#anyways if you read this so sorry hope you’re having a less frustrating evening then I am lol

[thidwicktails]

If anymore people start telling me things about myself that are so completely wrong and stating them as facts I am actually going to just stop interacting with people ever again

[leona-hawthorne]

congrats on 1k!! i’m so happy for you !! tbh i’ve read your stuff for awhile now but i’ve always been so scared to reblog etc 😭😭

and your 1k celebration is also so unique omg? 🙏🙏

But for the book browsing, i think smut with the quotes/prompts: “if you fuck me the way you fuck me up emotionally, i think you’d do a pretty damn good job at it.” and “i hate you.” “do you? because you definitely don’t hold someone’s hand while fucking if you hate them.”

with the enemies to lovers trope with Mattheo would be so cute 😭😭🙏

hi hi hi!!! thank you for being the first to request for this ml, i appreciate you 🤍 💌 and please don't be afraid to reblog!! i can promise you that its one of the things that make me the happiest 😚 hope you enjoy this, i tried so hard to keep it short but i just couldn't help myself and now its 1.8k sorry!!

1k celebration navigation

HANDS OFF… book browsing

18+ MATTHEO RIDDLE

The party pulsed around you, vibrant and loud, the air thick with laughter, the scent of smoke, and the sweet tang of alcohol. You leaned against the wall, drink in hand, observing the chaos unfolding before you. But none of it held your interest. Your gaze was drawn to Mattheo Riddle, who stood across the room, surrounded by a throng of admirers, his cocky grin flashing like a neon sign.

You hated him.

He caught your eye, his smirk deepening as he raised his cup in mock salute. Blood boiled under your skin, a mixture of frustration and something more primal that you refused to acknowledge. 

You hadn’t even wanted to come to this damn party, but somehow, like fate playing a sick joke, you’d found yourself here anyway. The loud music was almost as intoxicating as the firewhiskey in your hand and it was only when you turned to head for another drink that you nearly crashed right into him.

“Watch it,” he muttered, eyes already narrowing as he recognized you. His sneer was familiar, laced with that unmistakable disdain he seemed to reserve just for you.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. You’re the one who walked into me, Riddle.”

“Maybe if you paid attention instead of sulking in corners, you’d know how to avoid bumping into people.”

You raised your eyebrows at his words as your cheeks flushed from the alcohol, a defiant spark in your eyes.

"Or maybe," you said, voice steady despite the heat rising within you, "if you weren't so busy preening like some fucking peacock, you'd have noticed me sooner."

The tension between you was palpable, a tangible thing that filled the space around you. It wasn't often that you allowed yourself to be this confrontational with him—after all, you knew better than most what kind of trouble that could lead to. But tonight, you didn't care.

"So, Riddle," you continued, leaning closer until your faces were mere inches apart, "why don't you just go back to your adoring fans? I'm sure they miss you."

Mattheo chuckled darkly, the sound low and dangerous as he leaned in closer to you. "Jealous?" he asked, his breath hot against your cheek.

"You wish," you scoffed, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at his proximity. "I couldn't care less about your little fan club."

Mattheo's lips curved into a wicked smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Could've fooled me," he murmured, his fingers finding your arm and tracing a gentle line up it.

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. 

"Get your hands off me, Riddle," you bit out, even as a shiver ran down your spine at his touch. The heat of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of your dress, sending sparks of electricity dancing along your skin.

But before you could pull away, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Off? Or would you rather I put them somewhere else?"

His words sent a jolt straight to your core, and you felt your knees weaken slightly. What the hell was wrong with you? This was Mattheo Riddle, the enemy, the arrogant prick who always managed to get under your skin. And yet...

"No," you breathed, even as your body betrayed you, pressing closer to his. "Just...back off."

Mattheo pulled back slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he studied your face. "So feisty tonight," he purred, running a finger along your jawline. "I like it."

His touch was electric, sending tingles racing down your spine. You tried to shake off the sensation, but it was no use. Underneath the layers of animosity and distrust, there was something else brewing—a simmering attraction that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

"We're drunk," you accused, trying to sound stern even as your body craved more of his touch. "And you’re high on your own ego. That's all this is."

Mattheo chuckled, the sound low and seductive. "Is that what you tell yourself?" He leaned in closer, his breath fanning over your lips. "Because I think we both know it's not true."

"Fuck you," you spat, even as your resolve crumbled under the weight of his presence. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

But then, without warning, you surged forward, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss. It was angry and desperate, all teeth and tongue as you poured every ounce of pent-up frustration into the embrace.

Mattheo groaned in surprise before melting into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. The world fell away, leaving nothing but the two of you, lost in a haze of desire and hatred.

Breaking the kiss, he nipped at your lower lip before growling, "You want to play rough, huh? Fine by me."

His lips found yours again with a force that was strong enough to bruise. His hands slid down to grip your ass, squeezing roughly as he deepened the kiss. He tasted like whiskey and sin, his tongue dueling with yours in a passionate dance that left you breathless.

In a swift move, he spun you around and pinned you against the wall, his body caging you in as he attacked your neck with kisses and bites.

"Strange how something so hateful could taste so sweet," he rasped, his fingers digging into your hips. "You're a fucking wildfire," he growled against your throat, his clothed hardness pressing insistently against your stomach. 

Despite the anger still simmering beneath the surface, you couldn't deny the thrill of being so completely consumed by him. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

When he finally broke away, you were both panting, chests heaving. "You know, if you can fuck me the way you fuck me up emotionally," he muttered, "I think you'd do a pretty damn good job at it."

With that, he grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the staircase leading up to the dormitories. You stumbled after him, barely registering the looks from the other students as you passed.

It wasn't long before you were basked in the privacy of his dorm, buried in his sheets with his cock lodged between your folds. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls as you moved together in a frenzied rhythm. Mattheo's hands roamed your body, gripping your thighs, squeezing your tits, tangling in your hair.

"You're so tight," he grunted, thrusting deeper. "Fucking perfect."

You arched into him, meeting each stroke with a roll of your hips. The friction was intense, bordering on painful, but you reveled in the pleasure-pain mix. It was raw, primal, everything you'd ever wanted from him.

Suddenly you needed to touch him, to anchor yourself to something real amidst the storm of sensations. Your hand groped blindly until it found his, grasping it like a lifeline. Mattheo's fingers entwined with yours, giving a reassuring squeeze. He brought your joined hands above your head, pinning you even more firmly as he increased the tempo. 

"Fuck," you cried out, reveling in the feeling of utter control he had over you, even if for this one glorious night. Your nails dug into the backs of his palms as he met your passion with a fire and fury of his own, two volatile elements colliding in an inferno.

"Oh god, oh god, oh—!" you choked out, your voice cracking as the orgasm built inside you like a storm about to break.

Mattheo's grip on your hip tightened, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. "Come on, baby, give it to me," he urged, his breath hot against your ear. "Scream my name."

The command shattered what remained of your control. With a ragged cry, you came undone, convulsing around him as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you. Mattheo followed soon after, his moans muffled by your shoulder as he spilled himself onto the skin of your stomach.

As the pleasure faded, Mattheo collapsed beside you, his chest heaving. For a moment, you simply lay there, staring at the ceiling as reality slowly seeped back in. What had you done?

Rolling onto his side, Mattheo propped himself up on one elbow, studying your face with an unreadable expression. "That was...something else," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You flinched at the gentle gesture, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable. "Don't," you whispered, averting your gaze. "This doesn't change anything between us."

Mattheo sighed, dropping his hand. "No, I suppose it doesn't." He sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

Despite the lingering tension, exhaustion eventually won out. Mattheo settled back against the pillows, closing his eyes as sleep claimed him. You watched him for a moment, noticing the way his lashes fanned out against his cheeks, the curve of his lips in repose.

Slowly, reluctantly, you turned onto your side facing away from him, drawing the covers up to your chin. You felt his arm slide around your waist, pulling you closer, but you resisted, maintaining a barrier of space between you.

As you drifted off, you knew this fragile truce wouldn't last. But for now, in the quiet darkness of his dormitory, you allowed yourself a brief respite from the war raging within you. Tomorrow, you would pick up the fight where you left off. Tonight, you just slept.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You stirred awake, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then memory came flooding back—the argument, the makeout, the sex.

Shit.

You slipped out of bed carefully, trying not to disturb him. As you pulled up your panties, Mattheo began to stir. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"I have to go," you said quietly, keeping your back to him as you shimmied back into your dress. "Last night was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened."

There was a pause, then the rustle of sheets as Mattheo sat up. "A mistake? Is that really how you feel?"

You stood by the door, slipping on your shoes as you avoided looking directly at Mattheo. "Of course, it is," you replied flatly, your voice devoid of emotion. "I hate you, remember?"

With that, you grabbed your bag and made a hasty walk to the door, but just as you were about to twist the doorknob, he spoke, his voice low and smug.

"Do you? Because you definitely don't hold someone's hand while fucking if you hate them.”

Your heart pounded in your ears as you whipped around to glare at him, but you bit back the retort on your tongue. With a huff, you snatched open the door and stormed out into the hallway.

Once safely in the empty hallway, you leaned back against the wall, heart racing. A small, secret smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. Damn him.

[miaowitch]

What Makes a Date? (18+)

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Read on Ao3 or below !!

Sam (SDV) / Fem! Farmer OC

cw ⋆｡‧˚♡ swearing, smut, porn with plot, grinding over clothes, blowjobs, cumming without warning, sam pov, sams a loser?, canon/oc

summary ⋆｡‧˚♡

Sam has two tickets to his favorite band, but none of his friends want to come with him. What does he do instead? Ask the farmer on a totally platonic outing, just as friends with no underlying feelings! Everything should go according to plan, especially the part where he ends up in her house! Right?

5k words

Sam found himself in an odd situation. Two tickets to a concert in Zuzu City, two busy friends, and one available farmer. He’d been talking with Bella for a few months. Every time she came around he couldn’t help feeling like his heart would burst from his chest alien-style, but all in all he tried his hardest to be normal around her. Even if he’d written hundreds of scrapped melodies about her, even if he dreamt of her constantly, even if he wanted her laugh as his alarm clock. Samuel Neilson was a normal 20-year-old who could have hot friends. 

He’d been a fan of the band JamPot since middle school, and he figured Sebastian and Abigail would’ve died hearing about the tickets. They were all massive fans in fact, they’d discovered them together on YouTube in fact. Sure, he could only take one, but Sebastian rarely left his house anyway. Abigail was his backup plan for concerts most times, he just liked extending the offer to Seb. Abigail would never turn down the option to go to a concert without paying. 

He decided to ask them both on their weekly pool night, Sebastian was riding on his first win of the night and Abigail was lounging on the couch closest to the table. Sam thumbed the tickets in his pocket before working up the courage to ask, “Hey uh-” He started, pulling out the envelope. “Either of you wanna go with me to see JamPot on Saturday?” Sam’s hopeful tone was instantly crushed by their simultaneous rejection. “Sorry, Sammy. I’ve got plans on Saturday.” Abigail finally looked up from her phone to look at his defeated expression. “Yeah, I’ve gotta catch up on work. It wouldn’t be smart to..” Sebastian had just finished setting up the next game, but Sam couldn’t care less. “Whaat?” Sam whined out, leaning on the pool stick now. “I spent 50 on the other ticket, just hoping one of you’d tag along!” 

Sebastian, as if he was unbothered by his friend's distress, just rolled his eyes in response. “Just ask Bella.” Beginning the match by hitting the cue ball, managing to hit a solid color into a corner pocket. Sam stood dumbfounded. He didn’t want to go alone, but he also didn’t know if Bella would even agree to the…date? Would it be a date? He pondered for a minute before Sebastian cleared his throat in frustration. “You’re stripes, now play the fucking game, dude.”

The rest of the night, Sam was in a sort of daze, wondering if he was even close enough to the farmer to ask her to a concert. What if she rejected him, thinking it was a date? What if he wanted it to be a date? After his…circumstances with Penny, he wasn’t sure if he should even try to make a move. Walking out of the pub at 11, he was still thinking about Sebastian’s suggestion. Abigail waved goodbye, the one sober member of the group. Sam was slumped on Sebastian’s shoulder, the two held each other up with drunk motivation. “Can I..” Sam sighed, tossing his head back. “Just take me to your basement, Sebby.” He didn’t plan on drinking so much, but he knew his mom would kill him if he walked in wasted. “Whatev’r…” Sebastian slurred back, as he lead Sam around the corner to the mountain path. 

Sam didn’t quite remember how he’d gotten to Sebastian’s house. He woke up with a twinging headache, sprawled on the rug next to Sebastian’s bed. An old throw blanket was tossed over top of his body, but no pillow. His mouth was dry, lips cracked slightly as he pried them apart. “Seb…” He groaned, his voice was dangerously hoarse. Clearing it, he called once more as he sat up. “Seb. Get up.” Sam reached up to push at Sebastian’s sleeping back, but only received an angry groan in return. Being friends with Sebastian for so long, he understood that groan as a rejection to waking up.

Sam decided to just leave on his own, his mother was probably concerned about the fact that he hadn’t even come home. The alarm clock on Sebastian’s bedside read off [11:00 am]. He sighed, searching for his shirt that had been thrown off in the night. Picking himself up from the floor, he grabbed his phone, found his shirt, and slipped on his laceless shoes. Hobbling up the stairs was the hardest part, with stiff joints it was hard to even walk a straight line.

“Hello, Sam!” Robin announced to the house as Sam emerged from the basement. He winced at her volume, but still put on a smile. “Hey, Robin, sorry I crashed last night.” Sam adjusted the faded band shirt, hoping she couldn’t tell he’d been half naked two seconds prior. “Seb’s still asleep downstairs, I don’t know if he’s getting up any time soon.” He rubbed the back of his neck, anxious that Robin could still smell the alcohol. She didn’t seem to catch on, laughing softly. “Oh, Sam, you don’t have to apologize for staying over.” She sat back in the chair behind the front counter. “You two always stay up so late at night, at least you’re having fun.” 

Sam said his goodbyes, walking out the front door and closing it silently for the sake of his aching head. He took a deep breath, feeling around in his pocket for his phone to text his mom that he was headed home. Instead, Sam found the tickets that cursed him. “Fuck.” He muttered to himself, but apparently not quiet enough. Bella was rounding the corner at that very moment. 

“Fuck what?” She appeared with a sly, teasing smile. Sam felt his throat tighten up. “Me?” He replied with a violent voice crack. Sam couldn't help feeling like an ass when Bella was around. Something about her jet black hair, piercing blue eyes, and….assets? He didn't want to disrespect her, she was a nice friend. Why would he talk about her like that? He respected her too much. 

Bella laughed, harmoniously (to Sam). While covering her smile, which killed Sam, she dropped it after her giggles. A happy sigh escaped her, straightening up to really get a good look at him. “You look rough.” Bella spoke with almost a hinge of concern, looking him up and down. Sam had been so caught up in overthinking, he forgot completely about why he had been overthinking. “Rough? Yeah, I guess I feel the same too.” His hand nervously rubbed at his neck, Sam had a habit of doing it. “A-Actually I had a question for you!” Bella cocked her head, Sam felt his stomach toss. 

Bella was a girl who loved music. It was her and Sam’s first conversation. Wearing an old TilledSoil shirt, a band Sam had seen upwards of 10 times. After their hour of conversation on their favorite bands, Sam deemed Bella to be cool. He knew she would agree to going to a free concert with him, but was he even confident enough to ask her out? “What’s up?” Bella asked, now actually concerned for Sam. He’d been clutching the tickets for the entire time. The ticket envelope crumpled in his grip. “Do you wanna go to a concert with me- If you’re not busy or- or anything.” He felt like a total ass. 

There was no reason for her to actually reject him, but every bone in his body was cringing out. Standing in front of his best friend’s house, asking someone to go on a maybe-date. If Sebastian had been awake, he’d be instantly cooked. “What band?” Bella spoke up to break the internal panic that fogged his brain. That and the hangover headache. “JamPot!” Sam blurted out, making his headache come back with a vengeance. “They’re just…some dumb pop punk band from overseas.. I just have another ticket!” Yet she was already smiling, “JamPot? I don’t think I’ve listened to them since middle school!” Pulling out her phone, she looked back up at him. “When’s the show?”

Sam seemingly forgot every single detail about the show in that very minute. After frantically opening the envelope to look at the tickets, he looked back up. “Tomorrow, doors at 7?” Bella then started looking through her phone for a moment. “I’ll drive too! All you gotta do is tag along!” Sam wasn’t trying to beg, but god, he just didn’t want to waste the money. She looked back up with a smile, “Deal, I’m free to go tomorrow.” Stammering to himself for a moment, Sam finally got out a sentence. “Cool! I’ll pick you up at 6?” Bella agreed, and Sam floated back into town on a high.

Sure, his mom was pissed, and he was slightly late to work. Sam just couldn’t care. He was just really excited to hang out with his friend Bella. There wasn’t anything else lingering there, no matter how many times Sebastian and Abigail brought it up. This was just two really good friends going to hang out at a concert. Getting close, and sweaty…and doing normal friend things. Sam wasn’t going to ruin anything. Surely. 

Sebastian and Abigail heard the ‘news’ from him over a text, both were convinced it was going to end in Sam’s demise. Abigail bet on Bella thinking it was a date, but Sam shut her down immediately. There’s no way Bella would think it was a date. Even as he put a little bit of extra time into getting ready the next day, he was positive that Bella was on the same page as him. After assuring himself that his hair was perfectly quaffed, he headed out to pick up Bella. 

His car was just a hand-me-down from Jodie, her old car from before they’d gotten a family van. Sam wasted a few minutes throwing trash from the passenger to the backseat. Scrambling just to make it to the farm at six. Pelican Town wasn’t the most drivable, but it was still nice to have a car for longer trips. He just hoped it was comfortable enough for Bella. Not that it was a big deal, of course, she was just like every other friend. He just wanted her to enjoy her first ride in his car.

Sam arrived at the farm at 5:52, pulling into the gravel driveway just after he was done freaking out about being late. He fixed his hair in the rearview mirror, fussing over nothing at all. Waiting for just another minute, he was too impatient and honked at the horn once. He didn’t have her number, but he also wasn’t sure if he could just walk up to the front door. What if she thought he was rushing her? At the moment Sam honked– Bella opened her front door. A black cat ran from the house, and Bella locked up the front door. Sam was leaning on the steering wheel, watching her. When she looked at him with a smile, he instantly straightened up. His palms were grossly sweaty, and suddenly he felt underdressed. 

Bella walked to the passenger side of the car. Sam for a moment felt compelled to brush off the seat before she sat down, but still held himself back. Sharing greetings, Sam took a moment to really look at her. Trying to get his breath back, he smiled. “Ready for the show?” Sam managed to get out, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. Bella could probably wear a burlap sack and look good, but her black skinny jeans and cropped tee suited her perfectly. Bella smiled back, buckling in. “You know it.” 

It was hard to pay attention to the road with her in the passenger seat. Bella wasn’t distracting in a bad way, but Sam couldn’t help wondering what the feeling in his gut was. He just didn’t want to mess anything up. The drive wasn’t boring by any means, Bella and Sam talked the whole way there. Bella mentioned listening to JamPot’s new album, and Sam had to hold himself back from gushing about each detail in the chord progressions. But– It wasn’t long until he did start gushing about it. It was really difficult for Sam to not spill every thought around her. Normally, people would just grin and bare it while Sam rambled about music, but Bella listened to him. She seemed like she really was interested, a rare find. The drive and the time spent waiting in line was mostly just the pair talking about shared interests. Finding out she also preferred Hawaiian Pizza was a game changer for him. 

The venue was old. It’d been there since the early 70s, but was still kept up with. High ceilings, low concrete floors and bars located on both sides. It was already halfway packed in, the merch tables weren’t busy either. Small fairy lights decorated the trim of the brick walls, highlighting the merch tables easily. 

When they were actually in the venue, Bella split off to find the merch table while Sam grabbed a spot on the floor. “I’ll see you in a few.” She smiled, softly placing a hand on his upper arm before walking off. Before Sam melted to the sticky concrete, he had to text his friends. Sending a frantic text to Sebastian, Sam felt his head swimming. [ “Is this a date?” ] He typed the words with nervous, shaking thumbs. Sam was wrong, kicking himself in the ass. What if he was in the process of destroying any chance with Bella? What if he did like her more than he was allowing himself? 

[ “Yes.”  ] Sebastian responded, Sam mentally crumbled.

This was the issue with Sam. He didn’t read the room properly, didn’t understand most situations. It’s what ruined a lot of past relationships for him. Bella didn’t seem like she was hating their conversations, but girls were just so confusing to him. During his overthinking, Bella returned. A new beanie on her head, and a CD in her hand. The new JamPot album. “I got this for you, I wasn’t sure if you had it already.” Holding it out to him, Bella had no clue what had been occurring in Sam’s head. “What?! I’ll pay you back, Bella, I swear.” All fear dropped from his mind, her presence was enough for him to stop overthinking. She shook her head, “It’s for the ticket, don’t worry about it.” Bella’s hand touched his arm again. Soothing his anxiety, but slightly raising his blood pressure. 

After each of the two openers, Bella and Sam kept getting closer and closer. The crowd crushed together in excitement, filling the air with the heat of upwards of 200 people. “Are you okay?” Sam spoke up, bending to Bella’s ear just so she could hear him. She responded with a thumbs up, but still moved closer to Sam. Somehow they’d pressed forward to the barricade, in the middle-left. The headliner hadn’t come on yet, but Sam was preparing. His hands were holding the barricade, with Bella standing between them. He knew she’d be fine on her own in the crowd, but he wanted to keep her safe. The crowd had been rough all night, the openers being much heavier than JamPot, but Sam didn’t want her getting crushed against anyone else. 

Music played across the loudspeakers to fill the silence for the crowd during the stage set. The energy throughout the show had made him less high-strung, less worried on the topic of their night. “You’re having fun, right?” Sam asked, again at a higher volume, just so she could hear him. Bella nodded, leaning against the barricade and looking up at him. “Thanks for bringing me, Sam!” She hadn’t been able to stop smiling that night. 

It was honestly rare that Sam had seen her leave the farm. She and Abigail hung out by the mines occasionally, and he’d see her on walks by the water. Sam just rarely saw her doing anything out of Pelican Town in the few months they’d known each other. He liked taking her out, taking her places with him. “N-No problem.” Feeling that same tossing in his stomach, for some reason his face felt hotter. Maybe it was just the room? 

If Sam thought the first half of the show was close quarters, he wasn’t ready for the second half. Pressing up tightly to Bella’s back as she jumped around was the hardest thing Sam had to endure. On one hand, Bella was safe and comfortable at the barricade, while Sam had to get knocked into continuously. On the other, every single movement against Sam’s dick was like the purest form of torture. It’s not like she was grinding into him, but every once in a while they’d make contact when Bella would start jumping around. Gritting his teeth through it, Sam stood strong. Even if he ached, feeling the slightest brush of her hair against him. Her perfume with hints of clove, brushing by him, was his own heaven. The only thing Sam could circle back to at that moment was the original question.

Was it a date? Sam really tried to focus on the band, but how could he? He’d tune in for a song, then get lost in thought, staring at the back of Bella’s head. The end of the show came quicker than he’d been paying attention. The encore was really just one song, then the whole night was over. Sam felt like an ass, once again, for letting his mind wander all night. Walking out of the venue, Sam stayed close behind Bella. He felt like he’d been a weird freak all night, he just watched her. Bella didn’t notice anything, she’d been talking about how great the show was all the way to the car. Sam bantered back, acting as if he had really watched the concert.

After finally making it to the car, everything sort of shifted. Bella felt a little shyer now that they were fully alone. “Um– Sam?” She asked, as Sam put his keys in to start the car. “Yeah, Bella?” He looked over to her, the radio in the car started playing some obnoxious radio song. The CD hadn’t been automatically reading, so he reached up to press the button. “Well, I just wanted to thank you for taking me on this date. I really had a lot of fun with you tonight.” 

Sam froze in place.

Date? It was a Date?

The annoying pop track played its repetitive tune. Sam was staring at Bella with a dumb look on his face. “It was a–?” He managed to catch himself before saying his first thought, “Right– Well, I just thought..” His extended hand toward the stereo retracted, holding the back of his neck to feel at any beads of sweat. “I just thought it was about time, y’know?” A goofy grin cracked on his face, feeling suddenly free of his worries. “Me too..” Bella had been messing with a strand of hair framing her face. “I really appreciate it, Sam. We should really do this again, okay?” She smiled again, softly. The fluorescent lights in the garage gave her an outer glow, a soft halo on her black hair. Sam had to look away before he forgot the route home. 

Still, a sort of tension lingered in the car. They talked like normal, joking about the show. They talked about typical things from the daily special at the saloon, to weather during the week. Sam considered for a moment that he was just being dense, not understanding the palpable pauses between each topic. Bella adjusted in her seat every few minutes, Sam could’ve sworn he caught her looking his way every few minutes. His energy was high from the concert’s atmosphere, so maybe his mind was just working overtime. 

Eventually, though, they made it to Bella’s home. Pulling in the same gravel driveway as a few hours prior. Sitting in silence for a moment, neither truly wanted the night to be over with. Bella finally offered though, “Sam, I think I might have a pizza in the house. If you’re hungry or something..” Bella played with the fabric of her beanie, now clutched in her lap. Her hair was slightly messed up from hat hair, but to Sam, she hardly looked imperfect. 

“Yeah, uh.. I don’t see why not.” Sam turned off the car a little too enthusiastically. Mentally high-fiving himself for making it this far. Considering how the situation started, he didn’t even think he’d be in a car with Bella. Let alone be on a date with Bella. It was only midnight, his mom knew he’d be back late, so Sam didn’t have any reason to say no. 

“Sorry if it’s a little messy, I don’t normally have people over..” She apologized, unlocking the door with a set of keys attached to a decorated keychain. Sam figured it would probably be cleaner than his room, and he was right in assumption. Bella was exaggerating. Only a couple of cups laid on the coffee table, a few sweatshirts and jackets were draped on one of the dining room tables, and burnt out candles littered the main living room. “It’s not messy, don’t worry.” Sam made sure to close the door behind him, only slightly jumping when a black cat ran through the house and towards the bedroom. 

Sam quickly followed Bella into the kitchen, where she was staring at the box of frozen pizza branded with JojaMart logos. “Have you had this before?” She asked with a pensive tone, looking over her shoulder and back at Sam standing in the doorway. He felt a knot in his throat. “Please, I think I’ve had every frozen pizza in the Joja aisles.” Sam tried to push past it, leaning on the dining table to keep himself from collapsing. 

“It says it’ll take 30 minutes, can you wait that long?” Bella set the box on the counter and turned to him. It was one of those fancier brands with a rising crust. “I could make us some sandwiches if you’re too tired, I know I’m already keeping you out pretty late..” Her lips pursed in thought, but Sam scrambled. “I-I can wait!” Bella began opening the box, and setting the frozen disk pizza onto the tin tray. Watching her preheat the oven, Sam felt his heart race. Two peers, in a house…alone. Sam hadn’t thought this far ahead. 

Sure, he’d kept a condom in his wallet, but that didn’t mean he just expected to get laid. He wasn’t that cocky. He understood that they were just two friends, fresh off an unexpected date. Two very available people that liked each other a considerable amount. Sam just knew the kind of guy that he was. He wasn’t the type to hold off if he wanted something. And god, did he want Bella. 

She turned around now, unaware of the horrible thoughts in Sam’s brain. He wondered if he should just go home. “Well, we’ve got a 30-minute wait… anything you wanna do while we wait?” Bella took a few steps closer, setting the flannel she was wearing on the kitchen table behind Sam. “You.” He felt tempted to say his desires out loud, but held himself firm. “Oh, I could just watch TV if you want.” He was lying, but it was late. Sam doubted that she was that into him. 

Following Bella into her living room, he took a spot on one end of her blue, velvet couch. Bella placed herself on the other side after getting the remote to her tiny television set. She sat forward, stiff as she tapped through channels, just trying to find something to fill their silence. The tension between the two was thick, Sam just tried to relax. Leaning back in his seat and getting comfortable. It was almost 11 at night, there was nothing to be worried about. As if the notorious early bird farmer Bella would stay up much later than 12. 

A couple of minutes passed, but Bella didn’t seem to relax. Sam kept stealing glances, but each time she would lock eyes with him. Her panic hidden as she looked back to the boring music documentary they landed on. “Are you comfortable?” Sam finally offered, figuring that it was an innocent question. Bella finally looked at him, “Um… Well…” She shifted in her seat, “I guess not, I just can’t rest after concerts..” Bella seemed almost embarrassed, “I just have such a hard time laying down..” 

Sam opened an arm at the instant. “C’mere then, I’ll show you how to relax, Bella.” He didn’t have bad intentions at all. Sebastian was the same way, you had to force him down to get any sleep after going through concert adrenaline. Sam had no problem getting cozy, he just wanted to help her out. 

He was more than surprised when she actually agreed to it, Bella gladly crawled over to lay on his chest. Sam positioned himself to lay along the couch, one hand behind his head to pad the hard arm of the couch. Bella just draped herself on the inside of the couch, pressed onto him, but hardly comfortable. She still felt like she wasn't quite comfortable, so Sam let a hand creep down and rub the space between her shoulders. A sigh released, and Bella let her guard down.

Sam’s hand continued to rub circles around her back, and Bella’s sighs became more frequent. Every shift she’d make against his thigh, every shudder as his hand shifted to her mid-back. He wasn’t sure what he was doing to make her react that way, but he’d always been told he had magic hands when it came to massages. “Are you still comfortable?” He asked again, not sure why he was whispering. Bella could hardly be heard as she softly moaned at his touch. Sam felt himself going insane as their eyes met. Her lashes fluttered, his heart could’ve given out at any time. 

It only took a second for Sam to realize what was actually going on. Bella moved up, now straddling him to the couch. A mere centimeter away from his lips as she felt her own hesitation. “Bella? C-Can we…” Sam started, but Bella cut him off. Their lips met with sparks under Sam’s skin. His hands drifted to her waist, rubbing slow circles with his thumb as their tongues mingled. One of Bella’s hands moved to his hair, lacing together with gelled, blonde strands. Even lightly brushed against his hair almost made him burst, but whatever Bella was doing to him made him weaker to the touch. 

Their kiss broke with Sam panting, holding on tighter with one hand on Bella’s waist. Basically guiding her to grind against the center of his crotch. “Ohhh… Oh god, Bella…” Sam couldn’t help begging for her, what else was he supposed to do with a beautiful woman on his dick? Her hips gyrated, moving forwards and back to tease at his quickly hardening cock. 

It’d been too long for Sam. He didn’t fool around as much as he had before Bella came to town, but she was enough to dedicate his life to a monogamous relationship. “Y-You’re so fucking good, holy shit…” He gasped as her hands trailed up his chest. Holding herself firm as she now stopped and held herself up. Moving down, she positioned herself between his legs. Sam propped himself up, sweaty and confused. Watching Bella lay on her stomach with a determined look in her eyes, she understood her intentions as she unbuckled his checkered belt. Her soft hands pulled down blue checkered boxers, taking in everything slowly. 

Sam’s ears were burning hot, he threw his head back to avoid her seeing his embarrassment. Bella, on the other hand, slid her hand around his cock with love. Licking her lips with anticipation as she took it all in. Gently kissing the blushing head of his cock, leaking precum and begging for more. Sam writhed under her, missing her lips after every sweet peck down the shaft. He begged, desperate for something that wasn’t a teasing kiss. Bella listened, smiling devilishly as she swept her long black hair behind her. 

Bella’s hands firmly stayed on Sam’s hips, making sure he wasn’t bucking too hard. Her mouth wrapped around him warmly, lowering slowly to halfway, then bobbing back up. “S-Shit..” Sam cursed, biting his lip to stop from exclusively swearing. His right hand gripped at the back of the couch, while his left hand trailed to Bella’s head. Softly petting as she moved with intention. Her big eyes looking up as if she wasn’t melting him with each move she made. 

“B-Bella slow down, Please-” She bobbed faster, and stopped teasing him. His hand now gripped in her hair, inky black strands lacing between his fingers. “Fuck- Fuck, you’re so good to me, Wh-” Sam’s rambling was cut short by his body near folding from her mouth hitting the base of his cock. Sam wasn’t monstrously lengthy, but he was still slightly longer than average. Aside from the fact that he wasn’t getting very many blowjobs, he’d just assumed deepthroating didn’t exist. Tortuously, she moved her mouth up, with her tongue pressed to the bottom of his shaft. Sam couldn’t keep his mouth closed. A mixture of her name, whimpering, and swears poured out as she worked her head up and down. His head pounded, a whooshing in his ears grew louder.

Without warning her, Sam crumpled under her. Cumming into her mouth, now holding onto her head gently to keep her still. Bella moaned, the vibrations only making him moan out louder as he bottomed out. She pulled herself off as his hands fell, a quiet ‘pop’ broke the humming in his head. As she got up and left towards the kitchen. He’d realized the timer started going off when Sam heard the creaking of her oven door. “Bella?” Sam called out, almost missing her after she left the room. A second later, Bella’s head peeked around the wall of the kitchen. “Do you still want pizza?” She acted like she hadn’t just been on his cock, like she still couldn’t taste him in her throat. 

“No, I think I want something else.” He propped himself up, smiling back at her. 

[solarmorrigan]

If you’re still taking prompts, could I ask for “please come get me” with Steddie?

I’ve read over all your other angst prompts and just about died this morning, you’re so good at the pain!!

Hello! :D Thank you for the prompt! I'm afraid this one is a little heavier on the comfort than the hurt, so perhaps not as much pain, but if you've been binging what I've written so far, maybe that's a good thing?? But anyway, I hope this is alright!

[Warning for implied child neglect/emotional abuse. Nothing really happens in the fic, but just as a heads up]

Angsty-ish Prompt List

-

Eddie shouldn’t be hearing this. This isn’t a conversation meant for spectators.

“I know you just got back from a trip, I just–” Harrington says into the receiver of the payphone, clinging to the handset as he practically wilts against the useless ‘privacy wall’ next to it. “I’m sorry, I was just hoping you could give me a ride home.”

All Eddie had wanted to do was cut the pep rally like any self-respecting social outcast would, except he couldn’t just ditch and go home; it’s Friday, and he has Hellfire after this. But the last thing he’d expected while loitering around outside, waiting for the pep rally to end, had been to stumble across Steve Harrington on the phone, practically begging someone for a ride home.

“No, I drove myself here today, I’m just not sure I can drive home.” Harrington pauses, then sighs. “No, Dad, this is a pep rally, I haven’t been drinking.” Whatever comes down the line next makes his posture snap straight almost immediately, before he hunches back in on himself with a wince and a hand pressed to his forehead. “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

This is weird. This is so weird. Harrington is meant to be cocky – confident and in-charge and at ease, not curled around a payphone in the same way a kicked puppy tries to protect itself even as it asks someone for more attention.

Someone who is apparently his dad.

It’s just – weird. It’s like how you know a lemon is a citrus fruit, just the same as an orange, but the second you peel off the rind, you feel like you’ve seen something forbidden. Lemons aren’t meant to be peeled that way, and Harrington isn’t meant to look close to tears while trying to get someone to drive him home.

“I – I’m sick. I mean, it’s – I have a migraine,” Harrington explains haltingly. “No, it’s not just – yeah, my head hurts, but if it was just that, I swear I wouldn’t bother you, I just – I’m dizzy, and my vision’s all blurry, so I’m not sure I can drive, and I don’t…”

Shit, that sounds kind of fucked up. Eddie frowns, leaning against the wall he’s been peering around, now definitely intentionally eavesdropping. Harrington is frowning, too, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face.

“Tommy and I don’t hang out anymore, we haven’t in over a year,” Harrington says, then carries on a little more quietly, a little more subdued, “and there isn’t really anyone else here I can catch a ride with, either.”

Eddie will admit he hasn’t been paying a whole lot of attention, but anyone who doesn’t live under a rock knows that Harrington’s popularity had taken a bit of a hit last year, when he’d ditched Hagan and Perkins and decided to be a bit less of a dick. And then this year – well, even if Hargrove hadn’t crowed enough about the fight between the two of them, the state of Harrington’s face back in November had spoken volumes. Still, Eddie hadn’t been aware the condition of Harrington’s social life was so dire.

“I’m not – I’m not making this up, the doctor talked to you about this, he– I’m not trying to talk back, I just– Dad, please, can you just – please, come get me,” Harrington stutters through what sounds very much like a losing argument before going silent altogether, pressing one hand over his eyes as he lets his head hang, the other still holding the handset near his ear. “I understand,” he says dully after a minute. “I’m sorry. I’ll – I’ll figure it out… Yes, sir.”

It doesn’t seem like there’s much left to say after that. Harrington hangs up the phone and leans up against the adjacent wall before sliding down and sitting himself right there on the ground, knees drawn up and face in his hands.

Shit.

Eddie ducks back around the corner, gnawing on his lip, caught in indecision. He shouldn’t have overheard any of that, intentionally or otherwise, but now that he has, he can’t just – not do something.

Can he?

He tries to tell himself it’s not his problem, that Harrington’s certainly never done him any favors, even if he’d never been a dick to Eddie specifically, but it doesn’t work. All Eddie can see is the defeated slump of Harrington’s shoulders, the helpless way he’d just sort of dropped to the ground, the way he’d quietly admitted there’s no one else he can ask for a ride – Eddie’s always had a soft spot for the lonely ones.

But when he rounds the corner, prepared to come up with some bullshit excuse as to why he’s out here and willing to drive Harrington home, he finds that Harrington is – gone.

Eddie glances around, but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere. Poof, vanished while Eddie had been too busy trying to decide what to do.

Well, damn.

Distantly hoping that Harrington had, indeed, figured something out, Eddie tries to put the incident out of his mind. The pep rally will be over soon, and that means Hellfire will begin, and he needs to get his head in the game.

He has no real reason to think on the incident after that, and he’s fairly successful at shoving it somewhere into the back of his mind until nearly two years later, in a setting so far removed from that spring day at the school that it might as well be in another life.

Eddie has to extricate himself from a few fans (actual fans; apparently, rumors of Satanism and returning form the dead will do wonders for the reputation of your metal band) in order to get up from the table settled near the back of The Hideout. Gareth, Jeff, and Oliver are all accounted for, enjoying their drinks and chatting with whoever’s descended upon them after their set, but Steve had disappeared ten minutes ago and has yet to make a reappearance.

Ten minutes isn’t all that long, Eddie knows logically, but after last year, after everything, it still feels a little too long. If he finds Steve and Steve tells him he’s fine, then that’s great, Eddie will leave him be. But he just wants to check.

The bathroom is a bust, empty but for one drunk swaying precariously in front of a urinal, so Eddie heads outside, where, around the side of the building, settled on the ground in a triangle of sodium-glow orange thrown off by a nearby streetlight, he finds his quarry.

Steve is sitting with his back to the rough wood façade of the bar, his knees drawn up in front of him and his head leaned back against the wall behind him. His eyes are closed, but there’s a little pinch of tension between his brows, and Eddie is abruptly reminded of that day, eons ago and not really that long ago at all, when all Steve had wanted was for someone to care enough to give him a ride home when he’d been sick.

Eddie finds his ass on the concrete right next to Steve before he even has the conscious thought to go over and sit down.

“Doing okay, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, picking up one of Steve’s hands from where it’s resting on his own knee (it’s safe enough right here, Eddie knows; someone would have to actively be looking for them to spot them where they’re tucked away).

If Steve is surprised to find Eddie beside him, he doesn’t show it. He turns to look at Eddie in the low light, offering him a fond little smile.

“I’m good. It was just getting to be a little much in there, so I came out here for a break,” he says.

Things like excessive noise and heat—say, the likes of which might be experienced at a concert in a crowded bar (or maybe a high school pep rally)—tend to be migraine triggers for Steve, so why he continues attending shows at The Hideout is beyond Eddie. He’s tried telling him that he doesn’t have to come, but Steve still insists he wants to make it to every performance that he can.

Eddie squeezes Steve’s hand. “You wanna head out?”

Steve shakes his head. “You’re having a good time. I don’t want to take you away from that.”

“I’m not going to be having a good time if you’re miserable.” Eddie reaches up and cups Steve’s cheek in his hand, keeping him facing in Eddie’s direction. “You’re a priority for me, you know that, right? Say the word, and we’ll go home.”

It doesn’t seem like Steve has anything to say to that; instead, he just stares at Eddie with something like wonder, as if Eddie’s just done anything more amazing than promise Steve that he’ll never have to beg for basic consideration.

“Besides,” Eddie goes on, if for no other reason than to shift the sudden weight of Steve’s reverence, “it’s not like it would be a hardship.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to Steve’s willing mouth before he continues, speaking so close that their lips are brushing. “Getting to take you home, take you to bed, lie there in the dark, just the two of us…”

Steve presses in for another kiss, long and lingering, before pulling away.

“Let’s stay a little longer,” he says. “Jeff owes me a beer, anyway.”

“Y’know,” Eddie pauses with a grunt of effort as Steve stands and uses their joined hands to pull Eddie up after him, “the only reason you knew the movie he was referencing—and, thus, the only reason he owes you a beer—is because I made you watch it.”

“And? What do you want, a medal?” Steve snarks.

“Well,” Eddie drawls, glancing Steve up and down, “some token of appreciation wouldn’t be remiss.”

Steve raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Eddie. “It would be if we did it in the alley next to a bar.”

“Wow, Harrington, mind in the gutter much? I only meant a beer,” Eddie sniffs, all exaggerated offense.

“Sure you did,” Steve says. “Now c’mon; one more beer, and then… home?”

“You got it, sweetheart,” Eddie says, offering one more quick kiss in hopes of putting any hesitation out of Steve’s mind. “One more beer, and then home.”

[upon-a-starry-night]

Number Neighbors Pt.25

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary:  When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

----

Nat doesn’t respond to any of your texts, she doesn’t explain why she was sorry, nor does she show up on Friday. You waited at the cafe for 3 hours before you finally accepted that she wasn’t coming. You had been too anxious to order coffee so you ordered a tea but it had long gotten cold. The barista would glance at you every so often with pity and embarrassment burned your cheeks. 

You threw the cold tea in the trash and left the cafe vowing to avoid this part of town for a while. You were hurt and angry but more than anything you were confused. She had seemed thrilled to meet you and it was her idea in the end so why was she bailing on you? The thought that she wasn’t who she claimed to be quietly crept up on you throughout the day but you’d heard her voice, at the very least she wasn’t a 60-year-old man. At least she didn’t sound like one.

You’re looping through the five stages of grief throughout the week and by the end of it, you're a sobbing mess in your friend's arms. There’s copious amounts of ice cream in your freezer and a bottle of wine has already been emptied as the two of you find yourself back on your couch but this time the circumstances are less enjoyable.

“I don't understand what I did wrong” Your friend gently caresses your hair as you stain her shirt with salty tears. She’d known the second she saw you that something was wrong and you’d nearly broken down on your lunch break in front of her when she asked if you were alright. 

Even your mother seemed to notice something was off just by the sound of your voice. She’d threatened to come down and maim the person that hurt you and you didn’t have the heart to tell her that neither of you would know where to find her.

“Maybe she’s just scared?” Your friend tried to reason. You don’t know how long she’s been comforting you but it’s the only thing keeping you from texting Nat again. You’ve ranged from screaming at her through texts to sending her sob-ridden voicemails and you hoped to keep at least a small part of your dignity intact.

“But it was her idea!” You argue “and she knows I wouldn’t be mad if she wasn’t ready. I just don’t understand why she won’t respond” A fresh wave of anger washes over you as you get up from the couch, your hands waving wildly as you make your way to the fridge “And what was with that cryptic text?! Why couldn’t she just say why she was sorry? What’s an apology without an explanation?”

You angrily grab a carton of ice cream and two spoons, huffing as you plop down on the couch and handing the spare spoon to your companion. You instinctively reach out for your phone, checking to see if Nat’s at least read your messages. She hasn’t.

You go to text her again, fueled by frustration despite your thread of unanswered messages. They stare tauntingly at you as the blue light assaults your tired teary eyes.

        Nat🔪:

Y/n🍦: 

Are you okay? We don’t have to meet but I’m getting worried about you

Y/n🍦:

Nat? I’m going to call.

Y/n🍦:

I never realized you don’t have a voicemail tone

I was hoping I’d get to hear your voice one last time

Y/n🍦:

You know what? Screw you, I don't deserve this!

Y/n🍦:

I didn’t mean it. I miss you.

I’m calling again.

You make a move to text her again but your friend slips the phone from your hands before you get the chance. She deletes whatever jumbled mess you had started typing and sets your phone behind her so you can’t reach it. You simultaneously want to scream at her and thank her. 

“Maybe we should give her some time?” You pick up on what she’s saying immediately. Realizing she might not be talking about Nat. You only manage a small nod as you slump further into the couch and start eating your ice cream.

“Can we put something on?” Your friend nods and turns the TV on and you’re grateful for the temporary distraction but you know the second she leaves you’ll probably send Nat another voicemail.

The silence allows you ample time to give in to your anxiety, realizing you don’t know as much as you probably should about Nat. You don’t know her last name, if she has any siblings, what she does for a living. For all you know, she could be a contract assassin, it would make sense why she disappeared all the time. 

 You had no idea who you’d been talking to and now that you’d grown an attachment to her she ghosted you. Had that been her plan the whole time? Was this some kind of game to her? Did she even really care about you? Your thoughts swirl and grow into a ball of anxiety and paranoia and you stare blankly at the TV as the cold of the metal spoon presses into your tongue.

~~

Nat lays on the cold pullout couch of her trailer and stares at the ceiling for what feels like days. It’s all she can bring herself to do when she’s not busying herself with other distractions. When she doesn’t distract herself her mind wanders to you. 

She promised she’d never make you cry. Her heart squeezes at the thoughts that must be running through your head. She’d had to leave her phone behind at the tower but she’d gotten a glimpse of your worried messages while she was packing. She felt horrible to leave you without an explanation but how would you believe her if she told you over text? 

She planned to tell you everything when you met but now she wouldn’t get the chance. And all because of the stupid government treaty Stark wanted them to sign. It made her impossibly angry just thinking about Thursday evening.

*The Avengers had all gathered in the meeting room, except Peter who was taking tests at school that he didn’t want to miss. The room was tense as Tony flipped through pictures and videos of the destruction their fights often led to, only stopping when Steve told him to. Nat could understand where Tony was coming from, she understood that the wreck that became the city was distressing but if it meant lives were saved wasn’t it worth it? 

She refused to be under anyone’s control ever again now that she had her freedom. She wasn’t going to be put on a leash. They already complied with all of the publicity stunts and interviews the government made them do but now they wanted to control their lives? What were they going to do next tell her how to breathe? 

Not to mention she didn’t want them getting involved in her relationships. She couldn’t have them knowing about you- controlling you. She wouldn’t let them take you from her. She smiled at the thought of you, glancing at her phone to see your good luck message.

“Well you can tell them your opinions face to face” Natasha’s head snaps up at Tony’s words and Bucky fixes him with a suspicious glare

“You better not be saying what I think you are Stark” He seeths out and Tony just shrugs, checking his watch

“They’ll be here in a few hours, I already agreed to sign it” The room erupts in a flurry of outrage. Wanda is the first to leave, scoffing as she pushes out of her chair and makes her way to the meeting room door. Vision follows after her, worry evident on his features.

Steve is still arguing with Tony trying to reason with him but it seems like it’s falling on deaf ears and Nat watches as her family begins crumbling in front of her eyes. She stays stoically silent, unsure of what to say to stop the fighting that's only getting worse. Bucky looks half ready to sock Tony in the face and she wouldn’t fault him for it but she doesn’t want violence to break out nonetheless.

“They backed me into a corner! We don’t have any other options! We don’t know what they’ll do to us if we don’t agree!” She can hear the desperation in Stark’s voice; the fear. A man who was always trying to prevent what could happen so much that he became oblivious to what was happening.

“We don’t know what they’ll do to us if we do!” It’s the last thing Bucky says before he storms out of the room, Steve following not soon after. Tony looks to Bruce but he only solemnly shakes his head, sitting quietly in his chair as he tries to think of another solution. 

Stark tries to reason with Nat but she just sighs. She doesn’t know how to solve this yet but she’ll figure out a solution. For now, she needs to do what she assumes the rest of her family is doing: Pack and find a place to hide out for a while. She’d seen what the government does to powerful people they don’t trust- she’d been part of some of those missions. She knows it’s in their best interest not to stick around unless they want to be thrown onto The Raft until they agree to sign their lives away.*

That’s how she ended up here, in the middle of nowhere, cold and alone. She’d had to leave her phone behind so that she couldn’t be tracked and that meant she couldn’t text you. She briefly considered texting you from a burner phone, she had your number memorized but she didn’t want to freak you out and she was worried about how you’d react. 

She didn’t want to have to tell you the truth over the phone, and what were the chances of you believing it was her? Most of all she was terrified that you’d be angry, that you’d tell her you never wanted to hear from her again. You would be justified in that response but she wasn’t ready to face that just yet. So she busied herself with concocting any possible ways to get her family safe and back together again. 

Pt.26

A/n: Sorry for the late chapters I've been rewriting them until they feel good enough to put out. (Also yes this is based on Civil War but it doesn't follow the same outcome)~ Starry

---Taglist--

@marvelwomen-simp @cd-4848 @wandanatlov3r @rebeltombraider @ctrlamira @fxckmiup @aliherreraaa @natsxwife @la-douler-ne-finite-jamais @romanoffsgal @moistblobfish @natashaswife4125 @elenimoris @how-to-disappearrr @screechcat @toouncreativeforausername @ordelixx @autorasexy @blacklightsposts @vmpnano @jono723 @sylencr @saraaahsstuff @autorasexy @gay4hotmilfs @tofu9162 @dyslexic-dreamer @graniairish @colettehope @kosmichs1 @nmhlver @natblidaclexa @skittlebum @dorabledewdroop @nothanksbye07 @mrsrushman @midastouch013

[noonaishere]

Online/Offline [C.S] - ninety-five | everything’s good :D

“So what do you want to play?” Keeho asked.

“Oh--” you started, “you didn’t have a plan?”

“Nah, I had vocal practice and we had to film content, so it sort of kicked my ass.”

“Oh my god, you’re the lord of spoilers,” you sighed.

“No-- ah, shit.”

JohnnyYuta: HAHA, Keeho! A🌲SurroundedBy🌷s: He Of The Spoils YangYangGangGang: Wow, he really doesn’t stop I💚Keeho: Do you think his manager will call? I💚Keeho: Or even the CEO like that other time? QuackIsWhack✅: “Content” isn’t big enough for the CEO KeeHOrse: Yeah, the CEO only called that time because it was a major comeback spoiler I💚Keeho: Ohhh yeah lol

You read your chat and laughed. “You’re getting roasted, Spoiler King. Lightly browned, on both sides.”

Keeho sighed.

You chuckled at his reaction. “Chat, what do you think we should play?”

JohnnyYuta: OBSERVATION DUTY!! A🌲SurroundedBy🌷s: HUGE MAN!!

“Oh my god, Keeho would hate that.”

“Keeho would hate what?” He asked.

“They want to play Observation Duty.”

“No.”

“See?” You said to the chat. “Pick something else.”

A🌲SurroundedBy🌷s: WHY NOTTTTTT??? I💚Keeho: Keeho hates the jumpscares QuackIsWhack✅: Also, the *ahem* untoward ones are a bit much for the company, you feel me? A🌲SurroundedBy🌷s: Ohhhhhhh yeah JohnnyYuta: Understandable 🗻of Namhae✅: What about Minecraft? You haven’t played that in a while

Your eyes widened at the screenname. “Namhae? You’re back?”

🗻of Namhae✅: Yeah. Sorry for being gone for so long

“Namhae’s back?”

“Yeah, he had a family thing he had to take care of.”

“That was a while.”

“It was. I hope everything’s okay, Namhae.”

🗻of Namhae✅: Everything’s good :D

You smiled. “That’s good. Namhae suggested Minecraft.”

“Didn’t you used to play that with Morn?”

“Yeah, but everyone liked our palatial estate and less palatial escapades.”

“And how much you died all the time?”

You gasped. “How did you know?”

“I watch your streams when we have comebacks. They always make me sad because I can’t play games with everyone.”

“The streams make you sad or the comebacks make you sad?”

“The comebacks.”

“... Should you have said that out loud?”

Keeho laughed. “Our managers hear me complain enough about not being able to game, so it’s not like they don’t know.”

“If you say so. Anyway, do you want to play Minecraft?”

“I don’t really like Minecraft. I’d rather play against each other.”

“Ugh. Then why don’t you suggest something? You pest.”

“Hmmm…”

Keeho thought for a few seconds and then started naming games and seeing what the response from his chat was. While you waited, your mind drifted to playing Minecraft with San. Sure, you weren’t very good at it - actually you were pretty fucking terrible - but he always made it fun, no matter how frustrated you got because you kept dying. And you got pretty fucking frustrated. He always had your back and he always picked you up and dusted you off when you respawned. 

You were feeling… disbelief? At the idea that, at that exact moment, he could have been going out on his blind date. Why was he even going on a blind date? You wondered where they would go: was it going to be a fancy restaurant? Something fun like an amusement park? Maybe they’d see a movie and sit in the dark theater together. Maybe their hands would touch by accident-- or on purpose. You wondered what she would be like. Would she be pretty? Would she have a stunning personality and a great sense of humor? Would she have a real job like a ‘responsible adult’, and not have people harass her online or stalk her in real life? Would she be so captivating that he wouldn’t have room to think of anyone else? Would she be like you? Would she be the complete opposite?

And why didn’t you just fucking ask him out when you had the chance? You liked to think that maybe you were the kind of person who could learn from their mistakes, so why did it suddenly feel like your tried and true rule of not dating people you work with was suddenly hurting you rather than helping you?

“Mario Kart.”

“--What?” You had totally forgotten you were streaming.

“They want us to play Mario Kart. Aren’t you paying attention?”

“Uh-- yeah.”

“No you’re not,” Keeho laughed. “What were you doing?”

“Thinking about something, sorry.”

“Do you want to play Mario Kart?”

“Not really but… whatever. Sure.”

San stood by the door of the restaurant, waiting for his blind date as he watched y/n stream without him. He wondered why Keeho was so dead set against Minecraft. He also wondered why y/n went quiet for so long. Was she okay? Maybe he shouldn’t have shown up in the chat as Namhae? Maybe he should have made a new name?

Maybe he should have just told her he was Namhae from the beginning.

“Excuse me-- San?” A woman’s voice asked and San looked up.

“I’m so sorry--” he shut off the stream and shoved his phone into his pocket. “Jisoo, right?”

“Yes.” She smiled and held out her hand for him to shake.

He shook it and smiled back. “Shall we go in?”

   previous | main cast | masterlist | next

a/n: Who would have thought these idiots would be sitting here wishing they did something differently? 🙄

Send an ask or leave a comment if you want to be added to the tag list! 🧋 Any comments, reblogs, or asks are appreciated! I love talking with you guys and seeing what you’re saying about the chapters, it keeps me going 🥰

@rachs-words • @stayatinykatsy • @dinossaurz​​ • @conwunder​ • @tinyelfperson​​ • @anythingrelatingtojinyoung​ • @jaytheatiny​ •

[nivisdreaming]

Kinks And Cookies

Frustrated by the trials and tribulations of solo BDSM, Y/N comes to their dear friend Eddie Munson for support. Probably shouldn’t have chosen the best friend they’re also in love with for that role, but at least they’ve got cookies as a distraction from the heartache?

Eddie Munson x Sub!Reader

WC: ~800

Tags: Not smut but heavy kink themes, hurt/comfort turned love confession?, self indulgent af, drabble, gender neutral reader, 2nd person POV (you/yours and Y/N use)

Eddie cocks his eyebrow from where he lounges in a dining room chair, a lit joint hanging from his fingertips as he intently listens to your words. “Wait, so you’ve been doing solo play? As a sub?”

“Yeah, and it’s.. fine. Less than ideal for my style, but I’m a big kid, I can take care of myself. Porn and daydreaming works well enough. It’s good enough. For little while, anyway. But that’s not the issue,” you bite your lip and shuffle in your seat, “The problem is afterwards. Aftercare and that stuff. You know how I am with self care. It’s even worse when I’m…” Your words trail off.

“Fucked dumb?” He finishes for you, a smirk on his face as he clearly tries to suppress laughter.

“Eds! This is serious!” You huff and pull your knees up to your chest, burrowing your warm face and wide eyes away from him. “It’s gotten really bad sometimes, Eds, if I don’t do enough I end up dropping.” You take a shaky breath and try to wipe some of tears collecting on your lash-line on your pants. “That’s really scary alone, Eddie. I hate every second of it, and there’s nothing I can even do but wait it out when all I wanna do is feel good.”

A frown replaces Eddie’s teasing expression. He’s heard about subdrop plenty, helped a few playpartners through it once or twice. He’s even had to deal with topdrop himself after a particularly rough scene. He knows the emotions your trying to articulate. The anxiety that eats away at you, the shame and guilt that overshadows all else, the primal sadness and depression that you just can’t explain because there’s not always a reason beyond the physiological. He’s putting out the joint now, quick to move from his seat to squat next to you. A tentative hand reaches for your knee, and he begins to rub small circles over the soft fabric. “I’m sorry I laughed, Y/N.” He can hear your muffled sniffling from where your face is buried, and it’s really tugging on his heartstrings. “What can I do to help? What’d you want me for?”

“Just, hold me. For a few minutes. Til the bad feelings go away.” You feel Eddies arms move up to wrap around your torso, and you’re carefully shifted into his lap and pressed against his chest, his chin resting atop your head. His hand goes to caress your hair and a sob rips from your throat, stilling his breathing.

“Y/N. Maybe this is a bad time, but could I ask you something?” Eddie’s words come out tentatively. You nod from where you lay, not trusting your voice to hold steady. He mutters close to your ear, “Why don’t you have a dom? If being without one isn’t what you want, why be on your own?”

You feel your breath catch, and he worries you can feel how his heart skips a beat at your reply. “There’s… a guy. Who I want to be my dom, but I’m too scared to ask.” You take a heavy pause. “He barely even knows I exist in that capacity, but being with someone besides him would still feel wrong. I’m waiting to either get over him or work up the courage to ask him out. Both seem impossible.” Your words come out mumbled, but at least the talking is enough over a distraction to get you to stop crying.

Eddie is so glad your head is still buried in his chest. You always had such a way of reading him, like you could see his eyes and how they reflected the light and use it to know exactly how he felt. He didn’t want you seeing that moment the hope turned to jealousy turned to heartbreak. God, this had been a rollercoaster of a conversation, even by the weird standards you two had grown accustomed too.

You both sit in silence for awhile, enjoying each other’s embraces, terrified to be the first to move. It feels like centuries have passed by the time the alarm for the cookies you technically were here to bake in the first place sounds through the trailer, and you have to peel yourself from Eddie’s hold reluctantly. He stays on the floor, but you can feel his gaze on you even as you turn to pull the metal sheet from the oven.

“Whoever he is, tell him. You don’t… you don’t deserve to hurt, Y/N. Not like this.” His sightline doesn’t budge when you turn your head around to look at him. There’s some emotion dripping from everything about him, from the hunched way he sits, to the gruff tone of his voice, to the way he blinks a little too often, like he’s trying to clear something away. For once, you can’t quite determine what it is. It only spurs you on.

“It’s you, Eddie. For fucks sake, it’s always been you.”

[neiptune]

hiii how are you? :))

i finally could take the time to look through the prompt list and if it is okay i was thinking of yuuji + the prompt 'it’s been occurring to me i’d like to hang out with you for my whole life' + maybee if you're feeling it roommates trope?

sunshine boy just has been on the brain lately, i'm really excited to read all that you come up with! :)

yuuji itadori x it’s been occurring to me I’d like to hang out with you for my whole life

As the front door not so gently shuts, you interrupt your hunt for snacks through cabinets and cupboards and peek out from the kitchen doorway.

“So? How’d it go?” you raise your eyebrows expectantly, a pack of oreos ready to be slashed open in your hand.

Yuuji smiles awkwardly as he approaches you. He does that thing he does whenever he’s embarrassed: as a mild blush already creeping onto his cheeks, one hand rises up to his neck to nervously scratch it.

“T’was nice” he shrugs the question away as if it’s no big deal. However, the way he avoids your gaze tells you the deal is there and it’s not small either.

The pack of oreos is left on the counter, hunger forgotten as you cross your arms.

“Was she rude?” you’re already up in arms, scowl so deep he’d genuinely laugh if he wasn’t so desolated.

“She wasn’t”

“Pretentious? She demanded you paid? I mean, I know you’d do it anyway, but insisting on the first date…”

“No, really, it wasn’t—”

“She was late. Fuck, you even left early, I told you to take your t—”

“She stood me up”

Your mouth hangs open, brows furrowed in an incredulous frown. A few seconds of silence follow his words and Yuuji has to shrug again, in hopes of playing the absurd thing off as trivial.

“Maybe she had a setback” you want to be a good person and give this idiotic stranger the benefit of the doubt.

“Ah, not really. I saw her arrive at the restaurant. She looked at me, pretended not to see me and just left” he walks past you to reach over the counter and grab a clean glass. As he quietly pours himself some water, you can feel your blood pressure skyrocket by the second.

“Sorry, what did you just say?” you turn around in one swift motion “she stood you up intentionally?”

“It’s fine, really” Yuuji’s lips curl into a sweet smile, albeit a little self-conscious “maybe it’s the pink hair, you know. Or the flashy sneakers? Anyway, can’t be everyone’s type. It’s fine” he repeats and downs the water while you have to blink back a fury that has you seeing red because what. the. fuck.

He takes notice of your outraged expression and fails to hold back another smile as he leans against the counter.

“What about you? No plans tonight?”

But you cannot focus on his words. He’s left the house more than three hours ago, for a date that showed up only to leave. Which means he was probably too embarrassed to come back and has spent all this time alone, doing god knows what.

As a matter of fact, you do have plans. But you have no intention of going out, surely Nobara will understand. She always does, understand everything faster and better than you. She has ever since you’ve first met Yuuji anyway, her friend and probably the best roommate in the whole wide world.  

“Mug cake” you click your tongue and resume a hectic inspection of drawers, certain you still have some mix left somewhere.

“What?” he cocks his head, confused.

Victorious, you pull out what you were looking for from underneath cookie cutters and measuring cups.

“It’s so good! There’s only one left, you can have it” you know he’s looking at you, that’s why you avoid gentle eyes that would read everything there’s to read in yours. Anger, frustration, sadness. Not as attentive as he claims to be, he would mistake all those things for pity.

“Let’s share it?” the question is sheepish, a little awkwardness laced into his tone still. Your heart beats a little faster against your ribcage as you smile.

The cake is prepared in his favorite, microwave-safe mug. It takes less than two minutes for the chocolate greatness to be ready and you insist on adding shredded coconut and sprinkles as colorful as his hair and sneakers on top.

You sit together on the couch, cross-legged and facing each other. Yuuji holds the mug and both your spoons sink easily into the fluffy, moist dessert as you eat in comfortable silence.

“I really like this” he mutters and you have to resist the urge to run your thumb across his bottom lip to collect some stubborn chocolate remnants.

You hum instead, slowing down and reducing the size of each mouthful so that he can have more. Of course it escapes you, that he’s doing the same.

“Told you it’s good. How come we only have one left? Did I seriously eat the entire box?”

Yuuji chuckles.

“You did. In about two days, I believe” the only things vibrating in his tone are playfulness and gentle teasing. You heart swells with relief.

“I needed emotional support while…”

“Watching BNHA, I know” the sun rises and sets on his face as he finally gifts you that grin of his, the one that can make a difference between a good day and a bad day “but I didn’t mean that, although this stuff is amazing and I’m buying three boxes next time we go grocery shopping”

You let out an airy laugh. His eyes linger on you a second longer than usual before his gaze returns to the spoon scraping the bottom of his mug clean.

“I just meant that I like hanging out with you. I could easily do this forever”

“Forever?” your voice comes out strangled, surprise distorting your features and damn near trapping a piece of cake in your windpipe.

He hums.

“I just feel like I can’t even remember a time where I didn’t know you” another kind smile stretches his lips “I guess it’s been occurring to me, I’d like to hang out with you for my whole life if this is what it’s going to be like”

Yuuji takes in the way you stare back, more shocked than held off. He thinks he can work with that.

[erinelizabethh]

Time Slip | Chai x Reader (7/10)

Summary: Chai, ambassador of Vandelay Technologies, certainly has his ways of communication. You, living in the suburbs outside the campus, don't even have a cell phone. You know what they say about relationships…

Chapter One: Time Slip

Chapter Two: #E67451

Chapter Three: Daisies

Chapter Four: Sweet Dreams

Chapter Five: Synesthesia

Chapter Six: On Mercury

Chapter Seven: One of These Nights

*slight sexual content ahead*

It’s nothing. It’s whatever.

So you thought to yourself: are you reading this correctly? Your thoughts were of the utmost importance, so much that you left behind the comfort of your blankets and onto the floor where your thoughts could remain better situated. With a squint, as the bright screen of your cell reflected the lack of illumination in your apartment, the rather rude message was but an inch from your irises. The bubbles are prolonged, enlightened by your lack of response, and the meaning causes you to seethe. “What does that even mean?” You ask nobody, looseleaf paper torn from your notebook crumpled up inside your fist as the words sitting at the tip of your pen disappear with the distance between you and your pen pal. With the point of contact on an errand, as a result of your pleas that fast food chicken nuggets sound delicious at two o’clock in the morning, the context and tone of that message is lost to you. You hope it buries itself into the heart of the man who should rethink what he says, and perhaps unsend.

Whatever? You type. Do you think I’m stupid?

You pause. Stupid.

The pen, however, is mightier than any name you can call him at this point. Can you believe that? I feel when a guy says it’s nothing it’s really, like, everything. He’s being so weird about it. I mean he is the first guy I’ve dated with a robotic arm so that’s something but he doesn’t talk about it. His friends are all weird about it too… it’s like it’s some forbidden topic that gets him fucked up. Sorry. For ‘cussing’. Again. Anyway, he’s twenty-six years old and I’m sure we’re grown enough to talk about our pasts like adults. Like, if he came back right now, I’d definitely tell him all about my past boyfriends and… no I won’t actually. I will not do that. That’s embarrassing. Especially because I perhaps may have told him I wanted to be left alone so go me. I make smart decisions.

You were pushing the subject again, like Peppermint warned you not to, through text no less. You could not help your eyes lingering on the scars that burdened Chai’s back when he pried himself from your arms, his shoulders stiff with prior events. He relished in your return when your fingertips traced the delicates of his upper back, your lips pressed against a beauty mark that freckled him with love. As your forehead fell against him, his hand grasped at yours pressed against his chest; with a twirl of your arm and the dip of your body against his, he pecked your lips before a cheeky: “Babe I’d so serenade you if it wasn’t for those delicious cheeseburgers calling for me.” His feline friend, once curled up in a ball atop her cat tower, zoomed to the front door upon the aspect of leaving on an adventure. When Chai pulled you to your feet, one swipe of his nose against yours and he was no longer facing you, his back once again on display as he shot finger guns at a cat standing on her hind legs to return the favor.

Cute. You were still a dog person, though.

“Baby where’s my—” He threw a glance over his shoulder, his head falling to his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Are you on your… y’know…”

You cry out in frustration, your fists clenched. Of course he shrugs you off, choosing to hide the identity of the Chai before he became one of the faces of Vandelay Technologies. Of course he doesn’t trust you enough to recall those events, how tragic they must have been because why would he tell you? After all, you’re just some girl he must be on the brink of moving on from… you’re overthinking again. A nasty habit of yours, you think, considering his clothes are thrown beside your underwear and the pillow beside yours is fluffed in a way that refuses you sleep. His guitar leans against the cushion of your loveseat, once strummed with picks that litter your end table and douse it with color. That guitar sits beside a scarf that 808 loves to rest her paws on when she grows tired of the toy mice that are spread out all over your rug. However, you’re just some girl whose space he happens to share with, someone of whom you believe to be insignificant, boring, and out of time. With a shake of your head, your hands trail down and stretch at the skin of your cheeks, loathing at the eleven months with him that border on the best eleven months of your life. You can’t help but groan with mist in your eyes, body deflating as you subject yourself to inhales through your nostrils that are ragged and stuffed with impending sniffles.

Your phone chimes. Oi. Korsica. I need flowers.

Pepper. Mint. Peppermint.

Peps.

Wtf do I get her? Korsica unsent a message. Ask Chai please. 

You sigh, your response slow and steady, incorrect letters in between. You return to your side of your bed, the cool air a blanket over the array of knit sunflowers you sit on. The peonies beyond the crack of your window sway to your right, cars with the Vandelay logo driving at a speed beyond the limit to disturb an otherwise mundane night. Those headlights are blinding, illuminating the suncatcher that hangs above your head and paints the moon and the stars all over your skin. They flicker like following a person’s footsteps, and one car halts in front of your building with a bass that hums and rattles your bones. The neon glows along the lines of the vehicle, fading in and out to different colors, the person inside dumbfounded upon the wrong turn toward the suburbs. 

Your peace is disturbed by a, “I’m not stupid, I’m a dumbass!” Chai slams the door open to your apartment, no chicken nuggets or cat in sight. His breaths are a struggle for air, but he begins the revelation with a hurried, “I killed Kale Vandelay who, plot twist, was Peppermint’s brother! And— and I have this cool implant in my chest that makes everything sync to me ‘cause of this thing—I dunno if you know Project Armstrong—but the guy threw my music player and it got stamped to my chest or… or something and so I got this really cool arm ‘cause fun fact I actually did not have any feeling in this arm right here before and so I ended up having to kill all of these crazy bosses ‘cause it turns out Kale actually used this weird AI thing to take over bodies and that’s where Roxanne—”

“What? Chai, wha— what are you even talking about?”

His body shakes as the distance between you decreases, and you eye the trembling of his hands as they brush against your face. Chai’s breathing is ragged like yours was, and he then clutches his chest as if alluding to his sprint back home to you. He huffs and puffs out pleas that you hold on just one second, just let him get it together, and in that one second he raises one finger to confirm that yes, indeed, he’ll be but a second. He radiates the heat you’ve missed in the time he was away, despite the chill that floods his lungs, and your fingertips itch to be linked with his once more.

So he goes on, your question above your heads like vapor, sputtering out the facts of people you only heard in passing conversations and observed on billboards tainting your small town. Chai holds up fingers as if counting down the obstacles: the head of production, the head of research and development, Korsica, the head of marketing, the head of finance, the head head… the name that sticks out the most beside of the known redhead’s is Mimosa’s, whose face is plastered on every bus and train you step on. Her luscious, blonde locks were the standard years ago, so evident that customers in your flower shop would share the hairstyle despite blonde not at all being their color. You can’t dwell on that thought for long, for he chronicles his battles as if he were the protagonist of some role-playing game, taking hits and dealing with them along with the beat to his own drum. He was the star of the show, the main character of a daydream, and you owned a flower shop and wailed off-key and off-beat in the shower. It was only a matter of time before he thought you too boring, too mundane, and walked away toward a life that was certainly more exhilarating.

Chai cups your cheeks in his hands when you shake your head. The thought of him leaving you behind terrifies you. His thumbs traced the line of tears that fell before tapping at your lips with an implied shush. “Lemme finish! Anyway I had to fight like a crazy amount of robots ‘cause Kale took ‘em over along with the others and yeah, I almost died but I beat him and I saved everyone and you’re right. You’re right! It’s not nothing, it’s not whatever, it’s something that I want you to know about me ‘cause I wanna know everything about you ‘cause I kinda’ love you… scratch that, forget what I said.”

“I love you.”

He blinks, flexing the cool metallic of his fingers. “Also I have this super awesome weapon. We can take the bad boy for a test drive if you want…”

Your gaze passes by the rise and fall of his chest, by the dust of pink across his cheeks. When they align with his own, you bear witness to a truth that can’t be rescinded. His laugh trails off into racing thoughts, judging by the way he commits to eyeing at your rug. The chestnut hues of his irises are dimmed by the shadow of your ceiling, the sunrise edging past the lower half of his body with the minutes that pass with no words being shared. He tests the silence with: “Wow. I, uh… the cat’s out of the bag, huh?” He cages you between him and daybreak, the repeating silence evident with the words said, deafening with the implications; he loves you, so that must mean he can’t imagine a life without you. 

What does it mean?

“Chai, c’mon… you kidding me?” You sniff, unable to resist the trembles that wrack your body, unable to refrain from the attempts to push him away. His grip on you is unwavering, however. “What is wrong with you?”

“N-N-No, you’re supposed to laugh at me, not cry! Maybe tell me you love me too? You love me, right? Ya’ gotta tell me you’re feeling some way about me.” Your name follows. “Baby, please. You feel the same way… right?”

You nod, and the first declaration of love out of you is but a whisper, said again once your confidence grows. “Yes, Chai, I love you.”

He surges forward to press his lips against yours, breaths leaving his nose in slow, deep exhales. Your left cheek is chill with the remnants of morning dew on his cool, metal fingertips but his mouth is warm over yours and you’re swallowed whole. His strength cranes your neck back, longing to envelop you with lips that search for every part of yours in desperation, and you surrender yourself to him even when the breaths are so far in between. The taste of salt remains on your tongue, but Chai exhibits his love next by nipping at your tastebuds and wrapping his arms around you to pull you further into his embrace. Your chest pressed against his, your tongues interlock in a hypnotizing dance; the hum that escapes you elicits one from your lover.

He pulls his lips an inch from yours, low huffs gliding across your cupid’s bow. Your hands fall to his sides, sliding up his shirt, bunched up white cotton rolled up into your fist. His hands mimic your movements all over your lower back, and his voice lowers to a tone unheard of him. When he tells you how hard it is to breathe, yet how much he can’t stop kissing you, what leaves you is a pathetic whimper. The feeling is mutual but you have no complaints. Your lips are dry with his scrutiny, quivering as he brushes his against yours like a feather grazing your skin. What fogs your brain is the thought of his shirt over his head and messing with tufts of brown hair you will ruin later anyway.

“Y-You, uh— umm—”

You’re breathless when you confirm, and you all but give into him when he hurries you into the entanglement of your body against his.

That took pretty long, but I think you’ll be stoked to hear I finally told him I love him. I sent you two letters to chronicle the night I had so, like, I hope you read that other one first. It was a great night. We’re just gonna leave it at that. Anyway, you’ve said before you know him from somewhere right? He’s, like, the ambassador for Vandelay Technologies. Isn’t that crazy? They’ve only started putting him up everywhere, though, so I guess the switchover happened recently. I kinda don’t get how I won him over; I guess it was my anxiety of being alone and the scent of my flowers. Regardless, I feel as if I understand him so much better now. It’s nice. I hope he stays with me. I hope his friends like me. I hope one day you can come by and we can really meet and you can meet him too. You’d probably like him, Rekka.

Reply soon! So much is happening and I need someone to talk to!! 

P.S. I got a phone now. Please give me your number.

[crescentpaws]

btw sorry if I’m sending in too many, feel free to leave some out

for the otp ask game: 1, 3, 12, 13, 22, 25, 27, 29, 34, 36, 48, 51, 58

thanks

replacing the ones i’ve already answered with the number next to it 👍 bc i need to get the brainrot out there

(all under cut bc it’s long & i don’t want to annoy people)

1. Who would end a heated argument by defending their actions with 'because I love you!' ?

depends on what era they’re in i think…. if it’s pre-pyrokinesis ban i think it’d be bronte yelling that, but present day/neverseen era it’d more likely be fintan

(3) 2. What would they do if the other woke in a manic state after a nightmare?

i imagine fintan as being someone who has nightmares often. which is part of the reason he has trouble sleeping. he’s always had awful dreams about the everblaze accident that led to the pyrokinesis ban, but at least those got slightly less intense over time. i think now he would have additional nightmares about his memory break though. and he’s just kinda unstable in general so who knows what kind of fucked up scenarios his unconscious mind can produce. sometimes he’ll just wake up with a start, realize it was just a dream, and compose himself fairly quickly, but other times he’ll end up rocking back and forth hugging his knees and hyperventilating (he probably also occasionally hears the voices of people he’s killed. which, i mean. karma.). i think physical comfort is most important here though, because his mind might be too panicked to focus on actual words being said. i think the two of them are better at showing affection this way anyway. words can be awkward & frustrating. i imagine bronte in this scenario just holding fintan tightly until he calms down a bit, rubbing his back & gently running his fingers through his hair. maybe a forehead kiss. he might mumble some words of comfort once the hyperventilating dies down. though sometimes fintan’s panic/breakdown will be so great that the only way to snap him out of it is to lightly inflict on him 💀 he is a bit fucked up in the head i think sophie might need to come heal him again.

but then there’s also the very likely scenario that fintan will wake up flinging sparks & flames everywhere, so sometimes bronte has to quickly scramble out of the bed to avoid being burned. & he cannot touch him if that happens. in that scenario he has to hope that the words of comfort will snap fintan out of it quickly. & hope that he doesn’t catch anything on fire because fintan we just bought this blanket please don’t end up burning it like you did with the previous one last week.

& bronte has nightmares less often but fintan has learned to comfort him in similar ways (at least he isn’t a pyrokinetic)

(12) 11. Do either try to hide their emotions if upset? Can the other still tell?

yes and yes. they know each other too well to be able to hide their emotions from one another. doesn’t mean they won’t try though.

13. Who's the bigger tease?

fintan for SURE

(22) 23. Who's more likely to convince the other to stay in bed come morning?

probably fintan? i imagine bronte as someone who wakes up early in the morning (even if he doesn’t have work to do. but he usually does because he’s kind of a workaholic i think.) and fintan as someone who stays up the whole night, so fintan would probably still be tired in bed wanting the warmth of another person beside him (he does wake up early if he has important neverseen stuff to do though). & if you’re sleeping in a bed with a pyrokinetic it’s all too easy to let them convince you to lay down for a few more minutes because mmmm warm cozy.

25. Do they have any hobbies they share?

they would both be book nerds i think…. they like reading & discussing literature & stuff. i think they’d also be good at debating. & public speaking too.

sometimes bronte might come out & help fintan with his garden if he’s feeling nice

27. Who is the light weight that needs to be taken care of after a party?

honestly idrk. i don’t think either of them would be lightweights but fintan would probably drink more irresponsibly (especially after the pyrokinesis ban. man was going through it.)

29. Who is more likely to jump in an elevator? Who freaks out?

i think fintan would just to freak bronte out. but idk how many elevators they have in the lost cities. if they ever went to the forbidden cities together though he would definitely do this. ‘stop that, you know how faulty these human contraptions can be.’ ‘if it does fall we can just levitate, it’s fine.’ ‘???’

34. Who's more likely to tell a dirty joke or story to make the other blush?

also fintan. making bronte blush is his favorite pastime (other than arson)

36. Who's more likely to fire up the stove at 2am because the other woke up in the middle of the night hungry?

neither of them tbh. the convo would just be like ‘hmmm. i’m kinda hungry’ ‘go make some food then’ ‘will you make it for me’ ‘no *goes back to sleep*’ i think fintan would be worse at using the stove though. he is too used to using his ability to heat things and doesn’t know how to work it properly

48. Who's the better driver?

well considering they’re both elves i’d assume they’re both pretty bad at driving… but fintan might be slightly better because he’s probably spent more time in the (modern) forbidden cities. but at the same time he might run a few people over on purpose.

51. What's a non verbal way they say I love you?

basically any soft touches, caresses, etc. bronte will sometimes trace his fingers along the burn scars on fintan’s back, which to fintan is like. the most intimate thing ever 💀 & fintan might kiss the tense spot under bronte’s ribs where he keeps his emotions balled up. whatever. they suck and i hate them.

58. Who's more likely to hold a grudge after an argument?

both of them. though i think fintan is more likely to hold his grudges for longer

[carnivorousyandeere]

Erik with an Insomniac Darling

For Mazzy friend~ hope your day at work is going well @darling--core 💕

Erik is very particular about his sleeping arrangements.

Well… he’s particular about everything, but his sleep habits are on a whole different level.

They have certain shirts and sweatpants that they wear to sleep. Erik goes to sleep at a certain time every night, and spends about thirty minutes or so before that reading in bed. He has to have silk sheets, with the bed made, the fan on overhead, a glass of water on the nightstand, and, as of late, you next to him.

Any disturbance in these irks him greatly. So, of course, they’re perturbed when you wake them by crawling out of bed in the middle of the night and walking around the apartment. It takes him a few minutes to wake up fully and figure out what feels so off.

Erik stumbles out of bed, a headache beginning to gnaw at his temples, but his irritation dies out the second he sees you on the couch. The way you’re sitting with your arms wrapped around your knees, looking so upset… it kills him.

You just couldn’t sleep tonight. No matter how hard you tried to let go of the day and relax your body and mind, they just would not cooperate. You’d done your best not to wake Erik, but here he was, disheveled and staring at you blankly.

“Sorry,” you offered, lowering your gaze. “Couldn’t sleep.”

They hummed in acknowledgment. “May I sit with you?”

You think about it, and nod slowly, hoping he’s not going to fuss at you. He sits beside you gingerly, careful to leave a little bit of space between you since your body language is so closed off.

“Is there something on your mind?”

You snort at the absurdity of the question, stopping yourself short of a full, humorless laugh. What isn’t on your mind, honestly? Your thoughts have been going a mile a minute all day, with no signs of slowing down.

“Just… everything,” you sigh. “Everything is a lot right now.”

Erik shifts in his seat uncomfortably. He’s not sure how to comfort you yet, and he’s even less sure as to why he’s so compelled to try anyway. Erik isn’t one to take risks and brave the possibility of failure. And the chances of him cheering you up seem low.

“Is there anything you need? I have some melatonin, or maybe you could try some wine? Are you perhaps… thirsty, or hungry?”

“No, I’m alright. Medicine and booze haven’t worked in the past, anyway…” you pause, blinking away the frustrated tears that had been building up as a devious little idea strikes you. “Maybe… it would help if we cuddled and you read me a story?”

“That’s…” absurd, is what he intended to say, but the way you’re looking at him so hopefully tugs at his heart strings. He looks away and coughs lightly into his sleeve. “I… suppose I could do that. Just… choose any book from my shelf. I’ll be waiting in bed.”

With that, he stands and stalks his way to the bedroom, hiding his face. He can’t hide the way the tips of his ears are flushed pink, though.

[andvys]

Andy I wanted to comment on your story “I knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss.” 🥹🥹🥹 I stayed up late nights reading literally fighting sleep! I read everyday until I was finished I think it took me less than a week? LMAO but it was a beautifully written story and it brought back feelings of reading my first ever fan-fictions. It brought tears to my eyes and pangs in my chest in such a beautiful way. I relate to the story so much except I didn’t have an Eddie to sweep my off my feet and repair my broken heart and they didn’t have someone like eddie either. I’ve been Steve and I’ve also been cheer. I correlated and connected with this story SOOOOO much I literally could not stop thinking about it days after reading it. I was sooooo team Steve at first and even got frustrated after a while because i wanted them to be together so bad but then seeing how she was with Eddie, seeing their chemistry build and build, it literally PAINED me to switch sides. I literally felt Steve’s pain, i teared up so many times for him but I faced a harsh reality myself. Sometimes there isn’t going to be second chances and ultimately you have to be okay with that and live with it... No matter how much you’ve changed. BUT, ANYWAYS when cheer and Eddie finally came together I felt so much joy for them both because they deserved it so much and I couldn’t fathom how mature they’ve all become towards the end, Steve being so comfortable with cheer and Eddie’s relationship I can only dream of being that emotionally mature when seeing someone I loved so deeply in the arms of someone else. It stung a bit if I’m being honest. But props to you you’re such an amazing writer and I hope to see more from you in the future. 🫶🏼

oh you have no idea how much it means to me that you enjoyed this story this much!!! 🥹 thank you for reading and for leaving this sweet message ♡

I'm sorry you went through such a similar experience, I can't imagine how that must've felt like. I never went through heartbreak myself, so I can only imagine it 🥲

I absolutely get why you felt so frustrated, I wanted them together really badly too, and that was the plan from the start but with Eddie around, it became so difficult trying to put them back together.

And honestly, I wouldn't be emotionally mature enough to see the love of my life OR the past love of my life, in someone else's arms either, it's just too painful 🥲

[rin-and-jade]

Helloo!!! <3 I hope this message finds you well and that you'll have a wonderful day/ evening :)

So. First of all I am really grateful for your blog because I managed to understand some things about my problems.. also I should say first that im only suspecting I might have did or osdd 1b and im trying not to exaggerate about this self diagnosing thing and taking it slow (its almost a year since then and I think this diagnose describes exactly my struggles) but anyways. im pretty sure I have cptsd! so it might be just ptsd...

But I wanted to ask you bc I just dont know who else to ask this: are there any particular techniques to minimize trauma regarding learning or studying? (like I was receiving physical beatings for fucking years.. because I couldn't concentrate while trying to study- sorry for the unnecesary details) im really trying my best and sometimes I try to speak to the little of our system about the whole process of studying and how its not going to hurt her, that mistaking is very normal and from mistakes we will gather experience and that our abuser cannot do us harm anymore, so on and so on. It works mostly but she's not the only one who has problems regarding this specific trauma so its a lot harder to keep up with everyone wlse who might be triggered. I can't always hear them responding to me or giving me any sign of anknowledgment when trying to explain what is happening but the hardest part is concentrating and not feeling extremely tired... it goes without saying that this is very frustrating. And its been already two years since I tried my best to study. I just always seem to fall in the same pit..

I hope it makes sense what i've written here and if you dont have any advice then its totally fine!!!

P.S. this is not my native language. sorry :'D

Im so sorry that you’re having a really hard time around the aspect of studying, it makes me happy that you’re still kicking and trying,, asking help from me is totally fine even if you’ll need it multiple times, im gladly creating answers that could work for people and you.

I had gave a thought, we can do a few things like having exposure therapy (the technique), having a study buddy, and for the concentration such as using a different learning media, breaking it smaller with breaks each, and using more techniques for this too.

Regarding about study difficulty:

Exposure: this is a repeated process where your brain is given something it used to find as dangerous from the past and be stuck on a flight or fight response whenever it appears again. Be repetitively exposing what it fears, the brain always expects a bad outcome, and the thing is to ride it through until it knows it’s a false alarm and go “oh wait its not happening” until the initial stress from it is gone, this can be done by yourself (because i did). This is best done in a calm environment where you will attempt this, and call quits if its overwhelming for the first few tries,, but never drop it forever.

Study buddy: this is a great way to deal with it when studying alone feels too tedious to do. Studying together is helpful as your brain can re-associate what studying is actually like, you can do this with your current friends, it can be done physically or you can do it by online too.

For better concentration:

Media: studying about a topic that is presented in a video with visual representation keeps your eyes wondering less, since more elements are in there rather than reading a textbook, where it’s easy to drift off when words feel too much.

Breaks: studying in a prolonged time also defeats the motivation and focus, I personally study for test as i play (literally), in intervals. I review the necessary subjects in parts, rehearse, play, go back and revise what i remember and the previous one too,, rinse and repeat until i can remember the whole topic that needs to be memorized for the test. But this can be applied for regular learning where it’s just done in consistent intervals.

Others:

Destressing, it helps remove unnecessary clutter that’s taking space in your mind interfering focus.

Music, adding a background noise while studying may help some people and especially who needs sensory stimulation to focus properly.

Rewards, having a goal to reach to will make you easier to focus, and when you reach it (say 5 minutes of reading then want to watch a reel) your brain loves it. Then do it again.

I hope this can help you, this took a while to write everything so i don’t know what else haven’t got listed (because I can’t remember all at once) but nonetheless, try them, i insist!

- j

[rainbowcrowley]

your internship post reminded me of something. i’m going to tell you a story

many years ago i got a job i had really wanted. the people were pleasant and accepted that i was a bit different from them, but they were much more ordinary than me. they might have been open to being educated on things, but they’d lived their whole lives oblivious to many disadvantages that had affected me. it wasn’t just that they hadn’t been subject to those disadvantages, they didn’t really know anyone who had. people like me were theoretical to them, and they’d never given us much thought

and slowly i realised that if i educated them, in their eyes i would be making myself more and more weird, and more and more a symbol of specific categories than a person. so in a way, the more they understood the things that matter to me, the less they would see me as an individual person.

they weren’t bad people, but i censored myself around them. often i didn’t say things because i wasn’t up for the effort of explaining myself. and the more i didn’t say things, the worse i felt, especially when i left the office and relaxed. it was fucking lonely.

i was even less open with my friends because i was emotionally tired after a long day with my colleagues. if i’d had someone (or someones) who got what i was going through and helped me talk about it i probably could have made it through if it was a fixed term. but i didn’t have someone like that, i wasn’t emotionally aware enough to realise that was what i needed, and it was a permanent job..

so i left and lied about why i was leaving because i didn’t want to hurt their feelings!

i’m not presuming your experience is super similar, just sharing in case there’s enough we have in common that it sheds a tiny bit of light. just the fact that you can see the danger sign even if you don’t know quite why you’re feeling it is an advantage. that type of self awareness is so valuable. i wish you happiness and success, whether that comes through finding a better way to make it through the internship, or finding another route to take in your life

i got this ask over a month ago and i always wanted to get back to it and answer it, but I couldn't find the right words. idk if the person who sent me this is even going to see it but.. I'm very sorry for not posting it sooner. the first time I read this it actually helped a lot. and I'll forever be thankful for that <3 i hope you're doing well too!

why am I posting/sharing this now? bc my internship is almost over and I have a lot of Feelings.

an update on the overall situation: it got better. i still feel somewhat out of place, but I accepted that. i think it's just the Queer Experience? like I have my lil bubble of queer friends, online and offline, but "the real world" is, in fact, not that. obviously DUH. idk whether I'm just being weird or naive or so out of touch with said "real world" that this fact hit me so hard. I always thought I knew it, but... yeah, experiencing it firsthand brought me down to earth HARD.

anyway.

my supervisor and colleagues are no bigots. they didn't say anything bad or hurtful, but it's clear that the same thing anon said happened here, too, in a way. thing is... I censored myself completely. i was (still am) so terrified of showing the "real me" that I HAVE to censor myself. and it's fine, really. let's say I'm used to it (looking at you, dear extended family) and I can live with that. it's frustrating and tiring sometimes, but it's fine.

so right now there are other parts of the internship that bother me. things that don't have to do with the social aspects of it. things like the long commute, the fact that I didn't learn any new cool things like I expected and it can get pretty boring sometimes when there's nothing to do (which happens in IT support... sometimes things just WORK and you're sitting in the office doing nothing twiddling your thumbs besides being on stand-by). and my teacher and social worker want me to extend the internship bc I'm good at what I'm doing but I just..... UGH. I just don't feel like it. and idk if it's bc of all that happened, or that anon said above, or all the things that bother me or if it's just my depression acting up (again) bc I've not been doing great over the past few weeks in that particular department for reasons that have nothing to do with work.

i don't know what to do or feel and it's annoying. I'm just so tired. (and I need therapy like, right now. meh.)

thanks for reading <3

[lavenderspence]

(anon with the controversial opinions about spencelle, postprison!read, hotch and dating,.. again)

You’re actually so sweet for answering all my yapping!!

I didn’t even realize the low blow for the Aaron one, I‘m so sorry 😭, it might be my tism and not being able to be great at conveying what I mean without sounding mean if you get what I want to say?

anyways I completely agree with your take on writers can take a character and write them in the way they want! On the flip side I still believe there are more canon ways and more fanon ways to write a character, and writing a character ooc to fit a certain idea is ok! Like I know it‘s kind of one of the biggest compliments to get ,,oh you write xyz so in character“ but at the end of the day, as you said, writers should enjoy to write a character as they like!

I just have a slight problem with it if they kind of..complete overwrite certain traits? And not in a way where I send hate or whatever, just in a way of ok this irks me so I‘m either gonna block or simply scroll, while I do believe we should call out writers if they e.g write a lesbian character as a non-lesbian one or an autistic character as an allistic one if that makes sense!

Then again we should not reduce a character to only one of their traits, idk I just think there should be less..shame about not writing a character 100% canon but also on the other hand acknowledging that there is this fanon version

I probably make zero sense and maybe you won’t even get why it‘s so significant to me, it’s just when I‘m hyperfixating on a topic/character it‘s unreasonably frustrating to read about mischaracterization but again I keep it to myself or, like now, tell you about it as a controversial opinion!

But what really shocked me is you not shipping jemily!! Jail time!!! /j

Anyways I was yapping again and thank you actually for taking time out of your day to answer!!

hi babe! I'll forever and ever answer any and all yapping, so no need to thank me🤭💕

well, he is my husband, so it was in fact a low blow, but I'll forgive you this time 🙄 (you didn't sound mean, I promise, I'm just joking around it's all in good fun!)

I do think it's amazing when a writer makes the character seem like he's plucked straight out of the show/movie, by writing him to a complete T because it does allow the reader to feel even more connected to the fic itself.

I'm going to be completely honest here again, and I hope I don't catch any negativity, but as someone who really cannot read autistic traits, most of what's associated with spencer I take as full on personality traits for him without any association. I would actually love it if you shared a bit more about how you see his autistic traits portrayed, or maybe what specifically you associate with. I don't really know how he's been portrayed in my own writing thus far when it comes to those specific traits, I'd love to hear too, what youve noticed.

I think at times it depends a bit on the concept of the idea of the fic itself, if it would be well placed to touch on those traits (I do hope I'm making sense without sounding ignorant or something). like at times, a fic is so fast-paced or incredibly specific, you can't really touch or figure out where the mention of those traits fit.

I absolutely think both should meet in the middle, and there should be a level of understanding when it comes to, like you said, canon and fanon. I find it a little bit entitled at times when I see hate about it, when you take into consideration the amount of spencer fics out there, and how you can find something to satisfy your need/craving, and skip whatever you don't vibe with. I think there's a place for every idea, every fic, every person, and every opinion, but the main thing is to always be polite about it.

jemily...I'm sorry, I really don't see it. maybe in evolution, with the s17 scene, and in "200" when jj is being tortured, but not much else😭😭

and please don't worry about yapping, this blog is always a safe space to do so, or be controversial 🤭

[deleahtarte]

Because He’s Kenny [ Prologue ]

Pairing: Kenny / Butters - Marjorine

Content: Alt Universe - College, Aged up characters, Implied sexual content, friends to lovers

Summary: When your boyfriend can’t get it right, you can trust your childhood best friend to.

Note: To everyone who follows me on tumblr, thank you!! Please consider this as my service to you. This is a PROLOGUE, therefore not the finished fic! It’s supposed to be porn with plot and what we talked about when I did that poll with Marjorine. I’ll post the finished fic on ao3 officially, but everyone here deserves the first look. You guys mean the world to me and I hope I show that enough

Photo Creds: Alai Ganuza

“Are you feeling it?”

“Um…I’m feeling something.” As in a dull, consistent ache.

Creed sighed in frustration, making Marj’s mood drop, too. He tries moving his finger in a figure eight motion, just like what they read about, but that actually made it worse instead of better. “How about now?”

“No…”

With a loud groan that makes Marj jump, Creed reappears from between her legs with furrowed eyebrows. His whole face is practically scrunched up into an expression that could only be described as fed up. “Marj, darling, I think this is useless.”

She closes her legs, pushes herself up by her elbows. “R-Really?”

“Yes,” Creed rolled his eyes. It’s something he does very often at the slightest inconvenience. “why do you want to do this anyways? It’s not like I’m getting pleasure from it. This is just for you. And weren’t you the one telling me that sex should be good for both parties?”

Yes, she did tell him that—but only after Kenny told her that Creed shouldn’t be using her like a sex doll while giving her nothing in return. And she agreed. She got tired of opening her legs for him whenever he wanted and having to go to the bathroom to finish the job herself. It made her feel…like a toy.

“Well, yes, but—“

“But? There’s a but? So you’re a hypocrite.” Creed snapped. “Listen, I really don’t think I need to learn how to eat you out if I’m the one doing all the work when we actually fuck. You lay there like a dead fish and take it, meanwhile I’m tried the morning after because I always have to do every-single-fucking thing! How is that fair?”

Stunned silent, it takes Marj a moment to process what Creed said. He can be mean, borderline cruel even, but it's not often raised his voice with Marjorine.

Seeing her reaction, Creed sighed once again. He didn’t look any less annoyed. “Marj, I…I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

The damage was done nevertheless. Marj stands up, fixes her skirt, and rushes for her bag. Being around Creed when he’s like this is never a good idea. He’s the type of person to feel the highest when he’s high, and to be at rock bottom when he’s low. There’s never an in between. No happy medium.

“Are you seriously mad?” He asked when she makes her way to the door. “I already said I was sorry.”

“We’ll talk later. Preferably when ya aren’t bein’ unnecessarily mean.” As soon as those words left her mouth, she squares her shoulders in pride. Not being afraid of fights is something Kenny also taught her. And even though she is terrified, she can have those bouts of moments where she pretended otherwise.

The door to Creed’s dorm clicks shut behind her. In a matter of hours, Marjorine is sure her phone will start blowing up with apology texts, all which she’s heard and seen before.

The breeze is especially cold tonight. Creed and her had been trying for hours, but it’s just starting to dawn on her how long it’s actually been since they first began their…lesson.

Well, if it could even be called that. It’s hard to learn something when there’s no teacher present. Marj knew how to make her body work just as much as Creed did, which is not at all.

But she knows someone who does…

Her feet naturally takes her to his home, almost instinctively. She bypasses the closed shops and avoids the streets Kenny tells her is dangerous, all the while making sure to keep watch and listen for man made sounds. She owned a mace that went with her everywhere, a Fox Labs one that she knew like the back of her hand. Marjorine first learned how to use it when she was 12 years old and Kenny got worried that, ‘a cute girl like her’ would be targeted by bad people, especially men. So they practiced and practiced until the art of pulling the spray out and aiming became flawless.

Soon enough, Kenny’s apartment comes into view. It’s not on the safest side of town, and a little far from their college, but it was cheap and right within Kenny’s budget. He split rent with his roommate who interned at the hospital, so most of the time, Kenny had the place to himself. Marjorine hoped this was one of those nights.

The elevator dinged to signal her arrival. She steps out onto the 8th floor, stands in front of room 202, and gently knocks on it. Kenny was a late sleeper and an early riser, (none of which he wanted to be), so she doubted he was in bed right now.

A minute later, the door swings open—Marj’s face drops at who she sees.

“Ugh, seriously. You again?” Bernie Kaplan rolled her to the back of her skull, reminding Marjorine of Creed. “Will you ever stop?”

“Heya, Bernie.” Marjorine flashes her best smile, hoping it would ease the lines of irritation on Bernie’s face. “Is Kenny here?”

“It’s Bernadette to you, Majorine. And of course he is. This is his place.”

Bernadette Kaplan is the president of Chi Omega, in the Fellowship Committee, and known to be the most wanted girl at their college. None of that mattered to Marjorine though, because in the end, she only knew Bernie as one thing—Kenny’s girlfriend.

“Can I talk to him?”

“About what?” She asked with gritted teeth.

“Um, well gee, that’s priv—“

From above, a jacket is thrown over the top of Bernie’s head. She scrambles to get it off and turns around, facing— “Bern, don’t answer the door in just your underwear. That shits dangerous.”

Kenny is standing there, every ounce of him wet from the shower. He has a towel loosely wrapped around his waist and a small one hanging around his neck. Marjorine quickly adverts her eyes even though she’s seen this sight a millions times before, and a lot more.

“How about you stop answering the door in just a towel?” She pushed him slightly back as he laughed. Kenny, ever the gentlemen, helps her put his jacket on. It successfully covers her lacey bra that she greeted Marjorine with.

“What’s up, Buttercup?” Kenny eyed Marjorine’s disheveled dress. “Something wrong?”

“No, why, I just wanted to talk.” Marjorine meets Bernie in the eyes, sees the fire in them, and quickly adds, “If you have the time.”

“Course’ I do,” Kenny replied easily. He pats Bernie on the back. “Bern was just about to leave. Is your driver here?”

Glancing down at her phone, Bernie nods. “Yeah.”

Kenny turns to Marjorine. “Let me walk her to the car and I’ll be right back. Go sit and make yourself comfortable.”

Marjorine enters Kenny’s apartment, brushes against Bernie by accident upon doing so. She looked like she wanted to fray Marjorine alive on an open fire and stomp on her charred remains.

Kenny and Marj’s closeness must bother her, Marjorine deduced, because they’ve been childhood friends since they could walk. Maybe even before then.

When Kenny got accepted into college on a soccer scholarship, Marjorine got accepted into the very same one and they left South Park behind together. They likely would’ve lived together as well, but their college didn’t allow students of the opposite gender to room together. Which was why Marjorine resided in the dorms, while Kenny settled into a small apartment here.

In a blink of an eye, Kenny changed to his pajamas; a plain t-shirt and sweatpants he’s owned since junior year of highschool that barely fits him anymore. From the couch, Marjorine watched as Kenny tied Bernie’s shoes laces. He was real careful about it too, knowing they were Golden goose. As he ushered Bernie out the door with his hand resting in the middle of her hip, he turns back and gives Majorine an acknowledging wink. Marj smiles until the door shuts behind him.

Kenny’s apartment is a simple two bedroom with the bare necessities. A tiny kitchen, a machine and a dryer that didn’t work too good, a slim bathtub that Kenny said could barely fit two. All those things might have just made the apartment simply bad, but the good is just as great. The walls are relatively thick, there’s a balcony with an amazing view, and the air conditioning had no trouble going full blast. All in all, Marj deemed it a cozy little place. That may be simply because Kenny’s scent was everywhere here.

Walking to the window, Marjorine made it in time to see Kenny and Bernie walking to the car. It scared her for a bit, because from the back, her and Bernie looked similar. They had the same mellow blonde hair that was often curled.

The two stop short in front of the BMW. From what Kenny told her, Bernie hated to drive, so she insisted on having a personal driver that came at her beck and call. She’s saying something to Kenny, a hand on his chest, and he shakes his head at her. Bernie’s eyes widened in equal measure of shock and anger. She pushes Kenny away slightly, before trying to enter them vehicle, but that’s when Kenny grabs her arm, says something, and kisses her hand the way a prince from a fairytale would. Whatever he said pacified Bernie, because her expression morphs into something so soft that Marjorine could hardly believe it. She didn’t know Bernadette Kaplan was capable of making such a face.

Seemingly from nowhere, Marjorine feels a sharp pain od hurt in her chest. It turns into something dull and aching. It comes from time to time, though Marj has no idea what the cause is.

Kenny and Bernie haven’t been dating long. A month at most. Personally, Marjorine saw it coming from a mile away. Kenny—handsome soccer star bounded for the league. She of the glossy blond hair, regal face, and astounding proportions—Bernadette. Their relationship seemed as sure as the sun would rise. Marj wasn’t sure how serious they were with each other, but sometimes Bernie looked at Kenny as if she really liked him. The him that went past his looks. The Kenny that sings songs at the top of his chest even though he knows he’s got the lyrics wrong. Kenny who occasionally forgets to eat and needed the reminder to do so. Kenny who Marjorine loves and trusted from the bottom of her heart.

With a parting kiss, Bernie enters the BMW. As soon as it speeds off into the distance, Kenny turned and began walking back. Marjorine watched him closely until she jolted when Kenny suddenly looked up and met her eyes. Yikes. It’s almost scary how aware of his surroundings Kenny was.

They gave each other a wave. A minute later, the front door opens and in came Kenny.

“There she is.” Kenny opened his arms wide and Marjorine practically jumped into them. He squeezed her tight, face in her neck, before scooting back and letting his eyes slide down her body. “Is this the dress we rock-paper-scissors on?”

It’s a game they play when they couldn’t decide on something. After going back and forth on this dress, Kenny ultimately won and Marj bought it. “Sure is!”

“Give me a twirl, let me see.” Kenny spins her around as Marj giggled. “Oh yeah, you’re—that’s gorgeous. See? Floral and you is a lethal combo.”

Marjorine adored how the skirt was flowy and long. Kenny liked the small daisy prints of the fabric. When she showed it off to Creed (albeit without him asking), he told her she dressed like Becky. Marjorine didn’t know who that was until he broke it to her that she was his late-grandma.

“Aw, shucks. Thank ya, Ken.” Blushing from Kenny’s compliments will probably be something Marjorine will do for the rest of her life. He gives it out to her like candy, so you’d think she’d be immune to it by now—but no. It still makes her shy every time.

He winks. “Only being truthful.”

Her heart that was aching before soothed over as if Kenny had placed a healing balm on it. Marj couldn’t remember why it ever began hurting. If it even hurt at all.

“So what’s up? I thought you were supposed to be with Creed tonight.” Though Kenny said that with a smile, his words came off as gritty and restrained. Marjorine fumbled with the laces of her skirt.

“I was, but…” It was hard to put it into words. Where does she even began?

Sensing her hesitation, Kenny places a reassuring hand flat on her back, steering her towards the kitchen. “Okay, how about this? I make dinner—you haven’t ate since lunch, right? And then you tell me whatever you want to when you’re ready.”

A smile bloomed on her face. “Okay.”

It’s easy to settle into something that could almost be called routine. Kenny is an amazing cook, Marj—not so much unless she had clear instructions, so therefore it was mostly Kenny whipping something up in the kitchen. She’s sitting on the barstool swaying her feet, admiring how skillful Kenny was with a knife. Every food that’s been touched by Kenny was guaranteed to be good.

“Do ya remember how I told you I did research? On the uh…bed stuff?” Marjorine began slowly, trying to find her flow. Kenny stiffened up for half a second before he nods.

“Yeah, because Creed can’t fuck for shit?”

She opened her mouth to maybe defend her boyfriend, but then closed it due to her lack of a rebuttal. It was an established fact at this point. Neither Creed nor Marjorine knew the first thing about the bedroom.

“We tried mouth stuff today.” Marjorine continued quietly, face as hot as the scorching sun. She knew she shouldn’t be embarrassed—It’s Kenny. She could talk about anything with Kenny and he would never judge her for it. And though she knew that to be true, that still doesn’t stop her from fidgeting with her skirt.

“You sucked him off?”

Marjorine nodded. “Yes, and he came!”

“Good job.” Kenny replied with rather tense shoulders. The angle she was sitting at didn’t allow her to see what expression he was making right now. “He ate you out too, right?”

“Well…”

“Well what?” Kenny turned around, holding a spatula high as he stared at her with furrowed eyebrows. “Marj. Don’t tell me that fuck—guy didn’t show you how grateful he was.”

“He did!” Marjorine chewed her bottom lip. “Or at least he tried to.”

A mere second of quiet consideration passes before Kenny deadpanned, “…He didn’t make you cum.”

“Yes…”

Which wasn’t anything new. But it is because it wasn’t anything new that Marjorine and Creed (her more then him, truthfully), started taking the time to learn bedroom stuff. Creed was able to reach his orgasm just fine, it was Marjorine who needed that extra help. It barely came to her when she was playing with her own body, but with Creed, it never.

She’s never once been able to cum with him.

“Jesus.” Kenny runs a hand across his face, shaking it in disbelief. It must be hard for someone like Kenny to comprehend, because if the rumors were true—Kenny had never known bedroom troubles ever. “So what happened in the end? Did he apologize?”

“No, he got..,” Marj recalled Creed’s sour words, feels her mood plummet. “frustrated. He said he didn’t understand why he had to learn when I’m the one who lays there like a d-dead fish.”

There’s a rise of shame that wells up within her from admitting that, because she knew it was true. Apart from the typical blowjob, she didn’t do much else sexually for Creed.

“Did he call you that?” She could hear Kenny walking to her and stopping just in front of her, but Marjorine did not look up. She simply nodded.

Gentle fingers grab her chin, tilting her head up to meet narrowed baby blue eyes. “That asshole called you a dead fish? Like he has any room to talk, bastard can’t even make you come!”

His grip on her on her chin won’t let her look away, so she simply just murmured what she feared all along, “…Maybe it’s me Kenny.”

“Don’t say that.” Kenny said, and now he just looks sad. Marjorine wanted him to understand where she was coming from, though.

“No, maybe it really is. Maybe I’m the—“ Kenny hands move from her face to squeeze her shoulders in assurance, to ground her, maybe.

“Marjorine, baby, it’s not you.” A part of her melt at that nickname. Something Kenny only ever calls her during their vulnerable moments, like he’s trying to tug at her heart strings. It works every time. “I promise you it’s not you. Creed just doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, and that’s on him.”

She pursed her lips and admits, “But…I can rarely even make myself come.”

Every muscle within Kenny’s body stiffens. “…You can’t?”

It takes everything within Marjorine not to run out the door and die in embarrassment. It’s Kenny, she reminded herself, Kenny would never judge you.

“No, my fingers just don’t reach deep enough, I guess. It’s not…” She trails off, eyes landing on Kenny’s fingers; thick, long, adorned with a couple of silver rings they bought together at the pier because they were so cheap. It was Marjorine’s 18th birthday present to him, and she got to pick out the two of the five rings. “like yours.”

Jaw tight, Kenny swallowed before he asks rather hoarsely, “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Doin’ what?”

“Okay.” Kenny’s head drops to Marjorine’s shoulder. He takes in a few deep breaths, inhales, before muttering, “It’s still not your fault. It will never be. Don’t blame Creed’s problems on yourself, okay?”

Things seem so much more believable when Kenny says it. The doubt that’s been gnawing away at her self esteem stops, if only for this moment, to let Marjorine breathe in his scent. “…Alright.”

Kenny gives her a smile, tucks her hair behind her ear. “Close your eyes.”

Wordlessly, she does it. She feels Kenny’s presence backtrack, followed by a string of noises that sounded a lot like dishes flashing and drawers opening. Whatever he’s been cooking smells amazing.

“Open them on one, two, three!”

In front of her was a platter of fried rice and an omelet. Marjorine’s mouth stretched wide into a smile. “You remembered.”

“Course’ I did.” Kenny nodded.

Back in South Park, the both of them would go to City Wok purely for the reasons that Marjorine adored their fried rice. And while Kenny wasn’t exactly a fan of anything Tuong Lu Kim made, he would still go with her and sit in the restaurant regardless. Just a week ago, she told him she missed his fried rice and the big, fluffy omelet.

Kenny pulls another bar stool to sit in front of her, focused on her first bite. “How is it?”

“Incredible.” Marjorine hummed. It’s not quite like the one from City Wok, but it’s delicious nonetheless.

“I took a basic recipe and tried to tweak it based off of the times I had it.” Kenny explained. Marjorine giggled.

“You mean all the times ya took a bite out of my plate when you thought I was distracted.”

Holding his hands up as if hes been caught red handed, Kenny amended, “I’ll let you know that the majority was you feeding me.”

A laugh bursted from her, she shook her head. That was true.

Kenny gets up from his seat while Marjorine continues to eat. When he comes back and sits down, it’s with a glass of ice cold water. Thank you, she told him. Kenny simply nodded and then dabbed the side of her mouth with a napkin.

She feels the air shift before he even said anything; a certain unmissable tension.

“…Marj, why do you like that guy? I mean, I know he’s decent looking and in Phi Delt, but how far can that go when he acts like he’s five-years old?” He shot her a coy look.

His wording nearly made her wince. Kenny wasn’t the biggest fan of Creed; had never been even before they officially met. “He opens doors for me and checks up on me. When I look nice, he tells me so.”

“That’s the bare minimum.” Kenny scoffed.

Should she tell him the main reason? Yes. It’s Kenny. “He…He likes me.”

“Okay?”

He doesn’t get it. Marjorine will just have to say it upright. “I like him because he likes me.”

Not only was Creed a vastly talented person who was bound for great things, but he is also the only person who showed interest in Marjorine. He treated her like she was special, not someone to be forgotten or lose in the background.

It takes a while for Kenny to process this. When he does, his eyebrows scrunches up with disbelief as he states, “A ton of guys like you.”

Marj set down her spoon, gives Kenny an unamused ook. “What guys are ya talkin’ about?”

“80% of the male population in South Park!” Kenny exclaimed, throwing his hands to make a point. Marjorine shakes her head and continues eating.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not. Marjorine, if it wasn’t for me, a hundred dudes would’ve come up to you and asked you out daily.”

“What do you have to do with it?”

Something akin to guilt flits through Kenny’s face, so fast Marjorine barely caught it. “They were afraid of me. Thought we were dating.”

“They did?”

Kenny nodded.

That was perhaps the most unbelievable thing Marjorine had heard all night. No, of all time. Sure strangers thought they were together, but they were strangers. South Park was so tight knit everyone knew each others grandma grandma’s—so they should’ve known better then to ever think someone like Kenny would ever go out with Marjorine of all people.

“Whatever gave them that idea?” She splutters.

“Yeah,” Lips pulled into a thin tight, Kenny was still refusing to meet her eyes. “good question.”

There’s a lull in their conversation. Kenny seemingly now has nothing to say. Marjorine squared her shoulders and prepares to defend her boyfriend, because that is what a good girlfriend would do.

“Creed isn’t always the best, yes. He certainly has his off days. But most of the time, he’s very kind to me. Just last Saturday he introduced me to his friends as his ‘precious.”

It was a special day for them, a good day, so long as Marjorine ignored how he left her standing at the corner for two hours. He claimed he didn’t forget about her, but Marjorine swore she almost see him leave.

Kenny made a face like he just ate something sour. “What is he, fifty? The Granny from Ice Age?”

“I thought it was very sweet.” Marjorine huffed.

Kenny drops his face into his hands. Marjorine knows that whenever he does that, it means he’s nearing his limit. He’s either frustrated and doesn’t know what to do, or he’s upset and doesn’t want anyone to see. Sometimes it could be both, most of the time it is. “I think—I know you could do better. He’s not the guy for you, Marjorine. No way in fucking hell.”

Better, Kenny said it so firmly, as if it was really that simple. But what was better then Creed Mossic, who treated her like a dime in a dozen. Who, despite the fact that he was set to inherit his father’s company, still chose Marjorine—a nobody? Someone their own parents couldn’t love?

“You mean you?" She asked in a way it sounded like a joke, with a hint of a chuckle, but she was picking at her fingernails and pulling at dry skin around her cuticles.

"No," Kenny said, stiffened and poker-faced. "I mean better.”

They fall into silence before Marjorine asked, because apparently they are being utterly open about their relationships now, “What about you and Bernie? Why are you dating her?”

A pause. “She’s fun.”

“Fun? How so?”

“She likes to…party?”

“You don’t sound too sure of that.”

“We’re not talking about me right now.” Kenny waved her off. They’ve been together for so long that Marjorine knows that just means he doesn’t want to answer. “I’m just saying you deserve better then some pencil dick fuck who can’t make you cum and treats you average. Because just average isn’t enough for a girl like you. You deserve world class. Like a prince from those fairytales you like.”

Something warm spreads through Marjorine’s body, from the delight of knowing how well Kenny knew her, to seeing the conviction he held on what Marjorine deserves. Kenny probably expected everyone to treat her like he did; with the utmost care and affection, gentleness but not fragility. Sadly, that wasn’t how the world worked.

“Fairytales ain’t real.” She learned that the hard way.

Kenny almost looked sad. “Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean your life should be an Edgar Allen Poe book.”

“It is not!” Marjorine exclaimed, horrified. “He ain’t as bad as it seems! Besides, I can live with the bad s-sex. I could handle bad sex for as long as I live!”

“You shouldn’t have to.” Kenny said firmly, before he makes a face and adds, “And you’re not spending the rest of your life with this dude. So this is only a temporary problem, but still.

“Ya sound so sure.” Marjorine said. Kenny lips tilt up into something that isn’t quite a smile or a complete frown either.

“That’s because I am.”