Originates from the meme I made to this topic. Enjoy :)

Therapist: So, at the beginning I always like to begin with the question: why are you here?

The brothers are sitting on a couch in a nicely dimmed room which has green paint on the walls. The therapist sits across them in his armchair, between him and them a coffee table with a vase of fresh flowers, a cup full of pencils, a neat stack of papers and - what immediately catches Clay's eyes - a burning scented candle. (The order in which the brothers sit on the couch from left to right: Branch, Clay, Spruce, Floyd, John)

All: ...

John: Honestly, I think there is no reason for why we are here.

Bruce: And I think, that you are probably one of the main reasons why we are here. And you probably need it the most.

John: I'm sorry, but I think the real reason we are here is because our little brother's lady forced him to do it.

Branch: WHAT? *he whipped his head around* She didn't force me to do it, she recommended it to me and I took her advice because you know what? I actually CARE about our family and I think we could do a lot better.

John: Do you want to say that I don't care about this family?

Floyd: Guys, guys, please, calm down.

Branch: Geez, John, I don't know, did not really get the vibes when you said we would go our separate ways after we saved Floyd.

John: Are you still bent down on this? Look, I'm sorry that I said that but things are different now, right? We are together now, so why are still hung up on the past?

Branch: Just because something is in the past doesn't mean it doesn't have any effect on me anymore. And besides, it has been, what, two weeks ago? I wouldn't call it the past yet.

John: Potato, tomato. See, this is your problem: you take things way out of proportions and let your emotions control you.

Bruce: Well, at least he shows his emotions and talks about them, in contrast to someone else.

John: Excuse me?

Bruce: You heard me.

Clay, interrupting their talk since he also was not listening to them, asks the therapist: Is the candle not a fire hazard? Is this even allowed in such an establishment?

Floyd: Guys, please, calm down. We haven't even properly started and we are already fighting with each other. Let's all breathe for just a moment and then resume to talk.

...Silence for a few moments ...

Therapist:....So I see, there is a lot of pent up aggression going on he-

John: NOPE, no! You know what? It has been fun and all but I honestly don't want to be here anymore. So, I'll be taking my leave.

Floyd: John, plea-

John: Floyd, I'm sorry, but I really can't do it. I already know how this whole thing is going to go, therefore, why should I even stick around?

Bruce: Wait, what do you mean by tha-

Branch: Oh, because you know everything, don't you?

John slowly getting irritated with this situation, suddenly stands up and says: Listen he- *THUMP* *CRASH*

But he is interrupted by the sound of the coffee table falling to the ground. He stood up too fast and took the coffee table in his momentum with him, which made it rock back and forth, till it finally hit the ground facing the brothers. But with the coffee table, also the vase and the scented candle came to the ground. The vase bursts into many splinters which fly into the air in various directions. One splinter shoots into John's foot.

At the sight of the first drop of blood coming from his foot, John says: Oh my god, hahaha, look at that..

And passes out.

Floyd: OH MY GOD, JOHN, ARE YOU OK?

Bruce: Ohhhhhh, I remember now. He was always afraid of blood, ever since he was a kid. Did not think, it still bothered him.

Floyd: Didn't he live in the wilderness for 20 years? How did he survive?

Branch: oh my god, OH MY GOD!

Branch rolled off screaming from the couch.

While Bruce and Floyd were busy with John, the scented candle rolled it's way to the couch and ignited it.

Clay: AHA, I KNEW IT. *Clay laughs* I knew it would be a fire hazard. You have some explaining to do, mister. *he pointed his finger at the therapist, smiling*

His smile drops.

Clay:...Oh shit.

Branch: HOW DO WE PUT OUT THE FIRE? WHAT IS EVEN HERE TO PUT OUT A FIRE? *running around frantic, looking for something that would help against the fire*

Floyd: Ok, so we have an unconscious body and a fire going on. Just, d-don't FREAK out, Bruce, and stay calm!

Bruce:...I am calm.

Floyd: I SAID STAY CALM!

Clay:...Is not the first step to dealing with building fires 'Inform people in the immediate area to evacuate'? Well, *turns to the therapist* I think you should be the one to leave and warn people, AND also call 911, as we have a *stares at the unconscious John, the anxious Floyd, the confused Bruce and the frantic Branch running around* situation going on.

The therapist, staring at this whole situation in horror:...I honestly don't get paid enough for this. *flees the scene*