#i am now STRESSIN

[whosectype]

MY AP FINAL IS IN A FEW HOURS AHHHHHH

[loreweave]

feeling SO stressed about life rn but at least i got to admire the moon doing a fun trick

[1abi1e]

why did i have to think about that right now...

it's fine, everythin' is gonna be fine even if i have to make it fine. i gotta have a little more faith in people than this. maybe a little more faith in myself too, but

i know it's gonna happen again. eventually. i'm fucked up like that and it always, always happens again. because there's somethin' wrong with me

and everyone finds out if they stick around me for too long

[chrissturnsfav]

omg i just thought about something

can you write about how rapper!chris and star are arguing over something reallyy stupid and none of them wanna apologize first, but chris can't sleep properly if they're angry at each other so he tries to talk with her before going to bed😔😔

they’re just so sweet and i need some angst 💔

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris and singer!reader refuse to go to bed angry

you don’t even remember how it started. something about work. or maybe it was the aux cord in the car. it was dumb as fuck, you know that, but now you're both too deep into this silent battle of egos to back down.

chris is across the room, scrolling on his phone, sprawled out in a manspread on the couch. you're on his bed, curled up in his hoodie that still smells like his cologne, arms crossed, jaw tight.

the sleepover routine hasn’t changed—you're here, he's here—but the vibe is off. and you hate when the vibe is off.

he exhales loud as hell, like he wants you to notice. you pretend you don't, but then he does it again. dramatic dick.

"yo, you really gonna sleep mad at me?" his voice is all low and smooth, but there’s that little whiny edge to it, kinda like he's suffering. good.

you don't answer. you hear him toss his phone onto the nightstand with way too much force.

"nah, fuck that," he mutters, then suddenly, the king size bed dips as he flops down next to you, shaking the whole mattress. you don't move.

he sighs and shifts. then a finger pokes your arm. once. twice. three times.

"quit actin' like you sleepin'. i know you ain't asleep, ma."

you swat his hand away, but he just laughs. you can hear the smirk on his lips.

"so we really beefin' over some dumb shit?"

"you started it," you mumble quietly, your heart speeding up. you hate arguing with chris, yet you're so stubborn.

"you kept it goin'," he shoots back, rolling onto his side to face you. "and now we both look dumb as shit."

you hate when he makes sense.

he shifts closer, nudging your shoulder with his. "look, i know you’re probably sittin' here thinkin' all hard, stressin' yourself out over some shit that don’t even matter."

you glare at him. "i am not."

"you are," he says, huffing with a roll of his eyes. "bet you already planned three different ways to apologize, blamed yourself for the whole argument, and decided i secretly wanna leave you. don’t lie."

you look away, huffing, realizing he's right once again.

he groans and throws an arm over his face. "baby, i love you, but you gotta stop doin' that shit."

his words hit something soft in your chest. you swallow.

"i just don't like to be wrong," you admit, voice small, chewing the inside of your cheek.

he peeks at you from under his arm, grinning. "well, if we're bein' real, we're both wrong. so now we can stop actin' stupid and go to sleep."

you hesitate, shooting him a bratty glare, making him scoff out a chuckle.

"c'mooon," he coaxes, voice dipping into that playful, teasing tone that always makes you crack. "jus' say you sorry first. be the bigger person. show me how mature you are."

"you say it first," you whine, frowning like a small child.

"nah, ion do first," he says, flipping onto his back with a smirk. "i'm a rapper. got a reputation to uphold."

you roll your eyes, but he catches the way the corner of your mouth twitches. he sees his opening and goes straight for it.

next thing you know, he's rolling over, wrapping himself around you like a human blanket, his breath warm against your neck. "damn, you smell good," he mumbles. "all mad and cute and shit."

you groan. "chris—"

"shhh," he hums, tucking his face against your shoulder. "s'okay, i accept your apology."

"i didn't even apologize," you whine, frowning up at him as you squirm.

"you were thinkin' it, though. i could feel it. don't pull that stubborn shit, now."

you smack his arm, and he just laughs, holding you tighter. his warmth melts away the last bit of your stubbornness. fine. you did miss him.

"…whatever," you mumble, snuggling into his hoodie.

he presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. "love you, kid," he mumbles against your skin.

you huff, giving in. "love you."

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @sturns-mermaid , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101 , @malsmind

@chrissturnsfav ™

[oneforthemunny]

something i felt like writing bc i have been stressed to the absolute max and am on the brink and i would sell my actual soul to have rn.

"you wanna watch this?" eddie muttered, hand lazily rubbing up and down your spine, over the cotton material of your tank top.

"'s fine." you mutter, only half seeing the tv anyways. your cheek smushed against eddie's thigh, the rest of you lazily stretched out onto the worn couch.

eddie's fingers worked up and down your spine, alternating between soft, half-hearted rubs, to light massages when you'd huff and whine, shoulder shaking at him to pay attention when he'd get distracted.

"jesus, you got a knot." he mumbled, thumb pressing into the sensitive spot on your shoulder, a biting blend of pain and relief searing down your spine.

"is it bad?" you tensed, eyes squeezing shut.

"pretty bad, babe." eddie dug his finger in some more, wincing at the tiny pop that came from the pressure. "what've you been doin'?"

"i dunno. probably slept on it weird or stress or something." you muttered, settling back into his thigh.

you could smell his spicy cologne, faint but still there and recognizable. normally, it'd give you a piercing headache- all the ones from the past did. guys who doused themselves in cheap, too strong perfume. the tiniest whiff made you nauseous, but not eddie's. it fit him so well, like it was made for him. left you thinking about it, wanting to press your nose further and further into his skin or clothes after he'd spritzed it on.

"stressed?" eddie's teasing tone pulled you from your thoughts. "what's stressin' you, baby?"

"everything." you sighed heavily, lungs a little constricted from how they were pressed into the couch cushions. "i don't wanna talk about it." you cut him off before he could ask. you knew it was coming, could feel it, and right now, you just didn't want to think about it- think about anything, really.

eddie knew that. he knew it, could feel it in the way your shoulders tensed. no wonder you had such a knot.

so instead of pressing about it, he went back to gently rubbing your back, letting you melt into him, relax under the blue-ish glow of the tv rewatching some old sitcom from the seventies.

[vhyunjinverse]

BABY DADDY .ᐟ

f!reader x toji fushiguro (18+)

summary : “Fuck you Toji!” “Fuck me..? FUCK YOU.” God you hated him so much.

warnings : toji calls reader a bitch and finds out, slapping, reader cries, sex while pregnant, slight angst, a cute little fic

“..It should be “Thank you, Toji. Oh i just love you so much.”

He looks at your angry face, scar rising as he couldn’t hold back the cocky smirk. His eyes trail down to your little round belly, four months swollen. “Thank you? Thank you? I’m fuckin pregnant dumbass!”

“Nothing wrong with ya carryin my seed. You can take a break from work for 9 months. Calm the fuck down.” He grumbles, grabbing a cigarette from his pocket. “Calm down? I can’t just take months off- I model dumbass.”

“And you modeled for me one day and look what happened, I knocked you up.” Not to mention the engagement ring you wore. You’ve been together for almost three years he’s head over heels for you. “Calm the hell down.” He’s reaching over to pat you on your head. “Gonna give ‘Gumi the crazies.”

“No- you don’t understand. I don’t wanna become a housewife-“

“I wanna still be the model I was- no—you don’t get it Toji you’re a man— baby. We have this chat once a month.” He quotes you almost perfectly. Smoke leaving his lips. “Quit yr’ bitchin-“ SLAP !the sound loud ringing in your ears, hand colliding with his face faster than you’ve ever moved before.

“Fuck you Toji!”

“Fuck me..? FUCK YOU.” God you hated him so much. Your eyes watered, but you were a strong little thing. That’s what Toji liked about you..one of many things. Like how when you first met he was just a guy in the crowd watching you strut down the aisle, smirk on his face as he sketched in a notepad. An artist he wanted to be..you learned that after getting to know him. Your eyes glance over to the notepad page, framed on your wall but showing signs of age.

You also thought of what he actually was..the son of your boss. He didn’t have much money when you met, looks could always fool you..so sweet you were. That didn’t bother you much though. It wasn’t his fault his father blocked his success. His art, your love. You watch as Toji puts out the cigarette, cursing to himself as he started to walk away from you.

“Wh- don’t walk away from me we’re not done.” You follow him. He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Yes we are.”

“No we’re not-“

“I’m not gonna keep doing this every month. We had time to..we decided to keep the baby and now you’re complaining about the damn kid!” He turns to you, blue eyes staring sadly at your brown ones. Instinctively reaching down to graze your cheek. “I know you don’t like it mama..” he murmurs. You sniffle softly, leaning into the touch you fell in love with. Your eyes close as he felt closer. His lips grazing over your chin and neck. Toji’s hands wrapped around your body.

He held you both. “It’s your fault.” you sob into his embrace. He couldn’t hold back the small smile littering his lips. “Takes two ta tango?” he wipes your eyes, kissing the tears away. “Mhm..” you found yourself sniffling. He rubbed over your swollen belly. “Gumi be nice to mama alright? Stressin’ her out.” He whispers to the baby.

“M’sorry..” He whispers again, his strong hands guiding you into his body. “How could I be so bad? Getting such a perfect little thing knocked up..filled up with my baby. How could I have done such a thing..” He coos.

He leans up to kiss your lips, thumb swiping at the fallen tears. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, y’know?” Toji stands up straight, bringing your body into his. He rubbed your back while you cried softly into his chest, how you wrapped your arms around the love of your life…he was everything. He knew you meant no harm, he also knew to watch his mouth but still failed. “You’re going to be perfect- we’re gonna be a perfect lil family okay?”

“Cmere mama..” He had you trapped. You loved him too fucking much to let go.

“Be gentle.” You had huffed. “Damnit I am- shut up.” He had huffed back, playful smile on his lips while the thick head of his cock slipping between your folds. Toji held back while you were pregnant- he had no choice- being the rough guy that he was. It’s how you go here in the first place, hell. The scar on his lips danced as he moaned softly, bottoming out. He didn’t go in all the way, though. His tongue lapped at your growing breast. Nipples being flicked by his tongue, hips still.

“Missed this..” you close your eyes, breathing softly while he started to move. His hands were on either side of your head, tightly fisted the sheets. You could tell he was doing his best not to pound you. “Mm..” Your head relaxes on the big pillow beneath your head. Toji’s face tucks into your neck, cock slipping out past your ring. He was a mess. The cum that leaked should be a crime. You’d tease him about it later. He slips back in just as easily, biting down gently on your neck. “Gonna take care of you, alright?” He mumbles.

“Yeah yeah.”

[anakinstwinklebunny]

SAM MONROE hadn't exactly have the best track record with decision-making. And now? Well, he was proving that point in the most impossible way imaginable.

“Sam,” you started, voice a little breathless but laced with some kind of warning

With chest still raising and falling rapidly and sweat clinging to his skin, he propped himself on one shaky arm to change position, whining about how wet everything is, how his dick hurt after the new position you suggested. You've been doing something you shouldn't really be doing, but again, here you were, catching your breath while your mind recalled the last moments, ignoring your boyfriend by your side

And then it hit you

“Hmm?” he mumbled, eyes half-lidded as he flopped down beside you, one arm lazily slung over his face.

Sam stilled for half a second, brows furrowing like he was mentally replaying the last few minutes. Then, he let out a nonchalant huff, lips twitching into that damn cocky smirk. “Yeah, of course I did. Right on time.” he dragged the last sentence with proudness

“You, uh… You pulled out, right?” Your tone had that edge of 'I already know the answer, but I need to hear you say it'

You stared at him, deadpan. “Sam. Be serious.”

“I am serious!” He pushed himself up on one elbow, gesturing with his free hand as if that would somehow make his argument more convincing. “I pulled out.. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” You sat up, glaring at him now.

Sam rolled his eyes, the smirk faltering just a little as he scratched the back of his neck. “Look, I felt like it was enough, alright? Don’t make it a whole thing.” he laid his head back down on his pillow

“A whole thing?” You practically gawked at him, your hands gesturing wildly in frustration “Sam, that’s not exactly how this works!”

He whined, covering his face with his hands. “You’re stressin’ me out now. It’s fine. You’re fine. We’re fine.”

You shot him a look that screamed nothing positive, with a lot of curse words “I swear, Sam, if you’ve--”

“Alright, alright!” he cut you off, sitting up with a dramatic sigh. Hands fell to his lap, and he looked at you with that blend of annoyance and affection only he could pull off. “Next time, I’ll--whatever, okay? Just… stop lookin’ at me like I just murdered a puppy or somethin’.”

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne

[luvacookie]

୨୧ thru ur phone.

connie leaves his phone unattended.

❥ warnings : cheating, threats, intended useage of lowercase, fem blk coded reader

❥ cookie for ur thoughts ? : sorry guys was in an angsty mood so i wrote an angsty drabble </3 but i am considering writing a follow up to this !

“the fuck is this connie ?”

he stares at his game, the lighting from the screen highlighting the contortion of his face.

“what’cha on about..” he says dazed, groaning as he gets killed again.

you throw his phone on top of his desk harshly, the device landing face up. he jumps at the unexpected, loud noise, his eyes finally cutting away from the screen and to you with a squint.

“what the fuck ? i’m in the middle of s’mthin’ ‘nd you throwin’ shit in my face,” he says with a huff, unaware of what almost hit him.

“ion give a fuck about your dumb fucking game ! who the fuck is that and why is she texting you about how she misses you in her fucking bed constance,” you shout at him, your hands fidgeting in annoyance.

his face drops at that statement, suddenly sitting up straight and realising that it was his phone that you were holding.

he snatches it up quickly, scrolling through all the notifications.

“the fuck you going through my shit for y/n—” he says annoyed, looking up at you with a scowl.

“don’t play that card with me right now, i’m so close to beating the living shit outta your ass !” you yell, the fidgeting turning into mild pacing.

he watches you move up and down with narrowed eyes, the words on his tongue struggling to find an exit. “it’s nobody, stop stressin’ over it.”

“ ‘nobody’ my fucking ass constance ! you think ‘cus you named the bitch ‘work’ in yo’ phone means i’m fuckin’ dumb ?” you snap at him, standing in one place.

he stands up out of his gaming chair, attempting to cross the room to you.

“don’t fuckin’ come near me connie. i swear to god, i will put hands on your scumbag ass—” you spew, taking steps backwards.

“y/n talk to me, we can talk about this,” he tries, his hands reaching for you.

you scoff. “fuck tha’ and fuck you. get your shit and fuckin’ go.”

he looks taken aback, not expecting those words out of your mouth. “huh ?”

“i’m not fucking repeating myself, find somewhere else to be ‘cus i do not want to see your fucking face right now,” you say firmly, watching him.

his eyes scan over you in mild disbelief. he tries to step towards you again and you step back, your mindset clear and decided. he stops and looks around for a brief moment before disappearing into your shared bedroom.

you exhale a shaky breath and the tears, that you didn’t know you were holding, start falling. you hold your mouth to silence the sounds of your cries, opting to move into the living room and sit on the couch as they continue to slide down your face.

you try to slow your heart rate and your breathing, desperate to keep your composure so that when he walks into the room you can keep your head held high.

you’re texting your best friend, informing her of the situation when connie appears in front of you from a distance, holding a duffle bag with a few random items in it and his shoes.

“i- i’m sorry y/n, i am,” he mumbles, rocking back and forth on his feet like a child.

“sorry isn’t fucking good enough,” you reply.

he opens his mouth to say something but decides not to, choosing to put his shoes on and unlock the front door.

he turns to look at you before leaving, the chain rattling as the door shuts.

when you feel confident enough that he’s out of range you start sobbing, the tears flowing consistently.

there’s nothing you can do but let the heartbreak consume you, ignoring the sound of his car racing down the street.

[olivethewriter]

Love is a drug

hey y'all this is my first one shot, and I am kind nervous, but I just watched euphoria and thought this would be a good fic idea y/n goes to fez's house and gets drugged by mouse instead of rue leading to a steamy confession

You knock on your best friend Fezco's door. "Fez, open up! It's pouring out here!"

The door cracks open a moment later. "Y/N, you really shouldn't be here."

"Too bad, I'm starving," you reply,making a beeline for the kitchen. You grab your favorite chipst.

"Nah, Y/N, I'm serious. You gotta get the fuck up out my house," Fez insists.

"Man stop stressin," you reply, plopping down on his couch and flipping through the TV channels.

"My supplier's bout to swing by, and I don't want you here when he does," Fez explains, growing more tense.

"I'm hungry," you repeat, munching on another chip.

"Then take the fucking chips with you," he grumbles.

"You're being hella rude today, but—" Before you can finish, Fez's phone rings, breaking the tense silence.

After a long pause, Fezco shakes his head. "I could fucking kill you right now."

Fez heads to the door as you turn off the TV. A tall, tattooed guy, way taller and bulkier than you expected, steps in behind Fez. 

"Well, shit, I didn't know your bitch would be here," he says, eyeing you.

"Nah, man, she's just a friend," Fez replies, taking a seat across from you.

"Well, hello there," the guy kneels in front of you, extending his hand. "I'm Mouse. Pleasure to meet you."

"Um, hi," you mutter, cautiously shaking his hand. His intense gaze makes you uneasy, like you want to crawl out of your skin.

he says, he stands up and unpacks his bag and starts describing its contents.

"Sure you don't want any fentanyl?" 

“Nah man im cool too many ODs” fez says 

“How bout you little lady want any fent?”Mouse asks, looking at you.

"No," you reply firmly.

"Nah, man, she's cool," Fez interjects. You've never used drugs before (besides vaping once), and you certainly don't want to start with something as dangerous as fentanyl.

"You gonna let him speak for you?”you look to fez for help “look at me when i talk to you." Mouse demands. He grabs your chin, playing with your hair.

"Have you ever tried it?" he whispers into your ear. You shake your head, speechless.

"No, for real, bro, I don't want her messing with that shit," Fez asserts, his voice steady but tense.

"Don't look at him. Look at me," Mouse insists, grabbing your chin and staring into your eyes. "Ever tried anything?"

You remain silent, unsure how to respond.

"No, seriously, man, she's good," Fez tries to defuse the tension, but Mouse isn't done.

"You know that feeling when you come so hard you can't hear or feel shit?" Mouse whispers, leaning in close. You freeze, feeling the point of his knife against your glossed lips.

You pray silently. You can't believe you're about to die. But you glance at Fez and open your mouth.

The drug hits you fast. In less than a minute, you're numb, barely able to sense anything. You lie down on the couch, eyes barely open.

"You like that?" Mouse asks, placing your legs on his lap.

"Uh-huh," you mumble.

"Wanna try more?" Mouse offers, leaving light touches on your thighs.

"No, man, she doesn't want any more," Fez says, struggling to keep his voice calm, hiding his growing anger.

"I-I want more," you slur, wanting to feel like this forever. Mouse places patches in your shorts' waistband, his hands lingering on your hips.

"That'll cost you three hundred," Mouse says.

"I'm broke," you manage to say.

"That's too bad. Guess you'll have to find another way to pay," Mouse says, his hand creeping toward your hips.

"Man, don't make her do that. I'll pay for her," Fez interjects.

"Nah, thought you were too good for fent," Mouse retorts. Fez grabs the gun, but ultimately decides against using it. That's the last thing you remember before drifting off.

When you wake up, Mouse is long gone, and Fez is nowhere to be found. You're in Fez's room, wearing one of his sweaters. You get out of bed and head to the kitchen, where Fez is eating cereal.

"I'm sorry," you say, barely holding back tears. Fez turns around.

"No, no, don't apologize. It's my fault. I should've had you wait in another room or just fucking shot him," he says, seeing your quivering lips. He pulls you into a hug.

"That was so scary," you admit, barely keeping it together.

"I know, ma," Fez consoles you.

"I thought I was going to die," you confess.

"It's okay. You're here now, and you're safe," Fez assures you, pulling away to look into your eyes.

"I won't let him hurt you again," Fez vows.

"I know," you whisper.

When you thought you were going to die, there wasn't much you regret. You love your family. You're on good terms with almost everyone. But you had never been in love before. You always thought you and Fez would end up together, and it was only a matter of time. But life isn't guaranteed. Tomorrow might not happen. And the next time you almost die, you don't want it to be without kissing Fezco O'Neil.

You look into Fezco's blue eyes. Without thinking, you ask, "Will you kiss me?"

Fez's blue eyes widen, but he doesn't hesitate. His lips touch yours, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. You look up at him, then at his lips.

"Do it again," you demand.

This time, Fez doesn't wait for you to finish your sentence. He kisses you fiercely. The kiss, sweet and hesitant before, is now intense and passionate. Teeth clash, and tongues wrestle as you try to get as close as possible. His strong hands wrap around your waist, and your arms tighten around his neck. You step closer, until every inch of your body presses against his. He lifts you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He moves one of your hands from your waist to your neck, pressing a little harder. You let out a small gasp, pulling his face back into yours and kissing him harder. Your hands meet behind his neck, and unexpectedly, he bites your lip and looks into your eyes. You let out a whimper, but your phone dings.

"I need to get that. It's probably my mom," you sigh, disappointed that the moment is over.

"Yeah, of course," Fez says, setting you back on the ground. You look at the message from your mom, telling you to let her know if you're going to stay overnight at Maddie's house and come home.

"I'm so sorry. I have to go," you apologize.

"Okay, let me walk you out."

When you two reach the door, Fez speaks up. "Listen, I really like you. I want this to happen again. Can we do this again but not just like hooking up and shit? I want it all."

"Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, Fezco?" you ask, smiling.

"I mean, I guess, if you want to be," Fezco says, looking down and fiddling with his hands.

"Of course," you say, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him.

"See you tomorrow."

"Bye, Y/N," he says, watching you walk away, the ghost of your kiss lingering on his lips.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Gaslight

Synopsis: Valentino loves to gaslight you, and you’ve just about had enough.

A/N: based on the song Gaslight by Nessa Barrette

Navigation!!

The penthouse smelled like cigars, whiskey, and expensive cologne—the usual. But tonight, something else clung to the air.

Perfume.

Not yours.

You stood by the window, arms wrapped around yourself, staring at the neon-drenched city. Your reflection looked back at you, tired eyes and clenched fists.

“Why am I jealous if I’m yours?”

Behind you, Valentino sat sprawled across the couch, legs spread wide, cigarette dangling from his fingers. He exhaled slow, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. “Y’know, you got a real bad habit of sulkin’.”

You ignored him.

He sighed dramatically, tapping ash into a tray. “You gonna tell me what’s got you all worked up, or am I s’posed to guess?”

Your stomach churned.

You already knew the answer.

You had seen the messages.

And worse—you had heard it.

He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore.

“I should’ve known, but I went through your phone anyways.”

Val shifted, waiting. Then, lazily, “Go on, sweetheart. Just say whatever dumb shit you’re thinkin’ so I can fix it.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “Are you fucking Angel Dust?”

Silence.

Then—Valentino laughed.

It was slow, drawn out, dripping amusement. “Ohhh, here we go.” He grinned, shaking his head. “You serious right now?”

You swallowed, throat tight. “I saw the messages, Val.”

He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head. “Did you now?”

Your heart pounded. “I went through your phone.”

His smirk faltered—just for a second. Then, it came back sharper. “And here I thought you were better than that,” he drawled, shaking his head. “Snoopin’? Jesus, doll, that’s desperate.”

“Why do you tell me that I’m crazy?”

Your voice wavered. “Desperate?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking at you like you were pathetic. “Yeah. Desperate. Y’know, diggin’ through my shit, lookin’ for somethin’ to be mad about. It’s a bad look, sweetheart.”

Your chest tightened. “I didn’t make this up, Val. I saw the texts. I heard you.”

His expression didn’t change. “And?”

You blinked. “And?”

“So what?” he said smoothly, shrugging. “So what if Angel and I got history? That ain’t new, babe.”

You felt sick. “History?”

“Yeah.” He stood, stretching, rolling his shoulders like this was boring him. “You act like I don’t own him, baby. We’re close. That’s just how it is.”

Your hands were shaking. “So you are fucking him.”

Valentino chuckled, stepping closer. “Why you makin’ a big deal outta this, huh? You know what I do, sweetheart. You know how this works.”

Your stomach turned. “How it works?”

Val exhaled like you were exhausting him. “Yeah. It’s just business, baby. Nothin’ more.”

Your breath caught. “Business?”

“Yeah,” he said smoothly, swirling his drink. “Work. That’s it. Angel’s my investment, my property. You think I actually care about him?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “It don’t mean nothin’, babe. You’re stressin’ yourself out over nothin’.”

Your stomach twisted violently. “You said his name in your sleep.

Valentino stilled.

Then, a slow, lazy smirk. “Now you’re really reachin’, sweetheart.”

“You did.” Your voice cracked. “You did.”

Val chuckled, shaking his head. “Jesus, you are crazy.”

Your chest burned.

“Gaslight.”

No.

No, you weren’t.

You shook your head, tears burning at the edges of your vision. “I’m not crazy if I’m right.”

Val just grinned. “Y’know, you keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Your hands were shaking. “I’m done, Val.”

He exhaled, looking so fucking unimpressed. “Yeah?”

You took a step toward the door. “I mean it this time.”

Valentino didn’t even look up. “You always mean it.”

Your breath caught.

He was right.

How many times had you told yourself you’d leave? How many times had you tried? And how many times had you ended up right back here?

“Turn me to someone I don’t wanna be.”

Your vision blurred.

“You make me feel like I don’t even know myself anymore,” you whispered.

Val hummed, picking up his whiskey from the table. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

Something in you cracked.

You turned, storming toward the door.

“You’ll be back,” Valentino called lazily behind you.

You swallowed, forcing yourself not to turn around.

“I’m not crazy if I’m right.”

But as you stepped into the cold hallway, the weight of his words clung to you like smoke, thick and suffocating.

And deep down, you weren’t sure if you’d ever really escape.

[giveafike]

Santa, baby - B.T.S

TLDR: Writing a letter to Santa! This is part 2/12 of Azzie's Advent Calendar 2024!

Word count + info: 3.4k. including dialogue.

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! No warnings : )

Azzie Notes ✚: Day 2/12! Hope you enjoy part 2 ;)

————————————————————————

The twinkling Christmas tree cast a kaleidoscope of colours across the dimly lit room, its reflection dancing faintly on the windows; a cozy reminder of the chaotic decorating session just a couple of days ago. The air carried a faint hint of pine and cinnamon from a candle lit earlier. You were stretched out on the couch, your head on Ben’s lap, while your legs hung lazily over the side. His hand moved absently through your hair, the other holding the remote, cycling through the same few channels without settling on any. Outside, the Florida evening was calm as the sun began to set, the December air brushing against the windows. Ben’s leg bounced restlessly, and his off-key rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock” filled the otherwise quiet room.

“Do you ever stop moving?” you teased, your voice laced with affectionate exasperation as you nudged him in the ribs. The vibration of his laughter reverberated through your cheek, resting against his chest.

He grinned, eyes still fixed on the screen. “What do you mean? I’m perfectly still right now, doll.”

“You’re fidgeting,” you countered.

“Am not.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Your leg’s bouncing, you’re humming, and you’ve been flicking through the same channels for 10 minutes. That’s textbook fidgeting. It’s like being trapped on a merry-go-round with a very hyper elf.”

Ben tilted his head down to look at you, mock offence plastered across his face. “I’m an athlete, babe. Being in motion is my baseline, my natural state. Sitting still is unnatural for me.”

“Good thing tennis isn’t played sitting down, huh?” you shot back.

He laughed, setting the remote aside. “You’re lucky you’re cute, or I’d be deeply offended by that comment.”

“Oh, you love it,” you teased, nudging him with a grin.

He stretched his arms behind his head, smirking. “Alright, Miss Observant, what’s your excuse for being so still? You’ve barely moved all day.”

“I’m conserving energy.”

“For what? A marathon?”

“No, for dealing with you,” you quipped, making him laugh so hard his body shook beneath you.

Ben slid a hand to your waist, giving it a playful squeeze. “You’re on fire tonight. Got any more zingers, or is that it?”

“Plenty,” you teased, but the banter softened as your eyes drifted to the Christmas tree. You sighed, your voice more thoughtful now. “But seriously, I needed a lazy day. All that decorating wiped me out. My arms still ache from all that.”

“Wiped you out? I was the one dangling off ladders, risking my life for the good of the house.”

“Bryan was the one on the ladder. You just held it and moped,” you pointed out, holding back a laugh.

“Whatever,” Ben muttered, waving it off.

For a moment, the room fell into a comfortable silence, the faint crackle of the fireplace the only sound. You traced absent circles on his knee, your thoughts wandering. For a moment, you let yourself get lost in the simplicity of it all.

“What’s on your mind?” Ben's voice was quieter now, dipping into that softer register he reserved just for you.

“Christmas,” you admitted, leaning back against the couch, your gaze drifting toward the Christmas tree. “And how I have no idea what to get you.”

He blinked, surprised. “You’re stressin' over gettin' me a gift?”

“Of course I am! You’re impossible to shop for. You already have everything.”

He laughed, his amusement genuine. “That’s not true.”

“Name one thing you don’t have that you want,” you challenged, crossing your arms.

Ben opened his mouth but stopped short, thinking. “Okay, you’ve got a point.”

You groaned, flopping back dramatically. “This is a disaster.”

“Relax,” he said, rubbing you soothingly. “It’s not about the gifts anyway. Just being here together is enough.”

You rolled your eyes, but his sincerity made your heart squeeze. “That’s sweet and all, but it doesn’t solve my problem. You’re not the one shopping for a millionaire.”

Ben smirked. “Well, I'm already sorted, you’re not exactly hard to shop for, you know. You’ve got, like, three weaknesses: coffee, books, and anything fuzzy. Oh, or candles! You're more like an old lady.”

You laughed despite yourself. “Okay, Mr. Know-It-All. What’s your weakness?”

He paused, a teasing smile creeping onto his face. “You.”

You rolled your eyes, groaning. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious!” he said, leaning closer. “That’s why I don’t need anything else. I’ve already got the best gift.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Stop. You’re being so corny right now.”

Ben laughed, prying your hands away gently. “Alright, alright. If it helps, I have an idea.”

You raised an eyebrow warily. “This better be good.”

“When Emma and I were kids, my parents made us write letters to Santa every year,” he began, his grin turning playful. “It was Mom’s way of making sure we got what we wanted without spoiling the surprise. They’d pretend to send them to Santa, but really, they’d just use the lists to figure out what to buy us.”

“That’s sneaky!” you laughed.

“Right?” Ben leaned forward, conspiratorially. “And get this, by the time we were in high school, they stopped hiding it. Mom would literally say, ‘Write your letter, or you’re getting socks and a gift card.’” He shook his head, amused. “So, every year, Emma and I would sit at this exact table, armed with glitter pens and too much sugar, writing our letters.”

“Let me guess,” you sighed before continuing, “You want us to write Santa letters?”

“Exactly!” Ben said, his eyes lighting up. “We write our letters, swap them, and boom, your problem is solved, Santa's got it all under control then! This is basically charity work on my end.”

“You do realise Santa isn’t real, right?”

He gasped, looking down at you with a frown, jutting out his bottom lip a bit. “Take it back.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fine. But I’m holding you to this.”

“Deal!” Ben shot up from the couch, returning moments later, arms overflowing with an assortment of supplies: colourful markers, pens, paper, glue sticks, and glitter pots that sparkled like tiny treasure chests.

“You had this ready to go?” you asked, amused.

“Nope,” he said, plopping everything onto the coffee table. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

At first, you felt out of place. Ben dived in enthusiastically, sketching haphazard snowflakes and slapping on Santa stickers without a second thought. Meanwhile, you stared at your blank sheet of paper, the sheer amount of options making you hesitate.

“You overthinkin' already?” he teased, glancing at you with a smirk.

“No,” you lied, picking up a red marker and drawing a tentative candy cane border.

“Babe, it’s not an exam. Just have fun with it. No rules, no judgment. Just channel your inner kid and tell Santa what you want.”

His carefree attitude was contagious, and soon, you found yourself leaning into the chaos. The table transformed into a colourful mess of spilt glitter and scattered craft supplies, the two of you laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Now and then you'd look up to see how he's coming along, only to find his head down, tongue poking out while holding an arsenal of different things in his hands. Ben was uncapping a red marker and beginning to scrawl his name across the top of his page in giant block letters one minute and then drawing messy swirls with glitter pens the next. Slowly but surely, you found yourself getting into it. The glitter, the colours, the silly doodles, it all felt so carefree like you were a kid again.

You couldn’t help but smile, picturing a younger Ben and Emma hunched over the same table, bickering about markers or laughing over lopsided drawings. There was a warmth in his voice as he spoke about it earlier, a nostalgia that wrapped around you like the soft glow of the Christmas lights.

“I think I just glued my sleeve to the table,” you mumbled, holding up your arm to reveal a rogue patch of glitter glue.

Ben burst out laughing. “That’s commitment. Santa’s gonna be impressed.”

As you settled into the groove, the sound of footsteps approached, and Ben’s mom appeared in the doorway.

“Well, what’s all this?” Lisa asked, her tone warm and amused.

“Mom!” Ben said, his face lighting up. “We’re writing letters to Santa.”

“Looks like you two are making a mess,” she teased, stepping closer.

“A festive mess,” Ben corrected, grinning.

Lisa shook her head fondly, holding up a tray. “I was going to wait until after dinner, but I thought you might like to try my test batch of sugar cookies now.” She placed the plate in the centre of the table, the smell of vanilla and butter filling the air.

“Cookies!” Ben reached for one, but Lisa smacked his hand lightly.

“After you finish your letters,” she scolded gently.

She lingered, peeking over your shoulder. “That’s beautiful,” she said softly, admiring your delicate handwriting and neatly drawn candy canes and soft glitter snowflakes.

“Thank you,” you said, blushing slightly under her praise.

Then her eyes shifted to Ben’s card, and her eyebrows shot up. His paper was a riot of colours, glitter, and stickers layered on top of each other, with a barely legible scrawl in the middle.

“Maximalist, are we?” she teased, suppressing a laugh.

“Uh, Santa likes effort,” Ben sassed, unbothered.

Lisa placed a hand over her chest, her voice softening. “This reminds me of when you and Emma were kids. Seeing this…” She trailed off, her eyes glistening. “It’s just nice to see you both so happy.”

“Mom,” Ben said, his teasing tone gentling.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Lisa said quickly, brushing her eyes before stepping out of the room, not before taking another small look again.

You glanced at Ben, who gave you a sheepish smile. “She gets emotional during the holidays.”

“Can you blame her?” you said softly. “Seeing you like this must be a Christmas miracle.”

Ben rolled his eyes, though his grin gave him away. “Oh, come on. I’m not that bad.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm, well, maybe she’s just proud of how creative you are,” you teased, gesturing toward the chaotic swirl of colours and glitter on his letter.

“Or she’s worried I’ll turn the table into a giant art project,” he quipped, nudging his letter to the side. Then his gaze shifted, curious but soft. “What about you? What’d you make?”

You hesitated for a moment, the neat edges of your letter feeling impossibly small under his curious stare. “It’s... nothing too special,” you murmured, pushing the letter toward him. “Here. You first.”

Ben set down his chaotic masterpiece and took your letter carefully, as if it might disintegrate in his hands. He studied the neat candy cane and holly border framing the card, his fingers running over the soft dusting of glitter.

“Wow,” he said, letting out a low whistle as he opened it. “This is… insanely good. Like, you actually have artistic talent. Are you sure you haven’t been secretly working on this for years?”

You laughed, brushing a stray curl behind his ear. “Promise. This is a one-night debut.”

Ben’s eyes scanned the page, his lips curling up as he read.

Dear Santa, I hope this letter finds you well and not too stressed with all the preparations. It’s been a long time since I’ve written to you, but this year feels like a good one to start again. You have Ben to thank for inspiring me. Here’s my wish list, if you have room on the sleigh: • A new bottle of my favourite perfume, it’s been my go-to for years, but it’s running low. • A seat close to the court for Ben’s matches, no matter where they take us. • Wins for Ben, but only if they make him as happy as he makes everyone else. His joy's important! • To spend Christmas every year with the people who mean the most to me. • And maybe, just maybe, some snow… even if it’s just for a day. I hope that isn't too demanding of me to ask. This whole year has been like a present in itself so thank you for this gift, Santa. I promise to leave you extra cookies and milk this year. Oh, and a carrot for the reindeer too. Have a Merry Christmas!

When he finished, he folded the letter carefully, placing it back on the table like it was fragile. His smile softened, full of warmth. “Short, sweet, and not demanding. Very you.”

“Not everyone needs glitter explosions and twenty stickers on one page,” you teased, gesturing at his card.

“Hey,” he protested, a grin breaking through. “My card has personality.”

“It has something, alright,” you said, laughing.

Ben reached over and kissed your temple, lingering for a moment. “Seriously, though. This is perfect. Especially the part about being in the stands. That… that means a lot to me.”

“Of course,” you said, your voice dropping as you nudged his shoulder. “I’ll always be there for you, Ben.”

Ben softened for a moment before he looked down at his card. “Good. Now it’s your turn.” He slid his card across the table with a flourish. “Prepare to be dazzled.”

You picked up the card, struggling to keep your laughter in. The front was pure Ben: layers of stickers, tennis balls, Santa hats, random stars, glitter glue that hadn’t dried evenly, and doodles that vaguely resembled a reindeer.

“Wow,” you said, biting back a grin. “This is… a lot.”

“Flip it over!” he encouraged, his eyes sparkling.

You turned it over, and while the inside was just as chaotic visually, the words stopped you in your tracks. Ben’s letter wasn’t just a list, it was a peek into his heart. The colourful chaos on the page mirrored his playful spirit, but it was the words that tugged at you. His handwriting was large and uneven, the kind you knew he didn’t try to perfect because he didn’t need to impress anyone. In the corner, a sketch of a wobbly reindeer pranced next to a crooked sleigh. Glitter was scattered across the page, probably unintentionally, because there were smudges where his hand must have dragged through wet glue.

Still, there was something so endearing about the effort he’d put into it, and you couldn’t help but smile as you read:

Dear Santa, Hey, it’s Ben. How's the year been? Hope things are good up at the North Pole, though I imagine it’s pretty busy. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it quick since my list has grown a bit since last year. • A solid serve under pressure. Dad’s always saying I need to keep my calm when the moment gets big. Maybe sprinkle some magic dust on my game? Nothing crazy, I like earning it but just imagine it: an extra inch or two at 140 miles an hour, and Dad finally stops giving me grief about it. That’d be a Christmas miracle. • Speaking of Dad, can we get him a steady heart? He puts so much into us, Santa. It’d be great if he could stress a little less, even when he’s watching me blow a tiebreak. • More chances to make people smile. I’ve realised it’s one of the best parts of what I do. Winning feels great, sure, but seeing someone’s day light up? That’s better. • A little extra time. Life moves fast, Santa. Maybe slow it down just enough to enjoy the small things like the quiet moments that matter the most. • A hug for my family. Even when I’m not home, I hope they know they’re the real MVPs holding the fort down here. • Sunshine. Not for me, we’ve got plenty here but for when I’m on tour, so I can carry it with me wherever I go. • That one racket. You know the one. I saw it last week and didn’t want to splurge because technically I don’t need it, but man, it’d be fun to use. (Do elves do sporting goods? Asking for a friend.) • Happiness for her. You know who I mean. She’s the best thing that’s happened to me, and if you could help me make this Christmas together extra special, I’d owe you big time. Just a little more of this, hanging out, laughing, making her smile. That’s all I need, really. • More evenings like tonight. The simple ones, where everything feels right and nothing else matters. That’s all I’ve got! No pressure, whatever you can manage is fine by me. I’ll leave the cookies to Mom, though. She always makes extras if you swing by. The sugar cookies seem pretty good this year, if you ask me. Merry Christmas to you, Mrs. Claus, and the reindeer. Don’t work too hard! - Ben. P.S. If you’ve got any extra luck lying around, maybe sprinkle some on my forehand. Just saying.

You finished reading, your hands trembling slightly, heart fuller than you’d expected from such a chaotic-looking letter. When you looked up, Ben was watching you, his expression soft and unguarded.

“Ben…” you started, your voice catching. “This is so-”

“Too much?” he interrupted quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s kind of a mess, but-”

“It’s perfect,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “It’s so you. Honest, sweet, and kind of all over the place, but that’s what makes it perfect.”

Relief flickered in his eyes, and his lips quirked into a crooked smile. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“No,” you said, folding the letter carefully and placing it back on the table. “I mean it. Especially the part about making my Christmas extra special. You’re already doing that, you know.”

His grin softened into something more tender, and he leaned over to brush a kiss against your cheek. “You’re my favourite part of the holidays, you know. Don’t tell Santa.”

You giggled, the warm flush of affection spreading through you. “I think he already knows.”

Ben chuckled, leaning back slightly, his hand casually resting on the curve of your knee. The room fell quiet for a moment as the festive glow of the lights filled the space, but then you sighed, breaking the silence as you scanned over his letter again.

“Ben, this is beautiful and everything, but…” You gestured at his letter, exasperated. “It’s also completely unhelpful. I’m still totally lost on what to get you!”

His grin widened into that mischievous smirk you knew too well. “I already told you. You don’t need to get me anything!”

“Well, don’t be sad if I’m stood under the Christmas tree in nothing but a bow,” you teased, scoffing.

Ben’s eyes lit up as he laughed, leaning in closer. “Sad? I’d call that the best Christmas gift ever! If you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind-”

“Benjamin Shelton!” you gasped, smacking his arm before he could finish whatever undoubtedly dirty thought was forming.

He burst out laughing, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright! I’ll behave… sort of.”

“Good,” you huffed with a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Ben shook his head, still grinning, and slid an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “I’m serious, though, don’t stress about it. You know me better than anyone. Whatever you pick, I’ll love it, because it’s from you. That’s all that matters to me.”

You sighed, resting your head against his chest, letting his heartbeat and the soft glow of the Christmas lights settle your nerves. “You make everything sound so simple.”

“That's because it is simple,” he said, pressing a kiss to your hair. “You being here is the best part of Christmas. The rest? It’s just other little things. Maybe I already have everything I need,” he added softly, his voice suddenly more sincere.

You froze for a moment, your heart catching at the honesty in his tone. “Ben…”

“Don’t make that face,” he said quickly, pulling back with a sheepish smile. “I’m just saying, you bein' here for Christmas? That’s already enough for me.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, you still love me,” he teased, nudging you with his shoulder.

“Debatable,” you shot back, though your smile betrayed you.

Your eyes drifted back to his letter, your gaze lingering on the line: "More evenings like tonight." It wasn’t flashy or materialistic, and that’s what made it hit even harder. For all his teasing and jokes, Ben wasn’t asking for anything extravagant, just more moments like this, where everything felt simple and good.

And for the first time tonight, you started to believe he might be right.

[mer-acle]

People I need you to imagine. Palace of Sparta, Helen's suitors have just arrived. Her cousin Penelope is there too

The Herold announces the King of Ithaca

Then this happens

Penelope:

Boy, you got me helpless!

Look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit I'm

Helpless!

Down for the count, and I'm drownin' in 'em

I have never been the type to try and grab the spotlight

We were at my uncle’s palace on a hot night

Laughin' at my cousin as she's dazzling the room

Then you walked in and my heart went

"Boom!"

Tryin' to catch your eye from the side of the throneroom

Everybody's dancin' and the band's top volume

Grind to the rhythm as we wine and dine

Grab Helen’s hand, and whisper

"Yo, this one's mine." (Oooh)

My cousin made her way across the room to you (Oooh)

And I got nervous, thinking

"What's she gonna do?" (Oooh)

She grabs you by the arm, I'm thinkin'

"I'm through" (Oooh)

Then you look back at me and suddenly I'm

Helpless!

Look into your eyes (Oh, look at those eyes)

And the sky's the limit (Oh!)

I'm helpless (I know)

Down for the count

And I'm drownin' in 'em

I'm helpless! (I'm so into you)

Look into your eyes (I am so)

And the sky's the limit (into you)

I'm helpless! (I know)

I'm down for the count

And I'm drownin' in 'em

Ody:

Where are you taking me?

Helen:

I'm about to change your life

Ody:

Then by all means, lead the way

Pen:

Penelope of Sparta. It's a pleasure to meet you

Ody:

Of Sparta?

Helen:

My cousin.

Pen:

Thank you for solving the suitor problem.

Ody:

If it takes swearing an oath for us to meet, it will have been worth it

Helen (eyeing Menelaos):

I'll leave you to it

Pen:

One week later

I'm writin' a letter nightly

Now my life gets better

Every letter that you write me

Laughin' at my cousin, 'cause she wants to form a harem

Helen:

I'm just sayin', if you really loved me, you would share him

Pen:

Ha! Two weeks later

In the living room stressin'

My father's stonefaced

While you're asking for his blessin'

I'm dying inside, as you wine and dine

And I'm tryin' not to cry

'Cause there's nothing that your mind can't do (Oooh)

My father makes his way across the room to you (Oooh)

I panic for a second, thinking

"We're through" (Oooh)

But then he shakes your hand and says

"Be true" (Oooh)

And you turn back to me, smiling, and I'm

Helpless!

Look into your eyes

And the sky's the limit, I'm

Helpless!

Down for the count (Woo)

And I'm drownin' in 'em

I'm helpless!

He's mine, that boy is mine!

Look into your eyes

And the sky's the limit, I'm

Helpless! Helpless!

Down for the count, and I'm drownin' in 'em

...

There's an owl at the wedding I'll let you know.

[seaweedstarshine]

Can't say I'm not giving it a generous interpretation, but gotta make sense of it somehow… his best is all he can do!

Bows ARE cool — YES!!! He would do that, wouldn't he? <3

When it comes to Eleven and gift-giving and difficulty with human traditions — I can't not think of this scene (yeah I know it’s Extended Universe and it came out a couple months after HoRS but Moffat did approve this collection for publication):

He's trying so hard!

But also to move past things Moffat had any say in, the line kind of fits with R&J, where River laments how much better Jack would be about getting all the birthday and wedding traditions right (and how much worse at so many other things). She cares about that wrapping paper. But she won't tell the Doctor it bothers her until the chance arises for that slightly out of pocket comment on Darillium.

“I don’t think you’ve ever given me a present before”

me @ eleven

[cherriegyuu]

seventeen as song from lover (ts)

a/n: for this, i'll be giving songs and lyrics to each of the members, as well as small plots based on those lyrics. i don't plan to write all of these, but they are still my ideas (as basic as some of them might be). so if you are interested in writing one of them, you can message me about it. if you want to read one of them you can send in a request and i'll write for you

red | 1989 | reputation | lover | folklore | midnights

• Seungcheol ➝ Cruel Summer Fever dream high in the quiet of the night You know that I caught it (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it) Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price You know that I bought it (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it) ↳ Seungcheol was infamous, the bad boy like you see in the movie, and god you wanted him.

• Jeonghan ➝ Afterglow This ultraviolet morning light below Tells me this love is worth the fight, oh ↳ Jeonghan was never one to lose his patience with people, least of all you. But one day a fight gets out of control and it leaves you wondering if your relationship has come to an end. ↣ read here

• Joshua ➝ Lover And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years? ↳ you’re scared you might be falling in love a little way quickly for Joshua

• Jun ➝ Cornelia Street And baby, I get mystified by how this city screams your name And baby, I'm so terrified of if you ever walk away I'd never walk Cornelia Street again ↳ A year after the end of your relationship with Jun, you go back to the small apartment you used to share. To your surprise, Jun is next door to you.

• Hoshi ➝ Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince I counted days, I counted miles To see you there, to see you there It's been a long time coming, but ↳ one day you got a letter in the mail by mistake from someone named soonyoung. You spend years going back and forth with the letters until you finally meet each other.

• Wonwoo ➝ False God I know heaven's a thing I go there when you touch me, honey Hell is when I fight with you ↳ you and Wonwoo never fought before, at least not to the point where both of you were screaming at each other.

• Jihoon ➝ The Archer I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you ↳ for years you had a one-sided crush on Jihoon. You planned to confess your feelings many times but failed at every single opportunity.

• Minghao ➝ London Boy Show me a gray sky, a rainy cab ride Babes, don't threaten me with a good time ↳ Minghao is always one to see the beauty where most people see none, so when he drags you out of your apartment on a particularly rainy day you don’t complain, sure that whatever it is that he planned is a perfect date.

• Mingyu ➝ Paper Rings I hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this ↳ Mingyu had always been your best friend and that line had never been crossed before, then, one day, you woke up naked in his bed with a vivid memory of the previous night. ↣ read here

• Seokmin ➝ I Think He Knows He got that boyish look that I like in a man I am an architect, I'm drawing up the plans It's like I'm 17, nobody understands No one understands ↳ there was nothing in the world you loved more than Seokmin’s smile.

• Vernon - You Need To Calm Down And I ain't tryna mess with your self-expression But I've learned a lesson that stressin' and obsessin' 'bout somebody else is no fun ↳ nothing can make Vernon mad but you’re adamant about proving him wrong

• Seungkwan ➝ Death By a Thousand Cuts I get drunk, but it's not enough ’Cause the morning comes and you're not my baby ↳ in which Seungkwan drunk calls you, his ex, and finally tells you all the feelings he kept to himself for months. ↣ read here

• Chan ➝ Daylight I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you I've been sleepin' so long in a twenty-year dark night And now I see daylight ↳ it was impossible not to compare Chan to a ray of sunshine, especially after he was the one who brought you back to life

taglist: @wonwooz1, @ryuwonieebae, @sobun1est, @mirtaspace, @ho34gojo, @feat-sun, @wonvsmile, @mhlsymlysn, @swinterr, @immabecreepin, @uniq-tastic, @miriamxsworld

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a/n: somehow three of these could become smut and i'm thinking of writing them that way

[11vr1]

Now hear me out here… Miles Earth 42 x F!Reader dancing Bachata🤭 Orrr something like they are at a party and a family friend decides to dance a rather romantic song with us so Miles gets jealous. So many different scenarios with Bachata and dancing I wouldn’t mind fluff either where like they dance in the living room or smth I just love Bachata and romantic dancing ♥️😊

-J

Eres Mía ⭒ Miles Morales

Synopsis › Miles gets jealous and a nearly gets into a fight, so he makes it up to you by teaching you bachata.

Pairing › Earth-42! Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

Inspo › Request.

Includes › ATSV SPOILERS, tooth rotting fluff, swearing, bad Spanish, jealousy, pet names, a tiny bit suggestive

P.S. › Thank you for this ask! I had so much fun. A nice change from the angst. <33

P.S.S. › I am now making a taglist!!! Lemme know if you wanna be on it. I also think I want to find mutuals and get more involved in the community…

When Miles asked Y/n to be his plus one, she almost couldn’t believe it. His delivery was cool and casual as if he didn’t invite her to a party with all of his family and closest family friends in attendance. They had become official a little over a month ago (though Miles swears it’s been longer), so the first family gathering was a big deal, a huge milestone most couples put off until much later. When she tried to explain to her boyfriend the significance of this event, he didn’t understand. “Don’t start stressin’. It’s jus’ my abuela’s birthday party,” she remembered him saying.

Abuela?

Abuela!

If his grandmother was anything like Rio Morales, Y/n would be walking into a lion’s den. Miles did nothing to placate her worries, making her do the exact thing he told her not to do: worry.

The weekend had arrived and so did the much anticipated birthday party. Y/n spent a considerable amount of time getting ready, choosing a tie front top with a cami underneath and satin skirt to combat the sweltering city heat. She double checked every angle in the mirror before leaving her apartment.

The corners of the gift envelope addressed in her elegant script were slightly bent from being clutched in her nervous hands all the way to Harlem. It was easy to find the building. Y/n simply followed the booming sound of music and laughter to the rooftop. The party was already in full swing. Half of New York showed up to celebrate Gloria Morales’ 70th birthday.

Y/n moved through the packed party-goers to the gift table, not seeing a single familiar face amongst them. She felt out of place. Does she introduce herself? Wait? Look for Miles? Certainly he wouldn’t leave her to brave his family alone. A tinge of panic settled in her stomach as she looked again.

“You lost, babygirl?” Y/n nearly jumped out of her skin hearing a strange voice beside her. The boy was taller than her and around her age or a little older. His feather duster of a mustache curved with his smirk as his leering eyes roved her head to toe slowly. Painfully slow.

She prickled, immediately raising her guard. “No, I’m just waiting for someone.” He glanced around, seeing everyone engrossed in their own conversations.

“I ain’ never seen you round here before. What’s your name?” Y/n hesitated to answer, but gave him a curt reply. “Thas cute. Real cute.” This was a party after all, the point was to mingle. And she didn’t want to seem rude. She had no idea who this guy was. He might’ve been a cousin, a family friend, someone who could easily say the wrong thing to the right person about her. “You know how to dance?” The night was starting to look very long.

Where was Miles?

⋆

Miles was very late. On his way, but late. His mother has surely noticed his absence by now. Abuela was definitely asking about him. And Y/n…she was probably already there. He cursed himself underneath his mask. That last job was pushing it. There was no time to go home, change, and take the subway like he originally planned. Luckily, he knew a shortcut through the skyscrapers and shadows of New York.

The window of his abuela’s apartment squeaked as it slid open. Miles rushed to shed his Prowler persona in the guest bedroom and stuff the suit in his bag. In a second, he appeared to be a normal teenage boy despite the forming bruises. He prepared himself to face the wrath of his mother, grandmother, and girlfriend. What he was not prepared for was seeing Y/n about to be pulled to the dance floor by another guy. They were close. Too close for his liking.

Something burned inside Miles, one he was reluctant to identify—jealousy. Dare he say doubt? He was new to the boyfriend thing. Sometimes he said the wrong thing, silent at the wrong times. But he tried. Was Y/n already fed up? There was no denying she was gorgeous. She could pull any guy she wanted.

He stalked closer, effortlessly weaving through the crowd. “Oh, come on! I’m not asking you to marry me. Just one song.” The guy tugged at her again. Miles recognized him. Eric and his family were friends, though Miles only endured his presence when they were forced to be in the same place. They’d never gotten along, finding each other to be a nuisance and a relationship beyond neutrality unnecessary. But that little understanding might just end right here, this was not about to fly on his watch.

“I told you I don’t want to dance,” Y/n separated herself out of his grip. The sheer expression of disgust on her amused Miles. She found him as annoying as he did.

Eric made the mistake of reaching towards her again. He had the chance to back off and it sounded like he had been warned more than once. This was not about to fly. Miles decided it was time to interfere. He swiftly placed himself at Y/n’s side, his footsteps soundless, a skill learned from his…side hobby. “La escuchaste, cabrón. Retrocede.” Venom laced his tone, an unspoken threat at the tip of his tongue. The air turned to ice around the three of them. You heard her, cabrón. Back off.

The confidence drained from Eric’s face. He knew good and well Miles was not to be messed with. There were rumors about him and his penchant for beating anyone who pissed him off into the ground. “Ella es tu chica, Morales?” He stepped up to him in a vain attempt to mask how intimidated he really was. Miles moved Y/n behind him. She watched the standoff silently, keeping a hand on Miles’ bicep in case it went south. She’s your girl, Morales?

Miles tilted his head, sneering down at the posturing fool. “Sí, ella es mía. Ahora déjala.” Yeah, she’s mine. Now leave her alone.

“No estaba tratando de hacer nada,” Eric scoffed. He turned his attention back to the pretty girl hidden behind Miles. “If you get tired of this asshole, come find me.” I wasn’t trying to do nothing.

Miles lunged, thankfully, with some supernatural girlfriend sense, Y/n was quicker and held him back. Eric flinched, his fear visible for that split second. Heads turned. “You need to calm down, Miles.” Her hand made its way into his, gently pulling him away. He backed away, never breaking his cold glare from Eric.

⋆

Together they left the party. Miles muttered curses in Spanish Y/n couldn’t catch as he stomped down the stairs. “Miles! Miles, baby, slow down!” She called his name again. “You not ‘bout to make me run after you in these shoes!” He stopped. His jaw was tight, eyebrows set low on his face, hands burrowed in his pockets to hide his balled up fists. Damn. Even seething he was gorgeous. “We talked about this. You gotta talk to me.”

He was silent for a few moments, he merely stared down at Y/n as she wrapped her arms around his middle. His heart pounded in his chest. (It was because of her. Miles refused to admit those lustrous eyes and her touch still had such an effect on him) “Ian like seein’ you wit him. Shit pissed me off. For a minute I thought…” She fixed his collar, avoiding his gaze to keep herself from smiling. “Nothin’.” Miles was jealous and willing to protect her by any means necessary.

Y/n heard the words left unspoken. Miles was a fortress locked up tight to keep the outside world out. But behind his many walls he was a boy with feelings and insecurities. “Miles, I’d never do that. I like you too much.”

“Yeah, I know, ma. Sorry for gettin’ all upset.”

“‘S fine. That’s not what I’m mad about.” She eyed the fresh bruises coloring his cheek and temple. “Where were you?” At this point, she was more concerned than angry. Miles wasn’t inclined to long conversations, but he was decent enough to send her a text. Although dry and vague it was something. Y/n would take what she could get.

Miles stiffened in her embrace. “I had to take care of some stuff. Don’t worry ‘bout it. Lemme make it up to you.”

“You owe me a dance.” Prying it out of him would get her nowhere. She decided to let it go. Just this once.

“A dance?” he asked. She grinned, happy to catch him off guard for once.

Y/n nodded. “Mrs. Morales told me you’re a wonderful dancer. Don’t be holdin’ out on me.”

His sigh was long and deep, directed towards the ceiling of the narrow hallway. Miles was in no place to refuse. He took her hand and started walking. “Alright, but we not goin’ to the roof.”

He led her to his grandma’s apartment. It was sizable and definitely decorated by an elderly woman. Y/n admired the photos sitting on the mantle. There was Rio and Jefferson Davis, dressed in white for their wedding day. She paused on a picture of an infant covered in paint, smiling from ear to ear with two teeth. She awed at Miles. He was so cute, so carefree without the shadows of the world dragging behind him.

“Ven aquí, mami.” He stood in the middle of the living room, hands outstretched, a song playing behind him from his phone. She peeked at the song as they joined hands. Come here, mami.

“Eres Mía” by Romeo Santos.

The song was unfamiliar to her. “What? You thought you was gonna to twerk and grind on me?” His low chuckle sent shivers through her. She didn’t answer. “Nah. We gon dance for real. Bachata.”

“Wait, Miles. I don’t how to—”

“Imma teach you. Two steps to the music. Thas all it is,” he showed her. Y/n mimicked him, each step hesitant and unsure, but Miles was encouraging and a surprisingly good teacher. “See? Easy.”

He raised his arms to spin her around and brought her closer. Y/n faltered. “Aye, come on, mami. I know you can move your hips better than that.” He repositioned, hands at her back and waist, his thigh between her legs, ruffling her skirt. Miles guided her across the floor, his fingers wandering to the trim of her cami, drawing a distracting trail of heat on her bare skin. Her own hands found their way to his nape, brushing his twin braids as they swayed to the beat. Soon she found her rhythm.

“There you go,” he praised, rolling his hips into hers. She followed. Her body trusted him. She trusted him wholeheartedly and fell into his lead.

They rocked together in silence, the song having long since ended. Miles nestled in the crook of her neck to breathe in the sweet scent of her perfume. “Thank you for helping me. I should have said so earlier,” Y/n said from above him.

“It’s my job, princesa.” Miles left the softness of her neck. “Eres mía.” You are mine. Y/n blinked while he returned to her warmth. She hoped he didn’t feel the way her temperature rose.

In three short months he made a place for himself in her life. He was the most unexpected surprise. She had a list of the ideal boyfriend and Miles Morales didn’t check off a single one. Yet everything never felt more perfect than in his arms, dancing to the distant sirens and traffic.

His phone buzzed from the end table. “Is that your mom?” He shrugged in response. “We should go.” Y/n suggested, but Miles’ grip only tightened.

“One more minute. They can wait.”

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Much Better (Good Omens)

Aziraphale x GN!Reader / requests are: open and encouraged!

Summary: You've had a long day but that's okay. Aziraphale always knows just what to do.

CW: fluff, reader be stressin, comfort

Good Omens Tag List: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 @motionlessindoubt (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Aziraphale knew you’d had a bad day when you stumbled into the bookshop, dripping wet from the rain and without an umbrella. He knew you were close to losing it by the way you dumped your bag to the floor unceremoniously and by the way tears sprung up into your eyes as you fought with your coat sleeves that just- would not fucking come off. 

“Oh, dear, here- let me help you with that,” you hear Aziraphale mutter, his hands appearing on your shoulders and helping you get the soaked coat off yourself. Aziraphale hung the coat on the hook by the door and used a miracle to dry it. This was followed by him rubbing his fingers together as he looked for something to wipe them off with. His poor, vintage waistcoat might not do so well with having wet hands rubbed all over it.

You grunt with discomfort as you peel your shirt sleeves up your arm, attempting to rub some warmth into your clammy skin. 

“Sorry, Zira,” you say, irritated and trying your best not to take it out on him. “Had a day.” 

“Mm- I can see that, dear. Here, let me-” his voice breaks off as he pulls yet another miracle from above. Your skin flushes with soft warmth, the hairs on your skin standing up and goosebumps trailing up and down your body before disappearing again. Your clothes are suddenly dry and fluffy like they’ve just come out of the dryer. 

“Oh,” you say, flexing your fingers softly now that they’re not stiff with the cold. You’re starting to feel just a little better, which is nice. Aziraphale always knew just what to do for you. 

“There now, is that better? Just a little? Oh good,” the Angel nods, content with that for now. One hand presses against the small of your back and despite the pleasant flush of your skin and the warm dryer clothes, you can feel the warmth coming through from his hand. It makes you shiver. “Alright, dear, come and sit down. I’ll make you a nice mug of cocoa and you can tell me all about it. Or not, whichever you prefer.” 

You let out a sigh, allowing him to lead you to his favourite armchair. You plop down into it, your aching muscles groaning in equal parts protest and relief. Aziraphale disappears into the kitchenette for a few minutes, and you find the sound of him puttering about in there most comforting. 

When he returns, he’s clasping a mug in each hand, and you take the one he offers to you with gratitude. Oh, look at that, he’s even put a few marshmallows in there for you. He really does think of everything.

He’s quiet for a few minutes as you both sip on your drinks. You use the time to calm yourself, using breathing exercises and reminding yourself that things are going to be better now that you’re there with your Angel.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Aziraphale asks, feigning as though he’s not deeply concerned and only casually interested. 

“Not really,” you say around a marshmallow. Aziraphale hums thoughtfully, taking another sip. “I just- want to be close to you.” 

The Angel can’t help the smile that overtakes his expression. A genuine, caring smile that eases the ache around your heart. You put your mug down on the side table before hopping up with a grunt and making the short two-step trek over to the chair he’s sitting on. You clamber into his lap, twisting so that your head is supported against his shoulder and your legs are over the arm of the chair. 

“Much better,” you sigh. Aziraphale presses a kiss to your forehead, wrapping one arm over your legs to better support them and keep them from falling off. 

“Much better, yes,” Aziraphale says softly, closing his eyes and leaning his head back to rest against the chair. “I rather think I am too, now. Much, much better.”