#he also hit her now with the last bit tho

[tainbocuailnge]

so I haven't touched arknights in like. about a year or so, but it sounds like Crownslayer is a gravel style opp? Which. idk back when I was playing Gravel was still an incredible unit for her ability to be dropped and just stall someone for a bit. and crownslayer having stun and evasion, as well as being able to provide evasion to other units, sounds like a similar style of insane??? idk why people are saying she's bad she sounds bonkers

(tho I might be wrong, like I said I've not touched the game since like Il Sira)

the problem is that people have developed a completely warped idea of what an executor specialist is supposed to look like because texas and yato are not actually good representatives of the subclass.

the game started with gravel and projekt red, and waai fu was added early in year 1. gravel is built to facetank damage with her massive shield and to this day she remains undefeated in that role. red meanwhile is more damage oriented, meant to chip away at medium-threat targets with her s1 or do a bit of crowd control with her s2. waai fu follows this philosophy of having some defensive utility on her s1 (an atk debuff) to let her 1v1 medium-damage priority targets and crowd control utility on s2 (inflicting silence). their damage was never crazy high, their use was in crowd control including plugging leaks, reducing incoming damage through methods like debuffs or just baiting attacks, and taking out priority targets like elite casters or guerilla heralds at a lower cost than throwing a whole dreadnought guard at it.

then phantom released around the first anniversary as the first 6* of the archetype and his skills cover every job that you would previously need separate specialists for. his s1 tanks physical damage, his s2 lets him quickly handle medium-threat targets, and his s3 has crowd control in a large area. phantom on release was genuinely the pinnacle of fast-redeploy specialists because he was all of the other fast-redeploys in one, and you could deploy him twice to boot. despite this he still left reason to use the others instead of him if you really needed a specific bit of utility, and gravel in particular made it so his s1 was rarely actually used because she was just better at it. I consider this a good thing from a game design perspective, but I also believe this created this idea that phantom is (was) the best executor because he has more damage than the other executors, instead of because he's 2-4 utility units in a trenchcoat. phantom is an executor that is two executors.

in year 2 kafka released and she stuck with this idea of chipping away at enemies and doing funny crowd control with her weird range and sleep debuff. in philosophy she's still exactly what executors were originally supposed to be, bringing a new angle to the concept that doesn't clash with what the others were doing. kafka is an executor that is an executor.

skip forward to year 4 and we get texas, who despite everything still retains the shadow of the original spirit of the subclass. she has silence utility, she has the ability to pick off targets, she has crowd control. but it's year 4 and she's a limited operator, so she also deals more damage than all previous executors combined could ever dream of and also hits air with her stuns because we introduced an enemy gimmick where you want anti-air stuns since we last made an executor. her s2 does more single target dps than surtr s3 or so i've been told. texas is really more like a high damage guard cosplaying as an executor.

then only half a year after texas they bring in yato who just straight up does not even have utility, all she does is infinite fucking damage and her crowd control is killing the crowd dead. she's not an executor in the original sense, she's some other thing, like how mountain is a brawler that is not a brawler. but because she and texas released so closely together and both do so much damage, people now think that an executor's job is to deal a lot of damage and that the utility on texas is a bonus instead of part of the original conceit.

and it's this warped idea of executors that crownslayer is being compared to. crownslayer is doing exactly what executors have been doing from the start, namely taking out medium-threat priority targets, reducing incoming damage, and providing crowd-control utility. she's an executor that is an executor, same as phantom, but where phantom combined the at the time existing executors into his kit crownslayer instead looks at the functionality that executors are meant to provide and approaches it from a different angle. obviously I haven't actually used her myself because she just released on CN but on paper she looks incredibly well designed for her job of being an executor

[smiletimeisrunningout]

"While I am a terrible liar when asked things directly... my parents don't know I have been wounded in battle. Just think about that." Didn't speak well of her honesty, but she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. "I fear my mother's heart would stop every time I left home if she actually knew just how dangerous it is... that Regina is still that present or that my grandfather is now after me. Thank you for hiding my troubles too, by the way..." He had seen how scarred her body was, knew how intensely she trained every morning and how easily she had fought others before, and yet she was sure her parents had no seen any trace of surprise or uncertainty on Ben's face when talking about her behavior. A spy, after all.

are their standards really so low that all I need to be is not a pirate?

She visibly held back a burst of laughter, waiting for a moment before pointing out in a small voice full of amusement: "Actually they'd let me marry a pirate, my mother is ready." Her poor, poor mother. "Their only real requirement for my future husband is that we truly love each other, they want to hear nothing about arranging a marriage for the good of the kingdom nor care about nobility, they want me to have what they have. Which is... quite inconvenient," she shrugged, with the ease of a conversation that had been had a thousand times before in her life, "Considering I'd likely be married by now, just like they wanted, if they let me pick someone who would be a good husband regardless of love. I know the right person too, but he's eighty years old. Which is the point: he's at peace, wants to retire and enjoy his last years, I want to rule by myself. But they'd never let me make a practical choice like that, so... guess we are picking the romantic route and they have to wait." There was, still, a bit of amusement in her voice even if the situation was frustrating, but speaking of that specific topic with Ben for the first time had her thinking of him in that role for a moment. A silly thought. She'd never torture him subjecting him to such a life.

I'm curious how you would've reacted to my university notes

"No, it's not that you take notes, it's that you were so adorably organized even when on a dinner with me! You are supposed to do it when studying," she giggled, "And you found me a poem, Ben. That was just so sweet... I can't resist sweet."

"And here I was, assuming you'd leap at the 'rub off on' joke I made, rather than...well...literally leaping

"I was!" she piped up, bouncing on her feet from the enthusiasm because of course she was going to make a joke - and it was hilarious that he had brought it up now as if she was Caleb and not a lady - but his other words had been too distracting. "But you brought up being my prisoner, and I'm not joking at all when I say I can do that."

Still, she rubbed his arm in an almost comforting way when he called his attempts bumbling, "I like the way you speak." She did - any man could learn how to be smooth, but to be so honest and to be embarrassed the way he could be? That was a lot more attractive to her, made him so much more real.

"I don't know what you mean by 'less creative, but still very lovely things,' but I'm beginning to realize I would do anything for you...which was probably a very stupid thing to confess."

Her teasing smile faded into a touched look at that, her heart nearly missing a beat. That was... different. She brought her hand back to his cheek, stroking it tenderly as she wondered how she could possibly react to something that made her feel so many emotions, and whether that realization of his would go away once the novelty of their new relationship would pass, but then chose to silence the thoughts and silently thank him by pulling him to her for a soft kiss. Wasn't that too sweet? Shouldn't she put a stop to it? But no, Ben was a sweet person and there was no harm in allowing him to be himself, to take what she could before he'd grow tired of it. "Please, you know I'm in your hands," she murmured, "I promise I'll use that knowledge only for good... or try to."

Emma wrinkled her nose at him, which only accentuated the bright, shimmery starshine within her eyes. "What, you couldn't say I almost fainted because of my womanly emotions and you held me up? Now now, how is that good lying?"

Benjamin scoffed, though he was smiling. "I'm beginning to think you've done this before," he teased. "If you keep this up, we'll be acting out our very own Shakespearean comedy, and we both know how much you love those."

"Worry not, I will make sure you have time and space to avoid my father's inevitable attempt to stab you," Emma quipped, cupping his cheeks between her palms.

"A very noble endeavor. Thank you," Benjamin agreed, fondly encircling her wrists with his hands.

Emma hummed. "Or worse, my mother's inevitable attempts to marry us since my father may actually help her if it means having a son in law who reads. And isn't a pirate. Poor you, it would be easier to be stabbed."

Unbidden, Benjamin's heart leapt in his chest, a lopsided smile filling his face as he breathed a soft, self-conscious laugh. "I've heard horror stories of how mothers are quite eager to marry off their daughters, but say true: are their standards really so low that all I need to be is not a pirate?"

With a pout, Emma giggled and leaned into his touch. "Any man can be ruggedly handsome, provided the correct clothing and potentially an unkept stubble," she reassured, "but handsome and cute, like you? No, that's rarer and therefore more precious. Cute is also what makes me want to kiss you, together with your lists."

Benjamin flushed, unmistakable pleasure warming his features. "There's no need for the flattery -- you've already won me over," he promised. "Still, I never thought that lists would be so provocatively alluring to you. If this is your response to my preparation, I'm curious how you would've reacted to my university notes..."

Unbidden, the light in Emma's eyes melded into something darker, more sultry as she purred, "Oh, sweetheart, if you wish to be tied for me, you only need to take a night off. I'll be happy to have my way with you for as long as you can take it. Maybe, if you ask nicely, even a bit more than that."

Her hands trailed down Benjamin's chest and his face burned impossibly hotter, his mouth opening and closing as they locked eyes. "Uh...I-I'll admit I didn't think...er...I-I didn't realize..."

"You should come back tonight, when people are asleep," she cut in. "We can't do that here, but we could do... less creative but still very lovely things?"

With a sheepish laugh, Benjamin confessed, "And here I was, assuming you'd leap at the 'rub off on' joke I made, rather than...well...literally leaping." Taking her hand on his chest, he drew her fingers up to his lips with shy smile. "I'm pleased that my earlier, albeit bumbling attempts are forgiven, and that you're willing to let me...um..." Goodness, how was Emma able to speak so shamelessly? Any time he thought of, or even alluded to intimacy, his face grew hot and he started stammering like some world class nincompoop.

Bashful, he ducked his eyes and splayed her hand across his heart. "I don't know what you mean by 'less creative, but still very lovely things,' but I'm beginning to realize I would do anything for you...which was probably a very stupid thing to confess."

[nomairuins]

thank GODDD the doctor is taking time to work on himself maybe now he can stop ruining womens lives .

[afterglowsainz]

Hey can I get a jealous Jude x female reader. Nothing too toxic lol l, it’s just some guys hitting y/n up on social media and somehow Jude sees the DMs and gets a little jealous. Then his petty self goes and posts a picture of him and his girlfriend on her ig or something petty like responds back with a “she’s busy bro”. Thanks 🫶🏻

jealousy | jude bellingham

obsessed with this concept already !!

summary: while you're getting ready to go out on a date with your boyfriend, he accidentally sees some dms he doesn't like and decides to do something about it

warnings: none

word count: 738

a/n: boring title booo i know i know i couldn't think of anything better :( i do hope you like the one shot tho it was fun to write about jealous jude <3

you were getting ready to go out on a date with jude while he was laying on your bed waiting for you. his phone was charging somewhere in the living room so you gave him yours to play a game so he doesn’t get bored. you were putting on your makeup while singing along to your playlist while he was building some villages or whatever it was that they do on clash royale. however, jude got distracted when an instagram dm pop up at the top of your phone, it was from this formula 1 driver that he knew was always liking your pictures, he didn’t knew he was dming you as well. he thought about opening the message, but he didn’t want to invade your privacy like that, so he simply looked at you.

“someone dm you.” he says.

his voice took you out of your little world and you place your gaze on him thought the mirror you were applying your makeup on.

“who?”

“lando norris.” he reads the name like he didn’t knew already.

“what does it say?” you hide a laugh and continue with your makeup routine.

jude opens the message and reads it out loud. it was obvious he was hitting on you by replying to a story you had posted earlier that day when you went to brunch with your friends and you felt cute.

“are you gonna answer?” he asks again, hints of jealousy on voice.

“not really, no.” you answer and go back to singing along and applying mascara on.

when jude goes back to the screen on your phone his thumb accidentally swipes left and your whole inbox is completely exposed to him. he didn’t meant to do that, but it really was an accident and he couldn’t help but see now that it was there, only he wished he didn’t have.

some of your dms were just conversations with your friends, but a lot of them were just guys replying to your stories and hitting on you, which made him even more jealous than before. you never replied to them, going as far as deleting some of the messages you received, but since you hadn’t checked your instagram since that afternoon a lot of dms from different guys complimenting you on your story were there for jude to find.

he frowns at the phone and takes a look at you, completely oblivious while doing your eyeliner. his eyes go back to the screen and he starts looking up some pictures that you took the week before of you two.

“do you mind if i post one of those pictures you took of us last week?” he asks out of nowhere. “so i can repost it on my story.” he clarifies.

you frown a bit confused because this is the first time he has asked you something like this, but after him seeing the other guy’s dm and feeling a bit jealous you connected the dots and smile amused.

“sure.” you say.

he nods and went to post a story with the two of you looking definitely like the couple you were. he spend a few seconds thinking about a good caption, landing on a simple “my boyfriend❤️”, very straight to the point. he also tagged himself big enough for everyone to see and posted the picture, a satisfied smile on his face.

when you were done with your makeup and ready to go, you approached him and sat on his lap, your phone still in his hand.

“let me see the picture.” you smiled. he shows you the story and you rolled your eyes, a bit amused at his possessiveness. “was that really necessary?” you point at the text and he just shrugs.

“i just feel like there’s a lot of people that don't know we’re together, you know? just wanna put it out there.” you nod, fighting the smile on your face and putting your arms around him.

“is that so?” you tease him, getting closer to him if that was even possible.

“yeah, lots of guys on your dms.” he confess. “they liked your selfie earlier.”

“hmm.” you answer. “i wouldn’t know about that, i only like one guy.” a treacherous smile takes over his lips and you take the opportunity to kiss him. “wanna go? we’ll be late to dinner.”

jude just nods and gets out of bed, never dropping your hand for a second.

[atinylittlepain]

Hiya! I love your writing so much it's amazing. Can I request Joel and Reader! smut? Maybe angry s3x? I loveeeee grumpy Joel. They would def be primal and rough and fast about it too...oof. I'm not too good at coming up with plotlines haha

Anyways thank you so much if you do! :3

oof, this was fun to write

gif by @tightjeansjavi

Menace

Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel Miller masterlist

When Joel refuses to join her at the bar, she has a good time by herself. But he just can't stay away.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, rough sex, little angst, little fluff, mostly just smut tho

...........................

If Joel were here right now, she knows he wouldn’t like the looks of things one bit. Not because she’s in any sort of danger, the only real danger at the Tipsy Bison is whatever that cheap grog is that they keep stewing in the back. No, what Joel wouldn’t like to see is her having a good time, for once, without him. And that’s exactly what she’s doing. 

It’s a Friday night in Jackson, a town in which she can actually enjoy the luxury of having a real Friday night after a long week of patrol shifts. Joel, in all his brooding glory, had rejected her invitation to go out to the bar, telling her that all he wanted was some “fucking peace and quiet.” She hadn’t let that get her down, though, scoffing at his petulant grumbles and heading out by herself. And she was having a damn good time too.

“Goddamn, girl. Giving me a run for my money.” She grins at the man, idly spinning her cue stick in her hands as she walks along the pool table. 

“You better shape up then, or you’re gonna owe me another drink.” The man throws his head back in a laugh at that, his eyes crinkling up as he looks at her. His name is Teddy, one of the younger men around town who also works patrol shifts. She had a shift with him earlier in the week, and he had been warm and welcoming to her, still pretty new to the swing of things. It doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s flirting with her, and she’s happy to play along for now, knowing she’s got her grump of a man waiting for her back home, probably snoring in bed already. Love is strange, but she is Joel’s and he is most certainly hers, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. But for now, a little banter with this sweet boy isn’t going to hurt anyone.

“Watch and learn, Teddy. I’m gonna show you how it’s done.” The man whistles low as she bends over the table, lining her cue stick up with her target. So what if she’s hamming it up a bit? Shimmying her hips and flicking her hair out of her face. A small crowd has gathered around the table to watch her smoke this kid, and she’s enjoying the feeling of letting loose after being tensed up for so long.

She moves cool and slick around the table, driving home her last three balls before setting her sights on the eightball. It looks like a tough shot, and she revels in her confidence that she can sink it, feeling Teddy’s eyes sweeping down the slope of her back as she arches over the table. There’s a hushed swell of laughter and a few whoops when she hits the eightball clean into a pocket, and she turns and shoots Teddy a crooked smile.

“Pay up, boy. I want the good stuff this time, top shelf only.” Teddy barks out another laugh, but it quickly dissolves as his eyes flit just behind her. She feels him before she sees him, the solid warmth of him pressing up behind her and a broad palm splaying over her shoulder. He’s certainly not snoring in bed.

“You’ll have to take a rain check, son. She’s needed at home right now.” The low rasp of his voice tells her all she needs to know. He saw her, and the little moves she was making, and now, Joel Miller is pissed.

She can see the bob of Teddy’s throat as he swallows, nodding jerkily. She winces at the crack in his voice when he says that’s alright, he’ll see her around. Joel may be a grump, but he’s also a scary grump when he wants to be, like right about now as he’s steering her out of the bar with his hand still on her shoulder.

“Putting on a little show for all them townsfolk, darlin?” His southern drawl always gets headier, slower, when he’s angry. It’s never a good sign when she starts having a hard time pulling his honey-thick words apart. But she refuses to let him intimidate her, huffing as they trudge through town toward their house.

“It was just a little fun, Joel. I know you’re not too familiar with the concept, but—”

“Oh, you’re wrong about that, darlin. Me and you? We’re about to have a whole lot of fun.” So it’s like that. She can’t help the excited shiver that runs up her spine at his words, heat already starting to lick at her core. She’s known him long enough to know that when Joel is pissed at her, it can only go one of two ways. Sometimes, he’ll shut down and sulk off, keeping his distance until he’s gotten some sense back in his body to come talk to her. But other times, his anger flirts over into a jagged lust, only simmering to cool when they’re both too sore to bitch at each other anymore, a heaving tangle of sweat and pleasure. And judging by the hard flush she can see peeking out of his shirt collar as they get home, she’d put money on this being one of those other times.

The instant the front door closes behind her, he’s pressing her back up against it, swallowing her gasp as he licks into her mouth. She presses her palms into his chest to try to get some space, but he’s immovable, dragging his lips down her neck and nudging the collar of her shirt out of the way to suck searing bruises into her collarbone. She tugs harshly at his hair to get him to finally take a breath.

“Hey, hey. What about Ellie?” 

“At Dina’s.” And with those few gruff, syllables, he’s back on her, shoving his jean-clad thigh between her legs and pressing up hard into her core, her hips immediately grinding down to seek any kind of relief to the quick-building heat blooming up her spine. 

“You’re something else, you know that? Saw you acting so tough, so cool down at the bar.” His words are a smear across her chest as he works the buttons of her shirt open, dipping down to mouth at the fabric of her bra the moment he gets access, her back arching up into his mouth as she lets out a long sigh of his name. He chuckles into her skin.

“None of them know how sweet you get like this, though. S’just for me, right?” She chokes on a breath as his hand wrenches down the front of her jeans, rough fingers swiping through the slick pooling between her folds. He drags his nose up her cheek as he works one, then two of his fingers into her, her knees buckling when he crooks his digits just so, her cunt clenching hard.

“Asked you a question, darlin. Who’s all this for, huh?” His fingers are pumping into her relentlessly, the squelching noise of each thrust embarrassingly lewd and loud. It’s all she can do to give him a response.

“You– it’s all for you– fuck– only for you– it’s– just you– please–” He laughs, the smug bastard, smearing a kiss to her temple as he continues to fuck her with his fingers, the heel of his palm digging just right into her clit.

“That’s right, baby. S’all for me. Think you can give me one just like this? C’mon, know you can. Be good for me. Just for me.” He doesn’t have to tell her twice, her cunt already spasming around his fingers as she lets out a broken cry, pleasure crashing over her in ebbs and flows as he fucks her through it. He finally relents when her preening whines turn into whimpers, pulling his hand away and sucking his fingers into his mouth as she slumps back against the door.

She’s a complete mess, her shirt hanging loosely off her arms, the cups of her bra shoved down to let her tits spill out, while Joel stands before her still fully clothed, a contrast that sets heat simmering in her belly all over again. She closes the gap between them this time, pressing in for a demanding kiss as she shrugs her shirt off the rest of the way, fumbling behind her back to snap the clasp of her bra open as well. Joel’s hands are on her right away, palming the swell of her tits before squeezing just harshly enough to make her gasp into his mouth, her fingers stuttering where she was working on the buttons of his shirt. He seems to get the hint, swatting her hands away from his half undone shirt and tugging it the rest of the way off by the collar. 

“I need you right now, darlin. Got me fucking aching here.” 

They’re a stumbling swirl of limbs as they fumble upstairs to their bedroom, banging into walls and slamming doors along the way. 

He gets her exactly where he wants her, on all fours at the end of the bed, and she yelps as he wrenches her jeans and panties down her thighs. She cranes her neck over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of him, his jeans rucked down just enough for him to free his cock as he fists himself over her, his other palm kneading the swell of her ass. He nudges his swollen tip through her folds and she shivers at the sensation, trying to press her hips back into him to get more of anything. Joel doesn’t seem to like that though, laying a harsh smack to her ass that makes her nearly jump out of his hold.

“Mind your manners, darlin. Don’t get greedy on me.” She huffs, trying to look back over her shoulder at him but he presses a rough palm between her shoulder blades, forcing her back to bow until she’s collapsing onto her arms, cheek smushed into the sheets. 

He presses into her with one hard thrust, his hips grinding into the plush of her ass as she lets out a broken cry.

“Fuck– always so tight for me– fucking made for me, huh?” She can’t respond to his breathless words, not with the brutal pace he’s setting, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room as he pumps into her, his leaking tip hitting a spot inside her that has her mouth opening in a silent scream. Suddenly, he’s snaking his palm up her chest, pressing between her tits to pull her up until her back is snug against the warmth of his chest, his lips pressed hotly to the shell of her ear.

“Tell me you’re mine, darlin. Wanna hear you say it.” She lets out a low moan as his hand dips down, the rough pads of his fingers dragging across her clit. Meanwhile, he’s skirted his other palm up to her throat, curling his fingers lightly, a faint but firm pressure making her mind go hazy. 

“I’m yours– I’m all yours– please, I’m so close–” His thrusts are getting shorter, more of a deep grind up inside her that has her clenching hard around him.

“Want you to say my name when you come, darlin. Make a fucking mess– c’mon, that’s it.” It becomes too much all at once, and she finds herself letting out a panting sigh of his name as pleasure finally snaps inside her. His hands slacken where they had been holding her up and she collapses forward, resting her teary face in her arms as he fucks her through her high.

“So perfect for me, darlin– shit– just a little more, huh? Fucking close.” His hips start to stutter against hers, and she does her best to press back against him.

“Please, Joel– want it so bad– c’mon, baby, give it to me.” He lets out a low curse, pulling out and fisting himself once, twice, before he’s painting her ass with his spend. He lets out a hard breath before flopping down next to her on the bed, dragging a hand down his flushed face. She winces as she lets her legs splay out, slinking down onto her stomach. There will be bruises tomorrow, without a doubt. She crooks her face to the side to look at him, still panting, eyes scrunched closed.

“Feel better now?” He cracks one eye open, glancing at her before fully turning on his side to steal a kiss from her lips.

“Fucking menace. Yes, I feel better now.” With that, he flops onto his back again, crossing his arms behind his head. She shimmies over to rest her head on his chest, her chin propped up on his sternum so she can look at him. 

“You better get me cleaned up, Miller. Made a damn mess.” He huffs, bringing one hand down and smacking the curve of her ass, making her yelp in surprise. She tries to kiss away the all too smug grin on his face, but it’s still there when she pulls back.

“I will. But first, I gotta know. Where the hell did you learn to play pool like that?” She lets out an exasperated laugh at that.

“Come with me to the bar next Friday night and I’ll tell you.” A low grumble resounds through his chest, but he’s still smiling as he shakes his head at her.

“You’re on, darlin. I should warn you though. I’m gonna whoop your ass.”

“Looking forward to it, Miller.”

[suckerforcate]

Hii I love your fics :))

I have a few fic ideas for Emily x fem reader but id never get around to write them myself :)

So I have an idea for a fluffy one where the reader is new to the BAU and has never been on a plane before and is nervous flying and it’s Emily comforting them

Or a more smutty one where Reader is over at Emily’s house or at a party or something and they decide to sneak away and end up playing strip poker

Aviophobia

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Word Count: 797

Warning: anxiety over flying?

Summary: it's your first time flying on the BAU Jet or any plane in general, and you're a bit panicked. Emily calms you.

A/n: It's a pretty short one, but quite cute!! I have the second request in my notes, can't promise I'll write it tho!! Hope you like it anon <3 Would love a repost or comment!!

■----------------------------------------■

This was definitely not normal, was it? Surely you would die now. This was it. You had survived fights with Serial Killers, abductions and an explosion of a bomb. But the first plane ride in your life was that one step too far. That one step that just wasn't justified anymore. You were going to die today.

"Hey, you alright?" Derek's voice cut through your thoughts as he walked past you, stopping for a moment to take a look at you. You were gripping the arm rests like they'd alone keep you alive, and your face felt like it had to be as white a sheet.

"Perfectly fine." You pressed out and gave him a smile that even felt painful. Judging by the face he made, it also looked painful. But thankfully he didn't press the matter and simply walked away.

You shut your eyes again, desperately trying not to panic as the flight gets a bit bumpy. You leaned your head back against the seat and took a deep breath. Just when you thought you'd calmed a bit you hit an air pocket.

You practically felt your heart sink into your stomach, your hand desperately flying to the closest living thing to get comfort from. Which in this case happened to be Emily's leg. She had it propped up on her seat, while reading a book.

As she felt your hand tightly grip onto her leg she looked up from her book surprised. You were honestly too panicked to even register anything. Your eyes were closed, fingers digging into Emily's leg and breathe a bit shaky. You just opened your eyes when you felt a warm hand on your own.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Emily softly asked you as you looked at her. You gave her an apologetic look and loosened your grip a bit, her fingers immediately intertwining themselves with yours. It did wonders to soothe your racing heart.

But just until you hit another air pocket. You squeezed her hand, so tightly it must have surely cut off the blood flow. Realisation crept over her face and her features softened immensely.

"Are you afraid of flying?" She asked, her thing gently brushing over your knuckles. The plane stabilised, and the flight got less bumpy, so you relaxed a bit.

"Apparently. Never flown before today." You admitted and shrugged. It was your first flight ever, and it turned out you did not like it at all. Emily nodded understandingly.

"You know, nothing is going to happen. Turbulence or air pockets are not dangerous. Spencer once said plane crashes mostly occur in the first five minutes or the last eight minutes of the flight." Emily spoken trying to calm you. She had probably not given the information out completely correct, but that didn't really matter. It still slightly calmed you.

"We're right in the middle of it, so it's very improbable that we'll crash." She spoke, voice still soft and soothing. She gave you a reassuring smile that actually helped. You weren't sure what exactly it was about her, but Emily never failed to calm you. In the few weeks you'd been working with the team, Emily had always been the one you had turned to for questions or advice.

"Sorry that I'm so anxious." You apologised, trying to laugh it off nervously. Emily simply shook her head.

"No, it's okay. Flying can be scary." How could one person be so sweet? She didn't judge you, didn't make fun of you or mock you. She simply assured you.

"Why did you never fly before?" She asked gently, her thumb still brushing over your knuckles. You realised it was an attempt to distract you. But you didn't mind.

"We never really had money to go anywhere far away and pay for plane tickets. So we stayed close to home." You explained and shrugged. A life very different to Emily's as the ambassador's daughter.

"We used to always do road trips though. My sister and I could pick the music, and we always got Fast Food. It was the only time we were allowed McDonald's." You spoke, a slight hint of nostalgia in your voice. It had been an obvious attempt to calm you, but it had been efficient nonetheless. You were feeling much calmer.

It became routine. In the plane you sat next to Emily, and she held your hand throughout the whole flight. No matter how long it was. And she always fluid something to talk about, something to get your mind off of the fact that you were much higher up in the sky than was ever meant for human beings. Emily knew you couldn't avoid the plane rides. It was part of the job. But she did her best to make them easier for you.

[worldlxvlys]

OMG I HAVE AN IDEA ABT CHRIS DEALER !!

the reader doesn't respond because of some reason (you can make it up) and he starts panicking and saying cute things to the reader(in "I don't want to lose you" mode..)and when he arrives at the reader's house after a few hours without the reader responding, she is not there and you can invent the rest because I have no idea for the rest but I love you sm I love your stories and how you write and marry me i love you sm

texts w/ dealer w benefits! chris (part 19)

chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: just cursing

a/n: thank you so much, i’m so glad you like my writing :) also 💍 when’s the wedding ???

hope you like <333

dwb! chris masterlist

(thoughts are bolded + italicized)

CHRIS’S POV

i knocked on the door repeatedly, but there was no answer.

i dug into my pocket, searching for the spare key she gave me.

once i felt it, i pulled it out and opened her door.

“baby, are you here?” i yelled out.

i searched through every room in her house, starting to get even more worried.

when i got to her room, i saw her wallet on the ground, but not her.

where would she have gone without her wallet ?

why isn’t she answering her phone ?

is she safe ?

no! we’re not going there, she is fine.

she has to be.

fuck.

i opened the Find My Friends app, deciding to check her location.

yeah, dumbass, maybe you should’ve done that first.

when i clicked on her iphone’s location, my heart dropped to my ass.

NO LOCATION FOUND.

fuck . fuck. fuck.

why is her location off.

what do i do?

suddenly, i heard a loud bang from the front of the house.

heheheehe cliffhanger 😈

NAHHH IM JUST KIDDING LMFAOOOO

(i thought about it tho)

ok continue reading 🤗

*****

my head snapped towards the noise, my heart racing.

what the fuck was that.

before i knew it, there she was, standing right in front of me.

READER’S POV

chris stood in front of me, looking worried.

damn, that noise must’ve scared him.

“sorry, baby, i literally just walked straight into my front door, didn’t mean to scare you” i chuckled.

suddenly, he came rushing towards me, giving me a big hug.

surprised, i hugged him back.

“you ok, chris?” i asked.

“fuck, ma, you scared me. why didn’t you answer your phone?”

i looked at him, confused. then, a realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

“oh my gosh, i completely forgot to tell you! it wouldn’t turn on so i took it to get fixed. it’s still there, i just forgot my wallet so i came back real quick”

“i’m so sorry if i worried you, baby. i should’ve-“ he cut me off with a hard kiss to the lips.

he kissed me with so much love and passion, as if he thought it was going to be our last. it was an emotional kiss and it made me realize

i really scared him.

when we pulled away, he pressed his forehead to mine.

“no need to apologize, baby. i’m just so fucking glad that you’re ok, i was starting to go insane”

he gave me a peck to my nose, then another to my lips.

“does this mean when my phone is fixed it’s gonna be filled with spam texts from you?”

his eyes widened a bit, “yeahh, there’s no need to even read those” he said, his voice getting a tad bit higher in pitch.

i tilted my head, now amused. “oh? now i’m definitely reading them” i said, laughing at him.

he laughed with me, shaking his head.

“and by the way? i’m not going anywhere anytime soon” i told him “your ass is stuck with me”

“wouldn’t have it any other way” he smiled at me “even though you annoy the absolute shit out of me”

i rolled my eyes at him, “you were literally quivering when i walked in” i teased him.

his face scrunched up “that is not true”

i grabbed my wallet, starting to walk away.

“hey” he said as he started to follow me out “that’s not true, don’t start telling people that!” he said.

i love this goofy ass kid.

————————

heheheehe 😇

hope you liked <333

masterlist

tag list: @lovingsturniolo @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @chanelsturn @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @chrisdevora @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @soursturniolo @rac00ns-are-c00l4

[ramp-it-up]

II Most Wanted Pt. 2: Pedal so heavy 

Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup" (w/ Betty Bronco)

Summary: The feelings are getting real as you make a decision about giving Jake Syverson the time of day (or night, rather) at your 20 year reunion.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, Angst, pining, fluff. Flashbacks, horny teenagers being horny (over 18 tho). Prom night, early 2000's music, mentions of sex acts, "Captain" kink, mentions of teenage pregnancy, divorce, breakups. The Powerpuff Girls, old automobiles, 20 year high school reunion, drinking, swearing. Reckless driving?

Read at your own risk.  Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N:  This is the second installment of II Most Wanted. I'm in love with these two; they are bringing my writer heart back to life. If you like it, please reblog and comment.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Previous part here

-----------------

May 2024

“Well, now Buttercup, that’s a long story. I know you want to hang with your friends. And I don’t know what you’re doin’ later tonight, but I would like to go somewhere quiet and talk about it.”

When you heard that, you went into fight or flight mode. Rage, regret, and sadness all flooded your body at once, and Sy’s eyes flicked down to your dominant hand which was curling into a fist. A wry smile started on his lips, and then he straightened up and looked you in the eye as he started to speak again.

“Butter-”

You shook your head, which silenced him. Then you raised your chin, released your fist, and turned your back, walking toward your friends.

—---

Get out (LEAVE!)

Right now

It’s the end of you and me

It’s too late (NOW!)

And I can’t wait 

For you to be gone…

Carla and Tiffani followed as you fled to the restroom.

“Why did you even tell him I liked him? I blame both of you.”

You were hurt, so you brought up a 20 year old slight and lashed out weakly at your friends. You were trying to ascribe meaning to your emotions.

How could everything still hurt this much? 

Carla wasn’t having it.

“Unh unh. No. Nope. We were sick of you running your mouth all the time about how cute he was. And Jakey boy had heart eyes for you since the day you walked into school, despite Becca the Bitch. After they broke up, we had to put you both out of your misery. It had to be done.”

Tiffani was nodding her head in agreement.

You sighed.

“‘M sorry guys,” you sat on the bathroom vanity and smiled to yourself about your Powerpuff councils in the 3rd floor Central High bathroom all those years ago. Then you grimaced when you thought of Sy.

“I just… Can’t…”

“So what just happened?”

Despite your surliness, Carla was ready to go to war for you.

“He wants me to go talk with him, ‘someplace quiet.’”

“Wow. Your air quotes are kind of aggressive.”

Sweet Tiffani was also calling you out.

“Maybe you do need to talk to him. I heard what happened, and it’s kind of a lot. A hell of a story.”

“Tiff has a point. You forbid us to say his name after you two broke up…”

You interrupted Carla.

“After he found out Becca was pregnant, you mean..”

“...That is a part of the story you need to hear. She did him dirty. They split when he finished his first tour. He asked about you, but you were already engaged to Scott…”

You’d heard that Sy enlisted instead of going to State for football like he planned when Becca fell pregnant, but the bit about the split hit you like a ton of bricks.

But why? And what did it matter now? 

“Sy spent the better part of the last 20 years in Afghanistan, and I think it’s because…But that’s not our story to tell. You really ought to talk to him.”

“I don’t have to do-”

Your voice was a little shrill and you closed your mouth when you heard yourself. You stood in the bathroom awkwardly until the familiar beginning of a song wafted into the room:

“Teen drinking is very bad.”

Carla and Tiff started screaming the next line:

“Yo, I got a fake ID tho.”

The beat dropped and they pulled you out of the bathroom onto the dance floor.

One, here comes the two to the three to the four Everybody drunk out on the dance floor Baby girl ass jiggle like she want more Like she a groupie and I aint even on tour...

…..Everybody in this bitch getting Tipsy.

This was your thot song, and after a minute of standing there, fake offended by their dancing, soon you were shaking your ass with your lifelong friends.

—-----

Sy knew how much he was trying it when he asked you to talk, but he had been waiting 20 years for this chance. 

Tonight was the night.

And he wasn’t going to let the night pass without shooting his shot. But the truth needed to be told first. He hoped that you still cared enough to let it happen.

When you stared at him blankly, he started to sweat. He knew you lived your life since then. He feared that any feelings you may have had for him were over and done with. But then he saw your hand balled into a fist, and hope entered his heart.

Sy never shrank from a fight; hell, he’d started too many, but he never wished for someone to sock him in the mouth as much as you.

He wanted to fight with you. 

And he wanted to make it up to you. 

His heart dropped when you walked away, but he decided to let it ride and give you some space. After you disappeared into the bathroom with Carla and Tiffani, Sy ventured into the venue, ready to interact with others now that he had laid down the challenge with you.

—---

You were having a ball dancing with the girls until that song came on. You stopped moving, the hair raised on the back of your neck. When you turned you found Sy staring right at you. You’d managed to ignore him the entire night, but this song and his blue eyes were wearing you down.

I'd sure hate to break down here Nothin' up ahead or in the rear view mirror Out in the middle of nowhere, knowin' I'm in trouble if these wheels stop rollin' So, God help me, keep me movin' somehow Don't let me start wishin' I was with him now

You walked toward Sy, drawn to him as if on a string. You had that feeling in the small of your back as you stood before him, the one that you hadn’t felt in ages, and suddenly everything felt inevitable.

Just like it did 20 years earlier. 

—---

May 2004

On Prom night, you came out of your bedroom and Sy’s mouth dropped open. His eyes never strayed from your face as he murmured,

“You look amazing.”

You blushed and smiled while your mom ‘awwwed’ and went to get her camera. You approached your boyfriend and he took your hand to twirl you around as he appraised the rest of you in your sleek emerald green dress. When you faced him again, he was licking his lips, trying to make the look on his face respectable. You smiled because you could read his mind.

Sy didn’t flinch as your mom called him “Jacob,” and you didn’t have it in you to be annoyed as she took a couple of pictures. Sy’s hand on your waist and his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin at the opening on the side of your dress made you shiver in anticipation.

You were caught up.

Soon, Sy was loading your bag into the back of Betty, and pulling off, your mom having accepted your explanation of staying over Tiffani’s after going bowling with the group after the prom.

In reality, a bunch of the crew were renting a huge chalet in the mountains, 45 minutes away. You and Sy had your own room, and you were ready to give him everything that night. You were distracted, imagining having your way with him that night.

And Sy was right there with you.

“Y’know, Buttercup, we can just head on up to the chalet.” 

He cut his eyes over to you to watch your reaction. When you didn’t answer and just bit your lip, that’s when he knew.

“Our suite has its own bathroom with a shower in it. We’re definitely using that this weekend. Can’t wait to see you all soapy and wet. ‘S all I could think about in the shower tonight. Almost jerked off to the image, but I decided to save it all for later…”

Sy knew you too well, and had keyed into how you responded when he talked dirty to you. He was priming the pump for later.

You pictured Sy in the shower, his lithe muscles clenched as he fisted himself, made you suddenly need a drink of water. You cleared your throat and found your voice.

“We have to go, Sy. I spent so much time getting ready. And you look so handsome in this tux….”

You skimmed your hand down his lapel, down his torso to his thigh, and you quickly ascertained his situation. He grinned at you.

“You’re right.”

Sy winked, smiled and concentrated on the road while you tried not to be a slut in the passenger seat. By the time you reached the venue, you had yourself under control. He parked, then turned toward you. 

“Let’s have a good time tonight, Buttercup. Think you can keep your hands offa me for a couple of hours?”

You scoffed, and Sy took your hand and kissed the back of it, then turned it over and kissed your palm, smoothing the joke away because in reality, It was him who couldn’t help touching you.

“Don’t want to mess up your makeup right now… might ruin it later tho.”

You whimpered in his grip as he kissed up your arm and you tucked a long errant curl behind his ear. 

Sy’s eyes went soft and he held your hands in your lap.

“Y’know, we don’t have to do anything tonight. We can dance all night if you want to. Bowl the blue balls away.”

You laughed and Sy fell in love even more. You were so beautiful.

“I love you, Buttercup, and us having sex or not won’t change that, not one bit.”

You melted as you stared at your handsome fella. He was fiddling with your hand, and then you felt something cold on your finger. You pulled your hand back and saw the delicate white gold ring with a tiny perfect diamond in the center that had been his grandmother’s.

You gasped.

“Sy!”

You looked from him to his grandmother’s ring. You’d come across it the first time you were over his house, ‘studying’ in his room on a chilly November night after football practice. You were being nosy and looking at everything you could touch as he went to get some snacks.

Sy was embarrassed when he came back and saw you with it. You thought he was mad at you for snooping, but he wasn’t. He’d told you that it was just a ‘tiny little ol’ ring, not worth anything,’ and that no one would want it, but that his Gran had left it for him to give to his future wife. 

“But, I’ll propose to someone with a bigger ring than this.”

Sy’s denim blue eyes held yours for a beat. Your heart flipped. You didn’t know why, because you’d only been talking for a couple of weeks and this was the first time you were alone together. 

You didn’t know that Sy was repeating something Becca had told him when she turned her nose up at the antique when she happened to see it, and you didn’t care as you took the black box and sat down on his bed. You stared at the ring inside like it was the crown jewels, and after about 5 minutes of studying it, you looked up at him. 

“Well. I think this ring is beautiful and precious. The detail is stunning. Your future wife would be lucky to get it.” 

That was exactly when Sy realized that he was in love with you.

Back in the Bronco outside of the prom, you were in disbelief.

“What are you doing Sy….?”

All of a sudden, you felt too young for this moment. But after only six short months together, Sy knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Calm down, Buttercup, this is just a promise ring.” 

He kissed your hand again. 

“I know we're jumpin' the gun, and we're both still young.” 

Those eyes held you in a trance.

“But one day, we won't be.”

“Oh, Sy…”

“It’s my promise to you, Buttercup. I will love you ‘til the day I die.”

And it seemed kinda crazy. But you believed him.

—-

May 2024

I made it this far without cryin' a single tear An' I'd sure hate to break down here Oh, no

It was either the music, the dancing, or the alcohol, or all three that made your mind up, but you were ready to listen to what Sy had to say. 

Stephanie Prince, the class president, was calling the Homecoming court up to the stage, and Sy looked that way. Anger bloomed again inside you.

Damnit, Sy needed to choose you this time.

“You still wanna talk, Sy?”

Your body language that screamed aggression: the cocked hip, the crossed arms that pushed up your tits, the tapping foot in those heels, all made Sy soft on the inside and hard on the outside for you. When he answered you, his voice broke. 

“Ye– yeah.”

Christ, you had him weak. But he made a decision, found his strength, and grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the Marriott.

You followed him obediently, and that set him on fire. He stopped and turned around when he reached the Bronco. 

But he didn’t let go of your hand.

You two stared at each other in the late spring night air, stars winking down on you two.

“So where we goin’, Sy?”

Being this close to him again, and the feeling of his touch made all those 20 year old pheromones perk up again. Damn, this man. 

This huge, handsome, hairy man.

“Where do you wanna go, Buttercup?”

What your brain was doing was insane, so you just kept silent.

Becoming mute was one of your tells. Sy was elated that maybe you wanted him, at least physically. He was so thirsty for you.

“Hm.”

Sy grunted, straightened up, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, all while still holding your hand. It was like he didn’t want to let you go. 

And he didn’t.

“Tell you what. Let’s take a spin in Betty. See what’s up in the ol’ town.”

Your eyes flicked toward the truck, and you knew it was dangerous.

But you were grown now. 

And so was Sy.

Sy led you around to the passenger side door to help you up into the high profile vehicle, leaning over you to buckle you in, only releasing you to put his hand on the door.

“I can’t believe you still have her,” you whispered, indicating the Bronco. “How is she still the exact same condition?”

“She’s been in storage for the better part of 20 years. Thought about her everyday though.”

Sy was looking at your lips, and the memories came flooding back.

“I bet she missed you.”

Sy cocked his head and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. His voice came out gruff and he had to clear his throat again. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, Sy.”

Any smooth line was lost as his brain short circuited with the concentration it took to not kiss you right now. 

“Well, we’re about to have some fun together again, you, me, and Betty. Sit tight, pretty lady.” 

Your cheeks heated at the compliment.

“Ok, Captain.”

Sy actually blushed, shook his head and closed the door, leaving you to breathe in the old leather smell of the Bronco with your eyes closed, conveniently leaving him to pump his fist behind the car unseen by you. 

He got back in the car, jacket off. And he leaned near you to place it on the back seat, you got a whiff of him, the familiar cologne adding another dimension to your roiling senses.

When you opened your eyes, you witnessed him rolling his shirtsleeves up his forearms. He caught you ogling him and you gulped and crossed your own arms and legs, angling yourself to look out of the open window.

Sy looked over at you closing yourself off from him, then smashed the gas to make sure that you'd squeal and grab his arm like the good ol’ days as he peeled out of the parking lot, pedal so heavy like you were the two most wanted criminals in town.

—---

Hit reblog if you like it!

Next part Here

[falafelluva]

I love your work so much!

I don’t know if you take requests but if you do can you write something with Kenan who has to do his 2 year old daughter’s curly hair? 🫶🏾

; 𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐋𝐒 - 𝘬.𝘺𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘻 ✮

summary: when a nasty cold hits you, kenan is left in charge of the parenting duties— that includes taking care of your little girls wild curls.

warnings: idk, illness ig? help? tangled curly hair (very triggering)

author’s note: i do in fact take requests for now I can still write them quickly but after this week i have to focus on school bc #examyear, i love this one cs i have curly hair myself but excuse the way this is written- i myself have a mixture that ranges between 3a-3c and kind of went with what i know about my hair even tho i don’t know shizzle about curly hair care💔 also i just named her Ayla bc I don’t know how to write with those y/d/n things [sad]

The afternoon sun streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You lay in bed, bundled under a soft blanket, battling a nasty cold.

Your head throbbed, and your throat felt like sandpaper, leaving you utterly drained. You could hear the soft sounds of your two-year-old daughter, Ayla, playing in the living room, her laughter breaking through your fog of illness, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to join her anytime soon.

Kenan stepped into the room, his expression a mix of concern and determination. “Hey, love,” he said softly, checking in on you. “How are you feeling?”

You managed a weak smile. “Not great, but I’ll be okay. Just tired.”

He nodded, glancing toward the living room where Ayla was happily babbling to herself. “I have to take her out for a bit, but I don’t know what to do with her hair.”

You chuckled softly, even though it hurt. “She’ll be fine, just leave it for now.”

But Kenan shook his head, his brows furrowing. “Nein, I can’t let her go out like that.” He paused, then added, “Besides, she needs to look..not this uh… wild? people will think I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You watched him, a mix of admiration and amusement. Kenan had always been determined to be an involved dad, but when it came to Ayla’s hair, he was a bit out of his element.

“Okay, just give it a try. You can do this.”

Taking a deep breath, Kenan nodded and headed to the bathroom to gather supplies. He emerged with a small basket filled with the essentials:

an edge brush, edge control, gel, water, curling cream products, and a random wide tooth comb/denman brush. You couldn’t help but smile at how determined he looked.

“Alright, Ayla, come here, Kleine” he called out, trying to keep his voice light and playful. Ayla wandered over, her beautiful but wild curls bouncing with every step. (little one)

Kenan knelt in front of her, brushing his fingers through her hair to assess the situation.

“Alright, let’s see what we’re working with here,” he said, his tone serious as he misted her hair with water from the spray bottle.

Ayla giggled as the droplets landed on her forehead, but then she wrinkled her nose, unsure of what was happening.

“Easy, it’s just water..damn,” Kenan said softly, his tone soothing as he muttered the last word.

“We’re just going to make you look pretty.” He squirted some curly hair product into his hands, rubbing them together before working it through Ayla’s curls.

“This will help keep your hair nice and bouncy, just like how mommy does it for you” he explained, trying to channel the routine he’d always seen you do.

Next, he picked up the Denman brush, the brush glinting in the light. But as he began to gently brush through her curls, Ayla’s mood shifted.

“No, Baba! No!” she whined, shaking her head and pulling away from him.

Kenan paused, glancing at you with wide eyes. “Was mache ich falsch?” he muttered in confusion, clearly at a loss. (what am I doing wrong?)

“It’s okay, just take it slow. Maybe try using your fingers instead,” you suggested, wanting to help him navigate the moment without adding to his frustration.

“Okay, okay,” he replied, his voice still calm but edged with uncertainty. He set down the Denman brush and began to use his fingers to separate her curls gently.

With each careful tug, he began to see the way her curls twisted and spiraled, their natural shape coming to life.

“See, we can do this,” he encouraged, but Ayla still squirmed in his grip, her little face pouting.

“it’s just a little bit of..hair care,” he said, trying to keep his voice cheerful. “You’ll look even more like a princess when we’re done.”

“Baba, no!” Ayla whined again, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Ach, digga,” he murmured, trying to keep the mood light. “We can go get ice cream after this, I promise.” (oh, bro)

Her little face lit up at the mention of ice cream, but she still squirmed, trying to pull away.

Kenan watched her, biting his lip, and then he grabbed the edge brush, hoping it might give him better control over the styling process.

“Okay, let’s try something else,” he said, taking a deep breath. He gently brushed back the front curls to smooth them down and began working on her edges.

He carefully applied a small amount of edge control with his fingers, rubbing it into the baby hairs around her hairline.

“There we go,” he said, concentrating hard. He picked up the edge brush, using it to create little swoops and curves that framed her face—Ayla giggled, her curiosity piqued by the new sensation, and for a moment, the tension eased.

“Pretty, Baba?” she asked, tilting her head to the side, and Kenan felt a surge of pride.

“Very pretty,” he confirmed, a smile spreading across his face. “You’re going to be the cutest girl at the park.”

Encouraged, he continued to work on her edges, and as he styled, he found his rhythm. “See? Isn’t this fun?” he said, still maintaining the cheerful tone he knew she loved.

“Fun!” she echoed, her little hands now playing with the edge brush while he worked.

“Just a little more,” he said, carefully applying some gel to set the style in place. He lightly spritzed her hair with water again, letting the curls bounce back into their shape—with his fingers, he fluffed the curls, giving them definition and volume.

“Baba, I want to help!” Ayla exclaimed, reaching for the brush again.

“Okay, okay,” Kenan said, chuckling at her enthusiasm.

He let her take the brush, guiding her little hands to help. “Just like this, we go from the bottom to the top. Can you do that?”

Ayla nodded, her focus entirely on the task. As she brushed through her curls, Kenan felt a wave of warmth wash over him.

It wasn’t just about getting her hair done; it was about sharing this moment together.

As they both worked on Ayla’s hair, Kenan quietly reminded himself that he was doing this for her. “Wir schaffen das zusammen,” he whispered under his breath, his determination shining through. (We can do it together)

After a few more minutes of playful styling, Kenan finally finished. He leaned back, taking in the sight of his daughter’s beautifully styled curls. “There you go, all done!” he exclaimed.

Ayla turned to look in the mirror, her eyes wide with excitement. “Pretty!” she exclaimed, running her fingers through her curls.

Kenan grinned, relief flooding through him. “You look like a little princess, just like I promised.”

“Baba, I want to go!” she said, tugging at his hand, eager to head out.

“Alright, ice cream it is!” he laughed, ruffling her hair one last time before they headed toward the door.

As they stepped into the bright sunlight, you settled back into your pillows, content in the knowledge that your little family was navigating life together— Kenan pointing at you through the window, the two of them waving at you as you blow a kiss at them.

Watching Kenan hold Ayla’s hand outside, you couldn’t help but smile.

Even though you were feeling under the weather, knowing that Kenan was trying to up his game as a dad made your heart swell with pride.

The way he approached parenting, with such tenderness and determination, filled you with gratitude.

You closed your eyes for a moment, thankful for the life you were building together, one day at a time.

[em-harlsnow]

the ages of shameless characters does nothing but drive me crazy, so I'm activating some detective skills to figure them out throughout the seasons. also - im ignoring the years or times that the seasons came out, just going by what the show says.

First off: Mickey - bday is 10 August 1994

Season 1: 16, because...

he's not in it much, he doesn't speak much, but we know two things - he's a teenager and he's under 18 since he goes to juvie. He's in juvie for some part of three seasons, so I think it's safe to put him at 16.

Season 2: 16 for a bit, then 17, because....

it's now summer, and Mickey comes out of juvie. I think he turns 17 that summer, because when he goes back in, people are wearing coats more so I assume it's getting colder, so it's past august.

Season 3: 17 for half, 18 for the other half, because...

it's summer at the start, so Mickey's been in juvie for like 6/7 months. he's still 17, because he didn't go to prison at any point. by the time he marries Svetlana, I think he's 18. I don't know how old you have to be to get married in Illinois, but I'll say 18 because American laws confuse me more than anything else. either way, again, people are wearing warmer clothes around the time he marries her, so he must be 18.

Season 4: 18, because...

it's winter, the whole way through. There's no way it's the next year, since Ian is still underage according to Mickey (altho there's a possibility he meant under the drinking age of 21, but I don't think so). So Ian's been gone for a few months, maybe like 5 since it could be Jan/Feb and he must have left Autumn time. Therefore, Mickey's 18. The whole time. Summer hasn't come, so his birthday hasn't passed.

Season 5: 19, because....

it's summer for the first part. Late summer, since the last half is in wintery time based on everyone's coats. We can assume that Mickey has his birthday either between season 4 and 5 or right at the beginning of season 5. So maybe he's 18 for like 5 seconds. But for the majority and the end, he must be 19.

Season 6: 19/20, because...

he's only in it for one scene (diabolical). I can't tell what the season is really, because there aren't many coats being worn at the start, and then loads at the end. It seems unreasonable that a whole spring and summer have been skipped, doesn't it? although, maybe it's possible. There are also some days when it seems really hot and some where it looks cold, so I have no idea. I don't know what the weather's like in Chicago, sorry. So he's either 19 or 20 when we see him. Most likely 20. Either way, he went into prison when he was 19, unless the trial was really long and lasted from winter to august, which I doubt.

Season 7: 21 (when he appears), because...

we have two episodes (again, very sad). it starts in the summer based on the t-shirts without jackets everyone wears. by the time ep 10 and 11 hit, it's colder. it's hard to tell at the end, since they're at the border or approaching the border and the further south you go the hotter it gets, and it's very sunny when mickey goes across. If season 6 really is that winter and they skipped the summer (which now makes more sense), it's the following summer, going into autumn. so, august has probably passed by the time we see mickey. so he's 21 now.

Season 8: 21, 22 by the end (even tho we don't see him), because...

no mickey (rude). we can still assume his age based on the seasons and other characters. it's summer again! I'm guessing it's the year after?? since it looked like season 7 was approaching autumn? that also means Ian and Trevor were dating for around a year, and I didn't realise it was so long to be honest. anyway, if it's summer again, at some point throughout mickey turns 22 (alone, in Mexico).

Season 9: 23, because...

one scene with mickey! it's still summer, the same summer as before I think, because there's no way the Gay Jesus thing lasted a full year. it looks like it's a direct continuation from season 8. by the last ep, Ian is wearing a hat and an undershirt under the prison uniform, so it's autumn-y time. so, mickey's either already 23 when we see him, or about to turn 23. by the end, he's definitely 23.

Season 10: 23 at the start, 24 by the end, because...

it's summer when Ian comes out of prison. I'd put it at early summer, since Ian says it's been less than a year of being in prison. so at the start, mickey's still 23. by the wedding, it's 'supposed to snow', so I guess it's full on winter. so august is passed, mickey is 24, and finally had his bday when he's with Ian.

Season 11: 24 at the start, 25 at the end, because...

summer again at the start based on all the t-shirts. early summer, because by ep 10, mickey goes swimming or does something in the pool, because I'm not convinced he can swim, which you aren't gonna do in the autumn/winter, right? by the last ep, there are more coats, and it's their anniversary so it's 'supposed to snow', so it must be winter time. so he's 24 at the start, 25 at the end.

In conclusion, Mickey is way younger than he seems (im not talking about Noel, he looks the age he's meant to be, he just seems older). Also, Gallavich has been together for 9 years.

Let me know if you disagree with any of this, I think I'll do Ian next! I don't know if this was obvious to everyone else and I'm just slow, but this is gonna help me loads when I'm figuring out weather seasons and ages for fics lol.

Shameless needs to deal with its shitty timelines. It was much better at consistency in the earlier seasons.

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ Earth 42! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷  Forbidden love, mutual pining, eventual angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷  Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ Chapters are a bit rushed, sorry bout that 😭 hope u enjoy tho

Chapter 1: Behind the chain

Warning ೃ⁀➷ Profane language, underaged smoking, mention of death, horrible Spanish. Also, I don’t live in America so idrk how people talk there, so please bear with me.

FIC MASTERLIST

Next Chapter

“Hello? Yeah, I’m at practice.”

As your feet hit the ground, the chain link fence shutters from the release of your weight— a sigh escaping your lips as you pull your phone up closer to your ear. The sound of your aunt's nags echo from your phone, bellowing across the abandoned subway and overpowering even the sound of your boots hitting the damp ground. It was shrill, her voice. Like a fork being dragged down a piece of fine china. Activating the flashlight of your phone, you swiftly slip your head out of your hood, the new spot now staring back at you like an empty canvas— devoid of life and color. It’s tragic.

As you trudge down the narrow space, your senses begin to process the stench of the horror movie-like scenery. You could hear the pipes’ leaking going along with your aunt’s ongoing lecture about something you couldn’t recall— somehow distracting you from your search.

But what certainly made you uneasy was the chill.

You hated the cold. You hated the way it’d ice your feet, dry your skin, restrict your clothes, and clog your nose. Though ironically, autumn was the season you found most enjoyable. Most of the nostalgia you bore came from the sight of those scarlet leaves— the smell of pumpkin spice, your mother’s old scarves, and the earthly rich tones of orange and red. It’d been so long, though, since your last happy memory in the season.

Nowadays, the nights are just longer, and the days shorter.

Soon enough, you stop before a tall, white wall, making you gasp as though you’d just won the lottery. Only then you started bidding your farewells to your aunt, who was beyond exasperated with your hurried adieu. Shoving the gadget down your pocket, your backpack falls right off your shoulder with a small thump, eyes still glued onto the blank space.

You make your way towards one of the seats, settling down your stuff while slipping your vape out the crevices of your sleeve and taking a slow puff— the taste of peppermint flourishing through your lips and covering up the stench of whatever was rotting in the railways.

"You're early." A familiar, sarcastic growl emits from the shadows. You turn around as the light from your phone blinds him, making him wince.

“I missed you.” You playfully answered.

The familiar gleam of hazel blinks and stares right back at you, the same stoic stare narrowing from your comment.

“Sure you did.” He huffs.

In the back of your mind, the same phrase bellows.

Well, well, well. If it ain’t Miles Morales.

It was one night, two months ago, when the two of you first met. You were an utter mess, and so was he— and it just so happened that beneath all that rain, the two of you found each other at the right time, at the right place. Supposedly.

The two of you bonded in loneliness and art. It was almost poetic, especially knowing that the two of you were anything but good for each other.

But you believed that that’s what’s great about life— the reckless things, and betting whatever you have on the line, for a taste of something thrilling. Miles knew how to pull on your strings, and the idea of being understood was still new to you. Still, whenever you do find yourself in the comfort of Miles Morales, you can’t help but ask yourself:

Who will we be to each other?

How will we change each other’s lives after this?

You couldn’t quite tell if it was your gut warning you, or your anxiety just being a little shit, but you knew the time to hear the answers was drawing near. You had no idea whether the possibility mortified you or not.

One thing for certain though, was that you knew you wanted him, and you were willing to take the risk to see him over and over again.

Miles took a step closer, his height towering over you like a tree. With a single finger, he maneuvers your flashlight away from his face with a light push.

"Get that shit away from my face."

“Awe, but I wanna see that pretty face of yours.”

“Stop.”

Cat and mouse was your usual dynamic. Though you couldn’t quite pinpoint who the cat was.

He clicks his tongue, moving away from you to head over somewhere else. A few seconds later, the power suddenly lights up and brings the subway back to life. Miles stood by the power switch, staring right at you as if to examine your reaction.

You straightened your lips and raised your brows.

"Well, you should've done that sooner."

He lazily shrugged his shoulders, approaching you once more yet with more meticulous steps. "Wanted to scare ya." He cooly confessed, earning nothing but another chuckle.

"If you wanted to scare me, don’t look so pretty."

Said pretty boy furrowed his brows, making you grin wider.

"Ay, díos. You're..." For a short moment, he thinks of how to complete the sentence.

You hum. "I'm what?"

".. so fucking unbearable."

"Awe, I missed you too." You smiled in a sickly sweet way while placing a hand over your heart. That certain sort of thrill began thumping inside you again, an unfamiliar excitement that got you staring right at him mindlessly with that stupid look on your pretty face. As Miles replied with silence, you shrugged and pulled the mod up your tinted lips— blowing the smoke away from his face. Only then, you gestured it towards him.

"Want a hit?"

"Nah." He dryly replies. "That's your first step to a rehab, y'know."

A low laugh exits your lips, taking another hit while slowly walking around. "With how fucked up I am, I'm bound to end up in either jail, a rehab, or a mental institution— so," You snap your fingers. "I'm just gonna enter all three of them."

Miles looks at you, horrified.

"M’just kidding. Don't you think I look hot while doing it, though?"

He peels the horrified stare away from you, instead choosing to kneel before your backpack, unzipping the damn thing as though it were his.

"What'chu got?" He asks, a certain twang in his voice that lightened you up. You head over in less than a second, grinning stupidly like a little kid in search of favor. You pull the plastic bag out of your backpack, waving it over his face.

"Only the best for you." You wink. "I just kindly borrowed these from my school's art club."

Receiving the bag from your grasps, Miles pulls out the newly bought spray paints. He furrows his brows at the sight of the bold fifteens printed on the bottom of each bottle, a tag left as if to brag. "Kindly borrowed, huh?" He skims over the bottle, evidently impressed. "Fifteen dollars per bottle? That’s a whole heist right there.”

“I literally just snatched it off the cabinet.”

“You must go to some rich kid’s school or sum. You even look the part.”

He gestures over your well-kept appearance. Your clean boots, pressed jeans, freshly done nails, and fragrant hoodie.

And yet you continued to look at him like he was the crazy one.

"... Miles, it’s called neatness. A basic trait." You stand up, stretching your arms above your head, the ache in your bones subtly easing. "If I did have the money, my art would be in an exhibition, not in an abandoned subway."

He pursed his lips, somewhat convinced. "Touché."

As he unpacks the paints, you stay beside him, watching as he goes through the colors and lines them up in order. You shove your hands down the pockets of your hoodie, humming.

"So what'll you be drawing tonight?"

"I ain’t really sure yet… The Subway logo, maybe." He shrugs, an exhausted groan rolling off his tongue as he stands up. "… I ain't got shit. I'm drained."

"Then why'd you come here?"

"Felt bad for ya."

You smirk. "So you did miss me."

He takes a step back, turning his head the other way. "I sure do find your delusional ass amusing." He mumbled, trying to hide the anxiety gnawing at his throat. You hardly notice it, as you were too busy staring at the empty wall, but Miles was uneasy. Uneasy in a way that he was desperate to hide it.

"At least I’ve got an ass." You airily snap back, silence following like an awkward stench. "Did you bring your sketchbook with you, by the way?"

He then proceeds to go through his jacket, eyes widening from the realization. "Ah, shit. I did... Not."

"Awe." You blandly answered, pulling out your own from the pocket of your bag. It was small, convenient, almost like a notepad. "Well, I've got mine here." You toss it over, which he successfully catches. "They're not exactly as good as yours, but you can skim through the pages to find some inspiration."

The pages spin from the flip of his fingers. Tens of concept art, a few unfinished sketches, and some dabbling in watercolor appeared before him in a flash. As he goes through the pages, you take the moment to have a momentary smoke, straying not so far away just so he wouldn't inhale any of it. The nicotine eased you as it normally did, though now that you were looking at this pretty boy before you, you couldn't help but ponder about quitting. Just for him. Just for the sake of him.

Though the feeling the nicotine often brought you was addicting, his presence hit you harder than any other drug, affecting your system in a way that made your stomach whirl. He was like your favorite cup of coffee— the strongest coffee to ever linger in your presence. Strong enough to appear on a drug test.

It was damning.

Dangerous even.

As the page flips again, Miles freezes at the sight. You take the gadget away from your lips, approaching him immediately as he huffs.

"... Huh."

Bursting in neons of magenta and violet was the sketch you made of a certain vigilante.

"Oh, don’t mind that." You mumble. "That's just some random sketch."

He brings the paper closer to his sights, marveling at your talent. The markers and the ink, mirroring the image of a cat on the run. His pretty lips part, mouth hanging agape as he asks. "You know this guy?"

A hero of the streets, some sort of final pillar carrying the weight of New York's safety on his broad shoulders.

"Well, I've seen him— Prowler, from the news. I thought he looked pretty cool."

Prowler, a name all too familiar to you. How could you not know he was? A man hiding behind an iron mask, a digital purple hologram over the metals, making his silhouette mirror a panther’s. The man was all your father recently growled about, the memory of the heavy morning still engraved into your mind. You can almost sketch it out— The stench of his tobacco, the shrill of his angered voice, and the image of your poor housekeeper silently brushing some broken shards into the dustpan. You remember sitting by the dining table, solemnly choking on your breakfast as you forcibly shoved it down your throat.

Eyes downcast and hands shaking.

"You think he's cool?" Miles' voice tears you apart from the memory. He sounded almost elated, like a child in search of praise.

"Yeah, I'd always wanted to be a vigilante, fuck—" The vape rolls off your tongue unconsciously. "Like, my life is so damn boring, but at the same time, I've got too many responsibilities to handle so I can't do the things I like. But hey, that's life, I guess."

"If you've got too many responsibilities, then what the hell are you doing here? It's like midnight r'now, damn."

"I kinda told my aunt I had practice for band."

"You're in a band?"

"…. No." You deadpan. "That's the reason why I'm here, man."

He snapped the sketchbook shut, sighing as he plucked out the red and purple spray paints from the line. "God, you'd be one hell of a headache if I ever had a kid like you."

"Woah, slow down, sweetie, you're already talking about kids and you haven't even taken me out to dinner yet." You tease, teeth nibbling onto your lower lip as you watch him crumble. He straightens his lips, forcefully holding back a smile.

"… Shut that mouth for me, would ya?" He shot back. "Just shut up."

"Oo, make me."

He pops the lid off the red paint, the sound of a nickel ball being shaken up in a metal can soon following. Without even an ounce of hesitation, he curtly sprays the paint over your sleeve, earning a gasp from you. You quickly snatch the neon pink can and start spraying back, the chemical smell wafting over your nostrils as the sound of your giggles echoed down the halls. A minute later and the both of you began drawing your new piece while being drenched in paint.

"Hey, pretty boy.”

Miles instinctively turns to look at you, as though he prided himself in the nickname.

"I need to do the top part, can you boost me?" You ask, voice muffled from the towel pulled over your nose.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, but he agreed without making a sound.

He kneels, tapping on his thigh, gesturing you to take your step. Taking off your shoes, you cautiously climb over, feeling his hands brush against your calves, almost as if he was readying his stance to catch you just in case you fall. Initially, the pose seemed to be serving you well, but when your ankles started shivering, your hand latched onto his head, gripping gently in panic. Miles, who was, of course, caught off guard, began shaking. You finally took a step down.

"Fuck." You whispered. "Can you do it?"

"Hol' on."

"I think you just need to like, tiptoe a bit and—"

"Be patient."

And you did just that.

He stretches out his toes in an attempt to reach for the top, but he fails miserably. Miles then turned to you, bearing the pout of a frustrated child.

"... Ya already know what to do, right?"

"Mm, yeah."

An irrational thought crosses his mind, and it battles against his rationality like a civil war within the confines of his head. A second later, his lone finger signals you to come closer. You do so, and he looks up at the unfinished crown.

"I'm gonna carry you, a'ight?"

"What?" You blurt out. "Y-You don't have to—"

"Just balance yourself." He skips past your rant. "And you better do it well."

Before you could even intervene, he's down and offering you his shoulder. Hesitantly, you position yourself. Looking over at you, Miles skims over your face in search of approval. When your hand shakily makes its way over his other arm, Miles cautiously wraps his palm over the side of your knee, hoisting you up like a trophy he’d just won.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Y-yeah. Just— yeah." You stumble over your words, raising your hand over to start painting.

You could feel it tingling in your bones. Skin deep, rotting within the confines of your flesh, insecurity at its highest peak. And it shut you up. Miraculously, as Miles would say it. Your weight, your body, your own figure frightened you. It would be a lie for Miles to claim that he hasn’t noticed. But he stood tall, hardly showing an ounce of any struggle— which comforted somehow.

He was pretty strong, stronger than you first thought.

As you painted, Miles stood there in silence. Trying his best to focus on his breathing.

But the softness of your palm atop his shoulder, and the growing warmth of his own over your waist. Miles desperately tried to ignore growing warmth burning his cheeks. He resisted the urge to dig into the softness of your waist, and yet it remained like a taunt— allowing only his nails to grip over your shirt, the thin barrier over your skin. It seemed almost vulgar, how his hand was beneath your hoodie, gripping as though you were his favorite plush. How his wrist was pressed against the curve of your hip. Then and there, within the span of five minutes, the silhouette of your body was forever engraved into his senses, his mind, and his touch.

But no one spoke of it.

"... You done?" He groaned.

"In a bit, hol' on."

You thought he'd start complaining about your weight, but he didn't.

You were somewhat relieved, but at the same time, it flustered you.

And when the little scene ended, you and Miles stood there, backs pressed against the wall as you stared at your new masterpiece. You looked over the chemical stains on your sleeves, glancing at him. "This jacket's pretty expensive, y'know. It cost me like fifteen grand."

His face twisted in disgust. "You'd buy a jacket like that? In this economy?”

"It's a capitalist world we live in."

"No shit."

The two of you share a small laugh, evidently exhausted from the whole art process. It wasn't all that much, but it was based on one of your many doodles during class. The cursive that spelled out Stay Out was painted in an intimidating shade of red, its borders tainted in white and black— a crown of thorns resting above the text. It seemed like a warning, an open threat. Crafted by frustration, but upon its finish, you were eased.

"Next time, we should do something that says 'Eat the rich' or 'Vive la revolución.'" Miles suddenly suggested, jazzing his fingers comedically. You click your tongue. "We might get shot, man.”

“With all that smoking you do, you’ll wither away before the bullet even manages to get you.”

You raised your brows. “Okay, and?”

Miles scoffs at your ridiculous reply, but for a moment he thinks about it— some sort of plan in his mind. Sooner or later, he soon gently raises his palm without a word. You stare at his hand confusingly, “What?” you then asked of him. The boy then gestured over his lips with his fingers shaped like a v, imitating the act of smoking. “Lemme try, at least once.”

“… You’re kidding.”

“I’m being for real, ma, just let me try it once.”

You think about rejecting his request, but the curiosity had you fishing out your e-cigarette in less than a second.

“Okay, but if you die, I’m not paying for your damn ambulance bill.”

“Just uber me to the damn hospital.”

Miles then looks at it, glaring holes into the pen-shaped gadget as though he were waiting for it to speak. After considerably taking his time, he plucks it out your palm and starts a slow sip, the collision of the nicotine and the flavor flooding his tongue as the smoke enters his system. When the heat creeps in, however, he bursts out into a coughing fit.

You snatch the gadget away from his grasp as he groans.

“Careful.”

"What the fUCK—, ain't that s'pposed to calm you down?—" He slams his hand against the center of chest in an attempt to ease his lungs.

"… Did you fucking swallow the smoke or what?" You sigh while taking a sip, the smoke smoothly exiting your lips.

"... You know what? You are definitely gonna die early."

"Oh, darling, don't threaten me with a good time."

“Pu—” He coughs a few more times. “Puta, I almost died there.”

You take your palm and began rubbing small circles behind his back. “You shouldn’t do the shit I do, even if I look hot doing it.”

“Ain’t nobody told you that.”

“… Why’d you wanna smoke anyway?”

“I just wanted to know why you keep doing that.” He groans, staring at the pen in your fingers. “I mean— it’s unhealthy as fuck, hardly tastes good, and it’ll kill you the ugliest way possible. So why do it?”

You lower the pen as though your long-lost conscience re-entered your body.. “… I don’t know really.” You mumbled half-heartedly. “I think it’s what calms me down the most…? I don’t know.”

“… You don’t have, like, normal hobbies?”

“The fuck— of course, I do.” You swiftly shot back. “I just don’t have the time to do them.”

“Then what do you do at home?”

You blink.

“What— What do I do at home?” You repeat, thinking of it to yourself. “That’s a good question, what do I do at home?… I do chores, I study a lot. I-I take care the house.” Take care of the house? Yeah, shit I ain’t Mirabel Madrigal. As your mind short circuits, from a mile away, you could already guess his reply.

“I do that too, dumbass.”

You click your tongue. “.. It’s complicated. The time I usually have for myself is when I’m outside, that’s why I lied that I took up band for extra credit.”

You smoothed out the details of your life, picking out a few small details that were definitely not all that important.

"Is that why you're here?"

"Yeah.”

The boy curved his lips into a slight frown.

“I mean,” You shift closer, sighing as you palm the back your neck. “Sometimes, places like these are better than my own home."

"Places like an abandoned subway?"

“You make it sound like I’m homeless.”

“That’s what it sounds to me.”

"... It’s just.." You run your fingers through your hair, eyes glued onto the ceiling above. "I feel more at home in an abandoned subway more than my own house.”

Miles hummed. "… I'd always thought home would be more of a person," He tilts his head. "Rather than a place."

The silence was deafening, but this time, nothing was urging you to fix it— because there was nothing in need of fixing. You were comfortable, weirdly enough, as you never really found comfort in utter silence.

“It’d be nice to be.. Someone’s home.” You couldn’t help but utter those cheesy words. “I think I’d make a great home.”

Miles fiddled with the hem of his hoodie, holding back the words that echoed in his mind.

Yeah, you’re doing great.

Instead, what slips out of his mouth was: “How the fuck are you gon’ be a home? You’re a whole haunted house.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You roll your eyes. “If I’m a haunted house, you’re a rental where all the drive-by shootings happen.”

“Okay, what the fuck.”

“When you go low, I go LOWER.”

In the end, the two of you simply bursted into laughter, sinking down to the floor to take a seat. Another hour passed and so did a hundred topics. They flew by like the autumn leaves, leaving the both of you unconsciously huddling close for warmth beneath the large scarf you brought. Two birds of one feather, one nest. Easy conversations, light laughs, and genuine interest.

Even when the conversation grew darker, the two of you infinitely felt cosy enough to confide in one another. Especially when Miles spoke about his father.

You listened well, yet there was this ball stuck in your throat that you couldn’t quite swallow. A heaviness in your heart, a stiff feeling in your throat. However, your ears were welcoming. His tone was grieving, but his words resonated with acceptance.

"He used to drive me every morning to school... We'd fight over the pettiest things, and god, I hated it, but looking back, it was better then." He buried half his head into his arms. "I'd rather have him annoying me than have him not annoying me at all."

The words hit you like a truck, leaving you defenseless. In a moment, your walls crumble as these words crawl out your mouth. "... Sometimes, when we're with someone, you can't help but wish they'd leave you alone, but when they're gone, only then you'll realize how much you can't live without them."

Though your words were meant for Miles, you knew damn well that they were also for you.

"... There's some truth to that, I guess."

"Does that mean that you'd miss me when I'm gone?" You tease.

Your gentle gazes collide, and eventually, you see that Miles had softened entirely.

"... Maybe."

“.. Maybe?” You repeat his reply. “.. Should I annoy you more then?”

“You’re annoying enough as you are.” He huffs, pulling his knees to his chest. “I hate you so much.”

“Sure you do.”

You lean against his shoulder. “Hate me all you want. I’ll pretend to believe you.”

A light chuckle emits from his lips, but as it fades, he turns his head, burying his nose in the scent of your hair. You were fragrant, and it was addicting. Slowly, he shuts his eyes and basks in your scent.

Then he called out your name softly.

You hum, looking up at him— the inches between you closing in, cold breaths like white smoke intertwining. His cold fingers dance atop your own.

“What?” You whisper.

His lids were heavy, gaze switching between the pool of your eyes and the plush of your lips.

Then and there, you knew.

But something screamed at you in the back of your mind.

We can’t.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

And you pulled away before your lips could even meet.

"Shit." You cuss, clumsily pulling the phone out of your pockets. Your hands frantically scramble to answer the call, the look of Miles' defeated stare stinging the corner of your eye. "Hello?" You began, hearing the chauffeur's voice ask back. "Ma'am, where are you?"

Your fingers press the side of your phone, lowering the volume.

“We're currently clearing up the room right now. Can you please wait about thirty more minutes? Thanks."

As the call ends, you frantically head off to start cleaning up. Trying to evade whatever had just happened— at least, you try to. It invaded your mind and heart, left you breathless and unsteady.

You and Miles began picking up the bottles, shoving it inside the plastic. You then flung the strap of your backpack onto your shoulder, holding the plastic out to him. "You can have it."

Confusion was scribbled all over his face.

"Didn't you steal that from your school's art club?”

You look up, thinking about it for a moment before shrugging. "It’s their problem, not ours." You grin.

Miles shakes his head in feigned disapproval. "Tsk tsk tsk, eres una chica tan mala."

"Don't start, the only Spanish I know's from Dora."

"Que?"

"Queso."

You shove the plastic into his arms. "No hablo Español, lo siento." Was all you managed to form out of the past few weeks you started learning Spanish. You threw a hand in the air, waving him a fast farewell while pivoting your heel to leave.

“Can’t I walk you home?” A suggestion, and not a demand for the first time, Miles insists “It’s dark as fuck outside, and you might get.. Y’know.”

For a moment, you pause to laugh.

“Are you worried about me?”

He nods. “I am.”

“I— wait, what?”

He took a step further. “I am worried about you. It’s ten o’clock. I think I should take you home.”

Miles looked at you in a way you’ve never seen before. It was unfamiliar, or maybe you just weren’t good at paying attention, yet now that it was materializing before you— It overwhelmed you.

It was breaking you open.

You bite your lower lip, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“… I-I don’t know, I don’t think my dad would like that very much.”

“And I’m sure your dad wouldn’t like the idea of his lil’ girl getting hurt.”

There he goes again, towering over you, his cocky eyes never once leaving your face. Lil’ girl my ass, you can’t help but think. I’m tall, asshole. You just so happened to be taller.

“I’ll walk you home.” He reiterates. Now it’s an announcement, not a proposal. “You can tell me to leave when we’re near. I just need to make sure you’re okay.”

“… Miles,” The way his name rolls off your tongue had him weak, and you couldn’t even tell. “.. Okay, fine— But, only up until the Gristedes down the block. Until then, you go home, alright?”

Your voice was too soft, too mellow. It made his breath hitch, made his neck tense in this already cold weather.

“Aight.”

[adventuringblind]

Chin Up, Princess (2k words)

Max Verstappen x Reader

Genre: Ghoulverse Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Jos oversteps and causes a whole lot of hurt for Max and his mate, he takes things into his own hands and ends up resorting to extreme measures in order to save his lover. (Background Landoscar, Charlos, and Sewis)

Warnings: Mind control, talks of eating people and mentions of gore but nothing explicit, ghoul on ghoul violence, burning of a character, major character death (not a good guy tho), ED but like... also not an ED, soulbonds

Notes: Ironically the most tame ghoulverse fic I've done thus far. Thank you to🏍️for the amazing idea!!

Side Note: Feed my praise kink please?

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

It’s raining again. The kind of rain Monaco doesn’t see often. The torrential downpour that keeps everyone hidden away inside to keep warm. 

She watches the water droplets race down the window, wondering which one will hit the edge first. It’s not productive, but she needs something to distract her from the ache in her bones. The hunger pains have gotten progressively worse over the last three weeks. Still, she’s finding ways to cope. She has to manage; the pain is what’s keeping her sane. 

 It’s nice being home and hidden behind the water covered window. It means she’s free to drop the human look. All horns and tail, long tongue and sharp teeth, dark eyes and pointed ears. It’s natural - or it used to be. 

It doesn’t quite feel like her anymore. Like somehow everything that had once been a part of her is now irritating. Her horns are heavy and her tail refuses to be anywhere but the ground. All because his words sit in her head and bounce around the cavity in her chest. 

He changed her. 

~~~♡~~~

A month ago, she ran into Jos in the paddock. Even though she doesn’t like the guy, he’s still technically her king - and Max’s dad - so her father in law in a way. Max had mated with her (a heavenly feeling) but had done so without the consent of his father. 

Jos doesn’t like her one bit. Which she doesn’t care about. If Max is the prince of the demons and set to take up leadership at some point, that makes her a princess. They both dislike each other but in the essence of keeping things civil, she makes it work. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here today!” She nodded her head to show respect. Opting for that instead of bowing to this man in broad daylight. 

“I wish I hadn’t seen you at all!” Well - fuck you too - she supposes. She’d fallen into step beside him as they made their way to the Redbull garage. 

She nearly crashes into him when he stops abruptly. He grabs hold of her bicep and drags her down some alleyway between buildings. She goes with compliance, hell only knows what this man can and will do to her. 

Her back hits the wall with a disorienting force. “You’re not enough for us.” 

“I think you mean for you.” 

Jos hisses close enough to her face that she can feel his saliva hitting her. “The council decided you’re not one of us-'' He grabs her chin and she watches as his eyes fade to that deep dark color that usually means something bad is about to happen.

“You will not eat. You are not one of us. Am I clear?” 

She snaps at him. Her attempt at fighting his hold is futile. Not when the damn demon king is trying to hypnotize her. “No!” 

He clamps a hand over her mouth and pulls a lighter out of his pocket. The open flame hovers just above the healed over scar on her clavicle. She shakes, desperate to get away from the heat. “You will not eat. You are not a ghoul. You are not one of us.”

It’s a hypnotic tone that seeps through her ears and floods her veins. The heat of the flame no longer her one weakness as her mind submits itself to the will of her king. 

~~~♡~~~

Her jaw snapped shut. Her vocal chords refused to work. Her throat constricts around liquids. Her teeth become glued to each other each time she tries to bite down into something of nutrients. 

A month of this torture and she can feel herself getting progressively more ravenous. Slowly they’ve exhausted all of their options. No matter how desperately she tries, she can’t get any substance into her. 

Max’s reflection appears in the window. A frown etched upon lips. It doesn’t suit him; Max was made to smile. She likes being the one to cause it. These days it feels like all he’s doing is trying to ease her slow and painful death. 

He sits opposite of her and heaves out a gust of warm air on the window. His pointer finger paints a simple picture of a stick figure. It’s - objectively - a terrible drawing, but it serves its purpose and makes her laugh. 

“I’m scared, Max.”

“I know, schat.” 

They continue to stare out the window. The bond doing the talking for them, passing their emotions back and forth. He can feel her pain and she can feel his inner rage. 

Humans don’t understand. Maybe they never will. They fear those who are different. Think this way and do this thing or you're a monster. Certainly not all of them. Lando and Charles are prime examples of this. Still - surviving amongst them gets harder each day. 

“I know what you want to do.” She turns towards him. Unbidden in the comfort of their own home. His tail flicks in uncertainty. A habit he picked up from Sebastian. “I don’t want you to regret it.” 

“It’s inevitable. Just earlier than planned.” He won’t meet her gaze. “I can’t watch you suffer when I can stop it.” 

“You have always been the chivalrous type.”

Max slides closer to her. His thumb comes to the underside of her chin and pushes it upward. Her eyes have nowhere else to go, forced to get lost in his. A never-ending sea of endless dark that she’d willingly drown in. 

“Chin up, love. There is going to be a crown on your head soon. I’d hate to see it hit the ground.”

~~~♡~~~

She hates not being able to go inside. She understands why she can’t though. She already has the weight of one hypnosis spell weighing her down; she’s more susceptible to another. 

Still, waiting is nerve wracking. The sound of familiar roars fill her ears. Occasionally wincing when she feels Max’s pain. Mild compared to what it is for him. 

Lando and Charles are sitting on the ground with her. Their mates are inside with Max, along with Lewis and Sebastian. She attempts to hold close to the bonds of their tribe. They’ve been planning this for the last couple of weeks. Every hole is plastered with flexi tape. 

“Relax, chéri. They are fine.” 

She won’t open her mouth to mutter a thanks. Not when she’s already salivating and can smell exactly where their pulse points are. Not when she can hear the steady rhythm of their hearts. 

No, she can’t eat, but she’d also rather not risk it. 

“Do we have to bow to you after this whole ordeal is over?” Lando looks at her with a curious expression. “Cause like - Oscar doesn’t bend like that.”

Both her and Charles gape and the odd statement. Lando looks like he’s just stated the weather on an average Monday morning. 

“Lando, are you sure it’s not you who doesn’t bend like that?”

“I think I know how I can bend mate! How do you think we broke the table-“

Charles grimaces, his nose scrunching up and cheeks turning red. “Bleh! I don’t need to know how Oscar bends you.” 

“You asked!”

“And now I regret it…”

Another roar bellows into the night sky. It’s loud and painful. She looks to the boys beside her for confirmation that it’s not Oscar or Carlos. They nod at her, leaving only three options. 

She bolts inside. 

The roars turn to whines. The fire rages over the body of Jos Verstappen. Max has sunk to his knees, the sunset hues of the flames reflect in his eyes and illuminate the tear tracks on his cheeks. 

She falls beside him. Panicked hands search for any possible wounds; any burns in need of immediate attention. Max is crying as she does so, but he’s smiling at the same time. There are a million emotions running through the room. The large flames a mercy to the now deceased king. 

A fallen king lay before them. His body burned to ashes. They watch as he is devoured by the fire. The silence is deafening. The only noise being the roar of the flames. An irony that doesn’t go unnoticed. To feel serene with the one thing that would surely kill her if the starvation doesn’t first. 

Max is the first to approach the pile of ashes on the ground. He creeps up to it like they might reanimate. Like they might take back what they once had and reestablish their hold on her mind with no chance at her escape. 

Sebastian meets Max in the middle. He scoops handfuls of the ash and decorates Max’s skin. The Dutch looks miserable when Sebastian dumps a handful into Max’s own cupped hands. 

“Do I have too?”

“Do you want your fathers powers?” 

He groans, but doesn’t wait any longer. He tries to be serious, but there is an element of humor here despite the situation. 

“Does this mean Max is a cannibal now?!” She supposes Lando is trying to whisper, but the building they are in echoes. He chokes when he hears it. 

“Lando! I am trying to eat my father!” 

“So you are a cannibal!” 

Oscar slaps a hand over his mate's mouth. Briefly, a look of disgust flashes across his face. “If you  really think licking me will work, you are mistaken.” Muffled sounds from underneath Oscar’s hand escape, but nobody understands. 

Max is finally able to choke down the ashes of his father. Certainly not the most conventional of coronations, but she can’t picture it any other way. 

“Never thought I’d see the day where we were dropping to our knees for this guy.” Carlos chuckles from somewhere beside her as they close in on the new king. 

Not a prince anymore - a king. 

It suits him more, she thinks. Standing tall in front of his tribe, still laughing at Lando and Oscar and their odd positioning. At Carlos and his playful pride as he kneels. He exchanges a smile with Charles after years of rivalry now comes a shared respect. He turns endearingly to Sebastian and Lewis looking at him like proud parents. 

Then to her. She’s on the ground, her knees bruised already. Max pulls her up into his arms. He brings his hands to her jaw and once again she drifts into the calm of his endless eyes. 

Soft fingers massage her jaw. The one that aches with a desperate need for something she hasn’t had in so long. He’s gentle with her, like an antique porcelain doll that might break if he applies too much pressure. 

“You are worthy of every good thing. You are one of us, just as you always have been and you are deserving of your life.” 

The cement that had been fire in her veins vanishes as he speaks. Max keeps talking, but she’s too lost in the relief from these heavy feelings - the euphoria of knowing she belongs again. The cavern of her chest is beating with words of comfort. 

Her horns don’t feel like extra weights and her tail finds Max’s with immediate ease. They intertwine like they had before. 

“You are here and loved. You have a place with us.” He tilts her chin upward like he’s done since they mated. “Chin up, your highness, you’re a queen now.” 

~~~♡~~~

Sated. 

Her body aches from a full belly instead of the hunger pains. As does the rest of their tribe, she presumes. 

Max keeps getting phone calls… and he keeps ignoring them. Instead opting to keep his attention focussed on his tribe. His love for them - for her - is radiating through his every move. 

“I think King Max sounds good on you.” She flashes her teeth at him. The others are either chatting, or if you’re Oscar then you’re using Lando as a blanket and sleeping. They are paying no attention to them. 

“You think? I’d always resented it.” 

“You’re going to change things, Max. That’s not something to resent.” They hook tails again, a comfort she’d missed dearly. “Plus, you’re stuck with me now since you saved my life. I’m going to be the most demanding queen.” She waves her hand around for dramatic flair. 

“Oh yeah? How so?” 

“First I’m going to demand that you cuddle me - and I’ll figure out the rest later!” 

“As you wish, your highness.” 

[the-exiled-comic]

Is Crowstar really that bad? She killed an apprentice (on accident, while she was also young, if I remember correctly?), a scary tyrannical leader, a weird religious zealot and co. (who all seem pretty antagonistic), and… is blunt? Maybe I’m just desensitized to fictional murder (esp with these cats having a sick afterlife), but she seemed to do most of it in contexts where I can see her point (ex. Defending Fallen in battle, scary leadership, defense). The only part I can really see crowstar being a bad person in bold letters is when she attacks Dapplestar for revenge, but even then.. she has a reason. She believes TreeClan killed her respected friend and deputy, and is lying about it. Idk sorry if this comes across as somebody having to hold my hand that “murder lady is bad”, but in this fictional setting, her actions makes sense

short answer to this is just she likes murdering and murdering is bad. she holds little to no remorse over her actions, really only being somewhat regretful about the things that make her son upset

i dont think Crowstar is morally bankrupt as say, someone like Autumnstar, but a lot of her intentions are in the wrong place. She is also quite unapologetic about her crimes.

a long answer is... complicated. on a scale of evil characters i would put Crowstar on a similar ranking to Sandywing and Emberpelt, those two never killed anyone but they make up for it in other ways. Sandywing I would be tempted to rank more evil than Crowstar but truth be told she only feels like the most evil character because she actively is tormenting the POV character (which I'll come back to this pov mention in a minute) you are right that murder in cat-land is quite a bit different than murder in the real life world, but its more about why they did it how i would personally rank evilness within the comic is like, what their feelings/intent/goals are and also how much influence their actions have and how well the rest of the cats can recover from it.

So Autumnstar would be hands down the most evil cat as he is responsible for (directly and indirectly) responsible for a lot damage that the clans are still undoing. Crowstar, his protege, is not helping it be undone. She's still promoting both tyranny within Oceanclan and aggravation/violence against Treeclan, even though Dapplestar has clearly expressed multiple times they don't want to do this anymore.

Things Crowstar has done to keep this cycle of violence going are killing 4 clanmates as her first act as leader (rebellion is complicated but for the sake of the post I'm adding it because it wasn't clean cut self defense. there were choices, killing them was a conscious choice), smacking and manslaughtering a kid, antagonizing her clanmates, not stopping the fights between coralclaw and sandywing, not giving fishpaw a warrior name, killing dapplestar over a hunch that someone in treeclan killed cloverfall, hitting sandywing for insulting her ego.

I think she would appear a lot more evil if the POV was from Firespots, or even Whisperleaf, as she specifically targets the both of them. She appears to be not as bad because she stopped directly digging at Fishwhisker and seems to be mostly on her side now. She dislikes the same cats that we dislike (Sandywing, Emberpelt, Firespots) and has been trying to turn over a new leaf for the last several chapters. Granted that's pretty much only because her son is going to have to clean up anything that she doesn't clean up if Firespots does succeed in his plans to kill her. I'm very slowly making a prequel comic that explores some perspectives from this generation, doing to comics at once is hard tho lol. So it'll be seen eventually

[newworldwritings]

If Only (preview)

paring: San x chubby!reader

genre/warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive, second chance, time travel/new universe (1950s), mentions of car accidents, female reader, featuring all of ateez (greaser ateez), featuring some of the nct & stray kids boys, smoking, motorcycles, fuckboy activities, lowercase intended, insecurities, body shaming, we hate hyerin, san being oblivious in flashbacks, yunho being an absolute golden retriever, wooyoung is a bit of an ass (sorry, don’t worry tho he gets a character development) will mainly be in sans pov but will switch from other perspectives, any bold & italic words are what the characters are actually thinking

word count: 1k+

pls reblog!

taglist: open! just comment to be added!

a/n: I had a dream of this (not with the members) & I wanted to write it out, also got a bit inspired by “Marry My Husband” but it’s a completely different plot.

preview:

“san i can’t be letting you back in every time things go sideways with her, i'm done being the second choice.”

“i’m done. goodbye san.”

those were the last words L/N Y/N had told me after i chased after her out of the school, and being the idiot i was i just stood there watching her walk away from me towards yunho, one of my best mates. since when did they become close? but those were the last of my worries. i had just lost my childhood best friend because i was too blinded to show this school i was the best at everything by going after the most sought out girl of the school hyerin. when i should’ve gone for y/n. she always stood by my side, never once showed me disloyalty, and always picked me up anytime hyerin shooed me off for her other boy toys. she never once judged me for my ways and i took her kindness and love for granted.

now im left here alone with no hyerin in sight, probably making out with jaehyun, and my mates are probably having the time of their life’s at the dance with no clue that i had lost y/n.

while watching her enter yunho's car my mind was yelling at me to go after her. but i couldn’t, i had been selfish for too long. i knew she needed me to let her go so she could move on.

but that also meant i had to move on but how could i move on with life when i had lost the best thing that i could ever have in life.

watching yunho's car pull out the parking lot, i decided that one last time i wanted to be selfish. so i chased after the car. not noticing how i ended up on the main road, not noticing how a car was coming towards me until it hit me.

i flew back and laid on the road while looking at the night sky, i wanted to scream at the universe for doing this to me. when in reality i should’ve been yelling at myself for being stupid, and oblivious.

the pain from the impact of the car started invading my whole body. it hurts. everything. mentally and physically.

i closed my eyes hoping someone or something would come and take this pain away from me. not just from the impact but from my heart as well.

i heard sirens and people rushing towards me, but i also heard someone saying my name over and over again. but i couldn’t open my eyes. until someone shook my body forcefully.

then i got up like i had just woken up from a nap. looking around trying to find out who was shaking me rather than helping me. then i noticed i wasn’t on the road, it wasn’t night time, and there was no car.

rather i was on a field under a tree next to a building that looked like our university. what the fuck.

“san!”

i looked forward to the person in front of me calling me.

“y/n?” but this was not my y/n i could tell from the very different clothes she was wearing and her hairstyle was completely different. it seemed like a hairstyle that would be done in the 1950s.

“come on, we’re gonna be late!” she pulled me up and started fixing my leather jacket. wait when was i wearing this. where am i?!

while I was lost in my thoughts i heard a group of people calling me towards the entrance of the school. wait is that?

“come on san we don’t want to get yelled at by Ms. Lisa again hurry up!” hongjoong?

it was all my friends, but it wasn’t at the same time? since when did we all start wearing matching leather jackets? but before i can question anyone y/n pulled me towards them.

“lover boy is gonna miss his chance to talk to hyerin before class.” i turned too wooyoung, who was snickering, but i was too focused on his appearance. he didn’t have his oreo hair as he liked to call it, his hair was all black with an undercut. when did he have time to do that? before i could turn to y/n to ask her what’s going on i was being pushed towards the door, following the rest of the boys, while i had time to look around the area i looked at the backs of my mates and some of there side profiles. they all had their hairs gelled back, even jongho who preferred the boyfriend style. what stood out to me the most was the leather jackets we were all wearing had ‘ATEEZ’ in big white letters with 3 motorcycles below it. they all look like they had just came out a greaser movie with this style they all had. wait… y/ns style of clothing along with my mates. am i in a different timeline..? no that can’t be.

to further prove my theory, i turned to y/n.

“y/n, what’s the date?” she looked at me weirdly.

“it’s march 29?” she said as if it was the most obvious answer. “no, what year are we in?”

“san are you ok? did you hit your head? you’re acting really weird”

“who’s acting weird?” wooyoung turned around to look at us. “san, he’s asking what year we’re in.”

wooyoung only chuckled, “he's probably just nervous because hyerin is going out with him this weekend, san it’s 1955 you bimbo. now loosen up don’t want to scare hyerin off.”

i stopped in my place. “it’s 1955!?” everyone turned to me. “aye san you sure you good?” i turned to yunho with a look that screams ‘do i look good to you?’

“oooookaayy, i’m gonna take this one to Lee before class, we will catch up to you guys later.” y/n waved to everyone while pushing me towards a different door.

what the actual fuck is going on.

[itskattkm]

New York New Rules Pt. 8

Warnings: Violence, Trauma, Fluff, maybe Smut, mental health, blood

Summary: Y/N meets the survivors of the last events in Woodsborrow and gets on Ghostface's list. But there is also a darkness in Y/N wich path is she going to choose

Female Y/N x Tara Carpenter

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

A/N: as promised the new chapter. I’m sorry it turned out pretty short. Even tho I have the plot and ending and everything already planned I felt some writers Block at this part of the story. I hope you guys can still enjoy. And I try my best in the next chapter. But I can’t tell when it comes out. Maybe I find some motivation and time over the holidays soon. Love - Kat

Sam POV

I made a last pull on my cigarette before Danny came to me and tried to comfort me. I dropped the cigarette and extinguished it with my boot. "someone took our knives..." I started and played the situation in the kitchen in my head again and again. I had often felt betrayed but that moment... was one of the highlites. "I don't know who to trust" I whispered and Danny gave me a gentle kiss on the forehead "then don't trust anyone. Not them, not me Sam" one last time I looked in his eyes before he left. Now that my view was clear, my eyes fell on Tara and Mindy who were sitting in the back of the ambulance. But they were not alone. Y/N... what was she looking for here? She should be in the hospital. I watched her calmly. Her forearm was still bandaged, just like Taras back then. So of course she could leave the hospital if she wanted to. Mindy reluctantly hugged her and in the way Y/N held Mindy I could see that she probably needed this hug more than Mindy herself. Her eyes were slightly reddish when she wanted to check on Anika but she had been driven ti the hospital already.

"She said anything?" I asked when I noticed Tara next to me and we watched Y/N together. Seriously and with a cool tone, she said "In fact, I texted her about what happened, but she was surprisingly fast here... maybe she came here with Kirby" slowly I turned to Tara and looked at her without emotion when I whispered "there was second ghostface... but he had helped Anika" Tara tried not to show any reaction so that no one would notice it, but her eyes widened "I also saw a second ghostface, I wanted to go back to the apartment and met him. But he didn't seem to care about me and he didn't want to let me into the apartment" what? Thought Sam.

That was new... Mindy was right. In this franchise, everything was damn possible. I bit my teeth slightly and looked back at Y/N "we have to find out what Kirby and Y/N supervision has to do" Tara followed my look and said coldly "I'm working on it" I nodded to her in agreement and looked back to the alley when a crying attracted my attention to me. Bailey.

Y/N a few minutes ago

Slightly out of breath, I reached the crime scene outside. Almost panicked, I searched for the faces of the Woodsborrow Gang and was more than relieved when I saw Tara and Mindy in the ambulance. With quick steps I ran towards her, few tears in the eyes "hey..." I said quietly.

Tara's gaze hit mine first. She was surprised almost beaten in the face when I pushed all thoughts and feelings aside and took her firmly in my arms. To my surprise, she replied, but only hesitantly. "I just had to come here," I said and detached myself from Tara. We briefly exchanged glances that I could not interpret at that moment that all I could feel and perceive right now was a mixture of worry and deafness. I looked at Mindy and took a step towards her. Silence... we stared at each other longer. Nobody knew what to say. One thing was clear, I was still mad at Mindy... the last few days she hadn’t been a good friend to me but I didn't care right now. On the other hand, Mindy probably only thought again about whether she could trust me.

She sighed as she got up and squeezed me tight. With all the strength I had, I put my arms firmly around her. I had forgotten how good a hug could feel. "How is Anika..?" I asked and managed to hold back my tears. Our embrace easily dissolved when we looked at each other calmly. Mindy's look was now much gentler and friendlier again. The last few hours I only got cold, skeptical and reproachful glances from her.

"They just left, she lost a lot of blood" I nodded "we should go back to the hospital right away" she nodded to me silently and said after a short rest "I'm sorry... I was quite a bitch" I had to laugh "yes and what a one!" With a raised eyebrow she looked at me "but I can totally understand you minds... believe me" now she had to laugh a little and squeezed me again.

And then I felt Mindy squeeze me tighter. It kinda showed me that she was suddenly mega pissed on and shortly afterwards I also knew why.

"I heard what happened, are you okay?" I heard a way too nice voice say. Mindy and I dissolved our hug and I turned around. When my and Ethan's eyes met, I recognized slight confusion in them, but before he could further reveal his reaction, Chad already pushed him furiously against one of the vans on the street and asked "where the hell have you been!"

I turned around. Lost in my mind. I looked down on the asphalt.

Why did Ethan look so surprised. I had to admit that only his eyes had betrayed him. But what did that mean? Didn't he expect me? My thoughts became wilder. Pictures of all events played out like a quick movie in my head when I tried to understand.

Ethan hasn't been at the hospital.

Maybe he was the one who attacked me? I wasn’t sure. But I had a bad feeling about that guy.

"Y/N... your coming?" A voice got me out of my thoughts. I looked up and looked into dark exhausted eyes. But there was so much more. So much more and I couldn't see it exactly.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

Tara was about to say something when suddenly Gale interrupted us saying

"I need to show you guys something".

So in the next moments I saw us following Gale, while she kept discussing with Kirby how to do to a proper job and telling Kirby how she didn't new about the place she wanted to show us. I was staying beside Kirby. Tara and Sam behind me. While Mindy and Chad where also right behind us with Ethan and the rest.

[ophii]

slowly offers you my pjo ocs.... accept? all the info you could ever want (/j) about them below cut

in order of the images, l to r, up and down: 1) THE ONE, THE ONLY... JADE SINCLAIR!!! "she, daughter of witchcraft, will reap" ive got a lot to say about her.... 1. shes like the percy of my ocs, the new plaything of the gods after percy becomes an adult. she/they, 14 (12 at the time of her main quest), daughter of hecate, bi. REALLY good at magic and controlling the mist. i mean... shes a hecate kid, shes great at magic and can do almost anything

the little gem on her athame (the weapon) was given to her by her dad, which was given to him by hecate. it kind of forms paths for her while shes fighting, resembling the whole crossroads hecate thing... shes able to call upon hellhounds by whistling!!! her strongest magic is related to night/the moon, so dark magic, you could say. her fatal flaw is kindness, which might be surprising based on her looks and abilites. shes too trsuting, kind, and isnt a big fan of killing. also, alexeis gf!!! btw all of her super cool magic stuff (the paths, whistling, etc) has cooldowns

part of the quest trio also i wrote something for the first prophecy but technically its not a poem so??? does it count?? idk: When night falls, the child of magic must seek out a key. With a child of tricks and a child of sleep, She, daughter of witchcraft, will reap. Lunionem* in hand, a stone to guide, Follow the moonlight through the night, Down to Hades, and with friends to help set her right, She'll find the key and seal the fight. * her athame, which is a knife used in rituals!! 2) "a child of tricks" NATHAN "NATE" TRICKER!!! hermes kid, obvi... he/him, 15 (13 at time of main quest), bi. really good at manipulation, pranking, and tricking people (who wouldve thought?) gets compared to luke a LOT, as hes kind of a big brother to all the campers who are younger than him (he is basically a better luke tbh) he hates the comparison though (he didnt even know the guy!!!). nate's fatal flaw is feelings of inferiority. his sword is meant to represent hermes' caduceus and i probably spelt that wrong but whateva. part of the quest trio. 3) kiki, the latest one i made. she has no last name for now lol. dionysus kid, can instill madness into people. she/they/xe, 17, pan. not much to say about them tbh. fatal flaw is not taking things seriously lol 4) MY SON ALEXEI ARKWRIGHT!! hephaestus kid, got burnt lol SKILL ISSUE!! a nerd... he/him. hes 14, demiboy, ace, and omni. good at forgery, a bit skilled at sewing though thats probably not a hephaestus thing. jades bf (his failboy swagger captivated her). autistic and has ocd. everyone has adhd and dyslexia tho obvi. fatal flaw is hesitation. 5) "a child of sleep" PHOEBE DREMA!! hypnos kid, 13 (11 at time of mian quest), aroace, sapphic, she/her. can control dreams, hypnotize ppl, and can cause people to become eepy. narcoleptic, falls asleep super easily and isnt the best at fighting. HOWEVER, her fatal flaw is ambition/recklessness, as she loves a good challenge/fight. ALSO FUNFACT: her arrows are dipped in water from the river lethe, so when someone gets hit with them, they are both injured AND they forget where they are for about 10 seconds. part of quest trio