#i like the type of guy they make me laugh

[xxacidnekoxx]

did anyone else ever experience that thing where people at school would be friends with you "ironically" or "as a joke" people did this to me and they weren't subtle about it like they would come up to me with this voice that sounded like the type of voice you would talk to a 2 year old with and be like HAIII =^-^= HEYYY u wanna be FRIENNDZZZ and then they look over their shoulder at their friends and they're all giggling at me the most mean fucking sound I ever heard. and if you ever fell for it they would laugh even harder and then break the act and start calling u disgusting??? yeah... and sometiems they would keep the act up for a long time and it would be soul crushing realizing they were just mocking u the entire time .. and guys at my school would ask me out "ironically" too and that got really scary at times when they would start making mean sexual comments ��

[holyblonded]

jealousy, jealousy | birds of a feather

pairings: paige bueckers x black!oc

summary: rocky schedules cause a drift in paige and cecilia’s relationship

warnings: jealous paige jealous paige jealous paige

notes: y’all i hate nova this time of year. everyone is on guard (rightfully so!) and tell me why i saw a tr*mp truck on my way to school 😐

Paige never considered herself the jealous type. Heck, she even bragged to many of her teammates that's the word didn't exist in her relationship. She loved Cecilia, Cecilia loved her. The same story for years now and everyone knew it. But, with the two of them both being in season and traveling, their window for their usual FaceTimes has shrunk and their texts have become brief. Paige's security in the relationship was shaken.

"Hi, I'm Cecilia and this is-" Cecilia pointed to her two friends on either side of her.

"Gavi-"

"and Pedri."

"And this is the best friends test," They all said together, Cecilia sounding much more upbeat than the other two.

"Here's how to the game goes, we all take turn asking questions and the other two write it down on the whiteboard so whoever gets it right, gets a point," Cecilia explained to the camera.

Cecilia grinned at the camera. "Alright, let's kick this off. First question: What's my favorite color?"

Gavi and Pedri scribbled furiously on their whiteboards before holding them up in unison.

"Yellow!" they both said at the same time, sounding like a rehearsed choir.

Cecilia clasped her hands together, looking touched. "Awww, you guys know me so well!"

Pedri smirked. "That was the easiest question ever."

"Don't get cocky," Cecilia shot back, flipping her cue card. "Here's a harder one: Who did I make my debut against?"

Both boys froze, their markers hovering over their boards.

"Uh... Sevilla?" Pedri guessed hesitantly.

"No, no, it was Espanyol," Gavi said with the confidence of someone who was absolutely wrong.

Cecilia gave them both a disappointed look. "Wrong and wrong. It was Real Madrid."

Gavi's eyebrows furrowed. "Your debut was El Clasico? That's crazy, why would they do that?"

"Cause I'm the greatest. But, yeah, no pressure or anything," Cecilia shrugged nonchalantly. "Just 90 minutes of running in the biggest game against Spain at the age of fourteen. Totally chill. Just another day being the best.”

"Shut up," Pedri rolled his eyes.

Cecilia laughed as she wiped the imaginary dust off her hands. "Okay, my turn's done. Gavi, you're up!"

Gavi smirked as he grabbed the question card in front of him. "Alright, let's see if you two actually know me. First question: What's my go-to meal after a hard match?”

Cecilia and Pedri immediately started scribbling on their whiteboards.

"Pizza," Cecilia said confidently, holding up her board.

"McDonald's," Pedri countered, grinning as he turned his board around.

Gavi pointed at Pedri. "He's right. McDonald's all the way."

Cecilia groaned. "Seriously? You're an elite athlete, and you're eating McNuggets after games? Nourish your body, dummy."

"Don't judge me, C," Gavi defended. "Next question: What's my biggest fear?"

Cecilia raised an eyebrow. "Oh, this is easy." She quickly wrote something down.

Pedri hesitated, tapping his marker against his chin before finally scribbling something.

"Alright, show me," Gavi demanded.

"Spiders," Cecilia said, flipping her board.

"Practice after a game with a lot of yellow cards," Pedri guessed, his grin wide and teasing.

Gavi's face dropped as Cecilia and Pedri laughed. "Haha, so funny Pedri, but the answer is spiders."

Cecilia pumped her fist in the air. "Finally, some points for me!"

"Alright, it's my turn," Pedri said, leaning back in his chair with a smug look. "Let's start with an easy one: What's my favorite TV show?"

Gavi rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, we all know this."

Cecilia wrote something down quickly, her tongue poking out in concentration.

"Ready? One, two, three!" Pedri called.

"Money Heist," Cecilia said, holding her board up.

"Money Heist," Gavi echoed, flipping his board.

Pedri nodded. "Yep. Too easy. Next question: How old was I when I scored my first professional goal?"

Cecilia furrowed her brow. "Ugh, this is a trick question. I know it."

"Why would it be a trick question?" Gavi asked, already writing.

"Because everything with Pedri is a trick question," Cecilia replied, jotting down her answer.

"Alright, answers?" Pedri said.

"Seventeen," Cecilia guessed.

"Sixteen," Gavi said confidently.

Pedri shook his head, grinning. "You're both wrong. I was seventeen and three months."

Cecilia groaned. "You're the worst. Who even remembers the months?"

Pedri smirked. "A winner, that's who."

After a few more rounds, the three friends were in tears from laughing, their boards covered in half-erased answers and doodles.

"So who won?" Gavi asked, leaning over to tally the scores.

Pedri squinted at the paper. "Cecilia. By half a point."

"What?" Gavi exclaimed. "That's rigged! She probably cheated."

Cecilia gasped dramatically. "Excuse me? I'm just smarter than you two combined."

Pedri shrugged. "She's not wrong."

Gavi crossed his arms, pouting. "Next time, we're doing a test where I get to choose all the questions."

"Good luck with that," Cecilia teased. "We all know you'd still lose."

The video ended with the three of them laughing, Cecilia tossing an eraser at Gavi, who pretended to dodge it in slow motion.

Paige watched as the video faded to black, her chest filling with an indescribable feeling. A rather uncomfortable warmth accompanied by a sharp tug in her chest and a knot in her throat that made it hard to breathe.

"P," Nika called out. "You good?"

"Yeah," Paige's teeth were clenched. "I'm good."

Paige was head over heels for Cecilia and when they missed a day of talking, it felt like withdrawals. While Cecilia found this trait of Paige endearing, the same cannot be said for her teammates and friends.

"Paige! Shut the fuck up, please," Azzi groaned.

"I miss her, Azzi. My heart hurts," Paige complained as she clutched her chest dramatically. "My heart feels like it's going to explode."

"Let it," Nika mumbled in passing.

Paige sighed and trudged to her room throwing herself on the bed. She opened TikTok and went through her routine whenever she missed Cecilia, watching her edits.

Paige scrolled through the app enjoying the many thirst trap edits of her girlfriend when a certain in came across her screen. It's started out normal but a clip from an interview with Jana popped up and it turned on to a ship edit to the song Glue by Beabadoobee.

Paige knew she shouldn't have, but she clicked on the comments.

the ultimate barca couple 🗣️

they need to get together already 😭

bruh they are so cute

That same unsettling warmth filled Paige again. An uneasy, persistent ache grew in her stomach as she quickly swiped out of the app.

"Hey, Amor," Cecilia smiling face took up Paige's phone. Paige instantly sent her a smile yet. This is the first time she saw her girlfriend the whole week with their schedules keeping them apart.

"Hey, baby. I was thinking-" Paige was interrupted by a voice calling for Cecilia.

"Cari!" The voice of Ona Batlle rang through the small hallway where Cecilia was hiding. " Per què t'amagues aquí? (Why are you hiding here?)"

"Parlant amb la Paige sense que la Pina i la Patri em molestessin (Talking to Paige without Pina and Patri bothering me)," Cecilia answered as she smiled up at Ona from the floor.

"Okay, Cari," Ona planted a quick kiss on Cecilia's cheek before patting her head. "Assegureu-vos de dinar, d'acord. (Make sure to get lunch, okay.)"

"Si, si," Cecilia dismissed and swatted Ona's hands away before the older girl made her way to the cafeteria. "What were you saying, Amor?"

Paige gave her a tight lipped smile, with the unpleasant warmth filling her chest, "It's not important, don't worry about it, babe."

Paige tossed and turned, before she settled on her back, staring at her dorm ceiling. After a Google search and looking at advice videos on TikTok, Paige has chalked up the odd emotion she's been feeling was jealousy. She had never felt the feeling before in her relationship with Cecilia. With both of their careers taking off their usual everyday talks had dwindled down, and seeing Cecilia getting shipped with her teammates hurt Paige.

The blonde looked at her alarm clock that read 11:04 pm. She knew it was 5 in Barcelona but her brain moved on autopilot as she reached for her phone and dialed Cecilia's number. After the second ring, the call was answered by the groggy twenty year old.

"Amor? Are you okay?" Cecilia asked, attempting to rub the sleep out of her eyes.

"Are you in love with someone else?" Paige blurts out. Cecilia then sat up in bed, wide and awake.

"Amor, what?"

"Do you love Gavi or Pedri or Ona or anyone else in Spain?" Paige restated.

Cecilia shook her head, not comprehending what Paige could be asking right now. "What? Amor— no. There's no one else I love. What's been up with you lately? Háblame."

Paige sighed, her free hand coming up to rub at her temple as she tried to find the right words. "I don't even know where to start. It's just... lately, things have felt different, and I've been overthinking everything. You're all the way in Spain, and I'm here, and we barely get to talk like we used to. And then I see those videos of you with Gavi, Pedri, Ona, and your whole team..." She paused, her voice catching. "And I see the way people ship you with them, and it just... it hurts, Cece."

Cecilia's heart sank as she listened. "Paige," she said softly, her voice laced with concern.

"I know it's stupid, okay?" Paige continued, her words tumbling out now. "I know they're just your friends, and you're close with them because you spend so much time together, but I can't help it. I've never felt this... jealous before. And I hate feeling this way because I trust you—I do—but my brain just won't shut up."

Cecilia stayed quiet for a moment, letting Paige vent. Then, she took a deep breath and spoke, her tone calm but firm. "Amor, listen to me. You're the only person I love. You're my person. Always and forever. Not Gavi, not Pedri, not Ona—none of them. They're my friends, yes, and I love spending time with them, but it's not the same kind of love. What I feel for you? It's on a completely different level."

Paige sniffled softly, her fingers gripping her phone tightly. "But you're so far away, Cece. And they get to see you every day. They get to laugh with you, be around you, while I'm just... here. I feel like I'm losing you, even if I know that's not true."

"You're not losing me," Cecilia said with conviction, her voice softening again. "I promise, you're not. I know things have been tough lately with our schedules, and I hate that I can't talk to you as much as I want. But no matter how busy things get, you're always in my heart, Paige. I think about you every day, and I can't wait for the moment I can hold you again."

Paige let out a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just needed to hear that."

"And I'll remind you every day if you need me to," Cecilia said, a small smile creeping into her tone. "This is new for us, being apart for this long, not finding time to visit, but we're a team, remember? We'll figure it out, like we always do."

Paige finally let herself relax, the tension melting away from her body. "I love you, Cece. I'm sorry for being so insecure."

"Don't apologize for how you feel," Cecilia said. "It's okay to feel like this. Just talk to me, okay? No more holding it in until you're randomly calling me at five in the morning.”

Paige laughed softly, the sound making Cecilia's heart swell. "Deal."

"Good," Cecilia said warmly. "Now, get some sleep, Amor. I'll call you tomorrow, and we'll figure out a time to talk more often, okay?"

"Okay," Paige murmured, a soft smile forming on her lips. "Goodnight, Cece."

"Goodnight, mi amor. Sweet dreams."

[seitmai]

Ahh many thoughts

“Non-existent,” he had replied with a sad shake of his head. “Same.”

Mood lol

You don’t know that Bob Floyd doesn’t require much to fall in love with you.  That the paltry moments between physical encounters is plenty for love to flourish for him.  That the handful of soft touches, the smiles, the little laughs…they are enough.  The way you pat his cheek after you brush a chaste kiss there once you’re dressed and about to leave his place.  The time you slid his glasses on his face, then kissed the tip of his nose.

🥹🥹🥹

(A therapist once posited that you’re this way because of your own childhood:  the only child of two career Army parents.  Your chaotic formative years—bouncing around the world, unable to set roots, sometimes even shifted from one parent to another due to conflicting deployments—left you with a wound, your therapist suggested.  Disliking having a mirror held up to yourself, you just ghosted said therapist and never dug into that part of your internal makeup again).

Hahah the last sentence cracked me up 😂

You canvass the Hard Deck for a month.  Take in all the fly boys and consider the fly girls too. 

One has to make an informed decision 🤷🏻‍♀️

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually.  Quiet, reserved.  Hardly ever drinks but gets in on the sing-alongs.  Plays pool when someone needs an opponent.  Is often the designated driver, and you smile when you see his bemused frustration when he steers a fellow Dagger, drunk and stumbling, out the door and safely home.  He’s so stable and pulled-together.  You bet he’s never cheated on a girl or stolen her car.  Not your type at all.

This would exactly be the guy I go for hahah

He’s good-looking though, in a quiet way.  Ditch the shitty Navy-issued glasses, muss up his hair a little, and he’d be downright handsome. 

Facts

The third encounter is…wonderful.  It’s like Bob was homing in on you, treating you like one of his weapon systems.  Calibrating you.  Figuring out what you like and doing more of that, seeing what you don’t respond to and never doing it again.  Which makes it sound cold, how he figures you out, but Bob is so damned warm.  Warm and sweet and considerate, and he grins at you and laughs with you, and it’d be so easy to fall for him—

Not the calibrating 🤭

He’s usually so secure in himself, but he has a small crisis of confidence.  He wonders what he lacks—what makes him a good hook-up but not a good boyfriend?  If he could just show you…if he could take you out on a proper date.  Buy you flowers, buy you dinner, take you for a moonlit stroll along the beach.  If he could cook for you, show you that he’s not that useless breed of man who can’t or won’t do homey tasks.  If he could take care of you when you’re sick, be a sounding board when you rage…

He is desperate to be a fixture in her life 🥺

It never occurred to Bob before, but he adds it to his list of sexual acts:  have you sit on his face and smother him with your pussy.

It's on his to do list 🤭

Bob generally lets you set the tone of your arrangement, but sometimes he has a moment of dominance that makes a wave of desire wash through you so strongly that your knees actually go weak.

🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

Of course it was easy to catch feelings for him.  He’s perfect, and right now he’s staring at you like he wants to eat you alive.

I mean how can one not?

He laughs, and he shifts his weight onto one arm so the other is free to reach down and grasp your waist.  “If you kill me like that, I want how I died mentioned in my obituary, okay?”

Deal 🤝🏻

She smiles, snorts out a light laugh.  “Yeah, the two of you are a real fucking vibe, Bob.” Phoenix nods.  “Dislocated nose.  Slight concussion.  Embarrassed.  Convinced she murdered you, until I set her straight.”

Haha I can't

“She knocked you out,” Hangman cuts in.  “And broke your nose.” “You weren’t moving and there was blood everywhere,” Rooster adds. “She also gave you grade two whiplash,” Phoenix continues.  “And it looks like you’ll be sporting a pair of gnarly black eyes by morning.”

And he is gonna wear them like a badge of honor knowing gave it to him 🤭🫡

“She has all these rules.  To keep it clean.  To keep feelings out, you know?”  He lifts his hand again, drops it again—the best version of a shrug he can manage.  “I have to think that injuries requiring ambulances is an unwritten rule too.”

This is so funny if he wasn't so defeated

“You ever tell her you wanted to revisit the rules, then?” “No.” Her smile widens.  “You’re so fucking dumb, dude.”

Someone had to say it 🤷🏻‍♀️

“There’s a pool about you and Baby on Board.”  He sips his own coffee, smiles at you.  “I want to know if I’m out money or if I have a payday coming.” “You bet on us?” He holds up a hand.  “Whoa.  All the Daggers bet on you.  It wasn’t just me.”

😂😂😂

“It doesn’t matter either way,” you finally answer.  “I nearly killed the guy.  Is there a pool on that?” Hangman laughs, and he settles in the chair near your bed.  “You didn’t nearly kill him.  You only lightly injured him.  Then Bradley lightly injured you.  It’s hilarious.”

This just such a silly situation but those two are so in love they see it in such a different way because they both think they destroyed everything 😂🥲

“If anything, Bob’s gonna have some light duty, but he can do some systems work on the ground.”  The smile reappears on his face, and he slyly adds, “and his cred just skyrocketed.”  A beat.  “The quietest Dagger just got his face rearranged by pussy.  He’ll never have to buy his own drink again as long as he lives.”

He's not wrong 😅🤷🏻‍♀️

He looks awful.  He looks…well, he looks like he pulled the full weight of an adult woman onto his face, pussy-first. 

🤭🤭🤭

But his smile…God, when he sees you, it’s just like Jake said:  his poor, mangled face lights up, and his smile is so wide it looks like it might hurt.  It hits you again, as it often does, how different he is from your usual type of man.  That he loves to see you, is happy when he sees you, even injured.  That he doesn’t need you around to fix his life, but he wants you around to just…be with you.  Bob is no one that needs fixing; he just wants you there with him.

🥹🥹🥹

“You could make a claim against my insurance, I guess—” “Just a date,” he interrupts.  “I just want one date with you.”

He's so cute 🥰

“Hmm.”  He releases your hand but pats the space on his bed beside him.  “I don’t know if I’d be comfortable making you miserable, honey.”

🥰🥹🥰🥹

“I’d like that.”  He shifts a little in the bed, then adds, “maybe around the six-month mark, you could meet my family.” “Would they make me miserable?” you tease. “Oh, they’d make your life a living hell,” he teases back.  “My dad would give you this whole disgusting speech about how he always wanted another daughter, my mom would drop hints about my grandma’s engagement ring being set aside for me—”

Awwww so happy for them 🥰

Would love to read about their miserable time with Bob's family if you ever feel up for it 🤗

First Time for Everything

(Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

CW:  Angst (friends-with-benefits; idiots in love; talk of bad past relationships; injuries); smut (vague references to sex; oral sex gone awry); 18+ only.

Word Count: 5591

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: Usual caveat - not edited in any way. Likely grammar bugaboos, tense switches, etc.

Bob Floyd would have never thought he’d end up in a friends-with-benefits situation, but there’s a first time for everything.

You’re the one who drives the entire enterprise.  A civilian who works at Top Gun, you’re no stranger to the stress of dealing with a multi-billion-dollar fleet of planes.  You serve as a liaison between the Navy and the bevy of contractors who build and maintain the planes, and if Bob has to juggle a million complicated systems mid-flight, you have to juggle a million tricky relationships and contracts on the ground.

You put the question to him, late one night at the Hard Deck.  Harvard and Yale had been leading a spirited conversation about dry spells, long distant relationships, juggling hook-ups.  You and Bob sat there, listening but adding little.  But after the other Daggers started to peel away one by one, you had turned to Bob and started asking about his love life.

“Non-existent,” he had replied with a sad shake of his head.

“Same.”

There was a beat of silence—you sipped at your drink; Bob cracked another peanut.

“Any prospects?” you asked.

Another shake of his head.

“Yeah, same here,” you replied.

Then there was another long stretch of silence, but this time you fixed Bob with a curious look.  It lasted long enough for him to notice, for him to squirm in his seat—

“So, I have an idea, and you’re totally free to say ‘no,’” you started, and the rest was history.

-----

That was months ago.  Bob has gotten to know you much better since then.

Much, much better.

He knows what you feel like.  He knows what you taste like.  He knows the place on your neck that makes you keen when he puts his mouth to it.  He knows exactly where to press the tips of his fingers when they are inside you, where to find the spot that makes your pussy pulse with arousal, that makes your breathing stutter and your eyes roll back, that makes you moan out his name—

He knows how it sounds when you moan his name, and he knows how that affects him in turn, and he knows that he doesn’t know nearly enough about you.

He doesn’t know what you eat for breakfast or how you take your coffee or if you even drink coffee at all.  He doesn’t know much about your family, little about your childhood, only a bit about your wants and likes and dislikes.

Because of the rules you laid out that night at the Hard Deck.

Hooking up, friends-with-benefits, you had explained, requires clear lines be drawn.  Otherwise, it gets messy.  Feelings develop.  Misunderstandings happen.  People get hurt, sometimes badly.

Your rules keep those lines clearly drawn.  No spending the night.  No dates beyond sex—no lunch dates or movie nights, no days at the beach together.  You call each other and make plans to fuck, and then you part, and that keeps it neat.  Clean.

There’s no way you can know it, because you don’t really know Bob either, but there’s no rule on earth you could put in place that would keep him from falling for you anyway.  You work with numbers and contracts all day, so you believe in the power of words, in rules. 

You don’t know that Bob Floyd doesn’t require much to fall in love with you.  That the paltry moments between physical encounters is plenty for love to flourish for him.  That the handful of soft touches, the smiles, the little laughs…they are enough.  The way you pat his cheek after you brush a chaste kiss there once you’re dressed and about to leave his place.  The time you slid his glasses on his face, then kissed the tip of his nose.

Which is why your rules turn out to be so important after all:  because here he is, hopelessly, painfully in love while you only see him a safe place to release your sexual frustrations.  He cannot imagine how much worse it would hurt if those lines didn’t exist.

*****

You have a chronic issue with men.

You pick the worst possible boyfriends.  From high school until now, you seem to only attract cheaters, losers, and general assholes.  Numerous boyfriends cheated on you.  One stole your car.  One stole your prescription sleeping pills and got arrested trying to sell them. 

It’s not that you’re attracted to assholes, really.  The whole bad-boy schtick bores you.  It’s more that you like to fix things; you like to turn chaos into order.  That trait serves you well at work, untangling all the intricate contracts and orders and rules between the Navy and their contractors. 

That trait serves you less well in love, because people often can’t be fixed, at least not without wanting to be fixed.  And anyway, the guys you date need deep fucking therapy, not a girlfriend with a fetish for setting order to the universe.

(A therapist once posited that you’re this way because of your own childhood:  the only child of two career Army parents.  Your chaotic formative years—bouncing around the world, unable to set roots, sometimes even shifted from one parent to another due to conflicting deployments—left you with a wound, your therapist suggested.  Disliking having a mirror held up to yourself, you just ghosted said therapist and never dug into that part of your internal makeup again).

But the therapist did make you aware of your bad patterns with men, so you swear off relationships, which is easy enough. 

You still have needs, though.

You canvass the Hard Deck for a month.  Take in all the fly boys and consider the fly girls too.  Profile them, watched how they acted when they think no one is watching.  Watch them sober, watch them drunk.  Watch to see which ones are handsy in an unwelcome way, and which ones remain respectful.

It’s Bob Floyd who catches your eye.

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually.  Quiet, reserved.  Hardly ever drinks but gets in on the sing-alongs.  Plays pool when someone needs an opponent.  Is often the designated driver, and you smile when you see his bemused frustration when he steers a fellow Dagger, drunk and stumbling, out the door and safely home.  He’s so stable and pulled-together.  You bet he’s never cheated on a girl or stolen her car.  Not your type at all.

He’s good-looking though, in a quiet way.  Ditch the shitty Navy-issued glasses, muss up his hair a little, and he’d be downright handsome. 

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually, but you aren’t looking for a boyfriend or a future husband.  You just need a zero risk, reliable guy to get off with.  It seems like a long shot because Bob is so quiet, but when you put the idea to him, he blinks…then asks you to clarify.

Then he agrees.

-----

That was months ago.

The arrangement works.  It’s exactly what you were looking for.  Bob Floyd is exactly what you thought he was:  reliable, steady.  He’s no broken man-child; he’s quiet but that belies a secure sort of masculinity that you’ve never really experienced before.  He knows who he is and what he wants, and he isn’t swayed by anything.  He’s solid.

He’s also surprising, in some ways.

To be crude about it, in looking for a friend-with-benefits, you needed only two things in a man:  a clean bill of health and a hard dick.  Bob is able to provide both (he hands you his test results from his latest physical, neatly folded in an envelope the first night you meet up).

He is also able to provide more than that.  The first night is a little awkward, but only because you are near-strangers.

The second encounter is better.

The third encounter is…wonderful.  It’s like Bob was homing in on you, treating you like one of his weapon systems.  Calibrating you.  Figuring out what you like and doing more of that, seeing what you don’t respond to and never doing it again.  Which makes it sound cold, how he figures you out, but Bob is so damned warm.  Warm and sweet and considerate, and he grins at you and laughs with you, and it’d be so easy to fall for him—

It's been months, but for fucks sake, you’re falling for him.  It’s embarrassing, because you gave him this tough-girl speech about rules and lines and not catching feelings, and he had nodded seriously and said he understood…and now here you are, the idiot who is catching feelings, who is realizing that maybe your type of man was wrong all along, that maybe who you needed was a reliable, steady man with warmth and blue eyes that swim a bit behind the lens of his thick glasses.

*****

It’s been months, and Bob always worries that this arrangement will end. 

One of your rules had been that the arrangement stops the moment one of you find someone else, and Bob always worries that someone else will catch your eye.  That you’ll find some man—you are surrounded by handsome, capable men every day, for heaven’s sake—that you find an appealing prospect.  Someone you want to sleep with and be with.

Someone better than him.

He’s usually so secure in himself, but he has a small crisis of confidence.  He wonders what he lacks—what makes him a good hook-up but not a good boyfriend?  If he could just show you…if he could take you out on a proper date.  Buy you flowers, buy you dinner, take you for a moonlit stroll along the beach.  If he could cook for you, show you that he’s not that useless breed of man who can’t or won’t do homey tasks.  If he could take care of you when you’re sick, be a sounding board when you rage…

Bob decides to do what he can, which is to just be the best lover he can be.  To be the most considerate, most adventuresome, most giving man you’ve ever taken to bed.  It’s all he can do anyway, so he might as well give it his best.

-----

Bob usually lets you lead.  He lets you set the schedule, and for every five times you call to hook-up, he calls once. 

The arrangement, such as it is, does work for him.  For all the angst of his unrequited love for you, the hooking up does relax him.  It helps him burn off extra energy, which helps him focus at work.

It also helps him explore things he has never tried before.

With you, Bob has played around with role play:  tame scenarios where he gets to pretend that he’s a different person than he is.  He has tried a variety of positions that have tested him in both strength and flexibility.  If there’s a list of sexual acts, Bob feels like he’s steadily working through it with you.

There’s still one, though…

It’s Fritz who starts the conversation at the Hard Deck.  You’re not there, but the guys all are, and the conversation drifts towards the usual locker room talk.  Fritz kicks it off by talking about his latest girl.  The guys egg him on for details.  Bob grins around the rim of his glass, says little, but then Fritz says, “man, when she sits on my face and smothers me in that pussy, I could die happy.”

It never occurred to Bob before, but he adds it to his list of sexual acts:  have you sit on his face and smother him with your pussy.

The idea takes hold so fiercely that Bob has to shift in his seat, suddenly warm at the thought of you sitting on him, his mouth on you.  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, and he’s sending you a text before he even has a beat to rethink it.

Want to meet up tonight?

You reply within a minute.

Sure.  Mine or yours?

Bob pauses and considers.  He catches Rooster’s eye and tilts his head at him, gesturing to his roommate for a sidebar.  Rooster comes over and stands beside Bob.

“What’s up?” Rooster asks.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

Rooster grins at the question.  It’s not exactly a secret that you and Bob are hooking up, though you don’t publicize it either.  Bob doesn’t know that his fellow Daggers have a betting pool about how the situation with you will resolve.  He’s caught the sly grins between them sometimes and wondered at what they mean.

“You asking if the apartment will be empty?” Rooster asks.  “Hell, Baby on Board.  Keep it to your room.  I don’t care what happens in the privacy of your own room.”

Bob can’t help the blush that heats his face.  He shouldn’t be embarrassed, but sometime the two of you get lost in the moment, and more than once, Rooster has sidled up to Bob the day after and clapped him on the back, congratulated him on his prowess—

Rooster catches the man’s discomfort and elbows him in the side.  “I was planning on finding myself some companionship for the night,” he finally says.  “The place is all yours.”

Bob thanks him, then texts you. 

My place?

Another beat before your answer comes.  When?

Now.

*****

Bob generally lets you set the tone of your arrangement, but sometimes he has a moment of dominance that makes a wave of desire wash through you so strongly that your knees actually go weak.

Like his text.  No softening his final message, just a simple, single word that holds a universe of promise.

Now.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur.  You only take a minute to brush your teeth and slip into nicer lingerie, but then you get in your car and head over to his place.

He must have been waiting at the window, watching for you.  You aren’t even halfway up the steps to his porch when the door swings open, and there he is. 

Of course it was easy to catch feelings for him.  He’s perfect, and right now he’s staring at you like he wants to eat you alive.

-----

“Explain it…again,” you manage to get out between kisses.  “How does…it work?”

Bob raises himself, props himself on his forearms on either side of your head.  His hair is mussed (perfect), and his glasses are on the bedside stand, so his blue eyes peer down at you. 

“You sit on my face,” he replies simply.

You huff out a breath.  “Sure, but….like, how?  I weigh a lot—”

He shakes his head.  “Not a problem for me, honey.”

“But I could hurt you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could kill you.” 

He laughs, and he shifts his weight onto one arm so the other is free to reach down and grasp your waist.  “If you kill me like that, I want how I died mentioned in my obituary, okay?”

“Not funny!”  You poke him in the side, and he laughs again.

“Seriously, Bob.  I don’t want to hurt you,” you continue.

“You won’t.  I promise.  It’ll be fine.  But I want to do this.”  His smile fades, and he fixes you with a darker look that sends a bolt of lust right through your core.  “Please.”

-----

The two of you, once you got over your initial awkwardness, usually move so well together.  Perfectly coordinated, in sync. 

This…is not that.

For the first time, the two of you aren’t working together.  Bob can’t know it, but it’s not just a physical misalignment—there are hidden feelings at play.  As you tentatively hover over where he lays on the bed, you feel suddenly exposed, like Bob might be able to see the feelings you’ve caught for him.  It’s so intimate, you think, being so bared to him.  You hold yourself back, shy, and Bob doesn’t understand the sudden reticence in you.  He chalks it up to fear of hurting him.

And you can’t know it, but Bob absolutely loves how intimate it is, being so exposed to him.  There are hidden feelings on his side too—how hard it hits him, that he’s never done this with another woman before, and how he cannot imagine doing it with another one after you.  He’s ravenous for you, wants to possess you in every way he can, but when he tries to tug you closer to him, you chalk it up to general horniness and nothing more.

It is all misunderstanding, in the end.  You hold yourself back, hover over his face.  He grips your hips, tries to pull you to him.  The two of you struggle against the other, not understanding what is really driving the other—

“Come on,” he growls.  “Give it to me, honey.”

“Bob, I don’t—”

“I can take it.”

“But I—”

It happens in a split second.  Bob tugs you down against him in the exact moment you try to get a better balance over him, and the force of his pulling you down is added to the full weight of you shifting, with a bit of gravity, and you hit Bob so hard.

There’s a sickening crack, like a chicken bone snapping.  You look down at him, startled, and see his blue eyes widen in pain—shock—

You scramble off of him, call his name, but he doesn’t move, and then you see it.

Blood.  There’s so much blood, all over his face, and you yell his name now, but he still doesn’t move—

You’ve killed him.  You’ve murdered him, and you scream.  You reach for your phone and fumble it, and your body just acts.  You back away, your mind scrambling, and you think I need to stop the bleeding, so you think to go to the bathroom for a towel, but when you pivot quick on your heel and turn towards the closed door, it is already swinging inward, right at your face, hard, and there’s an explosion of pain behind your eyes.

Then everything goes dark, and you don’t wake until you’re in the ambulance.

*****

Bob wakes up to the paramedics sliding him onto the backboard, his head immobilized between two foam blocks.  Rooster hovers at the perimeter, a worried look on his face.

“What—” Bob manages to croak out, but the room grows dim again, and he fades in and out until the hospital.

-----

He comes to and stays awake in a quiet hospital room.  There’s the steady beep of a monitor somewhere behind and above him.  When he tries to turn his head, though, he finds himself held in place by a brace.

“You’re awake finally.”  The voice is familiar, and a moment later, Phoenix’s face swims into his peripherals. 

“You scared us, Baby on Board.”  Rooster, to the left of him.

“Who knew you had it in you?”  The voice at the foot of the bed, the hint of smarm.  Bob feels a hand on his ankle, jostling him lightly.  “You dirty fucking freak.”

“Shut up, Bagman.”  Phoenix glares at the cocky pilot, then turns back to Bob, her gaze softening.  “How are you feeling?”

He considers his answer.  He feels…rough. 

He also notices that his Dagger teammates are there, but you are not.  Which makes him feel worse.

Phoenix seems to read his thoughts.  Something in his expression must give him away, because she leans in closer and sets a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“She’s still downstairs,” she says, low near his ear.  “You got a room, but she’s still in the E.R.  They haven’t released her yet.”

“E.R.?”

She smiles, snorts out a light laugh.  “Yeah, the two of you are a real fucking vibe, Bob.”

Rooster steps closer to the bed and grins down at him.  “You’re lucky I struck out at the Hard Deck.  I come home, barely get my shoes off, when I hear a scream.  I go running back to your room just in time to knock your girl out.  She ran headfirst into the door when I opened it.”  He claps his hands together.  “Down like a bag of rocks.”

Bob’s heart rate picks up, and the monitor registers it.  Phoenix glances at the machine and snorts again.

“She’s fine,” she assures him.  “I’ve been bouncing between you and her.  It’s just slammed down there, so she’s been waiting for the doctor to release her.”

“She’s okay then?”

Phoenix nods.  “Dislocated nose.  Slight concussion.  Embarrassed.  Convinced she murdered you, until I set her straight.”

Bob smiles despite himself.  “She thought I was dead?”

“She knocked you out,” Hangman cuts in.  “And broke your nose.”

“You weren’t moving and there was blood everywhere,” Rooster adds.

“She also gave you grade two whiplash,” Phoenix continues.  “And it looks like you’ll be sporting a pair of gnarly black eyes by morning.”

“Wow.”  Bob breathes out a reedy whistle.  “And you’re sure she’s okay?”

Phoenix nods again.

Rooster and Hangman offer to go grab some coffee from the hospital cafeteria, leaving Bob and his partner alone.  Phoenix drags a chair over and settles closer to him, and Bob feels his mood sour little by little.

“Are you okay?” Phoenix finally asks. 

He lifts his hand, drops it back onto the bed.  “I guess it’s ruined now.”

“What is?”

“Our…arrangement.  Mine and hers.”

She tilts her head.  “How so?”

“She has all these rules.  To keep it clean.  To keep feelings out, you know?”  He lifts his hand again, drops it again—the best version of a shrug he can manage.  “I have to think that injuries requiring ambulances is an unwritten rule too.”

Phoenix stares at him, but a smile starts to creep across her face.  She shakes her head then, grips his shoulder again.

“Do you love her, Bobby?”  The question is asked softly, kindly.

Bob forgets the brace for a second and tries to nod.  “Yeah.”

“You ever tell her?”

“Against the rules.”

“You ever tell her you wanted to revisit the rules, then?”

“No.”

Her smile widens.  “You’re so fucking dumb, dude.”

*****

Hangman’s the one who stops to check in on you.  He has a paper cup of coffee in each hand, and he holds both up to you.

“Wasn’t sure what you liked.  One is black, one is cream and sugar.”

“Cream and sugar, please.”

He walks over to your bed and hands it to you, then studies you.  You know you must look like hell—your eyes red from the hysterical crying of thinking yourself a murderer.  Your nose—not broken, only dislocated—swollen and tender.  And the general misery of how badly everything has turned out.

“You like the little nerd, huh?”

You take a sip of the coffee and thank him for it. 

You don’t answer his question.

Hangman sighs, leans against the wall.  “It’s just that, if you do, I’d like to know.  I have a lot riding on it.”

“Huh?”

“There’s a pool about you and Baby on Board.”  He sips his own coffee, smiles at you.  “I want to know if I’m out money or if I have a payday coming.”

“You bet on us?”

He holds up a hand.  “Whoa.  All the Daggers bet on you.  It wasn’t just me.”

You shake your head.  “I don’t understand.”

“Some of us bet that you’d end up together.  Others bet that you wouldn’t.  Not that hard to understand.”

You try to take a steadying breath through your nose, which is an effort with how swollen it is.  You look away from him and fix your eyes on the open doorway of your room.  You watch the nurses and doctors scurry back and forth, the gurneys of hurt and sick people. 

“It doesn’t matter either way,” you finally answer.  “I nearly killed the guy.  Is there a pool on that?”

Hangman laughs, and he settles in the chair near your bed.  “You didn’t nearly kill him.  You only lightly injured him.  Then Bradley lightly injured you.  It’s hilarious.”

You can only wince at his word choice.  It’s not funny at all.  Miramar is a gossipy hive of rumor, and Bob’s injuries will put him out of commission for at least a while—

“Is this gonna hurt his career at Top Gun?” you ask Hangman.  You glance over at him and catch the way his expression softens at the angst in your voice.  “Did I just fuck up his life completely?”

He reaches out and grasps your hand for a moment, gives you a friendly squeeze before he releases you.  “Shit happens.  The Navy knows that.”

“Still…”

“If anything, Bob’s gonna have some light duty, but he can do some systems work on the ground.”  The smile reappears on his face, and he slyly adds, “and his cred just skyrocketed.”  A beat.  “The quietest Dagger just got his face rearranged by pussy.  He’ll never have to buy his own drink again as long as he lives.”

“Jesus,” you groan, and you cover your face with your hands while Hangman laughs, but a second later the doctor enters your room and tells you that you are being released.

Hangman doesn’t take the hint and leave.  He watches you sign off on your discharge papers, sips his coffee.  He hands you your shoes, and he helpfully holds out your coat so you can slide into it.

“That little nerd loves you, you know,” he says suddenly.  “It’s obvious as hell, which is why I laid a big bet on it.”

“He does?”  The surprise in your voice makes him chuckle, then shake his head.

“Probably hard to see it from where you’re sitting, but he does.  His dumb face lights up the minute he sees you, and when you aren’t around, he’s like a lost puppy.  So if you feel even an inkling of the same for him, just go upstairs and put him out of his misery, okay?”

It feels like grace you don’t deserve.  You hurt Bob, even if you hadn’t meant to, and for Hangman to offer this sliver of hope you don’t think you deserve—

You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes.  Hangman doesn’t remark on them; he only stands by the doorway and waits for you.

“You’re a regular Cupid, Jake,” you offer.

“Nah.”  He finishes off his coffee, crumples the cup, and tosses it in the nearby trash can.  “I just want that fucking pool money.”

-----

The tears that threatened downstairs…they break free the moment you finally see him.

He looks awful.  He looks…well, he looks like he pulled the full weight of an adult woman onto his face, pussy-first.  His nose is swollen in a splint, he’s in a neck brace, and both eyes are so bruised that they can barely open beyond slits.

But his smile…

God, when he sees you, it’s just like Jake said:  his poor, mangled face lights up, and his smile is so wide it looks like it might hurt.  It hits you again, as it often does, how different he is from your usual type of man.  That he loves to see you, is happy when he sees you, even injured.  That he doesn’t need you around to fix his life, but he wants you around to just…be with you.  Bob is no one that needs fixing; he just wants you there with him.

Phoenix and Rooster have the good sense to leave, ushering Hangman along with them.  Bob, when he sees the tears coursing down your face, frowns and holds a hand out to you.

“I’m okay.  I’m okay.  It’s fine,” he repeats.  You make your way over to him and take his hand, and maybe it is okay.  He holds you tight, his big, warm palm enfolding yours—

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

You shake your head.  You’re not okay at all.  You don’t know if Jake was lying, but you can’t lie to Bob anymore just as you can’t lie to yourself.

“I broke one of the rules,” you admit.  You watch him, wary.  You have the sense of how he might react, but you can’t know for sure.  You just have to push through and say it.  Put it out there.

“I broke a rule too,” he replies.  He squeezes your hand.

“Yeah?”  It comes out shaky, unsure.

“Yeah.”

“Which rule?”

He lifts your hand to his mouth and brushes a gentle kiss to the back of it.  He’s so damned soft, and you blink against the fresh tears that threaten to spill over your face.

“It’s your own fault,” he grumbles, but he smiles when he says it.  “If you didn’t want me falling for you, you shouldn’t have been so easy to fall for.”

You laugh, a nervous sound that nudges up against the wall of tears you’re struggling to hold back.  “Even though I almost killed you?”

“I mean, you didn’t almost kill me, but you definitely owe me for all this.”  He gestures with his free hand at his face. 

“You could make a claim against my insurance, I guess—”

“Just a date,” he interrupts.  “I just want one date with you.”

“That’s it?”  The sick feeling in your stomach starts to recede, and it’s replaced by the fluttery feeling of promise, of something new and wonderful starting. 

“Just once chance to show you how good it could be.”  His expression is dead serious, and he squeezes your hand again.  “Me and you.  For real this time.”

“I, uh…”  You clear your throat and glance at his bright blue gaze, then look away.  You fix your eyes on where your hands are joined together.  Your hand fits perfectly in his.

“I’ve only ever dated assholes,” you admit.  Another glance at him to see how he takes in your words.  “Guys who don’t have their shit together.  It’s why I wanted the whole…arrangement with you.  I’ve never been with a man who didn’t need, like, intensive therapy.  Or the occasional law enforcement intervention.”

“First time for everything,” Bob replies mildly.

“What if…what if I don’t know how to be in a relationship unless…unless…”  You trail off, not sure how to say it without it sounding completely terrible…but then, the reality of your dating life has been completely terrible anyway.

“You afraid you don’t know how to be in a relationship unless you’re miserable?” he asks gently. 

“Maybe?”

“Hmm.”  He releases your hand but pats the space on his bed beside him.  “I don’t know if I’d be comfortable making you miserable, honey.”

You perch awkwardly on the sliver of bed available to you, but Bob reaches up and gets a hand on your shoulder, tugs you gently down towards him.  It’s careful maneuvering—a stark difference to what got you here—but you eventually get comfortable beside him, your cheek against his shoulder, your temple against the hard molded plastic of his brace.  His hand finds yours again, and he threads his fingers through yours.

“What if we started with that one date you owe me?” he offers.  “And then maybe a second date.  I’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated, and you see how it feels to not be miserable.”

One date, maybe a second.

“I think I can handle that,” you reply.

“Then a third date, then another.”

You smile.  “Okay.”

“Maybe around, say, the fifth date, you can spend the night.  Let me make you pancakes in the morning.  Fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

“Okay.”

“Then after maybe a month, you could keep some stuff at my place.  Shampoo, extra clothes.  So you’re comfortable.”

“I could take you to my favorite taco place,” you offer.  “Over in Imperial County.”

“I’d like that.”  He shifts a little in the bed, then adds, “maybe around the six-month mark, you could meet my family.”

“Would they make me miserable?” you tease.

“Oh, they’d make your life a living hell,” he teases back.  “My dad would give you this whole disgusting speech about how he always wanted another daughter, my mom would drop hints about my grandma’s engagement ring being set aside for me—”

“They sound horrible,” you laugh. 

“The worst.”  He chuckles, and a long moment of silence stretches between you, but it’s comfortable.  His warm hand in yours, the quiet beeping of the machines monitoring him, the steady sound of his breathing…the slightly whistling quality of your own breathing through your swollen nose. 

“You know, I’ve never taken a girl home to meet my family before,” he says, and his voice is serious.  “Never even considered it before.”

You lift your head a bit to look at him, and you see the thoughtful quality of his expression.  You settle back against him.

“And you’re considering it with the girl who broke your neck, broke your nose, and shamed you in front of the United States Navy?”

He chuckles again.  “You didn’t break my neck and I’m not in trouble with the Navy,” he says.  “And yes, I’ve considered it.  First time for everything.”

He doesn’t add anything else, and the drama of the evening starts to hit you.  You feel your eyes getting heavy, start to doze off in the hospital bed with him.  His verb tense choice, though—he has considered it, past tense, not is considering it, present tense—makes you wonder how long Bob might have been breaking that rule…

Bob doesn’t say anything else, but he thinks it:  he never took a girl home to his family because he vowed to only ever do it once—with the girl he plans to marry. 

[takamimami]

Hiii! i loved your last work with benn so much, could you please do shanks x f reader headcanons? tyyy

Hi lovely! Thank you for this request!! I was so nervous to post the Benn request since I hadn't written for him before, but the reaction was so positive around it, so tysm :3

Ironically after you sent this I got two more Shanks requests, so be ready for more Shanks content coming soon!!!

As for these headcanons, I kind of just let my fingers take over and go wherever they wanted to go - and this is what I ended up with. It's a lil short, but I hope you enjoy the read - and thank you again for submitting an ask :3

Shanks x F!Reader HCs THOTS UNDER THE CUT - MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI 🔞 CW: NSFW, no outright smut but v suggestive + Shanks has a filthy mouth, Shanks is a Shameless Flirt™, two stubborn idiots falling in love, don't tell kidd but he got me feeling some type of way --- word count; ~800

I imagine Shanks to be a one of those goofy guys who can snap his fingers and turn into one of the smoothest talkers on the planet. 

HUUUUUGE flirt, I think that is universally agreed upon, but I think 80% of the time he isn’t even trying to be flirty. Yeah... one of THOSE guys. 

Shanks has a competitive streak when it comes to the ladies, and that’s actually how he ended up chasing after you. Despite your massive crush on the pirate captain, you didn’t fawn over him and throw yourself at him like the other women – which he took as a challenge.  

Little did he know, he resorted to doing exactly that to win you over. Taking every opportunity, he could to make you laugh or blush (gods, the sight of you blushing really gets him going), growing more and more clingy the longer you fended off his affections. 

Finally hits his breaking point after a night of drinking with the boys, saunters up to your room blazing drunk after declaring he was going to give you the best lay of your life to make you fall in love with him. You answer his knock on the door and he drunkenly stumbles into your room and collapses on your bed, mumbling his professions of love for you as he slowly fell unconscious from the effects of the alcohol (he then wakes up confused the next morning why you both still have clothes on, and you have to break it to him that he fell asleep within minutes of coming into your room). 

From that moment on you two grow even closer, which results on both of you tiptoeing around a very fine line for some time, with both of you being too stubborn to be the first one to cross that line. 

Shanks, ever the competitive man, makes a bet with Benn and Yasopp that he’ll get you to cave first – and decides the best way to do so is to rile you up the easiest way he knows how. Besides, he loves how sassy you get when he makes you jealous.  

One night you are sitting at the bar while out with your crew, watching Shanks be his typical flirtatious self. 

One particular woman is trying VERY hard for his attention, and it rubs you the wrong way so you decide to interject yourself in their conversation. 

Shanks notices you getting jealous, so he pushes your buttons a bit more and keeps flirting with the waitress, which eventually causes you to head back to the ship early. 

Shanks didn’t realize just how upset you were until you left, so he comes to check on you when he gets back to the ship.  

You are still very much mad at him, even though you have no claim to him or his affections, and you start to feel embarrassed while yelling at him. 

“I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about your captain,” he teases you, his smirk making you both angry and even more embarrassed.  

You feel your cheeks flush and watch Shanks’ face turn devious (seeing you all worked up is practically his kryptonite). 

You cross your arms and offer him a glare, telling him it’s because he’s blind and that he only thinks with his dick. 

Shanks drops his chin and closes the gap between you two, pressing you up against the wall as he dips his lips down so they graze your ear as he speaks. 

“If I only thought with my dick, I would have had you bent over the command table the first day you joined the crew, pretty girl.” 

“If I only thought with my dick, I’d have you chained to my bed so no one else could ever get their fucking hands on you again.” 

“If I only thought with my dick, I’d ditch this dream of becoming King of the Pirates and spend every waking moment pumping you full of my seed, pretty girl.” 

Your body shivers despite the sweat building on both your bodies, and when Shanks finally pulls back enough to look at your face again, he thinks he might just come in his pants from how flustered you look. 

“Now, are you done being mad at me so I can get on my knees and apologize?” 

Words are not the only thing this man’s mouth is good at, to say the least. 

Spends the rest of the night apologizing to you, even long after you’ve forgiven him.  

After that night, he tones it back on the flirting – though he still gets a little out of control when he drinks a little too much. 

Always knows when to knock it off, however, and never comes close to crossing the line of being unfaithful to you. 

Should I do a part 2? 🤭 ✨come say hai :3✨

[cruel-seduction]

Peter Teases You About Your Favorite Superhero Crush (Not Him)

It all started when you casually mentioned your love for a certain fictional superhero while you and Peter were sprawled out on your couch, legs tangled together in your usual cozy way. You were scrolling through a Pinterest board, showing him random outfits, memes, and—without thinking—a fanart of your favorite superhero, Nightblade, the shadowy, brooding vigilante from that one movie series you’d been obsessed with lately.

“Wait, who’s that?” Peter asked, craning his neck to get a better look at your phone.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “Uh... no one important,” you mumbled, trying to scroll past it.

“Oh, no one important?” Peter snatched your phone faster than you could react, his reflexes annoyingly good as always. He tilted the screen, inspecting the art. “Nightblade?” he read aloud, a teasing grin already forming.

“Give it back, Peter!” you said, lunging for the phone, but he held it out of your reach, his other hand pressing into your shoulder to hold you back effortlessly.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, laughing as he twisted his body to keep the phone away from you. “Is this... your superhero crush? Oh my god, you’re blushing!”

Your cheeks burned hotter as you smacked his chest. “Shut up! I am not blushing!”

“Oh, you so are,” Peter teased, lowering your phone just enough to waggle it in your face. “Look at you! You’re like a tomato. This is adorable.”

“Peter!” you whined, burying your face in your hands to hide your embarrassment.

Peter leaned closer, still grinning like the smug menace he was. “Okay, okay, hold on. I need to understand this. Nightblade? Really? The guy who skulks around on rooftops and growls at people? That’s your type?”

You groaned, refusing to look at him. “He’s cool, okay? And... and mysterious. And—ugh, you wouldn’t get it!”

“Oh, I get it,” Peter said, his voice dripping with mock understanding. “You’re into the whole dark, brooding, ‘I work alone’ vibe. Got it. But, babe, have you met me? I literally do the rooftop thing all the time. Should I start growling at bad guys now? Would that make me hotter?”

“Shut up, Peter,” you said, reaching out to shove his chest lightly. “It’s not like that.”

But he wasn’t letting up. If anything, your reaction just fueled him further.

“‘It’s not like that,’” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice, scooting closer to you on the couch.

You peeked at him through your fingers, your face still burning. “Stop it!”

But Peter was on a roll now. He threw your phone onto the couch and stood up, dramatically deepening his voice as he struck a ridiculous pose. “I am Nightblade,” he intoned, his attempt at a gravelly tone making him sound more like he had a sore throat. “Justice is my shadow. The night is my ally.”

You snorted despite yourself, grabbing a throw pillow and chucking it at him. “You’re so dumb!”

Peter caught the pillow mid-air, grinning as he tossed it aside. “Dumb? Dumb? Babe, you’re the one who has a crush on a fictional guy who probably hasn’t smiled since birth. Meanwhile, you’ve got me—a real superhero who’s funny, charming, and, might I add, great with parents.”

“Oh my god, Peter,” you said, covering your face again as your laugh bubbled out.

He plopped back down on the couch beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close. “I’m not saying I’m jealous,” he said, though the teasing lilt in his voice suggested otherwise. “But I mean... come on. I’ve got to be at least, like, 10% cooler than this guy, right?”

You peeked up at him, still flustered but smiling now. “I dunno,” you said, your voice playful. “Nightblade does have a pretty sweet cape.”

Peter gasped, hand flying to his chest like you’d just stabbed him. “A cape? Oh, come on! Capes are a tripping hazard. I could make one if I wanted, but I don’t because I have common sense.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “And he’s got these cool shadow powers.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer with a mock-insulted expression. “Shadow powers? Pfft. Lame. I’ve got webs, babe. Webs. I can swing through the city, catch bad guys, and tie up robbers in little cocoons. I can tie you up and you know you enjoy it, What can he do? Stand in the dark and look angsty?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of your head. “Peter, you’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” He leaned in even closer, his nose almost touching yours now. “Ridiculous is you choosing him over me! What does he have that I don’t?”

You pretended to think about it, tapping your chin. “Well, there’s the expression—”

“Oh, here we go with the expression again.”

“And the muscles.”

Peter flopped back against the couch, groaning loudly. “You’re killing me, Y/N. Absolutely killing me.”

You giggled, poking his side. “And don’t forget the way he says, ‘I can do this all day.’ So iconic.”

That made Peter shoot upright again, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Okay, first of all, I also say cool stuff when I’m fighting bad guys.”

“Like what?” you challenged, crossing your arms.

Peter paused, clearly scrambling for a good answer. “Uh… ‘Hey, buddy, quit stealing stuff!’”

You burst out laughing, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. “Oh, yeah. Super inspiring, Peter. Definitely gives Steve a run for his money.”

You tried to stifle your laughter, but it spilled out anyway. “You’re impossible,” you said, lightly smacking his chest.

Peter grabbed your hand before you could pull it away, bringing it up to his lips for a quick kiss. “And yet, you love me,” he said smugly.

“Don’t push it,” you warned, though your smile betrayed you.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “And to be honest. It’s not like that! I just think he’s… you know… nice-looking.”

“Nice-looking?” Peter repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Nice-looking.” He pointed at himself. “Have you seen me? I mean, I don’t want to brag or anything, but…” He flexed his arm in the most over-the-top way, clearly showing off.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face was impossible to hide. “Oh, please. You’re so full of yourself.”

He leaned closer, that teasing smirk never faltering. “I’m just saying, if you wanted a guy with abs, you could’ve just told me”

And then you flexed your non existent biceps “Yours is not better than mine, Pete”

Peter chuckled, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “True true. Seriously, though. You can crush on Nightblade all you want, but just remember: he’s not the one sitting next to you, eating leftover pizza and looking ridiculously cute in sweatpants.”

You rolled your eyes, your cheeks still warm as you leaned into him. “Fine, you win,” you said softly.

Peter’s grin widened, and he pulled you even closer, resting his chin on your head. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head as his teasing finally softened. Sure, Nightblade was cool, but Peter Parker? He is your superhero. 

[channelbomb]

okay NOW i can say this because more stuff came out. i posted something like this last night and then deleted it because i felt bad for the shit i said but honestly idgaf and this person deserves it.

sturniololuv08, FUCK YOU. you’re a HORRIBLE person. 28 willingly talking and flirting with minors is INSANE. that’s not even the worst thing you’ve done, somehow, because that’s genuinely repulsive and you should keep your relationship with minors strictly platonic. BUT YOU ALSO WRITE RAPE FICS!??? YOUR FICS MAKE ME WANT TO THROW UP. they’re disgusting, abhorrent, egregious, gross, horrendous, nauseating, repellent, foul, and distasteful. i can’t put into words how much you utterly disgust me. i haven’t been here that long to get to read the fics when they first came out, but the fact you have gone this long getting away with that shit is beyond comprehension. and you think you can just take a hiatus or whatever IS STUPID!!! you’re a threat to others around you, and you honestly make me so mad i just had to go outside.

i’m typing this from my back porch, motherfucker. maybe you should try it to! i know people with full time jobs, kids, and normal lives who are younger than you. BITCH, SEXUAL ASSAULT IS NOT A KINK, ITS A FUCKING CRIME, CUNT.

imagine you went through something so traumatic one time, and now you’re on tumblr because you like some youtubers, and THEN YOU SEE SOMEONE WRITING ABOUT THAT SAME EXPERIENCE YOU HAD.

consent is sexy! consent is the best thing you could do during that, and sex should be something intimate in anything and NOT INITIATED BY NO CONSENT LIKE IN YOUR FICS.

this is fucking disgusting and i never thought i would have to type out these fucking words, but seriously you make me so mad. the way you had those ideas makes my blood absolutely boil. and then thinking playing the victim will make everything better??? BITCH, FUCK YOU!!! we are fans of three guys who fight and laugh in a car every friday, but yet you had these sick and twisted thoughts to write smut about them, WHO ARE YOUNGER THAN YOU and DEFINITELY would not be okay with this either.

i hope you get toothpicks under your toenails and then you have to punt a boulder, i hope you wash your hair tonight (that is, if you even fucking take showers) and and your shampoo is ACTUALLY NAIR, i hope both of the sides of your pillows are burning hot, i hope you get banned off of every social media, i hope you never get a job because your digital footprint is so bad, and i hope you learn from your mistakes.

writing about rape is NOT OKAY. in any way, shape, or form. it’s a heartbreaking thing that happens to women and men worldwide and daily. it takes away their pride, confidence, and sometimes even their ability to get intimate with anyone after. and writing about it is truly revolting. i can’t even put into words how truly furious i am that you think that is okay to write about. i don’t hold back when it comes to shit like this. this is horrendous.

to my mutuals, followers, or even just other fans of the triplets who have been directly affected by this specimen, just know that i love you, i care for you, and you’re so brave for speaking out about it or even just go through it. i’m so proud of you. and you should never have to go through that.

[lvnchh]

WISH YOU WERE GAY

abby anderson x f!reader (it’s not really WYWG meaning IK)

The WLF cafeteria was alive with chatter, the dim lighting and half-drunk soldiers creating a tense but oddly celebratory atmosphere. The radio had long stopped working, leaving the group desperate for some form of entertainment. Manny, ever the instigator, spotted you sulking in the corner, your guitar leaning against the wall beside you.

“Hey!” he called, weaving through the tables to get to you. “You still owe me a performance. Tonight’s the night.”

You rolled your eyes, your fingers tracing the edge of your beer bottle. “Not happening, Manny.”

“Oh, c’mon, amiga,” he pressed, crouching beside you. “The radio’s dead, everyone’s bored, and you’ve been humming that song for weeks. Just do it. Make it interesting.”

You glanced across the room and caught sight of her—Abby Anderson. She was seated at a table with Owen, her broad shoulders tense, her face turned away from the crowd. Even from this distance, you could tell she wasn’t laughing at whatever Owen was saying, and that little observation stirred something bitter inside you.

Manny followed your gaze and smirked. “She’s gonna hear it either way. Might as well make it count.”

You took a long swig of your drink before grabbing your guitar. “Fine,” you muttered. “But don’t expect me to hold back.”

The room quieted as you made your way to the front. One of the guys already on a guitar looked up at you, confused, but you gestured for him to follow your lead. Quickly, you showed him the notes to play on loop, your tone clipped and impatient.

The first chords filled the space, soft but deliberate. You adjusted the mic, refusing to look at Abby. This wasn’t for her approval—it was for you.

You started singing, your voice steady, cold.

“Baby, I don’t feel so good… six words you never understood.”

Your hand shot up, showing six fingers to the crowd, before dropping one.

“‘I’ll never let you go,’ five words you’ll never say.”

The five fingers slipped to four, then three as you continued.

“If three’s a crowd, and two was us…”

Your hand dropped to two fingers.

“One slipped away.”

You left your middle finger up, a smirk tugging at your lips. The crowd chuckled nervously, and Manny outright cackled, slapping his knee. “Damn!” he muttered, barely containing his laughter.

Abby’s jaw tightened. Her eyes bored into you from across the room, her fists clenched on the table. You didn’t care. You kept going.

“I just wanna make you feel okay, but all you do is look the other way.”

Your gaze finally flicked to Abby. She didn’t flinch, but her shoulders rose and fell with shallow breaths. Owen shifted uncomfortably beside her, clearly picking up on the tension.

“I can’t tell you how much I wish I didn’t wanna stay. I just kinda wish you were gay.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, dripping with bitterness. The room was silent except for the music, and every lyric felt like a dagger aimed directly at her.

“Our conversation’s all in blue… eleven ‘heys.’”

The crowd grew quieter as you sang. Abby’s face darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Nine times, you never made it there. I ate alone at seven, you were six minutes away.”

You didn’t just sing the words—you spat them out, each one a reminder of every time she let you down, every moment she chose Owen over you.

By the time you reached the bridge, you leaned into your fury.

“Don’t say I’m not your type. Just say that I’m not your preferred sexual orientation.”

You saw her flinch at that, her mask cracking just slightly. Owen said something to her, but she ignored him, her eyes glued to you.

The final chorus came out raw, your voice sharp and defiant.

“I just wanna make you feel okay, but all you do is look the other way.”

The last chord rang out, echoing in the silence. The room stayed still for a moment, unsure how to react. Manny clapped first, his grin wide and unapologetic. Others followed hesitantly, but you ignored them.

You slung your guitar over your shoulder and started to walk off.

“Wait,” Abby’s voice cut through the noise.

You stopped but didn’t turn around.

“Why would you—” she started, her voice tight with frustration. “Why the hell would you sing that?”

You turned slowly, your expression cold. “Why not? You said you didn’t care, remember?”

Her jaw worked as if she was holding back a retort. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, standing abruptly.

“Yeah, it is,” you shot back. “But you made it that way.”

She took a step toward you, her frustration evident, but Owen grabbed her arm. “Abby,” he said quietly.

You shook your head and turned away, stepping into the night air without another word. She could stew in her anger all she wanted. You were done letting her choices define you.

[amoristt]

This is so self indulgent but Kang dae-ho headcanons about him having a girlfriend that's muscular please! Like, stronger than him type muscular（＾ω＾）

dont ever be scared to be self-indulgent!!!!!!!!!! i LOVE this request bc i am currently in my Muscle(TM) era so this had me like 👉🏽👈🏽 im kinda relating it to real life bc my partner and his friends cant keep up with my leg day LOL

kang dae-ho with a muscular girlfriend

oh my god. this man would be crazy for a woman able to bench him. don't get him wrong- Dae-hoe loves to be the tough guy. the pride he feels from being a marine at his young age, and his passion to keep those around him safe ring true at all angles. he loves to be the protector, and he's got all these self-indulgent daydreams about being That Guy.

but. something about seeing you, with your pretty smile and even prettier laugh, start lifting weights he tops out at for a warm up? it does something to him. it really, really does. he kind of wants you to toss him over your shoulder and squat him.

some guys would be put off knowing their woman could give them as ass whooping, but not Dae-ho, because man does he love when you show it off. arm wrestles, pushup contests, anything. especially if it humbles some jackass. it makes him beam with joy watching his girlfriend kick ass. he's the cheerleader and you're the star quarterback.

he thinks that you're soooo freaking hot. like sometimes he looks at you and can't believe you give him the time of day, let alone let him hang around.

loves your gym outfits. specifically the baggy hoodie, shorts combo. when you send him pics and outfits of the day he eats it UP. thats his mf woman

knowing you're stronger than him doesn't ever stop him from playing tough guy, though. it's in his very DNA. he'd defend john cena if he could. some guy wont leave you alone? he's there ready to throw hands. someone's talking shit about his girl? hell no. meet him outside.

"don't fuck with me, my girlfriend will kick your ass"

you two meet at the gym, naturally. Dae-ho goes pretty regularly on his own but he's the 'head down, heaphones up' kind of gym rat so he never really gave mind to anyone else nearby him. honestly didn't even know you went to his gym until one fateful, fateful day. he's one part of a trio of buddies that day, spending more time chatting and goofing off than actually doing his sets. he's showboating, overloading his plates and damn near throwing his back out more than once. he loads a barbell up with 345lbs onto his shoulders and cranks out a single squat. then two. once he drops down for the third, he locks up. it's then he realizes how many leg days he's skipped. he can't bring himself up right. his friends aren't paying attention and he was an idiot who didn't have a spotter. his options are fall forward, and risk the bar hitting him in the head, or fall backwards and feel the embarrassment of a hundred eyes all on him at once. he's struggling to balance it, every muscle in his body tensing, when suddenly the bar is lifting. he lifts to his feet and there's a set of hands off to his left helping him set the barbell back onto the rack. expecting his friend, he turns and goes to chastise them for not paying attention and helping sooner, but then he see's... you. before he can apologize for talking to you like that, you're already smiling at him and teasing right back. maybe you shouldn't have loaded too much, huh? he's flushing bright red, stammering out a laugh and rubbing the back of his head. you're cute- and your voice is like honey to his ears. his friends are snickering from other machine, watching the entire ordeal, and he feels that flaming blush race down to his neck and chest. he doesn't know it quite yet, but he's smitten. he goes to start peeling the plates off the racked barbell but you stop him. and then, slack jawed and wide eyed, he watches you crank out an entire set. you heave the bar back onto the rack and then, he gets to watch you add MORE weight. he's not even trying to act like he isn't staring, completely gobsmacked. his friends are still horsing around elsewhere and he's stunned into place. you take a sip of water in-between sets and before you can put your headphones back on he can't stop himself from talking to you. he literally isn't even thinking when he catches your attention, feeling shy, but he can't help it. he has to talk to you- that was the coolest shit he's ever seen. its humbled him. changed him. he just watched you squat two of him over your shoulders like it was nothing. he can't even feel his pride take a hit either, he's entranced by you. you both have a great conversation and man, he knew you were cool before, but every time you open you're mouth it just gets better and better. he can't believe he's never noticed you until now. from that point on, he starts to notice whether you're there or not. and he goes crazy out of his way to talk to you- finding little reasons to chat. eventually you start seeking him out too. you ask him to be your spotter one day and he's pretty much head over heels after that. eventually you get each others numbers, then, he pulls the ultimate move. he invites you out to drinking with his friends and you show up but hey, check that out, looks like no one showed up but us! that totally wasn't planned at all, or anything. oh well! you two have a lovely evening together <3

[hotvintagepoll]

Dwight Frye (Dracula, Frankenstein)—he's my babygirl please please please please please i want to baby bird feed him flies and spiders and pick him up and make glitter edits of him and give him gross forehead kisses like he's my cat. in dracula he was so incredibly creepy that he was typecast as madmen for the rest of his life and he fucking hated it but by god if he didn't do a fantastic job. he steals the show every time he's up on screen just because he's so fucking deranged. i need him

Harpo Marx (Night at the Opera, Night in Casablanca, Duck Soup)—While Groucho is better-known, Harpo's physical comedy is SECOND-TO-NONE. The man is a strange mime trapped in the paradigm of early 20th century movies. Every move is a symphony and simultaneously a colony of rats in a human skin suit. LISTEN. You MUST see this man in motion. Every still photo of him looks like a combination of a sad clown and a different, sadder clown, but it's only because he put so much joy in every motion.

This is round 4 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Dwight:

He absolutely owns the entirety of Dracula (1931). Compared to the novel, his part is massively expanded and it's clear why. He's magnetically unhinged and his facial expressions are pure scrungle. And in Frankenstein, he begins the archetype of Frankenstein's assistant even if the character's name there is Fritz. He'd still go on to play other scrungly guys in later Frankenstein movies. But he's kinda the archetypal and progenitor of the scrungly lil guy. The scrungliest guy ever to scrungle. He's pretty much the blueprint for every mad scientist's assistant, and he's the best part of every movie he's in. He manages to make you feel sorry for the creepy little dudes, even when he's eating spiders and crawling across the floor. [editor's note: content warning for the "hunchback" stereotype and "madness" in the clips below]the "Rats" soliloquy:

I saw him in Dracula and frankly he has me bewitched. I could watch him do his silly routine forever. The gay tension with Bela Lugosi onscreen was frankly unparalleled. Kirk and Spock levels. I am chewing on the furniture

Played the weirdo little guy in Dracula AND the weirdo little guy in Frankenstein in the same year. Iconic.

The scrungles to end all scrungles! There's a reason why this man codified the manic vampire's familiar and the hunchbacked lab assistant for generations, because by God can this man be feral and scrungly: Whether he's soliloquizing about rats as Renfield, scurrying around Frankenstein's lab like a spider as Fritz, or skulking around dark alleys (and scaring the hell out of little baby me) waiting for a fresh heart to steal as Karl, if you want a scrungly little man for your classic film, Dwight Frye is your man. He has the range to play varying kinds of scrungle, with his wide eyes, his manic smiles, his soft, breathy voice, he is truly an undisputed scrungle master.

I honestly think it would be a crime to ignore Dwight Frye's scrungle factor. He played two of the prototypical creepy little henchman as Dracula's lackey Renfield and Dr. Frankenstein's hunchback servant Fritz, and I believe that his excellence in these roles absolutely shaped the future character tropes of the "Igor" type as much as Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff shaped the future understanding of Dracula and Frankenstein's monster. He's got it all from the looks, to the manic energy, to the crazed laugh, I'm telling you right now that I think he could win the entire tournament.

Harpo Marx:

He's like if a clown was a hobo was also somehow a classically trained harpist, his face is always in some kind of contorted silly shape, feral curly haired ninnymuggins always doing weird things to people

Harpo is mute in all of the Marx Bros movies and so his body language and facial expressions are SO over the top but he's also got fewer braincells than a goldfish while often being the emotional heart of the Marx Bros and he's just A Guy!!

Every scene with Harpo Marx is a treat! Just like watching a seagull steal a stranger's hotdog at the beach, it is a joy to watch him frustrate the hell out of all the other films' characters! Harpo Marx is the zenith of unhinged in all of his appearances, making any other funny man a straight man by comparison. (A fantastic feat considering he starred in films with his brothers Grouch and Harpo, who sported a shoe polish mustache and questionable Italian accent, respectively). The scrungliness of the little guys he plays come from his guileless, wide-eyed expression, curly blond wig, and the extreme ability to annoy others, despite never saying a word. Is he malicious? Most definitely, but hard to tell because he has a dopey grin on his face most of the time. Communicating through other sounds like honking horns and whistling, he is a force of chaos in every Marx brothers film! Also an accomplished harp player, the beautiful calm moments where Harpo plays juxtapose the zany, making him all the more scrungly. His visual style of comedy is timeless; Duck Soup had me rolling with laughter as a six year old and is still just as funny today.

In my opinion Harpo is the funniest of the Marx brothers because he is so good at slapstick comedy. Since he never speaks in his film appearances his performances are very physical, which contributes a lot to his scrungliness. He was fully committed to being wacky at all times. All of his hilarity is based on him being weird.

He's just a weird little guy who causes chaos everywhere he goes, and then sits down and plays a beautiful harp solo! He steals the show from his very chatty brothers without saying a word, and was surprisingly ripped under that old raincoat

All of the Marx Brothers are Scrungly to a degree, but Harpo is the scrungliest! His outfits are so big he gets lost in them, his pockets are full of everything, and because he never speaks, he always uses physical comedy. Also he's an incredible musician.

[evorlaah]

INTENTIONS

Paring: Nonidol!Jake x Female!reader

Synopsis: “Off-limits,” is what your best friend Yunjin says, but the more you spend time with Jake, the harder it becomes to ignore the undeniable chemistry between you two.

Warnings: slowburn romance, emotional tension, suggestive content, friendship complications, Jake’s a tease and a freak.

Note: there isn’t really anything suggestive in this, it’s my first time writing anything like this too so 😭. Enjoy

@evorlaah

You’re perched on the edge of Yunjin’s bed, her laptop propped open as you both skim through lecture notes. The dorm is warm, filled with the faint scent of her lavender diffuser, and you’re doing your best to stay focused on her chatter about last weekend’s party.

“I mean, Jake’s always like that,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Thinks he can charm his way through everything. Trust me, Y/n, he’s all talk. Totally off-limits.”

Your stomach knots, and you force a nonchalant laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Not my type.”

Lie.

Because the truth is, you never really thought about having a crush on Jake—or finding him attractive, for that matter. He was just your best friend’s older brother, the guy who’d occasionally crash your movie nights to steal a slice of pizza or tease you about the way you always wore mismatched socks.

But now? Now you’re seeing him differently.

It’s the way his sleeves are always rolled up just enough to show his forearms. The way his voice lingers in the space between casual and smooth when he says your name. The way he looks at you like he knows something you don’t.

You shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it. Jake Sim is not the kind of guy you fall for. And Yunjin’s right—he’s definitely off-limits.

“Y/n,” Yunjin snaps her fingers in front of your face. “You’re zoning out. Did you even hear what I said?”

“Uh, yeah,” you lie again, looking away to cover your awkwardness. “Totally. Jake’s… the worst.”

Yunjin snickers. “Exactly. Don’t let that golden-boy charm fool you.”

You force a smile, but all you can think about is how his “golden-boy charm” might feel when directed at you.

The next time you see Jake, it’s at Yunjin’s apartment, where she’s throwing a small get-together for her friend group. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, laughing at something one of the guys said. His hair is messy in that effortless, careless way that makes him look annoyingly good.

Your plan is to avoid him. Stay in the living room, stick close to Yunjin, and pretend he doesn’t exist. But of course, Jake has other plans.

“Y/N, can you go grab my charger from my room?” Yunjin calls over her shoulder from where she’s chatting with a couple of friends. “I think I forgot it.”

You blink at her, momentarily thrown. “Why me? It’s your room.”

“Because you’re closer to the hallway.” She waves you off without looking, as if that makes her logic foolproof. “It’s on my nightstand. I’ll owe you!”

You sigh, reluctantly standing up. Anything to get some air, right? At least Jake’s in the kitchen, far away from where you’ll be.

Or so you think.

Yunjin’s room is dimly lit by the fairy lights strung above her bed, the familiar scent of vanilla lingering in the air. You spot her charger on the nightstand and make a quick grab for it, eager to get back to the living room before-

“Avoiding me?”

You freeze, heart skipping a beat at the sound of his voice. Turning slowly, you see Jake leaning in the doorway, hands stuffed casually into the pockets of his hoodie. The dim lighting casts shadows across his face, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips is unmistakable.

“No,” you lie, gripping the charger like it’s some kind of shield. “Why would I be avoiding you?”

He steps into the room, the space between you shrinking far too quickly. “I don’t know,” he says lightly, but his eyes are sharp, studying you in a way that makes your stomach twist. “You tell me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, trying to keep your cool. “I’ve been busy. Yunjin asked me to get this, so—”

“You’ve been ‘busy’ every time I try to talk to you lately,” Jake cuts you off, his voice softer now. He stops just a couple of feet away, close enough for you to catch the faint trace of his cologne. “You’re not a great liar, Y/n.”

Your pulse quickens. “Jake, I’m not avoiding you,” you insist, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.

“Then why can’t you look at me?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

You hate how he’s right. How his gaze feels like it’s burning holes into you, making your chest tighten with emotions you can’t even name.

“I can look at you,” you snap, finally lifting your eyes to meet his.

Big mistake.

Because now, under the warm glow of the fairy lights, you can see every detail—the way his hair falls messily over his forehead, the curve of his lips, the softness in his eyes despite the teasing edge in his voice. It’s overwhelming.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air feels too heavy, too charged, and you swear your heartbeat is loud enough for him to hear.

Jake’s voice drops, low and almost hesitant. “You don’t have to avoid me, you know.”

Your grip tightens on the charger. “I’m not avoiding you,” you repeat, though your voice wavers this time.

He steps closer, close enough that the tips of his shoes almost touch yours. “Then why does it feel like you are?”

Before you can come up with an answer—if you even have one—Yunjin’s voice echoes down the hallway.

“Y/m! Did you get it yet?”

You blink, snapping out of whatever daze Jake’s put you in. “Yeah, I’m coming!” you shout back, brushing past him quickly.

But as you leave the room, you swear you hear Jake mutter under his breath, “This isn’t over.”

And you know deep down he’s right.

You escape the room so fast you’re practically sprinting down the hallway, clutching the charger like it’s a lifeline. Your heart is still racing, the weight of Jake’s gaze lingering like a phantom touch.

“Finally,” Yunjin groans as you return to the living room, tossing the charger onto her lap. She doesn’t even look up, too busy scrolling through her phone. “You take forever, you know that?”

“Your room’s a disaster,” you lie easily, dropping onto the couch next to her. Anything to hide the fact that you needed a minute to compose yourself.

Yunjin rolls her eyes. “Excuses, excuses.”

Your attempt to blend back into the background is almost successful. Almost.

Jake reappears a few moments later, strolling into the living room as if nothing happened. He settles into the armchair across from you, casually sipping from a can of soda, but the way his eyes flick to you—just for a second—sends a fresh wave of heat up your neck.

“Jake,” Yunjin says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Why do you look like you’re plotting something? You’re creeping me out.”

“Me?” he says innocently, leaning back in the chair. “I’m just sitting here, minding my own business.”

You snort quietly, earning a suspicious glance from Yunjin. She doesn’t press it, though, turning her attention back to her phone.

But Jake doesn’t stop.

The night has ended, and you’re helping Yunjin clear the table when she turns to you with a casual grin.

“You should just stay over,” she says, like it’s the most obvious solution. “It’s late, and I don’t feel like walking you out to your car.”

You glance at the clock. It is late, and you don’t particularly want to drive home in the dark. “You sure?”

“Of course,” Yunjin says, already tossing you a spare pillow from the couch. “You can take the couch. Jake’s crashing here too, so it’s no big deal.”

The pillow freezes mid-air in your hands.

“Jake’s staying?” you ask, voice higher than you intended.

“Yeah, he’s too lazy to drive back to his place.” She waves it off, completely unbothered. “You guys can share the living room. Don’t worry—he won’t bother you.”

You sneak a glance at Jake, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping water. The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying to suppress a smirk.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Jake echoes, his voice laced with amusement. “I won’t bite.”

Your stomach flips, and you resist the urge to throw the pillow at him.

Later, after Yunjin retreats to her room and the apartment falls quiet, you find yourself on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and scrolling aimlessly through your phone. Jake is on the other side of the living room, stretched out in the recliner with his legs draped lazily over the armrest.

You try to ignore him. Really, you do. But the silence feels too heavy, and his presence too loud.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Jake finally says, breaking the stillness.

“Maybe I’m just tired,” you reply without looking up.

He hums, like he doesn’t believe you. “You’re avoiding me again.”

Your head snaps up. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Then why are you all the way over there?” he asks, gesturing to the considerable distance between the couch and the recliner.

You roll your eyes. “It’s a big living room, Jake. Not everything’s about you.”

Jake grins, shifting in his seat so he’s leaning forward slightly. “I didn’t say it was. But you didn’t deny it.”

Jake’s grin only widens as you stand, throwing the blanket off your legs. “Where are you going?” he asks, leaning back in the recliner like he’s settling in for a show.

“To yunjins room.” Just as your about to step into the hallway you feel a firm grip on your wrist.

The sudden warmth of his fingers wrapping around your wrist makes you freeze in place, your heart skipping a beat. You glance down at his hand, then back at him, catching the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Leaving so soon?” Jake’s voice is low, casual, but there’s something in the way he holds your wrist that makes your breath catch. It’s not forceful, but it’s enough to stop you in your tracks.

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die in your throat. The tension between you feels thick, like it’s wrapping around you, pulling you in despite your best efforts to stay composed.

“Let go,” you say, your voice firmer than you feel, trying to pull your wrist free from his grip.

But Jake doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans forward slightly, his expression shifting from playful to something more intense. “Why are you running away, huh?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper now. “You think I’m that bad?”

Your pulse races, and you tell yourself to stay calm, but it’s hard when his presence is so close, when you can feel the heat of his hand still around your wrist.

“Cmon, you know what we did. Why run away now?”

Your breath catches at his words, and for a moment, everything around you seems to blur. Jake’s grip isn’t tight, but the weight of his hand around your wrist feels almost suffocating. The air between you thickens with unspoken tension, a quiet challenge hanging in the space between his words and your silence.

“What we did?” you echo, voice wavering despite yourself. It’s hard to ignore the way your heart is beating erratically, but you force your gaze to stay steady on his. “What are you talking about?”

Jake’s eyes darken a fraction, and there’s a flicker of something more serious in his expression now. He leans in just a little closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “You know exactly what I mean. Or are you pretending you don’t remember?”

His proximity makes it even harder to breathe, the knot in your stomach tightening as you try to keep your composure. It wasn’t supposed to happen, whatever it was—everything was supposed to be normal, a simple hangout with Yunjin. But this feels anything but simple now.

You swallow, trying to pull away, but he doesn’t let go.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, but the uncertainty in your voice betrays you. Your pulse races, your mind swirling with a mix of confusion and frustration. What did happen between you two? Why is everything so complicated now?

Jake watches you, amusement flickering across his features, but there’s an edge to it that makes your chest tighten. “You’re not fooling anyone, Y/n,” he says, voice still low and almost teasing, but the undertone is undeniable. “I know what’s going on, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Your hand twitches in his, the tension between you palpable now. His thumb brushes lightly across your wrist, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. It’s too much. Too much closeness, too much confusion, too much of everything you don’t want to deal with right now.

“I—” You cut yourself off, trying to gather your thoughts, but it’s like you’ve forgotten how to breathe. “Let me go, Jake.”

He doesn’t budge. “Come on, Y/n, you know you don’t want to run. So why are you still pretending like we’re not here?”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. The moment stretches, lingering in the air. Your mind screams at you to pull away, to get some space, but a part of you is too caught in the moment to do anything about it.

Everything slows for a heartbeat. The world narrows down to just the two of you—his hand still wrapped around your wrist, his breath warm against your skin. You feel the pull of him, magnetic, undeniable. And then, in a split second, he leans in, his lips barely brushing against yours.

You freeze. Your body tenses, caught somewhere between wanting to pull away and wanting to lean in. His lips are just a whisper away from yours, and you can feel his breath mingling with yours, warm and tantalizing.

Your mind screams at you to stop. This isn’t right. Not with Jake. Not like this.

But the part of you that’s been confused and frustrated, the part that’s been fighting against the tension between you two, hesitates for a moment too long.

Jake’s lips press just slightly more firmly against yours, his grip on your wrist loosening for the briefest moment before you snap back to reality. You step back, heart hammering in your chest, pushing him away gently but firmly.

“No,” you say, your voice shaky but determined. You can’t let this happen. Not now. Not like this.

Jake looks at you, his expression a mix of surprise and something else—regret, maybe. He doesn’t say anything right away, and the air between you both feels thick with the weight of what just happened. You swallow hard, trying to steady your breathing.

“I… we cant,” you mutter, turning away from him, heart still racing in your chest. You don’t wait for him to respond, stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind you.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind you is like a loud punctuation mark in the silence, but it does little to calm your racing heart. You press your back against the door, your breath coming out in shallow gasps as the weight of what almost happened crashes over you.

You want to be angry. You want to yell at Jake for crossing the line, for making you feel this way. But the part of you that’s confused, the part that wanted that too, refuses to let you let it all out. What was that pull? Why does it feel like everything between you and Jake is suddenly shifting into something you can’t control?

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. No. This was a mistake. You can’t let this happen. Not now, not when you’re still figuring out what you want, who you are in all of this.

But still… your lips still tingle from where his almost kissed you, and you can’t ignore the confusing pull you feel every time he’s near.

The next day feels like you’re walking through a minefield. The awkwardness between you and Jake is thick in the air, and you can feel it in every glance, every half-hearted word exchanged. You can barely focus on anything, your thoughts too tangled up in the mess of emotions and confusion from last night.

The constant glances from Jake are driving you crazy. Every time you glance his way, his eyes are already on you, and it’s like this silent pull, a connection you can’t ignore no matter how hard you try. You try to focus on the TV, on Yunjin, on anything but the overwhelming feeling that he’s watching you.

But you can’t take it anymore. You can’t sit here pretending things are normal when they’re clearly not.

You stand up abruptly, earning a curious glance from Yunjin.

“Hey, I’m not feeling great. I think I’m gonna head home,” you say quickly, avoiding looking in Jake’s direction.

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. “You sure? You don’t look too bad.”

You force a half-smile, feeling your cheeks flush from the lie. “Yeah, I’m just a little tired. I think it’s better if I rest.”

She nods, still not completely convinced, but she doesn’t push it. “Okay, feel better.”

You grab your bag and head to the door, avoiding Jake’s gaze the entire time. You just need some space. You need to get away from him, from the tension, from the confusion. But as soon as you reach for the door handle, you feel it—Jake’s eyes on you again.

“Are you sure?” His voice is calm, but the way he says it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t turn around, you just open the door and step outside, trying to shake the feeling that he’s right behind you.

You don’t want to deal with this right now, but you know you can’t keep avoiding it forever.

You collapse onto your bed as soon as you get home, the door clicking shut behind you. The moment your head hits the pillow, you stare at the ceiling, willing your racing thoughts to slow down. But they won’t. They keep circling, replaying everything—Jake’s smirk, his eyes, the tension that’s been building between you two.

You shouldn’t feel this way. It’s wrong. He’s Yunjin’s older brother, and you’re not supposed to feel this… connection with him. But you do. And it’s driving you crazy.

Your mind drifts to last night—the way his hand brushed yours, the way his words hung in the air. You don’t know what he was thinking, or what he’s trying to do, but you can’t shake the feeling that things are different now. You’re not just friends anymore. And maybe you never were.

A sudden knock on your door interrupts your thoughts, making you jump. You sit up quickly, heart hammering in your chest. Who could it be?

You don’t have to wonder long, because the door creaks open, and there he is. Jake. Standing in your doorway with that same calm expression, his eyes scanning you like he’s trying to figure you out.

You swallow hard, not sure whether to be annoyed, surprised, or just… confused. “What are you doing here?” You try to keep your voice steady, but it wavers a little.

Jake doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he just steps into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “I thought you might need some company,” he says, his tone casual, but there’s something in his eyes that says otherwise. Something unspoken.

You feel your stomach knot. “Jake, I—”

“I know, I know,” he cuts you off, his voice softer now. “You’re trying to get away from everything, right? But you don’t have to. You don’t have to push me away.”

Your breath catches. “What are you talking about?”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, but not in a threatening way. More like… a magnet, drawing you in despite your better judgment.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, a small, almost playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “So, you might as well talk to me.”

Your pulse quickens, your thoughts a jumbled mess. What do you say to him now? What is he even expecting from you?

You look at him, trying to make sense of it all. “Jake, this… this isn’t a good idea.” You know it’s not, but the more he stands there, looking at you like that, the harder it is to push him away.

You don’t say anything at first, just sit there, your gaze locked with his. The room feels smaller with every passing second, the space between you shrinking with the weight of unspoken words. You could tell him to leave, to stop showing up like this—but you don’t.

For reasons you can’t quite explain, you let the tension hang there, thick in the air. You don’t move, and neither does he. The only sound is the soft hum of the clock ticking in the corner, matching the beat of your heart, each second dragging longer than the last.

Jake doesn’t look frustrated, though. In fact, there’s something in his eyes—a quiet amusement, maybe even a little bit of satisfaction, like he knows exactly what this silence is doing to you.

He finally speaks, his voice low and smooth. “You know, Y/n, I’m not so easy to ignore. But you already knew that, right?”

His words linger, and for a second, you’re not sure if you should respond or just let him keep talking.

You swallow hard. “I’m not ignoring you.”

“Sure feels like it.” He takes another step closer, closing the distance between you two, but still leaving just enough space to make you wonder if he’s waiting for you to pull away.

But you don’t.

You stay still, unsure of what exactly you want, but feeling the pull toward him anyway. You’re not sure if it’s the curiosity or something else, but you can’t deny that the closer he gets, the more you can’t breathe.

Jake tilts his head, studying you closely. “So, what do you want me to do, huh? Pretend everything’s normal and keep our distance?”

Your lips part, but no words come out.

He smirks. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

You want to tell him to leave. You want to tell him that you can’t handle this, that it’s too much. But all you do is sit there, heart racing, eyes still locked on his.

It’s quiet for a moment—an uncomfortable silence that seems to stretch on forever. But instead of stepping closer, Jake backs away slightly, not giving you the chance to say anything more, but also not completely leaving.

“You know, I’ll be around,” he says, his voice almost teasing now, like he’s enjoying the way you’re reacting to him. “When you’re ready, I’m here.”

As Jake turns to leave, you feel the words rising in your chest, unfiltered and urgent, like they’ve been trapped there for too long. The quiet that follows his departure feels like it’s pressing down on you, suffocating you with all the things you never said.

“Don’t go,” you call out, your voice stronger than you expect. He stops, pausing with his back still turned toward you.

For a second, neither of you says anything. But then, he slowly turns around, his eyes fixed on you, waiting for whatever comes next.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of your words hang in the air between you. The silence stretches, but you don’t break it. Not this time.

“I—” you start, but your mind goes blank for a moment, scrambling for something to say that makes sense. All the feelings, all the uncertainty, suddenly feel so loud, so overwhelming.

Jake takes a step closer, his gaze softening, as if he can sense your inner conflict. He doesn’t rush you, just waits patiently, giving you the space to find the words.

“I don’t want to push you away,” you finally manage, the words coming out in a rush. “But I don’t know what I’m doing. With you. With all this.” You motion between the two of you, frustration building. “It’s like I can’t tell if it’s something real or if I’m just… I don’t know. Caught up in it.”

Jake steps closer again, and this time, it’s different. He doesn’t feel like the same person from before—someone who would smile and tease, or just leave without a second thought. Now, he feels like someone who’s listening. Really listening.

“Y/n,” he says quietly, and the way he says your name makes your chest tighten. “I get it. I’m not expecting you to figure everything out right now. But you don’t have to keep running from this. From me.”

You glance up at him, unsure of what to say next, feeling vulnerable but also relieved. There’s something about the way he’s standing there, so open and calm, that makes it all feel just a little bit easier to understand.

“I just don’t want to mess things up,” you admit, feeling a rush of honesty. “I don’t know how to act with you, especially after everything.”

Jake’s fingers gently brush against your skin, the lightest touch, like he’s afraid of crossing some invisible line. His eyes lock onto yours, intense and vulnerable all at once.

“You’re not going to mess anything up,” he says quietly, his voice full of reassurance. “I’m here, Y/n. Whatever this is… we’ll figure it out together.”

His hand lingers near your cheek, but doesn’t quite touch you fully. The space between you feels charged, the air thick with everything that’s been left unsaid.

You feel a tightness in your chest as his words sink in, but also a sense of relief. It’s like a weight you didn’t even know you were carrying has been lifted, and for the first time in days, your mind is clear enough to just… breathe.

You look up at him, heart pounding in your chest. The tension between you both feels different now—not heavy, but uncertain in a way that’s almost comforting.

“I don’t know what this means yet,” you say, your voice soft, your words hesitant but honest. “But… I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t matter.”

Jake finally lets his hand rest on your cheek, his touch warm and grounding. “It matters. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, no words needed, just the quiet understanding between you. The world feels a little smaller, a little more manageable.

Jake’s thumb gently caresses your cheek, his touch light, like he’s still waiting for you to pull away, but you don’t. Instead, you close your eyes for a second, letting the warmth of his touch settle in.

When you open your eyes again, Jake’s face is closer now, just inches away. You feel his breath on your skin, the tension hanging between you like a promise, unspoken but undeniable.

“You sure about this?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze searching yours.

You nod slowly, the words you need just out of reach, but the answer in your heart clear. “Yeah,” you breathe out, feeling the truth of it settle inside you. “I’m sure.”

And before either of you can second-guess it, Jake closes the distance. His lips are soft, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. But when you don’t pull away, when you lean in just slightly, he deepens the kiss, and everything else fades away.

Jake’s hand stays on your cheek, but it feels like he’s holding back, like he’s waiting for you to say something, anything. The tension in the air is thick, charged, like it could snap at any moment. Your breath catches in your throat as you both just stand there, so close, but still not quite touching the way you both seem to want to.

The moment Jake picks you up, it’s like everything else vanishes. His hands are firm on your waist, and before you can even register what’s happening, he’s sitting down on the couch, pulling you gently into his lap.

“I’ll make sure you won’t avoid me this time.”

[celenexox]

Don’t Blame Me - Chris Sturniolo

pairings: bf!chris x gf!reader

summary: when your jealous boyfriend, chris, interferes in your hangout with your guy friends

————————————————————————

chris has always been the jealous type, and because of that you barely have any guy friends

but you decided that he doesn’t rule what you can and can’t do so you made plans with the few that you did have, and to be honest with yourself you only did this to piss him off

a few hours later you start getting ready to meet up with them, you guys were just going to an arcade, everything was casual

you had your hair slicked back in a ponytail, you were wearing a jersey and cargos, and for accessories was a few gold bracelets and gold hoops

you look down at your phone that buzzed to a text from one of them telling you that they’re outside, you get your bag and put your shoes on and walk out the house

you get inside the car and they all greet you in “hey y/n” “bro where have you been?” “we haven’t seen you in so long”

you look at them and reply to all their comments at once “i don’t even know why it’s been this long since we’ve hung out, but we’re here”

after about ten minutes, the car parks and you and your friends get out and go inside the arcade

one of them pays for you, and you guys all walk into the arcade and start to play the games, going from ones with guns, to pac-man, to air hockey

by now you’ve played a few games and you’re having fun, and a few of them have posted on their stories already

you then get a text from your boyfriend chris while you’re playing on the race cars, he’s asking you where you are and you reply “at the arcade” and set your phone down to continue your game

thirty minutes have now passed by, you’re talking to your friends and in the corner of your eyes, you see him, chris

you wanted to be surprised that he was here, but you honestly were not, you knew he was gonna do something when you got the text from him asking for your location

you excuse yourself from the guys and walk in his direction, the second you got close to his proximity he grabbed your arm and yanked you outside, holding the door open for the both of you

he takes a deep breath before speaking “why are you with them? the only girl might i add”

“chris calm down they’re just my friends, nothing happened, yet” you smirked slightly at the last word you said, you knew that wasn’t going to sit right with him

“yet?” he chuckles, his grip on your arm tightening “we’re leaving”

“wait let me atleast say bye to them” you reply

“no. you’ve had your fun, we’re going home” he says, opening his car door, setting you inside then slamming your door

as he’s making his way around the car to get to his seat you laugh, knowing you’ve won

he opens the door, sits down and slams his door as well, he takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose before going to speak “do you know how insane you make me feel whenever you’re with another guy that’s not me?”

“are you intimidated by them? they’re just some stupid guys-“ you try to finish your sentence, but you’re cut off by a loud voice

“no- no i’m not intimidated, i’m just frustrated, why are you even with them? did i do something wrong?!” he says, trying to keep his composure, but failed

you look at him shocked, he barely raises his voice at you

“okay, this is stupid, i’m trying to tell you that it’s not that serious, nothing happened, we’re just hanging out”

“okay don’t blame me for getting upset that my girlfriend is hanging out with other guys, alone” he says

you take his hand, and look at him “you don’t have to be, okay? i dont even like hanging out with them”

he looks at you, all confused “then why do you?” barely above a whisper now

“i just wanted to see your reaction, to be honest, but i wouldn’t have done that if i didn’t think you’d be this upset about it” you slightly laugh, trying to lighten up the mood

his face blank, not sure what to say next, “okay whatever, im sorry for yelling at you- just please, tell me before you see who you’re seeing”

you squeeze his hand “okay i will”

after he got your reassurance, he turns the car on and drives off.

[janitorhutcherson]

you know a character we don’t speak about enough? billy from burn. okay, not one of the best movies ever, but unpopular opinion: one of my fave characters. he’s just so SCRUMMY!

on that note: headcanons.

cw: nsfw towards the end (knife play, gunplay, rough activities), mostly fluff! drug usage, fire (mwah no skin), hinted (but is he really) death

• although he may have robbed a place, billy isn't an evil person. in fact, he's extremely well loved by the community. he's the type of man to help old ladies with their groceries, tip well at coffee shops ... at least as well as he can. this is why when it went public that billy had robbed a place, many people were in shambles. "you mean sweet, sweet lil ol' billy? are you sure? oh my goodness, what has that boy gotten himself into?"

• before he started dwindling in some not-so-great activities and found himself owing a bunch of money, billy was an 'aspiring' artist. he'd play his guitar sometimes at the local bars. people would tell him "you could be something one day, y'know," and billy would just scoff and laugh -- but deep down? he'd dreamt of maybe, just maybe getting out of his silly town and being something, but he knew it wasn't possible.

• billy wasn't always the mess he is now. at one point, he had a full on family, hopes and dreams, but he pushed almost everyone away in an attempt to keep them from being dragged into his mess of a life. that is, everyone except you. you'd been the constant shining star in his life, refusing to let him push you any further. you'd clean his wounds after bar fights, tuck him into bed when he'd drank too much, and even take care of him when you were scared he'd OD. he hated putting you in those situations, but he knew he could never get you to leave.

• billy is the type of boyfriend to not let you lift a finger, for the most part. you do so much to keep him safe, to take care of him when he is at his absolute worst, that he won't even let you so much as make your own glass of water. before you can even fully stand up, he's up on his feet, asking what he can do for you. "hungry, darling? need something to drink? a bath? what can I do for you? just tell me and it's yours." while billy was nice to everyone, he would only do anything for you.

• billy is super protective. given his traumatic past of losing people he loves, hurting people he loves, and witnessing awful things, he is constantly on edge. the moment something seems off in a situation, his eyes stay on whatever or whoever seems odd, his arms staying wrapped around you. he's ready to pounce at the slightest movement. on that topic, nobody wants to know what happened last time someone tried to catcall you. lets just say the guy left with a black eye and billy left with an upset partner who kept scolding him for going a little too far.

• he's a huge softie. he'll buy you flowers, burn CDs for you, sing sweet little songs in his sultry voice with a little rasp from smoking. he loves holding you and swaying to music, kissing behind your ear and holding you in bed. he's BIG on physical touch, because he's afraid if he lets go, you'll dissipate in his arms, ceasing to exist as if you were only a dream. while he is a major romantic, it's only for you. god forbid you point it out, or he'll get all grumpy and pouty, a deep crimson blush on his cheeks, grumbling on and on about how annoying it is when you point is out. "oh shut up, I'm your boyfriend, okay? I'm, like, just bein' good to you and stuff, like a boyfriend does."

• while billy is a sweet and gentle lover, in bed it's a different story. of course he'd take care of you after, but during, he'd ram into you with direct eye contact, hand wrapped around your neck. vile insults and strings of curse words would come out of his mouth as he'd continuously abuse your insides. he's a big fan of knife play, too, carving his initials into your soft skin, watching as it bleeds, knowing you'd never be able to get rid of his mark. on top of that, he'd let you mark him too, because while he loved making sure everyone knew you were his, he wanted everyone to know he was yours.

• okay, let's get the obvious out of the way here. billy is a die hard gun owner. he's got a pistol he uses, and sometimes, billy likes to take the bullets out of it, and push the barrel into you, watching as you squirm. sometimes he'll stick it in your mouth, watching as your pretty lips wrap around the metal coo'ing soft words to you. "oh god, you're so pretty like this, baby. yeah, 's a good job, keep sucking, gorgeous..."

• as we all know, billy gets charred. crisped. scorched. cooked. grilled. roasted. seared. burnt. this is what seems to be his ultimate demise, until it's not..... but then it is again, at least we thought. in reality, billy barely escaped. he'd awoken up, pain all over. he tried his best to make his way back home, somehow, by the grace of god making it. when he showed up back home to you, worried as hell, and a little angry at him until you saw the state he was in. your anger instantly turned to worry as you rushed to his aid, gasping as you begged for an explanation. billy, being the stubborn man he is, simply weakly scoffed out, holding up a shaky palm as if to say 'wait.' "no need to get all worked up, darlin', it's just a little burn." to that, all you could do is roll your eyes as you got to work on trying to save your burnt boyfriend.

[lesbianraskolnikov]

I take rodya in one hand and daniil in the other and they are both lesbians too

[shulkerbullets]

oh since im posting things again i watched a vid abt this dude recently and nostalgia kicked in

[eddis-not-eeddis]

I keep seeing this thing where guys swear up and down that they want a good Christian girl, but then balk if that means she wants to be anything more than a wife and mother. Like, my guy, you do realize that there's a lot more to Christian women than being married or having babies? Yeah? What about a woman who works among the homeless, or runs a bible study, or volunteers to teach refugees a new language, or who takes part in the prison ministry, or who spends a lot of her spare time in another city street preaching? I see a lot of guys who claim they want "a girl who loves Jesus" but don't want anything to do with a woman who does more than just go to church and lives a life of active ministry outside of her home.

[themintman]

I am loosingmy marbels