#i always forget about windows until the end and it’s a fucking mess

[theamazingannie]

I love interior decorating on the sims but I’m absolute shit at building so all of my builds are the most godawful ugly buildings you’ve ever seen with rooms scattered around haphazardly but you bet that those rooms are fantastic

[mattitties]

can u plz do a fluff fanfic about the reader being scared of thunder and there's a rlly loud thunder storm so matt has to comfort her? thanks :)

thunder - matt sturniolo

“Really? I love when it storms. I think it’s so peaceful and I can just curl up and watch a movie or something,” Matt tells me. It’s our second date and we’re in the “biggest fears” category, and I told him about my extremely irrational, but very severe, fear of storms. 

“I get that,” I reply. “It’s really not that I’m just scared of storms, my best friend’s house was struck by lightning and caught on fire when we were in high school, so it kind of just set something off in my head. I know it sounds stupid because it didn’t happen to me, but it just started this crazy fear.”

“Oh wow, that’s terrifying. No, I totally get it, it’s not stupid.”

As I sit with my knees tucked to my chest on my bathroom floor, I think back to that conversation from three months ago. It’s the first storm I’ve experienced since I moved to LA, and I’m a mess. My windows are rattling with each clap of thunder, and all I can think about is my roommate at work right now. She enjoys storms, but my anxiety is getting the best of me thinking about everything that could go wrong. 

What if she can’t make it to her car? What if she gets in an accident on the way home? What if I’m stuck here for the rest of the night by myself?

She’s the only person I’ve got here in LA. I had Matt, but then I fucked it all up right on our two month anniversary.

I was so ridiculously busy with work and what felt like 800 pounds of shit piling up in my life that I completely forgot about our anniversary. I stood him up at the dinner that he made reservations for, and subsequently didn’t go to the hockey game that he was going to surprise me with; the hockey game which he got $300 tickets for. 

I apologized profusely and told him I would do anything to make it up to him, and he told me he was just really disappointed and needed some space before we talked again.

He called me a couple days later and I didn’t answer because I was so ashamed and embarrassed I couldn’t even face him. 

He texted me, I never replied. After three days of missed calls and texts, I guess he got the message because he stopped trying.

A week after that, I texted him apologizing for everything and explained my intentions behind my actions.

He didn’t answer. I don’t blame him.

That was three weeks ago, and it’s been radio silence on both ends. I guess we’re really done, but I really, really need him right now.

I turn on the shower to try to drown out some of the noise of the thunder, but nothing is working. I look at the weather app. It shows the same pattern until tomorrow morning.

I’m so fucked. I can barely breathe, my heart is beating out of my chest, and I just want to die. I’ve been texting my roommate to see when she’s returning but she’s busy at work and I’m trying not to annoy her any more than I know I have been, so now I’m just sitting in front of the shower, praying that everything would just stop.

Ten or so minutes pass, and I hear the front door open. Nobody ever comes to our apartment and my roommate always forgets her key, so I just leave it deadbolted when I’m home. I turn off the shower and call out her name to let her know I’m home, but she must not hear me. I pull myself together as much as possible and go out to the living room, but I don’t see the face I expect when I get there.

“Matt?” I whisper. I’m in such shock that nothing else comes out.

He’s absolutely drenched as he stands by the front door with a bottle of lemonade. I love lemonade.

“Hi,” he smiles shyly as he raises the hand holding the bottle. “I, uh, brought you something.”

I have no idea what to say. I opt for, “what are you doing here?”

“Well, I know how much you hate storms, so I thought you could use some company. Also… I just really miss you. And I would like to talk about us. We don’t have to do it tonight, obviously, but–”

“Yes. Yes, we can talk. Tomorrow? We can get breakfast? My treat,” I say, sounding pathetically desperate, but this is all I’ve wanted for the past three weeks.

“Okay,” he says as he takes off his shoes. “Do you happen to still have some of my sweatshirts and sweatpants? I’m kinda…” he says, motioning to the water dripping off of him.

“Yes! In my room, come.” He follows me to my room and I give him his clothes that I’ve worn an embarrassing amount of times since we broke up. “You didn’t have to come tonight,” I tell him. “This is really, just… I don’t deserve this after what I did.”

He waves a hand at me as if to say forget about it. “We’ll talk about that tomorrow. And I did have to come. Because I care about you, and I know you wouldn’t want to be alone tonight.”

I’m about to cry. I really don’t deserve this guy. 

“Let me go change, then we can crack open that lemonade and cuddle and watch something. Sound good?” he asks.

All I can do is nod in response as I watch him smile before he goes to the bathroom. I pour the lemonade into two glasses and set them on the bedside tables. 

When he comes back out and lays on my bed, I just stand there, wondering if he wants me to join him.

“Hello, what are you waiting for? Don’t leave me hangin!”

I smile and lay next to him, feeling more at home than ever when he pulls me into him.

[yellowbrokenblue]

This tour had been the longest yet. You hadn’t seen him in almost four months and it was driving you crazy. You understood this was how it was going to be like when you started dating, and you knew you could handle it. You just didn’t realise it would be this hard.

It was the middle of the night in Los Angeles, you’d allowed for your sleep schedule to be messed up a little bit for Harry’s sake- the short text conversations you had at night were what was getting you through these months.

H: I miss you

It was a short and simple text, however still made your heart skip a beat.

You: I miss you too, babe

There wasn’t long to go until Harry would be home again, then you’d get a sense of normality for at least a short amount of time.

H: I just wish you were here

H: Wanna hold you

H: Want you.

When the multiple texts started to roll in, you knew what was going on. He’d been on tour for long enough for you to understand when your boyfriend was horny. You squeezed your thighs together with anticipation as you watched his little text bubble pop up and down, indicating they be was typing.

H: What you doing right now, baby?

You text him back at god speed.

You: In bed ;)

H: Are those pretty little legs spread open for me?

You: Do you want them to be?

As soon as Harry read that message, the facetime notification appeared on your phone, Harry’s face instantly appearing on your screen.

“Be a good girl for me and balance your camera so I can see everything, mhm?” Harry said, “Wanna watch my little princess get herself off.”

You done as instructed and placed the phone in a perfect position so Harry had a view of you, and your pussy.

“This good?” You ask him.

“I’m seeing too much clothes, princess. Get it all off I wanna see all of you.” He said, a groan escaping his lips as you peeled your panties off, “Tits too, wanna see it all.”

Fully exposed in front of the camera, you watched as Harry practically drooled over your naked body.

“Legs open.” He said, “Spread ‘em nice and wide.”

You done as he said, you’d always do what he said.

“Can’t wait to watch my princess get herself off. Your soft little fingers in your wet pussy.”

Your hands were creeping closer, desperate to touch yourself but awaiting his permission.

“All for you, daddy.”

You watched as Harry struggled to keep it together, he was on the other end of the line desperate to get off too, but he was waiting to watch you first.

“Pretend your fingers are mine, touch yourself for me, baby.”

Your hands slid into your soaked pussy.

“Tell me how wet you are.” He said.

“So wet,” You ran two fingers through your soaked folds, “All for you, daddy. Wish it was you touching me.”

“It’ll be me soon, my girl.” He said, “When I’m back you’re gonna cum all over my fingers so many times you’ll forget your own name.”

You found your clit and began to move in circles, legs twitching.

“Nice and slow, wanna drag this out as long as I can.” Harry said again.

Your cunt was aching for him. It had been months since he’d last touched you, since you’d felt him inside of you. The last time you slept together was the night before he left, it felt like a decade ago.

“Can’t stop thinking about the last time I fucked you. Against the window in my house. Made you squirt.” Harry was barely getting his words out, you could tell he was getting himself off. “Can’t wait to fuck you again.”

“Need you, daddy. Come home so I can feel your cock again.” You moaned, moving your fingers at a rapid pace, desperate to feel something relatively close to what Harry made you feel.

“You look so pretty like this, all worked up and desperate for me.”

“Harry- Fuck, fuck fuck.”

“That’s it, my girl. Keep going. Wanna watch you cum all over your pretty fingers.”

It was embarrassing that you were getting yourself off this fact. All because you’d been deprived of Harry for so long.

“Fuckin’ hell, darlin’ look at you. So beautiful.”

“Harry… Fuck. Harry, I’m-”

“That’s my girl.”

You came all over your own fingers, moaning Harry’s name as he watched from the other side of the screen. Hopefully soon enough it would be him here beside you.

[sky-is-the-limit]

(+18/NSFW prompt/AFAB reader x Philip Graves)

Disclaimer: I'm not a writer, if you are, feel free to continue this!!

Out of all CoD characters, I think the one with the biggest corruption/honorific kink would be Philip fucking Graves. He is possesive and though he's the most confident man in any room he steps in, he can't help but burn in jealousy if you give your attention to anyone but him.

Whether you work for him, with him or have nothing to do with his line of work, he'd have you on your knees, begging for him to touch you, begging his forgiveness for being such a dirty little slut who even dared to touch another man's shoulder while laughing at his stupid joke. As if he could make you laugh more than him, as if he could make you scream in pleasure the way he does.

He's the type of man to walk over with all the audacity in the world like he owns it, wrap his arm around your waist with the most menacing smirk on his face as he stares down the poor guy who even dared to approach you, watching him tense up, eyes not knowing where to look. He's observing this pathetic little man as he loses every ounce of flirtation in his body as Graves places a small kiss on your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

If there's one thing that gets him going, it's having authority over people. Stepping into a bar with you, all dressed up in his favourite tight dress, love marks decorating your neck from fucking you in his car earlier, watching men not dare to stare at you longer than two seconds because he's there. It fuels him.

You know damn well what's about to happen next. Some might call it toxic, deep down you know it is but you don't care. You love provoking him, watching his beautiful blue eyes darken, knowing exactly the two specific thoughts going through his mind:

1. Kill the fucking asshole 2. Fuck you so hard that you forget you even met him.

This doesn't surprise you, the tight grip on your waist, soft enough not to hurt you but firm so you know that reckless actions have consequences when dealing with Philip Graves. You know the type of man he is, his self awareness gave you plenty of chances to leave, to find someone your age, someone 'healthier' who could calm down your storms but no. You chose him again and again. Like a fiend desperately needing a dose of him, crawling back to him every single time and you'd have it no other way. You'd rather be faced down buried in a pillow, mascara running down your flustered cheeks mixed with salty tears, your throat burning from screaming that you can't even hear your own voice, just the wooden headboard banging against the wall while he slips in and out like a madman. Yeah, you'd rather have that than anyone else who'd treat you gently.

"You know what happens when you act like that, don't you?" His breath burning against your skin, his hand holding you close as he guides you outside to his car. The excitement caught up to your brain long before a proper response could, a sly smile forming on your lips as you turn your gaze up to look at him with an innocent facade you know he will see through.

"Yes." It won't be long until you give in, you know it. He always gets what he wants. Philip Graves is not a tease, he won't kiss your neck and play with the end of your dress, sweetly messing with you to get a proper answer, no, that's not him. He craves control, he wants to break you into a pathetic mess, slurring your words, legs trembling, making you cling onto him like you're wounded and he's the only thing that can heal you.

You don't even register how quick you went from touching the handle of the door to finding yourself against it, your back touching the cold window with both of your hands pinned to your sides. There's the look you wanted. His slight smirk doesn't fool you when his eyes are staring at you like that, full of determination, looking down into yours like he's one second away from fucking the audacity out of you in this parking lot.

"Now.. let's try that again, shall we?" Game on.

"Yes, 'Commander'?" the dismissive, sarcastic tone in your voice must've struck a nerve. You can see from the way his bottom lip twiches, his smirk disappearing but never breaking eye contact, not even to blink. With a swift move, he uses the firm grip he has on both of your wrists to turn you around, your chest and forehead now pressed against the glass so you can stare at the pathetic state of your reflection.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you, doll.”

[callofdudes]

Stalker Simon Riley x Reader.

Cw: Obsession, Dissociation, trauma, he's just a tad misunderstood, reader is held hostage.

@itsscromp

You had moved to Manchester for many reasons. A better job, a better life, and most importantly, to get away from your family. You wanted nothing to do with them. You could no longer take the abuse and the hell that they put you through.

Manchester was far enough away they wouldn't think to come find you. Even if they cared, which you doubt they did.

This was a chance for new life, to start over fresh. Admittedly, being new to this whole new rush was a lot to handle. Manchester was not as desolate as your previous residence so it was definitely strange.

You got an apartment just twenty minutes from your work that you picked up at a local coffee shop. Life was turning out for your favor as you tried to be your own person.

You woke up each day and headed to work, walking in to the sound of the small bell and greeting your coworkers.

"Hello y/n." One of them greeted you with a smile.

"Hiya, how are you doing?" You asked, getting your apron.

"Pretty good. We're a bit busy today, I'm glad you're here." He said.

"Oh, I can imagine." You moved toward the end of the large counter, cleaning a small mess and watching out the window as the world passed by. Seeing all the people and the cars flowing down the roads and sidewalks. It was a calming thing you could focus on. Something you could rely on to be consistent.

Well, almost.

Since getting your new job you couldn't help feeling like you were being watched. Possibly just a side effect of moving to a new place and still settling in. Still unsure of the people and destinations. It would go away eventually when you were sure this was home.

Sat in the corner, a dark mass of black hoodie and covered facial features sat a rather large man. Drinking tea quietly. You've noticed him a few times. In the hustle and bustle of the small shop sometimes even his huge figure got lost in the deafening sounds of patrons. While he barely moved, barely made a sound.

He was a regular. You didn't know his name. He didn't bother talking to anyone and no one talked to him. Though it seemed that everyone knew him. The other employees seemed to be afraid of him. One way or another he intimidated people, but hell what did you know?

Over the next few weeks, you only felt that sickening paranoia grow. Even if you were settling, it made your skin crawl. Feeling eyes on you at all times. Leading to you closing the windows and blinds of your apartment and constantly checking the door lock. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up when you watch TV.

You tried to move the couch back against the wall in hopes it would make you feel grounded. But it didn't help much.

This is what you get for moving, you thought to yourself.

There was no way someone could've followed you, right? You were sure that none of your family had a clue where you went. Hell, they probably wouldn't want to. So what the fuck was this?

You sat there, trying to shake the feeling, to forget about it. You needed to sleep, not freak out over the possibilities of what could happen.

But you weren't wrong. You weren't alone. Someone was watching you. Their little obsession starting to simmer. They had seen you around, they had their eyes on you. Watching you at work, to getting in your car and heading to your apartment. Watching, keeping an eye on you as the obsession inside their veins coiled until it was suffocating with tension.

He watched you. He always did. He didn't like how close you were to your friends or how friendly you were to strangers. Such a foolish one. But he would keep watch over you. He could always hear the conversations you had with a close coworker about how you even ended up in Manchester. Your parents were abusive, and controlling and never accepted the parts of you they didn't like.

He understood. That's why he looked out for you. He felt a kinship of sorts. You were younger than him and had escaped from that abuse on your terms. But this world is a sickening place.

You should know that by now, don't you?

"Why do you look at him so much?" A coworker asked you. You nearly jumped out of your skin.

"Huh?"

Your coworkers nodded off to the corner where the man sat alone as usual, slowly drinking his tea so it would last the length of your shift. Sometimes he'd stay late if you did, knowing you were too kind to refuse to take up extra work for the money. He couldn't let you stay too long out here alone. No, no it couldn't happen.

You shrugged, looking at your coworker. "I was just thinking, not looking."

Your co-worker looking at you for a long moment before shrugging and going to help someone. When you looked back, your gazes met. You were a little startled to feel the intensity of his gaze on you. His eyes brewing into your soul, ensnared by you just standing there. He needed to watch you.

He was watching you more and more frequently. You'd feel his gaze and the hairs on the back of your neck would rise, sending a chill through you.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

By the 5:00 mark, you and only a few other people were still in the shop. You yawned, deciding to clock out, having been there since twelve. You said goodbye to the remaining staff, grabbing your bag and coat. Dark eyes followed you as you slid out from behind the counter and headed out of the shop.

No less than two minutes had passed before the man in the corner stood, throwing out his long empty drink and slipping out the door after you.

The man followed close behind, staying back and not alerting you. You were too distracted, tired, and ready to just fall into bed.

You could've sworn the man was following you, you had a feeling that you'd felt since the beginning. Eventually looking back and spotting him. Of all the times to leave... Your heartbeat picked up in your chest, quickly walked to your car at the far end of the parking lot, and got in, locking the doors. But the man wasn't in obvious sight. So you left. And quickly.

You made it home, walking inside the building hurriedly and up to your apartment. Doing a double take before going inside. That same feeling still stuck with you. You headed to the window and pulled the blinds closed. Pulling out your phone to call a co-worker.

"Hey Y/n, what's up?"

"I think someone is stalking me..."

"What?" They asked. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, I saw it... Can you stay over tonight??" You looked out the window again quickly, scanning the parking lot and finding no one. Were you seriously just paranoid?

Each moment waiting for them felt too tense.

You watched from the window until you saw your coworker's car pull up. Checking the peephole and inviting them in. "F/n..."

"Hey, calm down. Let's watch a movie and talk about this." They smiled, trying to cheer you up.

You both curled up on the couch and watched a movie. Though you were still on edge.

"Hey, it'll be ok. I'm sure it'll be ok." They squeezed your shoulder and tried to make you feel better. But your face only grew grimmer than before. You squeezed their hand back, looking away from the film to the window. Closed off by thick curtains, being still they didnèt make you feel better. You felt like his eyes were still on you. Stalking and looking deep inside you.

After the movie ended, you asked f/n if they could stay. "I just don't feel like being alone right now."

"Ok, I can stay." They nodded, which set you at ease slightly.

You brought them to the spare bedroom and set them up in there. You laid out the old blankets and regrettably left the room.

"Goodnight Y/n." They called softly as they turned out their nightlight.

"Yeah... Goodnight.." You felt like with F/n acting so easy about the situation you were just paranoid. You were seeing and hearing things. They had told you it was just you getting used to the place. No one ever feels at home in their house for the first little bit. You sighed, pulling the blanket tight and closing your fist against your chest. You closed your eyes and let the darkness of your room take over. Slowly lulling you to sleep and pulling you into a sense of security.

He walked into the parking lot, thumb rubbing over the sheath of his blade, walking toward the sidewalk. He frowned softly, seeing the car parked next to yours. He looked at the license plate and the contents of the items in the car. He pulled out his blade and dragged it along the side of the car, digging it angrily into the metal.

He walked up to the building and walked inside, jamming the lock to the second door and pressing the elevator button. His stomach swam with exhilarating emotions as he went up to your floor. The light reflected the buttons of the floors off his pupils. His pupils expanded in pure excitement and anger all knotted deep within him.

He walked down the carpeted hallway. His heart throbbed inside his chest, reaching your room. He saw the number of the door, running his finger over the peephole.

From his sweater he pulled out some tools, sliding them slowly into the door handle.

Inside the door, you stirred slightly but stayed asleep.

His tongue poked out between his teeth, working the lock quietly. He could hear the clinks of the tumblers. He could smell your cologne in the hall, your perfume, everything. He wanted to taste your skin, he wanted to feel the life flow through your body.

The lock clicked, and the handle turned, the door pushed open slowly.

He walked in, the light coming in from the streetlights illuminated the living room enough that he could navigate. He walked quietly past the living room. Spotting photos on the wall. He looked at pictures of you with old friends from your homeland. Your smile when in the presence of others.

He frowned, moving forward and seeing the door of the bedroom. He walked slowly and silently. Listening closely to the sound of your breathing, the rustling of sheets. The bed frame squeaked quietly. His pupils dilated as he pushed the door open slightly and walked inside, looking down at where you slept. He walked over, slowing his breath and squatting down in front of you. Seeing your relaxed face. Your hair was messy and your clothes haphazardly discarded on the floor. He saw the trinkets on your nightstand and an old glass of water from earlier.

He slowly stood and inspected further into the room, looking at the posters on your walls. So this was who you were.

He looked back at you and walked over, gently reaching his hand out, running his fingers across your cheek, down to your jaw, and stopping at your chin. He gripped the flesh slightly.

The softness of your skin made him shiver, his stomach coiled and twisted. He didn't have any foul intentions, but something about finally getting within contact range of you fucked with his mind. He breathed heavier, gently fixing your hair, rather lovingly. He smiled softly as he watched you like you meant the entire world.

And you did.

You were the reason for everything.

He could never let you go, never leave you. He needed you.

He had to watch over you and protect you.

He gently stroked your cheek, until he heard the hallway floorboards creak. Footsteps patterned across the ground to the bathroom, flicking the light on and turning on the light. His eyes widened a little. He looked down at you and sadly pulled his hand away. He stood and walked back to the door. He listened until he heard the footsteps move back across the hallway and he slipped out.

He didn't want to leave you.

But he needed to.

He closed the door slowly and locked it. Before heading back down the hallway.

You groaned, rolling over and burying your head into the pillow. Your heart pounded in your chest and you looked at the door. Tears filled your eyes. You'd felt his hand on your face. You'd felt his breath brush against your face. Your hands trembled as you tried to keep quiet. You were unable to fall back asleep until the sunlight peaked through your curtains. Your clock for work went off and you rigidly sat up.

You looked over to your nightstand where your keys stayed. You saw one of your keychains missing from it. Your hands trembled as you picked it up, seeing the missing key ring.

How had someone come in and taken it? How did they get inside the building? You stood and walked to the living room, checking the lock. It was jammed and didn't want to work. This only confirmed your horrific suspicions If you had moved in that last moment he was in your house who knows what he could have done. You stood there until your coworker came out, their footsteps made you jump and turn to see them. "F-F/n.."

"Hey, everything ok?" They came over and noticed you fiddling with your keys.

"Hey, relax." They took your hand and led you to the couch. They rubbed your back and looked at your fidgety hands.

"He was here..." You whisper and look at them.

"What? No one was here last night except me."

"No... F/n, he was here. He- he took-" You tried to show them the keychain but the adrenaline and panic made you unable to speak. You dropped your head and took a shaky breath. "I'm calling in."

"Yeah, I'll call in for you. Just relax. We can stay here, or go back to my place." They offered, and you nodded.

"I'm gonna go get changed." You said, going to your room and changing. You took a deep, rubbing your head and trying to calm yourself down. Your hands were clamping and you couldn't get yourself straight. Knowing that he had gotten into your house. He hadn't stolen, he was staring at you. It was like you could feel the intense gaze he gave you burning into you. He only wanted you. And for what?

You tried to get your head in straight and headed for the door. Your heart pounded when you opened it, seeing someone at the door.

"F/n-"

And then your brain caught up with you. F/n was just on the phone with you, they did not get here that quickly. And that was not F/n.

You tried to shut the door, but he already had his hand inside. He had come back from getting you breakfast and he didn't expect you to be up yet. He forced the door open effortlessly and looked down at you.

"Get out!" You managed to cry turning away from the door and running for your room. His gait was bigger than yours, and he managed to catch you before you could get anywhere close to your room.

"Don't!! I'll scream-" His hand clasped around your mouth and he held you gently, but tight enough to keep you still.

"Shush." He brought you somewhere comfortable and dropped you there. "You can't do that."

He knew he was doing the right thing. He couldn't let you get hurt, he couldn't. He grabbed some zip ties from his pocket and got your wrists tightly. You squirmed, biting your tongue and attempting to kick him. "Let me go!!"

"I said shush." He adjusted himself and then sat you up. He gently fluffed your pillow and grabbed the mace from your bedside table.

"Stay. Good." He smiled softly. Now you'll be safe. You won't get hurt, not like he did. He won't let family hurt you, he won't let friends hurt you, and nothing will get in his way...

He'll deal with all your friends later.

He closed your bedroom door and placed a chair underneath. Leaving you in there with your own thoughts, unsure what to do...

(Not me accidentally pushing the post button while rushing. That's a Whoopsie... Might do a part 2, on top of serial killer Simon!)

[aris-ink]

hii ari! i hope you are doing good! make sure to take care of yourself <3 your step bro fics are such faves of mine , omgg you are such an amazing writer <33 if you are doing requests, could you please write about step brother jungkook and same age reader , where the reader is sad or crying for some reason and jk ends up comforting her thru f*cking ?

hi! 💕 tysm, I love you and yes please 🥺 this wasn't very specific so I hope it's close to what you wanted <3 take care of yourself too angel <3

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: forbidden romance, step!siblings au

warnings: allusions to violence (not towards the reader), allusions to depression, pseudo incest, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of fingering & oral sex, praise kink, rough sex (but also very soft somehow bc jk is a total simp in love), creampie

Rain trickled down the windows of your bedroom, tapping rhythmically against the glass and blurring out the night. You felt blurry too, distorted, cheeks stained from tears, the wetness stuck in your eyelashes. Grabbing your face, Jungkook tried to kiss it all away. A tinge of color spread throughout your bones. The blurriness seemed to dissolve, clearer thoughts and sensations emerging. His warmth seeped into you, melting away the frigid numbness that had encased your soul.

He moved forward, knees bumping against yours, kissing you so desperately there was not an inch of space left between your bodies and not an ounce of air left in your lungs.

It wasn't always like this.

Usually, Jungkook took his time with you, relishing in every shallow breath and every little twitch of your limbs, sucking on your neck until it bruised. He liked to switch between finger fucking you in his lap and burying his face in between your legs, until you quivered under the sheets and his tongue made you forget your parents were sound asleep in the other room. Drunk on you, he used your mouth like a toy, praising you all the way through it, thighs tense and hard dick twitching in your throat.

There was no time for any of that tonight, though. You just wanted to feel real, wanted the heat and the weight of his body pinning you down, holding you together; and as always, Jungkook was there to provide. His hands were all over you, palming your ass before he pushed you down onto your bed, lips refusing to part from yours. He unclasped his belt buckle and unzipped his jeans, aching to be inside you, to take all your pain away and leave behind nothing but his marks. You received no warning and no time to prepare; your soaked underwear was pulled aside, and the next thing you knew Jungkook filled you up to the brim, groaning lowly into your mouth.

You arched beneath him, gasping, your cunt clenching so tightly he broke into sweat. With a quiet grunt, he pulled back out, cock pulsing and leaking; only to shove its entire, thick length back inside, wasting no time in setting an aggressive pace.

You squealed, grabbing onto his broad shoulders for support, legs wrapping around his waist for no more than a moment before the force of his thrusts made them slip back down. Even so, there was no escape from his powerful frame trapping you beneath him. Not even the clothes, messed up from being tugged at, seemed to create any barrier between you. You could still feel the heat of his skin bleeding through the cotton of his t-shirt, and each ripple of his muscles as he fucked you. The rest of the world was mist; the mattress groaning beneath you, the ticking of the clock that signaled your parents would be home soon, the stress and the weight of every long day dragging on. It became nothing but a cloud ghosting through your fingers, too close to the ground to bother you. Up high, the only thing you felt, heard and remembered was Jungkook. His tongue entwining with yours, the hoarse moans bordering on whines, barely muffled by his kiss; and the hot, white rapture coiling deep in your abdomen, spreading through you like a fever.

How selfish it was of him, to drag you down into the shadows where you did not belong. And yet they seemed kinder than the harsh, blinding light you were expected to walk in, welcoming and understanding of your sorrows. And sometimes, Jungkook couldn't help but wonder what would happen if you'd decide to leave one day and make a home with someone you didn't have to be ashamed of loving. Someone much less twisted and much more deserving of you. Someone who didn't need to stain their hands with blood out of a monstrous fear of losing you.

Hopeless, he ended the sloppy kiss, eyes dark and blown out when they looked into yours.

"Pretty," he choked out, swallowing down a whimper. "So pretty. Love you, love you, love you- fuuucck-"

The way you clenched around his cock made him pound you faster, the sound so wet and lewd he couldn't stop twitching inside you. He had a feeling your hips were going to get bruised, and with the way you clawed at his back and moaned his name, god, he hoped they would.

"Come with me," he breathed, voice shaky, ringed fingers grasping your chin.

You mewled, nodding your head, incapable of providing any other answer. Pressing his lips to yours, Jungkook used his free hand to hold on to your thigh, digging into the soft flesh.

"I got you, baby, I got you."

The soothing promise melted into a deep groan, the thread he was hanging on snapping unexpectedly when your cunt squeezed him tighter, gushing onto his cock. He stilled abruptly, letting the velvet heat of your walls massage him through his orgasm, emptying himself inside you completely.

A sigh.

Not bothered cleaning you up, he disconnected himself from you just to get undressed. Even if he had the energy for it, he was much happier knowing you were full of his cum, sated, your pretty pussy wet instead of your pretty eyes. He knew you had classes in the morning; he did too, and you both needed some sleep. He also knew he couldn't stay in your bed, because soon his father would walk in through the door, your mother following right after.

But just as much as Jungkook didn't want to leave you alone, he didn't want to sleep without you either. It was two am when he sneaked back into your bedroom, doing his best not to disturb your rest.

You stirred anyway, curling up to him as he wrapped his arms around you, his chin finding rest on the crown of your head. Wide awake, he laid in the dark, holding you close to his chest.

Tap tap tap.

It was still raining. His lips brushed against your hair as he glanced down at you.

"Baby?"

You hummed so softly he almost missed it. He ran his fingers down your thigh, like touching you eased his aches too, made spring bloom in the bleak winter of his own bones.

And it did.

"I wish I could-" he tried, then paused. So many words, so many languages, and yet nothing felt fitting enough. "... Sorry I can't love you the way you deserve," he whispered. "But I'll love you the way you need."

There was no reply; only the ongoing sound of rain and the softness of your even breathing. He didn't mind. He pressed a kiss into your forehead and closed his eyes.

Some secrets and promises were better off left in the dark, too.

[alexbrainrot]

alex masturbating while thinking of afab farmer (minors dni) // smut

note: this is a repost. idk if anyone recognizes me but i kept the same url! i am still a sideblog i am just now under my current main blog which i prefer ^^

it was past midnight, the only light coming in through his window was from the moon outside. alex lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. he couldn’t shake away that feeling, that lust, for you. he couldn’t go to sleep, the restraint in his boxers becoming too much for him, it was starting to ache. he took a deep sigh as he slowly slid down his boxers. his hand wrapped around his already leaking cock as he closed his eyes, imagining what your body would look like naked. he wanted to touch you so badly, his large hands would handle you so well, gripping at every part of you, eliciting moans from your mouth. he could bet that you’d become a whiny mess just from his hands roaming your body alone. how he wished to know what you did on nights like these. how you touched yourself, how you sounded, what you thought of. did you think of him too? he remembered that night you walked in on him exercising in his room and started to pump his cock faster. your cheeks turned bright red and your eyes quickly trailed down his torso and then back up at him, he couldn’t forget. you nearly squeaked when you saw him, he thought it was cute. he wanted so badly to trap you against the wall and kiss you, telling you to touch him all over, however you wanted. he felt hot, he was so close. he was panting now without even realizing it, chasing that blissful feeling. he wished it was your warm cunt clenching around him instead of his hand. maybe one day he’d visit you and end up fucking you behind one of the trees near your farm. his strong hands holding your body up so that you don’t fall, your legs would be shaking. his cum dripping down your leg, but he still wouldn’t be finished. the sound of his hand stroking his cock at a rapid pace was hard to ignore now. he was thankful that his grandparents always slept well and never woke up in the middle of the night. he was fucking his hand with no mercy, thinking of your hands, your pussy, your mouth. with one last hard thrust, his hips stilled, and he let out a shaky “ffuckk”, feeling a wave of pleasure come over his body. thick spurts of cum landed on his abdomen and he stayed there for a few minutes before getting up from his bed to get some tissue. he cleaned himself up and got back in his bed. he was about to go to sleep until his bulge brushed up against one of his pillows and he got hard again. he humped the pillow to sleep, imagining it was you instead.

[hotdilfs11]

☆゜・。。Do You Love Me? 。。・゜☆

✩pairings: Newt x reader, Gally x reader, Minho x reader(friendship)

✩ summary- Y/n is the only girl in the glade and she's gotten close to the boys there to the point of having feelings. She loves Gally and Newt very much but who would she chose? And who would she hurt? Y/n is spiraling and scared about losing two of her closest friends.

warnings: none

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The Glade. It’s home, peaceful, and full of life, love, and adventure. I’m the only girl in the glade as of now. I came out of the little crate thingy about a month ago, and I’ve made many friends since then. Even though we're all trapped here, I’ve never felt this at home before. It’s a warm and comforting feeling that I’ll never forget. The people that made it feel like home are the people I trust with my fucking life, my ride-or-die, and my day-to-day. Minho, Newt, and Gally

 Minho. I run with him, and yes, I said it; I’m a runner. It seems crazy, but the first day I got here, I wanted to be a runner, and I begged Minho to make me a runner, and he did. Now we're closer than ever. He's like a big brother to me; he protects me, and we fight sometimes, but we get along well. Anyway, I ran the maze with him. We trust each other, trust each other's opinions, and trust each other's judgment. We’re best friends, and I love him so much.

Gally. He’s very protective of me. You can say he’s overprotective at times. I get pushed around, someone argues with me, or someone messes with me. Gally is always there to back me up. On the first day of my being in the Glade, Gally challenged me in the wrestling sand circle. He told me the rules, and we fought. I didn’t win; I fought like hell too. I tricked him once he busted his ass, but in the end, I won everyone’s respect. I earned Gally's respect. Now we fight and tease each other. I love him too; he’s my other best friend.

Finally Newt. He’s such a sweetheart. I can admit I had some trouble fitting in here. I’ve started fights and finished them. I was angry at the world for sending me here, and the only one who told me it was okay was Newt. That's why I love him so much. When I was in the box, he was the first one to jump down and say “It’s a girl” in a heavy British accent. He was the first one to give me a tour. He cared for me, comforted me, fed me; he just took care of me. I hung out with him every day, having deep, long conversations almost every day and sharing everything we could remember about each other. I feel at home with him. I feel warmth and comfort. He always has my back, even when I’m in the wrong.

“LETS GO, Y/N” Minho shouted as sweat poured down his face. His scream bounced off the rusty concrete walls as we sprinted through the maze. Our shoes slammed hard on the ground as we reached the end of the maze, but I couldn’t run anymore. My legs and arms were on fire, with sweat dripping down my face. I licked my lips, tasting the sweet saltiness of my sweat still running and fighting through the pain I’m enduring. We make a sharp turn, seeing the Glade dead ahead of us, but my legs feel like they’re about to go out. I couldn’t breathe anymore. My clothes were sticking to my clothes as the scorching sun punched my face. It felt like my head was going to explode. But I didn’t give up, though I fought like hell to get out of the maze. As everything came to a blur, I fell to the ground, feeling the soft green grass hug my face. The smell made me relax as I sunk into it, making every ounce of my problems fly out the window. 

"Minho, go on without me... I gotta, I gotta lay down for a second,” I say as I try to catch my breath.

Running around me Minho yells, "Okay, I’ll bring you some water!”

“Uh huh,” I murmured, covering my face with my left arm and blocking the sun from my eyes. I sat there for about ten minutes until I felt a strong presence creep towards me. A large shadow stood over me, and it took me a while to say something because of how sore my muscles were.

The Glade. It’s home, peaceful, and full of life, love, and adventure. I’m the only girl in the glade as of now. I came out of the little crate thingy about a month ago, and I’ve made many friends since then. Even though we're all trapped here, I’ve never felt this at home before. It’s a warm and comforting feeling that I’ll never forget. The people that made it feel like home are the people I trust with my fucking life, my ride-or-die, and my day-to-day. Minho, Newt, and Gally

 Minho. I ran with him, and yes, I said it; I’m a runner. It seems crazy, but the first day I got here, I wanted to be a runner, and I begged Minho to make me a runner, and he did. Now we're closer than ever. He's like a big brother to me; he protects me, and we fight sometimes, but we get along well. Anyway, I ran the maze with him. We trust each other, trust each other's opinions, and trust each other's judgment. We’re best friends, and I love him so much.

Gally. He’s very protective of me. You can say he’s overprotective at times. I get pushed around, someone argues with me, or someone messes with me. Gally is always there to back me up. On the first day of my being in the Glade, Gally challenged me in the wrestling sand circle. He told me the rules, and we fought. I didn’t win; I fought like hell too. I tricked him once he busted his ass, but in the end, I won everyone’s respect. I earned Gally's respect. Now we fight and tease each other. I love him too; he’s my other best friend.

Finally Newt. He’s such a sweetheart. I can admit I had some trouble fitting in here. I’ve started fights and finished them. I was angry at the world for sending me here, and the only one who told me it was okay was Newt. That's why I love him so much. When I was in the box, he was the first one to jump down and say “It’s a girl” in a heavy British accent. He was the first one to give me a tour. He cared for me, comforted me, fed me; he just took care of me. I hung out with him every day, having deep, long conversations almost every day and sharing everything we could remember about each other. I feel at home with him. I feel warmth and comfort. He always has my back, even when I’m in the wrong.

“LETS GO, Y/N” Minho shouted as sweat poured down his face. His scream bounced off the rusty concrete walls as we sprinted through the maze. Our shoes slammed hard on the ground as we reached the end of the maze, but I couldn’t run anymore. My legs and arms were on fire, with sweat dripping down my face. I licked my lips, tasting the sweet saltiness of my sweat still running and fighting through the pain I’m enduring. We make a sharp turn, seeing the Glade dead ahead of us, but my legs feel like they’re about to go out. I couldn’t breathe anymore. My clothes were sticking to my clothes as the scorching sun punched my face. It felt like my head was going to explode. But I didn’t give up, though I fought like hell to get out of the maze. As everything came to a blur, I fell to the ground, feeling the soft green grass hug my face. The smell made me relax as I sunk into it, making every ounce of my problems fly out the window. 

"Minho, go on without me... I gotta, I gotta lay down for a second,” I say as I try to catch my breath.

Running around me Minho yells, "Okay, I’ll bring you some water!”

“Uh huh,” I murmured, covering my face with my left arm and blocking the sun from my eyes. I sat there for about ten minutes until I felt a strong presence creep towards me. A large shadow stood over me, and it took me a while to say something because of how sore my muscles were.

“What the hell are you doing on the floor? ''Gally said with a cute smirk on his face. "Uh, huh,” I mumbled, waving him off.

“Y/N?”

I groaned,"Yes, Gally, what?”

“What are you doing on the floor?” He says it in a concerning tone.

I look up at him with my elbows propping me up. “I’m tired, man,” I sigh. “Give me a piggyback ride, would you?"I need to lay down.” I say it lazily, covering my face with my hand to get a better look at him.

He rolls his eyes with another cute smirk on his face. It kind of gave me butterflies. "Ok, fine, come on." He squats down, waiting for me to jump on his back. I lift myself up off the soft grass,jumping on his muscular and hard back. I felt his warmth radiate off his body and off mine as I wrapped my tender arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. Gally's arms flexed when his strong arms started to find their place around my legs, and the strength of his rough hands supported me on his back. I rested my head on his shoulders, taking in his harsh evergreen scent, which sent a chill through my whole body.

"Aww, you're such a sweetheart, Gally.” I tease him, smiling through my words. Gally scoffed, “Shut up,” with a soft chuckle leaving his mouth. I know he was being sarcastic, but I saw a smile appear on his face as a red hue started to slowly form on his face, giving me butterflies in my stomach. I leaned closer into him, smelling his husky, earthy scent as he continued to walk me closer to my destination. I never wanted to get off of him. I felt so close and in touch with him.

"Where are you going again?” he questioned 

“Umm…you can take me to Minho," I whispered softly in his ear, trying to relax into him. I inched into the crook of his neck, savoring the amazing scent bouncing off his skin. As I’m relaxing on Gally's back, I hear footsteps approaching me from behind.

 "Hey, love," someone said to me in a hefty and attractive British accent. I turn around to see Newt running up beside me, and Gally looks handsome as ever with his dirty blond hair and his lavish smile. With butterflies swarming in my stomach, I turn my neck around to look at him. "Hey, Newt,” I smile. I started to appreciate his soft, chiseled facial features as I gazed into his deep brown eyes.

"Where are you going? and why are you on Gally's back?”

"I was in the maze today and got tired, and I'm just trying to find Minho on my new ride here.” I patted Gally's back as I softly chuckled at him.

 "Shut up.” Gally glared at me.

 Newt chuckled. "Well, when you’re done, love, maybe we can go hang out if you want.” Newt asked anxiously, waiting for an answer.

Resting my head on Gally's back, I look into his eyes once again, and being coy, I say, "Maybe,” with a soft smile forming on my face. He grins lavishly, breaking eye contact. “Well, I’ll see you then, y/n/n.” He runs the other way, and I watch him go. Gally took a deep breath and sighed. "Oh, look, there's Minho," he said in a nonchalant tone".

I waved my arm at him, trying to catch his attention. “Minho!” I yelled. He didn’t see me, so I jumped off Gally's back. My boots hit the ground hard, and my legs were still sore, but I was okay to walk. “Minho!” I yell one more time as I and Gally are walking towards him.

"Yeah, I was supposed to bring you whatever happened. He says he is walking towards me with his arms in the air.

I put my hand on my forehead, shielding my eyes from the radiant sunlight. "Uh, well, Gally here gave me a piggyback ride, so you didn’t have to run back."

"Hey Gally!" Minho yelled, walking towards us. Gally made a slight wave at Minho with a friendly smile.

Minho picked up the water he got and came up to me, handing it to me. “I didn’t mind running back over there." Minho gets cut off by this relentless, loud buzzing sound pierced through the air. It sounded like a loud hum of a thousand bees that nerved all of us but also scared us. It was another greenie. The machines grinded together, creating a loud pitch that fanned through the air, refusing to be ignored. We all turned our heads sharply, guiding our attention to the sound. We looked at each other with concern, making sure we heard it right. However, it wasn't the end of the loud, suffocating sound. As another buzz started to dash through the air, we all started sprinting to the elevator like a machine. I was still sore and hurting, but we all had to see what they brought up. My heart was beating out of my chest, and sweat beads started to farm on my forehead as everyone in the glade sprinted towards the crate.

 Out of breath, Minho and I stopped at the door's opening. Gally was hovering over the two futuristic metal doors. Newt came behind me, trying to push through the crowd of boys. As he was passing me, he put his soft, warm hand on the small of my back, sending a chill throughout my body. Anyway, Newt stood beside Gally as they investigated the door opening. The doors open, showing a boy. He’s about sixteen and scared; he looks like every average boy in the glade. Gally jumps in the crate with force, furiously saying, "Day one, greenie," taking him by the shirt and getting him out of the crate. It’s like this with every kid that comes here. They get scared; they don’t know who they are; they try to run, blah blah blah. It’s a cycle at this point, but it’s pretty amusing. I don’t know if that’s messed up, but if you haven’t noticed, there’s not that much entertainment in the glade.

໒( ” •̀ ᗜ •́ ” )७ sorry if I have some mispelling and stuff I didn't look over it yet ๑ ︵︵ ๑

[starboybutler]

oliver quick headcanons because i have lost control of my life

he absolutely loves to read and can smash a 300+ page book in two days tops. that summer reading list was nothing to him

he writes poems and enjoys doing book reports and character analyses. this boy has tons upon tons of notebooks stacked up in his closet

likes to paint landscapes and buildings. he painted felix once, and he still has the painting under his bed

very picky about his food and tea. hates any really mushy/runny foods and likes his tea bitter. he also wants his tea boiling hot- he won't drink it if it's lukewarm

this boy is autistic and no one will tell me otherwise. he stims by touch a lot, and he also likes to bite (his nails, pens, other people)

likes fitness only because it helps him clear his mind. he's so ripped because he'll go on runs for hours, completely lost in his head, or he'll lift weights and lose track of time.

isn't a huge fan of music, only if he's with other people. he likes classical music and rock, but he will honestly listen to anything.

he forgets to eat and drink all the fucking time. at saltburn, he would complain that he was dizzy when he and felix were by the pool, and felix would ask if he ate anything, and he'd just go "ohhhhhh. no i haven't"

has a very particular self-care routine that he does at night, starting with brushing his teeth and ending with moisturizing his face.

used to have long hair-- cut it because people kept mistaking him for a girl.

he has a ton of morbid little interests he's never been open about, like taxidermy and collecting animal bones. had animal skulls on display in his dorm at oxford, but took them down after he met felix.

tried to go to therapy for his obsessive tendencies, but ended up being obsessed with his therapist

cracks his knuckles like. every five seconds. it pisses farleigh off a lot

wanted to be a surgeon and considered medical school, but eventually settled on a literature degree.

likes to cook, and is actually decent at it. autism be damned my boy can work a grill

stopped wearing his glasses while at saltburn because of elspeth, ran into tables and pillars everyday for a week before he invested in contacts

has a soft spot for really bad horror movies, especially parodies. his fave horror movie is friday the thirteenth

has a huuuuge sweet tooth and will blow his money on ice cream if he is allowed

really insecure about his smile, mainly his teeth, so he always consciously smiles with his lips together

didn't smoke weed before he met felix, but now they get stoned together every other day

he isn't scared of a lot, but he is scared of needles and spiders (and being abandoned)

chronic insomniac. he'll stay up until about 5am reading books or smoking cigarettes while staring out of his window

neat freak x100. hates filth and mess with a burning passion. washes his hands before and after eating, brushes his teeth after every meal, never leaves his clothes thrown about. ha absolutely hates felix's room but he knows better than to try and clean it up

[hannahssimblr]

The crying is relentless. All morning and well into the afternoon. It's not constant, but it is consistent, a cycle of heavy, self pitying sobs followed by these silences where I imagine she forgets what she's so sad about, or curses Evan out instead, which, if it were me, is what I would be doing. I can't understand why any person is really worth this much anguish, especially ones that don't wash their hair.

“Ah, Shell,” Jen mutters under her breath, “he’s just a stupid fucking boy, enough already.” 

The brilliant sunlight of early May streaks through the windows and over the pages of our textbooks and notebooks strewn all over the carpet. With the summer exams approaching I have accepted that it’s going to be like this all month, study, revising, shovelling snacks into our mouths and then studying some more until our eyes feel like shrivelled little raisins in their sockets. But I have nowhere else to be these days, so I am happy to spend them on my stomach in the sun with Jen, writing flashcards and highlighting entire pages about chemical erosion and igneous rock.

“Did you see him at school this week?” I ask around the pen jammed between my teeth. 

“Who? Evan?”

“Yep.”

“Unfortunately. With Carlie.”

“Oh, crazy. He moved on quickly.”

She tuts and shakes her head in disgust, “He’s horrible. He has no shame, full on knowing that Michelle can see him shoving his foul slug tongue into Carlie’s mouth, in broad daylight.”

“Mm, nothing good ever happens in broad daylight, does it?”

 There is a bang, crash and wallop as Michelle comes down the stairs and straight into the room. I steel myself defensively, waiting for, I don't know what, maybe for her to start giving out to me or screaming that I need to get the hell out, not that she’s done that yet, but there’s always a chance. I bet she would if she was feeling crazy enough.

But maybe we've caught her at a good time, because instead she looks startled to see me, while also appearing different, more vulnerable than I'm used to seeing her now that the makeup she usually rings her eyes with is absent for the first time since she was about fourteen. It feels risky to look directly in her eyes, but I can't really help myself. It's like some layer has been peeled away, and she's the girl who used to be my friend.

“Um,” she utters, voice cracked and hoarse from crying, and drags the heel of her hand beneath her still dripping nose, “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I can go.”

She hesitates. 

“Let him stay,” Jen grumbles, “He’s just studying, he’s not going to bite you, is he?” 

“Okay,” Michelle says in a voice just above a whisper, and hovers there for another few moments as Jen goes back to flipping through her geography book, no doubt taking nothing in.

“Did you need something?”

“Not really.”

“Alright.”

Flip.

Flip.

Michelle gently clears her throat, “Is it… is it for the summer exams? All the study, like.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll probably fail mine,” a feeble laugh, “and dad will be thrilled with me.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand, given the circumstances.”

“I don’t think so,” she comes a bit closer, her stockinged feet padding over the carpet, and I don’t move a muscle as she approaches us, afraid to make a nuisance of myself. She perches on the edge of the sofa and folds her hands in her lap. “I think I should probably study,” she comments absently.

“If you want to,” Jen says. 

“I have so much work to catch up on…”

“Well,” Jen spreads out her fingers and gestures to the mess of paper and books on the floor like she’s presenting a gourmet meal, “you’re welcome to join us any time, babe.”

I sense Michelle’s eyes on me but I deliberately keep mine fixed on my book. The last thing I want to do is put her off the idea and then, God knows, get blamed for any and all fail grades she ends up getting.

“Hm, maybe,” she says, and leans to pluck at the corner of one of the English book covers, “I honestly know nothing, I can’t remember any of King Lear, never mind the poetry…”

“All that Shakespeare stuff is Jude’s domain, actually all of it is his, I'm clearly the idiot in the room…”

I pipe up sheepishly, “If you need help going through stuff, you know, I can, but if not it’s obviously fine too.”

“Hm,” she says, and slides to the floor with us, “Maybe. I’ll see.”

Jen gives me a secret smirk. “She'll see,” she mouths, and just like the sneaky wink she follows it with, I have absolutely no idea what she means.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[princessamericachavez]

911 6x16 CODA

“You know Hen is just trying to protect Chim,” Eddie says when the silence has finally gotten ridiculous.

“I know,” Buck grunts in response, aggressively chopping the onions for tonight’s dinner.

It’d been easier with Chris around. His presence has the power to cheer Buck up immediately, or at the very least hide whatever’s bothering him. But as soon as Chris announced he was going to play in his room until dinner was ready, Eddie’d felt his kitchen’s temperature drop. And it’s not that Buck was pissed at him, not really, but it’s so unusual for Buck to be angry like this that he can’t ignore it longer than a couple seconds.

“But you’re still mad at her,” Eddie insists, taking a sip of his beer.

“I’m not.”

Eddie arches an eyebrow and waits until his silence prompts Buck to look up and receive the full judgement of his stare.

“I’m not! It’s just- it’s not fair, Eddie. I mean, sure, Maddie left once, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve to be happy,” Buck rants, gesturing around widely with the knife.

“That’s not what Hen was saying, Buck. She’s just… scared, that her best friend will get hurt again. If you were… I don’t know, trying to marry Abby or something, I’d probably be the same way.”

At the mention of Abby, Buck freezes. A flash of hurt crosses his features, and Eddie is thrown back to the night he met the woman, to the realization at this was the person who’d caused so much pain to the nicest person he knows. To the desire to fight and yell at her at that very moment because who could possibly do that to Buck, of all people, leave a mess of heartbreak and yearning behind for her own benefit? Oh, if he was Hen, he’d do far more than act ambivalent about the wedding.

“Maddie is not Abby,” Buck says, his voice deep and slow in a way that warns Eddie that he might have stepped on a line he didn’t mean to. “Maddie wasn’t finding herself and forgetting about Chimney, Eddie. She was scared, she was in pain, she was sick and lost… and she came back. Maddie always comes back. So- so what if she screwed up? That doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve to be loved.”

“Nobody is saying that, Buck,” he tries, placating. “Of course that’s not it. But you can’t blame Hen for being worried.”

“But she can blame Maddie?” Buck snaps, and though his voice is still controlled there’s a sharpness there so unusual that it makes Eddie pause. “You don’t get it, Eddie. You didn’t see- you guys met Maddie after she’d finally left Doug. And, yes, you saw how fucked up he was in the end, you saw the end of it… but none of you were there when they were together. None of you saw the actual worst part of it. I- I did.”

The way Buck’s voice shakes and his eyes shine with tears makes Eddie’s heart twist into a million knots. He feels like his watching a much younger and much more scared version of his best friend for an instant, a painful window to the past.

“I was there, Eddie. I saw Maddie waste away to almost nothing. I saw Doug pretending to love her, but only when everything was perfect, only when she didn’t screw up, I saw him punish her again, and again, and again, for the same mistake, never letting go of any of them. She was terrified of even the smallest screw up, because he’d take his love away if she did!”

“Buck,” Eddie says, gently “no one is punishing Maddie. Chim would never do that.”

“I know! Because Chim is great, and he loves her, Eddie, and she deserves that. They- fuck, they deserve to be happy after all they’ve been through.”

Buck’s knuckles are white around the trembling knife. Eddie puts a hand on top of his, gently guiding it down until Buck drops it.

“They do. They do deserve to be happy, Buck. You’re right.”

Buck cleans the tears on his face with his left hand, whispers damn onions under his breath. Eddie runs his thumb over Buck’s knuckles, soothingly, until his brain catches up to what he is doing. Slowly, regretfully, he pulls his hand away.

“I know Hen’s just looking after Chim,” Buck sighs, voice hoarse. Eddie pushes Buck’s beer closer, and is glad when he takes the offering. After a sip, he breaths. “I know why she’s worried. I’m- I’m not mad at her. I’m just-“

“You’re just mad. At all of it.”

Buck nods, looking down, and Eddie wishes he could move across the kitchen island and wrap him up in a hug. He doesn’t. He’s not sure why. It feels forbidden.

“You love your sister, Buck, and you want her to be happy.”

“And Chim. I love him too. I want them both to be happy.”

“They are happy. They have each other, and Jee, that’s all that matters. Marriage doesn’t mean immediate happiness, or a happy ever after, trust me on that one.”

Buck nods, still frowning as he slides the chopped onions into the frying pan.

“You’re right. Im- I’m sorry, it’s just-“

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, Buck. You’re just looking out for the people you love.”

“And so is Hen,” Buck sighs, defeated.

“So is Hen,” Eddie nods. “You’re still allowed to be mad at her, if you want. Let yourself feel it.”

Finally, Buck looks up at him, with a small thankful smile that Eddie would burn entire cities for.

“Sorry for the grumpiness.”

“Don’t mention it, Buck. We want you here on your bad days, too.”

A glint of that same sadness that’d tainted Buck’s face earlier crosses his features. Eddie knows that Maddie isn’t the only one of the Buckley siblings struggling with the concept of unconditional love, of being deserving of it regardless of whether it’s easy or hard, if they are sunshine or rain, if they fix things or screw up.

“Is dinner ready?” Chris marches into the kitchen like a hurricane.

“Hey, bud!” Buck’s face morphs into that easy smile he saves for him and only him. “Nah, sorry, still have a bit to go. You wanna help?”

Christopher frowns up at them and Eddie prepares himself for one of his recent outburst of adolescence. Instead, Chris whispers “why are you crying?”

Buck’s face falls. He blinks at Chris, then at Eddie, who interjects quickly:

“You know how he gets when he chops onions.”

“Oh yeah, your eyes water a lot. It’s because they release something that hurts your eyes. But they say that if you put a wooden spoon between your teeth it helps.”

“They? Who is they?” Buck laughs.

“The internet.”

“Abuela says the same,” Eddie supplies and Chris looks absolutely triumphant because if Abuela says so it must be true.

“Alright then, I should try that next time,” Buck chuckles. “So, sous chef, wanna help me with this?”

“Yes, but let’s be fast because I’m hungry,” Chris quips, as Buck helps him up onto a chair.

Eddie watches them fall into their easy and happy rhythm and finally feels the tension in the kitchen dissipate. It’ll be alright. They’ve got each other and they have Chris. That’s all they need.

[ladystrallan]

The weird way The Great frames infidelity

The Great is a show which portrays many extramarital relationships. However, it is quite inconsistent with the way in which they are framed by the narrative. This portrayal results in a strange theme of ‘cheating is okay if you don’t love your spouse’. Let’s look at all of the affairs in the show and how they are framed:

1. Catherine and Leo: this affair is consensual from all sides until it isn’t. Peter is the one who sets up Catherine and Leo, who she ends up falling in love with. Peter only starts to have a problem with this relationship once he falls in love with Catherine, and we all know how that ends. Catherine is not portrayed as in the wrong for cheating, because her marriage to Peter is loveless and he is a horrible person in season 1. Additionally, Peter is also not framed as bad for being jealous, only for killing Leo.

2. Peter and George: the most fucked up relationship in the show. Both are married; George to Grigor who she does love, and Peter to Catherine who he doesn’t love (at first). It is also pretty evident that their relationship started long before Peter married Catherine. There is an obvious power imbalance here. Peter is the absolute ruler of the country and George is his subject. No matter how ambiguous the question of consent is, he could absolutely have her killed if he wanted to. A lot of people forget how volatile and absolutely cutthroat Peter was in season 1. Catherine is hurt when Peter invites her into a threesome with George, but his infidelity largely doesn’t matter after she decides she doesn’t love him. Peter cheating on his wife is pretty much not a big problem at all and just adds to reasons why he is a ‘bad person’ in season 1. There is also a second element that makes this affair ‘worse’. George’s husband is Peter’s best friend. We see just how distraught Grigor is about this affair, finally snapping and trying to kill Peter. George is framed as an ‘evil whore’ for cheating on her husband with his best friend, while no one mentions how Peter is fucking his best friend’s wife. Peter is the emperor of Russia. He literally could have chosen anyone to be his mistress and he chose his best friend’s wife. Additionally, in the 18th century ‘mistress of the king’ was a legitimate position and one of the only ways for women to improve their position in court. She also makes many references to how she only does this to keep her (and Grigor’s) position in court. (See scenes from s1e5 and s1e9)

3. Peter and Joanna: this one is also a mess. Joanna is obviously framed as bad for trying to seduce her daughter’s husband. Peter is framed as in the wrong— but there is a bit of ‘he couldn’t help himself because Joanna seduced him’— but mostly because of who he cheated with. It’s not that big of a deal that he cheated, it’s bad because he fucked her mother. (And then she fell out the window and died and he covered it up)

4. Grigor and Marial: Similarly to Catherine and Leo, this relationship is also ‘person finds true love outside of their evil spouse’ except George was not an abusive murderous tyrant, but that’s besides the point. This affair is framed as very triumphant for Grigor; he has finally escaped his toxic marriage! Even though his relationship with Marial is very toxic. She is constantly rude to him, lies to him, hates his friends, not to mention how she treats him after Peter’s death. She wants to be the only person in his life. When George returns from France to find that her husband has left her for another woman, she is justifiably upset but is framed by the narrative as in the wrong even though she does nothing to break up Grigor and Marial. Marial is also married to Maxim but he’s 11 so it doesn’t really matter, and the fact that he is upset about her infidelity is played for laughs more than anything.

Honorable mentions:

- Hugo and Agnes: they both make passes at other people but are both always in on it

- Catherine and the American ambassador: it’s fine because she does it to get back at Peter for fucking her mother

- Peter’s countless hookups: don’t matter because they mostly happen when he and Catherine are not in love

- Tatyana and Arkady: Arkady gets really defensive at the idea of Tatyana doing anything with Peter, but she wants to take George’s place as his mistress. This is pretty evident when they think Pugachev is Peter and Tatyana is desperately trying to fuck him. It doesn’t amount to much of anything

When you look at all these relationships and how they are framed, one thing stands out. The only person who is vilified for cheating is George. Even though the dynamic between her, Peter, and Grigor is super complex, the one takeaway the narrative and most people in the fandom get is ‘George is an evil slut’. Even when she gets her ‘punishment’ and loses Peter, Grigor, and some of her standing in court, it’s still not enough and people want her dead. The theme turns out to be ‘cheating is only bad if you’re George’.

[endiecutieo6]

-Gorebruary 2023-

Week 2

Heyo! Let’s get to it so that tumblr doesn’t want me dead. Now, onto the content warning!

Day 8/Too many teeth: Body horror, blood, open wounds

Day 9/Freakshow: Body horror, blood, stitches

Day 10/Drowned: Lots of blood

Day 11/Dissected: body horror, eye strain

Day 12/So many eyes: body horror, ommetaphobia, eye strain

13/Cannibalism: Blood, open wounds, visible organs, shaking (for the video portion)

14/Love: Eye strain, visible bruising, visible self harm, blood, organs

“Hyperdontia:

Hyperdontia is the condition of having supernumerary teeth, or teeth that appear in addition to the regular number of teeth (32 in the average adult). They can appear in any area of the dental arch and can affect any dental organ”

PN: I messed up the ordering on this one. This prompt was meant to come AFTER the next one. I also am so mixed about this one. I feel like I could’ve done much better, maybe lean less on the blood and more the body horror. I guess I like the coloring?

"-and here we have our "weeping groom"! Oh? Yeah, that's a guy. Legend has it he's been waiting so long for his lover at the altar, that he kinda forgot it he was the bride or not, and-hey, stop knocking on the glass, he doesn't like that"

"How did he get like that? Well, we don't actually know, we found him like this and took him in, and he just keeps waiting, constantly. He never stops waiting. It's... actually kinda tragic... Now, this freakshow has come to an end. The exit is right behind you, please throw away your garbage in the appropriate spot, and we hope you'll visit again!"

“…um, are you gonna leave or-oh, the blood? It's just decoration, he's not in any actual pain or whatever-hey, I said to stop knocking on the glass! If you really give that much of a shit about him, you'd not do that! Now, get the fuck out before I call security."

"Fuckin' kids- had to install that window because people would throw cigarettes at him- who's the real monster, those fucks or this innocent man? Anyways, let's get you cleaned up and taken to your room, okay bud?"

PN: there’s an au behind this one I just haven’t explored it yet. I also have had a redraw of this on the backseat for fuckin’ ages. I worked really hard on this one anyway.

“No one really knows what happened, when it happened, or even who did it, but it was poor Tracy who came across his corpse first. You swore you could still hear her scream ringing in the air, petrified in a way she'd never been before. Poor girl.

Rusty, spear-like pole to the neck. That's one hell of a way to go. Probably snapped his neck in two, but the blood on his fingers seemed to indicate it didn't fully kill him. It must've been agonizing, and you couldn't help but cringe as you wrote your report.

You already suspected one of the hunters had something to do with it, but who specifically? Hell If you knew.

You knew you were going to have to skip dinner, too afraid you'd empty your guts out on the floor, when you finally noticed the poof of blood in his mouth, and you realized that he, probably in a panic and desperately trying to call for help, choked and drowned in his own blood.

You kept that out of the report. You wanted to forget about this as soon as you could, if just for the sake of your own mental health.”

PN: I both really like and really don’t like this specific image, and it’s hard to explain why. I feel like the angling is a little wonky. Also an OC is writing the report and I might show the OC later.

“Curiosity killed the cat.

Freddy had an issue at letting go, leaving stones unturned and just walking away. It was almost like an itch, maybe even a rash, and he couldn't resist it. He'd scratch and scratch till he clawed his skin open, and he wouldn't stop until he finally got the answer. He knew he'd regret it once it was over, especially if he saw something he couldn't forget, but now he could let it go.

These periods of destructive curiosity were on and off, always something new and always something that would hurt him once it was all over. He'd do it to stories, or people; over analyzing and picking apart every aspect until he was too frail from over exhaustion to continue. It was easier with stories, and it was exhausting with people. It was even worse with himself.

It was only when he looked at himself did he realize how little he thought about his actions, how little thought went into his actions, and suddenly it mattered so much he felt like he was going to fall apart. It was a frenzy; he was practically ripping himself open, claws he didn't know he had sinking into his flesh and just tearing it away. His hands shook terribly, but he couldn’t stop. He had to know.

It wasn’t until he was done dissecting everything about himself did he realize the damage, but it was too late to take anything back. He felt so fucking hollow it made him dizzy. The world seemed to spin around him, yet it was too late.

He couldn't take it back, and by god he wished he could.”

PN: not happy with this one. Even the sketch for this one was weak and I just can’t find anything good about it. I wish I tried a little harder.

“Maybe it’s a little out of line, but I can’t stop staring at you.

You’re so pretty, like a blooming rose.

I can’t let this chance pass me by.

So, I’ll say it:

I love you.

Will you be mine?”

PN: I like this one! I don’t have too much to say other than that unfortunately.

PN: this is literally just the PV for “The spider and the Kitsune-like lion” by MASA. I have super mixed feelings about this one because I feel like I didn’t try hard enough. The body is fine but the head is just iffy. If I redrew it I’d try much harder.

WARNING:

This story contains:

Depictions/ descriptions of self harm

Depictions/ descriptions of violence

Mental Breakdowns

Mental health struggles

“He couldn't do this again.

It hurt, it hurt so much. It sunk its rotten daws into his shriveled heart, and the way it tugged it down- it was too much.

He promised he wouldn’t do this again, to dare let this feeling take over him. It nearly brought him to tears every time he glanced down at the ring on his finger, a golden band that reflected his pathetic expression. Sometimes, he swore that his expression would narrow its eyes at him, disgusted. It nearly made him want to take it off but that only hurt more.

In desperation, he locked himself away. He hardly left his room, only leaving when he needed to, and praying no one noticed his puffy eyes and his red cheeks. Humiliatingly, he found himself bursting into tears at the drop of a dime. He was practically weeping his way through the day, and it was getting harder to hide.

That damned feeling stil lingered, stood at his doorway and just stared. It flexed its claws and grinned a toothy grin, eyes narrowed in a forced attempt at a smile. "You can't ignore me forever" it sang rapping its blistered knuckles against his nightstand as he tried to sleep "there's no point: I'm not leaving"

It was true, and he hated it. A reality he couldn't deny was a cruel punishment, but maybe he deserved it.

As the days went by, he only got worse. He wouldn't eat, he'd bang his head against his desk until he was too faint to continue, he'd scratch at his neck and shoulders and chest, wishing he could just rip himself open and be done with it all sometimes, he'd wrap his fingers aroundhis neck and just squeeze. It was almost cathartic when his vision started to darken, when his mind began to twirl and his heart seemed to scratch desperately at his flesh. He'd always let go, but then he'd do it again and again.

But, every action has a consequence, and his was the various marks his injuries would leave behind. Bruises and cuts on his forehead, blood smeared underneath his nose, the growing red stains where he'd been too tired to clean up his wounds and let them bleed into his shirt, and the deep, reddish prints his palms left behind. A beautiful portrait of his suffering.

The others were starting to notice; Lingering stares followed his every movement when he occasionally snuck out of his room. It made his skin crawl every time they opened their mouths, as if they wanted to say something, only to decide against it and just give him a look, almast a silent plea for him to just stop.

Every time, he'd paused in consideration. He'd look down at himself, down at the dried blood on the underside of his fingernails, and he'd want to end all of this.

Then, he'd look up and see them. His heart, his treacherous, bastard heart would dare to beat, and it was like he was pushed back into the water. And, as he drowned, he'd chuckle to himself, suddenly remembering words he would bitterly growl to himself as a pathetic method of comfort he'd turn to when the dark, lonely nights became unbearable:

“What's called romance is nothing but fooling oneself before foding others"

What a hypocrite.

With the cycle starting all over again, he'd let his mind entertain fantasies of his fingers, having finally sunk deep enough into his chest to rip it open, grasped and finally tore out that tell tale heart, and he'd smile as he imagined himself floating away into a red sea, happy.

What a terrible thing: to be in love.”

PN: Love the story, hate the image. It fails to convey the pain I wanted it to and it just doesn’t stand up on its own. It seems like a first draft, and I'm so disappointed in it. Also, the love in this story is meant to be towards Kreacher but I kept it vague enough to be anyone. I think it makes the story stronger.

Alrighty, see you guys soon!

[bettyfrommars]

Hi Betty 🤗 Can we hear if Playgirl!Eddie and Reader ended up together? What would their relationship look like down the road? Would reader have to deal with jealousy?

Well, I did slip in the second title "How I Met Your Mother" last night to be cheeky, but I think playgirl!Eddie and reader are very well matched. They both have their own careers and pursuits, and she's the type that always keeps him guessing. She's not always available, she lets him chase her a bit, which he loves. I've never been a rockstar, or even remotely famous, but I can imagine that it becomes hard to find true friends and people you can trust; people who would still want to be around you if the money and the fame were gone, and I'd like to believe Eddie finds that in reader. She keeps him down to earth and reminds him of home.

I think Eddie would be totally fine with being faithful, but there would be SO much opportunity to mess up with the way women throw themselves at him. Reader is jealous in the same way that Eddie is, because they are obsessed with each other, but I think she would trust him until he gave her a reason not to. It wasn't as easy in the 90's for rockstars to communicate with loved ones while they were touring as it is now with mobile phone texting and video chat, so there would be a lot of landline phone sex in hotel rooms and reader sending him off with sexy polaroid's for later. But then there are some nights when he can't get a hold of reader because she's at work or with her friends, and HE is the one who has a jealous fit because he doesn't want her to forget about him and move on with some guy who can give her a stable, normal life.

As the relationship progresses, I think he ends up flying reader out to his different concert locations, and maybe he buys a big house in Hawkins with a recording studio, and he brings her there to introduce her to everyone, tells her he wants them to make it a home together. But maybe that spooks reader because she is working on her own career in LA, and she is very independent. She's in love with Eddie but she also doesn't want to get pinned down to a small town again.

So, they have a fight and break up, and she returns to LA alone. A few months go by and she's in traffic when the new Corroded Coffin song comes on the radio, and she realizes it's all about how much he loves her, how it's killing him to be without her, and that he will always wait for her. Her name is even in the lyrics. She drives the rest of the way home in tears because she's missed him so much, and she's been so sad and lonely, but she feared that she fucked things up for good.

And there he is, waiting for her outside of her apartment. He drove there in one of his restored muscle cars, a black Chevelle or Nova maybe, because he knew the song was coming out that day and he hoped that she would have a change of heart.

But her heart still belonged to him, and she tells him that. He says he doesn't care where they live, as long as she'll always be his girl, and she says that she'll make Hawkins her home, if it means she can wake up next to him whenever possible.

And then they kiss. And then proceed to have the type of make-up sex that could shatter windows and part the sea. Caligula would blush.

[pureseasalt]

traces of ink (sydney x carmy)

made after seeing the post by @theladyvalkyrieskyeart​ . feeling insane over the idea of carmy drawing syd. i dont believe that he has never done it after meeting her the writers and cast are lying to us. 

posted on pureseasalt on ao3, but posting here again. no beta. i wrote this in one go and blacked out after.

Summary: He lied when he said he’d never drawn again until Claire. He did. Once. (Set pre-season 2. Carmy has a panic attack. Guess who he remembers to help him cope.)

Words: 1.7k

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It was probably the middle of the night. Carmy couldn’t be exact about that. His memory’s kinda fucked– been fucked, since Mikey, or even before that. There were times from high school when Mom would go full apeshit ‘cause she told him to get the phone, to make some calls or just to embarrass Sugar by letting her hear the fights she picks with the phone operator. “No- no, sweetheart, I said don’t fucking put me on hold ever again– yeah? Alright! Go fuck yourself!” Something like that. Anyway, Mom would get mad at him ‘cause she told him to get the phone and somehow, he’d just forget that she did. He’d insist, “I didn’t hear you, Ma!” And he’d believe that; that he didn’t really hear her because in his head it never happened. 

But somehow it always did. She’d tell him things that never seemed to have happened.

This one, he just couldn’t remember when he did, or why. 

Carmy does a lot of things that he could only truly understand the reason behind after the fact he’s done it. All he knew, at that time, was he couldn’t sleep. He’d woken up in cold sweat after having one of those nightmares. He was in the middle of the stage and there’s a stove right in front of him and Chef was there. At the very middle of the seats. No audience but him. The smell of gasoline pervaded but there was no fire burning. No one else in the theater but Carmy and a man who smiled at him like he was the only one who knew the lines. 

And just when Chef was about to say it– “You are an excellent chef,” Carmy’s hand collided with the coffee table, jolting him awake.

You are also a piece of– 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Carmy hissed as he cradled the smarting joints. He sat up feeling as if the world had ended in his sleep and he was the only one left. In many ways, at that point, he actually was. His sous and pastry chef had walked out on him without any notice. Carmy knew that it was only a matter of time until the rest would do the same, even Richie, because Carmy was Carmy and making people stay had never been his specialty. Look at Mikey. 

The lighter wasn’t anywhere to be found so smoking was out of the window. He couldn’t calm himself down. His heart was running ahead of him and he was practically lugging his body around the room, pacing around looking for a destination. Not there, he reprimanded as he thought about the restaurant. It all still felt so raw. If he went there now he might still hear his own voice, the same way his mother’s voice echoed past the kitchen and into the living room, invading whatever silence it finds and staying there. 

So he settled for the floor, next to the stack of cookbooks. The wood creaked beneath him as he crouched down, eventually sitting to fiddle with his thumbs and grip his hair by the roots. His breathing was still messed up, but at least he could see clearly. One book strayed from the rest, he even noticed. Fish Plate by Michelle Rhimes. Its hardbound cover was sticking out and didn’t lay flat like the last of its pages, on the account of something stuck inside. 

He picked it up and flipped through the table of contents; through honey-glazed tilapia and fish florentine. There was a pen clipped to a blank piece of paper. Well, not completely blank. Someone had scribbled 1 tbsp dried thym and didn’t bother finishing it. Must have been him. He knew it was him. That was the funny thing about memory.

His was fucked, yes, but there were details that his brain permanently latched on, sometimes whispering to him in bed like Angry Annie, his bully from first grade, recounting all his mistakes for the entire class to laugh at and refusing to just let him have a good night’s rest without wanting to hit himself. Carmy recalled that he’d written that note for his next door neighbor back in New York. This old couple that routinely asked him for a good trout recipe after they found out that he was a chef. Both of them were hard of hearing, so Carmy thought of writing it down. 

By the time he’d gotten around to doing it, they’d already moved out. 

The rainbow trout on page 79 stared back at him and Carmy blew air out through his nose. 

His brain had a knack for comedic timing.

The pink bellied fish looked exactly like the one on Sydney’s scarf. 

The one that seemed peach-pink sometimes under the midday sun. “I feel like I’m owed one,” she told him on one of those days when she wore it (Trout scarf, he’d labeled it in his head) (Nice scarf, looks beautiful, he sometimes wanted to say, but that was just weird). She ribbed him that time at the back of the restaurant, which he so rightfully deserved. 

What boss leaves the wrangling of a batshit, toxic system to a new hire so that he could attend an Al-Anon meeting and make sense of his brother. Who also happened to be dead. 

Asshole. 

Syd should’ve called him an asshole that day. 

She should’ve left that day.

Instead, she laid out her heart– “This place could be different,” in a manner so concise and cogent and honest that, by the end of it, he’s surprised he’s not wiped out on the floor mouthing, like the crazy that he is, "What the hell just happened.” Because that was more than he ever deserved at that moment. When she talked to him like that it was as if Carmy had been brought back to earth. Sobered up after a long life of passing through doors on nothing but frantic energy. Talked down, excluded, not called, shouted at. Then all of a sudden somebody sits him down and levels with him, tells him, “Hey, dude, I’m with you. Give me the respect I deserve. You’re not the only one in here. I’m with you. ”  

All he could do was nod to everything Syd was saying. 

And she laughed with him and she said, “Fuck brunch.”

Fuck brunch.

He shook his head. In the middle of a fucking panic attack and he’s chuckling. He looked down and realized that he’d been pressing the pen cap, leaving dashes of blue ink on the paper. Sydney did that too sometimes. 

She would repeatedly press the cap as she pondered over that little notebook. He always took notice of that when it happens, even from his office, because she did everything with precise intention. Her writing had a decisive rhythm; hurried, but it knew its destination. Never one to waste time. That was Syd. So those few minutes of her just… idly playing with the cap would make him pause and listen (Never look because that was weird). 

Carmy often wondered what she was thinking about.

Eventually, the clicking would be a steady white noise among the rattling of pots and pans. If he actually stills himself, mutes everything else in a way that he could only do when he’s cooking, he could hear her humming. Just a faint sound trickling through the grooves and corners of the kitchen. Carmy would then resume bookkeeping, feeling lighter about the world. He connected the dashes on the paper with uneven lines. Carmy never looked but he could see . 

Her brows scrunched together when she was deep in thought. Her lips slanted down in a pout. Trout scarf wrapped around her hair. 

It never occurred to him that the last time he’d drawn was in high school.

He only looked at what he’d done– Sydney leaning against the countertop– and thought:

I gotta do more . 

Sydney had a number of scarves, so it only made sense that he did everything, didn’t he?  Besides, it was a puzzle to him every morning what her criteria was for picking and choosing, because of course Sydney would have one. The one with the rays and orange leaves, he decided, is when she wakes up feeling giddy. Probably has an idea she wants to pitch. 

She came to work once in that, beaming. Her smile reached her cheeks. The sun was in her hair. She snorted loudly when she laughed. 

Carmy etched her head with lines that reached to the sky, like a halo. He felt good looking at it. 

Then, he decided to draw some more, even the ones that he knew would make him feel worse. It felt like disrespect to only put to paper the ones that made him feel good, because Carmy had made her feel bad too. More than she deserved. He had shot her down about the short rib and risotto, without the same grace that she’d decided to give him when he made mistakes. Syd wore that same orange scarf that day. 

Her eyes flinched. The light of promise died in there, darkening them. Her braids fell to her shoulders as they sank to Carmy’s rejection. 

Cross hatches made shadows around her face; although having finished it, Carmy found that he didn’t feel as shitty as he thought he would. Only, oddly determined, like he was telling himself, I gotta do more. I gotta do more. I gotta see her again.  

The blue scarf was for when she’s determined enough to knock down walls. Her gaze was sharp, straight ahead on the prize. Carmy drew that one in the middle of the paper. 

Fatigue knocked him down after the fifth…or was it the sixth? (It was the tenth.) (The side profile of her face, earrings dangling like stars.) When he woke up, it was already 11:30 AM. He was on the floor with his slacked fingers keeping the pen from rolling to the floor. 

The cookbook was open.

Different faces of the same woman were sketched on one sheet of paper, and some more on the spaces between the pages. 

—

The next time Carmy tells himself that he won’t draw again will be after Claire.

He will lie again.

The next time, however, Carmy will remember when he does it, and why.

[princessmisery666]

baseball bat, apple, car... with this guy

Crazy Angel

Warnings: smut, angst. 

W/C: 800

Betas: @writercole

A/N: Thanks for the inspo 😍 Kym, I love you!!

Master Lists: All The Fandoms 

Gif Requests info.

Some people don’t know when to quit. Dean was one of those people.

Can you come over?

He only ever finds the words at the bottom of a hundred proof. You used to answer the message every time. And whenever you left the next day, his head was as messed up as the bed sheets you’d ruined. Sober Dean didn’t think about it, made a conscious effort not to think about you. Kept himself as busy as possible. But drunk Dean couldn’t get over you; there was no hangover quite like you and it didn’t matter how many times you said you wouldn’t do it again, he always sent the message.

Can you come over?

It goes unanswered for too long and he’s almost at the bottom of the bottle. 

He’d felt listless all day, his thoughts scattered and completely unfocused. He’d scratch the itch, if only it would keep still. He pushed the door to the bar open and as he crossed the threshold he convinced himself it had been an unconscious decision. He’d just been driving with no destination in mind and Baby had carried him back to the place he knew you’d be. Evidently, his destination hadn’t been a place but a person.

You look up when he enters and he sees the accusation in your eyes - you shouldn’t be here. But he can’t help himself. 

The first time you met you’d almost taken his head off with a baseball bat. Sam had stopped it. You’d apologized by fucking Dean so well he’d forgot his name for a while. That’s part of the reason he comes back. You make him forget. You’re one of those crazy angels. A walking contradiction. A sweet girl next door, butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. Until you're naked. A wicked smile that should come with a whiskey warning. That’s all it takes, a few shots of whiskey, a jukebox quarter and you give into him.

He approaches the bar, and waits but you purposely stay down the other end, so he orders a double and takes it to the back of the room. He watches you, serving customers, restocking the fridge, cleaning glasses. You’re doing everything you can not to look at him, but somehow your head is always turned slightly in his direction.

He finishes his first drink and stands to put a quarter in the jukebox, selecting your favorite song and as the first opening bars fill the room you finally look at him. You hold his eyes as you shoot back a shot of whiskey and nod your head toward the door.

“Hey,” he says as you slide into the back of Impala where he waits. 

You don’t speak, instead greet him with a hard, passionate kiss. You taste like apples, it’s probably all you’ve eaten today, he wants to ask how you are, but he already knows. You wouldn’t be there if you were doing okay. You shuck off your jacket and it’s the urgency that tells him you don’t have time for small talk.

It’s a practiced routine, getting each other naked in the confines of the backseat and within minutes you're straddling his lap, hungrily kissing him. 

“Fuck,” he groans, feeling your velvety heat envelope around him as you sink down onto his cock. 

“Dean,” you sigh, fingernails digging into his shoulders. “I need…”

He thrusts and you forget your words. “Uh-huh, I know,” he breathes, “I got you.”

He rocks his hips, he pushes up and you slam your ass down. Flesh slaps loudly, echoing in the small space. The car bounces with the rhythm and the windows soon fog up.

You whine and moan his name in between kisses. He loses himself, feels the sweat trickle down his back and get stuck between the leather and his skin. Baby will smell like sex for days and he’ll revel in the memory as long as he can. 

“Holy shit!” Your movements stutter and he feels your walls clench, holding him in place. “Dean, oh, fuck.”

“Y/N, I’m gonna…” he warns. 

“Me too,” you say and as you kiss him again you come together.

Ten minutes later you're back behind the bar and he’s back at his table. He watches you flirt and work, avoiding eye contact with him again. It’s not shame that keeps you from looking at him, it’s a game. A game he likes to play, because he always wins. He finds a quarter in his pocket, takes it to the jukebox and as your favorite song starts again, you lock eyes. This time you nod toward the bathrooms. 

He wets his lips, eyebrows raising in a silent question, “really?” 

You answer by taking a shot of whiskey and he can’t wait to lick the taste from your mouth.