#i guess it works for 72 hours??

[mieczyhale]

guess who has

~*~*~c o v i d~*~*~

[mylove-thresher]

falling out of love with a lot of things lately

[xiaq]

Story time: Amazon can go fuck itself, and other genteel thoughts.

Good evening. I’m angry.

Up until now, I’ve purchased the majority of items I can’t thrift from Amazon because it’s easy and cost-effective, despite the moral qualms I have about the company. Previously, support was simple. If an item was damaged or a package didn’t arrive, you hopped on chat/the phone, provided proof, and they gave you a refund or return label.

But some shitstain from on high has introduced a new “incident report” process when something goes wrong. You submit your details, you wait 72 hours, and then they give you a refund. This would also be fine. If it fucking worked. But I have, at this point, irrefutable evidence that this is not actually how the process is intended to work. It’s meant to drive you so far up the wall that you either die from a stress-induced heart attack, or rage quit, and they get to keep your money.

In the last several months, I’ve had to submit three incident reports for damaged and undelivered items (I’m also encountering a lot more issues with item delivery, but that’s a different story).

ALL THREE TIMES, the process has taken weeks rather than days because ALL THREE TIMES they conveniently “had no record” of multiple incident reports I submitted despite the fact that I had confirmation emails each and every time.

Now, I’m a petty bitch, so even though the hours I was spending checking in, waiting on hold on the phone, being passed from agent to agent, was not worth the $10 and $20 refunds I was trying to get them to honor, I wasn’t going to give up. This last time, though. Oh they really tried.

So. My item isn’t delivered. I submit an incident report on the 12th and get my confirmation email of the submission on the 12th. I haven’t heard back by the 14th so I call and check. Shockingly, they have no record of my report. I submit another one, get another confirmation email. I call back the next day to check they received it. They have not. I beg them to let me forward the confirmation emails I have. I ask what else I can do different. They tell me to submit a new report and hang up on me. I submit another report. I receive another confirmation email. I call the next day. Can you guess? They have no record of it. This time, I ask for them to stay on the line with me while I submit a new report and confirm it’s been received. He confirms receipt and promises I will receive a response by the 21st. I record this conversation because I have a suspicion.

Hello. It is the 21st. Have I received a response? No. I call back. THIS ASSHOLE, who I’m pretty sure is reading this shit from a script, says, (are you ready for this) “There’s no record of an incident report, you’ll need to submit one.” I insist that I had confirmation in writing and verbally. She insists it does not exist.

So I tell her. I now have four confirmation emails. I have a recording of an Amazon support person with their credentials assuring me with the product number stated, that they’ve received my report. I also have been recording this conversation. And if she cannot assist me, I will be posting those emails and both recordings to every social media platform I have, filing a BBB complaint, and checking with my lawyer to see what options I have for legal action (do I have a lawyer? Of course not. But she doesn’t know that).

Immediately, she is backpedaling. “Oh, let me check again, maybe I missed it.” Less than 30 seconds later she’s back on the line. “I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding, I do have your report here. I will process a refund now.” Shocking. I am shocked.

IT SHOULD NOT TAKE THIS MUCH EFFORT TO GET A COMPANY TO HONOR THEIR PROMISED LEVEL OF SUPPORT.

Jesus Christ.

B and I will be finding different local places to purchase items we tend to buy via Amazon now, because I have every intention of ending our Prime membership. It looks like between Costco and Target we should be covered.

Anyway. No point to this except to rant. Thanks for reading if you got this far. I’m going to go lay under the weight of my dog and try to get my heart rate down.

[pencil-n-pen]

Princess ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

⊹‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

leon kennedy x fem!reader

Summary: Being an independent woman and a full time student is all fun and games until final’s season. Luckily, your not-quite academic rival Leon Kennedy is there to pick you up when you fall.

next

cw: Female pronouns and description used for reader but nothing detailed (no skin color, eye color, hair type, body type, etc.) This is basically just an x reader for my independent eldest daughters who do nothing but their absolute best all the time everyday and deep down want a hot guy with beefy arms to let them relax for a minute. So i guess expect the related issues that come with being an eldest daughter?

Tags/tropes: hurt/comfort, dom! leon if you squint, leon’s very touchy, leon being a gentleman!! probably ooc, i kinda struggled finding his voice :/

wc: 3.3k

a/n: wowee so i’m not rlly looking to be a full time author or anything but i could NOT get this idea out of my head and i figured i could give back to the tumblr fic community <3 here’s to everyone who wants hurt/comfort without smut, incest, or a needlessly specific reader! hope everyone’s recovering well from finals!

— ‎ ‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ

The first time it happened, it honestly, truly, was an accident. A mistake, if you will. You would never willingly fall asleep on a random guy at a party. That is all kinds of bad for a number of reasons.

However. There were some… extenuating circumstances.

Finals. They’re a make-or-break for the first semester. Mostly just a break. In the sense that you contemplated how upset your parents would be at you if you dropped out and if the subsequent disowning would be worth it.

You did finals the same way you did everything. You worked. Studied. Borderline obsessed over it. Romanticized it so you could push through when the other’s resolve started dropping. Stayed home. Your friends bemoaned your “no-fun attitude” but they’re crying over their grades and you’re not, so.

Well. Actually you’re definitely crying over your grades, almost every day in fact. But not because they’re bad. Just because you’re tired. Really tired. The kind of tired that makes people have public breakdowns. But you can’t afford to have a public breakdown because you have to succeed at college and you have to work in order to stay on top of your bills and be able to send some money home to your family and make sure you have time to call your parents and make time for your sister to call you and vent because you didn’t have a you at her age and you wish you did so you have to be there for her and your friends need you to be there for them not to mention planning for how you’re going to use your degree after you graduate and—

Most of the time you try not to think about it.

So finals were over. And everyone wanted to celebrate. And you did, you promise. You’re totally the party girl type. Totally. (Maybe if you say it enough times it’ll come true?)

You don’t hate parties. You like dressing up and going out. It’s fun! It’s just… not your idea of an unwind. Not after you nearly ran yourself into the ground for a month straight for the sake of academic validation. You’d prefer to sleep for 72 hours straight. And maybe watch a movie at home in the sweatshirt you cried over your textbooks in. Maybe over a glass of wine? You’re not really sure. Relaxing never really goes well for you. It’s either depression-bed-rotting or full productivity.

Needless to say, you weren’t exactly thrilled to find yourself at this party. You’re not really sure how your friends convinced you.

But you’re here, in makeup and an outfit you like (you’re thankful this isn’t one of the ‘put on a tight dress and dance’ parties) and you just honestly want to go to bed. It’s a house party, so it’s not nearly as crazy as some of the other parties you’ve been (read: dragged) to, but still.

You’re on the couch, ignoring the smell of alcohol in the air and pretending the pounding baseline of the music coming from the speaker in the kitchen isn’t starting to give you a headache.

Ada Wong, a girl you’ve hesitantly dubbed your party friend, is sitting on your left, while the guy you can never quite tell what he is to her, is sitting on your right.

Leon Kennedy.

On a good day, Leon Kennedy is a smart, brooding, annoyingly capable guy who you share some of your classes with. On a bad day, he’s the bane of your existence. On a really bad day, you fantasize about all the ways you could kill him and turn the experience into a really good term paper.

It’s complicated. You’re smart. He’s smart. You tend to clash because neither of you like backing down from a challenge.

But right now, in this moment, at this party, the only thing you can think about is how fucking tired you are and how warm he is.

The music is so loud it drowns everything out in your brain. The few thoughts that make it through the overwhelm of sound are fuzzy and staticky. The cling and slip around in your head like syrup. The worst parts about parties are, funnily enough, working to cancel out the main reason you can’t fall asleep in your own bed at night: overthinking.

That and the fact that you haven’t sleep in forty-eight hours. An energy drink and an iced coffee count as a full nights sleep, right? You’re sure the heart palpitations are normal.

You manage to keep up with the steady flow of the group conversation, but as the night wears on, talking becomes harder and harder and just plain processing the words being said slowly turns into an impossible task. At some point, someone else squeezed onto the couch— you think it might be Chris? Ada did say he was coming late— so now you’re pressed against the one and only Leon Kennedy, and he’s radiating heat like a furnace.

Like you, he opted for a slightly more casual approach to the house party. Of course, he’s a guy, so his wardrobe was probably never that big, but still. It’s nice to see someone else in a sweatshirt and jeans.

You at least put on your favorite jeans! You call them your hot jeans, for self explanatory reasons. So what if you’re wearing an oversized sweatshirt? It’s cold!

You jolt in place, not realizing your eyes had slipped close and the conversation had continued on without you. Something prickles in the back of your head. An instinctual sort of thing.

Don’t fall asleep in public places.

Don’t fall asleep at someone’s house you don’t know.

You know the owner of the house, you think. You’ve been here once or twice. But you don’t know everyone at the party and where your friends have gone because they’re not in the group talking here and you should probably stand up soon, to wake yourself up, don’t let your friends down, don’t be that girl who falls asleep at the party, don’t—

You jolt again.

Wake up. You tell yourself. Leon’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye, but you ignore it.

It feels like a record skip. You’ll blink, and the conversation isn’t the same as when you first closed your eyes. The song isn’t the same. Were the lights always this bright?

“Whew!” Ada whistles from above. When did she stand up? “Someone’s got final’s exhaustion written all over their face!”

The group laughs and you do too, but it sounds different. Leon doesn’t. Why isn’t he laughing?

You jolt again. Harder this one. A full body shake. You wince as your knee knocks into Leon’s.

“Sorr—“

“Stop that.” He grumbles, and oh. A warm, solid hand snakes around your waist and pulls you closer. Closed to that warm, stupidly comfortable side.

This is wrong. It’s Leon. It’s Leon. You can’t. And this is a party, and your friends are here—

“Stop being stupid,” You can feel his chest rumble from where your cheek is pressed flush against it, and when did that happen? He picks up your left arm and drapes it across his stomach, then picks up your right arm and wraps it around his lower pack. “Squeeze.”

You listen, and wow. Who has time to go to the gym this much and be an academic rival? You feel like you’re slacking. Maybe you need to make time to get some—

“I can hear you thinking,” He says, voice deep and rumbly. It’s honestly a miracle you can hear him over the music. It’s probably because your face is pressed against his chest. If you strain, you can feel the dull thud of his heart.

“You have a heart?” You say, half-delirious with exhaustion. It comes out more as a question than a statement

“Mhm,” He rumbles. “I am in possession of one. Great observation princess.”

You frown into his chest. “Why are you always so mean? You call me that stupid name. I’m not a princess.”

“I’m not mean. Whoever said princess was a mean nickname? You decided that on your own.”

“Then how come you call me that?”

“Because,” He huffs, repositioning to a more slouched position that’s more comfortable for your neck. The arm tightens around your waist.

It’s nice. It’s possessive. Protective. No one’s ever really done that for you before. Usually it’s you doing the protecting.

You don’t want to relax. You can’t. You can’t.

“Because,” He continues, “Princesses need to be taken care of. Especially smart, stubborn princesses who never pause for one second. Not even when they should.”

You should get up. Apologize for how weird you’re being. Have another coffee or energy drink. Join the party. Do something that isn’t this.

“Go to sleep,” He says, his voice like a warm blanket settling and slipping into your mind. “Nothing‘s going to happen to you while I’m here. No one is going to be mad at you for sleeping. And if they are, I’ll kick their ass. Go to sleep.”

It’s easy to give in after that.

You sag, boneless. Like a puppet with it’s strings cut. You inhale deeply, breathing in the deep, rich scent that’s distinctly Leon.

Just for a few minutes. Because Leon’s watching. He won’t let something happen to you. Just for a few minutes. You’ll get up soon. You will.

He tucks you closer to him. “Sleep.”

You’re out like a light.

—

“No way, she’s actually asleep?”

“Holy shit Leon, did you drug her?”

“I did not.”

“Well, thanks, for whatever weird magic-spell you cast. Seriously. We’re all starting to get worried about her. She doesn’t take any breaks and she doesn’t let anyone help. Last week a librarian found her asleep on the printer. Fully standing.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m going to start inviting you to our apartment if it means she’ll actually get some fucking sleep. It’s unsettling finding her in the same position as when I left like, six hours beforehand.”

“Don’t worry. She’s in good hands.”

—

It’s horrific, running into him in the library.

What makes it more horrible is the fact that you’re ugly crying silently in the English textbook section, because it’s always empty. You’re ugly crying in the English textbook section of the university library and Leon Kennedy just walked into the aisle.

You sniff, lifting your head from your knees to stare up at him from the ground. He has a knack for finding you at your lowest, it would seem.

“We’ve got to stop seeing each other like this, princess.”

“Oh?” You sniff hard, running a hand across your face as if that will clear up your red rimmed, puffy eyes, the tear tracks on your face, or the flush on your nose. The action at least wipes away the snot. “I wasn’t aware you ever fell asleep on me at a party. Did I ever find you crying in the English textbook section of the library?”

He tilts his head. “Why the English textbook section? It’s one of your best subjects.”

“It’s the emptiest section. Plus, anyone looking for an English textbook at this hour isn’t going to bat an eye at me.” You wrap your arms around your legs and hug them to your chest. “What are you doing here?”

“One of your roommates called Ada. They said you haven’t been home since this morning. They thought you might’ve been at hers, or with me.”

You snort. “It’s like they don’t even know me.”

He rolls his eyes. “I think they were hoping you’d be there. I think anyone who knows you knew you’d be here.”

“Crying in the English section?”

“In the library, dumbass.”

He stalks forward, leaning back against the bookshelf across from you and sliding his hands into his sweatpants pockets.

“Tell me. Is your pathological avoidance to asking for help conscious or not?”

You kick out, one shoed foot catching him in the shins. “Dick.”

He shrugs. “Just want to know. I can’t exactly gloat over scoring two points above you if you’re not in top form. I want a fair fight.”

“Is that what you're here for?” You ask suddenly, everything in your body going rigid. “You think this is funny?”

“No,” He says calmly. “I’m here because you’re being stupid again. You know what’s not healthy, or smart?”

He gestures to you. You, sitting on the floor, tears drying on your face. “This. Going out to parties to make your friends happy when you should be at home, sleeping. Studying for so long you end up looking like your boyfriend of eight years just broke up with you. Come on, princess. Where’s those brains you brag about?”

“They’re up here,” You tap your forehead. Against your will, your eyes burn, tears welling up, your face tightening. “And they’re tired.”

You drop your head into your hands, forgoing your silent crying of earlier in the place of open mouth sobbing. You can’t help it. You’re just so tired. So done with it all. With trying to keep up, with trying to make space, with trying to make time. With doing your best and it not being enough. You’re tired of being tired.

“Annnd there it is. Come here.”

He lowers himself to the floor next to you, tucking you close in a similar fashion as that night at the party.

“Come on, same thing as before. Hold onto me. Give yourself a minute.”

You wrap your arms around his middle, same way as last time, burying your face into his shoulder. Someone could see. Someone you know might see you crying and think—

He reaches a hand up and pulls the hood of your sweatshirt over your head.

“There. Now no one can see your face. Stop worrying. Just cry, princess.”

You sniffle. “I’m getting snot on your sweatshirt.”

“It’s had worse on it.”

“Gross.”

You can practically feel the eye roll. “Can you stop being dirty-minded and focus on something productive? Like crying? Or not crying, if that would make you feel better.”

You shift, so your head is lying against his shoulder instead of smashed into it like before.

“Why do you care if I feel better?”

Why do you care?

He shrugs against you.

“Told you,” He pushes your hood back a bit, tapping you on the forehead with his pointer finger. “My competition’s no fun if she’s not taking care of herself. How else is she gonna kick my ass?”

“I can take care of myself just fine. I don’t need you to swoop in here, Leon.”

“Mhm,” He says. “And i’m sure you do great at it, considering you’re still alive and kicking my ass at those stupid socratic seminars. Consider this… self-care. In the face mask, getting your nails done way.”

“Who taught you self care?”

“Ada. We have face mask nights.”

You jolt up. “Is she—“

“She’s not my girlfriend, we’re not fucking, no she’s not going to be upset or care in any way about this. Calm down.”

You begrudgingly settle back against him.

“If anything,” He continues. “She’ll be excited to see you at more parties in the coming months.”

You frown. “I never said—“

“You only go to parties if your friends physically drag you or when you feel confident enough in your grades and the general state of your life. It’s really easy to tell which version of you shows up to the party. It’s the way you dress.”

“How so?”

He shifts slightly. Guilt twinges in your stomach as you realize how uncomfortable he must be.

“You wear your pick-me-up pants when you’re dragged there. The ones that make your ass look great.”

You sit up with a gasp. “My hot pants?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you call them?”

Your brain catches up to the rest of what he said. “Hold on. Did you just say—“

“I said what I said. I’m assuming there’s a reason you call them your hot pants.”

He smirks, and you flush.

“Moving onto more pressing matters,” He tilts his head at you. “You have two options this evening. Either I take you back to your place and you sleep in your own bed, or you come to my place and we binge watch the Oceans movies until you fall asleep.”

“How did you know I like the—“

“The icebreaker for club thing. You said they were your favorite movies.”

You look up at him. “You remembered?”

“You were wearing your hot jeans.”

“You’re the worst.”

He scans your face for a moment, eyes sparking with mirth and a little something less innocent. “Maybe.”

You sigh and lean back against him, exhaustion from all your crying hitting you at once.

“Nuh-uh, no sleeping here. You gotta pick one. My place or yours?”

You frown into his shoulder. “Ugh. Fine. Yours, but only because I wanna watch the Ocean’s movies. You better not have a disgusting frat house.”

“I do not. I do have popcorn and ice cream.”

“Ada bought those, didn’t she?”

“Nope,” He says, nudging you with his shoulder to stand. You clamber in gracefully to your feet, your head starting to pound. “Chris likes to have movie nights. It pays to be well stocked.”

Your cheeks warm as a large, steadying hand finds its way to the small of your back. “How many of my friends are you friends with?”

“I was friends with them first.”

“Ass.”

He chuckles incredulously. “For having friends?”

“Yes,” You say, letting him pull you to his side while you walk to your table where you left your stuff. Probably not the best idea to leave your entire net-worth unattended, but whatever. You were going through it. “How dare you.”

“Mmm. I see. My apologies, princess. I’ll tell Chris and Ada.”

“You get on that.”

You can’t help but smile as he helps you pack up your things, passing you items across the table and carefully zipping up your pencil case.

“Don’t touch my papers, I have a system.”

“Is the system absolute chaos?”

“Shut up.”

Once everything is packed up, you zip up your backpack, but before you can sling it on, Leon’s arm darts out and snags it right out from under you.

Your expression grows pinched. “I can carry my own bag, Leon.”

“I know you can.”

“Give me my bag.”

“No.”

You groan. “Why do you want to carry my bag?”

“See, there’s this thing called chivalry—“

“Oh my god, shut up. When have you and chivalry ever been synonymous?”

He shrugs. “Ever since I met the girl in the hot jeans who regularly kicks my ass academically.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Mmm,” He hums, wrapping an arm around your waist and walking you towards the doors to the library. “And you’re stubborn. Come on. Brad Pitt and George Clooney are waiting for you.”

You sigh dramatically, hiding a small smile in your hand.

Maybe you could get used to this.

masterlist | next part

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

[losers-clvb]

rebounded dean winchester x sam's ex-girlfriend!reader

content: mentions of sam cheating on reader in the beginning, sam and dean are estranged brothers, dean gets competitive with sam, smut (grinding, fingering, dirty talk, finger sucking, nipple play, slight mentions of marking, incorrect use of kitchen table, unprotected piv penetration, breeding kink (but no actual breeding, trust, not in this economy!), very very very brief use of "daddy", praise), sam calls during the smut and they answer, fluff

word count: 3.2k

note: this is a part two to "rebound". special thanks to @amourcri3s and @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth for inspiring this in the comments. here is reader's revenge on toxic!sam.

Surprise, surprise, Sam Winchester broke your heart. Again.

You were sure it couldn’t get worse than this situation.

You had come home from work, already having a shitty day, and all you wanted to do was cuddle up into the arms of your boyfriend. Unfortunately, he already had someone cuddled up into his arms.

Though, it was technically less cuddled up and more him fucking up into her while pornstar-quality moans filled the space.

You don’t know how long you had stood in the doorway, just watching them with watering eyes. When Sam finally looked up, he wasn’t kind enough to look remorseful or even shocked.

“Come join us, baby.” Sam had beckoned to you. You had let out a cry in response, dropping your purse to the floor.

Fast forward a heartbreakingly long 72 hours and you were fumbling with the key to Sam’s own apartment. You knew he was gone. Mason had managed to track him down, finding his location to be in a different state with the same girl he had bouncing on his dick on your couch.

You needed to grab your things and run. You were never getting back together with him, and this, taking back the few possessions that you kept at Sam’s place, would help you fully get away from him.

You took in a breath before stepping inside, quietly closing the door behind you.

“Mmm, you are not my little brother.”

You jumped, a small shriek humming from your throat. What the hell? No one was supposed to be here.

Your eyes flew to the small couch in the corner of the living room space where a man, a very attractive man, sat with a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He smirked at you, tilting his head to the side.

“Who are you?” The hot guy asked. You shivered at the way he growled the last word.

“I’m just gonna go,” you mumbled, wrapping a hand around the door handle.

“You his girlfriend?”

Your fingers tingled with the familiar sensation you got when you were about to cry. Girlfriend. You weren’t, not after everything, but it was still hard to say out loud. You looked over your shoulder at the stranger, lip jutted out.

“Ah,” he sighed, like he knew about all the lies and manipulation just from your sad eyes. “What’d the bitch do?”

You blinked at him. Why did he care so much?

“Who are you?” You asked this time, voice small. He gave you a crooked smile.

“Dean.” When you furrowed your brows in confusion -- how were you supposed to know who Dean was? -- he continued. “Sammy’s big brother.”

“Oh.” Was all that you could say in response.

“He didn’t tell you about me.” Dean stated. He knew the answer.

After Dean caught his ex on her knees with Sam’s dick in her mouth just a week after they’d broken up, his and Sam’s fight had been too much to come back from. Fists flew, words were spat out, and Dean sped off in the Impala before he killed his little brother.

“I guess it slipped his mind while he was balls-deep in Kristy on my couch.” You immediately replied. You didn’t know where the sudden anger came from. Years of repressing it, maybe?

“You got a mouth on ya, sweetheart.” Dean smirked, enjoying every moment of this. He’d come to see Sam, maybe try to piece things back together since they were the only family they both had left. With you standing in front of him in the prettiest lavender dress he’d ever seen, he was quickly switching plans.

It was only fitting Dean sleep with Sam’s ex-girlfriend, just to even things out.

“Sorry.” You cringed at the apology that slipped out on instinct. Sam was always getting you to take the blame for things.

He had a bad day? It was all because you didn’t make his coffee in the morning. He flirted with a waitress? Well, maybe you should’ve given him head in the car before going into the restaurant. Even when he slept with other people, it was somehow your fault for not wanting to sleep with him the week beforehand. And you believed it every single time.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Dean beckoned you over, gesturing with his hand. “C’mere, angel.”

You hesitated. You shouldn’t be here, alone in Sam’s apartment with his older brother, who was making you feel so much better without even trying. You almost turned back around, walked out the door, and left this entire mess behind you. Almost.

Dean’s eyes were locked onto yours while you walked over. Your boots -- the ones Mason bought for you as a “reward for leaving that douche for good” -- made soft thumps on the flooring. You stood in front of him, fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

“You still love him?” Dean finished off the rest of his drink and deposited the glass on the window sill near the couch. You shrugged. Yes was the answer that first popped into your mind until you remembered Sam’s proud grin at getting caught.

“I can help you forget him.” Dean spoke again, throwing his arms up casually on the cushions behind him. You dared to glance down at his spread legs. They looked like they would be nice to sit on. You wondered if he would feel like Sam, if he would be able to make you come like Sam had.

Only one way to find out, you decided.

You sank down into his lap, knees on either side of Dean’s thighs. Your dress rode up, lacy panties pressing against the seam of his jeans. He clutched onto your hips. If you wanted to, you could stand back up, no problem, but the grip still felt possessive, like you were his and he wasn’t ever letting you go.

You liked that.

“You wanna let me kiss you, pretty girl?” Dean asked, grinning at you again.

You swallowed down your hesitancy this time. You needed this. What was that thing Mason had said the last time you broke up with Sam? “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else”? You were certainly going to take her advice this time.

Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you kissed him. You were thrown off by his hunger as he kissed you back. He was motivated by something, this wasn’t just another lay. You didn’t care to ask. What difference would it make?

You rocked your hips into his, humming when you brushed against his belt buckle.

“Fuck, sweetie,” Dean growled into your skin when he moved to your jaw and neck. You slid your hands down his face, over his chest, onto the growing bulge that was pressing into your heat.

“Please,” you breathed when he bit into the side of your neck, just enough to leave a bruise, his tongue flattening against it to soothe.

“‘Please’ what?” Dean teased. His hands found their way up your bare thighs.

“Please make me forget your brother ever existed.”

Dean ignored the twitch in his cock and instead pressed both of his thumbs onto your clit. The lacy cloth did nothing to cushion the pressure. You moaned, kissing him again.

Your teeth and tongues gnashed against each other. Your shared saliva was spreading across your chins. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, not when Dean was rubbing circles into you.

The connection only broke to allow space for your dress to pass over your head, then he was right back onto you. You were glad you’d chosen not to wear a bra that day. It was just one less layer between you and Dean.

“Sammy ever fuck you good? He make you see Heaven when you come?” Dean groaned into your mouth, palming at one of your breasts, a thumb still swirling on your clit.

“Mhm…,” you answered, half-moan. You couldn’t lie. It was the one thing Sam was actually good at in your relationship. The man knew how to fuck.

Dean didn’t seem to like that. It was as if you had told him that he wasn’t good at sex purely because his brother was.

“I’m gonna be better.” He growled and pulled your panties to the side. He slipped two fingers into you, making you arch forward into him, whining in pleasure. You had no doubt in your mind he would be better, just from the sheer confidence he held.

“Dean,” you sighed as he moved his fingers skillfully.

“That’s right,” Dean curled them forward, right into that spongy spot that had your spine giving out from holding you up. You were completely draped onto him, not that it slowed his pace. “Remember my name. By the end of the night, it’s the only thing you’re gonna know.”

You held onto his shoulders, soft moans leaving your lips. You muttered his name like it was a sacred chant.

“De… oh, I’m…,” you couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. He knew what you were trying to say. He licked into your mouth, moving his tongue in sync with the way his fingers were pumping and curling.

You came with a moan of his name, just the way he wanted. It wasn’t the last time he’d be inside you. He was never going to get enough of those noises leaving your mouth.

You were still hungry for more. You squeezed his bulge just enough to make him hiss in pleasure. He promptly pushed his fingers into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around them, sucking. The eye contact you held made him groan.

“Sam’s a damn fool. He’s out chasing pussy when he’s got the best one right here.” He kissed onto the length of his digits you didn’t fully reach. This taste of you lingered on his lips as he kissed you, his fingers still in your mouth. He hooked them around the corner of your lips, moving his mouth on you like he was a death row inmate and you were his last meal.

“You’re mine now.” He mumbled, finally dragging out of your mouth, spreading your saliva over your cheek. You panted and watched his hands unbuckle his belt, mouth watering when his fingers slipped the button of his jeans open.

You helped him pull his jeans off, scrambling off of his lap until you were standing there, lace the only thing keeping you from complete nudity.

Dean shifted forward, falling from his sitting position on the couch to his knees in front of you. He shimmied your panties down, letting you hold a hand on his shoulder for balance to fully get them off.

“Gorgeous.” He muttered, pressing a kiss to your clit before standing, hooking an arm under your ass to lift you up with him. Your legs found a home around his waist, hands holding onto his shoulders. He kissed you, holding you close to his chest.

“Kitchen… table…,” you gasped into him. Dean didn’t question this. He carried you to the small kitchen, laying you out on the counter. He kissed down your sternum before latching onto a nipple, sucking until you moaned.

“He ever fuck you here?” He asked, looking up at you from where he was licking a stripe onto the plush of your breast.

“No.” You smirked. You had a few ideas of your own to make Sam pay for his treatment of you, and the spark of competitive edge in Dean’s eyes told you this was the correct choice. This was the exact reason you’d chosen the table.

“Good.” He pushed his boxers down enough to free himself.

“No condom?” You offered. Dean raised an eyebrow at you with a smirk.

“You let him do that?” Everything had to give him an extra thing to hang over Sam’s head.

“No.” You bit your bottom lip. Sam used to try to get you to do it raw constantly. You didn’t want to risk it, pregnancy and STDs, since Sam was so friendly with the neighborhood pussy. This? This was worth any fucking risk, just to see how Sam would react to the knowledge of it.

“Good.” Dean growled. He ran his tip through your slick, loving the way you shivered at the touch. He finally pushed into you, slowly moving in, inch by inch.

You groaned, eyes rolling back when he bottomed out. He gripped onto your hips, pulling out almost completely before snapping back into you.

“So fuckin’ tight.” Dean rocked his hips back and forth. He folded over you, kissing you again. You whined into his mouth.

“Gonna let me come in you? Fill this pussy up until she can’t take anymore?” Dean grunted.

“Yes!” You bit out, voice cracking from the pleasure.

“Yeah,” he chuckled darkly, “‘Uncle Sammy’ has a nice ring to it. Really show him how bad he fucked up when you’re walkin’ around all swollen with my kid.”

You rolled your hips into him, clenching around him at the thought of Dean showing you off in front of Sam.

A chime from near the couch broke you from your thinking. Your phone. You knew it was Sam. It was the ringtone he’d picked out for himself, at your request.

“It’s him.” You breathed. Dean’s hips faltered and you watched a wicked shine flash in his eyes.

“It’d be rude to ignore him.” He pulled out of you, making you involuntary whine in protest. To his credit, he was quick to shuffle through your purse and get back to you.

“Hey, baby.” You heard crackle out from your phone. Crawling back to you again, it seemed. This time you weren’t falling for it. You had better things to do, like moan at the stretch that Dean gave you when he pushed back into you.

“What the-,” Sam started to question, but Dean cut him off.

“Hi-ya, Sammy.” Dean had the widest grin you’d ever seen. You ran your hands up the sides of your body, cupping your breasts as he thrust into you at a steady pace.

“Dean.” Sam grumbled. You could almost see the dark glare in his eyes as he said it. “What the fuck are you doing to her? I wanna speak to my girl.”

“Ah, ah,” Dean tutted, rubbing a thumb onto your clit to make you whine. “She’s a little busy right now.”

“She’s never too busy for me.” Sam sounded far too confident about that fact. Dean snapped his hips into you. A sharp cry left your lips.

“And she’s not yours anymore, Sammy.” Dean growled. He smiled down at you. Your eyes fluttered shut with a sigh.

“You can’t fucking do this, Dean. She’ll never leave me. She loves me too much.” Sam was fumbling for arguments. Dean laughed dryly.

“Let me paint you a picture, Sam. I’ve got her spread out, naked, on your table, tits bouncing. God, I gotta tell you, this pussy was made for me.” Dean leaned down to place another kiss on your lips. You were breathless, both from him moving so effortlessly into you and from his taunting to Sam. He sounded so mean yet so sweet at the same time.

“Whatever,” Sam huffed out, the poison of jealousy stinging through his voice. “Have fun with my sloppy seconds.”

“Mmm, Sammy, she’s not too sloppy yet, but she will be when I come deep inside her. Fuckin’ leave my mark, right, sweetheart.” You babbled out a slurred “yes”, arching your back when he pulled your leg to wrap around him, allowing him to go deeper. “She ever let you do that? Fuck her raw?”

Dean already knew the answer, but it pulled a smirk onto his face when he heard the flex of Sam’s jaw while he spoke.

“She wouldn’t let you do that.” He huffed.

“It was her idea, man.” Dean chuckled. He turned his voice back to you. “You gonna let me do that?”

“Yes.” You gasped.

“Gonna make me a daddy?”

“Yes.”

Dean groaned and threw his head back.

“She-,” Sam sucked in a breath, “she loves me.” He was stuck on that. There was a time when it was true, and all he had to do was say it back in order to get you back. That changed the moment Dean kissed you like he had something to prove.

“Who do you love, pretty girl?” Dean asked you, grasping at your jaw. You opened your eyes, wanting eye contact for the words that were about to leave you.

“You.” You moaned, rolling your hips. “I love you, Dean. Only you.” You were laying it on thick, trying to prove a point. Was it true? You didn’t know. Maybe you loved Dean. You certainly loved the things he was doing to you.

You stuck your tongue out to meet Dean’s fingers halfway when they started to crawl up your chin. He watched as you closed your lips around three of them, sucking, never taking your eyes from his.

“Fuck, Sammy, can’t believe you let her get away. I’m not making the same mistake.”

“You fuckin’ ass-,” Sam growled, getting cut off again.

“Hey, we really gotta let you go. Talk later, ‘kay?” Dean didn’t wait for a response before ending the call, dumping your phone onto the table next to you. You hummed in approval. You hoped Sam was feeling just as shitty as he had made you feel. He deserved so much more than that, but it was a good start.

“Proud of you, angel. You did so fuckin’ well.” Dean grunted, using his newly freed hand to grip onto your hip. It was the last thing to send you over the edge. You clenched around him as you came, an incoherent whine sounding from you. It was muffled with his fingers still in your mouth.

Dean’s jaw dropped in pleasure and he slammed into you, chasing his own high. It didn’t take long before he was pulling out of you with a groan, spilling himself onto your lower stomach. A few drips of release slid down your waist.

You panted, keeping your mouth open to let his fingers fall free. A tired smile grew onto your face when he gently grabbed your bottom lip in his teeth. You closed your lips around his mouth, kissing him.

“Changed your mind?” You asked when he pulled away, looking pointedly to his cum still sitting on your stomach. He gave you a crooked grin.

“Figured I’d take ya out before I knocked you up.” Dean answered, rubbing soothing circles into the muscles of your thighs. You scrunched your eyebrows at him, ignoring the swoop of emotions flooding you at his words.

“Out?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, kissing the top of your bent knee. “Out. I meant it when I said you were mine now.”

The way he said it told you he not only meant it, but he meant it in a different way than Sam ever did. You were Dean’s in the same way he was yours. There would be no Kristy or Stephanie. It was you and only you.

You let him help you sit up and take you to the bathroom, running the shower to clean you both of the sweat and cum.

This was the best way to get over a breakup, you’d decided, especially when it was with the brother of the man who had broken your heart.

everything taglist : @littlesoulshine @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @mostlymarvelgirl @missus-ackles @tinas111 @ambiguous-avery

jensen ackles taglist : @arcannaa

[linddzz]

I intended to write out ONE scene for the early days of Team Hextech, but these dweebs completely derailed me into an entirely different scene by establishing nicknames.

So here's a teaser of sorts for the wider fic @amahhi and I are working on, which is going to be snapshots through their years together and also a way for me to shove every Jayvik meta I have into one manifesto.

Stage 1: let me sell you on the whole nickname thing with Academy Dorks. Pure pre-relationship fluff and dork4dork energy. Nothing bad is ever gonna happen to these cuties.

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

It is surprising, how easily things come together.

Surprising in how Viktor has now been around Jayce Talis for over 72 hours (it is currently at 79) and he has, at no point, felt an urge to knock Jayce out with a sharp swing to the back of the head so that Viktor could have a moment to himself. Surprising in the fact that he is not actually surprised by this. Nothing could surprise him now, when the euphoria fills his veins like nothing he's known before. 

There is the magic. Of course there's the magic. The blue glow like a lightning flash caught behind his eyes and burned forever into his mind. There could not be anything but the magic now. Yet it was everything else that came with the magic as well. The freshly assigned lab that is, truthfully, hardly more than an old office with the furniture shoved out of it. The chalkboard being pilfered from the library in the middle of the night, because the single pathetic one the lab came with was a joke. 

There is Jayce. Jayce, who is the magic, the spark, the surge of life and energy. Jayce laughing in little hitched noises that his stifling only turns into absurd wheezing, because they couldn't fit the stolen chalkboard out of the library at first, not until Viktor made him knock the whole thing over so they could remove the wheels. Which, of course, had to be put back on immediately after they got the thing through the doors.

"We're going to end up exiled anyway after this." Jayce whispered far too loudly, sitting on the wet stone of the Academy courtyard, fully illuminated by a street lamp to screw the wheels back on because Viktor's flashlight flickered dark after five minutes.

"Fine." Viktor hisses back, "at least we will have an actual chalkboard." Which is a nothing statement, but it makes Jayce curl in on himself with another fit of little hiccuping giggles, so that's alright.

"I don't think they'll let us take the board, V."

That causes Viktor to pause for approximately half a second, considering. "Is that a nickname?"

The little hitching laughs stop, which is a shame. Jayce clears his throat and goes back to tightening the wheel in place. "Uh. I guess? Sorry, is that ok?"

"You misunderstand. I've never been given a nickname before." Viktor taps his fingers on his cane, looking up at nothing as he examines how he feels about getting his first nickname.

"Oh yeah?" He can't tell if Jayce is secretly pitying him or not, but it doesn't sound like he is. "What do you think of it?"

Viktor tilts his head one way, and then another, feeling his face pull into a grimace. He doesn't want to accidentally hurt Jayce's feelings, but he does not think that insincerely given adoration of the nickname would be a good early mark for the relationship. 

He intends on keeping himself in Jayce's life for however long his own lasts, by any means necessary. It's going to be a learning curve, figuring out how to have someone like him for that long, but he doesn't think lying or even stretching the truth is how he should accomplish this goal.

"Woah," Jayce says, and when Viktor looks down the other man is sitting, ass still fully on the wet paving stones, staring up at Viktor with sincere fascination and the beginnings of a grin. "You really hate that, huh?"

"No." He doesn't. Which he doesn't realize until he says so, but it's true, he doesn't hate it. "I am still deciding, don't rush me."

"Don't tell me you're grading my nicknames, V." Jayce huffs, and he shuffles himself through a puddle to get the last wheel on the last leg of their stolen goods. "I'm gonna have a panic attack over nicknames. And then I'm gonna have nightmares about the fact that I had a panic attack over a nickname, instead of over stealing Academy property. Hey. How come I've done more crimes in three days with you than I ever had in my life?"

"That seems like it is your problem." Viktor points out, leaning with both hands on his cane now, watching some curls of mist under the street lamp as he continues mulling over his first nickname. It's been given to him by Jayce Talis, who gave Viktor magic and who is now soaking his ass on the ground so that Viktor can have a better chalkboard. It seems a small price to pay.

"Yes." He decides, nodding. "It's fine."

"That sounds like one ringing endorsement."

"You wanted my opinion. Honestly? It eh, lacks creativity."

"What did I say about grading my nicknames?"

"Plural? No no, you get one."

"Hardass." Jayce grumbles, pulling first himself and then the chalkboard back up with little effort. Which is impressive, as it is not a small board. "What about me?"

"Hm?" Viktor is already moving, tugging the board around to make sure the wheels are all even.

"Come on, fair's fair. What's my nickname?" 

When Viktor looks up - intending to point out that making a nickname for a name which is already a single syllable is counterintuitive - Jayce is at the other end of the board, grinning a blinding and crooked grin. His hair is a mess, with the mist depositing little gleaming drops of diamonds against the black. There's an eagerness, nearly a hunger, in his bright hazel eyes as he waits for Viktor's nickname. All of that, beaming at him from the other side of the board that Jayce agreed to steal at an obscene hour of the night for him. There are dimples.

"Lásko." He says, as naturally as a heartbeat, as easily as blinking. It's hardly a revelation for him. Viktor has already spent 77 of the past 79 hours reconfiguring his ideological stances on the concept of soulmates. 

Jayce snorts, his grin falling, but not into a shocked disgust or even displeasure at the foreign sound. Instead, he sets his formidable jawline forward and pouts.

"I want a do over. That sounds so much cooler." He groans.

Ask me what it means. 

Scratch that. Do not ask me that. However long one is supposed to wait before saying love, I am sure that I am under that mark. 

"No do overs. Even I know that about nicknames."

"You don't make the nickname rules! You never even had one before!"

"No do overs."

"Ok! Fine! Congrats on being stuck with V!"

[bengals-barnesbabe]

The Girl Behind the Camera

Pair: Joe Burrow x Videographer!Reader

Descr: When The Bengals hire a new social media manager, people start to notice a certain QB coming out of his shell.

TW: mentions of sex, nudity, gossip, racism, classism, invasion of privacy, protective boyfriend!Joe.

Main Masterlist

WC: 2083

*. * ·┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧

"Which of your teammates would you rather be stranded on a deserted island with for 72 hours?"

Was the question being asked on the way out from practice. From behind the black and white jerseys Joe could hear the bouts of laughter from each answer. Most of his more outgoing teammates thoroughly enjoyed walking up to the woman with the camera on a day to day basis, while others like him avoided making simple eye contact with her.

But today's Friday and Fridays are very special on this practice field. Not only do they have shorter practices but the recurring sports journalist major with a sometimes too sunny attitude, is replaced with the new silk press and brown glossy lips-wearing photographer that could stop him in the middle of the busiest highways just with her smile.

"Hey 9!" You beam as he approaches you with rosy cheeks. "Wanna hear today's question?"

I'd listen to anything coming from those pretty lips.

"Sure, whatcha got for me?" His eyes are solely focused on the way your glittery nails push back your dark brown locks and the movement of your lips rather than the content flowing from them.

He stands there motionless for a minute contemplating his answer, when in reality he just wanted to see how long you'd hold his gaze before squirming. 45 seconds is the current record.

"Joey, come on.."

25 seconds, he must look especially good today.

He smirks as your pout forms, or maybe he just likes giving you more work to do in the editing room (aka tonight at his place).

"Are you going to answer or should I shut off the camera?" A chuckle arises from his belly as you attempt to make an authoritarian stance with a smooth caramel leg jutted out and your glistening arms crossed over your chest.

Rolling your eyes at him, you start to ignore him and play around with the camera, before his voice interrupts you. "Alright, I'll answer. Only for you though."

He does his best to revert back to factory settings (aka grump mode as you like to call it) when you give him the go-ahead. "I guess, I'd take Ja'Marr. Hopefully, he doesn't get sick of me in 3 days."

You let out a cute giggle at his response recapturing his gaze from above the camera. He'd make it his life goal to keep that sound pouring from your plump lips.

So he adds to his answer. "Or I'd take my girlfriend, she loves beaches you know. She's kind of the yin to my yang." He smirks nodding to your necklace.

Flustered you try to cover your smile, before asking him a follow-up question. "Would you get on a boat to rescue her, if she somehow got trapped out at sea?"

"Of course, I would," he chuckles. "But then I'd ask where she found a boat in the first place and why she got in it when she doesn't like them either."

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

"Maybe she was just trying to find food for her quarterback boyfriend with a bottomless pit as a stomach." His entire body shakes with laughter as you smile accomplishedly behind the lens.

"That's cute, you know her or something?" You shrug, as he straightens up due to another presence approaching.

"Don't stop on my accord, you did great today J. And you Miss Thing, I can't wait to see the shots you got of my team out there." Coach Taylor praises walking past you, causing your faces to heat up.

"God, I don't know how much of this I can use." Your video voice sombers.

You watch as the orange jersey fills the frame until not even the 9 is visible. "Sounds like you have your work cut out for you. Kind of like how..." His low and teasing voice barely gets picked up on the audio. A shiver runs down your spine because you remember exactly what he said before walking out of view.

"Kind of like how you will when you get home tonight."

'And boy was he right, but not about the editing.' You think gawking at his body as he walks out of the bathroom, water dripping from his hair and shoulders down his nice pecs and delectable abs. His strong arms and toned abdomen are tinted red due to the steamy shower that's releasing vapor into the room.

"Still editing I see?" He asks teasingly as he ruffle-dries his hair with a microfiber towel. You painstakingly nod but push the laptop down and off your lap.

"It can wait." You say as your gaze drops down to the blonde happy trail that disappears underneath the towel secured around his waist. "It's not due til noon anyway."

"Good, I've been thinking about you laid out on my bed for me since we got home." A smirk curves up his lips when he notices your eyes fixated on the bulge of the fabric.

"Lucky me." Then the towel drops. Lucky me indeed.

✧ ⁺ . ° ➶ ｡˚ ✧

Eventually, the video does get edited and uploaded to social media like it's supposed to and your bosses thoroughly enjoy the impressions it brings to the organization.

You tried your best to edit out all of the parts that gave too much about your relationship away without completely taking Joe out of the video. You thought it did a great job, the final cut showed a very professional interaction between the two of you. Everyone was happy.

Until you started trending on Twitter almost 3 days later.

Something you didn't realize before becoming the Bengals' backup photographer/videographer and official social media manager was that your boyfriend rarely if ever participated in the post-practice videos. Anna, their main journalist, did mention that Joe liked to hide from cameras at practice, but you thought she was talking about paparazzi and overzealous fans. It wasn't until you went through every post-practice TikTok video that you realized that she was not kidding at all.

Currently, you are sitting wide-eyed on the couch watching a well-known YouTube gossip talk about your video and your relationship. She hadn't said the word dating yet, but by her analysis of the short clips- she was not very far from finding out.

"I think the key here is the woman behind the camera. Their conversation was short, but you could tell she could get him to say anything. And the way it's cut, oh my god. Anyone could tell that there was much more to this chat than we saw. Sadly, I couldn't find her socials, so the woman behind the camera wins this time."

You paused the video as soon as Joe's footsteps became apparent as he walked toward the area where you were sitting. "Hi, baby!" You cringe at the perky tone of your voice.

"Hi?" He says plopping down next to you and kissing your head. The lingering embarrassment makes your spine stiffen. Joe raises a brow in confusion. "Y/n, what's wrong?"

You huff and pout sinking into the couch cushions. "I kinda fucked up."

"How so?" He asks pulling your hands into his.

"Have you watched my video?" You whisper as if saying it aloud will anger the universe.

"No, but I heard it was doing well. Do you want me to pull it up?" You shake your head immediately. "What's wrong with the video?"

"You're in it." You mumble laying your head on his chest.

"Huh?"

"You hate attention, you hate cameras, and you literally hide from them when we're in public! And I put you in my video!" One of his hands lets go of yours and begins to stroke the back of your head.

"Baby, I put myself in-

"No, I forced you to do the one thing you've always set a boundary on. I'm a shitty girlfriend, I should've just ended it before you walked by or just kept the whole clip for myself."

"Y/n, listen."

"Joey I'm so sorry, everyone is talking about how you and 'the girl behind the camera' are probably a thing. They're probably digging up pictures of us in public at the moment and there's nothing I can do to stop it. All of your business is going to be aired out-

"I know-

"Reporters are going to start showing up to your practices, and paparazzi will be following us. It's a disaster- wait what did you say?" You sniffle pulling your head up to face him. And he's smiling?

"I know and I don't care. All I care about is that the most important woman in my life is safe and happy. That's you mamas." He says softly, wiping away a stray tear from your cheek.

"Wait but you've worked so hard to keep your private life- private and I should've respected that."

He shakes his head. "I wanted to be in that video because you were the one behind the camera. Even if we weren't dating, I would have been in that video and people would've had something to say about it. I did it because you make me happy and I love watching you work. In fact.." He takes his phone out and queues a video onto the TV screen.

"Joe, what is this?" You ask as he comes up in today's outfit looking like it was filmed when he left for work this morning.

"Just watch." He grins.

*In the video he’s seen smiling and taking pictures with fans before his morning meeting.

“Hey Joey B! Over here!” A young boy jumps up trying to get his attention.

Your boyfriend chuckles and shuffles over to the kid to sign his helmet. “Hi, how you doing bud?”

“I’m great! My sister’s sad that you have a girlfriend now though.” The kid vibrates with energy and excitement, very different than his sister who’s glaring at him from the side.

Joe just laughs, gives the kid a fist bump, and moves on to another fan.*

“Joe, you didn’t say anything. What is this supposed to prove?” You huff in confusion.

“I know, that’s just my favorite part. You just need to see what happens next.” He assured pushing your focus back to the TV screen.

*As Joe starts to wave bye to the crowd a swarm of paparazzi and journalists emerge.*

You immediately start to frown because this is exactly what he's been trying to avoid.

*The people behind the giant cameras ask him all kinds of outlandish questions, all of which he ignores until a question about you pops up.

“Joe, are you hiding your girlfriend because you’re ashamed of her career and her race?” He stops right outside the door to the facility and spots the woman who asked the question.

“What did you say?” His eyes squint and brows furrow in the same way as they do when people question his football fatality.

“Last night, the Bengals website updated their faculty and staff page. The only new social media manager was a black woman named Y/n. What other reason could you be hiding your relationship for?” She asks confidently sticking her camera in his space.

“Do you hear how fucking dumb you sound?” He says so calmly making all the eyes around him widen. Including yours as you watch the incredulous look on his face turn to a scowl.

“I’m hiding her from idiots like you guys who follow me around with cameras chasing the wrong narratives. Do you really think I want to hide the love of my life from the world? Cause I don’t, but I would rather us have a good relationship that’s private rather than a shitty one controlled by the media. Literally, look at what happened after one lighthearted joke got taken out of context! And to even comment that her race was an issue? What fucking year do you live in? I would love that woman no matter what she did or how she looked. And it shouldn't matter. All of you are ridiculous. Have a great day.” Then walked into the facility slamming the door behind him.*

When he looks back over at you, silent tears are falling from your eyes. “Shit was it too much.” He says panicked.

You shake your head with a chuckle then lean up to press a chaste kiss on his lips. “No, it was perfect. I love you so much, Joseph.”

He returns the sweet kiss and holds you close. “I love you more than anything Y/n. I’d do anything for you, never forget that.”

“I won’t.”

~●○°●○°●○~

a/n: sorta kinda inspired by @slimshiesty, if you know you know and you absolutely should know.

[dimonds456]

"Perhaps he may yet prove his worth to me" headcanon

I have So many Ford thoughts about this era of his life, here is only a sliver of my insanity FGHJSD

Alt text below cut ^^

ID: a bunch of Discord screenshots showing a single user rambling about Stanford Pines from Gravity Falls. User Dimonds456 has their profile set to the autism eyes Stanley image from Lost Legends. Here is the full transcript of everything they said:

Listening to Hana's Ford video at work again today (the 5 hour one) and something they were talking about in it I kinda wanna elaborate on. The line "perhaps he can still prove his worth to me," to me, is a line that I think Ford both does mean and doesn't mean at the same time, and the reason why is. sad.

To me, this is Ford realizing he's got no way out, right? Like, contacting Stan is part of his last resort plan, the one he had to switch to once he was given the 72 hours before his life- and the world's- came to an end

Like, let's be real: the plan "I'm gonna go back up to the caves to where I first discovered Bill and hope and pray there's an answer there" REALLY ISNT a plan

Hope and pray isn't a survival strategy, but that's where Ford is at rn

Every other plan failed.

Project Mentem takes too long to encrypt, and more than likely wouldn't stop possession anyway. It would just prevent Bill from seeing Ford's thoughts and memories. Might provide some protection, but not enough.

The Bill Proof suit he isn't mechanically knowledgable enough to actually make effectively, and he doesn't know McGucket is still in town

He can't go down to the basement else risk the possibility of Bill possessing him, and if he tries to dismantle the portal, as we see in TBOB, there's a good chance Bill will just fucking torture him over it

He doesn't know about the Cipher Wheel at this point, or if he does, doesn't believe it'll help. And even if he did, he doesn't know enough people or enough about people to know who he needs

He doesn't know about using a metal plate/tinfoil hat

He couldn't get access to unicorn hair, so the barrier is out(edited)

The caves were his last resort

At this point, he knows there's a good chance he's going to die. All he can do is make sure the world stays alive after the fact. But that doesn't mean he wants to. He is fighting Bill tooth and nail, holding out for as long as he can, despite the knowledge that in 72 hours, he is going to die.

Or, if not die, he's going to be blind and subjected to Bill's every whim

To me, the "perhaps he can still prove his worth to me" line is him clinging to the one last thing he DOES have control over: his emotions. And he's choosing to be angry because anger is a better emotion to feel than fear or anxiety

Cuz at this point, his entire world has been flipped upside-down, right

Bill was evil

Fidds was right

He's second-guessing his decisions about Stanley

He writes, in code, "have I been too harsh [to Stan] all along?"

Like, over the course of a couple days/a month, his entire view of the world and how it works has spun WILDLY out of control

He can't change the fact that Bill is evil, he can't change the fact that Fidds was right, so in a desperate act to cling to the one thing he has control over, he continues to take it out on Stan, cuz that's all he has

It's PEAK learned helpllessness

He has to have been right about something.

Cuz otherwise, he's the worst. And no one wants to feel like that, especially while being tortured at the hands of a demon and trying to protect the goddamn world

So he both means it, since I do think that came from a genuine place (his anger at Stan over the project), but also doesn't mean it at all (he knows Stan has worth but is too Regina George to admit that right now)

It's also why he was SO QUICK to bring that up during his and Stanley's fight

Again, he's clinging onto that anger as hard as he can

He had to cooporate with Stan to try and get him to take the Journal, but as soon as it looked like that plan was gonna fail, he started flipping out, both from stress, fear, anxiety, and from his anger he is refusing to let go

Again, Ford isn't dumb. He knows he's running on borrowed time at this point.

And something about knowing your life is either gonna end soon, or you're gonna become disabled and toyed with for the rest of your life, would mean he's not thinking rationally

ON TOP OF the lack of sleep and clarity

Does this make sense FGHJSKD

I'm pushing my learned helplessness headcanon on y'all SO HARD I'm not even gonna lie GFDHSJK

End transcript, end ID.

[biancasaidstfu]

So there’s a photo dump by her friends all putting her in several locations over like 72 hours….thats interesting. She did the KS party, had a meal w her friend, then flew to Ireland to hang out in a bar w another friend. Both end up being proven as latergrams, one potentially older than the other but still not in real time, right? Seems suspicious to me.

She’s cute w the smoke and mirrors but I’d hazard a guess she wants everyone to look at those pictures rather than realize she went to Rome.

She’s trying too hard not to be seen in public w Luke. If he’s just your friend, grab a coffee w your bestie and get some PR out of it. My theory is that they can’t be seen together bc just one pic of them in real life again and everyone will know that they are serious.

Nic, please just order your monogram towels and send out your engagement announcements already (jk). They do too much sometimes. I’m side eyeing them respectfully of course. 🤣

#blessthemess

Either Nicola already has a teleportation device (can you get that on Amazon I hate driving) or home girl assembled the avengers to scramble her location.

I think it’s fairly obvious what was happening. Misdirection, sleight of hand type of work.

You’re also right, anon.

Why not be seen with Luke getting a friendly brunch. If that’s not a private relationship then end the speculation and get some incredible PR out of it.

It’s pretty obvious why we don’t see them around each other at all but we see her and Jake everywhere.

One of those relationships is private and one of them is out in the open all over the internet.

What did Nicola say she wants her relationship to be???

[ganxiously]

911 Fic Writing Resource: Shift Timings

Okay, so initially I was going to add this to my last post but the topic was completely different so I decided to make a new one. @capsbooty7 and @rutathenurse pointed out that since Tommy was working at the same time as Buck and the rest of the gang, he most likely worked the A shift and thus had his work time completely synced with Buck's. The concept was intriguing enough that I took a look into it.

Like many others, I had previously thought that each house had its own rota, and the timing and length of the shifts varied accordingly. However, that appears to not be the case. Firefighters, in the LAFD at least, work in 3 shifts - A, B and C and each of these shifts are 24 hours long. They don't do the 24/48 or the 48/96 but instead follow what I am given to believe is called the California Swing Shift or a Kelly schedule. Here, they essentially work every other day for 5 days and then have 4 days off. So the schedule is - On - Off - On - Off - On - Off - Off - Off - Off. This means they are usually working 72 hours per rotation but they can also trade in shifts or work overtime if they want to.

From what I found out, you can take more shifts or reduce it according to your convenience by trading with others so technically you can still do 48 hours and then even pull in overtime but the limit for a continuous shift is 60 hours after which you have to take a mandatory 12 hours off [this information was a bit outdated so I am not sure if this rule still stands]. Trade almost always happens for 12 or 24 hours but it isn't unheard of to do an 18 hour trade. Overtime usually happens in 12 hour shifts and you get paid overtime rates only when you have crossed 56 hours in a working week.

As for vacation days, you get 16 days after one year of service and 24 days after 10 years (so Tommy is getting 24 while Buck is getting 16 but Bobby, however, might be getting 25 since I'm guessing he's been a firefighter for at least 31 years). There are also 13 paid floating leave days allotted each year - 1 every 4 weeks.

Shift times are the same for every firehouse and the work day starts at 8am officially but you are expected to make 'face-to-face relief' at 6:30 am.

I am also including the January 2024 schedule here: [follow a colour to understand how the shifts work and where you can sneak in lengthy shifts]

If you have more information or would like to correct me on something, feel free to let me know.

@itsjustpoopeh mentioned:

and @ironworked pointed out:

@cafe-con-letty sent this ask talking about how Tommy's shift might vary as a helicopter pilot so you can also check this out.

[bybobbysbeard]

The Last Few Hours

Day 10 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: sleepy cuddles read on ao3 read other days here

Buck wakes to the soft, muted sound of a rainstorm. Everything else is quiet and far away. It must be late, or very early. He doesn’t want to open his eyes. It's peaceful here, in that slow, syrupy place between sleep and wakefulness. He’s curled up on his side, a warm body pressed up behind him. There’s a broad, masculine chest against his back and thick thighs brushing the backs of his legs. A heavy arm rests on his side, fingers absently stroking over his stomach. Soft lips touch the back of his neck. They’re so close, not an atom of space between them. 

He would know that body anywhere. It’s as familiar to him as his own.  

Buck rubs his face into the pillow. The rough, starchy fabric snags on his stubble. That’s… wrong. Buck converted Tommy to his fabric softener immediately after moving in. Their sheets don’t feel like this. Also, they’re both fully dressed for some reason.

He opens his eyes. Instead of the cream-coloured walls of their bedroom, he’s looking at the empty bunk across from him.

He’s in the communal bunkroom. Nearly all the lights are off, and the blackout shades are drawn. One bedside lamp casts a cool white light over their corner of the room. 

That’s right, he’s at work. Trying to nap away the last few hours of agonizingly long 72 hr shift. 

He goes to turn over, but the arm on his waist weighs him down, one large hand spreading out over his belly and holding him still. “Shh, baby. There’s not enough room.”

“Tommy? Why’re you here?” He reaches down, over the sheets; tracing rough knuckles and blunt nails. That hand flexes, pressing him into the body behind him. 

Tommy’s low voice warms the back of his neck. “Your shift’s over. I came to pick you up.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He yawns, blinking and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “I usually set an alarm, but I guess I forgot.”

“Don't worry about it.” His hand goes back to rubbing Buck’s stomach. “Hen mentioned your leg was bothering you, so when you didn’t wake up with everyone else, they let you sleep. How bad is it?” 

Buck takes stock, bending his knee gently and rotating his ankle. It throbs dully, but considering the amount of calls over the last three days, it could be worse. “Not too bad. It’s sore. The rain makes it ache sometimes.”

“I remember.” That aquiline nose runs along the side of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. 

“Why are you in a bunk with me? Not that I’m complaining.”

Tommy laughs softly, warm breath gusting over Buck’s hair. “Well, Bobby sent me in to wake you up, but you didn’t answer when I called your name, and then you just looked so cute. I couldn’t resist.”

“Tommy!” He knows he’s whining, but if his family finds his boyfriend spooning him in the bunk room, the teasing will actually kill him.

“Oh hush, only Bobby is still here. I saw Hen and Howie leave, and Eddie was already gone when I pulled up. I’m not giving them any more ammunition.” Another kiss is pressed to his neck, and Buck can’t help but relax back into the mattress. It really is too small for the two of them and the white sheets have been washed thin and bleached half-to-death. The pillow is so flat, it’s basically flush with the mattress. The whole setup is miles away from their comfortable bed at home. 

But Buck is still so tired. And Tommy is so warm.

Tommy jostles him. His eyes pop open again; he hadn’t meant to close them. He can feel Tommy smile against his skin. “Evan, sweetheart, don’t fall back asleep. At some point, Bobby will come in here. And he will probably take pictures.”

Buck groans. “Okay, okay. You’re right. Let me up.”

Cool air rushes in behind him when Tommy shifts away, making him shiver. The rain gets louder against the roof. There’s some quiet shuffling as Tommy gets to his feet, straightens his clothes and walks around the bunk to face Buck. 

Buck braces himself, and carefully swings his legs off the bed. His foot tingles as blood flows through the swollen limb. He knows if the alarm was ringing, he’d be sprinting into his turnouts. And hurting. More than five years post-bombing, his leg still has limits that he can’t ignore. It’s frustrating. If he hadn’t picked up a shift in the middle of his week, he wouldn’t need to be this careful with himself. But he doesn’t regret it. Having someone from B-shift owe him a favour is always worth it. He mostly just regrets that all of his family has medical training. They usually notice him favouring his leg before he does. 

Tommy is standing in front of him. He’s muted to monochrome by the dim lighting. His well-worn jeans look silver, his black t-shirt is a void. The blue of his eyes is washed out to grey. He holds out his hands, open palms facing up. 

Buck rolls his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“I know. Can I help anyway?”  

Buck looks up at him. There’s nothing hiding in his open expression, no pity or judgement. He didn’t think there would be, but sometimes he can’t stop himself from checking. He puts his hands in Tommy’s. The bed frame squeaks as he’s pulled upright. A strong arm wraps around his middle while he finds his balance. When he's steady, Tommy leans in, peppering gentle kisses over his cheeks and lips. Buck sways forward, letting his boyfriend take his weight. The kisses taper off, until they're just standing there, forehead to forehead, wrapped around each other. Tommy pulls back a few inches and smiles at him. 

“Ready to go home?”

[zegrasdrysdale]

Jamie or Nico where the reader is sick has the stomach bug or somthing and being really sweet and either Jamie or nico is takeing care of the reader

[ i’ve got you ] n. hischier

paring : Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary : Nico takes care of his girlfriend while she’s down and basically out with the stomach flu

warning(s) : the stomach flu, throwing up, being sick in general

author’s note : this request coming in while i was sick and throwing up myself was very funny

༺═──────────────═༻

The bathroom floor has become her friend over the past 24 hours or so. She’s spent more time in the bathroom than she has in her bedroom. The doctor at the urgent care told her to get as much rest as she could before she goes back to work, but the social media interns have been slacking since the stomach flu took her out two days ago. She hasn’t exactly been listening to the advice she’s been given and has been working from home.

This morning is no different than the last few days. Her back is against the wall right next to the toilet. Her eyes are closed but she’s not asleep. She’s probably going off of ten hours of sleep total in the last 72 hours because of the amount of time she’s spent in the bathroom.

The door opens and a pajama clad Nico walks into the room. Her eyes open and she looks up at her boyfriend of two years. Nico takes two large steps toward her and crouches beside her. He rests a hand on her forehead.

“Temperature hasn’t changed,” she croaks. “I checked it when I woke up. Still over 101 but less than 102. It’s like 101.6 or something. I can’t remember right now. I think I’m throwing up my stomach at this point because I’m pretty sure there’s nothing left in there to actually throw up.”

Nico frowns and sits crisscrossed in front of her. “I think you should go to the emergency room, liebling,” he tells her. “Your fever hasn’t broken and you’re still throwing up even though there isn’t anything to throw up. I know you are still working too so maybe not being home would be a good thing.”

Her stomach knots up and she reaches for the toilet. Nico grabs her hair and holds it up for her as she throws up for what’s probably the twentieth time in three days. Her throat is so sore from the bile she’s puked up.

Tears prick her eyes when she flushes the toilet and sits back. “I hate being sick,” she cries to Nico. “I hate that I practically live on the bathroom floor.”

Nico brushes her tears away. “I know,” he replies. Nico pauses for a second. “I’m going to tell Keefe and Fitzy that I’m going to stay home for the roadie so you aren’t alone, okay? I’ll do interviews or whatever here if they want me to. I’ll work from home like you even though you shouldn’t be working at all.”

“Interns don’t know what they’re doing,” she mumbles.

“This is when you let them figure it out,” Nico laughs as he brushes her sweaty locks out of her face. “Let your department head take over until you get back. Working isn’t helping you get better, liebling. It’s keeping you from getting better. Stressing about work isn’t good for you when you’re sick.”

The worst part is that she knows he’s right. Working isn’t helping her get any better. Stressing about what the interns are doing isn’t helping anything.

She sighs and looks up at him. “I’ll call my boss and tell her that I can’t work until I get back in the office,” she tells Nico. “I guess I’ll let the interns destroy the social media.”

“Leave it alone,” Nico tells her with a smile. “Your boss is capable enough to cover it. They won’t destroy the social media. I’ll call your boss for you while you soak in a warm bath. No more worrying about work. You’re not working from home anymore. That’s me if they need me to do an interview or two while they go on the road.”

After she nods, Nico starts a warm bath for her in the tub while she slowly strips out of the disgusting clothes she’s been living in since the first day she got sick.

Nico helps her into the warm water, which feels good on her aching body. He leaves the room for a couple of moments. She sinks down until her chin is submerged. Her eyes close as she finally doesn’t feel like she has to throw up for the first time in three days.

She doesn’t realize that Nico came back until he sits her up and sinks down in the water behind her. “You’re going to get sick,” she mumbles. “If I was going to get sick then I would’ve gotten sick already. Let me take care of you, liebling. I’ve got you.”

He grabs a cup from the ground beside the tub that he must’ve brought in with him and leans her head back to wet her hair. She hums at how good it feels to have warm water on her scalp.

Nico washes and conditions her hair, with her instruction because she wants to at least make sure her hair is done right. He helps her clean her body. He’s very gentle with her since her entire body is aching with fever.

“Do you think you can eat something?” Nico asks. “I can make you toast or you can snack on some crackers.”

She shakes her head and leans back against Nico’s chest as she shuts her eyes. “Wanna sleep,” she mumbles. “So sleepy.”

Her body relaxes and she feels herself enter a daze. Until Nico gently shakes her awake. “Can’t sleep in the tub,” he tells her. “Let’s get you dressed and into bed. Maybe I’ll have something ready for you to eat when you wake.”

With a tired groan, she allows Nico to help her out of the tub and wrapped up in a towel. He helps her into their shared bedroom where he grabs one of his t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants for her to dress into.

As soon as her body hits the mattress and her head hits the pillows, she begins to drift off to sleep. Nico presses a kiss to her temple and mumbles, “Sleep well. We’ll try food when you wake up. I love you.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

When she wakes, it feels like she’s blinked. She feels only slightly better when her nap is over, but she looks over at her bedside table and finds a piece of unbuttered toast. It looks like it was recently put there. Something small to get in her stomach since she’s thrown up everything else she’s tried to eat.

There’s a voice coming from the other room so she goes to investigate when she’s done eating. She throws on one of the hoodies she borrowed from Nico and heads out into the living room of their apartment.

Nico looks back at her as he’s saying, “… a couple of days away from the team. I’m not hurt but my girlfriend is very sick and shouldn’t be left alone.” He pauses. “Yes, just put me on leave for personal reasons. Say I have to deal with a family emergency for a couple of days.” He pauses again and turns his back to her. “Yeah, I’ll be available for an interview or two once this is announced. I know a lot of people will have questions and I’m not afraid to answer any of them.” He pauses one last time. “Thank you. Let me know if I need to do any interviews or if I need to send out a statement.”

Then he hangs up the phone and turns back to her. “You got your leave?” she questions.

He nods. “Yeah,” he sighs. “They understood that I need to step away. I don’t want to be in California while you’re here sick. I want to make sure I’m here if something happens and you need to go to the hospital. It’s one thing if I’m playing in a homestand, it’s another if I go on a California roadie for a week.”

She frowns and is so exhausted and overwhelmed that tears form in her eyes. They roll down her cheeks and she does her best to wipe them away before Nico sees them, but it’s too late.

Nico walks up to her and wraps his arms around her. “I don’t deserve you,” she sobs. “I’ve been such a bad girlfriend recently and stressing you out because I’ve been stressing myself out. I haven’t been listening to anything that anyone is saying to me because I thought working was more important than resting and getting better.”

“This is why I’m here,” Nico tells her. “To help you out in moments like this. Remind you to take a break. Relieve some of that stress by telling your boss to take over your work until you get back and help you into the tub so you can soak.”

The tears don’t stop at Nico’s words. They only get worse and her sobs get louder because she’s so tired and overwhelmed.

Yet, he holds her the entire time she cries in the living room.

This is the reason she loves Nico. It’s never been a choice between her and hockey for him. He’s picked her over his career numerous times over the past two years or so. Even at her worst moments, like right now. He’s always stepped away from hockey to take care of her.

It’s what makes him a great captain too. He’s always putting his teammates above himself, no matter what team he’s on or what country he’s playing in. Their needs, their injuries, their illnesses. It’s no surprise to her that those qualities come into play in their relationship.

She finally stops crying after five minutes, and Nico never lets her go. She looks up at him and he dries her cheeks with his thumbs.

“I love you,” she tells him. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Nico kisses her forehead. “You seem a little cooler,” he says. “Are you feeling better?”

“I don’t feel like I have to throw up the toast yet,” she sighs. “Key word being ‘yet’ in that sentence.”

He laughs and suggests, “How about a movie and you can sleep if you want? Does that sound good?” She nods.

The pair go back into their bedroom. She curls up at Nico’s side as he finds something to watch on Netflix. She never finds out what he put on because she was back asleep before he picked something.

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

have a request ? check out the guidelines !!

wanna be added to the taglist ? fill out this form !!

taglist : @dasiysthings @ithinkimokeei @equallyshaw @dancerbailey3 @love4lando @stony1386 @mangoluver @prettyinsatiable @ivy-34 @bunbunbl0gs @marie7366 @naughty-box @memandi @rybabob @this-ass-is-eikonic @alwaysclassyeagle @auriesphantom @thestarrynightslover

[starlightsreigns]

daddy's home | d. priest

pairing: damian priest x black!oc (maya)

warning: 18+ nsfw! SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, unprotected sex, cnc (ish), minors, dni (please & thank u)

word count: 2125

note: sorry for any errors, wrote this in the middle of the night.

summary: maya misses her man more than anything, and her wish is always his command

5:30 pm - thursday

Maya lays sprawled out on the couch, exhausted from the day of work she had suffered. Her jet-black hair fluffed all over her face, flaring up whenever she took a deep breath. After sulking for a moment, she hoisted herself up to climb the stairs to take a shower. 

The water was warm against her tense muscles. As an ER nurse, she’d work 72 hours on then have the next four days off. She was thankful for the opportunity to wash away all the stress and forget about the responsibilities she’d have first day back at work. For the next 3 days, she planned on sleeping, online shopping, ordering in, watching TV, and masturbating… it was only unfortunate that her boyfriend was on the road, not coming home any time soon.

Being a wrestler who traveled a lot was never an issue for her. Maya understood because being on-call at the hospital made it hard for her to make solid plans or commit to anything. She and Damian just figured it out. They always figured it out. 

After her shower, Maya wrapped a towel around her body, sitting on the edge of her bed to grab her phone. A missed call from Damian was the first thing she saw when the screen lit up – a smile tugged on her lips as she returned the Facetime call. 

“Hi baby,” Maya smiled when the call connected. His hair was pulled back in the neatest ponytail, which drove her crazy. “I wish you were here, papi.” 

“Ah mi amor, I wish I was there with you too.” His deep, rough voice came through the phone. “I’m thinkin’ about you.” 

Maya rests her back against the mattress, holding up the phone so Damian can see her face and her chest as she slowly moves the towel to reveal her breasts. Damian didn’t say anything as he licked his lips at her actions. 

“I don’t think you miss me that much, daddy.” She purrs, teasing her nipples. 

“Cariña,” Damian’s voice is rough and she knows she’s got him exactly where she wants. “You killin’ me right now.” 

Nothing else comes out of her mouth as she lowers the camera to her exposed stomach, caressing the soft skin as she pushes the towel onto the ground. She angled the camera to give him the perfect view of her heat as she propped her legs up on the mattress. 

“God, I wish you were here,” Maya slowly arches her back as her fingers find their way between her now wet folds. “All I can do is think about you.”

 The gasp that leaves her lips is the final nail in Damian’s coffin. Hearing the way the moans fall out of her lips drives him insane. The way her fingers skillfully move keeps him in a trance as he palms himself through his shorts. 

As she reaches her climax, Maya stares up at the ceiling, chest heaving, “come home, daddy.”

It takes a second for Maya to come back down, but when she does, she flips onto her stomach to look at her boyfriend once again. 

“Eres una provocadora, Maya.” He smirks back at his girlfriend. “I can’t wait til I get my hands on you.”

“If you ever make it back home, I guess you will.” She rolls her eyes. 

Damian can sense her annoyance and rightfully so. He quietly watches as she sets up the phone on the dresser. Maya goes through her stuff, throwing on one of his T-shirts and a black thong. She twirls to give him a full view. Her boyfriend cheers making her laugh. 

“Okay baby, I’ll let you go, call me when you wake up in the morning?” 

He hums, “Of course, mi amor, I love you.”

9:30 am - friday

Maya yawned as she walked out of the bathroom, dropping back onto her bed. It was rare that she woke up this early, but her body naturally got her up. Her empty cup of coffee sat beside her and her hair was tied up in a ponytail. Her frustrations were mounting without Damian there. She was never this insatiable, ever, but here she was fighting urges like a teenager all over again. 

“Holy shit,” Maya groaned, flipping over to stick her face into a pillow. 

The pressure between her legs was becoming unbearable. One of her hands finds its way between her folds while she picks up her phone with the other. 

maya: baby, i wish you’d wake me up and fuck me senseless. 

damian: if i could be there mama, i’d do anything for your ass

maya: i’ve gotten myself off three times since yesterday. I can’t keep fucking doing this. 

damian: i’ll make it up to you, baby, i promise.

damian: just know, imma fuck you up when i see you. Only another week.

The knots in Maya’s stomach made it difficult for her to sit on the floor in front of her mirror. The T-shirt she wore the night before was discarded on the bed leaving her with with just the thong. Damian would describe her disheveled look as ethereal. Her black curly hair lay on her shoulders, her breast fully on display, with her right hand rubbing circles on her clit. Maya recorded the moment, throwing her head back in pleasure. Damian. The only word on her lips. She slowly inserted a digit in her soaking cunt, gasping while her eyes shut. Her brown skin was almost iridescent from the sunlight pouring into the room. And the sound of her wetness was both disgusting and indulgent, only causing her to add another finger, pumping in faster as she reached her orgasm. Maya could feel herself start to unravel and the only thing she could say as she came was her boyfriend’s name.

Yet, it wasn’t enough. Maya slumped to the side, groaning at the fact that what she just did was temporary until she would inevitably be horny again in an hour or two. She sends the video to Damian, locking her phone. Her next best option was to take a cold shower and a nap. 

12:15 pm - friday

The house was quiet when Damian unlocked the door. He had to get home when his girl needed him. So, he took a redeye home. Damian tried to remain as quiet as possible, leaving his stuff by the door, and moving towards the bedroom where Maya was asleep. He couldn’t contain his smile at the sight of her. She was sprawled on the bed, on her stomach, wearing nothing but a thong. Her hair covered her shoulders and part of her face. 

Damian shed his coat, leaving it on the ground as he moved towards the bed. Her text from earlier still ringing in his brain, coming to grant her wish. He removed the black T-shirt he was wearing. As he stood at the edge of the bed, Damian ran his hands over her soft skin, starting from her ankle, up her leg, over her perfectly round ass, and to her back. Maya doesn’t shift as her boyfriend caresses her. 

“mi hermosa amor,” He murmurs as he leans down lightly biting one of her ass cheeks. “Pura perfección, mi novia.”

Just staring at his girlfriend made it difficult for Damian to contain himself as his jeans tightened. He took off his jeans, reaching to easily rip her thong. His hand stroked his growing erection, not even knowing where to start with his girlfriend. Damian slowly got onto the bed, caressing the ass that he’s missed so much. To his surprise, she was soaking wet. He groaned to himself as he dragged a finger through the slick making his girlfriend shudder, yet still asleep. One finger slips in, causing Maya to let out the softest moan, Damian watches her face as she was fast asleep and adds another finger. Maya was holding on tightly as he pumped his fingers in out out, completely turned on by the situation. 

Unable to hold off any longer, Damian smacked her ass, positioning himself behind her, his tip dangerously close to her entrance. He hovers over her, pressing a kiss on her shoulder as he pushes into her. Maya’s face was pressed into the pillow, her breathing pick up as Damian bottomed out in her – they were skin to skin and he couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten how good his girlfriend felt around him. Just the way he was squeezing around his dick was enough to drive him insane. He wanted to milk the moment the way Maya was milking him at that moment. Damian pulled out and then slammed back into her, loving the sound that was created every time their skin came into contact with each other. He couldn’t hold off any longer, the slower pace was driving him insane. 

The pressure building inside Maya and the bed shaking is enough to wake her from her sleep, unable to contain the moan that fell from her lips. Damien chuckled at the confused look on her face, grabbing her by the neck so she can see him. 

“Daddy’s home, mi muñeca,” He growled into her ear as the moans fell out her parted mouth. “Look at you, ain’t this what you wanted, Maya?”

It was impossible to get a word out of her the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head but when Damian tightened the grip around her throat, she had to choke out an answer, “Y-yes daddy.” Maya trembled out. 

“Ass up,” Damien tapped on her ass, letting go of her throat so she can slump down onto the pillow. “Lemme give you what you been beggin’ for.” When her ass comes up, he grips her waist, slamming into her so hard that Maya can’t release a sound, but a whimper.

When his balls hit her clit with all that force, the moan finally frees itself from her throat and she can’t stop it from there. Maya grips the sheets until her knuckles turn white. Her neighbors are probably concerned by the way she couldn’t contain the nose coming out of her mouth. The pleasure created the thickest haze in her brain. 

“You look so fucking good, mama,” Damian groaned, pulling out quickly to flip Maya onto her back then moving her to the edge of the bed. He plows back into her before she can have the chance to whine about the loss of contact. He hooks her legs around her shoulder then leans down to capture her lips with his as he buries himself deep in her cunt. Everything leaves her breathless, unable to conjure up a single thought. The pace is steady, hitting her g-spot like the pro he is, over and over again. 

“Damian,” Maya groans, arching her back as she feels herself begin to unfold. “I’m gonna cum, I can’t–right there–” 

A groan leaves her mouth as he speeds up, cutting off her words, “Go ‘head, muñeca” His voice comes out gruff, not letting up even when her eyes roll back and her body goes numb. Maya could swear her lip was bleeding from how hard she bit on it. Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see anything but a bright light as Damian fucked her until his release, filling her deep. 

Maya, with all the strength she had left, pulled the older man on top of her, connecting their lips. She kisses him as though she hasn’t seen him in years unwilling to let him go. She didn’t realize when she started crying, but her emotions have had a mind of their own recently.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Damian was concerned, running his hand up and down her body wondering if he’d hurt her. 

“I’m just so happy you’re here, love, that’s all.” She murmurs against his neck. When Damian lays beside her, she shifts so she’s sitting on his lap, whining when his tip grazes her heat. “How’d you do it?” 

In their current position, Damian watched as his girlfriend massaged his chest, mindlessly grinding against his dick. Her eyes were locked on his and he was shocked by her insatiability. “I wanted to surprise you, I know we haven’t seen each other in a while and my baby seems a little… hornier than usual.” 

Maya shyly looks down, halting her motion, “I’m sorry if it’s too much, I don’t know where it came from.”

“No, don’t apologize baby, ever,” He lifts her chin to bring back their eye contact. “It’s sexy.” Damian grips her waist, restarting her motions. 

“How long are you home?” Maya questions, feeling his erection.

“All weekend, all for you, as many times as we can.” 

They both smile, falling into round two.

-

truly the most random thing that came to me in the middle of the night. well... until next time :)

[passivenovember]

thinking real hard about Billy and Steve finding each other years after they've settled into themselves.

Billy's gone to therapy and he lives in a little house on the shoreline. Steve makes it to California. Doesn't have the six nuggets, yet. He's working insane hours at a job that isn't very lucrative, but he never had to sell his soul to his old man--

So. Point is. They're happy. Content, almost.

And then they find each other.

--

Steve's burning a pot of water when the phone rings.

It's like a knife through the air. A thorn in his side, pain and annoyance ramping up to an 11 as he yanks the receiver from the wall. "Yeah, now's not a great time," He says, because the goddamn smoke alarm's gonna start wailing any second now, and Steve's neighbor is real trigger-happy when it comes to alerting the fire department. "Look, I'll call you--"

"--Why answer the phone?"

Steve would know Billy's voice anywhere, the rough and tumble drag of someone who used to live fast and hard but doesn't, anymore. "I," Steve says, "I don't--"

"--It's like. Why answer the phone if it's not a good time to talk?"

"I don't like being impolite."

Billy hums, smoke and lightning on the end of the line. "So, you weren't waiting for me to call?"

"No," Steve says. But he was. Has been since high school and all the weird, boring, disheartening years that followed until Billy appeared at the dive bar on Saturday. Like a vision. An angel.

"Damn. And here I was, taking a full 72 hours to figure out what I should say," Billy tells him.

Steve can hear a smile.

Aches to taste it, but-- "That's kinda lame, Hargrove."

"So what?"

"So. You're kinda lame, I guess."

Billy laughs at him, then, high and bright. It shoots confetti into Steve's kitchen, the curling tendrils nearly catching on fire as Steve comes back to himself. He pulls the pan of water and dumps it into the sink, killing the flame on the stove.

"Yeah, I'm a disaster. Maxine tells me all the time," Billy says, "It's just. How weird, y'know?"

"What? You?"

"No, you," Billy tells him, chuckling again. "Fell outta the sky, or something. Into a shitty dive bar."

"So did you--"

"--Fell outta my dreams."

"So did you," Steve says, and his stomach twists. Tumbles. Washing-machine guts still soiled with the bloody red spots of a decade-long crush.

"Huh. You're kinda forward, Harrington."

Steve shrugs, face burning. "Long as I'm not as lame as you are."

"Dude, I didn't say you weren't lame."

"Sure, you didn't."

Billy's next laugh Steve feels in his gut, heat pooling behind the thatch of curly down at his pelvis. "Still such a bitch, pretty boy."

"I'm just being honest. We aren't getting any younger, I'm not really interested in playing it cool, anymore."

Something rustles as Billy shifts his weight, "You were cool, once?"

"Ha-ha."

"I don't wanna play it cool, either," Billy tells him, as serious as a heart attack, "Look, can I be honest? You mind?"

Steve nods and then remembers Billy can't see him. "Go ahead."

"I can't stop thinking about you."

Steve peers through the kitchen window, trying to imagine Billy somewhere on the edge of town with sunlight in his hair. Smoking in bed, naked gold until the duvet pulls him under hips first.

"Harrington, I need to see you again."

"Need is kind of dramatic."

"Maybe I'm feeling dramatic."

"Thought this was honesty hour, Hargrove?"

"It is. Honestly? I wanna kiss you," Billy tells him. "At midnight. In the pouring rain because I was too chicken-shit to do it after our first date."

Steve focuses on not swallowing his tongue. Damn near fails. "Was that a date?"

"No, it was bigger. It was the stars aligning, the start of--"

"--God, you are feeling dramatic."

"When can I see you?"

"I dunno," Steve says, fiddling with the lip of the sink, "When are we expecting rain?"

"Not sure."

Steve can hear his smile. Aches to sink into the softness. "I need a window to commit."

"Tonight. I'll make it rain."

Steve snorts, light as air. "You're crazy."

"I've had ten years to plan for this, Steve."

"Alright, lemme--" Steve pads over to the refrigerator, peering at his Kittens and Firefighters calendar. May is covered in birthdays, vacations, late nights at work, and roll-over plans from April, all hacked into the cardstock in striking red.

Steve groans and flips to June. "--Can you still make it rain in a month?"

"A month," Billy demands, "Fuck. You're hot shit but I didn't think--"

"--I have a full-time job. And friends who want to hang out when I'm not at work, but since I use all my energy at work I cancel on them, and things get moved around and--"

"--You can't make an exception for the guy who wants to eat you out?"

The pages of the calendar flutter, May settling heavy in the room. Steve swallows and his throat clicks. "Uh. My friends--"

"--Aren't gonna eat you out."

"They would. If I asked them to, at least one of them would."

"I'm not really loving that idea, pretty boy," Billy says, teasing. "What about over a lunch break?"

"You want to eat my ass over a lunch break?" Steve snorts, "I'm not a hooker."

"What's wrong with--"

"--I'm not," Steve says, "And even if I was, I'm not cheap. You couldn't afford the hour, and we'd need more than that, anyway."

"What about a sleep over?"

"A sleepover?" Steve says, turning from the refrigerator. "Like, where I come over to your house and stay until the morning?"

"Or I come over to yours, yeah."

"But--"

"Actually, let's do yours. Maxine's place is getting fumigated, so she and Lucas are staying in the guest house."

"You have a guest house?" Steve doesn't remember mention of that during their first date, but. He was distracted.

Billy laughs, "Bet I could afford your hour, pretty boy."

"I thought," Steve says, twirling the phone cord around his hand, "In high school, I remember you telling Becky Gordes that you don't do sleepovers."

"I'm gay."

"Okay, but what about Eddie Munson? The whole school thought you were fucking him, did he ever sleep--"

"--No, my dad would've killed both of us," Billy tells him, and. Something in his voice makes Steve's blood run cold. Makes him believe it.

So he shifts gears, "But. Don't you have work tomorrow?"

"Who said anything about a sleepover tonight," Billy says. Steve imagines the look on his face. Shit-eating grin bright and sharp and beautiful as always. "Unless you want me to come over tonight?"

"I never said that."

"I can work wherever I want. I don't have to go in at all, if I don't want to."

Steve pads over to his junk drawer, digging around for a red pen. "What does Saturday look like for you?" He bites the cap off, holding it like a straw in the curl of his tongue.

Billy laughs, "I thought you said you weren't free until next month?"

Steve chews on the cap for a moment, pen shaking over the cardstock surface of his calendar. He imagines Billy like he was that night. Different but exactly the same. Charming and soft in a way that only comes from the toil of regeneration. Years and years shedding skin.

He'd been funny and smart. Quick wittted.

Sweet. Like cotton fuckin' candy.

Steve remembers not wanting the date to end, not believing that the universe would give him Billy with no strings attached and laying awake that night, hoping Billy would call, and that they'd get their chance, and now--

"Shit. What the fuck am I doing?" Steve asks, but it comes out garbled and messy and wrong. Comes out sounding like, she whale the food ham ding dong.

Billy laughs at him, again, anyway. "What?"

Steve spits the pen cap onto the counter. "You really want to eat me out tonight?"

"Damn--"

"--Because. I was too fucking stupid to realize what was happening between us in high school. Or. What was happening to me when I saw you in high school, and this is important to me," Steve says in a rush. Fuck being subtle, right? "We're not getting any younger. And I haven't slept with anyone for a long time, much less someone who I've wanted for as long as I can remember, so if you're going to come over here and fuck me--"

"Or talk," Billy says gently. "We could talk more. Get to know each other."

Steve listens to the static on the other end of the line.

"I want to get to know you again, Steve," Billy says.

And Steve cracks. Like a bowl in the microwave, curdling under pressure and heat. "Alright, just. Do you have a pen and paper?"

"For what?"

"My address," Steve says, leaning against the sink, "I want to get to know you, too."

"Tonight," Billy asks, digging around for something.

"Tonight," Steve says. "What the hell."

"Great."

"You've got something to write with?"

"Yeah," Billy says, sounding like he's barely holding it together. "Yeah, just. Whenever you're ready."

--

That night, after, just as Steve falls asleep in Billy's arms--

It rains.

[azaharinflames]

Have you read the alternate synopsis? Has your spec changed at all? I think Lou will be in both 17 and 18 now.

I was online only for a bit this weekend, but I got myself up to date! Ngl, Nonnie, I thought I wouldn't miss much (being the weekend and all), but alas. Murphy's law, I guess.

It's changed, but in the sense that now I have it on 50-50.

Also, forgive me if my thoughts are all over the place. I haven't slept more than eight hours during this whole weekend (as in, eight hours in 72 hours), so my head is a bit jumbled. Anyway.

I think Buck's storyline this next episode could potentially have to do with his professional life, more than his personal (something even Oliver teased a while back). The spec I've already seen of Gerard, perhaps trying to recommend Buck for Captain is not impossible, and I think it could make Buck wonder if taking over Captaincy is following what Bobby wanted of him (as in, taking care of everyone). I do think that the highest possibility is that he ends this storyline deciding to give it up for Hen, but we'll see.

In this context, I can't help but picture Buck talking to Tommy about it, and then Tommy opening up about Bobby, in the way Lou has teased. But I do wonder how that could work with the situation they are currently in.

I will say, I think there is a big possibility that whatever we see in 817, it will be interrupted by the big emergency, and we won't see full resolution until 818. That's why I still think the reconciliation will be in 818. But hey, if they get back together in 817 I'll be more than happy lmao.

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

Valentine's Day...Gifts They Give You?? I Think. IDK.

HAH SCHOOL CAN KICK MY BUTT BUT BY GOD AND THE DEVIL WILL I SHARE A LITTLE BIT OF LOVE!! (I'm suffering Jesus fucking CHRIST this course is gonna eat my fried up brain for breakfast lunch and dinner) This is done assuming they're pining for Yuu, save for Ortho he's Idia's little wingman. GN reader as always bbssssssssss if anything seems canon divergent, check out my HCs lmao

Heartslaybul Ace: He thought about making it super romantic, like he spent the week leading up to Valentine's day brainstorming ideas on napkins and doodling on scrap paper, trying to come up with a way to ask to hang out that would make it feel different than normal, but not so obvious that he...you know, likes you. He ends up showing up at Ramshackle before class with a box of chocolates he bought the day before and a bit of a blushing mess. "I just got these because who knows how much Sam will have by the end of today, you owe me half, ok?"

Deuce: He absolutely called his mom to ask for some advice, and asked his dorm mom (Trey), to proofread the hand written note he had meticulously written and supervise while he tries to make a heartshaped quiche. Why quiche? Well he knows you guys have...Memories about eggs, and he remembers it fondly, and he knows that quiche freezes well, so if he makes a big batch, you can eat what you want and have a readily available breakfast to just pop back in the oven whenever you want it - hopefully you'll remember him each time you do, and you'll ask for more when you finish it! He ends up at Ramshackle a little disheveled and out of breath, trying to make the quiche early enough in the day that he could make it there before breakfast so maybe you could share a meal before class. "It's still warm??" "Yeah, I ran here as fast as I could once it was cool enough to handle." "You didn't have to..." "I wanted to! You're more than worth the effort it took to be here on time." Trey: Mans has a major advantage in that he is great in the kitchen, but he can't just make your favourite dessert. He can do that any day. No, for weeks ahead of time, he plans, makes, tests, and revises a new recipe, something that is unique and meant to be for you. It's more effort than he normally puts into his work, but it's so worth it when he shows up at Ramshackle in the evening to deliver his gift and a small note, though he gets shy. He leaves it on the front door step, knocks once, and moves to hide by the side of the house, relying on Grim's nose to bring you to the door if you didn't hear him knock. Seeing the way your face go from confusion to joy and excitement as you read the note is worth every moment he spent crouching. He knows tomorrow you'll want to talk to him in person, but for now, that's more than enough for him.

Cater: Consumerism Capital lmao. He has a really sweet, genuine gift to give to you, but the time he's spent with his sisters makes him second guess whether or not something is "good enough". So, yes, he will have spent 72 hours painting a fucking masterpiece on a phone case for you, or a pair of shoes you said you wanted, or a skateboard so you guys can skateboard together, or something you mentioned you wanted offhandedly months ago, but he's not sure if it's enough, so to "make up" for his "shitty handmade gift", he buys a shit ton of Valentine's day merchandise! He shows up with the giant teddy bear, the bouquet of flowers, the chocolates, the sappy movies, a trending perfume and some sort of specialty drink he picked up at a cafe. Depending on your reaction to all that stuff, he might actually give you the gift he worked on, otherwise you'll see it by accident or something and he gets embarrassed and a little flustered because What If You Don't Like It, Isn't Everything Else Better Than That Thing I Worked On Specifically For You. Treat him gently please. That's a personal request slkdjfhlskdjf

Riddle: He's new to this. So of course he researched long and hard on how to best express his interest in you without trying to push anything on you. Cater tried to show him cute stuff on social media, but it all seemed so scripted, disingenuous, or so over the top he couldn't see himself doing it that way. Or on the other end - they were couples, well into their relationships and living together- that wasn't where he was with you, at least....not yet. He ends up watching, reading and listening to tutorials on how to put together the perfect bouquet - his beloved rose garden would have more than an aesthetic use now, and with a little magic, a beautiful gradient came easily to the bunch of roses he arranged beautifully. Before you, this holiday just seemed ridiculous. Maybe it still was, but he would indulge if it meant it brought a smile to your face.

Savannaclaw

Jack: He can't be direct for the life of him, not in terms like this. The night before Valentine's day, he's still stumped on what to do for you that won't be...inherently romantic and obvious, but show that he cares about you!! His eyes end up settling on his little cactus and he ends up finally getting an idea. Somehow after class, but before you got home, he managed to gift you your own tiny cactus. He left it sitting in a box, a small knitted coaster of sorts sitting underneath the flower pot - he put it in the box just so that the yarn wouldn't snag on the uneven wood outside of Ramshackle- and a tiny cowboy hat sitting on top of your cactus. It had been from one of his little siblings dolls that ended up in his bag from the last time he'd gone home, but either they didn't even notice it was gone, or he could get them a replacement later.

Ruggie: "Do you have plans for Valentine's day?" "Yep. Wait for it to be over." He doesn't really care for Valentine's day, but the sale that starts on the 15th? Goddamn, yeah, he's gonna capitalize on that....and he might even like you enough to share a little bit of it...maybe while watching a movie....and snuggling up under the same blanket at Ramshackle...that he may or may not have snagged from Leona's pile of Really Nice blankets....all it takes is for you to say you want some chocolate or treats too.

Leona: He really doesn't care for Valentine's day and all the shit that comes with it, but his sister in law asked him to at least try to make the best of the day. Initially, he was going to...at least try to contest it, but ultimately decided there was a simple way to do it. He ends up firing you a quick text to meet him in the greenhouse. While the way he pulls you into his little nest for napping is rather unceremonious, once you've settled he tucks a pink camellia behind your ear before abruptly telling you he's going to sleep and you're welcome to join him or you can get out of there if you want. He hopes, that just maybe, you'll be able to identify the flower he gave you and find out what it means.

Octavinelle

Floyd: Azul is making him work overtime for Valentine's day, he doesn't get up early enough to do anything Before classes, and by the end of his shift he's EXHAUSTED and MAD. He likely has the wherewithall to bring you a serving from the special menu in a takeout container before flopping down on the couch next to you, then onto you, just looking for a little bit of physical affection. The next day he does feel a little bad for not making you feel as special as he could have, so he'll wake you up with breakfast in bed. Jade: Again, he's been working overtime but he was more ready for Valentine's day than Floyd. While he can't take you anywhere on the day of, he has an easy hike and picnic planned for the weekend if you'll join him. Despite being in the wild outdoors, he's determined to make you a dish that would be worthy of serving at the lounge. He will not handle being asked to stay home very well, but ultimately will if you want that more....but it's going to be in your backyard.

Azul: He had so much on his plate leading up to Valentine's day with marketing, organizing shifts and maximizing profit. But, some of that profit was already planned to be set aside specifically for you. It was about time that you got a bit of a leg up, right? I mean working for Crowley can only pay so much, and he's the head of the dorm that represents generosity anyways. So on the day after Valentine's day, he shows up in the evening with a laptop, and envelope with cash, and a grin, ready to show you the wonders of ✨investing✨. He may have forgotten you still...want to go home. He'll backtrack a bit and offer to help you find contractors that will renovate a part of Ramshackle for you.

Scarabia

Jamil: He didn't even bother trying to plan something for himself with you. How could he? It was a holiday, as ridiculous as it was, it meant that Kalim would inevitably want to celebrate it on the dorm level, and Jamil, of course, would have to plan and organize and arrange everything in order to make it work out. However, that didn't mean he wouldn't make sure to invite you. It didn't mean that he wouldn't make the time to ensure your favourite dish was served. Or that your favourite song would come on during the dance party portion of the celebration. Or that he wouldn't check on you just as, if not more frequently than he did on Kalim to make sure you're enjoying yourself. And if you're not, if it's all too much, he accounted for that already and will show you where you can stay until you feel okay again. Of course, if you show up an hour or two early and demand (you can't ask, he'll say no) to be given a task to lighten his burden, he might just admire you a little bit more (even if he still says no).

Kalim: Valentine's Day means partayyyyy time!! There's gonna be food, and dancing, and games, and lots of people, and live music because he, Cater, and Lilia are gonna perform, won't you come see him?? He needs you there so he can perform the best he ever has!! Come on Yuu, please??? They did actually practice, because they had to change a few lyrics so that it could be a better cover for Valentine's day and he was thinking of you when they modified it, so can you pleeeeeeeease come?

Pomefiore

Epel: He isn't sure whether he wants to continue a tradition he had from home or not, where he would show up at school with handmade lollipops and give them out to people....but his class at primary school was soooo much smaller, it wouldn't make sense to do it here for everyone. Not to mention, he usually had his grandma help him make them, he's never done it on his own. He likely does it for all the first years in his little friend group because he doesn't want to be obvious to anyone person that maybe...he likes them a little more...however your lollipop is the only one that seems to have no imperfections. Funny how that worked out.

Rook: Screw your alarm clock, he knows when you wake up anyways and will be outside your window, serenading you until you wake up. Even if you end up rolling out of bed lookin like a sewer rat and peaking out the window, once he knows you're awake he'll start reading poetry to you. He kinda just lingers until you're done getting ready enough to come great him outside, where he gives you a single rose and a few sheets of paper that he's written his poems about you on. He'll kiss the back of your hand and offer to escort you to class. ** I just want to say, for as much as I gripe about Rook in other posts, I genuinely believe that if he knew or found out you had no Valentine, no plans, and nobody treated you, he would, by the end of the day, at least have left a rose and handwritten note on in front of your door apologizing for not having asked to be your Valentine earlier and going through and complimenting you, though the note is completely anonymous. Rook is a bleeding heart (hehe Snow White ref) and regardless of his feelings for you/your feelings for him, he wants to make sure Valentine's day is positive for you.

Vil: Ugh, Valentine's day. It's a tacky, meaningless holiday that corporations push for the sake of profit. He agrees to model stuff still, sure, he has to in order to try and keep up with Neige, but he hates it. He gets his nails done so that they are jet black. Part of him wants to go goth for the day, but really that would be an overreaction to something so minor. He rejects any Valentine's day gifts, and likely won't want to do anything special, so if anything, you get to see a slightly out of character Vil as he either facetimes you to make sure you've been drinking water today and rant about the industry and how it's ruined Valentine's day, or. You send him a really cheesy gif wishing him a happy Valentines day and he very reluctantly replies, but tells you to never do that again (and it segues into Above).

Ignihyde

Idia (+ wingman/little shit Ortho): Ortho didn't really intend to snoop, but his big brother just left his phone out in the open...well he threw it onto his bed and mumbled something about being a loser. According to Ortho's analysis of Idia's phone, he hadn't been on a mobile game, so what got him so worked up? He sifted through until he found the culprit- the draft of a really sweet...and yeah, kinda cringey message he had written out addressed to the prefect of Ramshackle. Eugh he didn't need to read that...but...but Yuu should. He sends the message for Idia right before his brother comes back into the room, mumbling about how he needs to delete something. His eyes go wide as saucers as he sees not only has the message been sent, but the prefect has read it and is replying in that very moment. Idia reprimands Ortho immediately, but gently until the Prefects response comes through and Ortho confirms the tone is positive. Diasomnia lord help me it's one in the morning

Sebek: Wasn't going to do anything until Lilia mentioned...."exaggerated"...just how important Valentine's Day can be to humans. His decision to try and come up with a last minute gift only amplifies if he sees someone else give Yuu a gift, and ultimately decides with a certain degree of defeat just to buy something from Sam's shop. He decides something practical is best, but gets a little distracted around the candles. Surely in Ramshackle you would appreciate something small, aromatic and it even offers a small bit of heat! He decides to go through with it, but it's only noon, surely he can customize it a bit more before the end of the day. Lilia ends up walking into Sebek's room at around 10:30, only to see him struggling to stay awake as he wipes off paint from the lid. Based on the discarded tissues around, he hasn't been satisfied with any customizations he's tried to make. Lilia gently encourages him just to write a quick note, and he'll deliver it to the prefects doorstep for him so he can get to sleep. Sebek insists it's not perfect, but is forced to accept defeat as Lilia ushers him to bed, reassuring him that the prefect will still appreciate it.

Silver: He knows that he struggles to stay awake, so he starts on his project long before Valentine's day so that he can work on it whenever he has the wherewithall to do so. Come Valentine's day, he has the gift with him during class, and ends up sitting outside of Ramshackle, passed out next to the door waiting for you to show up so he can hand you his gift, which turns out to be a dagger. No, he didn't make it, but he wanted to research the best option for someone of your size and stature, the quality, where to purchase it reliably, to make a small write up on how to care for it properly, what it can and should be used for, and activities it's not suggested to use it for, but you technically "can". It also gives him an excuse to come see you more often to teach you how to use it- often teaching someone is a great way to learn and will add another layer to his training. Lilia: He's been around for so many Valentine's Days, he probably knew the fucking saint it was named after. That being said, he loves to make the most of life, and that doesn't stop here! Get ready for a home cooked meal, you don't have to worry about dinner tonight sweetheart, Lilia's got it covered. Or he'll pay for take out. Or both, to make up for the mess in your kitchen.

Malleus: He's been aware of the holiday for years, but has never really had a reason to celebrate it. But now there's someone who isn't scared of him. Someone who, perhaps if he asked, you would allow him to spend time with you. He ends up daydreaming about the activities the two of you could do together, from making gargoyles to learning to make ice cream together, he ends up spending the entire day like that. Though he's a bit frustrated at his loss of time, he writes out a heartfelt letter to invite you to join him in those activities at a later date. He'll either wait for you outside, or if its too late in the night, simply slide the letter under your door.

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

I was gonna do Che'nya and Neige and even Rollo but its. its way too late, I'm hungry and I have a STATS class tomorrow RIP me.