#anything about you guys and i think i really need to learn to remember that

[visceradiva]

i need a gangster [part one]

mob!141 x nursing student!reader (18+ mdni)

wc: 6.1k

author's note: heyyy babies. this is going to be a multi part thing, there's just a little bit of smut in this with daddy price and ghosty but we'll get dirtier as we collect our harem of hot mob guys (soap and gaz are next & get excited for these guys kissing)

warnings: violence & injuries, lots of discussion of pregnancy & breeding & ovulation, grinding, fingering, age gap (legal)

You watch the shape of John Price through frosted glass, and hear muffled yelling from the other side. 

You try to focus on your notes, your finger tracing the diagrams in your textbook.

You’ve been having two serious fucking months. It started at the beginning of the first month when your boyfriend dumped you, claiming he needed no distractions for med school. You were devastated. 

And apparently— as you’ve learned way too recently— your old man was probably a criminal. A once-GP working for who knows, and got killed for it. You think.

But good men don’t usually end up with a bullet in their brain, especially not in the UK. 

You wanted to feel bad, but after you found out about all the girls your age your dad was spending your nursing school tuition money on, the feeling numbed. 

John, an old friend of your dad’s, graciously takes you in after everything goes down. He won’t let you drop out, he insists he can pay the tuition. He does make you quit your job as an EMT, saying it isn’t safe for you to be out so late. You beg him to tell you, safe from what? Safe from who? But he never does.

John doesn’t tell you anything. Just leaves for hours on end and comes back in the middle of the night. When you wake up crying at 3AM, his shoulder is there for you to cry on. He skirts the line between boyfriend and father, too old for the former but too affectionate for the latter. But he’s nice, he likes your cooking and your company. 

John’s even there the one night where you both share too much of a bottle of whiskey. You stupidly kiss him and end up mewling and crying, riding his thigh while he comforts you. 

You hiccup and tears run down your face.

“John,” you whine.

He holds you up with a firm hand on your back, one on your hip. 

“Shh, love. Shh, don’t cry. It’s alright. Just take what you need, sweetheart.”

You never speak about it. Price just assumes you were so drunk that you can’t remember. Really, you’re so damn embarrassed that you have to just pretend it didn’t happen. 

After another month of hiding in his flat, when John is sure you’re safe, he gives you a job as his secretary, kind of. Once a week, you sit here and take names for the burly, scarred-up men who come to see him. They stroll in with bravado, flirting with you or condescending until you send them in to get barked at by John. They’re mostly quiet when they leave with their tails between their legs.

A man called Kyle Garrick comes around at some point whenever you work the desk, bringing you pastries and flirting with you until your heart is racing and John calls him in to have the calmest conversation you’ve heard— or rather haven’t heard— all day. Kyle always arrives with an arm of files and leaves empty handed, but not without taking a sweet from the dish you brought. 

The men who decide that being chewed out was your fault either have John or John and Kyle to deal with. 

So you know two things about John.

He’s a big, scary man who works with a lot of other big, scary men. 

And breaking fingers is like breathing to him. 

You hear two men’s voices as the door to the waiting room opens. It’s, John’s… henchmen? Beer buddies? Surrogate sons? You don’t half know. 

John MacTavish and Simon Riley, who John calls Soap and Ghost. You haven’t the slightest idea of their job or what they do for John. They’re both intimidating, but they don’t act as scary as they look, though. 

When you first met, they kept their distance from you, until one night John took a call and MacTavish leaned in.

“You dunnae think he’s a bit old for you?”

“MacTavish,” Riley growled.

“I’m only askin’!”

“Sorry, I… I don’t think I understand?”

“Yer a right bonnie lass, but… yer a wee bit young, no?”

“Oh I’m… I’m not his girlfriend, I’m just staying with him for the moment.”

“Ah.”

Foot in mouth instantly, he sat back.

“Eh… forget I said anythin’.”

Ghost had laughed hard when they returned home and explained the situation with your dad. 

Ever since then, MacTavish has been persistent. 

“Hello,” you chirp, smiling politely.

“There she is!” he greets you, a big grin on his face. He leans over your desk, with his big arms crossed, flexing as he does. “We missed you.” 

MacTavish is a flirt, and it makes your face hot. 

In a weird way, you missed them too. They’ve been gone for two weeks of your secretary duties. You think to ask where they were, but you know they won’t let it slip. Riley will say nothing and MacTavish will tell you how nice your hair looks instead of answering. 

Riley just stares at you, like he always does. He’s always got his face covered, a skull-face balaclava or gaiter and a hood. All you can ever see are those dark eyes staring you down. You never know what he’s feeling, if he’s angry at you. The idea of even asking him why he wears that thing has you shaking. You asked Kyle once, and he just laughed at you.

“That’s for Ghost to show you, love. Not me.” 

Soap leans over the desk further and catches a glance of your thighs peeking out from under this pretty dress you have on. It’s soft and feminine, like he knows you to be.

“All dressed up, eh? Tha’ for me?”

He sees you flush and flick your eyes away for a moment.

“Oh, it’s just… new.”

“Fuckin’ lovely, y’know-” 

“Price ‘bout done?” Riley interrupts MacTavish, nodding to John’s office, where the shouting continues

“Um… just about,” you tell him.

You want to sound a bit braver. You see MacTavish’s eyes light up at the sight of your sweets dish.

“Wannae sweet, LT?” he asks, plucking one from the dish. 

“Nah.”

He would have to lift that mask to eat it, you think. 

“Thanks, bon,” he tells you, unwrapping it and popping it in his mouth. 

“You’re the last on the list, you could take a few more,” you offer.

He smirks.

“Takin’ a wee shine to me, are ya?”

You giggle stupidly, and see him grin again. Riley rolls his eyes, his own huge arms crossed. When MacTavish turns to look at him, you see a red-stained and poorly applied bandage on his deltoid as the sleeve of his t-shirt rides up. 

“Oh, what happened?”

“Hm?”

He looks at his arm.

“Ah, shit.”

“What now?”

“My fuckin’ stitches opened,” he growls to Riley.

“Shit.”

“Would you let me look at it?”

They both look at you and you silence the squeak in your throat.

“I-I’m an EMT,” you tell them. “Uh, can I… please?”

Soap fights the urge to drool. Your hands on him, fixing him up? And the way you said please. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. 

You guide him behind your desk and supply the first aid kit from below. Soap is bright red at the sight of you on your hands and knees. You direct him to sit on the table.

“Can I touch you?” you ask softly.

He nods, far too eager. 

Your gloved hand pushes up his sleeve and you swallow at the size of his muscled arms. You remove the bandage, sticky and soaked through with blood. You need to toss this biohazard, and the bin is too far. 

“Um…”

You want Riley to help but you’re realizing you’ve never addressed him before. You can’t call him mister. Is he a real lieutenant or is that just what MacTavish calls him? You can’t just call him Simon, though, that feels even more wrong.

“Will you bring the bin over here?” you decide to say, and nod to the wastebasket near you.

He brings it over, standing a little too close to you. Your pulse is racing with these two men at this proximity.

“Could you… hold your sleeve up, please?”

Soap’s other hand drags his sleeve up and rests on his shoulder. You see something else peeking out, a milky circular scar. This was made by a bullet. 

“Get on with it,” Riley urges you. 

Your pulse pounds in your throat as you continue.  

“Steamin’ Jesus,” MacTavish hisses when you gently wipe at the blood with the supplied alcohol pad in the kit. You wouldn’t choose this to clean a wound. You make a mental note to talk to John about fixing a new kit. 

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts,” you coo, your eyes focused on cleaning this monstrous cut. “You didn’t get this done in hospital, did you?” 

“I did it,” Riley answers from your side. 

“You did a very poor job,” you say matter-of-factly, not looking at him. 

Soap has to keep from laughing when he sees Ghost shift at your words.

“This is going to hurt quite a bit,” you warn him as you stitch the gash. 

He grunts, eyes closing and nostrils flaring. You talk him through it the way you would any other patient, and delicately tie the knot off. You snip the extra thread and bandage it again— properly this time— and pat his back.

“All better.”

Fucking hell. He could kiss you. 

“You’re an EMT?” Riley asks, arms crossed.

“I was,” you clarify. 

“Not anymore?”

“I’m… I quit, to focus on nursing school.”

They can tell you’re lying, and they know Price made you quit your job.

“Ye have got one hell of a bedside manner, lass,” MacTavish jokes.

You beam, looking at your hands.

“Thank you. Oh, the stitches. Don’t touch that bandage for at least six hours. Then you can take it off, but you cannot scratch. It’ll itch terribly, but please don’t.”

“If they come undone, will ye stitch it again?” MacTavish flirts. 

“They will not come undone, because I’ve done a good job.”

Riley laughs at that. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him laugh before.

The man John was speaking to slinks out of the office and passes the two guard dogs. John looks out and raises a brow at the two of them. 

“Lads.”

Soap and Ghost sit in front of Price at his desk.

“Ye didnae tell us she’s a nurse, Cap’n,” Soap chirps.

“Because I know how you get around nurses.”

“Why not have her do her old man’s job?” Ghost suggests.

“She can’t handle that.”

“Handled Johnny fine.”

“Aye, she did,” Soap sighs. He leans back and grins thinking about you.

“Giddy like a schoolboy,” Price huffs, shaking his head. “I need you two to… watch her.”

“Watch her?”

“You both know I’ve got business with our friend in the States.”

“Aye, sir.”

“And you all know your jobs.”

They nod.

“She’ll be alone at home. I want you two to… stay with her, make sure she’s alright.”

“Ye think the Russians are still lookin’ for her?” Soap asks.

“Better safe than sorry. Nobody’s ever called Makarov a quitter.”

“And she knows?”

“I’m… telling her when we get home.”

The men glance at each other.

“Say she don’t want two big fuckers in her house?” Ghost suggests. 

“Then you two big fuckers stay the hell away from her house,” Price says simply. 

They nod.

“Fair.”

“Right.”

You make dinner in the kitchen and feel John hovering.

“John?”

“Yes, love?”

“You’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry. You remember I told you I’m going away for a bit?”

“Yeah, I remember.” 

“Uh… if you don’t wanna be alone, I… Riley and MacTavish could stay with you.”

“You don’t know any women that could stay?” you joke weakly.

“They’re good lads. They take orders well.”

Another of John’s choice of words that makes your stomach flip. 

“John… I need you to tell me what you do.” 

“I’m not having this conversation again,” he says. His tone is firm, but still gentle. 

You put down the spatula, turning to him.

“Today when I stitched up MacTavish I saw a…” you lean in, “a bullet scar.” 

John presses his lips together, hidden under his facial hair. He untucks his shirt and pulls it up. You see a similar scar on his obliques. 

“But that’s from the Army.”

“Love-” 

“John. Tell me that’s from the Army.” 

“I don’t need to tell you, you know it isn’t.” 

“Who’s… Makarov?”

“You were listening?”

“Yes, John! I saw a bullet scar on your… whatever he is! Bodyguard? Henchman?!” 

“Calm down.”

Price knows he’s done when your eyes get teary.

“God, I ca- I can’t just… sit around here while you’re gone not knowing wh-what sort of danger you’re in! O-or I’m in,” you sob. 

He takes you in his arms and you cry into his chest.

“Ghost and Soap will keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t want them, I want you to stay and talk to me.” 

You sniffle, your hands on his chest.

“Please, John. Please?” 

So Price tells you everything. Literally everything. It’s a borderline history lesson, he gets into the Soviet Union and Russian politics. When he explains what he and your dad were doing while you were living with aunts and cousins in the country, you stop crying and start feeling sick. 

You take a shaky breath. 

“You leave tomorrow?”

“Early,” he confirms.

He rubs a hand on your back, kissing your head.

You turn to look up at him and kiss him on the cheek.

“Be careful, John.”

“I will.” 

“Please, please…” you beg quietly.

“Do you want Ghost and Soap?”

You nod, sniffling.

You fall asleep against John’s chest. You’re peaceful for once, softly breathing as he strokes your hair. He scoops you up and takes you to your bedroom. 

He doesn’t miss the way your lips part when he sets you down, or just how hot your skin is when he brushes your thigh by accident.

He absolutely doesn’t miss the whine that leaves your throat when you turn over and shift in place. The subtle arch of your back and the roll in your hips. 

Price won’t deny that he wants you. 

But you’re asleep, and he’s leaving.

Maybe the lads can help with that.

At their place, Ghost is dead asleep in his room with his face on the pillow. 

Soap is awake, his whole body taut as he thinks about you. He fists his cock, stroking hard and fast. He imagines you under him, talking him through it the way you did when you stitched him.

“You’re doing very well,” you had cooed at him. 

A knock on the wall makes him freeze.

“Oi, keep it down!” Ghost growls from the other room. 

Soap’s phone lights up.

CPT PRICE

Congrats lads. You’re on bodyguard duty for three weeks. 

The next day, you’re making breakfast in the morning when you hear a knock on the door. You turn down the stove and peek through the peephole.

Riley and MacTavish, each with a duffel bag. 

You open the door and look at them.

“Mornin’,” MacTavish grumbles. 

“Hi.”

“Can we come in?” Riley huffs, nodding to the house.

You open the door and they toss their things on the couch.

Soap is exhausted, he hardly slept before Ghost dragged him out of bed and to the gym this morning. They both went straight to Price’s place, no time to recover. His hair is still wet from the shower. 

“Do you want breakfast?”

“Fuck yes,” Soap groans, sitting up. 

He hears you giggle and watches you as you return to the pan on the stove, and crack two more eggs in. The captain is one lucky bastard if he’s got you in your pajamas making him breakfast every morning.  

Riley lingers near you in the kitchen, standing straight up with his arms crossed.

If it was John, you’d tell him to relax. 

“Aw, c’mon, LT, yer scarin’ her,” MacTavish chides him, waving his hand.

“Am I?” Riley asks you.

“No, not- I’m not scared,” you squeak, feeling like an idiot because you sound terrified. 

He takes a step away and joins MacTavish on the couch.

You take a breath and reach for three dishes, placing them on the counter as you serve everyone’s breakfast.

You want to sit on the other side of MacTavish, so Riley can lift up his mask and you don’t have to look. You’re curious, sure, but the possibility of him being angry is enough to scare you away. 

But Soap moves to the left, leaving you the space inbetween. Everyone’s legs are touching and all three of you run hot at the moment. 

“It’s not a lot… I need to get groceries,” you tell them. “Just… haven’t had a chance to, I’ve got exams all next week.” 

“Give us a list and we’ll go,” Riley says, and without thinking, you look. 

Only for a second, then you whip your head back down to look at your breakfast, trembling.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to-”

“Aw, donnae be scared, bon,” MacTavish jokes. 

“You can look,” Riley says firmly. 

You peek at him without turning your head. The mask is pulled up just over the tip of his nose, bottom half of his face on display. A diagonal scar goes across his lips, and you see another one on his jaw. You wonder how many more there are. You also spy a bruise on his cheek. 

“Are you alright?”

“Hm?”

“There’s… I can see a bruise.”

“Bit of trouble while we were away. It’s nothin’.”

“I can look at it, if you like. And I keep ice packs in the freezer for John’s ‘nothing’, too,” you tell him, putting finger quotes around the words. 

You finish your breakfast and take a frigid shower. Sitting on the couch between those two has your body humming, you can’t even think. You have two exam review sessions today and you need to be laser focused. 

You do take a little extra time with your hand between your thighs thinking about MacTavish’s big arms and Riley’s deep voice. 

You write them a list and hand it to Riley.

“Um… if you pick up something I can fix it. I don’t know if you two cook any.”

“Nah, Soap can burn water.”

You giggle softly and cover your mouth. 

“Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” you tell Soap.

He sees something change in Ghost.

“Alright, um… I’ll see you two later.”

You leave and Soap raises a brow.

“You like her, LT.”

“Shut up.”

“You do! Ha!”

Soap grins and then scowls.

“I liked her first,” he reminds Ghost.

“It’s about who she likes, Johnny.”

The two of them seem to fit well into your life. You almost wonder if John briefed them on your habits and routine. 

These lads love you. They love that even when you’re tired or overwhelmed, you’re still kind.

You warm up to Johnny more than you do to Simon, even if they both insist on you calling them by their first names. Johnny’s funny and he’s a flirt, yes, but you appreciate his outlook. When you come home late at night he’s there with a movie on the TV and a pint of ice cream.

Simon is more like dealing with a shelter cat. You have to coax him slowly, offer him gentle kindness until he lets you get closer. He’s more comfortable pulling up his mask to eat, but he still tugs it down quickly. 

You know it’s your house, and you’re not afraid to tell them what to do. You always leave them a list of chores when you leave for your observation hours and they find it when they return from the gym. But the i’s are always dotted with a heart. 

They give you a wide berth during your exams, and when you finally slump on the couch at the end of the week and smile, they know you’re finished.

“So… next week in hospital?” Johnny clarifies. 

“New unit in hospital next week,” you sigh happily.

“Where you startin’?” 

“Labor and delivery,” you chirp. “I’m so excited. I love babies.”

“Ye wannae be a mammy some day?” Johnny asks.

“Oh, yes. A sweet little chubby baby, how cute would that be?”

Ghost might die on this couch. You would be an adorable mother. He imagines you cooing and holding a little blond baby-

Whoa. He pauses his own thoughts. Fucking calm down, Riley. 

You look to the side and see a cut on Simon’s neck. 

“What happened there?” you ask, reaching over to touch it.

Soap lurches to stop you and Ghost flicks his eyes over to tell him it’s alright.

“Had a scuffle. It’s-”

“Don’t say it’s nothing,” you chide softly, finger skimming just below it. “If you’re going to wear that mask you need a bandage on it so it doesn’t touch the fabric.”

“I’m fine.”

“Johnny, will you get my kit?”

Soap is still giddy with how fast you started to call them Johnny and Simon. 

“Aye aye.”

You stand up, framing Simon’s face with a hand, tilting his head to look at the cut closer.

“Oh, Simon, this is really nasty.”

“It’s fine,” he repeats, trying to keep his voice steady while you stand between his legs.

Johnny hands you your kit. You get to work cleaning Simon’s wound, he tries not to push into your delicate touch his jaw and his exposed neck. 

“What happened?” you coo softly. 

You hardly notice that his hand is on the back of your thigh, holding you closer to him. 

He hisses when your gloved finger swipes an antibiotic onto the cut. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you murmur. “I know it hurts.”

You place a bandage over it and smile.

“There we are. All done.” 

He says nothing, eyes on you. 

“You should wash your mask,” you say softly. “If you bled on it, I mean. Not that it’s dirty-”

“I get it.” 

He hesitates.

“Thank you, nurse.” 

You giggle at that.

“I’m not a real nurse yet.”

The next week at the hospital is bliss. You love seeing all the mothers and their complete joy while they meet their sweet little babies for the first time. 

You knock on a hospital door.

“Hi,” you call softly. “Brought you some juice.”

“Oh, room service,” the woman inside jokes.

You giggle and hand her the cup of juice and ice. She takes a grateful sip.

“Thank you, darl.”

“Of course. Do you need anything else?”

“Erm… they’re bringin’ her back round soon, yeah?”

You peek out. 

“Rounding the corner as we speak.”

“Thank God.”

Your supervising nurse gently hands her the baby as she places the juice onto her small table.

“Hi, my darling. Look at you.”

“She’s so precious,” you say.

“Isn’t she? Oh, I’ve been dyin’ for a girl. My boys are my whole world, but… gosh, she’s lovely.”

“Your husband wanted a girl?”

“Yeah, how’d you think I got that big belly in the first place?”

All three of you laugh.

“He had sisters ‘n all. He’ll be a good dad to a little girl.” 

She coos at her baby and you feel that weird knot in your stomach, that ache to know that feeling. You’ve been having it all week, especially going home to your two live-in bodyguards. You used to think you and your ex would get married, have some babies. You always daydreamed about being the perfect duo, a pediatrician and a pediatric nurse. At least he’ll be able to provide as a father, even if he is a dickhead. 

Johnny would need some work to be a dad, but he’d have fun and games down perfect. Simon would take to it well, if not a little scary for a little girl or boy. 

John would really be an amazing father. He could be loving and stern and silly when he needed to be. But you think about your aunt learning you had a baby with one of your dad’s Army mates and you cringe outwardly.

“You alright, love?” the nurse asks you.

“Oh, f-fine. Who’s next?”

Your shift ends late in the evening, and you sigh, remembering your walk home. Nothing too bad, just sometimes there’s drunk men from the pubs who catcall you on your way back. 

You hear the ladies at the desk murmuring as you walk over.

“Goodnight, ladies,” you chirp.

“Wait, there’s some guy out there!”

“What?”

“Yeah, Susan said she saw someone out there with a mask on!” 

“Oh… that’s…”

You see Simon outside, who nods to you.

“That’s not your boyfriend is it?”

“Uh, he, um… we’re…”

How can you explain it?

“Yeah,” you squeak out.

“What’s wrong with him?” one girl asks.

Another nurse sucks her teeth.

“Don’t say that! Liv, tell the security guard to stop watching him.”

“That beast out there won’t keep her safe?”

“Would you stop?” 

“Seriously, how tall is he?”

You don’t know how tall he is, just that he’s taller than you. 

“Oh, um… hundred eighty nine centimeters? I think?”

“Fuck me.”

“Go do a round,” the older nurse sighs. “Have a nice night, love. Stay safe.”

You say goodbye and head out, cringing at your choice to lie.

“Hey.”

“Y’know, when a man in a skull mask shows up late at night most people think they’re gonna get robbed,” you say with a sigh.

“Sorry.”

“Why are you here?”

“You got off late. Walkin’ you home.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Price don’t walk you home?”

“Sometimes. John’s busy.”  

“Well, I ain’t. So let’s go, it’s fuckin’ freezin’.” 

Simon walks with you, subtly guiding you to the inside of the street. Hands shoved in his pockets, head on a swivel. 

“Where’s Johnny?”

“With Gaz.”

You blink.

“Shit. Uh… Kyle,” he corrects himself. 

“Oh! Really?” you giggle, shaking your head. “Gaz, Ghost, and Soap. That’s so silly.” 

He laughs, even though you barely hear it.

“Are you blond, Simon?” you ask without thinking.

“Why?”

“Sorry. I… I just noticed your eyelashes yesterday and I thought… ‘maybe he’s blond’.”

“I am, yeah.”

“Not that I’m asking to see your face, no, I-I wouldn’t-”

“You scared of me?” he asks honestly, eyeing you.

“Uh… not as much as I was.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I know,” you say plainly. “John trusts you, and I trust him.” 

“So him ‘n you never…?”

He catches the split-second of panic on your face. 

“Oh, well… we… we kissed once. But we were both drunk,” you explain quickly. 

You’re bending the truth, Ghost can tell.

“Yeah?”

“Well… maybe a little more than that.”

He sees your coy little smile and grins under his mask.

“You likin’ it in there?” he asks, nodding back to the hospital.

“I love it. I’m thinking it might be my spot when I’m finished.”

“You good with the babies, eh?”

“Gosh, I hope I am.” 

You open the door to John’s building and greet the doorman, going up in the lift. 

You unlock the door and open it, seeing Johnny asleep on the couch. Simon whistles and he sits up instantly.

“Hi, bon.” 

“Hi, Johnny.”

“You hungry?”

“Oh, no. Just tired.”

You turn back to Simon.

“Thank you for walking me home.”

He shrugs it off and you get on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Where’s my kiss?” Johnny jokes.

You kiss his cheek as you walk to your room.

“Goodnight, lads.”

“Night, bonnie!”

“G’night,” Simon mutters, stunned. 

In the early morning, Soap gets a call from Gaz. He shoots you and Ghost a text in the little groupchat you made.

nurse + men in her house 

johnny 🧼mactavish

Out oan run w Gaz. B back later

simon 💀riley 

Roger

You sit on the couch watching the TV absently. Johnny’s still gone and Simon’s gone to the gym. You scroll on your phone and see a video of a YouTuber and her toddler playing and laughing. The baby’s face is blurred, but you can almost hear his little smile. It makes your heart ache and you feel a little pain in your side. Shit. You swap over to your period tracking app and wince, seeing the cycle words highlighted. You’re ovulating, no wonder you’ve been craving a baby like mad. Even if your stupid ex was here, you couldn’t really tell him why you needed to get fucked so badly. The sex was pretty sparse and very unfulfilling toward the end anyway.

You try to focus on the film on the TV to keep your mind off of that deep, biological need.

You shiver and change the channel, flipping to some nature documentary. You sigh and watch, rubbing your temples until they show a mother bear and her cute little cubs toddling around. She cleans them with her tongue and they almost look like they’re smiling. Then you can’t help it, you burst into tears.

You’re crying so much you don’t even hear the door unlock and open. Simon enters and stares at you. You catch his eye and cover your face.

“S-Simon-”

“What’s wrong?”

He crosses the floor instantly, at your side in a second. 

“Did somebody make you cry?”

“No, no… I-”

You take a shaky breath, but you only sob harder. You hug him, which shocks him for a second until he wraps his huge arms around you.

“Oh, it’s so stupid,” you whine, wiping at your eyes.

“Go on, tell us.”

“I just… I’ve been in hospital all week… seeing these mothers and all these sweet little infants and I just- God, I want a baby,” you cry, exhaling.

Simon’s hand holds your face. It’s big and warm. 

“That ain’t stupid.”

You sniffle, shaking your head.

“No, it’s stupid.”

“No, it ain’t. You told us you wanna be a mum. And your body’s… fuckin’ hardwired for it,” he attempts to comfort you. “S’normal.”

His jaw clenches and he avoids your eyes.

“You… on your period or somethin’?” 

“No, I’m ovulating and it hurts,” you say quietly, trying to push more tears away. 

If you could see the way Ghost is red under this mask. He swallows and tilts his head.

“I could… if you want… I could help,” he offers quietly. 

“Oh, Simon, y-you-”

“Nothin’ serious. Unless you… want that.”

You’ve never seen him like this. He’s shy, stumbling over his words.

“Would you really?”

He nods. And you think for a moment. You really just need some release at the moment. You have a vibrator, but it never works well enough. 

“Please,” you whisper.

“Your room?”

You nod and he picks you up like nothing, like you’re a cat, and carries you all of five long steps to your room. He sets you on the bed gently and looks around for a second. Your room is a little chaotic— organized chaos though— he sees anatomy notes and a schedule on a whiteboard, pictures of your friends from photo-booths and Polaroids pinned up on the walls. And a stuffed rabbit on the bed.

“Oh, sorry.”

You pick up Robby and move him to your desk, on top of your textbooks. You hesitate and turn him around.

Ghost thinks it’s sweet. He knows you’re sweet, he wants to make you feel good.

You return to the bed and meet his eyes. You can’t help but giggle, because it’s all so absurd to you in that moment. 

“Can I kiss you?” you ask him.

He nods, hooking his thumb under the mask and pulling it up over his nose.

“It’s like when they kiss in Spider-Man,” you joke, giving him a soft kiss on his scarred lips. 

Something clicks into place, something biological and needy, that has you wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to lay on top of you. Your legs fall open and Simon slots between them as you kiss deeper. His big hands hold your waist and you gasp at the contact. 

Oh, you’re really pent up. Ghost has a feeling your ex wasn’t doing anything right.

So he starts holding you a little tighter, pushing his hips against you, kissing your neck. The place he’s slotted between your legs is hot and he can guess it’s starting to get wet. 

“Simon,” you breathe, your head rolling back.

“S’good?”

You squeak and giggle when his thumb digs into your side.

“That tickles!” you say, squirming away. 

He playfully drags you back, kissing your cheek.

“I’ll be gentle, love.” 

It’s eager and honest. A solemn vow, he means it. 

He can’t help but smirk against your skin knowing Soap is going to find out he got you first. His hand travels down your skin, his fingers pushing up the hem of your shirt and admiring the soft skin of your belly. 

You paw at the zipper of his hoodie and he unzips it and shrugs it off, letting you see his arms. One side is scarred up, and the other is littered with tattoos at the forearm. 

Giving you no time to react, his hand slips into your shorts, big fingers rubbing you over your panties. You moan and cover your mouth with your hand.

“No, lemme hear.” 

You move your hand away and lock eyes with him, which makes you whimper when his hand slides into your panties.

“Wet already,” he husks. 

One of his fingers pushes into your pussy and you grab his arm, eyes squeezing shut. 

“Y’so fuckin’ tight,” he grits against your neck.

You cry out, feeling him move it further in and curl it slightly. 

“Y-you- oh…” 

He adds another finger and you squeak at the burn of the stretch. His fingers are big and thick and when you think of them holding a big gun you cover your eyes with your hands. 

“Have you ever killed someone?” you blurt out, feeling moronic instantly. 

He looks at you. He doesn’t say anything.

The silence is all you need though.

“And John… and Johnny, a-and Kyle too?” you ask, your lip wobbling as you try not to sob again.

“Love,” he coos. “Lemme make you feel good ‘n we can talk, right?”

You nod and his other hand wipes a tear from your face with his thumb.

His fingers curl up and you whine, your hips keening upward. The heel of his hand presses against your clit and you dig your nails into his arm.

“Sorry!” you gasp, pulling away your hand and seeing the little crescent-shaped divots from your nails in his skin. You rub your hand over it, pouting at him. 

He stares at you for a moment and you squirm a little. He feels you clench and twitch around his fingers.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, please keep going,” you beg quietly.

“That don’t hurt,” he murmurs. “You do whatever you want, love. That don’t hurt.” 

A strangled noise rips through your throat when his fingers curl up again and you fist your hand in his shirt. 

Ghost fucks his fingers in and out quickly, but not too rough. He wants you to feel good, and really doesn’t want to scare you. 

“Tha’s good, love. Yeah. Just breathe,” he pants against your cheek.

You feel the knot Simon’s been untying inside of you finally start to give, and you grip his wrist as your hips cant desperately. 

“Simon- don’t- don’t stop! Th-there! Yes! Si- oh, shit, I-I’m g-”

You sob as you cum, and you cum hard. You tremble in his arms and he pumps his fingers in your pussy until you’re pawing at his arm and mewling.

“S’too much,” you hiccup. 

He pulls his fingers out and you watch him stupidly as he licks them clean. You feel like you might faint. 

You smile, dazed. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. “That was really nice.” 

“You need anythin’ else?”

“A little nap before class,” you tell him. 

He moves to get up and you tug him down.

“Wait…”

You kiss him softly and curl up to his chest. 

“Will Johnny be mad?”

“Dunno. You plannin’ on kissin’ him?”

You giggle and hide in his chest.

“Probably. Do you mind sharing?"

"Ain't my place."

"In that case, I think I like Kyle, too.”

“And Price?”

You sigh.

“Too old?” 

“Just a bit. Kinda makes him even more… enticing, I guess.” 

When you fall asleep, Ghost sneaks from your room as Soap and Gaz enter through the front door. They see him with his hoodie off and his mask still up.

“You British cunt, did you fuck her?!” Soap shouts. 

He death-glares Soap and hears you laugh from your room. 

“Said she ain’t opposed to sharin’,” Ghost says to the both of them with a smirk, tugging down his mask. 

“No time for that,” Gaz starts. “Makarov’s back.”

[lisaasila-stuff]

Sans and Papyrus work so goddamn well together in canon that it feels impossible to implement a third person into their family(your other reblog about them having Nano and Lilo dynamic is a great example of that). Only really distant figure like an acquaintance or a buddy, or maybe like a cousin or a grandpa (after all it seems that Gaster based on grandpa Semi; you can have up to 4 grandpas after all) doesn't affect their dynamic that much. However, if they work as a parental figure from the very beginning, then it's going to cause the changes to their dynamic yet again.

The reason is because Sans probably did raised Papyrus. If they had grew up like all other kids together with a proper parent, then even a huge age gap wouldn't make that type of dynamic (personal headcanon it's around 8-9 years gap, to keep Sans as a brother rather making him into a father). You can have Gaster as a parental figure and Sans raising Papyrus, if Gaster dies early enough — which could reinforce even further the connection with Nani and Lilo.

But it's common to think that if Gaster was a parental figure to them(we'll roll with him being a father, since it's the most common trop; and it's too long to type "parental figure" each time), then he affected them both in similar way. Gaster was an abusive parent? Then he was abusive to them both. Gaster was a good parent? Then he was a good parent to them both. Which is totally fine, actually — remember to have fun guys — but it doesn't seem to be the case if we want to try to implement it with Sans and Papyrus canon behaviour.

Sometimes, more rarely, people seem to think that Sans was a favorite — which doesn't make that much sense, either (remember to have fun though ok??? I will say it a million times and then a million more if needed). It definitely would gave some kind of effect of different childhoods, however favoritism would also affect Sans' and Papyrus' dynamics tremendously, even if they'll try their hardest to be nice to each other. It's about the inside sorrow and guilt you can't fight, which the skelebros don't have — or perhaps not something we know of. If anything, they're proud of each other's achievements and don't feel like it's a competition.

So we have a problem of not quite hitting their personalities and the way how they interact with each other from that. The reason for that is because it seems like Sans and Papyrus had really different childhoods.

And by different childhoods I mean literally different childhoods in every aspect.

It seems like Papyrus had a healthy environment when he was growing up. He knows how to handle his emotions and address them (genocide route interactions), which is often a problem for victims of abuse; he knows what he wants despite thinking about the wrong resolution to the said problem (it's the "when I become part of the royal guard I'll be so popular and everyone will want be my friend!" guy, he literally tells us what he wants and it's part of his character to be so goddamn good at addressing his struggles); his struggles are external rather than internal (loneliness) and he copes with it in a healthy way than just giving in to his damaged self-esteem ("I, the great Papyrus," is better way to cope with damaged self-esteem than giving in to your doubts. Learn from Papyrus, folks, he knows what he's doing!). (No but really Papyrus actually quite cracked at psychology, and I wonder how much of his motivation to learn it comes from Sans' depression, Paps just lacks actual experience with people; as opposed to Sans, who doesn't really know psychology but have a lot of social experience)

Someone may question damaged self-esteem, and someone might interpretate it as a sign of some sort of problems at home that was before. However, the thing is — even with the best support you can get, if you keep trying over and over again at something without any success, you inevitably will start doubting yourself. "Maybe the problem in me rather than in everyone else" type of shit, which might lead to doubting yourself in almost everything.

(though it might be a sign he recognized that he isn't the sharpest tool in the shed; he seems to have some a big struggle with word puzzles, after all. It's okay to know your cons as long as you're chill about it lol)

Here I cutted off a chunk of analysis where I've got carried away and just started to analyse the effect of his loneliness instead of guessing the effects of his childhood on what kind of person he is now, but it also kinda proves my point. Papyrus probably had a great home life back in the days, he have confidence in the fact that Sans will help and support him with everything (genocide route interactions; or to be exact, the moment when Papyrus can't handle the situation anymore and asks Sans for help. "Sans! They keep skipping over my puzzles!"), and that kind of trust is really telling. Papyrus' main struggle is yet again from his loneliness. And if we can say anything about his state when he was a child, then we probably should address the fact that Papyrus seems to project himself on Frisk heavily. With any other character I didn't notice that kind of behavior, and yet when it boils down to one of not many children in the cast, Papyrus for some reason sees himself in them. On Pacifist (and neutral I think?) routes just before the fight Papyrus projects his own feeling onto Frisk("the excitement of finding another puzzle enjoyer and pasta lover... That what you must feel right now!" Or something like that, I don't remember the exact quote), and in one of these descriptions he calls them "a lonely human". In Genocide Route interactions Papyrus sees a strange child who keeps skipping over his puzzles and not replying to the questions, and instead of holding the grudge or assuming the worst he immediately goes "It's okay, you probably have some kind of cultural shock or just don't know how to behave with other people! The Great Papyrus will explain it to you, so we can work on it together!" (That one is my personal favorite actually!!! I can't.. isn't Papyrus just the coolest??). And if keep the theory of Papyrus projecting onto Frisk something he felt a long time ago, then "the cultural shock" part becomes even more curious. Especially considering the theory "skelebros are from Deltarune".

Sans, on the other hand, shows some concerning abilities which people who had a proper childhood wouldn't learn in the first place. His ability to read expressions is absolutely astonishing, and knocked out socks of millions of people — especially when he starts to count your deaths in the Genocide Route. And the one can argue it's probably easy to tell by Frisk's expressions — after all, they're a child, they probably don't have any understanding of making pokerface yet(Frisk seems to be described as rather expressionate by the narrator and other characters, as far as I remember).

But there's a difference between "the time traveler looks pissed off just about I'm about to fight them; considering my dejavu, I've probably killed them", and "the time traveler looks pissed off just about I'm about to fight them; considering my dejavu, and judging by their expression, I can tell for sure I've killed them 3 times now". You don't learn the difference between ten shades of angry expressions in a happy house. I bet Sans can tell who's walking down the stairs by their footsteps.

And yet, it seems that it got better at some point? Sans had to learn from someone what a good parenting is, in otherwise Papyrus wouldn't have such a good childhood; Sans learned how to joke and how to laugh; Sans learned that maybe, even the worst person can change (after all, from whom else Papyrus could gain this mindset? Though, it seems like monsterkind overall prefers to think like that (maybe having a king as a serial child murderer does have consequences on the public lol)), Sans learned to keep moving despite everything seeming to be worthless. Because by the end of the day, maybe everything will change for the best.

However, there's still effects that comes from abusive childhood. He does have some troubles with dealing with complex negative situations — he tends to back off instead of resolving/addressing the conflict, and laugh it off without explanation for his actions or decisions. One of such instances is the lamp interaction between Sans and Papyrus — Papyrus calls him lazy, and Sans hints him to back off; however it immediately gets followed up with a joke. There's a big chance that Sans uses humour as a coping mechanism, considering the way how often he tries to lighten up tense situation with it(I mean, doesn't he literally tells you jokes along the way as he fights you in Genocide Route). The only instances I remember of Sans not trying to soften negativity is when he wants to be threatening (bad time moments and some of the neutral endings), and there's a few more when he starts to soften negativity with a joke, then cut it off and continues to be passive aggressive (some of neutral endings; I wonder if he jokes because he doesn't want to feel so much negative emotions, out of habit, or because he wanted to have the situation end on more light note but changes his mind along the way).

Sans tends to lie and keep everything in secret for seemingly no reason, but it actually reinforces even further the idea that he isn't familiar with being emotionally vulnerable. One of such instances is at the dinner.

The whole scene is quite curious, because by body language you can tell that Sans either not comfortable of sharing something or just didn't get used to being emotionally vulnerable. He pauses, changes the topic like two-three times, constantly looks away os if it hard to keep it face to face. Personally I think he feels guilty there, which leads to him telling the famous "you'd be dead where you stand" phrase in the first place (there's really no reason for him to threaten you in this conversation). The body language is important here, so I'll remind you how it goes.

* but...

* someone who sincerely likes bad jokes...

* had an integrity you can't say "no" to.

(Sans turns away, and then turns back.)

* do you get what i'm saying?

* that promise i made to her...

* do you know what would happened if she hadn't said anything?

* ... buddy.

(Sans turns away.)

He doesn't even look at you! And afterwards he looks at your reaction and immediately brushes it off, telling you to lighten up and that he was "joking with you"!! (I can't with those idiots ughhhggughh).

It's also an example of how Sans tends to try lighten the mood as soon as it becomes negative, instead of properly explaining himself.

In other words, Sans did get through some shit and made sure that Papyrus won't feel the same. Which leads to their trusting and respectful relationship, where Papyrus feels absolutely comfortable to be vulnerable— and Sans tries his hardest to be vulnerable, too.

I remember seeing a take where dadster actually adopted Sans and Papyrus instead of being their biological father; and it's one of instances that could suit them, if Gaster eventually dies early enough for Papyrus being raised by Sans. Another take is Gaster being Papyrus' and Sans' brother, which is curious — but I'd say I don't see Gaster as the older brother (remember to have fun ok!!!!!), it feels like throwing out the window the whole dynamic. As a middle brother, though? I dunno, but sounds interesting for me.

But it really does seem like Gaster had close relationship at least with Sans.

Otherwise, why would he try to fix the machine?

I strongly hc that undertale sans raised papyrus which is why papyrus has really cutesy ways of talking to him in the jpn version

I stan the hc that Sans raised Papyrus so hard. Like, so hard that I don't care if it's canon or not, it's canon in my heart. I like to think maybe they had a Lilo and Nani dynamic when Papyrus was a kid. Or that Sans was more fatherly in the way that dads tell shitty jokes and sit on you to be annoying. Whenever I see an edit on tiktok about Papyrus only being able to see Sans as his dad I have to rip off both of my legs to stabilize myself

And now knowing that Papyrus has a cutesy speaking pattern in the Japanese version? Hoo boy. HOOOOO BOY. Sans must've been a really good fucking "parental" figure/older brother because whenever I see adults that are okay with calling their parents terms of endearment like 'mama' or 'big sissy' they have almost exclusively had a good relationship with them. So if Papyrus is cool with calling Sans brother in a way so cutesy and endearing they must have a really comfortable and happy relationship. And I love that for them.

Also, the only reason we know that Sans IS the older brother is because of the Japanese version of ut. Let that sink in. Thank you Tobias Radiation Fox.

[solar-halos]

i’m gonna see you alligators later

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[makotonaegiunderstander]

something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”

[lizardho]

I took a human development class at BYU. It was a good class. The guy who taught it did a great job with it, he was passionate, he was curious, he was kind, and to top it all off he was a fabulous Mormon. I had to sign up for his class the night it opened and I only barely made it into his lecture it filled so fast. I cannot for the life of me remember his name, but I remember how he challenged the class in some peculiar ways.

A funny experience of challenging the class was when we had our lecture on conception and development in utero. He taps the microphone like a comedian who just bombed a set, asks if we can hear him, get’s a resounding and excited “yes!” and says “Ok! Ok! Y’all sounds excited! Let’s do a chant, see if that helps with some of the other energy. Are you ready?”

Of course everyone cheers yes, we’re Mormon, being in a room of people saying the same shit over and over is our jam. So he nods, gets a beat going by clapping, and starts chanting the word “sex” into the microphone. The claps die. The chant doesn’t start. But he keeps going, and going, until he gets half the class chanting with him by brutal shameless persistence. Then he changes the word. “Vagina!” And resumes until he has half the class. Then “clitoris!” then “penis!” then finally when he has half the room chanting he stops the chant and says “I only ever go until I can get half of y’all chanting because this is BYU and I’d be here all day if I waited for everyone to be comfortable even saying the word “sex” out loud which is INSANE because today we’re talking about how life begins and I guarantee you almost every woman who flinched away from chanting “penis” wants to have kids and most of the men who couldn’t pronounce clitoris want to have at least two kids and that does not work out in my head! We need to get over this fear to talk about conception openly.” He talked about sex as a biological phenomenon and as a fun thing to do sometimes and it was a transformative experience for me, and it was very funny as an opener.

He challenged us academically too, though. He assigned us the task of observing children at the campus daycare and told us he wanted to know who we had observed just by our behavioral observations. He meant it, too. He didn’t want us to just know about kids he wanted us to be able to see kids as distinct people and that was amazing. He pushed us out of the mindset of “how do I pass this assignment” and challenged us to internalize “how do I learn to do this in real life?” and he pushed us to observe children as people and not as science experiments or obedient joyful output machines.

Another way he challenged the class, and this one sticks with me tbh, is he told us stories. His technique is one I often utilize as a therapist. He tells a story that’s related *enough* to keep you aware of how your question or need is related, but just unrelated enough distract you from the question so when he brings it back to you it hits as an experience instead of a verbal response to an inquiry. He did this sometimes in response to questions from students and it was always an interesting way to experience learning. One day a student, a worried newlywed man who JUST found out his wife was pregnant, asked what he could do to help her because he felt so excited and overwhelmed he couldn’t think clearly. And the professor stops the lecture and thinks about it, like, REALLY thinks about it, and he leads into his story - it starts with a brief discussion on the complexity and uniqueness of fingerprints. Then he tells us about how one of his graduate students a few years back came into his office complaining that his wife was getting lazier. Him, being a therapist and a curious man by nature, asked the student what he meant. The student responds by saying that he felt “duped” by his wife because she’d been energetic and motivated and passionate and attentive until she got pregnant and now she “doesn’t do anything” and “has no ambition” and “doesn’t even cook dinner anymore” and “always says she’s tired even though she hasn’t DONE anything” and how he felt like it was all an act to pretend to be a good wife until she got pregnant and had him hooked forever.

And this guy is reacting to this in real time - he goes point by point through this graduate student’s complaints and nods patiently, curiously, then sinisterly as he understands the situation. He tells the grad students to come a little closer so he can show him something in a book, then whaps him upside the head with the book.

The grad student of course reacts with shock and anger and demands a justification for being whacked with a book and the professor responds with “how far into the pregnancy is your lazy lazy wife?” The grad student gives a response to he opens the book and slaps it on the desk and says “at that point in pregnancy your child’s fingerprints are developing. Do you know how complex and detailed fingerprints are? Do you know how much time and energy it would take to make that from nothing? That is what your wife is doing all day. She’s making your child’s fingerprints. Get that in your head and get over yourself.”

He then stops the story, looks at the guy who asked the question, and asks how far along his wife is? And the student responds, and he says “if you go home today and your wife is tired, it’s because she was growing functional kidneys for another human being all day. So tell her you’ll do the dishes, and don’t whine about it. And remember that any time you’re doing any chore or task you’re not accustomed to for the next few months, any time you’re eating an uninspired dinner, any time you’re rubbing her feet or helping her get to sleep and thinking “oh geez she’s so dramatic” remember she is growing another person and ask yourself if your dinner or unfolded socks are more valuable than a functioning kidney or a distinct fingerprint because I guarantee you it is not. She is engaged in the act of creation, fold your own socks.”

Y’all I mean the fucking CRICKETS in that room. My ears were ringing from the revelation he had just unleashed into my brain. There was not a single body in that room that was not GRIPPED by the response to this question. And I fully recognize that he was asking for fairly little, like, yeah, you should be an involved parent and partner because “for time and all eternity” means “even when she won’t have sex with me,” but he was saying it as a Mormon man talking to another Mormon man and that was so exciting and new to me that it stuck with me. I remember this story in a myriad of ways - it’s a good example of using privilege to challenge privilege, for example. It’s a good example of “lifting where you stand,” so to speak, by making a difference where you are instead of making a hypothetical “bigger” difference elsewhere. It helps me remind myself that neutrality is progress, too, and that the best time to do something I should have always been doing is now. It also helps me be patient with myself when I am sick - healing is work, recovering is work, resting is work, even if the demanding husband in my head can’t see it yet.

If y’all are struggling to get better and feel your frustration building as each possibility of action passes you by while you’re stuck healing, you can ask yourself if making an amazing dinner is more important than having a healthy body, then eat your “guilty”/“easy”/“uninspired” Mac n cheese or delivery pizza or peanut butter and jelly sandwich because it’s not. If you find yourself struggling because your body is not behaving like a successful experiment or an obedient joyful output machine, try seeing yourself as a full person and not an assignment you’re failing. And if you’re embarrassed about sex, chant “penis” over and over again or something. The metaphor’s falling apart, so I’ll end with my typical advice: Be gayer, be good to each other, read more Terry Pratchett, and treat people as people.

[paarksunghoon]

FIXED COMFORT | SUNGHOON

SUMMARY: typically, sunghoon’s the one who takes care of you when you’ve had one too many. but once in a blue moon, he lets his guard down and allows you to care for him the way he does for you.

or, the one where sunghoon’s drunk at a bar and misses his girlfriend a little too much.

NOTES: idk I just feel like someone should let him sleep for six months straight!!!

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.4K (4444 exactly—she’s a shortie).

WARNINGS: fluff on fluff on fluff.

***

“Hey, do you think you could come get Sunghoon from the bar? He’s been asking for you for the past hour.”  

Jay’s phone call pulls you out from a deep slumber on a Saturday night that falls on a day with no plans other than pure relaxation. Sunghoon had been preoccupied with work and classes this past week and wanted to unwind by drinking at his favorite bar with his closest friends and all you wanted to do was sleep the weekend away. 

Since the two of you started dating six months ago after being friends for a little over two years, you both agree on the notion that you’ve found a good balance between time spent together and apart respectively. Nothing fundamentally changed with the exception of kissing and touching one another in the way a couple would. He still respects your independence and you respect his time away from you as well. 

Sunghoon learned quickly that you’re the type of person who values your alone time more than anything else. When he first started developing feelings for you, grappling with your absence wasn’t easy. He initially thought you weren’t interested in getting to know him the way he was with you because you weren’t afraid to decline invitations and telling people ‘no.’ Slowly, over the course of many months of pining and late night conversations, did Sunghoon learn that you’re typically your best self after a moment of isolation. 

Your boyfriend is somewhere in between an introvert and extrovert. He tends to be shy when he meets people he isn’t familiar with while his loud, rambunctious attitude is typically reserved for those who know him best. He likes to keep to himself for the most part, giving some of his personality away when he feels his walls start to crumble naturally. You love that he has a good head on his shoulders and that he’s able to tell you about his feelings while maintaining an air of confidence. He doesn’t inherently need anybody; he likes your company and will do anything to keep it.

Moments like this are when your heart feels softer for Sunghoon than when the two of you were just friends.

“I know you wanted to spend the weekend alone but Hoon’s been saying your name all night,” Jay says. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“No, it’s fine.” You’re sure Jay can hear your brittle voice. “Are you guys at the bar near your place?”

“That’s the one. Thanks again and I’m really sorry for waking you up.”

“Don’t sweat it. Cook me something next week if you still feel bad.” 

“I can do that. Chili oil noodles with shrimp sound good?”

“It’s almost like you know me.” He laughs at your sarcasm. 

“Drive safe.” 

When Jay hangs up, you allow yourself a few minutes to adjust and wake up, stretching your body from the warm comfort of your blankets. You change out of Sunghoon’s shirt to put on pajama pants and another one of his stolen shirts, opting not to take a jacket since you figure you won’t be out for very long. 

You thank your past self for filling up your gas tank before tonight after having put it off for a few days. Knowing Sunghoon, he would still scold you for allowing yourself to run nearly empty before filling it up even if he was inebriated. Somehow, knowing this about him brings a smile to your face.

Sunghoon’s the kind of guy who likes to have some control over certain things. He likes order and structure, often waking up at the same hour every weekday to build a routine his body can remember. He’s been like that since you first met him but you think it’s part of his charm. Even from two years ago, when you met him through Jake Sim, Sunghoon has maintained a level of confidence and control that he does now. On the heels of an impressive skating career before pivoting to focus on higher education, Sunghoon had his preferences and will stick by them. 

His discipline is the first thing you noticed when you met him for the first time. Jay, someone you were already familiar with, agreed to cook dinner with your friend group under the condition that everyone helped him shop and chip in for the meal. Sunghoon held Jake back from buying unnecessary things like boxed chocolate milk and candy because Jay had desserts back at his place. He held a checklist of items whereas the rest of your friends ran up and down the aisles without thinking much about what needed to be purchased.

Sunghoon’s near-meticulous behavior is juxtaposed to your chaotic and rambunctious nature. You often follow your gut instead of setting a solid plan because you’re not concerned with meeting deadlines, sans education. Whereas you tend to lean towards a go-with-the-flow attitude, Sunghoon is the opposite. But that’s something he loves about you.  

At a surface level distinction, it didn’t seem like the two of you would get along as well as you did. It surprised Jake when Sunghoon asked for your number so he could text you about seeing a comedy film with him as no one else in the group wanted to see it. Including you at an impromptu study session with him (Sunghoon was organized and neat while your pens were spread all over and your study methods, haphazard) felt like watching two people clash. 

Rather, you and Sunghoon complement one another. 

The idea of letting himself go with someone who wasn’t part of his friend collective was unheard of. Getting to know a girl who didn’t share similar lifestyles didn’t appeal to him before meeting you, and you’re inarguably the most chaotic person Sunghoon knows. But he finds that there’s order within your chaos—you know who you are and what you want, and you will not compromise yourself just to please other people. 

It’s what Sunghoon loves the most about you. There’s a boundary you never let anyone cross under the assumption that your own safety net feels compromised. He’s watched you lose friends for this same reason and has always admired the way you carry yourself like you know you deserve better than people who disrespect you. He’s witnessed the grace you maintain when people who call you a friend voice words of kindness but speak ill about you behind your back. If anything, Sunghoon feels pity for anyone who crosses you to the point of anger. To be envious of another’s confidence is one thing. To make that known is another. 

Sunghoon learns that you let your inhibitions go because holding control over yourself feels like a burden. It feels like setting a standard you will never be able to meet. He never thought of order in that way before getting to know you. Your approach to life sparked a new wave of emotions within him to the point where he was open and willing to let you farther into his life. 

His days were ruled by guidelines he had to maintain and proper etiquette that followed him even off the rink. The poise he carried from his career on the ice bled into his personal life too. Although, he doesn’t mind that it does. Sunghoon values any form of structure because it makes him feel like he has a purpose and that there’s something to be accomplished at the end of the day. 

Most times, Sunghoon’s feels like people judge him for his regimen and can’t fathom why he appreciates control so much. They tell him to let loose and enjoy his time away from his career. People always think he simply doesn’t know how to have fun because he’s set in his ways and won’t let other people coax him into doing something he’s not comfortable with. But not you. Sunghoon has never felt like you‘ve judged how he chooses to live his life. 

Before he knew it, a year had passed and he started to call you one of his best friends. The friendship was gradual. Sunghoon didn’t have many close female friends in the way he does with Heeseung, Jay, and Jake. You’re the first person since ending his career who hasn’t tried to pry into the why. In fact, Sunghoon enjoys that you didn’t bring it up. 

(You did, in the form of cooing over his younger self skating in competitions for the first time or roasting all of the outfits he had to wear. But somehow, all of your jabs made him feel happier than when people complimented his performance.)

Eventually, being around you felt too right. He loved it when you took naps on his bed and felt comfortable raiding your kitchen pantry without permission. Sunghoon could leave you in his apartment without him being in it and feel at ease. In fact, he started to look forward to coming home to you. All it took was seeing you wear his hoodie because you got too cold and forgot your jacket, to make him drop his bag by the front door and ask you to be his girlfriend. He hasn’t regretted anything with you since. 

The weather is cold outside since it’s approaching the middle of autumn. You let your car warm up and blast the heat all the way up while adjusting your defrosting settings before heading to the bar to pick up Sunghoon. You sift through your playlists and settle on soft indie melodies before you drive away from the curb. 

You’ve never seen Sunghoon get drunk to the point of needing extra help. Usually, you’re the one who goes a little too hard whenever Heeseung brings out the alcohol or if Jake offers an edible or two. Sunghoon likes to sit back and stay sober (or sober up by the end of the night) when he notices you having too much fun. He doesn’t mind, though. Sunghoon likes taking care of you because sometimes it gives him purpose. You’ve never understood that sentiment but to each their own. 

The only times you’ve seen him completely wasted are usually when you’re equally as gone, like on your first road trip as a couple. The five of you rented a lakehouse a few hours from Seoul and spent an entire weekend basking under the hot sun and chose to forget about university stress before finals would inevitably kick everyone’s ass. All five of you were cross-faded (but not without Jay and Sunghoon both prepping water bottles and snacks for when the munchies would hit prior to taking anything). You watched Sunghoon relax to the point where he was much quieter than he normally was and when you asked if he was doing alright, he looked you in the eye and told you he loved you for the first time. 

I always have, I think, he said as he brought your hand to his chest. You might not believe me because neither of us are sober but I swear I’ll tell you in the morning. 

Sunghoon gets affectionate when he’s drunk or high, often to the point of asking for reassurance. The rational side of his brain is temporarily disfigured. You don’t mind being there to tell him that he’s the love of your life and you’d never go anywhere when he gets like this. Although, you’re usually just as gone and gush all of your hidden emotionally-charged feelings, which pair well with Sunghoon’s need for validation sometimes. 

Your friends love your relationship. They don’t think it’s too much or too little, going so far as to take photos of the two of you when you aren’t looking. Some are funny like the pictures of you sleeping on his chest with drool pooling out of your mouth. Others are romantic and whimsical, like the pictures of Sunghoon looking at you like you’re the sunshine to his moonlight. They can’t get enough of you two. Your friends love knowing people they care about are deeply in love with one another and your relationship is somewhat of a reminder that true romance does exist. 

Thinking about this makes your heart swell as you park your car and tuck your keys inside your purse. The bouncer checks your ID and lets you inside the bar, and you already spot Jay off to the side. 

“Thanks for coming,” he says as he gives you a loose hug. “And sorry for waking you up.” 

You wave him off. “It’s fine. I’ve probably woken you up for worse.” 

“Yeah, like the time you and Jake wanted ramen at 3am and wouldn’t stop calling me because both of you got a little too high.” 

“Can you blame us?! You were like, two blocks away.” 

“Yeah, but did you need to eat with me?” 

“Duh. You’re like, the best person to eat a late night dinner with.” 

The two of you laugh as he leads you to the group. You see Sunghoon slumped over the table with his head in his arms and the rest of your friend group tries really hard not to seem too excited when they see you standing next to Jay. 

“Fucking finally.” Heeseung stands and gives you a quick side hug before Jake does the same. “Love you guys and all but he started to become unbearable when he kept showing us photos of you.”

Jake snorts. “Poor guy was almost about to cry.” That makes your heart soft. 

“He looks so cute,” you coo, tilting your head to savor this moment. It’s abnormal for you to be the sober one but you’re starting to understand why Sunghoon doesn’t mind taking care of you when you’re like this. 

Jay comes to stand next to you. “He’s not cute when he drank half his weight in alcohol and wouldn’t shut up about how pretty your hair is.” 

“What, do you don’t think my hair’s pretty?” The messy, unbrushed hair is enough to make the guys laugh. 

“Nah seriously, thanks for coming,” says Jake. “We felt bad calling you but he refuses to get out of his seat.” 

“It’s fine.” You wave him off and step closer to your boyfriend, who still hasn’t moved from his position. 

“Do your thing and we’ll be here if you need help bringing him to the car.” Heeseung smiles gratefully at you. 

Even the back of Sunghoon’s head is unfairly gorgeous. His hair always looks nice, although you credit that to his younger sister introducing him to a world of hair care products during his skating years. It feels soft to the touch as you stroke the back of his head until Sunghoon slowly comes to. You feel his body start to stir.

“Baby,” you say quietly, bending down until you’re next to him. “Wake up for me.” 

“Hm?” Sunghoon mumbles from his arms. He feels the sensation of your fingers carding through his hair and pulls himself from the table, wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth before realizing you’re standing next to him. “Y/N?”

“I’m right here.” 

He pulls his head up until he’s sitting upright in the booth, squinting up at you to adjust to the bar lights that disappeared when he closed his eyes. Your boyfriend looks so innocent like this. He looks at you with a wide, round gaze as if you’d appeared out of thin air and he’s trying his hardest to figure out how you’re standing in front of him. 

“Is it really you?” Sunghoon asks in a quiet voice. His tone makes your heart flutter and you reach your arms out until you’re cupping his jaw and rubbing the pads of your thumbs over his cheeks. Sunghoon melts into your touch and you feel his body start to relax. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, bug. Did you have fun tonight?”

He nods in your hands, “Mhm. Just tired now.”

“Jay said you were asking for me.” 

“I always ask for you.” Your cheeks heat up and you try to ignore the snickers from behind you. 

“Why don’t we go back to my place, yeah? You can sleep in my bed instead of this bar.” 

“Can we? I love the guys but I just missed you.”

“Simp,” Heeseung whispers before coughing into his fist. 

Sunghoon stands from the booth once you’ve taken a step back to give him the space to move. He’s surprisingly able to stand on his own and clutches onto his jacket as he makes his way to the door. 

“Sorry guys,” he mutters to the guys. 

“Yah, it’s fine,” Jay says as he waves Sunghoon off. 

“Get home safe,” Heeseung says as he opens the door for the two of you. Sunghoon waves behind him until you guide him to the car. 

“Can you put your jacket on for me?” You catch it in your hands after he nearly let them fall from his grasp. 

“Shit, sorry.” You watch Sunghoon put on one arm and then the other. He looks so childlike in this moment as he concentrates his hardest to put the jacket on without stumbling. 

It reminds you that he doesn’t show you this side of him often. Sunghoon, ever the poised individual who likes to know what’s ahead of him, has let his inhibitions down. Seeing his figure slowly push his body through the warm fabric has you biting back a smile. 

“Need help?”

Sunghoon looks down at his hands that are trying to zip his jacket up to no avail. He feels like his hands are too big and the zipper is too small. “Please.”

Your steady fingers cover Sunghoon’s and take over the tedious task. The metal is warm from his fingertips. You can feel him looking down at you and you temporarily fumble with the zipper, which makes him laugh.

“Silly,” he mutters. “Ah, fuck. I don’t know if I can open the door.”

You roll your eyes and open it for him. “You’re funny.” 

He slides into the seat as gracefully as he can without hitting his head on the roof. Sunghoon struggles, but manages to buckle himself in and grins up at you when he hears the click of the buckle. When you look down on him, the lamp post from above casts a soft glow on his face. He looks so youthful at this moment. Sunghoon has let go of his thoughts and couldn’t think about anything but the present moment even if he tried. 

He waits for you and mumbles about how cold it is when you turn the engine on. The warm air starts to uplift his spirits and he looks at you with us head pressed to the headrest.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“What?” you ask. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Usually I’m the one taking care of you.”

“You don’t always have to be brave, you know.” 

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything. He reaches out to envelope your hand in his and squeezes it until he’s holding it loosely in the quiet of the evening.

“I love you.” 

Your heart blooms. “I love you right back.” He seems satisfied with your response and lets go of your hand so that you can drive back to your apartment. 

When you park on the curb, Sunghoon’s sober enough to unbuckle his seatbelt and wait for you to turn the engine off before opening his door carefully. He steps outside and leans back on the car door until you walk around the hood of the vehicle and grabs your hands to pull you into him. 

You feel his lips on your before you register what’s happening. He tastes faintly of pineapple soju and beer, and his mouth is warm. Despite his inebriated state, Sunghoon’s able to hold you between his hands as he moves to place them on your hips to balance your body after you’ve stumbled into him. 

The kiss itself is slow. In fact, it feels as though Sunghoon has slowed time around so that the two of you could enjoy the late night kiss uninterrupted. You can barely hear anything besides the ringing in your ears after being caught by surprise due to your boyfriend’s abrupt movements. Your mouths move in slow tandem and Sunghoon nearly pushes his tongue inside your mouth before pulling away to rest his forehead against your own.

“My baby,” he whispers against your lips before giving you another quick peck. 

“You are so cute.” You blurt out this confession like you’re still pining after him. “Let’s go inside, yeah?” 

The apartment is warm compared to the environment outside and Sunghoon slips off his shoes in favor of wearing his designated slippers. He doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time he does so, letting you pull him into the hallway until the two of you reach your bedroom. The hardwood floors feel better than the uneven pavement from outside.

He loves it here. It’s a sanctuary away from his apartment with the friends he will probably invite to his wedding. But something about your green comforter and hand-painted artwork adorning your walls makes Sunghoon feel like he would live by your side for the rest of his life. The scent of your room–warm peaches and vanilla–tugs at his heart strings. This is where he belongs. 

Likewise, you love seeing Sunghoon behave like this. It’s not commonplace for him to let people take care of him in the way you are now. He’s used to people looking out for his career and best interest but he struggles with allowing others to handle him with such care. After a decade of enduring harsh criticism and physical endurance, Sunghoon struggles to relax and allow others to take the reins. It’s partially why he loves taking care of you. Being able to provide that kind of love and support makes him feel wanted and needed, even if you tell him he’s more than enough a thousand times over. 

You leave him in your room to change his clothes taken from his designated drawer while you prepare skincare and the works. You hear him shuffle outside and fall onto the bed once, prompting you to hold your laughter in as you wash your hands and pull out hair clips for him to use. 

“I can’t lie,” Sunghoon says as you emerge from the bathroom to see him in a big t-shirt and pajama bottoms, “I’m really looking forward to you doing my skincare.” 

You snicker and pull your desk chair into the bathroom. “Now you know exactly how I feel every time I beg you to do mine when I’m drunk. Sit and close your eyes, please.” 

He follows your instructions and leans his back against the furniture. Sunghoon doesn’t fuss when you pin his hair back until it’s secure and allows you to make him feel pampered in a way he typically wouldn’t. 

“Did you have fun tonight?” 

Sunghoon hums. “Yeah, I did. The guys picked me up from my place and we had lunch at that seafood spot we’ve been meaning to try.” 

“Was it any good?”

“So good.” He licks his lips. “God, I’m still thinking about that shellfish soup. We ordered enough food to feed a village but it was so worth it. I wanna go with you.” 

“We can go wherever you want.” He smiles at your soft tone. 

“We also went to the beach and met some guys at the skate park by the highway. They were pretty nice and let us use their boards for a little. Heeseung got along with them the best, I think.”

“Heeseung makes friends with everybody.”

“He says he’s not social but that’s a lie.” Sunghoon twitches his nose when he feels a damp washcloth on his face. “We went to the bar afterwards and split it by round. I got the first and honestly, I don’t remember much after that.” 

“How are you feeling now, though?” you ask as you finish patting his skin dry. “Do you still feel dizzy?” Sunghoon opens his eyes and watches you apply a serum before dabbing it all over his face. 

“Not as much as before. I think I’m just tired.”

“And clingy, apparently.” 

Sunghoon smacks the back of your thighs. “Shut up. You love it.” You silence him by kissing his nose. 

While he brushes his teeth, you situate yourself underneath your plush covers and allow the weight of the blanket to fall on top of you. The sweet promise of a good night’s rest feels imminent, especially when you see your boyfriend emerge from the bathroom. He turns off the light and walks towards the empty side of the bed before he’s slipping himself beside you. 

Sunghoon’s an equal opportunist when it comes to sleeping positions. He loves it the most when your head is on his chest and when your arms are tangled in one another because he likes knowing that the two of you yearn for each other equally. But when he gets like this, Sunghoon takes initiative to maneuver himself until half of his chest and head are on top of you. He situates his arm around your waist and pulls himself closer to your body until a deep, satisfied sigh comes from the back of his throat. 

He hums in appreciation when your fingers begin to massage his scalp. Sunghoon’s hair is soft and silky and on most days, you’re the only person who gets to touch it. The slowness of your movements paired with the soft kiss you place on his temple makes his eyelids feel heavy. 

“Sorry you had to come pick me up,” Sunghoon mumbles against you. “I know we agreed to give each other some space this weekend.” 

“You should know by now that I’d do anything for you.” He feels you kiss the crown of his head. “Plus, we both know you’d do the same for me.” 

Sunghoon nods. “I would. You’re my girlfriend. Duh.” His sleepy nonsense makes you laugh. 

“You can go back to hanging out with the guys tomorrow if you want.” He shakes his head. 

“I want to get breakfast with you.” Sunghoon finds your free hand and presses a sleepy kiss to the back of it. 

“Whatever you want. We can get breakfast.” 

“If we wake up early enough.” 

You laugh again. “Yes, if we wake up early enough.” 

Sunghoon mumbles a few incoherent words that you can’t quite make out because of your own tiredness. When your own eyes start to droop, Sunghoon feels your fingers start to falter and looks up at you to see you’ve fallen fast asleep. 

He kisses the underside of your chin and falls asleep too.

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧・l.m

—there were two things in the world that challenged your intellectual ability one: AP US History and two: lee minho. what are you going to do when he catches you cheating, and grabs your thigh, forcing you to give him the answers too.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・minho x reader // 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・academic rivals to lovers, sexual tension // 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.5k // 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・thigh touching, squeezing, and kissing, very slight bruising, cheating on tests, slight language, he gets on his knees, this is lowkey freaky, no actually Minho gets on his knees and kisses your thigh.

𝐚/𝐧・guys i'm kinda shy about this bc it was not supposed to be this freaky, but I had this thought like four months ago and it just kind of...unraveled 🙈 idk how I feel about this I like the idea of it but I feel like it flows weird idk might just be a me problem plus I needed to get it out of my drafts so 😗

If you really think about it—it isn't your fault that the curriculum was impossible to learn, the school board was practically begging you to cheat.

Besides, the whole testing system was pointless anyway. You couldn’t accurately quantify knowledge with a few bubbled answers. And if your teacher hadn’t made this test 40% of your grade, you might’ve actually been able to understand. But no— the stress alone had made sure of that.

For a second, you naively convince yourself you actually have a chance. Then you read the first question—and realize you're royally fucked.

It isn’t just one thing; no, the universe spreads a thick layer of icing all over your 'I’m fucked' cake, because not only is the test 100 questions of pure agony, but you’re sitting next to none other than Lee Minho—Yale's wet dream and your life long rival.

He shifts beside you, bubbling in the answers with infuriating ease. It was enraging—how calm he was, how even though his eyes were trained on the paper in front of him, it still felt like he was making calculated moves against you.

You grind your teeth, reading and rereading the questions until you go cross-eyed. It just didn't make sense. Why were there so many dates? Who were all these people? Why couldn't you seem to remember anything? The ink on your thigh screams at you, itching to pull up your skirt and color all the correct answers.

It was stupid, completely idiotic to even consider giving in to the temptation, but you had no other choice. You couldn't fail this test. You steal a glance at Minho, making sure he’s still peacefully, obnoxiously distracted with being perfect, before sliding your skirt up to reveal the answer key you wrote last night. With a deep breath, you fill in the correct answers, stealing paranoid glances at the teacher every other question.

You're almost done. Just a few more. But then—a tingle runs down your spine.

You could practically taste the smirk on his face the minute his gaze lands on your thighs. You stiffen, holding your breath as if that might magically make you disappear. Unfortunately, your efforts are to no avail.

Minho must have been waiting for a moment like this for years—a classic got'ya moment. It was perfect, practically presented to him on a silver platter. You clench your eyelids and except the worst, for him to stand up and announce to the class your humiliating defeat, to strut up to the teacher and flush your entire life away.

And yet, the moment passes by. His gaze never wavers, instead it gets heavier—needier, fire licking up your spine. You can feel the heat of his breath fanning across your cheek as he leans in—so close, too close.

"Is that what I think it is?" That cocky little bend in his lips grows as he watches you fumble to yank the skirt back down, shooting him a nasty side-eye.

"No," you say steadily—almost convincing yourself.

"No?" His voice is low, laced with amusement, but there's something else there, something strained. "Then let me see."

"No." You scoff, pulling your leg away from him. He presses his tongue against his cheek, both frustrated and annoyed.

"So fuckin’ stubborn." His voice drops, and suddenly, the space between you vanishes. His fingers capture your thigh, prying them apart with a hot, deliberate pressure. Your breath hitches—the heat of his palm seeping into your flesh, spreading up, up, up.

You want to gasp, to smack his hand away, and scream bloody murder; but the other part of you, the other small microscopic part of you relishes in his touch—leaving you dizzy and breathless.

His hand never moves, even as he copies the answers down—his fingers a steady pressure against your soft flesh. You hate the way your pulse betrays you, hammering against your ribs like thunder.

You twitch—just enough for him to notice, just enough for him to squeeze hard. You fight not to gasp, your stomach twisting with something you don’t dare name. He doesn’t say another word. He doesn’t have to. You feel it.

Don’t you dare move.

You don't breathe—not until he's already finished the work, releasing your thigh and walking up to the teacher; sliding his test into the professor's hands with an infuriatingly perfect smile. The teacher returns his smile ten times brighter, both pleased and impressed, bowing politely to dismiss him back.

It takes five seconds before your brain catches up with your body, jaw dropping in utter disbelief—Minho was the first one to turn in his test, making him the first to get a perfect score, therefore putting him slightly above your soon-to-be perfect score—which means he beat you.

"What the hell was that?" you spit. Minho doesn’t spare you a glance as he slips back into his seat, swiveling around with a smirk on his face and his tongue in his cheek.

"What, 'that,' are we talking about? My undeniable victory, or how slow this class is?" Minho muses, throwing his feet onto the desk, and tipping his chair back as if the whole scheme was a piece of cake. You were ready to punch him square in his freakishly perfect jaw.

"You are unbelievable—" You don’t get to finish your scornful sentence before the bell rings. The class erupts from their seats, filing to the front. There was so much you wanted to do, but you couldn’t—your hands were tied, tight, painfully behind your back. So instead, you do the only thing you can: turn in that stupid test.

When you get back to your desk, you find Minho leaning against his, a cocky smirk still playing on his pretty pink lips.

"Oh, you're just loving this, aren't you?" you spit venomously, stuffing supplies back into your bag with a little extra vigor. Minho cocks his head, standing up a little straighter. "Loving beating you? Yeah, you could say that."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "You couldn’t have done it without the answers I wrote on my thigh." At the mention of your thigh, Minho’s gaze tilts downward. His entire demeanor transforms—once cocky and proud, now washed away in an instant—something softer taking its place, something you couldn’t quite place.

Gently, disarmingly, Minho brings his palm to your waist, guiding you to sit on one of the desks behind you. "What—" you begin, but he beats you to it, asking, "Did I do this?" Confused, you look down at the mark in question—darkened fingerprints ghosting over your skin where his fingers had pressed a little too hard.

You swallow. "I didn't notice it."

"Does it hurt?" he frowns, gingerly brushing the bruise forming on your thigh. His voice is uncharacteristically soft, almost as if he's actually concerned about your well-being.

"Yeah, kind of," you wince, but you don't move from his soft touch. His lips press into a thin line, the slight furrow of his brows deepening with guilt.

"What, you wanna kiss it, make it feel better?" you joke, a weak attempt to ease the tension. He pauses for a moment, then, in one swift motion, drops to his knees before you.

You gasp, a quick, trembling breath that melts the words in your throat. His eyes stay locked on yours, the weight of his gaze heavy as he inches closer, mouth nearing your thigh. You hold your breath, heart hammering against your ribs. He takes his time—two agonizing seconds stretching into hours. His breath is hot against your skin, before his lips finally brush the bruise, leaving a gentle kiss in its wake.

"There, all better," he says, standing back up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, nonchalantly. He doesn't say another word, simply waltzing out the door like he didn't just leave you a spaghetti noodle, all slippery thoughts and wobbly limbs.

You stand there, jaw in the center of the earth, gripping the edge of the desk so hard it threatened to crack. The class had filed out ages ago, leaving you to regather your thoughts in sweet silence.

You still feel his lips, hot and gentle, against the flesh of your thigh—reliving the moment over and over and over again. You couldn't bear to look at him, weeks into the future, still dizzy and disoriented, struggling to focus with him so close beside you. Minho knew, no matter how much you hated that thought. Minho knew, he saw how your grades started slipping, how slowly your comebacks started getting shorter, sweeter, a little bit more flirtatious.

That was his plan the entire time; because, even on his knees—Minho held all the pieces.

cookie owns this. thank you.

RAAAA its been a hot minute since I've posted something but I hope you liked this (if you did seriously consider reblogging with tags it helps my motivation and self-esteem so so soooo much.

[nenehyuuchiha]

Fucking hell, when I look for emetophobia I want to find other people that struggle with the same shit, maybe some tips on how they deal with it, not art that includes image of people vomiting, THAT'S THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I AM LOOKING FOR!

[dodger-chan]

Inspired by this post by @0nemorestranger Hopefully close enough to what you had in mind

Edit: now on AO3

Lost Media

Steve didn’t realize he’d been humming along to anything until the music cut off suddenly and looped around to start over. The opening riff played for about three seconds before it cut off again.

“Wait, who’s humming?” The question came from one of Steve’s younger co-workers. A part-timer working his way through college. Steve couldn’t remember his name.

“Uh, that was me. Sorry,” he tacked on the apology as an afterthought.

“You know that song?” the kid asked. He sounded like Dustin.

“It’s called Plane of Shadows. I think it’s a DnD reference,” Steve answered. “Band’s Corroded Coffin. Haven’t heard them in years.”

That wasn’t strictly true. Every once in a while, Steve would play the tape he still had. Think about that one summer he’d spent as an unpaid, unofficial roadie. Daydream about what could have happened if he’d known himself a little better back then.

Not too often. Steve wasn’t that much of a loser.

The kid came over and plopped down in Robin’s empty chair. She was out sick today, getting over the flu Steve had picked up last week.

“It is. A DnD reference, I mean,” the kid said. Steve probably needed a better thing to call him; he was probably Erica’s age. “Shit, one of my friends posted that clip to this metal bulletin board. We've been trying to identify it forever. How do you know it?”

“They’re from the same small town I am. We all went to highschool together.” Not that Steve had known their music in highschool. “I don’t think they ended up with a record deal, but they did have an EP they used to sell at concerts. I can bring it tomorrow if you want.”

*********

Steve brought the tape, along with the souvenirs he’d saved from that summer. A couple of photocopied flyers. An ad clipped from a local Bloomington paper for a concert. A wristband from a bar that had marked him as too young to drink. Also his Walkman. Steve wasn’t sure if kids still had cassette players now that CDs were everywhere.

“This is so cool,” the kid - Brian, apparently - gushed when Steve handed him the shoebox he’d brought it all in at lunch. “Is it alright if I scan these? And can I borrow this tape? I want to digitize it and share the full song with the board.”

“You can do that?” Steve really needed to learn more about computers. Just not from Dustin who couldn’t teach anything without turning into a condescending asshole.

“Yeah, just record from the Walkman like it’s a mic. I’ll burn you a copy of the whole EP. That way you won’t have to worry about wearing out your tape,” Brian offered. “I would never have guessed you were such a metal fan.”

“I’m not, really,” Steve admitted. Brian blinked at him, surprised. And, well, it wasn’t the eighties anymore, and they weren’t still living in Hawkins. “Massive crush on the lead guitarist.”

“Oh, uh, thanks for telling me.” Brian leaned over and patted Steve’s shoulder. “So you and Robin aren’t-”

“Strictly platonic.” Maybe Robin was right and they should get signs for their desks.

*********

It was nearly a month later when Brian grabbed Steve at the water cooler and dragged him over to his desk, saying “You’ve got to see this.”

This was a post on the Brian’s metal bulletin board:

Crazy to hear from a buddy that our old band is a minor Internet sensation. Thanks, all. If you guys had been around back in the day we might have managed a full album. Or maybe not. Gareth’s parents would have killed him if he dropped out and Jeff actually wanted to go to college, so maybe we still would have broken up in ‘87. Regardless, we’re all thrilled our music is bringing joy to today’s metal heads. As the primary songwriter, and with the agreement of the rest of the band, I grant permission to upload and download the entire EP. We think any money we might potentially have made on it is worth less to us than the value of preserving what could have been lost media. Just make sure to credit us if your garage band turns one of our songs into a hit. Anyway, if you guys have any questions about Corroded Coffin, or the songs, reply to this post and I’ll do my best to answer in a timely fashion. Aside to OP: Is your preppy co-worker who had all our stuff a handsome former jock with spectacular hair? Because I’d love to get back in touch with our old roadie. -EM

“Oh my god,” Robin squealed, leaning over Steve’s shoulder as he read. “Please, you have to give Eddie Steve’s email. Or get Eddie’s email to give to Steve. Or both. Both would be best. That way at least one of them will have the balls to reach out first.”

“Eddie’s already reaching out,” Steve said. “And I thought you said it was anti-femminist to use testicles as a proxy for courage.”

“Stop quoting me when I’m being right, Steven.”

“So I should get his contact info for you?” Brian asked.

Steve hesitated. Real life was not some romantic comedy where attraction was always mutual and true love overcame all obstacles in the end. But it wasn’t like he’d spend the last decade pining. Even if it was nothing more than getting a friend back, it would be good to get in touch with Eddie again.

“Sure,” Steve answered. “Why not?”

[watchmegetobsessed]

MAKE HER REGRET IT

A/N: i was really in the mood for some smut and the neighbors trope popped into my head, so here we are!

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: Harry, your freshly divorced, insanely hot neighbor needs your help: you have to pretend to be his new girlfriend when his ex-wife comes over, however your little stunt outdoes your expectations in a lot of ways.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

It's a basic instinct for you at this point to look up at the balcony whenever you’re approaching your apartment building. However you’re not looking at yours, but the one next to yours that belongs to one hot, freshly divorced guy who moved in next door about two months ago. 

You remember the morning the moving truck appeared and you knew someone was taking the vacant apartment beside yours. You just arrived back from your morning run and you jumped right into guesses about who it will be. Maybe someone your age? A girl you can go to yoga with? Or a sweet old lady you can have tea with on warm afternoons? Hopefully not a noisy family, because the walls are way too thin to endure the screaming of a child. 

Then you saw him. Carrying a heavy looking box up the stairs, a simple white shirt stretching on his torso, tattooed arms flexing under the weight of the box, you knew you were fucked the first time you saw Harry Styles. 

It took you no time to lurk over the next day and introduce yourself as his neighbor. 

“If you need suggestions for coffee spots around the neighborhood, I’m your person,” you smiled at him charmingly as he stood in his doorway in gray sweats and a black t-shirt, hair messy but so delicious, it was screaming for your fingers to run through his locks. 

“I will definitely keep that in mind. I can offer to fix anything around your apartment, I’m kind of a handyman,” he chuckled and your knees almost buckled hearing his creamy british accent. 

Fate played on your hand, because you kept running into each other so it didn’t take long for you to go out for a coffee run together and it was smooth sailing from then. You learned about how he just got divorced, his wife cheated on him and he found out on their second anniversary, tragic story and you still can’t quite understand how any woman could cheat on a man like him. You practically drool every time you catch a glimpse of him arriving back from a run in nothing but a pair of shorts, his tanned skin glistening from sweat. You definitely love to move out to the balcony around the time he can be expected to appear in the late afternoon, you watch him stretch and breathe heavily and the sight alone makes you break a sweat as well, but for a whole different reason. 

You’ve been trying to flirt with him every possible occasion, but you also make sure you don’t come off too pushy. After all he just got out of a marriage, it must be hard on him to recover from being cheated on. There’s also a slight age difference between the two of you, not that dramatic, but that eight years could easily be a deal breaker for him, so you’ve been playing it safe. 

When you’re lying in bed late at night and sleep is not coming to you, you can’t help but think of how he is on the other side of the wall, you imagine him sleeping without a shirt, maybe thinking about you the way you like to think of him… But it’s all just a fantasy, one you fancy very much. 

The door to his balcony is open so you know he is home, but he is not out. You take your time walking up the stairs, your legs are definitely tired from the run you just had and just when you reach your floor Harry’s front door swings open and you stop, watching him walk over to your door. He didn’t notice you, so you stay still and watch him take a deep breath as he lifts his fist up to knock, but then it falls back to his side and he shakes his head, stepping backwards before returning to his spot on your doormat and that’s when you decide to put him out of his misery. 

“Are you out of sugar, neighbor?” you ask, slowly walking towards him. Harry spins around with a stunned expression. 

“Oh, I didn’t–I didn’t see you.” You catch his gaze running down your body and legs and you’re thankful you decided to wear your shortest shorts. 

Playing with your keys in your hands, you finally reach him. 

“What’s up?”

“Um… I have a bit of a situation on my hands and you might be able to help me.”

Unlocking the door you push it in and gesture for him to follow you inside. 

“Do tell me.”

Rounding your way into the kitchen you step to the fridge to grab some water. Harry hesitantly follows you and stops by the kitchen counter. 

“So, I talked to Rory this morning,” he starts. You’ve heard enough about Rory, his ex wife to know that if she’s involved, it’s for sure something messy. “You know that painting in my living room?” You nod. “Well, she insists it’s hers, because a friend of hers painted it, but I was the one who paid for it. Whatever. She’s been trying to get me to give it to her and honestly I’m over it so I gave in. She is picking it up today.”

“When will the part where I can help come?”

“Right here,” he chuckles nervously. “We got into a fight, no surprise. She screamed at me over the phone and told me I’ll die alone because no one can put up with my shit.”

You need to force yourself to swallow the bitterness in your mouth. That woman sounds very much like the spawn of the devil, because who would say that to anyone? Especially to Harry? Aside from being insanely hot you’ve also learned just how kind, passionate and funny he is, basically the whole deal. Rory is the biggest loser in history for letting go of a man like him. 

“One thing followed the other and I just… Um, I told her that I have someone.”

The light bulb switches on in your mind, because you already know where this is heading. And you like it, very much. 

“I don’t know what got into me, but I told her she can meet my alleged girlfriend when she picks up the painting so she can see herself that I’m not the loser she thinks I am. And… as you might now, I do not have anyone…”

“You want me to be your fake girlfriend,” you finish for him, saving him from having to say it out loud. You can see just how awkward he is, having to ask you for such a thing. 

“Basically, yeah. Only if you don’t mind being part of this shitshow. I understand if you find it weird and I don’t expect you to–”

“When should I be over at yours?” you simply ask and watch his eyes go wide. 

“Y-You will do it?”

“Sure, sounds fun. Besides, I’m curious to see the stupidest woman on earth,” you add smirking and he finally lets out a relieved laugh as well. 

“Thank you so much, Y/N. Really, I owe you big time. She’ll be here in about two hours.”

“Perfect. I’ll be there.”

For the next two hours, you do everything you can to bring out the hottest version of yourself. Hair, makeup, dress, everything is on spot when you step out of your apartment and walk over to Harry’s door, ringing the bell. 

When the door swings open and Harry sees you his mouth hangs open, giving you that one last ego boost you need to be the best possible fake girlfriend ever. 

“Satisfied with your girlfriend?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“I-I uh–Yeah! I’m… yes.”

“Can I go inside then?” you ask with a chuckle and he steps aside in a hurry.

“Sorry, yeah come inside.”

“So what’s the plan?” you ask, walking into his living room and making yourself comfortable on the couch. Harry follows, but he takes the armchair across you and you can tell he is still struggling with not ogling you, especially your exposed legs and deep cleavage the dress teases him with. 

“I don’t… I have no idea, I have never done this before.”

“I have.”

“Really?”

“Just once, in college. One of my friends broke up with a girl who did not take it well and I was his fake girlfriend for a week to get her to stop harassing him. It worked.”

“Then… I trust you with anything.”

“What’s the goal?”

Harry opens his mouth, but then closes, as if he is embarrassed to say what’s on his mind. 

“Harry, say it. I’m happy to help with anything.”

“I want to make her regret it.”

“Regret what she said?”

“Regret everything,” he corrects and when he looks you in the eye a shiver runs down your spine from the determination that’s behind his green irises. 

“Consider it done,” you smile at him devilishly. 

At your suggestion you both take a shot to ease your nerves and make it easier to lie. It seems to loosen him just enough that he doesn’t look like he is about to attend an interrogation. 

And then the bell rings. 

“Show time,” you smile at him and as he walks over to the door you take your place on the couch again. 

You hear the door open and then a female voice mixes with Harry’s before the footsteps follow. Harry comes into view first, but then Rory steps out from behind him and you see the pure shock in her eyes when she finally spots you. 

“Oh, hi!” you smile at her almost disgustingly sweetly as you stand from the couch and walk closer. “You must be Rony. I’m Y/N.” You hold out a hand for her and watch as her mouth twitches when she hears you mess her name up. 

“Rory,” she sassily says and shakes your hand at last. “So you’re the… girlfriend.” The disgust in her tone is apparent, she is not even trying to hide it and it just makes it way more enjoyable. 

“Yes and you must be the cheating ex-wife.”

Harry coughs beside you, he was not expecting you to be this blunt, but the look on Rory’s face is priceless, because she can’t deny what she is. Moving closer to Harry you wrap an arm around his waist and though at first he freezes at your closeness, he is quick to recover and join in on the act, his arm finding your waist as well. 

“The painting is over there, just take it and let’s get over with it, alright?” Harry nods towards the painting he already took off the wall, now it’s leant against the console table that’s been underneath it. 

“You didn’t even wrap it?” she scoffs. How am I supposed to take it like this?”

“Rory, I’m not a fucking gallery. You wanted the painting, take it.”

“It’s gonna be ruined if I just put it into my car like this!” she argues. 

“That’s none of my business.”

“Harry, this is so not okay! I can’t–”

“Jesus, Rory fine! I think I have some bubble wrap,” he grunts, heading into his bedroom to find something to wrap the painting in, leaving the two of you alone.

Rory gives you another long, dirty look, as if you were the woman Harry cheated on her with when she is the culprit of this mess here. 

“So how long have you been together?” she then asks, pretending like she is just chit chatting, but you know she is eager to know everything about you.

“A little over a month now. You know, I wasn’t looking for anything serious, but Harry is just the perfect guy and I couldn’t stay away from him.”

“Oh, he is not that perfect, little girl.”

It’s obvious she tried to derogate you by calling you a little girl, she must be around the age of Harry, not more than thirty-six for sure, but she can’t find anything to use against you other than the fact that you’re clearly in your twenties. How mature. 

“I know. But everything he can give me makes it worth it. And the sex, ah!”

She gives you a puzzled look. You knew this would stir her up, Harry mentioned how distant they grew in the last few months and sex wasn’t the same anymore. Looking at the timeline she must have started her affair around that time and Harry couldn’t perform the way he otherwise could because she wasn’t open to him anymore. It was a vicious cycle, but you also know Rory is the kind of woman who must have humiliated him because of that. Harry never said, but you just feel that she criticized his sexual performance when she left him even if it all happened because of her. 

And now hearing that he is giving his all to another woman is definitely something that can drive her nuts. 

“Oh please, he sucks in bed,” she scoffs.

“Not with the right partner. He is so good, I honestly don’t know how you could let go of him.”

“He couldn’t make me cum for months!”

“That’s unfortunate. I get an orgasm basically after every meal. He is so good at it, honestly, it’s like he just wants to please me every possible moment. I mean, I can’t remember a morning when I didn’t wake up with his head between my legs, he loves quickies, I have to sanitize the kitchen counter like twice a day.” You let out a chuckle and just watch as her face grows redder while staring at the kitchen counter, raging jealousy swirling in her mind for sure. It’s clearer than daylight that she didn’t cheat on him because he wasn’t manly enough, this woman is simply a stupid loser who couldn’t appreciate what she had, maybe panicked that she can’t mess around with others and then simply chose to ruin everything. 

You’re more than happy to remind her what she lost. 

“Alright, this is all I got,” Harry emerges from the bedroom with some bubble wrap he probably had left from moving, but when he sees you and Rory staring each other down, he stops. But before he could speak up, you decide to push that knife into Rory’s chest as your final move. 

Stepping over to Harry you push yourself up against him, he drops the bubble wrap and his hands grab you by the waist instantly, though you see confusion in his eyes before you take his face in your hands and pull him closer, lips pressing against his hungrily. 

It’s not a sweet, shy first kiss. This is the perfect show off, messy, passionate, full of tongue and eagerness as you practically devour each other. For a bit you forget about the show you’re putting up and it’s your real desire you’ve been fighting for weeks now. Every time you try to pull back Harry just keeps demanding more and you happily give him what he wants. He bites into your bottom lip when one of his hands moves down to your ass, giving it a not-at-all shy squeeze, making you moan into the kiss. 

It feels like it takes forever for you to stop, when you open your eyes you’re met with Harry’s hungry eyes, his lips are slightly swollen and shiny from your kisses. 

And then you remember you’re not alone. 

“Oh, fuck you. Fuck you both!” Rory pops the bubble around you and when you turn to look at her, she is already grabbing the painting, not even bothering to wrap it. 

“It was nice to meet you!” you call after her.

“Fuck you!” she repeats, marching towards the door and you’re just smirking like an idiot, pleased with yourself for pissing her off so badly. 

Harry follows her to shut the door behind her and you let yourself bathe in the sweet victory you just earned. 

“This went amazing, right? She was so mad, oh my God!” you laugh, but your smile quickly disappears when you realize the serious look on Harry’s face as he is walking back towards you. 

Shit, maybe the kiss was too much. He didn’t want it and now he is pissed at you.

“Are you mad about the kiss? I-I’m sorry if it was too–”

The words die down on your lips when they crash against his again, his hand cupping the back of your head while the other returns straight to your ass, groping you so hard your whole body smashes against his. 

Your mouth opens in surprise and it gives him the chance to push his tongue against yours, he is demanding, rough and so much more raw than what you imagined him to be like. 

“What did you tell her?” he asks against your mouth, moving you around until the small of your back hits the kitchen counter. “What did you tell her that made her so pissed?” he demands, his hand already eagerly moving underneath your dress. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, making your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

“I said, ah–I said I wake up every day with… your head between my legs, and… Oh fuck!” You’re losing your ability to speak your thoughts as his fingers start circling, the fabric of your underwear is so drenched, if you could think straight you might be embarrassed just how aroused he made you so fast. 

“And?” he urges you to continue, but at the same time he pushes your underwear to the side and pushes two fingers into you without warning, making you gasp so loud that people on the street must have heard it through the open balcony door. 

“A-and that you fuck me on the… the kitchen counter all the time.”

He curls his fingers inside you as he keeps talking.

“Then that’s what I’ll do to you now. Are you okay with that?” he asks and you nod eagerly as you hold onto his broad shoulders. 

The next moment he pulls his hand back and you whine, feeling empty all of a sudden, but then he lifts you up and makes you sit on the counter, he lowers himself and places your legs over his shoulders with careful, but confident moves. You grab onto his hair as he pushes his head between your thighs and his mouth meets your clit. 

“Oh, fuck! Harry!” you gasp out, tugging on his hair as he swirls his tongue against your swollen clit, his fingers teasing your hole again. Then they push into you and he sucks on your clit, making you see stars. 

You imagined him to be skilled, but whatever it is he is doing to you, it feels out of this world and now you know you weren’t wrong when you praised him that much to Rory before. 

You’re totally out of breath when he comes up, he kisses you and you can taste yourself on his tongue, your hands impatiently tug on his shirt to get rid of it. Soon the fabric lands on the tiled floor and you map out every inch of his hard chest with your palm and while you keep kissing like there’s no tomorrow, you faintly hear the zipper of his pants come undone. 

You look him in the eyes when you reach down and take his hard length into your hands and you can’t hold back a gasp when you realize just how big he is. 

“I know you can take it, baby,” he coos, kissing the corner of your mouth and you’re ready to take him right then and there, but he moves back, making you reach for him in panic. “Condom,” he says and you lean back onto your elbows with a sigh as you watch him disappear in his bedroom. You have just a few seconds you process that here you are, on top of Harry’s kitchen counter, with your dress bunched up around your waist, your drenched pussy on show, waiting to be fucked properly. You definitely did not expect this outcome when you woke up this morning, but you’re not complaining. 

Then Harry appears and he is walking over to you, completely naked, his dick in his hands as he rolls the condom on while moving and you bite into your bottom lip, hoping to remember this view until the end of time. 

When he reaches you again he simply curls his arms around your thighs and tugs on you so you get closer to the edge. His erection wedges between your wet folds and the tip pokes against your clit, making you clench around nothing. 

“I have to admit, I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you on this counter since the day I moved in and saw you for the first time.”

“Just on the counter?” you ask teasingly. 

“Every surface of this fucking apartment,” he admits with no remorse.

“Make a list then and I’m more than happy to do them all. But let’s tick the counter off first.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

He reaches down and circles his thumb against your clit a bit before grabbing his dick by the base and dragging it up and down your cunt a few times before pushing the head in first, letting you adjust to his thickness first. When you claw at his chest he takes it as a sign to go deeper and he keeps pushing until you take his whole length, feeling fuller than ever before. 

“I want to go hard,” he breathes out, staying still for now.

“Go hard then. I can take it,” you assure him, though you do have doubts feeling just how stretched out you are now. 

“Of course you can. You’re my good girl,” he praises you and before you could get a word out, he pulls back and slams into you hard. 

There are moments when you actually think you’re about to burst, Harry did not joke when he said he wants to go hard, his thrusts are fast and rough and he makes sure he buries his whole length into you every time he pushes into you. At one point he pulls your legs over his shoulders and it allows him to reach a point in you no one has before and it pushes you towards the edge rapidly. The counter is painfully hard underneath you, but you somehow forget about the pain and only focus on how hard Harry is railing into you. His stamina is incredible, your body already feels like goo and you’re not even doing the actual work. 

“Harry, I’m so close,” you moan and his fingers dig deeper into your thighs at your words. 

“Come around my cock, baby. I wanna feel you squeeze me.”

You cry out his name again, a tear rolling down your cheek, because you’re so desperate to let go. Harry moves a hand to where you meet and his thumb returns to your clit and that’s what throws you over the edge. 

Your back arches and you squeeze around him uncontrollably, gasping for air as he ruthlessly keeps fucking into you. 

“That’s it, baby. You look so fucking beautiful, coming on my cock.”

You can’t stop moaning as you ride out your orgasm. The last waves are washing over your body when his movements fall out of rhythm, he slams into you hard and he sucks on his breath before moaning out your name over and over again, pushing into you a few more times as he comes. He falls forward, his face burying into your heaving chest as he tries to catch his breath along with you. There’s a long minute of silent bliss, his cock is still inside you, his lips peppering soft kisses onto the skin that’s exposed on your chest while you’re mindlessly playing with his hair. 

When he straightens up he pulls out of you, the empty feeling hitting you again. He carefully helps you off the counter, but keeps his arms around you, because when your feet hit the floor you wobble. 

Nuzzling your nose against his chest you take the cross pendant on his necklace between your teeth and pull back, looking him in the eyes. 

“Don’t do that, or we’re moving to the next place on the list.”

Giggling you let go of it and push yourself up to steal a kiss. 

“Give me some time to recover, but I’m all in to check out another place.”

“Jesus, I knew you’d be the death of me the moment I saw you,” he breathes out, before his mouth claims yours hungrily. 

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[chaaistained]

loa is your best friend, not your crush

tldr: stop seeking loa’s validation, trust in your friendship and the love you share

so we’re gonna need a bit of backstory for everyone as to how i reached this epiphany which i could only articulate this well thanks to @faeriemarie letting me ramble on discord thnx bby

anyway, backstory :

i have a wonderful best friend from high school and she is someone that i’ve scripted into many realities (she’s one of the members in my kpop girl group dr, i love her sm). but in my cr, as can be expected, life hasn’t been easy and we hadn’t talked for quite a while.

sometimes i’d remember her with so much warmth and fondness and reminisce in the times we’d shared, the love that was so real and so precious to me, the way i’d literally see her five days out of the week and still never feel tired of her presence because at a time where i was struggling (high school) she got me like no one else did

and afterwards, after losing so much time to life and university and careers and new friendships, most of which could never even hope to reach her level, i was pleasantly surprised when she reached out to me.

two text messages later and we’d slipped back into the same energy that we’d always shared, like nothing had changed, because nothing had changed

we very quickly organised a lunch, no fuss no rescheduling, nothing blocking our paths back to each other and right now, as i type this, i’m cuddled under a blanket after a lovely meal with her and a warmth in my soul.

because she single-handedly changed the way i view loa

something about me and her — in my eyes she was always perfection and me being the anxious fool that i am, sometimes i’d spiral and convince myself that i’m not worthy of being her friend

today, at lunch, sitting right across from me, she burned those burdens and alleviated each and every facet of fear i had about it, about us.

she said “you mean so much to me, i value us and our friendship so much. i know that we go a long time without speaking and i really miss you but at the same time, i just know that i can reach out whenever, for anything, and you’ll be there for me. because you’re so genuine and so authentic. this kind of friendship is something i’ll always cherish”.

aside from the fact that i’m getting teary eyed as i remember her words, i have a point with all of this rambling and exposition — as soon as she said this and helped me rid myself of all that stress, it felt like i’d just slipped into my better cr

a reality where i’ve always scripted this kind of energy, this kind of vibe, with her

at that moment, shifting wasn’t on my mind bcs i felt like i’d achieved it ?? i felt like i was there, in my better cr, getting lunch with one of my most cherished friends, just like those scenarios i’ve scripted

and her and i have even planned another meet up pretty soon with our extended group and i cannot explain how refreshing it is to feel zero social anxiety about this plan

usually i’d have inklings of fear and doubt but right now? nothing !! absolutely nothing

i am so at peace and i haven’t felt this way about a friendship in so long ???

having lunch with her and speaking with her affirmed to me that my fears of losing our friendship were unfounded, because how can you lose something so genuine and so real?

i’ve finally learned to trust in our friendship and the love we share and dismiss my irrational fears that are baseless and are a result of my own overthinking

i don’t think you guys understand how incredible this is for me because i am without a doubt one of the most anxious people in existence it is disgustingly debilitating

but i’ve won this battle and there are gonna be more battles that i’m gonna win (anxiety-wise ahdhdhsh)

and i know i’m gonna win those because meeting up with her affirmed me of my own capabilities and my own manifestations

i’ve learned to dismiss unfounded fear and trust in my friendship with this person

why don’t we think the same way about loa???

we need to trust in your friendship with loa, one of the most genuine friendships you can ever have

the universe can throw as much at you as it wants but loa always has your back

we need to stop thinking of loa as this unresponsive crush, always seeking its validation, in need of constant attention and interaction and hoping to “run into them” to “share a moment”

stop. stand up.

loa is not your crush, for fuck’s sake, loa is your life long soulmate friendship

a friend like loa? you don’t need to talk to them 24/7 to know they love you and value you and care about you and will provide for you

that’s what loa should be, a true genuine friend who you can hit up for whatever you want (manifestation) and they’ll follow through (materialisation)

[lynnsmix]

FLEETING. *ੈ✩‧₊˚ h. haddock x reader

summary : After a good few weeks of you and Hiccup throwing playful quips and jests at each other that border the line between being sassy and being flirtatious, that back and forth all comes to an end when you finally need to go. After a good talk with Astrid (she barely even said anything), Hiccup finally comes to terms with his feelings about you, but it might be too late.

word count : 4.82k words

tags : rtte!hiccup, fem!reader, herbalist!reader, exile!reader, dragonrider!reader, fluff, love confessions, kisses, awkward teen romance, jokes about possible Haddock heirs, mild angst, no use of y/n of (name)

author's note : yes we getting emotional hiccup with this one!! anyway, thank you so much for all the love my previous fics are getting, i didn't know so many people would like them ( ∩´͈ ᐜ `͈∩) i love every single one of you guys who liked my fics and the ones who reposted them ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

PART 1: ROGUE TAMER ⋆˙⟡

It's been a while since you've been accustomed to this dynamic of being with the Dragons Riders. You've learned to like them, they were all weird and sometimes rude, but they all had their good sides most of the time.

And that's where you are with them, at a random island picking up various herbs from the ground. You were accompanied with Astrid and Hiccup, the others collecting the other ingredients for the mixture you always made for the Whispering Death.

Kneeling on one knee, you look up to see Hiccup and Astrid help you gather the fauna. Hiccup was focused on making small talk with Astrid as they foraged, not noticing you at all while you stare at him in awe.

You've been doing this all to much, lately.

Hiccup was the first one to warm up to you, especially after he decided to personally teach you more about Dragons, much to your delight. Maybe it was the way he looked at you with such gentleness, or the way he didn't back away when you first scooched closer to him when you first met, but you really wanted to see more of him like that.

You smile softly as his brow furrows, one herb taking a little more force out of him to tug out of the ground. You giggle at the scene, but a thought in your head makes you smile contort into a frown, looking back down at the flora in your hand.

But you knew, deep inside that you weren't going to see it for long, and once you leave, he and the others just be a fleeting memory; one that you remember, but the latter probably wouldn't.

Enough of that pessimistic thinking, what were you doing again?

You shake your head, your expression going neutral. As you count the herbs in your hand, but unbeknownst to you—as soon as you diverted your attention from him, his gaze went to you.

What was it that made him so drawn to you?

You were so stand-offish, yet so social. You were pretty, yeah—but that wasn't the only attribute he liked about you. He liked how you cared about others, how you weren't afraid to stand your ground, how you looked at him when he said something you found funny, and how dead set you were about paying your debt to the Whispering Death.

He would think of more compliments to you, but Astrid just had to make him snap out of it, throwing a small pebble at the side of his head.

"Ow, what the. . .?" He mumbled as held his hand where the tiny rock made impact with his cranium, looking at the blonde Viking in a 'what the Thor was that for?' expression, brows furrowed, and shoulders raised.

All Astrid replied with was her body language, nodding her head to your figure, all unknowing to the whole commotion. She wanted Hiccup to talk with the girl, maybe invite her to the Edge so she could see that there was finally progress in their relationship. They both couldn't see it, but she did—and she wanted it to fluorish already. Hiccup was confused, not at all understanding what she was trying to gesture.

The blonde teen had silently sighed and rolled her eyes, and took the initiative to talk to you.

She called your name, as you hummed absentmindedly to her call.

"So, where are you going to explore when Groundsplitter heals up?" She asks.

"Oh. . . I thought about staying at the island, but I don't think it would be right." You start, putting your fistful of herbs onto a clean cloth.

Hiccup and Astrid's actions slow, now fully grasping what you were saying, looking at one another.

"Really?" Astrid replies, yet her voice sounded distant, as if she was processing that she might've made you and Hiccup's situationship worse, with the brunet Viking's expression furrowing in disbelief as you continue. Astrid fully forgot of even inviting you to the Edge, the guilt of making Hiccup upset more on her mind now.

"Yeah, I'll leave after she's all healed up so she could be happy with her kid, it'll be hard, but y'know. . . I know I have to." You finish, a smile on your face as you look up at them. They couldn't tell how hard it was to not say it without your voice cracking with sadness, but the way your smile didn't reach your face was all the answer they'd get. Unfortunately, neither of them seemed to be looking at you.

Astrid too distracted to fully understand your expression, covering her previous shock with a mirrored smile, while Hiccup had a harder time concealing his sadness.

"Welp," You stand up, dusting your knees off as you walk over to the dragons who were resting.

"Let's go guys." You say with joy, turning over your shoulder, seeing Hiccup who seemed a bit too into thought to hear what you said, but follows your direction anyway. Astrid seemed to reply with a smile, at least, but Hiccup's mind seemed elsewhere, even on the flight back—with you and Astrid chatting, eventually getting to the point where you asked for his opinion on something, and he just replied with a curt response like, "Uh. . . yeah! Definitely. . ." or "Mmhm".

"Are you uh. . . you're actually leaving?" Hiccup's voice was a pitch higher. After landing back, Astrid had replied she needed help with something about Stormfly—you couldn't really understand since she was talking quite fast before flying off with her dragon, leaving you and Hiccup alone.

Unbeknownst to you though, before she had fled with Stormfly, she gave Hiccup a slightly forceful punch to his shoulder, then nodding to you again, raising her eyebrows. She was doing it again—gesturing to your figure randomly without explaining, leaving Hiccup a little more confused, but finally understanding what she meant.

"Well, not right now—once Groundsplitter is fully recovered, yeah." You repeat what you said a few hours ago effortlessly, waiting for him to say anything else while you finish pulverizing another one of your remedies in the bowl, with Hiccup standing next to you.

"I— uh. . ." He trailed off, not knowing what to retort to that.

You're not going to stay here? But where would you go?

"Well— where are you going to go then?" Hiccup follows behind you, asking as you walk over to Groundsplitter—who is now much more lively than the first time you met Hiccup. You know you should be elated—the sole reason you were still staying on this island was to help her recover, but now it's shifted into something more. . . personal?

"I'll just be a wandering traveler then," You declared.

"Maybe steal a few things from the Tribes that my boat passes through— I dunno, I'll figure it out. . ." You absentmindedly reply while striding forward, not even thinking to look at how distraught Hiccup looked like behind you, his brows starting to furrow, a small frown on his lips.

Hiccup didn't even care about you mentioning the possibility of you stealing from other Tribes, he was just focused on this tight coil in his chest, feeling tighter than before when you keep bringing up that you'd be leaving him.

"I don't belong here, Hiccup—" You try to explain, saying it over your shoulder so he could hear more.

"Oh, but— but you do," He butts in, as your pour the contents of the bowl into Groundsplitter's maw. You now turn to him, all your undivided attention on his figure.

"No, I don't. Besides," You smile at him, and lean in slightly.

"I don't really think I do belong anywhere, and I'm. . . I think I'm okay with that." You expounded, the tone understanding as you paint your face with the most neutral expression ever, but deep inside—it hurt.

Feeling like you never belonged was a perpetual loop in your life, especially at the start when you were still with your tribe. Now ironically, ex-communicated from them, now temporarily living on an island with two large dragons was more welcoming than that of your original home. But still, it wasn't your place to call home.

"Why are you so worried about it? Are you gonna miss me?" You step closer, taunting him to look you in the eye.

"Yeah," He brazenly says, looking away from you.

"Oh." Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You didn't expect he'd actually say that.

"All of us will."

Oh. He meant it like that.

"Well, when you do feel like you miss me," You grabbed his shoulder with your free hand, his gaze falling onto your hand holding him.

"You always have your flying boat over there to help you find me," You tilt your head to look over his shoulder, his eyes following you vision to see Toothless laying curled up on the floor.

You chuckle at your own unfunny joke, and he grins at you, observing you. The way your eyes scrunched when you laughed, how you smile grew so he could see how enthused you were, how your eyes seemed to glint just in the crackling sparks of the campfire.

Why was he thinking like that?

Your laughter died down, another planned jest coming out your mouth. "But I am quite honored; The oh-so great 'Dragon Master' is all worried about little old me," You rolled your eyes playfully, and cross your arms.

"Oh, Gods. . ." He pinched the bridge of his nose, unimpressed.

"You really need to stop hanging out with Snotlout," He says quite forcibly.

"Why? If I did, I wouldn't hear all of the amazing names he has for you," You muse, walking past him as he trails behind you like a loyal dog.

"That's exactly why."

Days go by like a fleeting glance, and it seems as such that you and Hiccup had started to get closer—much to your disdain.

It all started after your talk with him and Astrid about you leaving the island after the recovery of Groundsplitter—that's when he started to seem more. . . bold? Or is the word. . . touchy?

You started to see more of him, and moreover—touch more of him. Handing over a charcoal pencil when the touching of fingers lingered a few seconds too long, the accidental bump of your hands with his as neither of you take initiative to pull away, the simmering burn under your skin when you both are alone, looking into each other's eyes in the way friends don't look at each other when you're alone— no others, just you two.

But not just that, you understood him. He told you his story; how he used to be an outcast from your tribe, just like you—only that he wasn't exiled 'cause he was the Chief's son. He told you how he met Toothless, how he lost the leg, how he misses his mom—he never really told anyone how he felt about it, but he felt inclined to be so transparent with you about it.

Fuck.

You feel it.

The rope between you tugging into a tight string, ready to snap from any further force.

That's what you were feeling.

The tension. Was it just you or did he feel it too?

The swirling churn of your stomach grows every time any physical touch happens with him. Is it because of your blooming feelings for that. . . that stupidly charming boy, that you feel your stomach flipping under and over itself, or was it guilt?

The feeling of sadness, knowing that every touch from him that left phantom sparks on your skin would just be a ghost of a memory.

Ugh, where were you again?

"Hey. . . You still there?"

Astrids voice calls out to you, making you snap out of your thoughts. It wasn't that embarrassing, but you weren't really sure why.

"I- Uh, I am . Yeah, what did you say again?" You blinked, looking back at her.

"Well, now that you're done going bug-eyed looking at that idiot," Her head nods towards where you had seemingly zoned out, and funnily enough, it was actually directed at the boy who was occupying your thoughts.

Hiccup was chatting with Fishlegs over something niche about dragons again, but he seemed so. . . relaxed. His shoulders were clack, a lazy smile on his face but still listening to what his overly-excited friend was saying, the up and down of his chest as he breathed—you really shouldn't be describing it, this really seems like you're breaching the lines between friends and. . . still friends, but you analyze every single thing they do.

"I was asking if you were really sure about leaving." She finished the remaining amount of mead in her mug, chugging it down before speaking again, wiping her mouth with her hand. "You could stay at ours, y'know. . .?"

Another mention of staying, again.

"Hiccup wouldn't. . ." The blonde girl paused, realizing what she was saying, before rephrasing her words again.

"We wouldn't mind having you with us at the Edge. Just saying."

You smile at the request, but you gently decline once more.

"No, yeah— it's, I'll be fine. There's no need." You wave your hand dismissively. "Now that Groundsplitter's all good to go, I'll be. . ."

Your words falter, failing to say the next with a confident tone.

"I'll be on my way." You finally grit out, your smile at Astrid never seeming to reach your eyes. Astrid can tell, but now wanting to pry, she nods instead.

Another peaceful silence meets you both, with layered chewing sounds of your eating with hers. But as much as this seemed great, it made you think more about what she said.

Staying at the Edge sounded like a dream come true; you and the gang worked well together, and it seemed like it would be a good idea.

But was it?

Every time you thought of staying, all the memories of being shunned from your tribe seemed to snap you back to reality.

You were just going to ruin it.

A frown had made its way to your face—now you think you just look stupid; you were eating while frowning, a ridiculous sight.

But unbeknownst to you, a pair of green eyes were analyzing you, just like you were analyzing him.

Today was the day.

You were actually leaving, for good.

But was it actually for good?

It was the afternoon, the sun blaring high in the sky. You were at the shore, your boat ready to go. Everyone was there to say goodbye—Groundsplitter, the Screaming Death, the gang, and Hiccup.

Everyone smiles ran away from their face; either showing a neutral, passive expression, a somber look that didn't want to cry, or barely being able to keep their head, uncontrollably sobbing—A.K.A just Fishlegs.

"Do you, really. . . Really have to go?" Fishlegs sniffs and sobs at every word he says. You don't break the hug he trapped you in, waiting patiently for him to do it first.

"Yeah, just stay with us at the Edge. Not that— not that I care, or anything." Snotlout supported, his voice sounding more glum as he hugged you next. He gave you a quick side hug quickly, before letting go and crossing his arms.

Snoutlout finally let go, letting you hug Ruffnut now, then her twin brother. You were gonna miss them—they knew the real, genuine definition of chaotic fun.

"Dude's right." Ruffnut said.

"It sucks not having you here now." Tuffnut mumbled into your shoulder as he hugged you tightly, looking at the ground while kicking a small pebble with his foot.

Their voice seemed to miss the usual mischievous, anarchic Torston tone. It was nice seeing another side of them, but that didn't make it less bad.

Astrid practically jumped into your arms. You reciprocated it, nonetheless. By the short time you were with her, she really made you feel like you had a sibling—someone to help you. And by the way she held you in her arms, she felt the same way.

"We're gonna miss you." Astrid had sighed.

"Especially Hiccup. He really likes—" Ruffnut's random comment had cut off with an 'oomph!', the man he was mentioning covering his mouth. You laugh at how silly he looked doing it.

"Haha. . . He just means I'm gonna miss you. . . Yep, a lot." Hiccup smiled and gritted out, Ruffnut trying to take the brunet Viking's clasp on her mouth off.

"Uh-huh. . .?" You reluctantly said, finally reaching out to Hiccup. You seemed to always save him for last.

Unlike the others when they hugged you, tight and gripping, Hiccup seemed to hug you like you were made of delicate porcelain, his touch soft and gentle.

He pulled you in, one hand on your waist, the other at the back of your neck, cradling you in his hands. You paused at the sudden change of being hugged, but you accepted it, hands on his back.

He mumbled something into your shoulder something you couldn't hear, even with how close he was to your ear. Only he knew.

"Please come back." He meekly said, like a prayer. You didn't hear, but maybe so God would.

His fingers curled softly, grabbing your waist and combing through your hair, delicate as flight.

You both stayed like that, longer than usual. You both pulled away to look at each other. His eyes— oh, his eyes. They looked at you with such feeling, you didn't know what it was, but it sucked you in.

"So, are they just going to stay like that or—" Snotlout's comment had failed to finish, Astrid's foot stomping on his.

"Ow! What?"

This made you both remember yourselves, fully pulling away from each other's touch.

"Ahem, so, yeah—" Hiccup cleared his throat.

"I'm just gonna—" You started to jog into the boat, tripping somewhere along the way.

"Yeah, you— you do that," He nodded, trying to fix himself up.

Before you knew it, you were already on water now—the dragons helping you to push it into the ocean. The water ripples as it pushed you away from the Vikings, the boat rocking slightly in its wave. You looked back at them, before waving at them with a pained smile.

They waved back, but Hiccup just smiled. You see it now. As far as you were, you could see what his eyes seemed to tell you; they were filled with adoration, but shrouded with a cloudy sadness.

As soon as you were far enough, you turned back into the direction of your boat—and endless pool of blue before you, and a setting sun.

You didn't want to look back again; because if you did, you knew you wouldn't want to leave.

At the shore, after about an hour of talking and so, everyone decided to get on their dragons and fly back now, Hiccup and Astrid being the ones to leave last again.

"C'mon," She turned around over to Stormfly, but Hiccup didn't want to move. He seemed stuck to the ground, his eyes never wanting to look away from the direction you went.

". . ."

". . . Hiccup?"

"I— yeah, I'll come along, just wait a sec." He vaguely responded.

The blonde Viking didn't know what he meant, until he saw him ride onto Toothless and bolt up into the mountain. As much as she didn't want to intervene, she didn't want to have her friend be this unconfident and somber again.

Without another beat, she followed him up onto Stormfly, flying up to the flat peak. She made her Deadly Nadder land a few steps behind, before unmounting and hesitantly walking up to the boy, hunched over with his knees dangling off the rocky mountain.

"So, how are you holding up?" She started gently, sitting next to her friend softly.

"Oh, y'know. . . i'm just as spiffy as ever," Hiccup exclaimed faking his enthusiastic self, before hunching over again realizing Astrid wasn't convinced.

"I dunno, I feel. . . sad?" His hands were on his lap, fiddling slightly with the texture of his pants.

"Of course, you do. We just said goodbye to her."

"Yeah, but like," He raised his hands to gesture, but he couldn't explain what he wanted to say.

"It feels. . . different."

Astrid replied with a hum, encouraging him to find his words.

"Like. . . I just lost something I never should've let go of." He elaborated.

"And why do you think you feel that way?" The blonde Viking wanted him to find what he felt by himself, not wanting to intervene any more than this.

"I don't know—maybe 'cause we lost another friend, maybe because everyone's sad too, maybe because I. . ." He groaned, before his words paused.

"Because you. . .?"

She could tell. The gears in his head were finally turning at max speed, he understood now, his eyes going slightly wide.

". . . Because I liked her, yeah." Hiccup balled his hands into fists, his sorrow forming into annoyance. "And I never told her— Gods, I never told her."

His stance started to sit right again, before bending over himself.

"And now I'm too. . . I'm too late," He meekly let out, his frows burrowed, his hands on his knees to keep him upright.

Hiccup didn't understand. Was this punishment? Making him feel such emotion from a person as amazing as you, then taking you away? If so, this was a cruel fate.

Astrid saw his face. He looked as dispirited as ever, and she couldn't help but comfort him. With a hand on his shoulder, she tried her best to make him understand that he didn't run out of time.

"Do you still like her now?"

". . . Yeah, of course." He looked up to meet her eyes, and he was surprised to see determined cerulean eyes looking into his.

"Then tell her, it isn't too late." She emitted, a smile on her face forming.

"But I— I can't. She left already. . . Unless," Hiccup responded negatively, until he remembered what you said a few days back.

"You always have your flying boat over there to help you find me,"

He whipped his head to Toothless, who seemed to decide that now was the best time to take a good nap. He sighed, but another roar from a dragon—or more like scream—made his head look to the sound.

The Screaming Death. Dragon

Dragon. Flying boat. You.

This was it.

Hiccup looked back to Astrid, who seemed supportive of the idea. Without another second wasted, he took the chance and stumbled over to the large, albino reptile.

Because this time, he would make sure you came back to him.

Re-reading one of the books you had for the fifth time, you sit on one on the cool wood planks of the boat.

Your eyes are reading and understanding the pages yes, but your mind is currently preoccupied with the thought of what you did just mere hours earlier.

Was it the right decision? What if it wasn't? Did I really have a chance living with them?

You shook your head to rid of the thoughts, blinking quickly to banish them.

What were you thinking?

You stand up, leaving the book strewn on the ground. You lean on the banister, looking into the far sun—it painted the ocean with a multitude of colors, blending seamlessly with one another.

With a sigh, you lean your head on your hand.

You hear large flapping in the sky, but when you did look up, there was nothing but a large flock of Monstrous Nightmares flying away.

Huh.

"You really need to stop putting your books everywhere."

You know that voice.

Were you hallucinating?

You turn around, and there he actually was. He was there, his lanky stature holding the book in his hand. Before you knew it, your legs were taking you to him.

You were in his arms, and he was in yours. You pulled away, and he still held you.

"You're— you're here. . .?" You said, not believing what was happening and what you were experiencing.

"You said to visit you when I missed you. So, here I am." He elaborated.

"On my flying boat." He nodded behind him, and you didn't even notice that the albino dragon was with him.

"Oh, Gods. . ." A breath of joy made its way out of your mouth, and you looked back at her even more.

"I didn't tell you when I still had the chance to, so I'm saying it now." Hiccup's hands met yours, and you looked down to see him intertwine them.

"I don't want you gone."

"But I'm not gone. . .?" You asked.

"No, I—" He sighed deeply, then replied in a better way.

"I don't want you to disappear from me." He expressed.

Your time seemed to slow. When he said it, it felt like it was just you and him.

"Hiccup. . ." Your eyes went soft.

"I know you think it won't be right with us, with you staying back at the Edge because of what happened at your tribe, but—" He gripped your hands in his, a reassurance to you that he's there, and assurance to him that he's actually holding you.

"This is different. You belong with us, with. . ." Hiccup brows furrowed in disdain, thinking that what he might say might be quite corny.

"You belong with me."

Without another beat, your gentle expression turned into something of a teasing demeanor, bursting out into a giggle.

"Okay, I know that was quite cheesy,"

"Oh, very cheesy." You nodded fervently, your sweet laugh still ringing in his ears.

"I know, I know— but. . . You get what I mean." He tilts his head slightly.

"Yeah, I— I do." You look down at both your interlocked hands, then unlinking them together, doing something Hiccup never expected you would do.

"Do you really think I'll belong if I stay?" You cup side of his face, his body instinctively leaning towards your touch, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Always." He sighs out.

"Good, because I'm never leaving."

You leaned in quickly, his lips meeting yours. Hiccup went wide-eyed, then kissed back.

Lips locking, hands on each other's, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

And Hiccup? He felt like he was in Valhalla.

Pulling away, you try to ask a question to the brunet. But you pulled away too little, and Hiccup's lips met yours again quite clumsily, his hands making it to your waist, pulling you closer.

You accepted his actions, nonetheless. But after a few more moments, you pulled away, far enough this time.

"Wait,"

"What. . .?" You saw his face, and he looked as if he wanted to whine, his eyes slightly teary, pleading.

"Where would I stay then?"

"Mine, of course. Unless, y'know. . . You wanna be staying with Snotlout, of all people." He sarcastically replied.

"Hmm," You vocalized, looking up to pretend you were thinking.

"Maybe I do want to room with Snotlout, he has some really good nicknames for you—"

"Oh, just come here." He rolled his eyes as he cut you off, his lips meeting yours again.

Your kissing was filled with clumsy teeth knocking with one another, his hands on your waist more firm.

There was another thought popping up in his head.

If you did become roommates with Snotlout, he wouldn't mind at all.

Because he'd just steal you away, every damn time.

BONUS ⋆˚࿔

"So, does that mean you'll be staying at Hiccup's hut?" Astrid asked.

Everyone gathered at the Blacksmith's Forge, excited to see you again knowing you weren't leaving.

"Until my hut's all done being built, yeah." You responded, leaning onto Hiccup's shoulder.

"I thought rooming with other people wasn't allowed?" Tuffnut crossed his arms.

"No, rooming with other people isn't allowed with you two." Fishleg's corrected.

"Remember the time you guys lit me on fire in my sleep?" The blond Viking bleated.

"Whatever, that was a totally cool stunt." Tuffnut jeered.

"It was totally awesome." Ruffnut added.

"Yeah, but maybe that rule still shouldn't be allowed with Hiccup and her." Snotlout finally piped up.

You and Hiccup looked to him, perplexed.

"Who knows? Maybe another Haddock heir will be soon. . ." He said the last part more hushed, but it still was heard by everyone.

Astrid was shocked and stunned, The Twins seemed awfully intrigued, Fishlegs was confused then understood, excusing himself out of the conversation, Hiccup was sputtering out his words, and you started to blush furiously.

You tried to defend yourself, but a looming shadow behind Snotlout seemed to do it first.

Now, the Screaming Death was trying to bite Snotlout's buttocks off, and now all of you were laughing.

"A Haddock heir, eh?" You drawled, looking over to Hiccup.

"I— uh, I don't think we're really, y'know ready for that, actually no—" He tripped over his words.

"Scratch that, I'm sure that I'm not."

idk if I hate the theme or like it, but I can't change it anymore so womp womp :(

did you like the fic? If you do, drop a note and let me know what you thought of it :DD

thank you for reading ~ !

[athenalvss]

FIRST LOVE ▬ ( Dick grayson! )

summary: A young Dick Grayson is in love with one of his father's younger teammates in the Justice League.

note: Dick wiil be like 16/17 and I write abt reader like she has 19/20, Just to communicate the age gap, enjoy :)

pairing:(platonic) yj!dick grayson x fem reader

open request - Dick masterlist

The first time you met was once when Bruce took you to the Batcave to accompany him on a mission, actually only Dick met you, he was not allowed to be there tonight, Bruce had forbidden him to go down to the cave that night and that they would not go out on patrol together, and there he was hiding watching the interaction between the most beautiful girl he had seen in his short thirteen years and his adoptive father.

You stood next to Batman, nodding as he explained the details of a simple reconnaissance mission. You were dressed in your suit, a modern design that combined functionality with style, and your posture displayed confidence… though a friendly smile softened your features.

Batman walked you toward the Batmobile, helping you get in, and Dick saw you laugh at something he said. Laugh. With Batman. As if that were even possible.

How unfair life was to him.

But the first time you officially met was shortly after Young Justice was created. Bruce, dressed as Batman and Red Tornado, had introduced you to the small group of teenagers with the intention of having you be part of their training, and perhaps even help them understand the great responsibility that this job entails at a young age.

But young Robin was too busy bragging that he already knew the pretty girl.

"Team," Red Tornado announced in a mechanically solemn voice. "This is the newest active member of the Justice League. She'll assist in your training."

You stood confidently beside Batman, smiling kindly at the group of expectant teenagers.

"Hey guys" you greeted with a friendly smile. "I hope we can learn a lot together. "

Robin almost fainted.

Of course he recognized you.

The goddess of the Batcave was there, in the same room, and this time... he could talk to you without hiding behind the Batmobile.

Wally nudged him. “Wow... who is she? She’s so f...”

"What are you saying, Wally?!" Robin interrupted quickly, his voice a little louder than usual.

Everyone looked at him, he cleared his throat, crossing his arms as if he hadn't just yelled in front of the team. "I mean, obviously I know her. She's been in the Batcave before. With Batman. And me. Nothing new for me. "

Wally raised an eyebrow, amused. "Really? And you didn't say anything?"

Robin shrugged, putting on his best 'this doesn't affect me' pose, although he was sure his ears were turning red under the mask.

"I didn't mean to brag," he said with a small smile. "But we've already talked. she was on a mission with B, and I showed her some things about the cave. She asked me for advice. The usual."

Wally chuckled. “she asked you for advice, sure.”

You stepped forward, smiling warmly as you watched them. “Robin, right?” you asked, addressing him directly.

The boy's heart almost fell to the floor.

"Yes," he replied immediately, straightening as if he were undergoing a military inspection. "Of course. Robin. You know, the first one. The original. The best. Your Robin."

Wally coughed to hide a laugh.

"Thank you for having me. I'm happy to be here," you continued calmly, then lowered your voice a little. "And.... I remember you."

Robin froze.

—I wasn't sure if I should tell you, but... I thought it was really cute how you hid behind the computer that night.

Robin blinked. “How…?”

"Boy, do you think I'd be in the League if I didn't see you hiding behind a piece of furniture? No one escapes a League member," you winked mischievously.

Wally squealed with laughter as Robin raised a hand to his face. "I'm going to need an identity change," he muttered.

ᯓ★

The Watchtower meeting hall was lively, finally the young league had been allowed to come see the place and watch the daily routine of the heroes who were there, what should have been a happy day for everyone, for Robin, the energy of the place had a slightly bitter taste.

From his place leaning against the wall, arms crossed and brow slightly furrowed, he watched the scene in front of him as if it were a movie he hadn't asked to see.

You were standing in the middle of the conference room, laughing with Hal Jordan, while he excitedly gestured about who knows about what. The way you laughed, with your shoulders slightly raised and that genuine expression of amusement… it didn't help at all.

Robin looked away with a silent grunt. 'Great,' he thought, now his special day at the Watchtower was ruined by the more annoying version of Green Lantern and his damn perfect white teeth and that jagged jawline.

"Relax, Wonder Boy," Wally told him, appearing at his side, munching some cookies from the base's kitchen. "They're just talking."

"Who said I'm not relaxed?" Robin replied, a little too quickly.

—Your face. You have a “I want to throw a batarang at Green Lantern” vibe.

Robin snorted. “I wouldn’t throw a batarang at him…” Pause ."…very strong. "

At that moment, you turned your head slightly and smiled at Batman, who had come over to review some files with you and Hal. Batman said something to you in a low voice, and you nodded with a warm smile.

Dick felt a small emotional short circuit.

Bruce now too? Bruce?!? Since when did you smile like that with him?! I thought your thing with Batman was respect, professional admiration… not those kind of smiles that gave you stomach cramps!

Wally spoke again, his mouth still half full of crackers. “I think you should take a deep breath before you explode like an overloaded microchip, buddy.”

At that moment, you said goodbye to Hal with a gentle pat on the arm and walked toward the group of young people. Your eyes lingered on Dick for a second, and your smile widened.

"Wally, Robin," you greeted him in that warm tone you only used with him, even though he refused to admit it. "How was your visit?"

Dick cleared his throat and straightened his back as if he hadn't been frowning with dramatic intensity for five minutes. Wally, for his part, smiled as if nothing had happened.

"That's great!" the speedster replied. "I mean, it's not every day you see Superman eating a giant salad for lunch, right?"

You laughed softly, and that laugh was enough to make Dick forget for half a second that he was angry at Hal Jordan, at you, at Bruce, and at cosmic injustice in general.

"And you, Robin?" you asked with a nod. "What did you think?"

Robin opened his mouth, but for some reason the words didn't come out immediately. His brain, which normally ran at the speed of a supercomputer, seemed to have rebooted.

"I'm... fine. Everything," he murmured, before clearing his throat and adding in a firmer tone. "The security design of the north corridors is quite efficient. Although there is a minimal leak in the retinal scanner in room 6B. Nothing serious, but... I noticed it."

Wally looked at him as if he had just quoted an engineering manual in the middle of a conversation about movies.

You smiled with genuine amusement and nodded, as if you didn't find it ridiculous at all. "I knew you'd notice something like that. Good eye."

Dick felt like he was floating.

"Yeah, well... efficiency's my thing," he said with a slight shrug, trying to sound casual. Wally nudged him, not conspiratorially this time, but to keep him from falling over because of his inflated ego.

"You're adorable."

Dick felt as if the ground disappeared for a second beneath his boots.

And Wally, behind him, lost it: he put his hand to his mouth to hold back a laugh.

"See you later, little guards," you added sweetly, ruffling his hair before leaving with Hal, who was waiting for you at one of the doors.

Dick stood still, as if struck by lightning.

"I'm not little..." he murmured.

Wally patted him on the back with a laugh. "Bro... you just got lethally friendzoned with love. You're going to remember this for years."

Dick didn't reply. He just touched his messy hair with a silly half smile he couldn't stop.

ᯓ★

It was your first time accompanying Young Justice on a mission, and everything had gone to hell so fast you couldn't believe it.

No one understood what was happening, but since you were the oldest of all, you were supposed to stay calm and find a solution for this strange moment.

The rift in the sky had exploded without warning. A blinding white flash enveloped them, and the next thing they knew, they were no longer in their timeline.

The technology, the architecture, the atmosphere: everything indicated they'd traveled several years into the future. Just enough to make some familiar faces unrecognizable... and others too recognizable to not send shivers down your spine.

“Where… are we?” Aqualad asked, cautiously assessing the spot where they had landed.

"That's what I'd like to know," said a deep, confident voice behind you.

You turned around as a reflex .

And there he was

Tall, imposing. In a black suit with a light blue symbol in the middle of his chest, he looked like a boy about your age, one you definitely didn't know.

"Are you...?" He looked at everyone, his attention finally settling on you. "Oh, damn."

"I'm surprised to see you here. Although I must admit… so far, this has been a pleasant visit."

Robin narrowed his eyes .

"Do you know us?" you asked cautiously.

"Let's just say I have good memories," he said, in a tone that made you raise an eyebrow.

Dick, in the background, clenched his fists. Good memories? What kind of memories?

Nightwing winked at you before looking back at the group. "But don't worry, I won't leave you trapped in my time. We'll figure out how to get you back... after we catch up."

Robin couldn't stop staring at him. Would this be what he'd be like in the future? Would this be how he'd behave? Would this be how he'd talk to you...?

And the worst part is, you didn't seem upset. In fact, you were smiling.

Maybe you weren't recognizing Dick as Nightwing, they didn't look much alike, but it was inevitable for Dick not to recognize himself. .

"We need to talk alone," he said in a serious tone.

Nightwing hesitated, but nodded, and the two of them walked off into a darker hallway.

And there, when they were far enough away, Robin turned to him with a frown. "Hey... you," he began, somewhat awkwardly, "I mean, me. Major. Can I ask you something?"

Nightwing looked at him curiously. “Shoot.”

"She..." he swallowed. "You know, she... In this time... you and her, are you...?"

Nightwing looked at him for a long second before answering. "No, Dick. We were never together."

Silence.

Dick blinked . "Excuse me?" he said with an incredulous chuckle. "Never as in 'not yet'? Or never as in never, never?"

Nightwing gave him a sympathetic look. That was worse.

"As in “never ever.” As in “your eternal crush will eventually marry someone else.” As in “you had zero chance, bro.”

Dick opened his mouth. He closed it. Then he opened it again, only to complain with all the drama his frustrated little teenage body could muster.

"Are you telling me that neither growing up, nor having this cool guy demeanor, nor having that deep, sexy voice, I achieved anything?! Nothing at all?!"

Nightwing shrugged. “Well… you managed to maintain a nice friendship. That’s something.”

"A NICE FRIENDSHIP!" Dick repeated, his face one of existential outrage. "You flirted with her five minutes ago! You flirted with her in front of me like it was the most natural thing in the world!"

"Sure, but she didn't know it was me, or rather, you."

Dick pointed at him as if it were evidence in court. "That makes everything worse!! You flirted with her like someone else and it failed!"

[lostingrayrain]

hello hello!! i bought homicipher the day it came out and i'm so in love with it.. but there's no content whatsoever and i'm so sad 😭😭 could you write literally anything for any character.. i just need to see more homicipher content!!! 😭😭💗

I GOT YOU ANON I've clocked in like 20 hours since the release on November 1st omg....

I've been cooking up something for my first Homicipher post.....here's some general thoughts on the relationships/dynamics with the main guys.

Characters: Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silver Hair / Mr. Silvair, Mr. Gap, Mr. Hood, Mr. Machete, Mr. Scarletella

Word Count: 1454

Warnings: sfw, some mentions of canon-typical violence

Mr. Crawling

He loves you!! He loves you so, so, so much!!!

Do you love him?

He asks you that. A lot. He loves to be reassured that you adore him. And he's always vocal about how much he adores you.

He follows you everywhere, like a lost puppy. It's honestly so endearing and sweet. He's constantly on the lookout for you.

He also adores physical touch, once he knows it's fine. Other than the little headpats, he likes to touch your legs, especially your calves. In times of rest he's incredibly cuddly and loves to nuzzle into you.

Pet his hair and he'll melt immediately. It's so relaxing to him.

He's usually with you, but when he's not he's often on the lookout for gifts and trophies to bring to you. He just wants to make you happy, in any way possible. The second there's anything you mention liking or being fond of, it's a priority for him to see if he can scrounge it up.

If you'll let him, he'd love to touch your hair. He will play with it and make silly nonsensical braids and giggle quietly to himself all the while.

He's a bit of a chatterbox. He loves to talk to you. Any time he's been away he likes to give you little reports of what he's done or what he's seen. And he wants to hear all about your day or your dreams, too. There's never a time he won't want to hear what you have to say.

Mr. Silver Hair / Mr. Silvair

You are so very interesting to him! He wants to study you.

But not hurt you. Normally, he probably would have already dismembered you to watch how your body pulls together again, but since you're friends with Mr. Chopped, he's put aside that urge.

Instead it's been replaced by something else, though he doesn't really understand what it is. He's never felt it before. Or maybe he has? Maybe he doesn't remember? Could you help him remember?

Whenever you’re feeling ill, he finds that he wants to make you feel better. He’s trying hard to learn how to keep you together just as you are.

He’ll get you to lie down when it seems you’re feeling faint, and carry you to bed when you collapse in the middle of an errand. Before he realises it, he's massaging your hair. Think nothing of it. Your head hurts, right? So it makes sense to pet you.

He likes to watch you sleep. He can’t put a finger on why. He likes to tell himself he’s doing armchair research when he’s really just….zoning out.

He's extremely perceptive and observant. He's always checking your reactions to things and events to figure out what you like or don't like, or to try to understand how you're feeling in the moment.

He's the type to politely ask if it's okay to touch you before doing so.

He would never hurt you unless your urges became unbearable, in which case it's self-defense, right? He'll make sure you'll turn back to normal and he'll be there for you every step of the way.

Mr. Gap

He's probably...one of the strangest denizens of the otherworld. You're still not sure if he has a body. But he has helped you on multiple occasions. You've found yourself growing fond of him.

You often see him peeking at you from various holes and gaps. Sometimes he tries to get your attention, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he just watches.

When you find a bag in the underworld, you begin carrying it around with you.

He's usually inside, but sometimes not. You have no idea where he goes.

He'll often bring back little gifts like weapons or food, like some bizarre cat. When he finds out you like candy, he tends to focus on that.

He always asks for your heart before he gives you anything, and you always say no, and he always grumbles.

But somehow you'll always find those same things coincidentally in your path or somewhere in the room after you wake up, if you've taken a nap.

He likes to scope out newspapers and magazines too, and show them to you, especially if they feature himself. He's so proud of that.

Over time, his requests for your heart grow less and less frequent. Sometimes, you forget he used to ask you for it at all, until he suddenly pipes up with the query again.

Is his wanting your heart the same thing as wanting your love? Things to ponder.

Mr. Hood

He's quiet and reclusive but he's there for you whenever you need him.

You need or want anything? Just ask. He'll give it to you immediately with hardly a question.

No harm will ever come to you whenever you're with him, and he hardly lets you out of his sight. He's incredibly protective of you.

He loves to carry you in his arms or on his shoulder, whether you're small or not. It's no bother to him. He's more than strong enough.

Hand touches are so pleasant to him -- whether you're touching his hands, or he's touching your face. He's secretly touch-starved. As long as you don't shy away, he'll continue to hold onto you.

He enjoys quizzing you on your knowledge of the otherworld language. When things are slow, he’ll randomly ask you if you know the names of certain things.

Whenever you both encounter something new during your travels, he’s quick to ask you if you know what it is or outright tells you what it’s called.

He seems a bit self-conscious of having minimal form. What is under his robe? If you don't ask he'll be grateful. He doesn't know himself.

But if you're not repulsed by his anomalous form, that's just -- incredibly touching.

He claims to not understand love, but he'll never abandon you.

Maybe he doesn't understand. Maybe he's forgotten.

But there's something about you that comforts him, and makes him feel safe. Quite paradoxical -- he's the one doing the protecting, after all. But your presence soothes him.

Mr. Machete

He's just looking for a way to not be bored. And being with you -- somehow, it's fun.

Maybe because he's usually alone, so he doesn't often have anyone else to talk to. It's...fun to banter with you, even if sometimes your words confuse him.

It's unquestionable that he's the brawn, you're the brain of this duo. Maybe the beauty and the beast, too?

He's always, secretly, been a little bit of a coward. The second things don't look like they'll turn out well for him, he ditches and flees.

But, oddly, you give him the courage to stand against things or monsters he would have thought were impossible to defeat.

Sometimes, you die -- whether by accident or because something else got to you before he could. But he always sighs and waits for you to wake up again. If you're mad, it's a little funny. You were just too slow that time.

He likes sparring with you. You have to get faster, right? Your weapon is pretty funny, too. So small and yet somehow you manage to not get overwhelmed by him. He's not holding back. He never would. Right?

He likes to pick you up and sling you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Likes to hug you like a teddy bear, too. You're soft and warm. You feel nice against him.

He's not the type to ask, but if you made any indication of not liking anything, he'd stop. He doesn't want to break you.

Mr. Scarletella

You are his queen. He literally worships the ground you walk on.

You are so fascinating to him. He just can't believe he's found someone as perfect as you. Someone who likes to destroy and kill people, just like him? Immaculate.

You haven't and never will give him your name. That's fine. He can live with that, as long as you're with him.

You've likely given him something else to call you. It's not quite your name -- maybe it's not your full name, and he knows it, because he can't quite grasp your essence. But it's enough to be able to give a sound to the person -- thing -- he likes most in this world.

He likes to say that not-quite name, and he says it often, just to get your attention.

He's fascinated by everything about you -- including how small you are in comparison to him. He loves that he can easily dwarf your form and loom over you. It's exhilarating in a completely different way from mindless violence.

Speaking of which, his favourite thing is without a doubt to commit violence with you. There's a new urban legend steadily growing in the human world, of a pair of murderers characterised by their red and white umbrellas. You're the perfect perfectly awful duo, truly.

Even when he's not with you, he's always somehow got an eye on you. Most of the otherworld residents know by now who you belong to, and they'd never lay hand on the one cherished by the red umbrella man.

[urdreamgirlangel]

a soft exit from doom scroll culture 𐙚🧸ྀི

Life wasn’t created to be lived through a screen, it was created to be lived through experiences ₊˚⊹ ᰔ michi

I constantly feel like I’m missing out on life. I’m never physically doing anything but I am always.. always scrolling. And for what? To be entertained. For those weak ass dopamine hits. To distract myself from my thoughts and my mental state. To have an excuse as to why I’m not doing something.

Neglecting yourself? Doomscrolling? Having trouble sleeping? Eyes always tired? Unhappy? Always feeling drained and tired?

Don’t you guys ever feel like you’re missing out? I mean you must since you’re here.

So I decided to try a digital detox.

Not in some extreme, delete-everything-and-vanish kind of way (I actually tried that many times and failed each one). I just wanted to see what would happen if I gave my brain a break. If I stopped reaching for my phone the second I felt bored, uncomfortable, or lonely. If I actually let myself sit with things instead of escaping into a timeline that never ends.

It was weird at first.

My brain kept telling me to “check something,” whether it's Instagram, TikTok, even Pinterest like ?? girl for what?? I realized I’d trained myself to need noise. Constant noise. And without it? I felt unsettled. Quiet. But underneath all that static, there was something else too. A kind of peace I didn’t know I missed. My mind actually started to feel like mine again.

Because the truth is, I don’t want to live a life I’m watching from the sidelines. I don’t want to be so overstimulated I can’t even hear myself think. I want to choose what I consume. What I feel. What I do with my time.

I want to remember that I don’t have to perform every moment. I don’t have to be productive to be worthy. I don’t have to post everything to prove I exist.

Sprinkles ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

I thought to myself I should have rules. I should try setting rules and boundaries because, as I said, social media isn't the problem, but rather how we use and interact with it is.

When you do scroll, do it purposefully (because you’re looking for something specific rather than because you’re just bored and you’re trying to entertain yourself quickly)

Delete and uninstall any apps you no longer use & make note of the ones you use too much - a lot of similar posts I’ve read on this topic always talk about keeping tumblr because it’s not that bad blah blah.. But can you really say you don’t scroll mindlessly on here? People use tumblr as an escape from all those other apps, but at the end of the day, it’s still social media.

Set time limits for screen use

Reduce use bit by bit

be careful with what you consume

Don’t be afraid to be bored. You are going to be bored and lonely.

Silence your notifications

Realize it’s okay to have social media but it shouldn’t be abused

Be in the moment. You don’t need to have a hot girl walk with a podcast playing in your ear. Bitch, be the podcast. Yap to yourself and look fucking crazy because I do. And it’s fun.

Find something to do with your free time, in my post Pretty Girl Content, you will find some hobby suggestions, or even in my Enhance Your Whimsy posts.

Tech-free zones - keeping your phone out of the bathroom, kitchen, bed, dining area

Check-in windows: only check social media during scheduled times

A ‘why I opened this’ list - every time you open an app, ask yourself why and write it down. Write it down. After a few days, review it to see your patterns and learn from them. nd if you wanna share thats ok too!

Dopamine Menu - a list of things that gives you pleasure or satisfaction a healthy way. instead of reaching for your phone when you feel lonely, bored or restless, pick something off the list and then do it.. They start easy with the first course, then require more effort and engagement as the course goes up.

Angel’s Dopamine Menu ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

🧁 Sweet Treats (Low-Effort)

Light a candle and practice breath work

Make a cute warm drink

Do mobility routine

take a shower

say affirmations

style dream closet mentally

cuddle blanket and/or pet

stand in sun for 3-5 mins

change into favourite cozy outfit

🍱 Comfort Courses (Medium Effort)

journal with dreamy prompts or about something i’m curious about

write a letter to my future self

Walk around the block

Bake something cute and simple

read a book

Reorganize space a bit (clear bed, fluff pillows, wipe mirror)

Watch a comfort show, no snacks, no other screens

have a tea party with plushies

🥘 Soul meals (High Effort)

solo adventure

Deep clean space

write letters to past you, present you and future you

go to a concert

choose a topic that fascinates me and go full research mode

start a new cute slice of life anime/kdrama

work on a hobby (start a scrapbook, upcycling an outfit, etc.)

write or continue writing a post

sign up for a workshop/class that excites you

learn a new skill (writing, language etc)

host a themed night for yourself (cottage core evening, 2000s movie night)

Plan my dream life

But now that we’ve got that out of the way, I have a question for you

What do you want from these apps? ೀ

𖹭.ᐟ Is it validation?

𖹭.ᐟ To feel seen without having to do much?

𖹭.ᐟ A distraction?

𖹭.ᐟ Community and connection?

𖹭.ᐟ Inspiration?

𖹭.ᐟ Entertainment?

𖹭.ᐟ Self-expression?

𖹭.ᐟ FOMO?

Are you actually getting it? Or are you just stuck in the loop, hoping the next scroll will finally give you what the last hundred didn’t?

People say cons of not having social media is not knowing what’s going on “in the outside world” but.. to me that’s a pro because I get to focus on myself and my mind and loa. So nothing else really matters to me since I’m focused on building the life for me starting with myself. Which I really need right now given my mental state. When i deleted tiktok, I feel good about not downloading it. Whenever I need it, I redownload it. Hair content. That’s about it. Then I delete. I dread even redownloading it because I’m kind of impatient. But I also do the same for tumblr. If I need a little pick me up, a sweet post and I know I have no one around give it to me and I really need to hear it from someone else, I redownload. I use it on my pc mainly now and I don’t find scrolling on my pc interesting enough to do it all the time.

So let’s get to the more philosophical, harsher side.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ Modern life encourages consumption, rather than understanding and contemplation - challenge yourself, learn about something that honestly doesn’t seem that big of a deal, like learning random facts about random things. Remember libraries and book shops exist.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ One thing about social media it will give you unsolicited advice and opinions, it will try to make you feel like you have to listen and believe what is being shown to you. It could cause you to stray from your own beliefs if you aren’t strong in them. People’s opinions being thrown at you left and right when you aren’t even comfortable and strong in yourself is… jarring. “You shouldn’t do this bc..” but what if I want to? And why are people mad that I want to? Or don’t want to? Realizing I don’t wanna hear anyone’s opinions before I was grounded in mine was a big reason for my detox and regulation.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ You pick up a lot of stuff you consume online unconsciously. For instance, I watched a lot of American and Canadian tv growing up.. now I react to certain situations in certain ways (just like a lot of the characters I saw on TV) and I literally didn't notice until like a few days ago. That's the result of repeatedly consuming the same kind of content. So guess what- the thing people call ‘brain rot’… is actually rotting your brain. Surprise, surprise.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ Social media constantly exposes you to other people’s timelines, and it quietly convinces you that you’re behind in life. But most people are only sharing fragments- the polished, curated parts. And when we forget that, it’s easy to start holding ourselves to unrealistic standards or feeling like we’re not doing enough. You are not late. You are not less. You are unfolding, slowly and softly, in your own time. And there’s something quietly magical about that.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ And on that note… influencers really do be scamming sometimes. Like, a lot of it is just the same old stuff, just prettier now. They take outdated ideas and wrap them in pink ribbons and call it healing or empowerment. Suddenly, being “feminine” means looking a certain way, acting soft and quiet, never taking up too much space, and spending money just to seem effortlessly perfect. But don't get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with liking pink, or soft things, or wanting to feel pretty. But when femininity becomes a performance—when it’s reduced to a list of aesthetics you have to buy into to be “the ideal woman,” that’s not empowerment. That’s marketing. They just dressed it up and made you feel like you chose it. But it’s still about control. About shrinking yourself into something small, sweet, and palatable. It’s not just influencers because some of them genuinely believe in this and don’t realize what they’re doing. In the end it just leads back to men trying to be in control... Ew. You might not even realize how much of what you like or think you like is just what society has convinced you need to like to be worthy of love or attention. This is not to say you can’t enjoy this stuff because I most definitely still do. But do so mindfully. This is also not to say that life can’t be aesthetic and pretty because it can and anybody that says not is just.. boring I guess. Just be mindful.

So I’m detoxing. To control the identity I’m building for myself and making sure it’s something I like, something I’m doing for me rather than for the algorithm. This is not to say that social media- or rather, how we use it- is to blame for everything. Because it’s not. People around you can genuinely suck. You have to pull away from that. The point is, if it’s not benefiting you, it’s depriving you.

Log out. Go outside. Touch the real world. You deserve to feel real again. -`♡´-🧁

follow @urdreamgirlangel 444 more

inspired by:

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ michi goodbye TikTok, hello living

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ xiao's you don't have to be that girl

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ denee you'd be hotter if you logged out