#i know everybody knows that but it bears repeating

[xoshepard]

me seeing news about bad things happening to execs in automotive companies: >:)

me remembering that the automotive industry is paying my bills for at least the next year and a half: oh shit i mean :(

[ylangelegy]

is it casual now? (teaser) 🫀 seungcheol x reader.

★ seungcheol x makeup artist!f!reader. ★ teaser word count: ~8,000 ★ genre/warnings: mdni. 18+ content. situationship/friends with benefits, light angst, use of pet name ('love'). soft dom!seungcheol, making out, biting/marking, protected sex. let me know if i missed anything! ★ footnotes: this has been on my backburner for months. it's admittedly a full-blown story in need of hard editing, and so i'm posting this in hopes of bullying myself into working on the whole thing. should it come down to it, though, i like to think this can stand on its own. enjoy. <3

Seungcheol has been in the industry long enough to know that everybody had vices.

Trainees, rookies, veterans. It didn't matter. There were dangerous, risky vices. Alcohol, drugs, smoking. There was dating, too, of course. Dating fans, dating fellow idols.

Seungcheol didn't do drugs. He smoked socially, but he would rather not. And he drank, sure, but never to an unhealthy amount. Dating, however—

Did it really count when there was only really ever one person he treated like a vice?

You've been in his life since the group debuted. Nine years, give or take. And then, at one point, he just... tried something with you. And it clicked, fell into place, and now you've been sneaking around for the better half of three years. It's the one place Seungcheol feels like he can breathe, can get away. But it's also the biggest secret he's kept.

You're his makeup artist, after all.

When the two of you started off, you both insisted on nothing serious. To 'keep it casual'.

That worked perfectly for Seungcheol. He likes to think it's still working for him, as he raps at the door of your apartment and waits for you to open up. His wristwatch says that it's midnight, but it doesn't matter. He knocks a little louder, growing a touch impatient.

You open the door, and you're greeted with Seungcheol looking reproachful. "Yah," he chides. "Why haven't you been answering my texts?"

When you rub your eyes with the back of your hands and look over your shoulder to glimpse at your wall clock, Seungcheol almost feels apologetic. Almost. “Cheol,” you say exasperatedly, slowly. “It’s the middle of the night.” 

"So you were sleeping then, hmm?" Seungcheol says. The corner of his lips tilt up, just slightly. He leans against the doorframe, taking a brief amount of time to glance you over. As he does, a small wave of tiredness finally washes over him— just how late had he kept himself up working on new music? "I sent you texts hours ago."

"You didn't even read them." He reaches up, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He sighs, the sound almost exaggerated. "How cruel of you."

You let out a low hum at Seungcheol’s fingers brushing against your skin. “Mmm, I fell asleep with my phone in my hand,” you admit, the words coming out more like a soft sigh than anything else.

You seem to finally drag yourself out of your sleepy state to give Seungcheol a once-over. He knows it shows all over— the exhaustion in his eyes, his stance. He’s tired, and you can tell. You’ve always been able to tell. 

You step aside a bit and he takes that as his cue. Seungcheol moves past you, a small hum in the back of his throat. He toes off his shoes and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. In spite of himself, the moment he's inside, he reaches for you. 

One arm is loosely slung over your shoulders, pulling you in close. He rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose against your neck.

"You fell asleep..." he gripes. "Do you know how many texts I sent you? I sent five.” 

“Five”” you repeat as you bear Seungcheol’s weight. Your hand instinctively raises to stroke the base of his hair behind his neck, and he thinks he could melt then and there— your soothing touch, your light tone. “Oh, how ever will you live?”

Seungcheol huffs into the crook of your neck. The feel of your fingers in his hair does wonders to combat the tired, stressed part of himself. Slowly, his shoulders relax, and he sighs, the sound long and deep.

"Don't get snarky with me," he mutters. But there's no bite to it at all, just a quiet sense of contentment in his voice. "You could've at the very least read the messages." He moves, presses a kiss to your neck. "Would've taken ten seconds."

“I was asleep,” you protest, but— whether or not you notice— your head is tilting around a bit to press a lingering kiss on to the side of his face.Seungcheol's stomach flutters. You're sweet like that. Always have been, always will be. He hums under his breath at the kiss, his hand that's on your shoulder moves up to cup your cheek.

“That’s my penance,” you say drowsily. 

"One kiss isn't nearly enough," he tells you. 

He pulls back from your shoulder to look at you, now. The eye contact, the way he regards you, has a more focused weight. He takes a moment to look you over again— hair mussed, face still flushed faintly from sleep. "Two,” he says in a tone that brokers no argument. 

“Greedy,” you mumble, but both of you know it doesn’t matter. 

Not when your free hand finds purchase at his side and you use your fingers in his hair to pull him down so you don't have to stand on your tiptoes. Not when you press your lips together into a kiss that's soft and sweet, almost sleepy.

All it takes is the sound of your voice for Seungcheol to be pulled in— when you tug at his hair, he follows, his chest against yours. He bends down, his own hands coming up to the sides of your face.

He melts against your mouth, his eyes closing in an instant. But it’s done as quickly as it started. You pull away, your face still inches away from Seungcheol’s, as you smilingly mumble to him, “There. Two kisses.” 

His eyes open again once you pull away, his grip on your face tightening just slightly. "Three," he mutters back, and then he leans back in. 

You hum against his mouth, the sound breaking free from the back of your throat. You’re both so tired from your respective work and it shows in the kiss. No heat, no fire. Your tongue swiping over his lip makes Seungcheol hum, quiet and low in his throat. He's usually so used to being the one who takes control, making the first move, but here with you, in the early hours of the morning— there's something else to it.

He pulls you closer against him, his hands moving down to your hips. Against your mouth, he murmurs, "Four," before his tongue slips in, just to get a taste. Just to linger, just to savor, but not take over.

“Cheol,” you huff, though your reprimand is tempered by the way Seungcheol is intent on keeping the kiss going. “You’re— mmph— being greedy—” 

"Five—" he sighs against your mouth. "Let me be greedy a second more."

One of his hands moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling up in your hair. This is what he likes, this is what he always comes to you for. Something that's simple. This, he can deal with. This, he can handle.

It’s never a second more with Seungcheol. He’s always out the door when he can go, when he has to. He’s never been a glutton for time, and so it’s enough for you to sense that something is wrong. 

You break away from him. 

Seungcheol has to resist a whine when you pull back, his eyes fluttering open in a daze. Your hand has moved to his face and you’re looking up at him with a small frown and a quiet query. “Long week?” 

He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, the hand in your hair loosening its grip, fingers just idly combing through the strands.

He glances at your face— the furrow of your brow, the hint of concern in your eyes— and it makes him sigh. He turns his head to press a soft, quick kiss to your palm.

"Long year," he corrects.

You look like you want to say more. Seungcheol almost begs you not to. This— whatever the two of you have— it’s an outlet that won’t break him, won't ruin him, won't tarnish him or the group's name. He just wants— he needs—

You know exactly what he needs, even if he doesn’t always know himself. “How do you want your fifth kiss?” you ask instead of commenting on his obvious fatigue. 

Your question makes Seungcheol's head empty out in an instant.

It takes him a moment to think, to consider. His mind, hazy and tired as it is, struggles to come up with an adequate answer. All he knows is that he's comfortable, that he's tired, that you're here. And that's all he really needs, in the end.

He lets his hand fall from your hair, to the nape of your neck. "... Soft," he murmurs. "Soft and easy."

You’re back up on your tiptoes to give him what he asked for. A sweet, slow press of your lips against his. It’s a kiss that lovers give each other, even though you’re the furthest from that. 

It's easy, easy, easy for him to fall into the kiss just like that, a shudder running down his spine when your tongue doesn't invade him. It's sweet, it's chaste, it's simple. It's exactly the kind of kiss he needs after a week of work.

His hand on your neck moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. He breaks away for a mere second, a fraction of a beat, to catch his own breath, but he kisses you right back after. 

"Six," he whispers desperately. "Again."

This time, you laugh against his mouth— a slightly muffled sound, not any less amused— but you give in, still. When you separate for air again, one of your hands rests on his chest to keep him away. “You have to let me breathe, Cheol,” you huff. 

Seungcheol has to resist groaning outright when your palm on his chest keeps him from coming in for another kiss. You're adorable like this, in the middle of the night, with sleep in your eyes and annoyance in your voice.

He knows he's being needy, taking advantage, but at the same time? It's all he seems to be able to do. Greedy, he hears you call him, and it's true.

"I'll let you breathe when I get my seventh kiss, then," he grumbles.

He can see the annoyance blooming on your expression, but he’s saved by one thing and one thing alone: The fact that you can get pretty greedy sometimes, too, especially when Seungcheol was involved. 

"Fine," you say haughtily, feigning annoyance. "Just one more kiss."

Seungcheol's eyes glimmer with something akin to mischief. His hands move to your face again, his own lips curving up in a smirk. You give him an inch, he wants a mile. It's his style. "One more kiss. That I can work with."

He brushes a thumb over your cheek again, his grip in your hair loosening only to brush some stray strands away from your face. "Only fair that I get to pick the way, then," he says, his tone low.

He's going to make the most of this opportunity, and you're letting him.

His tongue darts out briefly to lick over his bottom lip. "Open your mouth."

When you let out a noncommittal hom and oblige, parting your lips, he knows he’s gone. Seeing the obedience in your face makes Seungcheol's stomach do a little bit of an excited flip. You're like this, this, even when you're tired, when you're barely awake.

It's a little addicting.

"Good," he says softly. It's all the warning you get before he's got his mouth on yours again.

He kisses you— devours you, his tongue parting your lips, sliding into your mouth, taking. The kiss is almost bruising and seems to throw you off balance, but you quickly recover by pressing flush against Seungcheol and holding the sides of his arms. If he were a better person, Seungcheol would let this be the last one. Would let this kiss end and call it a night. 

But then the smallest of sounds escape you. A whimper, a soft noise that only makes all sense fly right out of Seungcheol's head. It's not fair, he thinks, that you still have a hold on him even in the middle of the night.

All it makes him do is pull you closer— press you up against the wall with his entire body, his hands still gripping your face as he kisses you deep. Harder than he usually would, rougher than he normally did.

He swallows the sound, his tongue still in your mouth.

Your fingernails are pressing into his biceps now. Your tongue is sinking into his lower lip; not quite biting, but enough to drag his focus away for a moment. "Seung," you sigh, and it’s like music to his goddamn ears. 

He was Choi or Seungcheol when he was in your makeup chair. Cheol, when it was just the two of you. But Seung was something different entirely. 

A small moan, low and quiet, gets caught in Seungcheol's throat when you bite into his lip, when you whine out his name like that. He knows what it means when you call him like that— knows what he's in for.

He relishes in it. In moments like these when he gets to be like this. When he doesn't have to be responsible, when he doesn't have to be a leader. He gets to be just Seung.

There isn't a single part of his body that's not on fire right now, not when he's got you pinned against the wall, not when you're all satin and soft against him. His grip on your face tightens, and now his lips are no longer on your mouth, but on your jaw, moving down to your neck, your throat.

A quiet, needy little ah falls out your lips when he nips at that spot on your pulse point, and there, there is exactly when he knows that he's got you exactly where he wants you. Pinned by his body, shaking and shivering like he's touching you for the first time.

If he was feeling a little less riled up, a little less needy, he'd keep up the teasing. But he can't, not now. His hands move from your face to your hips, moving under the satin of your pajamas. It's not enough, never enough.

Every sound that leaves your mouth, every little please, just, already sets a fire in his brain. Every part of his mind turns to static, white noise, as he keeps his lips on your throat, your neck, biting and nipping at your skin.

“Seung,” you hiss, your hands flying to his shoulders as you press your back on to the entryway wall, willing yourself not to crumple. “I’m going to get a noise complaint again—”

“I'll pay the fine,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips against your collarbone now, his hands still on your hips. His brain is starting to grow fuzzy, his thoughts less coherent, but this was the goal.

To get you like this. Soft and shaking and desperate. To make you his for the night, for just a little while. To hold some sort of control over something in his life.

“You can't just keep paying for— ah— the fines,” you’re babbling. “They're going— t-to kick me— Seung, fuck!"

Whatever you’re trying to say dies out when Seungcheol nips at your warm skin. The rational part of him, somewhere deep, deep inside, knows that you're right. He can't keep paying your fines for complaints of loud music and loud sex.

The part of him that's currently working on painting a bruise on your collarbone doesn't seem to care all that much.

"I'll pay," he repeats, between leaving a few more marks on your skin for good measure. "As many times as I have to—"

“Jesus Christ,” you cuss, your chest heaving as Seungcheol’s hand moves higher and higher up your shirt. “My neighbors are so fucking sick of me, and it’s all your fault.”

“My fault?” Even through the haze in his head, Seungcheol can't help the low scoff that he lets out. He wants to say that he couldn't care less about your neighbors— wants to say that your pretty mouth makes up for the noise, but something else catches his attention. The brush of his fingers on bare skin. 

His eyes go wide, his brain suddenly clearing.

"You're not wearing anything underneath your pajamas," he deadpans, his voice coming out in a low drawl.

Of course, that adds up. You hadn’t been expecting Seungcheol, after all, so he can’t blame you for foregoing the underclothes. Still, it only stokes the growing flame in the base of his stomach. Especially when you move your head back against the wall so you’re looking right up at Seungcheol, the ghost of a smirk on your face. 

“Wanna check for yourself?” you taunt. 

A low groan falls out of Seungcheol's mouth as soon as you ask that. Like clockwork, his hands go to the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up slightly. Just a little bit, just to see if you're really not wearing anything beneath.

"You always like to tease," he says, his voice low. That hint of a smirk on your face is only serving to drive him that much crazier. "Go on, then. Show me, since you want to act all cocky."

You give him half an eye roll that’s more affectionate than anything else before reaching over to the back of your pajama collar. You pull the top over your head in one deft, swift movement. Seungcheol's eyes go wide for just a moment, taking in the sight of you, undressed, in front of him. It never stops shocking him, never stops making his heart thump a little harder, his breath coming out a little more labored.

“Happy?” you half-joke, your voice low. 

He looks at you, up and down, before his eyes go back to your face. His hands move from your hips to your waist, fingers tracing over the sides of your chest as he shakes his head.

"Not yet," he says. "But I will be."

His hands keep tracing over your skin, his touch light— almost feathery, as he keeps his eyes fixed on your face. There's something about seeing you so exposed like this that's driving him absolutely insane, something about you being entirely at his mercy that's making his eyes grow dark.

He leans in, bringing his lips just past your ear. "Turn around," he murmurs, almost like a command.

He sees how you swallow hard, how you take in the familiar darkness in Seungcheol’s gaze. You know him, have known him for years, and that comes with trust. Unflinchingly, you twist around in his arms to press your chest against the wall. 

He has you practically trapped, all against his chest and the wall. His eyes look at you up and down, taking in your bare shoulders and back, the way you've submitted to him so perfectly.

His hands go to your hips again, and his eyes look over your back, following the line of your bare spine. "What do you say we find a use for this wall besides me just pushing you up against it," he murmurs. "Hm?"

“Yes, please,” you whimper, and as soon as you agree, Seungcheol's hands tighten on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he pulls you a little closer to him. You're not going anywhere, not when he's got you like this.

He leans in, his body practically pressing up against your back, his chest against your skin. He bites down on your shoulder, pulling a strangled whine out from somewhere deep in your throat. "You look so goddamn pretty like this, love," he murmurs against your skin.

His hands move from your hips to your chest, tracing the skin there before he brings them up to your throat. He presses his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the thump thump thump of your heartbeat.

He can feel your heart thrumming against his hand, can practically hear you shaking. It's driving him absolutely insane— you, underneath him, trembling for him. The knowledge that he's got you like this, the fact that you're letting him take control, letting him do whatever he wants.

He moves his mouth to that spot on your neck again, the skin that's so sensitive that it makes you whimper and shiver. He always finds it so easy to tease those sounds out of you, and always relishes in doing it.

His hands stay at your neck, his fingers still pressed against your pulse point. This had always been one of Seungcheol's little habits— a single finger on your pulse point, as if he liked seeing which actions would make your heart rate spike, which words would have it hammering.

Seungcheol presses his lips on your skin again. "You're so loud."

He marvels at the way you ball your hands into fists, the way you shake all over with poorly concealed want and need as he keeps nipping and marking. "‘M not," you gasp, lurching forward against the wall. "‘M perfectly— hng!"

Everything is working in his favor.

You're shaking, and your heart is racing, and every noise you make is just more fodder for him. God, he loves it. Loves being the one to make you absolutely tremble and shiver like this. Loves the fact that he's the only one to make you feel like this.

"You're mine," he says again, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He bites the shell of it, hard, before letting out a low hum.

This is his favorite place in the entire world— right against your back, feeling your body heat against his chest, his tongue running over your skin. He loves how reactive you are to him, how sensitive you are, how your body just melts under his touch.

"Say it," he mutters against your skin. "Who's in control?"

There it is. The million won question.

The whole reason you started these rendezvouses in the first place. He had been spinning out of control, and you had been lonely, and you clicked into place like magnets. 

You give in, like you always do. The words are a soft whimper, almost a shout in your otherwise empty apartment. "You. You're in control, Seung."

That's all he wants to hear.

He digs his fingers into your jaw and wrenches your head so it's turned to look at him, his lips inches from yours. Even if there's a little pain, nothing in him is stopping. "Good," he mutters, his breath hot against your lips. "Good girl."

The kiss that follows is absolutely messy, the kind of kiss where it's just tongue and teeth and raw need. It's worlds different from the soft and easy kisses that Seungcheol asked for earlier, when he first came in complaining about five unanswered texts.

"Seung," you groan as you pull away for air. "Please—" 

When you moan his name, it's like something snaps.

He growls low, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts, gripping the fabric hard enough that there's a very real chance of them ripping. "Please what?" he mumbles against your neck. "You need to tell me what you need, love. Use your words."

"I hate you," you whine, and Seungcheol nearly smiles. He knows you’re not fond of begging, but he needs to hear it from you. At least, he wants to. 

"You know what I—" you’re saying, but dammit, his control is already razor thin as is. He rips off the last fabric of clothing on you until you’re completely bare, pressed entirely up between the wall and him. 

Somehow, your mind still has some shrivel of coherence to complain, "I liked this set, asshole!"

He grins against your skin at your words, chuckling at your whine, at the way you're just reacting to him. You can act annoyed, you can act like you don't need him, but he knows. "I'll buy you a new one," he hums, finally letting go of your shorts and letting them fall to the floor in tatters. "One for me to rip to shreds all over again."

That thought alone makes his blood sing.

It takes you a great effort to turn around, but somehow you manage. Seungcheol is still fully clothed and so your bare chest presses against the front of his shirt. The sight of you, naked, his hands at your hips, pressed right up against him, against his chest like this— he's gone.

And then you’re asking him, low and sweet as he has you caged in, "Where are you going to fuck me tonight, Seung?"

He can't even manage a word for a moment, his hands holding you so tight that he's definitely going to leave marks on your skin, his eyes fixed on your face.

He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry at the question. "You want me to say it out loud, hm?"

You go to steal the upper hand for a minute or so, and you do it so effectively. Your hand rises almost lazily to his neck, your finger instinctively finding his pulse point. He feels his heart rate speed up as he watches, just watches, you do it. You stand on your tiptoes to raise your lips directly to his ear. 

All he can feel is the thunder of his heart racing against your hand. You seem to notice it, too, if the smile on your face is any indication. 

"How about you just show me instead?" you say, and he’s convinced he’ll pass out then and there. 

"You're a brat," he mutters through gritted teeth, his hand moving up from your hips and up your spine. "A brat who needs to be taught a lesson."

He takes a shuddering breath, almost completely lost in your little game, before he snaps back to himself. Seungcheol's hand leaves your hip and goes to your hand, gripping your wrist hard. "On the sofa," he says, and it’s nothing short of a command. 

He practically drags you on to the piece of furniture, watching intently as you fall back with a small oomph. Seungcheol stands on the edge of the couch as you prop yourself up by the elbows to watch him right back. 

The sight of you underneath him— your hair splayed against the cushions, your eyes half-lidded and fixed on him? It's absolutely perfect. It's the kind of thing that he wants to keep in his mind forever, the sight he wants to always be able to remember.

He lets out a noise under his breath as he undoes the button of his jeans, the sound of the zipper going down obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Gorgeous,” he breathes. 

He gets his jeans undone and kicked off, his shirt following them not long after, and then he's on top of you, caging you in, his hands either side of your head, staring down at you.

The look in his eyes isn't something he really gets to show often— that raw need, that want, how desperate he is for you. He wants you, God, he wants you so badly, and you're letting him have you.

He dips his head to your neck, his lips against your skin, his breath hot against your pulse point, still absolutely obsessed with that spot. His hands find your wrists, pinning them back against the couch, while his knee finds its way between your thighs, pressing up against you.

You arch and squirm underneath him, visibly distressed with the facsimile of friction that you’re getting from his knee. “Seung,” you pant, grinding your dripping core against his knee. It sends a jolt of electricity through him. “Please— don’t wanna wait any more—”

“Where’s all that snark now, hm?” he teases, his teeth running over the skin on your neck. But he’s not any better off, his own self-control slipping through his very fingers as his hips grind down against you desperately. 

"Been driving me insane, love," he whispers, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck. "Been dreaming about this for days. Missing you—” 

A low keen escapes you, and he can only echo it as you tug at the last piece of material separating you. “Can we get this off already, please?” you huff as you hook your fingers at the waistband of his boxer shorts. 

He groans against your skin, his teeth finally letting go when he lifts his head to look down at you, the expression on his face looking like he's fighting for control. "God, yes," he groans, lifting his hips just enough for you to tug them off him.

He kicks them off once you’ve yanked them down, and his hand— which has instinctively gravitated to your pulse point— feels how the beat absolutely skyrockets. One of your arms goes around his shoulder and the other, surprisingly, clutches his jaw.

You’re looking right at him as you say, "Fast and hard, Seung."

"Yeah?" he says, just the slightest hint of a surprise in his voice. "You want me to be rough with you, love?"

Seungcheol was usually a sweet lover. He liked taking his time, liked being gentle and responsible even in bed.

But there were particularly rough weeks, terrible days, where he just needed a means to an end. Where the sex was an outlet, where the best thing you could be for him was his. 

He waits for your permission, because he still always remembers to ask no matter how far deep you’re in. The agreement comes in the form of the best three words. 

"Ruin me, Seung."

You know him too well. You know how he works, you know how he thinks, and you know him better than anyone.

He groans in response to your words, his head dipping down to drag his teeth gently over your collarbone. He's trying to hang on to his control, he is, but it's a losing effort.

"I will, love." His breath is hot against your skin, his hands finding your hips. "Just give me a minute—"

He shifts, just for a moment, to find the condom in his jean pocket. He goes through the motions until he's back on top of you again, one hand coming up to grip your hip again, the other coming up to rest against your throat. He looks down at you, his eyes almost glowing. 

"You trust me?" he mutters. His hand at your hip tightens; his hand at your throat barely clenches around your pulse point, his eyes never leaving yours.

You can feel it, see it. The way the little threads are beginning to unravel and fray. The way this was no longer Seungcheol of SEVENTEEN; not the leader, not the idol. This was something different entirely, someone else completely.

"I do," you whisper back, your eyes so full of adoration for him that he has to bite back the urge to scream. "I trust you, Seungcheol."

His full name is what really does it for him, because then he's pushing in, and you’re gasping, whimpering, trying to adjust around him and the fact that you’re practically clenching him on the get-go. Seungcheol eases in, nice and slow, because you’re too tightly coiled for him to do more than carefully bottom out. You’re both heaving, your breaths coming out as gasps; your own breaths are sharp, harsh, because Seungcheol is still choking you a little. 

His head dips down to your shoulder because he needs something to hold on to, anything, while his mind spins. His head is dizzy feeling you like this, feeling you around him so tightly. He's trembling, his thighs shaking, but he's holding himself back as long as he can.

When Seungcheol gets as far in as he can possibly get, you let out twin groans. He’s completely sheathed inside of you and you’re fluttering around him in a way that’s dangerous. 

“Y’can move, Seung,” you reassure him after a moment, the words coming out strained with desire. “As fast and hard as you want.” 

You sound strangled, just like he feels, and it's taking him a mammoth amount of control to hold himself back. He groans against your shoulder at the sound of your voice, the words you say. He wants to move, to thrust, but he's trying to have some semblance of composure. 

"Love," he says, his voice wrecked. "I—"

His voice breaks. It breaks, because there is only so much he can take, and he's beyond that point now. There's a tremor in his thighs, his hands clenching in the cushion below you.

You drag him right back down, with the sound that you let out that’s halfway a whine and a sigh. One of your hands goes to rest in the space between Seungcheol’s shoulder blades, as if to steady the two of you. 

Your voice is surprisingly firm when you speak. "Let go," you command. And then, softer, "I need you."

Your words, your voice— it's in complete conflict with the situation you're currently in. And yet, it works. He lets out a sound, one that's somewhere between a growl and a whimper, his breath hot against your skin. And then he's moving and he's holding nothing back.

He's hard, brutal, and he's taking. His teeth on your shoulder; his breath against your neck; his nails digging into you.

It's a relentless, dizzying pace. Seungcheol bullies into your weeping cunt, fast and hard, and it draws out the most obscene sounds from you. Gasps, whines, an occasional scream when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. What has him seeing stars is the fact that you can't seem to settle on a name to moan. "Seung— Seungcheol— Cheol—"

Yes, you're saying, yes.

Seungcheol loses himself, utterly and completely, in you. You're on the edge, he can hear it; he can feel it, and God, he wants to hear you say his name. Every single one of them. 

It almost sounds like a mantra, your voice, as he takes and takes and takes, his breathing harsh, ragged.

You go through all of the names you have for him, breathless and wrecked, until you can't even say anything because his hips are snapping into you with a ferocity that's rare but not unwelcome. Your pornographic moans reverberate in your otherwise empty apartment, and Seungcheol thinks he might go insane. 

"'M close," you choke out. "Cheollie, baby, I'm— ah, fuck— Seung—"

His breath catches at your words, his eyes closing for a moment as he groans. You, you, in all your perfect, glorious, undone state. It’s a sight he wishes he could capture, freeze in time.

He lets out a whimper, his words almost slurred when he responds. "Love— I—"

He's never been this rough, never this intense. You're the only one, the only person he's ever let himself go like this with. The only person who he's ever let see everything, take everything.

He's on the edge, he's there, he's—

"C'mon," he whines, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand clenching hard around your hip. "With me, love, please."

It's a miracle that you can even nod, can even find your voice as Seungcheol keeps on going with his erratic, stuttering thrusts. "With you," you gasp. 

He snaps into you, then, and you arch up with a scream of his name. There’s the familiar white-hot flash of pleasure; the impossibly tight clench of your walls around him.

He stays buried in you for several long moments, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. He has never felt so utterly spent in his entire life, never been so completely, utterly drained of energy. He's weak against you. He’s weak because of you. 

"God," he finally manages to mutter.

He lifts his head, just enough to be able to look at you, but he can't even muster a grin. He's spent and he knows you know that.

His hand comes up slightly, to brush the hair off of your forehead. "I think..." he says, his voice thick and hoarse, "I think I ruined you, love."

You let out a breathless laugh, one that you have to push out of your heaving chest. "You—" you try to say, but the words don't form, not at first. You take a few moments to take in some air, to gulp past the lump in your throat. "You're a fool."

His lips twitch into a tired but genuine smile at the sound of your laugh. It’s a soft sound that he's always thought sounds beautiful, especially coming from you.

A hoarse, broken laugh of his own escapes; his hand coming up to rest at your jawline, his thumb gently tracing over the warm skin there. He's still catching his breath, but he's slowly gathering himself.

"Am I a fool?" he asks quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. "What does that make you, then?"

You’re a fool, too, he thinks to himself. For letting me have this. 

Instead of answering him, you press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s the only answer he’s going to get from you for now, it seems. 

He lets out a soft huff, moving his head back just slightly, his eyes closing. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says quietly, his voice still rough with fatigue.

"Every time," you respond. Your own voice is strained, almost tired, but there's a hint of amused exasperation. "You say that every time, Cheol."

His eyes opened once again to look at you.

"Because it's true," he says simply, his voice soft and sincere, the hand resting at your jaw moving to brush your hair back from your face. "It's always true, love."

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes tracing over your face, taking in every inch of you. His eyes pause at your lips for a moment, his tongue gently wetting his own, his gaze finally moving back up to meet your eyes.

You thread your shaking fingers through the back of his hair and answer his unspoken question. "Kiss me soft and easy, Cheol," you whisper.

The moment the words leave your mouth, he's in action.

He leans forward without a second thought, the hand not buried in your hair going to rest on your hip, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

There's no heat in it, no want or need. Just a soft press of his lips against yours, gentle and slow. 

It's languid and unhurried. Like there's nowhere either of you have to be after this. For a moment, you can pretend that this is normal— that Seungcheol will not have to leave, and that you’ll not have to change into new pajamas because he'd broken yours, and that you can be... well, something, anything aside from what you are now.

But it's wishful thinking, you both know, so all Seungcheol can do is kiss you. He lets out a soft sound, almost a sigh, as his tongue slides into your mouth, his hand on your hip tightening slightly. His other hand is in your hair still, his fingers gently tracing over your scalp, his body almost melting against yours.

He will have to leave. He always does. But for now, he's here, with you, and you feel perfect, and—

Five minutes, he bargains. Five more minutes.

And then things end, not really by your own accord.

The sharp, shrill sound of Seungcheol's phone ringing breaks through your haze. You pull away, a bit jolted at the foreign sound— at something other than your words, your breathing, reverberating in the room. It takes you a beat too long to realize someone is calling him— his phone in his discarded jeans— in the godawful middle of the night. 

He lets out a loud groan, the sound tired and drawn out, and he can't help but rest his forehead against your shoulder once again, letting out a resigned sigh.

"God, save me," he mutters, his voice rough. "What time is it?"

You chuckle lightly. "Go on," you urge softly, not because you want to but because you have to. "Answer."

Seungcheol lets out another loud, drawn out sigh, his shoulders slumping in obvious defeat. He reluctantly lifts his head from your shoulder with a grumble, but he can't quite stop himself from pressing a kiss to your cheek just before he shifts up and off of the couch.

Once he’s reached down to grab his phone from where it's stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, he answers without looking at the caller ID. "Yeah?"

"Hyung!"

It's Soonyoung— of course it's Soonyoung— calling.

"Are you still at the company?" the younger member asks. "I think I forgot my headset in one of the practice rooms, and Minghao said you didn't go home with them."

"It's midnight, Soonyoung." 

You shit over on the couch, careful not to make any sound. Not to give Soonyoung any suspicion that Seungcheol might be somewhere where he shouldn't be. You press a small, reassuring kiss to Seungcheol's hip as Soonyoung goes on to whine, "Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's the expensive headset, hyung. If you're still there, could you check? Please?"

Seungcheol lets out a huff— a mixture of resigned affection and irritation— at the feeling of your lips against his skin. He can feel the exhaustion deep within his bones now, and all he wants to do is go back to snuggling into you for the night.

But he can't say no to Soonyoung, especially not at this time of night.

"Fine," he grumbles, letting out a huff. "Which practice room?"

You can hear the moment Soonyoung practically brightens with triumph.

"Third floor!" he says happily, and you bury your face into Seungcheol's side to keep yourself from laughing. "You're the best, hyung! I'll buy you a meal tomorrow for the trouble!"

He reaches down with the hand not holding his phone, pressing his palm to the top of your head, pushing lightly down. A warning of don't laugh. "Just be thankful I'm your hyung, kid," Seungcheol grouses.

Soonyoung ends the call soon enough, saying some things about sending Seungcheol a photo of his headset so he knows exactly which one is missing. When it's back to just the two of you again, you tilt your head up to look at Seungcheol. 

"You're really going back for it tonight?" you ask, even though you already know the answer. 

The corner of his lip twitches into a half smile at the way you look up at him. His eyes takein the sight of you— his hand on the back of your head, his fingers gently twisting strands of your hair.

"Of course I am," he sighs. "I can't say no to him, love."

You shift upward so you can sit side by side with Seungcheol. Both of you have yet to put on any clothes, but you’ve at least gathered your bearings enough to form coherent words now.

"You can't say 'no' to any of them," you tease as you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. There's an almost blinding affection in your tone as you say, "You and your goddamn boys."

Seungcheol reaches out, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you closer to him. Briefly, he presses his lips against your hair. His eyes are almost tender as he speaks.

"They're my boys," he says, his voice soft.

You let the words hang there for just a moment. It’s an admission, one that both of you have known for the longest time, but it's also a reminder. It’s the reason why you and Seungcheol can never be more than this—because he has his boys, and he would never do anything to jeopardize them.

You press your face against the column of his neck for just one more precious moment. You’ve never been selfish about Seungcheol, but there were nights when you thought about it. Just… thought about it.

The thought never wins.

"Let’s clean up, get dressed," you whisper into his skin. "So you can head to the company sooner."

He lets out a soft, almost painful exhale. He knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling; he's thought about it himself, as well. He hates having to leave you, hates having to say that he has to leave you. But his boys are his boys, and one day all this will be over, and then...

He can't think about it right now, though.

Instead, he nods, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Yeah."

It takes about ten minutes or so for you both to gather everything together. Seungcheol still looks tired, though for different reasons now. He’s essentially traded one exhaustion for another.

As he puts on the shoes he left in your entryway, you lean against your doorway with your arms crossed over your chest. "I’ll be holding you accountable for my pajama set," you warn him. "And for tomorrow’s noise complaint."

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, taking a step toward you. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten."

His face softens as he reaches you, his hands coming up to grab your elbows, gently pulling you closer to him. "Sorry," he says. "Again."

 "You’re not sorry, " you sigh pointedly, more out of spite than anything. It’s the truth—he’s not really that apologetic about losing control every now and then, about your neighbors knowing you’re being pulled close every so often.

When you bury your face into his chest, he lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his chin resting gently against the top of your head. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him, just like every single time before.

"You’re right," he murmurs. A quiet, affectionate admission. “Not sorry. Not even a little.”

He holds you there against him, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows himself just a few more moments before he has to leave. You both stay there, allowing yourselves that moment, until the tension in Seungcheol’s shoulders fades and your annoyance at your torn pajamas ebbs. It could’ve been five minutes, maybe less, but then Seungcheol’s phone pings with a text—surely Soonyoung asking if he’s found his headset.

You’re the one who takes the step back, putting some distance between you. "Drive safe," you tell Seungcheol. "Text me when you’re there."

Resigned. That’s the only way to describe the smile that tugs at his lips. "Yeah," he says. "I will."

True to his word, Seungcheol does indeed send you a text about an hour or so after he'd arrived at the company, informing you that he was there and had found Soonyoung’s headset.

He's still exhausted, and all he wants is to be back. Back inside of you, back with you. But he can't do any of that. At least, not right now. Not at this point.

I miss you already, is the only other thing he adds to his text.

Your text comes in only moments later, like you had been waiting by your phone. 

you're a fool. head home. take care.

A soft sigh escapes him the moment he reads your text, his eyes flickering over the words you'd typed, the harshness of it. It's another layer of protection for the both of you, but it's still not easy to read.

He's about to respond with something snarky, some light-hearted joke to tease you a bit, but he stops himself at the last moment. He knows that you're right.

He needs to head home. He needs to take care.

And he’s an absolute goddamn fool, in more ways than one. 

[skipper1331]

Obviously in love // Grace Clinton

a/n: based off this request:)

Grace Clinton liked you.

You liked Grace Clinton.

Everybody knew.

Everybody but the two of you.

Several occasions showed exactly that.

-

It started with the many superstitions the two of you had or rather shared. The girls would always tease you about it while both of you claimed and often argued that you‘d play horrible if not doing so.

1.) Grace always had to do your hair. Each time she would do a different hairstyle, each of them done perfectly as your hair wouldn‘t ever get in the way, no matter what happened.

2.) You had to tie her boots. Yes, she was able to do it herself, (like you were capable of doing your hair yourself) but something about you tying her shoes gave her enough confidence to shoot from every angle and distance on the pitch. And score goals.

3.) "ready to win?"

"Ready whenever you are"

-

"Popcorn!" Celin shouted as she entered the living room with three bowels of popcorn balancing in her hands.

The Tottenham girls were sat around the couches, arm chairs and bean bags as the movie marathon was about to begin.

Grace and you shared a bean bag, yourself sitting in between her legs while your back rested against her front and her arms were loosely wrapped around your mid section. "Try not to fall asleep to soon, yeah pretty girl?" the midfielder purred, in responds your hands pinched her thighs "If i remember correctly it was you who snored like a grizzly bear the last time" you giggled as Gracie attacked you with pokes in your side. She only stopped when she felt a smack against the back of her head, "movie starts" the captain stated. You settled back in her arms while she pulled you closer.

Her arms brought you a type of comfort nobody ever could.

-

It was save to say that Grace loved the spare key she had to your home. She used it at every opportunity she got, opening the door when you were with her "I have my own key, I can open the door for us" proudly showing the key on her key chain. Or other than that, letting herself in when you weren‘t there as she made herself a home and even using the key when you were at home but didn‘t expect her to come over.

You stood in the kitchen, preparing your dinner when you felt arms snuggling around your waist, a head resting on your shoulder. You shrieked, caught completely off guard as you yet melted in the grasp, your favourite scent filling the air.

"Gracie! You promised me!" you grumbled, turning around as you stared at the midfielder with crossed arms, "you can‘t just come over and use the spare key! It‘s for emergencies"

"It is an emergency!" she defended herself, arms up in surrender.

"What‘s the emergency, hm?"

"I missed you" she stated, pulling you close before she hid her face in the crook of your neck, mumbling something inaudible.

You sighed, asking "Do you want some dinner?" your fingers combing through her hair.

"Yes, please"

-

"You‘re staring" the voice of Beth appeared next to you, calling you back to reality.

"What did you say?"

"You‘ve got something in your eye" she repeated as you looked at her, "what? Where?" trying to find what and in which eye.

"Grace"

You glared at her while she laughed her ass off.

"Shut up!" you hit her arm, Grace already skeptically looking at the two of you from the other side of the pitch, about to make her way over.

"Come one, you like her" Beth said now in an softer tone, "and she likes you"

"We‘re best friends!" you replied, slight anger in your voice.

"Whatever you say, babes"

-

After tossing and turning for hours, you came to the realization that you weren‘t able to sleep. You didn‘t why but it annoyed you. Physically you were tired, your eyes closing every now and then but you just couldn’t fall into a deep slumber.

Not knowing what to do, but desperately in the need and want of sleep, you reached for your phone.

"Hello?" The sleepy voice rasped.

"Gracie?"

"What‘s wrong? Are you okay?" She shot up from her bed, you never called at such a late hour and with the shakiness in your voice she thought of the worst.

"I don‘t know, sorry. Forget about it" you mumbled, regretting that you called her at 3am.

"Wait-" but you had already hung up. You would find a way to sleep.

On the other side of the phone, Grace was already out of bed, throwing a hoodie and joggers over her pyjama. She raced through the apartment, every possible light on, searching for eventually needed stuff, not being bothered by the noises she made which woke up her flatmate.

"What are you doing? It‘s in the middle of the night" Celin said, leaning in her door frame while she rubbed her eyes.

"Something’s wrong"

"Do we have an intruder?!" she yelled, grabbing for the nearest weapon in her room.

"What? No. Something‘s wrong with my- Y/N"

Celin watched Grace pace through the kitchen, collecting your favourite snacks which she had stored in her home in case you hung out here, craving some of them.

"When are you going to tell her that you like her?"

"We‘re best friends"

"Are you telling me that or yourself? Everybody knows you like each other"

In silence, she put on her shoes, backpack filled with essentials before she rushed out of the house.

When she opened the door, she was met with darkness. Because of this, she assumed that you were in your bedroom. Gently, she opened the door-

"What the fuck!" you yelled, frightened. You switched on your lamp, staring at the midfielder, "you scared the shit out of me!" suddenly wide awake.

"I scared the shit out of you? You scared the shit out of me!" she replied, putting down her backpack and walking over to 'her' side of the bed - the side she slept in when she was staying over. "What are you doing here?" you asked, already knowing the answer.

"You called me and then hung up on me all of sudden." she slipped under the duvet, closing the distance, "I was worried" her hands found your waist, pulling you in her grasp before she continued, "what‘s wrong? There’s a reason you called me, so please don‘t say 'nothing'"

Looking away from her, you could feel your cheeks heating up embarrassingly.

"I couldn’t- can‘t sleep" you muttered, "and I can always sleep when you‘re here, so-"

"you thought asking me to come over would help until you realized it’s three in the morning?" she finished your sentence.

you nodded.

"I‘m sorry"

"Don’t be, I’m glad you called me" the girl tangled your legs together, resting her head on the pillow, "Besides, it's a full moon, no wonder you couldn't sleep"

With that being said, you hugged her back, resting your head on her chest like you always did.

And within a few minutes you were asleep, the rhythm of her heartbeat lulling you into a slumber.

-

Derbies were always rough matches, especially when it was Arsenal.

As it was now.

Grace and you were both in the starting lineup, excited to play against the gunners - some of your national teammates.

"Ready to win?" you asked Gracie, the girl already staring at you with heart eyes (which was unnoticed by you).

"Ready whenever you are" she replied, smiling - an unspoken rule to have this small conversation while you waited in the tunnel - Grace always lined up behind you.

In the first half, both teams had their chances, sadly none of Tottenhams and thankfully none of Arsenals leading to a goal.

With Katie McCabe on your side, it was rather physically exhausting, the Irish woman challenging you in more than one way. Each time, Grace saw you hitting the ground, she was about to rip Katie‘s head off, only calming down when she saw you get up right away. Yet her anger was still very much present in the break. She was holding your hand tightly, in the need of your touch to reduce her anger.

In the first few minutes after halftime, Alessia opened the score, fueling more pressure on the team for the equalizer. The game got rougher and more physical as tackles came sliding in from multiple players.

When Tottenham was awarded a corner kick and it came flying in your direction, you jumped up, trying to head it somewhere near the goal. But instead of hitting the ball, you felt another head smack against yours.

Grace watched in horror as you went down while her legs started to work on their own - sprinting towards you. Blood trickled down your forehead, making the midfielders stomach twist. Multiple people were at your side, including the Arsenal player who caused your injury. She pushed everybody aside, kneeling down next to you, "Get the fuck away from my girl" pure venom laced in her voice as she shoved the gunner away, her full attention on you and you only. You had a nasty cut on your forehead, eyes barely staying open. You could hear your favourite voice talking, but you didn‘t understand what she was saying - was she even talking to you? All you knew was that her hand was holding yours. You knew her touch. You‘d always recognize her touch - no matter what.

"Mate, what‘s your problem?!" Katie McCabe snarled, matching her attitude while pulling her on her collar. "My problem?!" Grace jumped up, her hands bloody from holding yours, "She‘s fucking bleeding"

"And? Everybody hurts themselves. It‘s a physical game after all!"

"She‘s not just anyone!" with that she shoved Katie to the floor, all her anger bubbling over. Of course, the defender was up on her feet in less than 10 seconds, starting to shove Grace around, both of them yelling at each other.

Katie had to be held back by Leah and Kim while Beth and Ashleigh pulled Grace away who was still shouting at the Irish woman.

How dare she to say anything about you?!

-

Winning the fa cup against Manchester United was amazing and something massive. Tottenham made history that day. Unfortunately, Grace wasn‘t allowed to play yet that didn’t stop her from cheering for the spurs, especially for you. When you scored the opening goal, Grace thought her heart might explode with all the pride she felt and when Marta made it 3-1 in the 89‘. The deal was settled.

After receiving your medals and the pitch-celebrations died down, the team decided to go out tonight.

When you entered the bar/club, you were met with very loud but fancy music, people dancing everywhere and a few of your mates sitting at a table chatting. Not in the mood to dance just yet, you joined them, greeting everybody before taking a seat in Grace‘s lap - nothing new.

Her mouth fell open as she almost drooled at the sight of you, "you look- wow" she breathed out, completely in love with you.

"Thank you!" you grinned, " you don‘t look bad yourself" while checking her out the best you could - but indeed, she wasn‘t looking bad, she looked gorgeous.

"Do you want a drink?" she asked, squeezing your hips.

"Yes, that would be nice" you replied, making no move to get up, "don‘t you want to ask what drink I‘d like?"

"I know you quite well by now" with that she got up before gently guiding you back down in her chair.

While Celin tried to make conversation with you, you only had eyes for the midfielder, admiring her from afar. You frowned when a lady approached her and started talking to her. Your jaw clenched, chest tightening as you glared daggers into the woman’s head. What‘s her problem? the strangers hand touched Grace‘s arm as she discreetly stepped closer. "Someone is flirting with Y/N‘s girl" one of the girls teased, your friends laughing at her joke. That comment made your jealousy grow, your hands balling into fists as you tried to keep your cool. "Aren‘t you going to do something?" Charli asked, sensing your frustration.

With a huff you got up, marching over to the beast who was talking to the beauty.

Stepping between both of them, you leaned against the counter, "hi! I‘m her girlfriend and you are?" your voice sounded firm and stern, Grace taken aback by your statement and your sudden outburst.

"Sorry" the girl was quick to flee the scene, not wanting any drama as well because she was scared and intimidated by you and your presence.

After the girl was gone, Grace grabbed your hips, pulling your back against her front, "What was that?" she asked, her voice raspy.

"That creature was flirting with you" you replied stubbornly, crossing your arms as you tried to leave her touch.

"Stop" Grace grumbled, pulling you back, "relax" she ordered softly, her arms wrapping fully around your midsection. As on cue, you melted in her embrace, letting all anger flow away.

"So, what was that?"

"What was what? I just wanted my drink" you answered yet defensively.

"None of that, it‘s me" she whispered as you intertwined your fingers, "were you jealous?"

You sighed, "yes"

The young lioness froze, she didn‘t expect you to be straight up honest with her. She knew you had never lied to her and she wouldn‘t assume that you would ever lie at her, but she indeed thought that you would avoid admitting your obvious jealousy.

"I don‘t like it when other people flirt with you" you mumbled after you had turned around, looking at her.

Not wanting to push you any further, she kissed your forehead in responds before guiding you on the dance floor.

"They‘re disgustingly cute" Charli told Celin as they watched the two of you dance.

"And obviously so in love"

[answer2jeff]

this you knew.

warnings : (workplace) established but private relationship. fluff. that's about it actually.

also, this mostly just weirdly poetic and emotional writing. not a lot of plot or substance. sorry!

a/n: carmen refers to reader as "pico," short for "piccola" (small), and reader refers to carmen as raga, short for "ragazzone," (big boy) sorry if these nicknames are cringe they're cute to me !!!!

Fuck, it was cold.

Why did winter have to stretch out for such an excruciating amount of time? It had been snowing since late November—which, at this rate, might continue until March, give or take.

The holidays had just passed, stores were back open, The Bear was back under maintenance, leisure was nonexistent. There was no need for slush on the sidewalks and frost on your car window. You'd already spent the holidays with your extended family, even after swearing up and down you had no intention on coming home this year. Anything remotely related to that mistake needed to be disposed of.

Tonight was calm. Almost too calm. Richie and Marcus were still laying out the general foundation of the dining hall, and Carmen finally beat his record timing for passing through each station of the kitchen marked by green tape. You were pretty much free to go home. Especially since Sydney was the first to leave and encouraged you to do the same.

But just as you walked out of the empty kitchen space through the back door, something urged you to walk back in.

Just act like you forgot something.

Quickly swinging the door open and turning the corner into Natalie's office, where you knew Carmen would be, you stopped. Just barely near the frame.

Altered by your presence, Carmen snapped out of the trance that was staring at the empty space of the wall in front of him. He spun around in the 5-wheeled chair to face you.

"Raga?" you called out, not wanting to intrude as you stepped into the box of the office. Despite the door being wide open like it always was.

Raga. Sure, he wasn't a huge fan of petnames—but it made him feel like he was yours.

And he was. And you were his. Possibly for months now. And you even started to feel it. The word "boyfriend," though it wasn't used religiously, didn't feel bitter in your mouth. The way your name rolled off of Carmen's tongue was addictive to him. He preferred it over a simple 'she' when he spoke of you. You were chaos, but grace all in one.

You told your closest friends about a week after he spoke the words

"I don't really know what I'm doing, but that's—that's okay. It's more than okay. I want this."

But you hadn't told your family, and not even your true, chosen one. Which was here, in this restaurant, and everyone who played a part in it. But perhaps they already knew. Neither you or Carmen were particularly good at keeping secretes.

Just because your mouth stopped, didn't mean your body language or your face did.

Smiles and glances, whispers in corners of the restaurant incoherent to anyone else, his kisses against your temples that weren't as discreet as he hoped, it made it obvious.

But it felt right. This was okay. More than okay.

"Pico?" he repeated, mirroring that same skeptical voice you used just seconds earlier.

Eyebrows knitted with concern, your teeth gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you stood with your weight on your hip and your arms crossed against your chest. Carmen realized you stood like this all the time. But right now, he almost felt like he was in some kind of trouble; the way you eyed him above his level. Like you'd been looking for him and he failed to come to your assistance.

His urge to cave and melt into you was overwhelming. Big, blue eyes peered up at you as he leaned forward, prepared to listen. You only smiled while shrugging your shoulders and leaning against the doorframe.

"Think everybody went home. I didn't really see y'leave. Just—" you swallowed, "—wondered if you'd left or not."

That seemed to finally be enough to soothe him. You just wanted to know if he was here; if he was okay and ready to go home like he should've been.

"Uh—yeah, yeah, I'm still here."

"Yeah, I see that now."

The room stilled. Silence bounced off the drywall. But it was comfortable. It wasn't forced or unwanted. Just simple. And simplicity was scarce at the moment.

"C'mere," Carmen mumbled as he motioned his hand to signal you to come in, his voice barely audible, "just for a 'sec."

Caving in, his cadence and the look in his eyes being enough to convince you, you stepped in. He blinked slowly so as to not miss a single bit of you. For once, you could appreciate the slow of time in this room.

"I'm feeling really good about this," you smiled down at him, "this whole thing, I mean. Mikey woulda' been so proud 'f you, Carmen."

The lump in his throat was harshly swallowed back down as he nodded his head, not quite smiling, but not frowning either. You knew that face all too well. It was the face of guilt. He always wondered if he'd been doing the right thing. Lately it'd been easier to convince himself that the renovation was right, and that he was completely and fully capable of making these "adult decisions," as you called them.

"Thank you."

It was mostly thanks to you, though.

A delicate hand reached for a curl that fell just past his eyebrow. You wrapped the blonde strands around your finger, glancing from his eyes and back to his hair, just to see if he'd been watching you as closely as you hoped. Almost as if it had been second nature, he tilted his head up for easier access as you pulled away from his hair and reached to cup his clean-shaven cheek.

"I mean it, bear," your thumb gently caressed his skin as you spoke. He looked up at you as if he'd just found God in your eyes.

"I know," he tried to protest, giving you a weak smile and threatening to pull his head away.

But he waited.

There'd never been anyone in the universe, on the planet, in the country, in the culinary industry, in this city, or in this restaurant who saw through you the way Carmen Berzatto did. He'd been your head chef even before what was then, The Beef. You followed him back to his home city even months after the two of you made a pact to quit your last job as his sous, and his as your head chef. There was nothing you wanted more than to see him chase his stardom.

You loved him. This you knew.

"You're better at what you do than you'll ever give yourself credit for."

This he knew. At least now he did.

You took him in again with one look. His little moles here and there, his blue eyes, the rose of his cheeks. And at a moments notice, you leaned down to kiss him like it was the last thing you'd ever do. Carmen rose without even letting your lips separate. His hand planted itself at your waist as the other held the back of your head and gently buried itself into your hair. He tasted like cigarettes and mint with a hint of that bitter and filmy residue left on pill capsules.

He loved you. This you knew.

"Maybe you should give yourself some credit, too."

This you knew.

[judasgot-it]

Everybody Talks

Scenario: Kaldo really, really likes you. He is doing borderline anything he can to convince you to like him back.

This was originally something else but once again! I have gone way off the tracks!

1.7 k word count

Kaldo might have been obsessed with you since day one.

It was everything about you - the way you walked, the way you smiled at him, the way you had forgotten his name for the first 3 months of knowing him and called him 'Mr. Flame Cane' as if he wouldn't notice.

He did. Usually, he would find something like that a little offensive, but the first time he had met you, there was something different about your demeanor that he was willing to overlook your poor memory.

If anything, it made you cuter.

It was overwhelming. You were lost in the building where divine visionaries held their meetings - it was the first time you had ever been there after being inducted into the group.

Kaldo had practically grown up in the building thanks to his lineage, so of course he had no problem giving you a tour.

He had extended the tour for a little too long - you really didn't need to know about the secret crawl spaces or the unused closets. But he wanted your attention so, so badly.

Kaldo felt a little stupid even, sharing embarrassing childhood stories with someone he had only met a few days before. The laugh he received was so genuine and beautiful, that he wished he could record it and play it on repeat forever.

It was addicting. Those few hours of conversation might have caused some sort of spark in him, because after that he was following you around like a puppy every chance he got.

Maybe he didn't have enough chances - you both did have busy jobs, given you were divine visionaries.

But he found that he could do most of his office work while talking to you. You never called him out or told him to leave - all you did was invite him in further, keeping jars of honey and napkins on your desk.

Not once did you call him strange for his food habits, instead worrying about cavities while trying the coffee he had made for you.

It was pretty much expected that Kaldo was going to be in your office 9 times out of 10.

The both of you had discussed it once, as a little inside joke between the two of you.

"Maybe they think we're dating?"

You said this casually, although Kaldo's people-watching skills told him that the blush on your face was not from some sudden heatwave.

The implication had you blushing, and Kaldo wanted to savor it for a little while.

"My mom sent a letter asking if we're engaged, you know,"

He leaned in closer as he said this, as if seeing your reaction up close would ease how fast his heart was beating at that moment.

"There's rumors that we've been courting-"

"You're way too formal, Kaldo. Courting is a noble's thing."

He could feel your hair against his skin, and how your hands brushed against his on the desk. He was taking up your space, leaning in closer to stare at your face - trying his hardest to commit it to memory.

Your skin looked beautiful in the light of the dying sun, the windows behind the both of you giving him a glimpse of what you would look bathed in gold.

Kaldo let his hand overtake yours, testing to see how much of your space he could enroach upon.

"I don't mind it," you said this with a smile, one Kaldo only noticed because he was staring at your lips. "Maybe we should let them think that."

And you both had left it at that. It was like an inside joke to the both of you, whenever someone had asked the question-

Are you together?

Your answers would be between some wild response or a shrug. Now you held onto Kaldo as if he was your own personal teddy bear, but never said a word about it.

His personal space had become decidedly yours; as if to keep the little joke between each other a little more realistic.

Kaldo once kissed you and said 'no' and you had thought it was the funniest thing on the planet. He was going along with it, since he figured that it had gone unsaid that you both were going along with the rumors.

He only slightly hated himself for that decision.

It had started a game between the both of you, that had gone unsaid - going past just spending time with one another outside of being coworkers and friends, the both of you were everything that a couple could be without saying 'I love you'.

Kaldo found himself sleeping in your bed more times than not, and you were eating dinner by his side every chance you had.

It was impossible. Kaldo didn't know if it was still a joke or not whenever you kissed him goodbye; when you held his hand or when you talked to his mom as if you had known her your whole life.

Was it ever a joke?

He found himself floundering around each time he wanted to ask, because what does he even really say?

There weren't a lot of words he could think of when you would kiss him in the same abandoned closets he had shown you only months prior. It made his usual intellect fly out the window - he only thought with his body, trying to memorize the cavern of your mouth and the softness of your skin.

This would never help with the rumors; if either of you still cared about that.

At this point, he wasn't sure what either of you cared about. You were both distracted with your game, rather seeing each other than being interested in anything else.

It was really catching up to the two of you.

You were slacking on your work, and no one even bothered to ask anymore. Kaldo was with you, or you were with Kaldo.

It...really wasn't a joke anymore.

"Hey?"

Kaldo didn't know what to do when you pulled away, your lack of warmth making him feel cold for once in his life. His eyes looked around your face, as if to understand what the hell was going on through your mind.

It was the most impossible puzzle that had ever been put in front of him.

Your eyes didn't portray anything aside from confusion, which was exactly what Kaldo was feeling in that moment.

"Yeah?"

Seriously, what the hell were you two doing?

"Are you okay? You seem out of it."

You were blinking up at him, caught between staring at his lips and making eye contact. Kaldo knew he didn't have the prettiest eyes, but it was difficult to have a conversation with him when you were practically on top of him in a dusty closet.

"No, I'm fine. Just thinking..."

He had a lot of things he wanted to ask you, like if you were ever planning on being serious or if this was just going to stay a game between the both of you.

But he figured he should ask you in a nice place, like outside and in a garden somewhere.

"About?"

Your hand traveled around his body, traveling underneath his shirt and further untucking it. Kaldo was overly aware of how the fabric moved against his skin, and he had to breathe in deeply to stop the sounds that wanted to escape his throat.

This mess was like a tangled-up ball of string - Kaldo was never going to escape you.

"What happened to us?"

"Huh?" He could practically taste your confusion. Your tongue stuck out of your mouth a little, so close to his that he could smell his breath on you - like honey, and the faint smell of coffee.

"This isn't a joke anymore."

Your face practically glowed at that statement, averting his gaze nervously. It was as if he had caught you in a lie of some sorts.

Who the hell were you even lying to?

Kaldo took his hands and brought them to the small of your back, pinching at your ruffled jacket as he tried to meet your gaze once again. You were intent on not meeting his, staring at where the wall met the floor, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Can you please be honest with me," The last few months hung over him like a heavy heart, and he hoped you would give him the peace by giving him an answer. "What do you really want with me?"

You glanced at his face, and it pulled a blush out of you so red that Kaldo was sure that it matched the ribbons in his hair.

He leaned down, trying to have his eyes in your line of sight. You tried to pull your face away from his weakly, tossing quick glances towards him shyly.

"You weren't so shy just a moment ago babe."

It was hard to be shy as you were both practically one body, with your hands creeping up along Kaldo's skin even as you avoided his eyes.

"I just don't know how to answer. Aren't we good as we are?"

"And what is that?" Kaldo didn't know what emotion was bubbling up against his throat, making him want to close his eyes and hide like you were. There was a force stronger that compelled him to push you for a word - something other than 'the-guy-I-makeout-with-in-closets-and-also-work-with-and-live-with-and-also-pretend-to-be-dating-for-some-reason.'

Dragging the answer out of you was like eating caramel - sweet but also nearly impossible. It felt like he was biting and chewing forever, just to get a taste of what he wanted. He already had you in his arms, but it didn't feel like he was satisfied with having all of you.

At this rate, he needed a ring.

"Well everyone thinks we're, you know...together. Why don't we just be that?" You got the courage to look up at him, the answer only a near approximation of what you wanted to be.

"And you do want to be when mean by together?"

"You're just being an asshole now. You know what that means."

Kaldo felt your nails dig into his skin, as if a punishment for pulling the words out of you like this. It only made him smile, causing you to dig harder.

"I don't know if I do. My mom thinks we're engaged, but I heard some people think that we're merely courting. There's a big difference there, you know?"

"Together."

ignore that im ignoring my entire event, i have no concept of a schedule!

[mediumgayitalian]

“Will. Hey.” He reaches out when the medic doesn’t react, forcibly stilling his hands. Even then, he can feel the minute twitches, the fighting he’s doing with himself to keep still. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

“They leave tomorrow,” Will stresses, finally pulling his hands free. “The Romans are early risers, Nico, you know better than anyone, I need this done before they —”

He cuts himself off, too invested in the sprawl of paperwork completely covering the nurse’s station. Under his eyes is almost completely bruised black, not unlike the war paint he wore so long ago, and there’s a grey dullness to him. If he stays in one place too long, he sways on his feet.

“I’m fine,” he says, suddenly, as if remembering Nico is there. He pauses briefly to shoot him a small, strained smile, then returns to his frantic sorting. A red thumbprint bleeds onto the corner of the page of one of the files. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Without straying too far, Nico gathers the supplies he needs. He pulls out a tray to grab some antiseptic, swipes a Pac-Man bandaid off a box on the counter. Arms laden with his spoils, he nudges the half-door open with his hip, setting the supplies down when he’s inside the round desk-station.

“Will,” he says quietly, wrapping his hand around his elbow. He jumps.

“I’m — fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

He blinks, staring down at his hands; brows furrowing as he notices the several scattered paper cuts crossing almost every finger. Many of them are clotted, scabbed over; dried blood streaking between his freckles and swirling around stark white scars.

“Come here.”

Without protest, for once, he does. He sets down the pen clenched in his left thumb and turns to face Nico fully. In the minimal space between them, his hands shake.

“I didn’t notice,” he murmurs, flinching as Nico soaks a cotton pad and presses it to a cut on the inside of his thumb. Nico can’t quite read the expression on his face, although there’s a choked quality to his voice. “I need to — before they —”

“Not everything is your responsibility,” Nico interrupts. He meets Will’s gaze head on, his own gaze steady, heart breaking at the fragility in his ice blue eyes. “Not everything is your responsibility, Will,” he repeats, firmer this time.

Will’s face crumples. “I haven’t slept in five days.”

Nico closes his eyes. “Gods, Will.”

“I’m sorry.”

In moments like these, Nico hates working for his father.

He had left to relative chaos. Relative, meaning in comparison to what the rest of the eight billion people on the planet would consider calm, camp wasn’t it, but by demigod standards it wasn’t too bad. Several Romans, including Reyna and Hazel, were due to arrive the day after he was summoned by his father, which was a bummer, but he had assurance from both of them that they’d stay long enough to see him. And reassurance from his father that the errand wouldn’t be too perilous. And, lastly, a threat (warning out of love, he would say, but Nico knows a threat when he sees one) from Will to take it easy.

He got back to debris and blood and a flurry of stress — a weapons development disaster, he’d been quickly informed. No deaths, at least not yet, but several in critical condition that were quickly approaching it.

And Kayla and Austin, back at school, and Will in the infirmary by himself.

“Will,” he repeats for the third time, a little more urgently this time. He places a gently finger under his chin. “Look at me a second.”

He regrets asking, almost, when Will meets his eyes, although he immediately feels guilty for the thought. The son of Apollo is so rarely vulnerable, stubbornly intent on carrying the burdens he’s stuck with without half a hand of help. It wears on him, and the proof of the weariness hurts Nico somewhere, deep in his soul; he hates bearing witness to it.

Worse, though, is the knowledge that Will is struggling with it himself.

“Everybody critical has been stabilized,” he says firmly. When Will opens his mouth in protest, he adds, “I can feel it, Sunshine, do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he says, immediately. He snaps his jaw shut. “Yes.”

Nico’s own shoulders slump when Will exhales, long and exhausted. “Good. This —” he gestures to the paperwork — “this is secondary, Solace. I don’t care if they want to leave tomorrow. You need rest, and, hell, if they’re that pressed about it, I’ll make them do the fucking paperwork.”

“Please, don’t,” Will says, laughing feebly. He swiped quickly under his eyes, pulling away, and Nico lets him, if only because his small smile seems genuine, if not exhausted. “The idea of that actually makes me want to puke. I hate paperwork, but I hate anyone else doing it more.”

“Right, right.” Nico nudges his shoulder, something like teasing showing in his eyes. “Heaven forbid someone dot their i’s incorrectly.”

“Exactly.” Will looks so serious that Nico stills, trying to figure out just how anal, exactly, his friend is, before his face breaks out into a wide, genuine grin. Nico’s stomach flips. “I’m only teasing, Death Breath. I don’t actually care if people dot their i’s incorrectly. And I would appreciate the help.”

“I feel like it hurt you to say that,” Nico says, once he recovers from the staggering force of one million megawatts of smile power.

“It did.”

“Also, you implied that there genuinely is a wrong way to dot your i’s.”

“…Of course there is.” Will looks at him strangely. “Maybe I’m not the one who’s sleep deprived,” he muses, reminding Nico that oh yeah, dumbass, Will is actually genuinely sick with how little sleep he’s gotten, maybe fix that.

“Will you sleep, now?”

Will hesitates. “There was a girl with a — skull injury.”

Nico understands immediately. (He saw the mangled mess of Lee’s shroud.)

“Come sleep in my cabin,” he suggests, squeezing his wrist. “I’ll keep watch, and you’ll have some privacy.”

“Okay,” he says quietly. He allows himself to be tugged out of the infirmary, only looking back a couple times. “Thank you, Nico.”

“Anything for you,” Nico responds, just as quiet, and his heart races when Will beams.

[lucygxybaird]

imagine you're killed in a shootout or a fight, and everything is so fast, so hectic, that billy doesn't even realize until it's over. until he sees you lying there, so still. too still.

maybe you're tucked away in a corner of the house where the gang has holed up, and he sinks to his knees on the floor, kneeling beside you like a penitent.

he pulls you into his arms, even though he knows you're already gone. he smooths your hair away from your face, makes sure your clothes are straight and neat, and he just holds you. he doesn't rock or scream or beg for help. it's too late for that. it's too late for any of that. besides, doing anything would require thought, feeling, and he's empty. it's like someone hollowed him out, his heart fading away the moment yours stopped beating.

he sits there with you -- with your body, rather, since what really made you you has disappeared and will never, never, never come back -- and he stares into nothing. at some point, though he's unaware of choosing to move, let alone doing it, he finds himself leaning against the wall with you still in his lap.

he can't bear to look into your face.

he doesn't move, doesn't show any signs of life at all except for the involuntary, slight rise and fall of his chest, until charlie crouches beside him and tries to take you away. "billy, we need to--"

"don't," he says. turning his eyes toward his friend, billy looks at him with a dull, angry gaze, like a fire banked low. "don't you fuckin' touch her, charlie. she's gonna stay right here."

there are tears in charlie's eyes. you were his friend, too, and billy is like his brother. "billy," he says gently, pityingly. "we gotta bury her. we've buried everybody else. it's her turn."

"no," billy answers. "no."

he tightens his arms around you, holding you higher against his chest, as if you can still listen to the beat of his heart (you always liked to do that; you told him once that nothing made you feels safer than lying in his arms, your head nestled onto his chest, listening to the steady drum. it tended to lull you right to sleep). he stares at charlie, wild-eyed but blank, like an animal driven into a corner.

charlie doesn't say anything, and it's not until he's silent for a long time that billy realizes he's left. he has no idea how long it's been or where charlie has gone. he doesn't care.

there's a window -- shattered glass littering the floor -- across the room, and through it he can see that it's gotten dark. how long has he been sitting here? he has no idea. he doesn't care about this, either.

"i'm sorry," he tells you. he still doesn't look at you. "i'm so sorry. this is all my fault. it's always my fault. i shoulda told you to get outta here--"

i shoulda made sure he knew he was my hero, i shoulda found a better doctor, i shoulda made more money so she didn't have to work as hard, i shoulda stayed with him...

at some point, he looks around again, and manuela is sitting next to him. she touches his shoulder. "billy," she says.

like he did with charlie, he just tells her: "no."

"querido, we must," she says, her hand still on his shoulder. "we have to. it's time. she can't stay like this. it's not good for her."

"what?" billy blinks.

manuela reaches out with her free hand and brushes billy's hair out of his eyes. "it's not good for her," she says again. "she needs to go home."

"she is home," billy says. his eyes sting and he doesn't know why, because he's empty, which means he doesn't have anything left to give to tears. "she's with me."

smiling sadly, manuela shakes her head. "her home is different now," she says. "you will join here there, someday. i am sure she will be waiting for you. she loved you very much." she squeezes his shoulder. "but now you need to let her go, so she can rest and wait for you there."

"rest?" he repeats, like he's never heard the word before. his throat tightens, and he can feel one bead of moisture, and then another, trickle down one cheek. "she's tired?"

"yes," manuela says softly. "she's very tired. she needs you to let go, so she can rest."

a choked sob wrenches its way out of his chest, clawing as it goes, and he finally loosens his hold on you. "okay," he says. "okay. so she can rest."

they bury you separately from everyone else, underneath an oak tree that spreads its leaves over a pool of shade. it will shelter you, he thinks, from the wind and the rain; it will keep you safe and warm, protect you, succeed where he failed.

he makes your marker himself, whittling your name and your date of birth onto a piece of wood and sticking it upright in the earth. he can just see it from his window when he lies in bed, not sleeping until his body forces him to sleep, exhaustion bullying him under.

at first, all he wants to do is be with you. he doesn't want to keep you waiting too long.

but he knows you well enough to be sure you wouldn't want that for him. you'd want him to fight, to live. his work in lincoln county isn't done, not yet, not by a long shot.

when it is, though, when it's time to finally lay down his guns, he knows where you'll be. and he'll join you there, finally able to rest. finally home.

[jessicas-pi]

Bo and the Blueberry AU incorrect quotes

Bo-Katan: How’s school going? Ezra: Terrible. I want to stab everybody there. Bo-Katan: Okay, just don’t get any blood on your clothes. Ezra: …you shouldn’t be condoning this.

---

Ezra: If history repeats, I'm so getting a Mythosaur.

---

Sabine: I'm not mean. Name one mean thing I’ve ever done. Ezra: When we were kids, you convinced me eggs weren't real. Sabine: They're not. Ezra: Haha, very funny. Sabine: I'm serious. Didn't you hear? Ezra: No… what happened? Sabine: …Why would you fall for this again-

---

Din (after Ezra becomes Mand'alor): I think I mostly want to see what happens when this whole place breaks apart.

---

Sabine: You know what’s funny about Ezra? He’s my best friend, and anyone who’d hurt him is someone I’d murder, probably.

---

Bo-Katan: We'll talk about this later. Ezra: Ok, I won’t be listening.

---

Tristan: I found an old note that said Note to self: Get revenge on Ezra. Tristan: Except I couldn't remember what I was supposed to get revenge for. Tristan: But I trusted my own judgment, so I went with it. Ezra: Hmm… I don't know what you were supposed to get revenge for, either. Tristan: I can only assume you got what was coming to you. Not 100 percent sure, though. Ezra: Well, whatever I did, I guess I deserved it. Tristan: Let that possibly be a lesson to you.

---

Bo-Katan: Come on, Ursa. Nobody actually believes that Din is in love with me. Ursa, to the other Mandalorians: Raise your hand if you think that Din is helplessly in love with Bo-Katan. *Everyone raises their hand* Bo-Katan: Din, put your hand down.

---

Korkie, looking at his friends: I need to become a therapist faster.

---

Ezra: I’m not being weird. Am I being weird? Tristan: Yes, and that’s coming from me.

---

Ezra, to Sabine: You drink too much, swear too much, and your morals are highly questionable. Sabine: … Ezra: You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a best friend.

---

Ezra: Your smile? It makes my day. Sabine: Your happiness? I live for that. Korkie: A room? Get one. Tristan: Hotel? Trivago.

---

Ezra, texting Bo-Katan: *sends a voice message* Bo-Katan, texting back: I’m a little busy, is it urgent? Ezra: No, don’t worry, just listen later. *later* Bo-Katan: *presses play* Ezra's voice message: THERE’S A FIRE-

---

Sabine: Relationships should be 50/50. Ezra tries to be Mand'alor while I sit on the armrest of his throne looking intimidating.

---

Ezra: I need life advice. Korkie, sipping Space Gatorade and eating cookie dough: You came to the right person.

---

Sabine: Okay, I’m going to make sure the flower decorations have arrived. Ezra: Perfect, while you do that I’ll check on the ring bear. Sabine: … Sabine: You mean ring bearER, right? Ezra: … Sabine: Look me in the eyes and tell me you are not going to bring a dangerous wild animal to our wedding.

---

Bo-Katan: I left instructions for everyone while I'm gone. Ezra: Mine just says "Ezra no." Bo-Katan: I want you to apply it to every possible situation.

---

Tristan: Why is Ezra making me do the dishes again? You haven’t washed them in a week, Sabine! Sabine: It’s because I’m Ezra’s favorite. Tristan: I hate you.

---

Korkie: I have a bad feeling about this, guys. Sabine: Oh don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Ezra: Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen? Korkie, being bailed out of jail the next morning: I hate you all.

[yelenasdiary]

Hey if you're taking requests how about one of Leigh Shaw from Sorry for Your Loss?

Fem!R and her meet in group or something different if you want. Fem!R is handling the grief of her loved one a lot differently than Leigh does because whoever it was that R lost told them to still be happy once they were gone and in a way got more closure than Leigh got.

Maybe it could be angsty to hurt/comfort when Leigh tries to call R out on how she's dealing with grief and R just tries her hardest to help Leigh through her own grief and maybe they kiss by the end? R telling Leigh that she isn't Matt and she doesn't plan on leaving anytime soon.

Lost in Grief

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem! Reader

Summary: Everybody deals with grief differently, so how do you assure the new woman in your life that you would never do anything to hurt her like she has been.

Angst, Fluff, Comfort.

Warnings: Mentions of death of a loved one, suicide, cancer, depression & grief.  | 1.3K

AC: Thank you for sending this! I don’t believe I have written for Leigh before and unfortunately, I have only been able to watch SFYL twice so bear with me if I make any mistakes! Anyways, with that, I hope you enjoy! x

It’s midnight and you had just gotten to Leigh’s house, knocking softly on the front door of her mother’s home. She not long ago called you in tears, breaking down in grief over Matt’s death. You had met the woman in grief group, the two of you being able to bond over the love for donuts and how they were the highlight of going to group. 

You knew of Leigh’s story, and she knew of yours. The two of you having to deal with different kinds of grief. For Leigh, it was sudden and unexpected. She had questions and nobody to give her answers to them, she had been going through moments of finding out more about her deceased husband that she didn’t know. All the new information only threw her deeper in the darkness of her depression but every now and then, she would smile and share a laugh and you could tell that in those moments, she was feeling okay. 

For you, it was completely different. You lost your soon to be wife to cancer, you had months to prepare for her death, you had no questions but a broken heart and an empty house. But with time and the help of talking to a grief group, you finally saw the comfort your late fiancé left you with. She always said she wanted you to be happy and not let her death eat you up and make you hate the world; she never wanted you to lose sight of the beauty the world held just because you couldn’t share it with her. Of course, you missed her dearly and you will forever love her, but it’s been almost two years and things started to feel differently. 

Leigh opened the front door, her face soaked in her tears as she crashed into your arms. You hugged her tightly, letting her break down even more in your arms. She mumbled things you couldn’t make out through her sobs; things you were sure she would repeat when she had calmed down. You waited patiently for her to settle, giving her as much time as she needed, never letting her go. 

Matt passed away a year ago, the pain never stops, you knew that, but you hated to see Leigh in such pain. If she would let you, you would do everything you could to take her pain away, to make her happy again. Oh, how much you wished to see her truly happy, maybe it would show you a completely different side of her. It was moments like these that made you thankful for the time and comfort you got from your fiancé before she passed, this is what she didn’t want for you, to be in Leigh’s shoes.

“Do you want to grab a donut and we can talk?” You offered when the woman eventually calmed down, pulling away from your hold and wiping her tears on the sleeves of her sweater. She weakly chuckled, “it’s midnight, no place is open” she reminded you. 

“I have some at mine” you offered. She smiled softly with a light nod, “I can’t turn down a donut” she said. 

“I wouldn’t let you” you smiled. 

----

“Nothing makes sense” Leigh frowned after finishing her jam donut, “like, I keep going over everything and I just can’t make sense of it. I mean, I don’t think he just died by accident, but it almost kills me to think he killed himself” she added. This was the circle she continued to keep herself in, no matter how many times she would have this conversation with you, it was almost as if your advice and thoughts went in one ear and out the other.

“And you?” She suddenly snapped, “I don’t understand how you can be as fine as you are” there it was, Leigh’s true thoughts coming through. “How can you just forgive your fiancé for not fighting? How can you live each day not hating the pain she left you in?” She went on. 

“I guess, I had closure” you admitted, knowing how unfair it was for her to hear this. “She told me not to let myself get to a point where her death would consume my life. I miss her every day and I am angry that there wasn’t anything I could do. She simply had bad luck, but I can’t hold that against her. I think you’re angry with him, he left you so suddenly. He left you with so much pain and questions you’re running around trying to find answers too and it's slowly killing you” you added, looking her deeply in her green eyes.

It was silent between the two of you, Leigh didn’t want to admit that you were right, she thought what she had was perfect and nothing could ever ruin that, but it was ruined, it was taken from her by the very person she loved the most.

“and I-“ you paused, breaking the silence. Your eyes dropped to the floor as you ran your tongue over your bottom lip, “I hate seeing you like this” you added in an almost whisper. 

“But you’re right” Leigh replied, letting her tears fall freely. “it’s killing me” she added. 

You slowly looked up at her wanting nothing more than to just tell her how you'd been feeling but now was not the time. “I just wish things weren’t so hard, I wish I just knew what he was thinking, I wish I could’ve helped him. Even if his death was an accident, he was still hurting” she added. 

“It’s easier said than done, I know but you can’t keep running in circles Leigh. You deserve to be happy again, to enjoy life again and I think deep down you know that Matt would want that for you too” you gave her a comforting smile but all she did was nod in reply. “How about you stay here tonight, I’ll take you home in the morning” you offered when your eyes caught the time on the clock hanging on the wall of your living room. 

“Only if that’s okay, I really don’t want to put you out” 

“Don’t be silly, I have guest room” you smiled once more. 

----

It had been a week since you last saw Leigh, after you dropped her off at her home the following morning. She’d been ignoring your texts, hadn’t been in grief group which made you think maybe you had upset her with some of the things you said to her that night. You ran into her sister, Jules, at the store who told you that Leigh had just been working extra classes while their mother was under weather. It helped ease the thought that maybe you had hurt her, but it still didn’t stop your worries. 

A soft knock on your front door interrupted you cooking dinner, you turned the stove to low and wandered over to the door to open it to Leigh. 

“Leigh, are you okay? I haven’t heard fro-“ she cut you off by crashing her lips on to yours in a deep kiss. It was unexpected and sudden but you found yourself wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her close into you, deepening the kiss. 

Leigh pulled away, eyes filled with tears as you gently cupped her face, “I’m sorry, I can’t stop thinking about what you said, and I thought maybe you were trying to tell me something else” she said in destress. 

You wipe her tears, “don’t be sorry” you said, looking her deeply in her eyes once again, “I was. I know Matt hurt you and I swear on my life, I would never do that to you, ever. You need time to heal, I understand that, and I will always be here for you. I’m not him, I’m going anywhere” you added. 

“Do you promise?” She asked, searching your eyes for an answer. 

“I promise” you replied softly.

Taglist:  @marvelwomen-simp | @swaqcenix | @scarlettbitchx | @natashamaximoff-69 | @evilcr0ne | @boredandneedfanfics | 

If you want to be on the taglist for my work, please click HERE.

[christinesficrecs]

Author Spotlight is a Saturday thing now **checks to make sure it really is Saturday** 😋 Enjoy these gems. They are all amazing!!

pretty in tents by kellifer_fic | 7.6K

Even though he’s making fun of it, Stiles thinks the whole thing sounds awesome and, like most stuff these days, the experience is going to be totally wasted on Scott.

By Moon And Stars by kellifer_fic | 15.9K | Mature

“Have you heard of this Alpha?” Stiles asks, shuffling up his pallet so Scott has room to sit. Scott does with a grateful little twist of his mouth. Stefan forces him into the Stilinski ceremonial armor when they travel and Stiles can see that it’s heavy and doesn’t sit well on Scott. He can’t shift encased in metal and Stefan knows it.

“I know of him, mostly stories that seem a little fantastical. Shifters exaggerate just like common people. They like their war stories.”

“Tell me of him. Tell me a war story.”

Relationship Status: It’s complicated by kellifer_fic | 4K | Mature

Okay, I know this is a huge stretch for you, but can you please pretend you’re like, into me?

the ring of the ancestors is not a euphemism by kellifer_fic | 10.6K

Stiles hadn’t noticed the way the entire commissary had gone silent when the guy had approached his table, or the two military escorts that had been flanking him, looking at each other like maybe they should be intervening but weren’t sure how. All he saw was someone stealing the last dessert from him and Stiles didn’t think about it, he just reached across the table and snatched it back with a, “What the hell, dude?”

tumescent by kellifer_fic (9k)

“I would have to want to date Derek for your plan to work,” Stiles points out, secure in the knowledge that his logic is infallible and yes, he’s had a pointless and soul-destroying crush on Derek for as long as he can remember but nobody knows that.

powerful in-scent-ive by kellifer_fic | 14.5K

Stiles holds up a hand, because he really can’t listen to the bites-are-all-right speech that Derek has given Scott dozens of times. “Dude, don’t.”

insert camping pun here by kellifer_fic | 12.5K

“I’m going to be different,” Stiles clarified. “I’m going to go to parties and make friends and,” Stiles leaned closer into the computer and whispered conspiratorially, “Get laid.”

Dude, what’s a bulwark? by kellifer_fic | 12.1K

Beacon Hills is the kind of small town where everybody knows everybody, and what everybody knows is that surly diner owner Derek Hale and free spirited single dad Stiles Stilinski have been in love with each other for years. If only they knew it too.

has time re-written every line by kellifer_fic | 14.6K

No, dad. Listen to what I'm saying. Yesterday, I was eighteen. I'm not speaking metaphorically, or about the way I feel or whatever. I was eighteen, we lived in the house on Maple, the last conversation we had was about how fries didn't count as a vegetable and I, uh, wasn't married.

Vampires, man. Not to be trusted by kellifer_fic | 9.6K

Stiles appreciates Derek worrying about him being overwhelmed but he really could have used a few overenthusiastic werewolves and impatient humans for his homecoming. He’s felt disconnected because of his forced isolation and would have at least liked to have had Scott on his doorstep when he got there.

monster at the end of the book by kellifer_fic, maichan808 (maichan) | 16.7K

It's not like he forgets about the scar. Just, sometimes it takes him off guard when he's half asleep or run down. It's there, a new companion that reminds him of the world he now lives in, how it's changed and what it's cost. Still, sometimes he'll blink at it owlishly in the mirror like he's doing now, at the way it runs alongside his collar bone and down. It even separates a mole into two neat halves.

i love you a latte [Fic & Podfic] by kellifer_fic, RsCreighton | 6.6K

"You... want me to come to your family reunion?"

"Yes."

"And you'll come to my best friend's wedding as...my... date?" Stiles thinks the whole proposition bears repeating.

"Yes," Derek says again, brows furrowing like he's starting to regret asking.

it's free (and always will be) by kellifer_fic, maichan808 (maichan) | 31.6K | Explicit

Stiles starts looking around, like there's someone who'll rescue him from this painfully awkward situation and Derek can't blame him. All he can think is this is some kind of elaborate prank Laura is playing on him after she'd found his pile of Fangboy back copies last month.

Or, the one where Derek has to marry a human to save Clawbook and it turns out to be Stiles. He's completely doomed.

[sokoviansimp]

I loved the last Drabble so much! Can you do one of reader getting scared whilst with someone else and wanting her mama and for a second everybody is assuming she was asking for her birth mom but she was asking for Wanda? Please??

Mama

✒ Pairings: Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes x Child!Reader (platonic)

✒ Summary: Reader gets scared whilst with someone else and wants her mama and everybody assumes she's asking for her birth mom

✒ Tags and Warnings: anxiety, flashbacks, lmk if I missed any

✒ Author's Note : I really appreciate the request! I was SO excited to write this one, what a cute Idea! Hope you enjoy. To the other requests in my inbox, I am sorry I am so slow but I will be getting to them, they're all so good :)

✒ Word Count : 2953

✒ Read Time: 15 minutes

Masterlist : The Package AU

Natasha was sitting on the floor of the living room, surrounded by a pile of toys that you had dumped out. You were crawling around, picking up different toys and examining them before discarding them just as quickly.

Examining the mess, Natasha picked up a stuffed bear and held it up to her face, pretending to growl at you. Your face lit up as you let out a squeal of delight. Natasha repeated the gesture a few more times, each time eliciting more giggles from you.

Eventually, she laid down on her back, still holding the bear up in the air. You walked over to her and climbed onto her chest, your little arms wrapping around Natasha's neck, she couldn't help but smile at the adorable sight.

"Are you trying to give me a bear hug?" Natasha asked, chuckling. You just giggled in response as you nodded your head against her chest, your tiny fingers playing with the strands of Natasha's red hair.

For a moment, Natasha forgot about all the darkness and danger that surrounded your lives. All she could see was the innocent joy and happiness on your face, and it warmed her heart more than anything else in the world. Once you were settled on her chest for the hug, you stayed put enjoying the comfort. Mindlessly playing with the redhead’s hair as you relaxed with her. 

Moments later, Wanda meandered in from the kitchen to see the two of you on the verge of sleep cuddled together on the floor. The sight was perfect, her two favorite people. It looked as if Nat was guarding you from the world, as long as you were in her arms, nothing could harm you and you’d be perfectly safe. Or maybe that’s not what it looked like to everyone, but it sure looked that way to Wanda. Maybe that’s because that’s the way that Natasha has always made her feel. When her brother died, she was there for her, no matter what she needed, sometimes before she even know she needed it, Nat provided. 

The day they found you on the mission, Natasha was there to provide support for Wanda, to make sure she knew that she’d be there to make sure no one ever hurts you again. As she watched the two of you, Wanda realized that Natasha was more than just her best friend. She felt a connection with her that she couldn't deny. It wasn't just the way Natasha made you laugh or held you when you cried, but the way she made Wanda feel when they were together.

Wanda had never felt this way before, she made her way over to pull a blanket off of the couch to lay over the two of you. She knew that she was falling in love with Natasha. She tried to push the feeling aside, telling herself that it was just a crush or infatuation, but she knew deep down that it was more than that.

You had only been with Wanda and the Avengers for a couple of months, but you were already starting to feel at home in the compound. You loved exploring the vast rooms and corridors, playing with the Avengers and their various gadgets, and spending time with Wanda, who had completely taken you under her wing. But there were still moments when things reminded you of your old life and made you scared of this new environment.

Wanda was more nervous about the night than she wished to be. Worrying about what she should wear that was appropriate but may also catch the other redhead’s eye. It was silly, they’d been friends for years and Natasha never noticed before, or was it because Wanda wasn’t trying to catch her attention, surely today would be no different. To her, Wanda was sure she would never be seen as more than a friend. She couldn’t help but think about what Nat would think of each outfit she picked out though. 

This evening was special because, for the first time since you resided at the compound, there would be guests joining for one of Tony’s gatherings. It was more tame than Tony’s parties are typically known for, it was mostly for a press announcement regarding a new watch that Stark Industries released. 

The StarkWatch, set to land on the market two weeks from today, would be equipped with state-of-the-art sensors and algorithms that can accurately measure your heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, and other key health metrics. It would also have a built-in GPS and a voice-controlled digital assistant that can help the user navigate, set reminders, and perform various tasks hands-free.

One of the most innovative features of the StarkWatch would be its holographic display, which would allow the user to access their smartphone apps and notifications in a fully immersive and interactive way. They could simply raise their wrist and see a floating 3D image of their screen, which they could manipulate with hand gestures and voice commands.

The ultimate gadget for the modern tech-savvy individual who wants to stay healthy, connected, and stylish at all times. Or at least, that’s what Tony was saying about it. The watch would be available in a range of colors and styles, and would come with a custom-designed charging dock that doubles as a stylish desk accessory. 

With the rise in smartwatches, the press was on the edge of their seat waiting to see what Stark Industries had cooked up for the market of consumer-based wearable tech. 

Every Avenger was in the audience for the announcement to show their support for Tony, even you. Wanda wasn’t planning on staying the entire time but it was important to her to at least make an appearance. Once Tony’s speech was over, the crowd shifted their attention to the tables that held food and drinks. 

While the guests were mingling and filling their plates with the finest catered food around, Tony made his way over to the crime-fighting group that you sat with. The congratulatory wishes poured from their mouths as they welcomed their friend off the stage. 

Throughout the speech, and even now, you sat comfortably on Wanda’s lap with your back to her so you could see everything that was happening. Wanda’s focus shifted from the stage to Natasha every so often as she stole glances at the redhead. You had been very well-behaved and hadn't made a sound throughout the whole event. Now that everyone else was getting out of their seat and your friend, Tony, was no longer on stage, you started to get a bit antsy in Wanda’s grasp. 

At first, you were just shifting your weight from one leg to another, but soon you were trying to wiggle your way out of her hold and off of her lap. She tried to explain to you that the appropriate thing to do right now is to keep still but you just wanted to get up and stretch your legs, and well, now that you think about it you want to go play. The event was quite boring, mostly made for grownups, and the only reason you were even there was to show support, you don’t even know what you’re supporting. Tony was up on a big stage though, I guess that’s kind of cool. 

“Are you thirsty, baby? Want me to go get you some juice?” Wanda asked into your ear as she leaned down toward you. 

“Yes, juice!” you nodded your head, “can we pway now?” you wondered as you met her eyes over your left shoulder. Your patience was wearing thin, and as much as you wanted to behave, you also wanted to go and play with your toys. You were hoping that getting up to get juice could be the perfect gateway to leave. It felt like you had been sitting in that room for hours. 

Tony caught wind of you wanting to skip out early and in an effort to keep your attention, he mentioned how you’re not going to want to miss the next act. You were instantly intrigued by his sentiment. He continued on, telling you how they’re going to demo the new features and there's going to be a whole show on stage.

The possibility of what could take place on stage left you in excited anticipation, going over different impossible scenarios in your mind. What if someone came walking in riding on a triceratops? Surely you wouldn’t want to miss that. 

Lost in your thoughts, Wanda picked you up from her lap as she stood and placed you down on the seat she was just occupying, “Can you stay here with the team while I go get you juice?” 

You nodded in response as Natasha offered to go with her. Wanda immediately tensed at the thought of being alone with her, what would they talk about? Would she make a fool of herself? Until she quickly remembered she’s her best friend and it’d be crazy to let a little crush ruin that, she had to act normal. After confirming with the team that they would be ok to watch you while she retrieved the juice, she and Nat walked off. 

“Are you thirsty too?” Wanda raised a brow to Natasha as they settled in the beverage line. 

“Thought you could use some company,” Nat answered. The past couple of days, it almost seems like Wanda has been avoiding her and she’s not sure what she did, or if she did anything for that matter. Most importantly, she wants to make sure her friend is okay because she’s just seemed off.

“Oh, thanks”

“Of course, is everything ok? -it just seems like you’ve been a bit off lately”

Wanda felt embarrassed that Natasha had noticed the shift, “how do you mean?”

“Well, I- I guess, I just haven’t seen you in a few days really. You’re not avoiding me, are you? Did I do something?” Natasha sputtered out. 

Truthfully, Wanda was avoiding Nat. Of course, she did nothing wrong, maybe even just too many things right, but surely she couldn’t admit that. “No- god no, of course not!” Wanda tried to reassure her, the last thing she wanted was to make Nat feel like she did something wrong, “I- I’ve just been busy, I’m okay though.”

“Promise?” Nat double-checked

“Promise,” Wanda reassured her

“You know you can tell me anything, Wands. I’m here for you,” the nickname made Wanda’s stomach flip. It’s not like she hasn’t heard it fall from her lips a million times before, but this was the first time after she’s begun to see Nat in a different light and it hit very differently. 

“I know, you always have been,” Wanda affirmed. 

“You look stunning today, by the way moy drug,” Nat commented. 

Muy Drug. The statement of friendship felt like a dagger to the heart for the Sokovian, “Thanks, you look good too tovarishch” she responded. 

During their wait in line for drinks, the demo had begun setting up. The two were 3rd in line when the lights began to dim and a dramatic soundtrack blared through the auditorium, “I’m sure Y/N’s on the edge of her seat right now,” Nat mentioned as Wanda let out a chuckle and a nod hoping to make it back soon enough to see your reaction. 

The sounds began to lead up to something as the two redheads approached the front of the line. Just as the server was handing Wanda your glass of orange juice, fireworks are set off at both sides of the stage. Immediately, Wanda knew you were going to go into a panic, she quickly gave the drink to Nat and she set off for you. Natasha knew exactly why Wanda was rushing to get back to you so quickly and still, the two of them were slowed down by the crowd of people. 

At the sound of the fireworks, you immediately covered your ears and closed your eyes as tears began to form in your eyes. The sounds sent you back to your time with Hydra, as you started to shake and rock back and forth, “MAMA!” You called out, hoping she would hear you and come running to comfort you.

The sound of you calling out for your mom broke Bucky’s heart as he tried to calm you the best he could. He knew your mom was never coming back but he didn’t know how to explain that to a 3-year-old. “Y/N, it’s ok, they’re just fireworks. It’s fake booms.” He tried to tell you. 

“Want mama,” you stated as you began to cry.

“I know, I’m sorry kid, your mama isn’t here,” he said as he reached out to hold you. Bucky begins bouncing you up and down in an attempt to soothe you when Wanda and Nat finally return with your juice.

“MAMA!” you yell as you reach your arms out toward Wanda.

Bucky was taken aback by your action, he assumed that when you were calling for your mama, you were wanting your birth mother. The entire team had a similar reaction in their heads. It was heart-warming to see that you thought of Wanda as your mother. As soon as she’s within arms reach, she takes you from Bucky, silently thanking him for taking care of you. 

You quickly nuzzled into Wanda’s neck as she rocked you back and forth, rubbing your back in sooting circles. You soon calmed down, feeling safe and sound in her arms. 

Natasha, standing there holding your juice was taking it all in. The way Wanda was so attentive and caring for you made her smile, and now to see you calling her your mama, Natasha was so happy for Wanda. She knew how much having a family meant to her, and she was so happy to see it happening before her very eyes. The love she held for you both was immeasurable. 

“Juicy,” You say reaching toward Natasha for the juice she held for you. It took Natasha a couple of seconds to register that she was meant to respond by handing you your juice, lost in the way Wanda was coddling and swaying you, “Yes, here you go, Y/N careful small sips,” she mentions as she raises it to your lips for you to drink. 

“Tank yew Natty,” you muttered with a smile on your face as you pulled pack from the straw to nuzzle back into Wanda’s neck. 

“I think we should go now, congratulations again Tony,” Wanda sincerely noted to her friend as she went to carry you out of the theatre. 

“Natty come too?” You said reaching one arm out toward Natasha. The action was too cute to turn down, not that she wanted to anyway.

“Of course” she said as she followed you and Wanda out. 

Once the 3 of you reached the common room, Nat suggested watching a movie to calm down from the chaos of the night, “Fwozen?” you wondered

Nat chuckled, having watched Frozen with you twice already this week, “Frozen it is!” 

Wanda internally winced at the decision, becoming tired of the same movie occupying the screen everytime she sat in front of it, but she didn’t say anything as she knew you had a rough night. 

Wanda sat on the couch with you snuggled up against her, wrapped in a warm blanket as they watched Frozen on the TV. Natasha was sitting on the other side of the couch, but Wanda couldn't help but notice how she kept inching closer, until their legs were touching.

As the movie played on, Natasha reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from Wanda's face. Wanda felt her heart race as she turned to look at Natasha. Their eyes met and Wanda felt a sudden jolt of electricity between them.

They both looked away, pretending to focus on the movie, but their minds were elsewhere. As the scene with Anna and Kristoff began to play out on screen, Natasha's hand found its way onto Wanda's thigh. Wanda felt her skin flush as Natasha's fingers began to rub soothing circles.

Wanda couldn't concentrate on the movie anymore. Her mind was consumed with thoughts of Natasha. As the scene played out with Anna and Kristoff sharing a kiss, Wanda couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. She wanted nothing more than to be the one sharing a kiss with Natasha.

As the movie came to an end, Wanda got up to put you to bed. As she tucked you in, she couldn't help but feel distracted. She knew she had feelings for Natasha now, and she couldn't shake them. As she turned to walk back to the living room, she was met with the same emerald eyes that have been consuming her thoughts for the past week. 

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Nat offered

Without a word, Wanda walked past Natasha so that she could leave you alone to sleep, Nat took this as a queue to follow, “I’m fine Nat, I promise” Wanda insisted, wanting desperately to let this whole thing go. 

“Hmm” Nat hummed in response, knowing that there was something on her friend’s mind. Surely there was something on hers too, but she wasn’t sure if it was the right time to bring it up. 

“Hmm? What’s that supposed to mean?” Wanda countered, pressing on. 

“Means I don’t believe you,” Nat said as she walked out, leaving the redhead alone with her thoughts and her feelings. Thoughts swirling around her head of what Nat really knew. Was she being too obvious? Nat’s her best friend, of course, she can see something is off, but did she know that it was because of her?

Taglist: @mymommawanda@livslifeonline@reggierizzoli@mythixmagic@lesbicentism@marvelogic@katethewriter @inluvwithfictionalwomen @spooky-reader1 @marvelogic ​@kissforvoid

[redisveryyummy]

Late night modern hotd music headcanons :D

Rheanyra loves Beyonce so fucking much dude

She feels like she would have one playlist and it's just called boss bitch or something

Reputation is the only Taylor Swift album she constantly listens to and evermore but we won't talk about that

Former theater kid, if you disagree argue with the wall

I am a strong believer that she is a fan of musicals/romcoms and her and her boys have a movie night where they watch their favorites and sing every song word for word

(Daemon does not participate)

ESPECIALLY MAMMA MIA

Rheanyra singing "Slipping Through My Fingers" to Jace and/or Luke has me sobbing my eyes out dude

Jace, Luke, and Joffery singing "Honey Honey" omg

JACE AND (INSERT S/O OF YOUR CHOICE PROBABLY CREGAN) SINGING "LAY YOUR LOVE ON ME" TO EACH OTHER AGHSBSUDBHD

Daemon listens to dad rock and dubstep exclusively, nothing else

Bro is literally the cbat guy

Daemon is really the kind of guy that would be like "there's this band but you probably wouldn't know it because it's so underground" and it's literally Weezer

Alicent loves her yearning music

Phoebe Bridgers, Frankie Cosmos, Laufey, Mitski, Conan Gray

Two words. BOY. GENIUS.

Her and Rheanyra have TOTALLY gone to many boy genius concerts together

folklore folklore folklore

Aegon 😐😑😐

Cbat guy 2.0

Listens to WAY to much house music

No real music taste

Whatever is on the radio, but like the radio in 2016 you know?? Or like late 2000's

1989 (Taylor's Version) he's not a monster lol

Usher (that's the only person I can think of rn lol)

Aemond only listens to classical music or weird experimental jazz because he thinks it makes him different

Activity hates on Taylor Swift for all the wrong reasons

Secretly likes her a little and is way too excited for The Tortured Poets Department

Helaena is so whimsical I love her sm <3

Very much into indie stuff with down to earth vibes

Hozier, The Crane Wives, Noah Kahn, Everybody's Worried About Owen, Bears in Trees, Maya Hawk

"Why Am I Like This" by Orla Gartland...iykyk

Jacaerys Velaryon is an Arianna Grande FAN I don't make the rules

Him, Beala, and Rheana definitely have little dance parties whenever they come over

Loves Ari and Brittany

Also enjoys country music

He gets it from his daddy 🥰

Taylor Swifts Self Title is his everything

LUCERYS VELARYON IS A THEATER KID I REPEAT LUCERYS VELARYON IS A THEATER KID

It's all his mom's fault

His playlists are all just musical soundtracks

Little Shop of Horrors, Heathers, The Falsettos, RIDE THE CYCLONE, BE MORE CHILL, Dear Evan Hansen, Hamilton

Same with the Hazbin Hotel soundtrack y'all don't even know

Luke loves "Hell is Forever"

Also bro has a HORRIBLE singing voice

Anyway I will probably have more tomorrow but that is what I got for tonight :))

[billkaulitzwife]

The Outsiders Coping With a Breakup

(ps guys im not over it leave me alone(i also watched the notebook and i hate myself))

Ponyboy

Reading or writing.

How could you ever hurt this little freshman boy he‘s such a sweetheart

He would probably silently cry into a pillow until he thought his lungs were about to collapse or cave in

if this was now … he‘d chain smoke and listen to lana del rey while looking out a moonlit window

he definitely listens to Elvis to get over it.

I don’t know what exactly he would read to get over it but probably some sad ass Edgar Allan Poe. Annabelle Lee lookin ass.

He‘d write the most heart breaking

tear dripping

heavy breathing sad poetry ever.

show him a romance novel.

he’d never stop reading them until he got over it.

just the bare thought of it drives him nuts.

so he reads.

Johnny

if you hurt this man he would probably hurt himself.

he would dream bout it and wake up in cold sweats, tears running down his face.

in all honesty

i think he‘d be artistic with it

he’d somehow turn each and every single tiny thought into something about you

whether it be thinking about a teddy bear then contorting it into nothing but an image of you and him.

he would never be able to look at the places you went together the same.

he would be an artist.

hand him a pencil and he’ll make your heart break and ache.

might etch and sketch on himself to see if you still care.

ps you obviously do.

Dallas

Doesn’t know how.

All this man does is sleep, drink, fuck, repeat.

being honest this manwhore is probably gonna screw every hoe in Tulsa to try and get his mind off of it,

but every path leads back to what he knows best.

he would smoke more,

party more,

drink away all his problems, etc before facing a problem head on.

people may see him as this

uhh

violent gang member hoodlum kid guy man

but deep down hes really just a kid who wishes he couldve given his momma one more hug

a kid that needed to be loved.

a kid that was never taught how to be loved.

Adelaide

crier.

she’s a big ol’ crier, but it doesnt matter since thats not the only way she copes.

she loves to paint and puts every emotion into her paintings.

she may’ve become a kleptomaniac since she needs the supplies.

the curtis boys would

PERSONALLY

kill you if anything happened to her

one heartbreak and shes done for

love? whats that? it isnt real?

dont hurt her no matter what.

she would also turn to cigarettessss (as if she doesnt smoke enough).

adelaide would develop stage five lung cancer before even admitting that love could in the slightest exist anymore.

Sodapop

working.

soda seems like the kinda guy to go through a breakup and cry a lot

but the only thing that really helped was work.

he’d probably get a raise

yk with how hard and how much he’d be working to get over it.

his siblings would warn him about not overworkimg himself

and guess what.

he didnt listen and got really sick from all the stress.

i know for a fact he would keep away from cigarettes even if someone said they help and he believed it

he would only ever listen to the radio

hoping and praying that when he’d hear a love song he‘d hear your voice

Darrell

probably the most sane of everybody while dealing with his bs

he wld obviously be heart broken

but not to the point he needed some insane coping mechanism.

he would probably meditate.

i mean this is the sixties cmon he’s either gonna do wxxd

or meditate.

as soon as a thought of you came up and his mind started to panic he would sit on the couch and

well.

relax.

he probably has the healthiest coping mechanism he’s definitely got his life together

the others are jealous as fuuuuck

Steve

bro wouldnt eat.

every time he thought about the breakup

he thought it was because he was strong enough

or that he was too chubby for his girl.

one time he passed out while on the way to work and the gang freaked out so bad

they couldnt take him to the hospital so they carried him home and stuck a juice box in his mouth

eventually his ass woke up and they all cheered like the war had just ended “HIP HOORAY!”

but then in all seriousness

he needed to get his weight back up so the curtis kids make him eat at their house

even if he says he ate.

theres always snacks for him laying around thay house from then on out

Two-Bit

drinking.

do i have to explain.

in the novel pony said two-bit was famous for shoplifting and his black-handled switchblade…

but for some reason i know he wouldnt shoplift any more.

(he sure did teach adelaide how to tho)

along with his love for “shopping” you gotta remember he’s a heavy alcoholic

he’d drink away all of his problems and thoughts until he blacked out.

his buddies would think its just your average keith

but in all reality he’s really struggling

even though he seems like the usual drunk happy joking guy

HE IS HURTTT.

okay thanks for watching todays vlog

if u ever need to vent please dont be scared to message me bruv im sure Ik how to help.

[deeply-unserious-fellow]

Okay, no, y'know what? I've made a post about this before, but it's making me mad again and I think this bears repeating: the scene leading up to Stayed Gone is NOT proof that Vox is just as bad to Val as Val is to him, and claiming that it is plays into very real misconceptions about abuse. We don't know everything about their relationship, but THAT SCENE SPECIFICALLY features EXCLUSIVELY Val as the aggressor. Yes, Vox yells at Val, but he doesn't throw anything. Yes, he manipulates Val, but hE'S DOING IT TO STOP HIM FROM SHOOTING UP A GODDAMN BUILDING I THINK THAT'S A PRETTY GOOD FUCKIN REASON!!!!!!!! The only thing Vox does in that scene that I would consider a genuine red flag is grabbing and throwing Val after Val brings up Alastor. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING ELSE he does is in response to something Val did. In fact, how about I give a play by play of the scene???

Vox enters Val's room to get him to stop breaking Velvette's shit

Val starts yelling at Vox

Val throws a glass directly at Vox's head, which Vox casually dodges

Val continues yelling

Val breaks Vox's phone

Val starts threatening to shoot up the hotel

Vox tells him to stop, but Val doesn't listen

Vox yells in Val's face to get his attention and then manipulates him into not shooting up a building

Vox tells Val he can shoot the lowest earners

Val brings up Alastor to intentionally piss off Vox

Vox grabs Val and throws him because Val didn't tell him where Alastor is sooner

The two watch the hotel

Val gets mad at Vox for not paying attention to him

Val starts taunting Vox about Alastor

Vox gets mad at Val for taunting him

Valentino is ABSOLUTELY in the wrong here!!!! I'm sorry he just fuckin is!!!! This is not mutual abuse like so many people love to say, this is Vox reacting apropriately to some really fucking awful behavior from his partner. The one, singular instance of Vox being abusive is immediately followed up by Val CONTINUING TO MAKE HIM ANGRIER BECAUSE HE THINKS IT'S FUNNY. Just because Vox isn't taking the abuse lying down doesn't mean it isn't still abuse oh my GOD- yes, Vox grabbing Val because Val didn't tell him about Alastor is bad. No matter how angry you are, you shouldn't throw your partner. I am not trying to excuse that one singular thing. That was a shitty thing to do. But everything else Vox does in this scene is justifiable. Fighting back against someone who is endangering both you and themself isn't abuse, and people claiming that it is can be seriously damaging to victims. Using this scene as proof of StaticMoth being equally toxic is borderline victim blaming. I'm sorry it just is.

Aaaaaaand just to reiterate because I don't feel like arguing in the comments; I am talking EXCLUSIVELY about this one scene. I am not saying you can't ship StaticMoth, and I am not saying that Vox is 100% exclusively a victim in their relationship. We don't know enough about their dynamic to tell. What I AM saying is that this scene isn't the slam dunk for mutually toxic StaticMoth that everybody seems to think it is, and continuing to claim that perpetuates some legitimately harmful mindsets. I try not to get this serious with my Hazbin analysis, I really, truly do, because these characters aren't real people and getting upset over how they're being treated is pointless because they have no feelings. I'm only making this post because the mindset a lot of people seem to have regarding this scene is one that can ALSO lead to problems for real people. It's the mindset that leads to people not taking victims seriously if they fight back, the mindset that makes it harder for real people suffering real abuse to come forward. If you want a more in-depth look into why exactly this is harmful, I highly, HIGHLY recommend Princess Weekes' video on mutual abuse. It's very well researched and made by somebody with a lot more experience writing these types of breakdowns then I have.

In conclusion: STOP USING THIS SCENE AS PROOF STATICMOTH IS MUTUALLY TOXIC PLEASE I AM LITERALLY BEGGING YOU S T O P -

[ninetqs]

TRICK OR TREAT MINAH do you have more chalex <3

they're lesbians. surprise

This isn’t the first time they’re being corralled pre-race into some silly PR stuff, and it won’t be the last. Alex expected it the moment she read the headline saying Charles would be moving up that year. Two girls on the grid—two talented girls on the grid—was unprecedented. Hell, if Alex were a marketing intern, she’d milk the shit out of them too.

That doesn’t mean she has to like it, though.

“You’ll be playing against—oh, here they are now,” the staff member begins, and is promptly cut off by Charles’ gasp.

“Antonio!” she shouts, clapping Antonio on the back. He flushes slightly, but manages to get a greeting out before she launches into hasty Italian. 

Behind him, Artur waves at Alex. Alex waves back.

“Ferrari drivers, am I right?” Alex jokes. Artur only makes a noncommittal noise back, his eyes shifting back towards Charles every few seconds.

Alex can’t help but snort at how obvious he is. The staff member waits patiently off to the side as Antonio and Charles chat; Charles is loud, all dramatic hand movements as she discusses what Alex imagines is her earlier wall tap, judging by the sound effects she makes. Antonio laughs at that, which makes Charles laugh even more, and something in Alex sours.

“The game?” Alex prompts, nodding to the staff member.

“Oh, yes!” She stands up straighter and herds Charles back in Alex’s direction. Charles falls into line without complaint, and Alex soon feels Charles’ eyes bearing into the side of her face again. “Okay, so as I was saying, you guys will be split into teams and…”

The game is simple. She’ll ask them a question and they’ll have to write down their answer. Whichever pair has the most matching answers wins. 

Charles’ face scrunches up. “We are going to do terribly,” she grumbles. 

“No faith,” Alex says, but she privately agrees. She doesn’t know how much she and Charles have in common, other than being girls, but it can’t be much. 

“If only our partners were swapped,” Charles laments, picking up her whiteboard.

“You each need to pick a team name too,” the staff member says. “Pick while I set up the camera.”

Alex is content to let Charles decide, and decide Charles does: “Let’s be… Team Guys.” 

“Team Guys,” Alex repeats in a deadpan. “Is that a French word?”

“No, no. Like, Team Men. Guys,” Charles repeats, with emphasis, as if that makes any more sense. “Since we both have guy names. It is about the irony.”

Alex’s head whips around, and she makes proper eye contact with Charles for the first time that day. “Excuse me, I do not have a guy name,” she huffs. “And neither do you.” 

Charles’ real name is Charlotte. Everyone knows this. The Sharl comes from the first syllable. It’s easier to say in a hurry.

Charles pouts, hugging the whiteboard to her chest. “My male cousin is named Alex, you know,” she argues.

“Alexander, probably.”

“No,” Charles says, stubborn. “Just Alex.”

Alex rolls her eyes. The last thing she needs—or wants, really—is to draw more attention to how she’s not a guy. It’s an objectively stupid name anyway. Everybody already knows why they’ve been paired up.

“No, Charles.” She uses the name to soften the blow, but keeps her voice firm. “Let’s just use… I don’t know. Team Art.”

“Team Art,” Charles repeats, like the very word makes her sick. “Fine.”

She’s sulky for all of five seconds before the staff member calls for their attention and she brightens back up. Alex finds it impressive how quickly she can move on from disappointment. She’s never seen her sad for more than a few minutes.

To Alex’s private relief, Artur and Antonio pick Team Trident as their name. It sounds better because of the alliteration, but it’s objectively just as uninspired as theirs.

The game proceeds smoothly enough, and by that, she means it goes exactly how Charles predicted: terribly.

Favourite season to race in? Charles says spring. Alex says fall.

Favourite Italian food? Charles says pizza. Alex says pasta.

Favourite track on the calendar this year? Charles says Monza. Alex says Silverstone. To be fair, they would’ve never agreed on this one even if they were given a thousand retries.

The end result is a total demolition. 9-2 in the Trident’s favour. Charles buries her head in her hands when she sees the prize: a signed Sebastian Vettel driver card. Originals, not photocopies.

“You’re going to be driving with him in a few years anyway,” Alex consoles her, patting her back. “I’m sure he’ll give you all the signed driver cards you want then.”

“I did not want it for me,” Charles huffs, then adds matter-of-factly, “My brother is also a Ferrari fan, you know.”

“Of course,” Alex says, and notes how unsubtly Charles dodged the rest of her comment.

[sepublic]

Anyhow there’s something indescribably sad to the Collector trying to reach out to Belos, of all people, and give him some compassion. Not just for what follows right afterwards, but also...

Part of their arc really is the age-old realization of how life isn’t perfect. Not just with existence and permanence of death, but also in that loss of innocence when you want to believe that you can save and befriend everyone. That nobody is too far gone, that everybody can be happy together!

The Collector has known Philip for centuries; He’s one of his longest relationships, and for Philip, the Collector IS his longest interaction, by a long shot. The Collector has been privy to so many of Philip’s secrets, by proxy of being a source for arcane knowledge, so they know all about the Grimwalkers and his human identity.

They’ve picked up on Philip’s loneliness, his insecurities; Even asking Philip about his anxieties over returning home. They weren’t wrong about any of these things! For centuries, the Collector reassured himself that the two of them were friends, and I wonder if a recognition in their similarities helped fuel this conception for the kid. Made them feel less lonely.

In the end, I kind of get the idea that the Collector cared for Philip, despite it all; Or at least was inspired enough by Luz to give her idea a shot, because if it worked on them, why not Philip? Who is just like them, because Belos thrives on making these comparisons between himself and others to manipulate them! And sure he was mean and a liar, but the Collector misunderstood King to be that, and was wrong! If they just needed help, then Philip...?

And that gets me back to the Collector’s scared and disappointed question, one he’s repeated all his life; What did he do wrong? What did he do wrong, for Belos to not reciprocate, to lash out? They don’t want to hold malice, they just want to get along... It ties back to this idea of kids and even adults kind of seeing themselves as the heroes of their story, there’s a responsibility for them to save others. And if they don’t accept help, then it’s the fault of the person who reached out for not trying hard enough.

It’s the devastating heartbreak that came to Hunter, to any kid who’s had an older, conservative relative who refused to change their mind. Refused to listen, despite all of the compassion in the world. And the grief that some people won’t get better, won’t get happier. And in the end, as Luz recognizes, you just have to admit that it’s up to those people to do so. It’s only your responsibility to a certain degree.

That’s part of Luz letting go of her Hero complex, whereas Belos never gives up on being a Savior, in trying to convert people like Caleb at any cost. Luz reiterates to the Collector that they didn’t do anything wrong, and King’s dad reminds her as well; Luz forgives herself for not being able to do enough, both for being a child who shouldn’t bear the weight of the world on her shoulders, and also for just being a single, flawed person. It isn’t her fault, there isn’t something secretly wrong about Luz for failing to save Belos. You can only give so much support. And after everything he’s done...

Well. There’s nothing wrong about Luz hating Belos, wanting him to die when he pleads for mercy, feebly tries to appeal to “peace” as if he’s ever considered that, spat and killed at every attempt for it by Caleb, his Grimwalkers, the Collector, his followers, Luz; Every kind person he’s met in the isles.

As King’s dad reminds her, fighting the bad guy doesn’t necessarily make you equally evil, because sometimes you HAVE to fight, in self-defense, because those people won’t quit. It’s not required for victims to forgive, nor should they try to appeal to ‘moral sensibilities’ by being palatable in how they retaliate against an oppressor. Anger IS okay and justified, and you shouldn’t feel guilty and be expected to always take the moral high ground.

For a kid like the Collector or even Luz, it’s a heartbreaking epiphany; Not everyone can be happy, no matter how hard you try. As King’s dad notes, you CAN’T control everyone and everything. But eventually, they learn to let go of those toxic people and that obsession; Accept and make the most of that, and find relief in this lesson. The show never admonishes compassion, even if it won’t always be enough; Look at Gus, whose arc involves realizing that while people may take his compassion for granted and even manipulate it, it’s not foolish and eventually there will be those who reciprocate. Kindness does pay off in the long run!