#i love their relationship so much 😭😭

[youreverydayfangirl]

DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED

pairing: max verstappen x singer reader

summary: the one where new rumors begin, secrets start to be revealed and they never stop loving each other

warning: online hate, mentions of cheating

a/n: after two months its finally here for you guys

face claim: sabrina carpenter (just had to because shes gorgeous)

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landonorris has uploaded a story

seen by yourusername, exbsf and 4, 583, 586 others

yourusername lando as much as i appreciate you trying to do things right

yourusername the damage has already been done ive moved on

landonorris well i havent y/n

landonorris everything that happened is shit

landonorris you never did anything wrong and i let our four year relationship go to waste

landonorris both of us deserve better than that

yourusername i know

exbsf are you fucking kidding me lando

exbsf after all this bullshit your threatening me???

this user has been blocked

Things are heating up between Lando Norris and Ex Bsf after their sudden split

After Landos instagram story on Thursday ExBsf has since come to social media, talking about how she was blind sided by the break up and then further went to discuss how boundaries are important in a relationship and how allegedly Norris has been in contact with his ex girlfriend Y/n L/n and they have been seeing each other behind her back.

CLICK HERE TO READ MORE!

y/nsprivate has posted

liked by jimmyandsassysdad, thatoneartgirlalex and 30 others

y/nsprivate wtf is happening guys

thatoneartgirlalex KARMA IS WHATS HAPPENING

-> y/nsprivate FOR REAL THO

keekslikestospammmm BYE BYE BITCH

-> y/nsprivate KEEKS 😭

jimmyandsassysdad everything worked out just how it should've 🖤

-> y/nsprivate I LOVE YOU 🖤

-------

Y/n couldn't believe it, she just stared at her phone in shock. She had been scrolling absentmindedly through her phone when she saw it. The post. Everything had been coming to head for a while and she knew it, but to see the words written out in front of her? She didn't know what to do.

Exbsf had caused her so much pain and now? It seemed karma was catching up to her. It should've felt good. It should habe been validating. But instead, it was just old wounds reopening.

"Liefde?" Max's comforting voice rang out.

She didn't realise that Max had entered the room. His voice was soft, laced with concern. She gave him a small smile as he crouched infront of her, grabbing her hands to give them a kiss.

"Hey, whats wrong?" He murmured as he brushed a strand of her hair back.

She couldn't get the words out, instead she grabbed her phone and handed it to him. Max took one glance at the screen, his jaw tightening as he pieced it together.

“Y/n…” His voice softened even more as he put the phone down and turned his full attention to her. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Tears blurred her vision, and before she could stop herself, they spilled over and she hid herself in her hands as they wrecked her body.

Her eyes met his, glassy and red rimmed. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I should feel relieved, but instead, it just… hurts. It’s like everything she did is coming back all at once.”

Max nodded, his gaze understanding. “Because you cared about her. You gave them a part of yourself, and they threw it away. That kind of hurt doesn’t just disappear, all I can do is promise you that I'm not going anywhere Mijn liefje.”

He pulled her close, holding her against his chest. He didn’t say anything more, just rested his chin on top of her head and rubbed gentle circles on her back. His steady heartbeat was a grounding rhythm, and slowly, the sobs subsided into quiet sniffles.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest.

Max pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You don’t have to thank me. I’ll always be here, Y/n. No matter what.”

------

exbsf has posted

liked by 20, 204 users

exbsf cause I know that you'll never feel sorry

oliviarodrigo hey! so never use my song again 😃

-> exbsf get out of my insta weirdo

-> sabrinacarpenter LIV 😭

-> oliviarodrigo what?

-> user1 HELP I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

user2 is that not y/ns sweater

user3 using livs song is WILD

landonorris has posted a story

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Y/n quietly hummed to herself and she took in the view infront of her. The sun was dipping low on the horizon, painting the ocean in hues of gold and pink as the yacht gently swayed on the calm waves. She took a sip of champagne, waiting patiently for Max as he had set up a picnic for them. The soft sound of the waves was the only noise around, making Y/n feel a kind of calm she had never felt before.

“Y/n,” Max’s voice called softly from behind her, and she turned to see him standing a few feet away, his hands tucked nervously into his pockets.

She smiled, tilting her head. “What’s with the serious face? You’re usually the calm one between us.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, even I get nervous sometimes, come here.” He pulled her up and hugged her, swaying for a moment before pulling back. Before she could respond, he closed the gap between them, taking her hands in his. The warmth in his gaze was almost overwhelming, and her heart began to race.

“I’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time, and I know its soon but it feels so right,” he started, his thumbs gently brushing over her knuckles. “And no matter how much I planned it, I don’t think I could ever put into words how much you mean to me.”

“You’ve been my anchor, my safe place, and my biggest adventure all at once. Every day with you feels like a gift, Y/n. And I want that for the rest of my life.” He let go of one of her hands, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small navy velvet box. Slowly, he got down on one knee, opening it to reveal a ring, the diamond on it sparkling from the last light of the setting sun.

“Y/n, will you marry me?”

Tears filled her eyes as she covered her mouth with one hand, overwhelmed by the moment. The love in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes, it was everything she had ever dreamed of.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Then louder, with a laugh bubbling out, she repeated, “Yes!” She then leaned forward to embrace him in a hug, the pair kneeling as Maxs heart thumped.

Y/n leant to kiss him, Max meeting her halfway. Once they pulled back they heard a loud cheer.

Y/n spun around to see her four closest friends standing further away from them, Kika and Alex both crying, although Alex was comforting Charles at the same time.

“How did you?!” Y/n started, looking between Max and their friends.

Max shrugged with a sheepish smile. “I might’ve had a little help setting this up.”

Kika rushed over to hug Y/n, tears in her eyes. “We wouldn’t miss this moment for the world!”

Charles handed Max a champagne bottle, clapping him on the back. “About time, mate.”

Pierre grinned as he popped the first confetti popper. “We’ve been holding our breath in there for so long, but it was worth it!”

The night turned into an impromptu celebration, the five of them toasting under the stars. Y/n couldn’t stop smiling, her hand never leaving Max’s. And as she looked around at her friends, laughing and cheering for her and Max, she couldn’t imagine a more perfect beginning to the rest of their lives together.

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Y/n L/n is Back

After over a year of radio silence, popstar Y/n L/n has posted again, signaling a new album.

CLICK HERE TO READ MORE!

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yourusername LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO MV OUT NOW

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OMG ANOTHER POST?????

i feel like i need to feed you guys, i'll start working on the next part soon

also felt like this was a good length one for yous

anyways a question for you. my main focus is finishing this series and then i'll give you the charles series but would anyone be interested in a lando spinoss series/imagine. i feel like man deserves a break omg.

anyway lmk xx

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@oikarma

[kedsandtubesocks]

I need to inject this whole fic into my bloodstream oh my god

Kelli hi howdy you absolute icon - wow thank you so much for sharing this with us

I can’t get over how beautifully you navigated their relationship and let so much history brew between them without saying much and letting their actions speak so loud and powerful

Also.. the way you write Acacius too OH MAN WHAT A TREAT 😮‍💨🥵

He’s stalwart and steady, the picture perfect general, while also still being so consumed with desire and love plus being ready to strip way his regalia to simply be a man - I wanted to fall to the floor taking it all in

And oh my gosh… the “my love” line? I’ll need to recover for the rest of the week but it was so worth it!!!! 😭

Thank you again so much for this amazing work 💖💘

Veneration

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Rating: E

a/n: another piece from Ao3 — enjoy! ❤️

—

“Where is she?”

Marcus stalks into his chambers, his white cape billowing behind him, a guard following in his wake.

“I asked for her, sir. I’m not sure where she is. She –”

“Just find her,” he growls, frustration etched on his face.

The guard makes a hasty apology, slipping from the room. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

Candles fill the space, pools of shadows gathered around the edges. The fabric on the bed is rich and decadent, every piece of decoration in the room dripping with luxury.

It’s jarring, after so many months living in a battle tent.

A table filled with food in abundance, he bypasses everything on it for the jar of heady wine. Pouring himself a cup, he drinks deeply.

He thumbs at the slice on his neck, smearing blood on the tips of his fingers. His hands are used to being drenched in blood, crusted with it, the firm hold of a sword nearly molded to the creases of his palm.

It took everything he had not to raise it to the fucking pup who cut him. The one who is so careless and callous, he threatens to burn down everything Marcus has worked for.

All of his protection, wasted. His entire career, played with for sport.

Where is she?

He rips the pin off his tunic, tossing it to the side — he should be more careful with it, but he’s in no mood to be careful with anything. The laurel comes next; the stupid fucking pageantry. He’s a general, a man made of sweat and blood and his fingers tear at the clasps of his armor, but he quickly gives up, pouring another cup of wine. Beautiful and untarnished, the armor is all for show, just like the adornments they covered him with.

It felt good to ride through the city and wave to the people he has been campaigning for months, but he could do without the show of it all. He recognizes the need for celebration, and he’ll gladly give it to them, but he wishes he could do it in his actual armor. The one he defends their city in. The one nicked with a thousand dents from a thousand swords. The leather that fits to his body like a second skin, and he wished for it during the ceremony more than ever, wanting to present himself to the city like the soldier he is.

He sighs, the weight of the day resting heavy on his shoulders. He’d hoped he’d feel more relieved after his conversation with Lucilla, that maybe he’d finally have someone useful he could persuade to act – and yet, the conversation was fruitless.

Frustration throbs behind his eyes, and he closes them, rubbing at his brow.

“You’d think someone who just had a parade held in their honor would look a little less plagued.”

At your voice, his head snaps up. He watches you slip into the room, servant girls on your heels.

He shakes his head, a stern look on his face. “Alone.”

His command is clear, and you obey, dismissing the girls with a slight wave. All for show in the first place, they turn and leave the two of you.

“Where have you been?” he asks. “I’ve been waiting to see you since we entered the gates.”

You walk closer, bending to pick his cape off the floor. “You know I’m not allowed up there with them.” You finger the rich fabric, fighting the urge to bring it to your nose just to inhale his scent.

A scent you’ve missed for almost a year now. A scent that was pressed into your bedding before he left, a scent you used to have memorized from the soft divot just underneath his ear. Oil and sweat and a heady fragrance that clung to his curls and clothes - one you’d been longing for since he left you behind for the promise of North Africa.

“I know,” he answers. “I thought you’d come to see me sooner. Or that I would have seen your face along the route.”

“Would you even have remembered what it looked like?”

It’s childish, the question. You know it, but a barrier comes up automatically, placing protection around your heart. You were so sure of your bond until you saw him climb those steps, taking his place alongside the Emperor. A tiny prick of doubt at the display of his status bled within you, and though you want nothing more than to run to him for reassurance, you can’t bring yourself to do it.

“How can you even ask that?” he asks lowly, hurt and frustration buried between his dark brows.

He steps closer, and yet you withhold, standing your ground.

You did see him on the route, hidden in the back of the crowd, watching from underneath the hood of your robe. The second you heard he was approaching the city, anticipation stole the air from your lungs, so strong that you had to stop your chores. A thousand different scenarios of reuniting with him swirled through your mind, all of them abruptly stopped by the remembrance that you couldn’t greet him. Not in public, not where anyone could see. You watched him instead from the depths of the crowd, feeling pride as he rode past.

There, he looked like a shining god. Here, in front of you, he looks older.

Aged in a way that makes him even more handsome, there is new gray along his temples. More, along the curve of his jaw. The candlelight catches strands that mix in with his dark curls, and you take in the wrinkles the line the edges of his eyes, the ones that crease his forehead. The one between his brows was there before he left, only it’s deeper now - something you know has to do with the way you haven’t touched him yet.

“This finery suits you,” you muse, fingering the edge of his armor.

He scoffs, catching your hand in his. Bringing it to his mouth, you watch with rapt attention as his lips mold to your knuckles, one delicate kiss after another.

“I hate it,” he mumbles against your skin.

You smile. “Then let’s remove it.”

–

He’s patient as you help, but barely.

You can feel the tension radiating off his body as you unclasp his armor and lift it off, the heavy leather set to the side. His eyes stay trained on you as you guide his thick tunic upwards, discarding it onto the floor. He stands in his underclothes for a moment before you sink to your knees and undo the tie at his waist, letting them fall as well. Bare now for your eyes, you inspect him from your position, your hands running over his skin.

It’s familiar, yet not: new wounds that have healed, new scars for your touch. He stirs under your exploration, twitching along his thigh, but you don’t give into the touch you know he wants - not yet. You used to spend hours exploring his body: working oil into his tired muscles, memorizing the firm planes of them born in the training yard. He’s just as thick and strong as you remember, maybe even more so now.

Standing, you turn to retrieve a strigil from his bedside table, undoing the clasp of your tunic with one hand with your back facing him. It falls from your shoulders, slipping onto the floor in a puddle of cloth and when you turn to face him, the hunger in his gaze at your nakedness floods you with arousal.

“They bathed me before the parade,” he says dismissively, glancing at the tool in your grip.

You had a ritual before he left: he would summon you to his chambers, and be waiting for you. You’d help him undress, and sometimes you’d bathe him, but sometimes he liked it better this way - your small hands smearing rich oil along his tanned skin, your fingers working it in. The deliberate strokes of the strigil swept along the lines of his muscles, the tool gathering all the grime and the dust and the sweat from the yard. Never enough that it disappeared though. You smelt it on you when you slipped from his chambers later that night, always pressed into your limbs, his seed trickling from between your thighs.

Assuming he wants the same veneration tonight, you’re surprised when his hand flicks out faster than you’re prepared for, his grip relentless on your wrist. It tightens, and he pulls you towards him, your back to his front. The heat of his body is flush with yours, the weight of his cock thick along the curve of your ass.

“How long I’ve waited to have you,” he breathes into your ear, his tone a growl that sends a shiver down your spine. The scruff along his jaw scrapes against your skin, and you melt into him. “Why are you doing this?”

You drop the stirgil on the tiled floor, the sound barely heard over the pounding of your heart. Letting yourself lean against the thick, broad plane of his chest, his hand lets go of your wrist to skate up your side, roughly palming the weight of your breast. He groans when he touches it, a relieved one that blends with your softer moan, and his other hand curls around your front, cupping you firmly between your thighs. His fingers reach for the curve of your entrance, his teeth scraping along your shoulder when he finds you wet. His touch lingers there, his fingers spreading you to find more evidence of your need.

There is a tension that still vibrates from his form behind you, hidden underneath his skin. He���s holding himself back just for you, and though you want nothing more than to put aside your hesitation and your pride, it’s actually easier to do it this way. To encourage him to take, so different than the sweet murmurs you’ve wished for in the night, less vulnerable than the tender touch of his hands.

You want it to hurt, just like you’ve hurt, and you know he also needs this right now.

Your hand rests upon his, sliding it up.

Up, up, up until it circles your throat.

He flexes his grip, his fingers pressing into your pulse that thrums underneath his touch. You give him silent permission — permission to be the one he wants to be with you sometimes.

Permission for him to be rough, like he is in battle.

Permission to take you as he needs to take you.

Tilting your head to the side, you whisper against his scruffed cheek. “I’m yours, General.” The title gives away the game, your slip into character. “Tell me what you want.”

Your words set him alight, his body moving just how it does on the field: in control, precise, power emanating from his stance when he tugs you away from him and pushes you to your knees. He blocks out the light above you, his fingers curling around your chin to pull you closer. Your hands splay on his sturdy thighs to catch your balance, and he steps forward, crowding you.

“Open your mouth.”

An order, like he was born to give.

Dutifully you do, and he wastes no time feeding himself between your warm, wet lips. The thick tip of his cock brushes against your bottom lip, the weight of him smearing across your tongue the deeper he gets. He tastes so good and so familiar, so musky and masculine, and your tongue runs along the underside of his shaft, curving to the skin as he hardens even more. You slide it along every ridge, every vein of his thick cock, and when he pulls back just before pushing himself deeper with a groan, you swirl your tongue around the rounded tip.

Going back for more, you do it again.

Your hands slide up his thighs to his hips, your fingers digging into the skin, and you pull him deeper, encouraging it. He groans loud and shameless, your cunt throbbing when you look up to the light flickering over his skin. It looks so rich and real , your hands slipping backwards to palm the curve of his ass with a greedy grab.

The release of want pours from you both, his body still tight with tension but a different type of tension: not frustration, but need.

He gives in, thrusting into your mouth harder, flickering candlelight catching the drool that gathers around the edges of your mouth and slides down your chin. Your cheeks hollow, his thumb fitting into the indented curve. Your eyes shut tight, his cock pushing against the tight ring of your throat. He holds there for a moment, and then pulls out, his is cock glistening and he strokes it while you catch your breath, but you’re already grabbing for him before you’re ready.

“I want more,” you beg, your voice hoarse. “Take what you need.”

He strokes himself faster, harder, his stomach tensing.

“I know you’re holding back, but don’t. Take anything you want from me. I can take it.”

Those are the words that do it. He growls, his hand palming the back of your head to force you back onto his cock. He pushes it past your lips as far as it will go and then some, not stopping this time when he reaches your throat. He feels the tight, constricting curve of it, and pushes a little further still, thickening at the strangled whine you let out into the dark curls at the base. Swiping the hair from your face, he cups your cheeks in his hands and angles your face to turn up towards his own.

Then, he fucks.

His pace is relentless, brutal, his cock slipping into the tight fist of your throat with every thrust forward. Stars dance along your vision, your chin soaked with spit. Desperation radiates from him, his grip tightening on your face, your fingers digging crescents into his hips and he groans, wanting more pain.

A familiar ache, one that he’s used to. Something to distract him from the deeper pain of your hesitation when you first walked in the room. Deeper still, the ache he felt for you while he was gone.

“You have no idea how much I missed you. How much I missed this.” Every word of his confession is mixed with his heavy breaths, with soft grunts from the back of his throat.

You hum, a tiny frown pulling between your brows. You missed him just as much, missed this just as much — the way he emanates authority, the way he bends and molds and positions you just like his soldiers, to do as he bids.

He pushes you further, shedding the frustration and pent up tension of the day with every harsh stroke. He feeds it to you, makes you swallow it as it pours from him into your waiting mouth and an ache blooms in your throat, your jaw tense with the effort of trying to stay open wide enough for him to fit. Slipping your slim hand between his strong thighs, you cup his heavy balls with a tender squeeze — a touch that makes his head tip back as they draw up.

Harder, faster and then he doesn’t give you any warning before he fists your hair and pulls you off his cock, stroking it with a slick, rapid beat to come on your chest. Your collarbones, the swell of your breasts.

More, when you start to smear it into your skin like oil, pressing it into your skin.

When he’s finished, he sags with release — though you know he’s not done. His hands reach for you, pulling you up off the floor and then finally — finally — he kisses you.

Fevered and desperate, his mouth open to taste yours, his tongue sliding against your own. Your fingers thread through his curls to keep him close, and his own dig forcefully into your skin, as if you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you tight. They splay to slide up your back and down again, stretch to cup the curve of your bottom and he lifts you to carry you over to his bed. He means to drop you there so he can sink to his knees, but when you cling to him, he falls with you, his weight settling over your body.

This — this is what you dreamed of every night he was away. This is what you held onto, this is what you missed. This version of Marcus that no one else gets. Not the stoic General, but rather the tender touch of his calloused hands. The slide of his body against yours, the murmurs of his adoration poured along the column of your neck.

Your legs wind around his waist, your hips canting up and he groans into your mouth at the sticky smear you leave on his stomach. More than ready for him, desperate for it.

“My love, I need a minute.”

My love. The endearment fills your heart until tears leak from the corners of your eyes, and you pull him closer, wanting to be buried underneath his bulk. Winding your arms around his neck, you keep his mouth pressed against yours, only to frown when he pulls away.

“I need a minute,” he repeats, his head bending to brush his mouth along your throat. “But let me indulge myself in the meantime.”

You watch the muscles in his thick shoulders shift as he holds himself above you and bends his head, taking your breast into his mouth. It’s a greedy suck, his hand pushing the soft weight of it up so he can fit more. His teeth scrape against the peak, and then he’s moving onto the other one, giving it the same attention while you moan underneath him.

Down further still, he presses kisses along your belly, against each hip. Your thighs open wider, making room for him. A part of you expects him to tease you like you did him, but he doesn’t — he settles in, hooking his arms under your thighs and spreads you wide right before he bends to devour.

Your hands rest upon the top of his head; your own version of a laurel resting on his curls. No adornments, no finery, no pristine armor and gold.

Your eyes close, savoring the slow, wide licks of his tongue. The devotion he gives your cunt with every slick, firm slide.

Not the General that the city fears and adores in equal measure - just Marcus, bending the knee for you.

[redwinelew]

the boy is mine | lewis hamilton [3/3]

social media au. latina + singer!reader

summary — a certain formula 1 driver caught your attention, and you can't help but let the whole world know about your attraction. (read part one and two here)

face claim — rosalia

song — the boy is mine by ariana grande

warnings — none!

author's note — apologize that pt3 took so long!! i got sick lol. but here's the final part!! i love this series so much and i hope u guys enjoyed it as much as i loved making it!

all pictures taken from pinterest. credit to owners.

messages!

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f1wagsupdates YN LN supporting Lewis Hamilton at the Belgium Grand Prix today!

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user1 omg yn wag debut 🙏🏼

user2 lewis already lurking in the likes 😭😭

user3 their smiles 😭🩷

user4 bringing her to the merc garage already.... chat how serious do we think they are

user5 user4 probably just friends. personally i do not see this progressing as an actual relationship

user6 user5 i hope not cause they look so adorable together though :(

user7 user6 honestly if yn hornily wrote "bed chem" about lewis then "guess" WITH lewis and still failed to get the man it'd be so hilarious lmfao

user6 user7 it'd be HIS loss though imagine fumbling someone like yn 🙏🏼

user7 user6 fair enough

instagram!

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ynln george in the back bcs that pic didn't match the aesthetic of my feed

tagged lewishamilton, f1, mercedesamgf1 and georgerussell63

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ynln also congrats on the win or whatever lewishamilton

lewishamilton ynln ouch

lewishamilton ynln congratulating me as a second thought? i regret inviting you already

ynln lewishamilton i would've been there either way 🙏🏼

lewishamilton ynln if i recall correctly you said showing up at the race is a bad idea and that people would talk

ynln lewishamilton i didn't say i wouldn't be there period 🙏🏼 i had to show otherwise you would have lost

lewishamilton ynln my good luck charm ❤️❤️ this is why i love you

ynln lewishamilton i know right you are soooo lucky to have me

user1 ynln lewishamilton damn should we leave????

user2 user1 FR LIKE YN ARE WE INTERRUPTING SOMETHING 😭😭

user3 ynln lewishamilton oh my god they are DATING dating i'm freaking out like crazy right now

user4 ynln lewishamilton SHE GOT THE BOY

user5 ynln lewishamilton omw to write a horny love song about my crush so he'd like me back brb 🏃🏻‍♀️🌬️

georgerussell63 i'm hurt yn and i already got dsq

user6 georgerussell63 LMFAO POOR GEORGE 😭😭

carmenmmundt loved talking to you we should hang out soon!!

ynln carmenmmundt would love to!! text me babe

user7 carmenmmundt ynln they're bffs already omg

user8 user7 mercedes wags have to stick together 🙏🏼

instagram!

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lewishamilton the win might be mine but this boy is forever hers ❤️

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ynln OKAYYYY

ynln i'm putting that caption in the song btw

lewishamilton ynln you can take full credit baby

ynln lewishamilton ofc i am you wouldn't be coming up with that clever ass caption if it wasn't me 🙏🏼

user1 ynln WHAT SONG

user2 ynln DON'T IGNORE US

user3 ynln she's so 😭😭

user4 THEY ARE HARD LAUNCHING EVERYBODY STAY FUCKING CALM

user5 this is so crazy we already seen them saying i love you on this app PUBLICLY and yet i still can't believe they are actually dating rn 😭😭

user6 user5 I KNOW RIGHT and to rhink this all started bcs she was down bad for this man 😭😭

user5 user6 she's giving me the courage to confess to my crush but i just KNOW as soon as i try i'd fumble it so bad

taglist — @seonghwaexile @totallynotluluu @omgsuperstarg @exotic-iris13 @formulaal @josephqunnies @book-obsesseds-world @st4rgirl-ellie @czennieszn

[tubadorashifts]

⤷ Shiftmas : Day 1!

(Answering for my marauders dr)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

christmas caroling ; What are a few songs that remind you of your dr? Why?

Linger (The Cranberries)

Dreams (The Cranberries)

Moonage Daydream (David Bowie)

Bourgeoisieses (Conan Gray)

All these songs remind me so much of my friends in my dr. David Bowie because Sirius and Remus would go crazy over him and the cranberries because I seen someone say that Lily would love them and now I think of her every time I hear those songs

There She Goes (The La’s)

Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Grows) (Edison Lighthouse)

My Girl (The Temptations)

If my marauders drself were to be edited to any songs it would defo be these ones. These also remind me of the marauder girls 💗

Good Luck, Babe! (Chappell Roan)

we can’t be friends (wait for your love) (Ariana Grande)

Wish You Were Sober (Conan Gray)

Last Christmas (Wham!)

Sailor Song (Gigi Perez)

You’re Gonna Go Far (Noah Kahan)

These remind me so much of my relationship with my s/o 😭 In my dr, I’m part siren and veela (Mary sue syndrome lol) and because they’re from a pure blood family, I can see us being messy before we get together because we’re both emotionally constipated

O Children (Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds)

Welcome Home (Radical Face)

Paradise (Coldplay)

Home (Dotan) as well as any other song that talks about going home lmao

The Harry Potter soundtracks

If I ever want to get motivated to shift to my marauders, I listen to any of these songs and immediately I’m picturing seeing Hogwarts for the first time in my dr

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

𝟐𝟓 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒. ❆ ⋆⁺₊❅ .

a series of questions for the days leading up to christmas for shifters!! Some of these questions are Christmas specific and others aren’t, feel free to answer what you want and how you want, ex. moodboards, short answers, longs answers. And if you’d like, you can reblog so it reaches more shifters. Merry Christmas and Happy Shifting :) post tags are #shiftmas #shiftmas2024 tagged: @arishifter

⌗ 𝟏. christmas caroling ; What are a few songs that remind you of your dr? Why?

⌗ 𝟐. gingerbread houses ; What does your house look like in your dr? Who do you live with? What is your favorite aspect of your house?

⌗ 𝟑. eggnog ; What is some drama going on in your dr?

⌗ 𝟒. sledding ; What does a hang out with you friend group look like? Where do you go? Who is your friend group?

⌗ 𝟓. snowman ; What is your OOTD? (outfit of the day)

⌗ 𝟔. stockings ; What is your family like? What are your relationships with different members? Any extended family? Who is visiting for Christmas?

⌗ 𝟕. candy canes ; What gives you dr euphoria? (like gender euphoria but for your dr…)

⌗ 𝟖. mistletoe ; Who is your s/o? What is your dynamic and how do you spend time together? Are you two doing something special for the holiday?

⌗ 𝟗. snowflakes ; What are some headcannons you have about people in your dr?

⌗ 𝟏𝟎. icicles ; What is your occupation in your dr? Your coworkers? (Or if student, your classmates?) What is your favorite and least favorite aspect of your occupation?

⌗ 𝟏𝟏. tree skirt ; How did you find out about shifting? What was your first dr and what is your main dr now?

⌗ 𝟏𝟐. ornaments ; What are some objects you have in your dr that you don’t in your cr? Why do you have them in your dr?

⌗ 𝟏𝟑. sleigh bells ; Are there any priveleges you have in your dr that you don’t in your cr? What are they?

⌗ 𝟏𝟒. cookie cutters ; What are some smells that remind you of your dr? Why?

⌗ 𝟏𝟓. elf on the shelf ; who is your main wingman/women/person? What is your dynamic? What do you guys do when you hang out?

⌗ 𝟏𝟔. wrapping paper ; What is your favorite way to script? Why is it your favorite way?

⌗ 𝟏𝟕. gift tags ; What is your camera roll like in your dr? (photos or just describe it)

⌗ 𝟏𝟖. snowballs ; What is a silly scenario you are looking forward to in your dr?

⌗ 𝟏𝟗. mittens ; What are your hobbies in your dr? How do you usually spend your down time?

⌗ 𝟐𝟎. ice skates ; What is your ideal date in your dr? (friends or s/o)

⌗ 𝟐𝟏. coal ; What is something unpleasant you have/have to experience in your dr? Why are you not looking forward to it?

⌗ 𝟐𝟐. tinsel ; What is something fun or random you have scripted? (ex. Thundersnow is more common, you have a ring that allows you to read minds, you have good luck with thrifting, you’re good at gambling.)

⌗ 𝟐𝟑. fir tree ; What are some traditions you have in your dr but not your cr? Why?

⌗ 𝟐𝟒. hot cocoa ; put together a moodboard of your dr or you in your dr

⌗ 𝟐𝟓. christmas ; How are you spending your christmas? Who with? What might be some gifts you are giving and to who?

divider credits.

[kingkat12]

omg I love your fics so so so much and I think you would absolutely nail a fanfic where roman is teaching reader how to smoke? or something like that 😭 like it being really intimate and stuff ughh idk but roman smoking just makes me go absolutely feral

Roman..... teaching reader.... how to smoke....?

do you.... want to give me..... a heart attack......?

THIS WAS SO DAMN HOT IT MADE MY BREATH HITCH WHEN I READ THIS, you BET i want to write this!!! you know me, i love writing reader having her first time doing anything at all lol, this was PERFEEEECT!! hope i've done your request justice, thank you so much for this one!!<3333

nymphomaniac (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, smoking, mentions of sex, angst, flirting deluxe, Roman's mouth is FOUL

summary: not all lessons are good for you-- especially the ones taught by the notorious Roman Godfrey, who you also happen to have a history with

word count: 2,425

a/n: and this is NO WAY an encouragement to smoke, i don't smoke myself so... heh. read at your own risk i suppose, and be critical of what you read on the internet PLEASE!! mwah

How to smoke – a thorough guide by Roman Godfrey. That was a book I wouldn’t buy in a million years; why give a millionaire more money?

Thankfully, I didn't have to pay anything to get a free trial from the author of said imaginary book.

Roman sat next to me on the porch leading up to the house of the party we were at, having asked me to follow him outside to escape all the noise. I wouldn’t have gone with him, had I not started to get a headache from what I could frankly only call ear-rape. “It’s too fucking loud in there,” I muttered, shifting on the uncomfortable step. “There’s a reason I don’t go to these things very often.”

Roman shrugged, patting down the pockets of his jacket. “It’s not usually this bad when someone else hosts. But I heard this guy is notorious for being legally deaf, so that might explain it,”

“I wouldn’t be shocked if he did that to himself,”

With a laugh, Roman pulled out an orange-hued box of cigarettes, shaking his head. “It’s too bad you don’t attend parties that often. I never see you anymore, y’know? Just bring some earplugs if you’re so bothered by the damn noise,” 

Oh. My heart jumped with a jolt of pain. I cleared my throat; “Of course you don’t see me anymore, Roman… We broke up two months ago,” 

Despite seeing it coming from miles away, it had been the hardest breakup of my life. I knew whom I had gotten into a relationship with, knew exactly what kind of a guy Roman was, so I had been emotionally prepared for it when it all fell apart. The relationship had been more of a whirlwind thing, a lust thing, which had left me with a very bad case of being-walked-in-on PTSD. That one time Roman decided he wanted to go down on me at school, only for my math teacher to walk in on us in the classroom, was a memory I was sure I would never forget. Sadly. 

However, the bliss of being sexually compatible couldn’t carry the relationship forever, and I was aware of that long before he was. Around the time we hit the one-month milestone, I could see in his gorgeous green eyes that he was tired. Roman needed to be free to function, free to fuck any girl that walked by, and free to disappear for hours and come back whenever it pleased him. 

And what did I need? I wasn’t so sure anymore. 

If I were to use my brain and ponder that question once more, I would conclude that I needed to stop sitting next to my hot ex-boyfriend who was now lighting one of his classic cigarettes. Roman knew I didn’t approve, knew how many times I had told him it was cancer on a stick—still, I settled for the fact that he wasn’t scared of death. Actually, he probably wasn’t scared of anything other than real commitment. 

With a sigh, Roman nodded to himself. “I’m aware, but I’m still allowed to miss the sight of you,” He turned to me, his strikingly green gaze piercing mine— I held my breath. This was getting intense. Nonetheless, the next thing that rolled out of his mouth caught me off guard; “Do you have a lighter?” 

… What? “Roman, you know I don’t smoke,”

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk. “Worth a shot. I had hopes that you’d at least managed to become an arsonist in our time apart, maybe then you’d carry a lighter around with you,” Like this, faced with his heartbreakingly beautiful smile beneath the hues of the moonlight, I was reminded of the first thought I ever had when I met him; he was so… cool. Roman always looked so damn cool. I loved the way it made my heart flutter— the feeling of being with the coolest guy at school was still the most thrilling feeling of all. I felt cool, knowing he wanted to sit next to me instead of being inside the loudest party of the year hunting down his next lay. 

It was impossible not to smile back. “Don’t be so disappointed. At least I’m still a cannibal,”

Humored, Roman chuckled; “Glad to hear it,”

“And you’re still a nymphomaniac,”

That seemed to strike a nerve— Roman let out an offended huff, now patting down the pockets of his jeans. “Forget it. I never go anywhere without my lighter, anyway,” he mumbled.

Oh no. “I didn’t mean it as an insult! We were joking, Roman. You’ve never been the type to hide that you like… sex—” 

“Don’t fucking talk to me about sex right now, I’m too tipsy,” Roman’s words were harsh, snappy. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, now fishing out his usual red lighter; I hadn’t seen that one in a while. “No sex-talk. None.”

“Fine, Jesus!—”

“Thanks to you, I now have to smoke away the taste of you. Thank you,” he grumbled, a slight twitch appearing beneath his left eye as he brought the cigarette to his plush lips— oh, how I missed those. “Your perfume isn’t helping, either. So don’t talk about sex, because then I’ll start thinking about sex with you, along with how you taste after I’ve been going down on you for about ten minutes, squirming, whining, and then I start thinking of how much I miss it. So could you just—just shut up for a minute, okay?”

I stared at Roman in disbelief, my lips parting as my jaw threatened to hit the floor. He must’ve had a few beers too many to be talking so openly about… anything. I would go off on him about his use of words, telling me to shut up, but I was too stunned to think properly. With my mind still buzzing, I scooted closer to Roman on the cold steps of the porch, daring to lean my head down on his shoulder like I used to do when we were together. “You’ve only proved my point,” I breathed, closing my eyes. “Nympho.”

I knew him too well— I knew Roman would appreciate casual physical contact. He didn’t have enough of that in his life, anyway. Chuckling, amused, he lit his cigarette, inhaling with a quiet moan— something told me he had been waiting for a hit for some time. And just as I opened my mouth, ready to start my usual smoking-is-bad lecture, Roman cut me to it; “Don’t start talking about cancer now, either,”

“It is a cancer stick,”

“I don’t care,”

“You should!”

“But I don’t,” With a sigh, Roman exhaled, watching the smoke evaporate into the warm summer air. He leaned his head on top of mine, and I couldn’t help but think how the smell of the cigarette clashed with the comforting smell of his shampoo. It ruined everything. 

This conversation was one we’d had tens of times, and I wasn’t too keen on repeating it. “Roman…” I reached for the cigarette he lazily held between his fingers, feeling the softness of his hand against mine. “Maybe you don’t care, but I do. You need to take care of yourself.” I didn’t need to look at Roman to know his brows were drawn together as I took the cigarette out of his hand, holding it away from him. 

He sighed again, slower this time; “If you’d ever smoked, you’d see the appeal,”

“Yeah?” It was hard not to roll my eyes— “The appeal of cancer?”

With a low laugh, Roman turned his head, kissing the top of my head out of habit. Weirdly enough, it felt platonic for the first time ever, yet it didn’t fail to evoke a hard thump in my chest. It felt like I was being electrocuted from the inside, and my eyes sprung open—I was happy he couldn’t see that. “Not cancer, don’t be stupid,” he huffed. “Just use that pretty little brain of yours, I know it’s in there somewhere,”

If only he knew my brain was currently working overtime. “I’ll never see the appeal of inhaling crap that ruins your lungs. If anything, you’re the stupid one,”

Roman rolled his eyes, gently giving my head a nudge with the shoulder I was leaning on, motioning for me to sit up. “Let me show you, just once. If you don’t like it, you’re allowed to call me a nicotine-addicted nymphomaniac until the last day of high school,”

“And the day after. An extension for your favorite ex,”

“Nope. The day of graduation, and that’s it,”

I turned to look at the blindingly pretty smile on Roman’s face— how was it possible not to fall for this guy? He was gorgeous. “Fine,” I mumbled, knowing I would call him that no matter what behind his back until the day he died. “So how the fuck do I do this?”

Something in Roman’s green, green, eyes shifted. Maybe he was wondering why he had ever let me go in the first place— maybe he was thinking about the word to describe the color of my hair as it mixed with the grays of the moonlight? He cleared his throat, turning his body towards me as I mirrored him; “The first step is easy,” he said, reaching forward to place his hand behind mine, bringing the cigarette to my lips. 

My skin burned. Fucking burned, with every touch. 

Roman’s eyes were already big, which is why I was surprised to see they could get even bigger when he gazed down at my lips. “Open up,” he breathed, absentminded. 

Now, I could be sure he wasn’t thinking about the color of my hair. Maybe he was back to reminiscing about the taste of me? Or other nasty nympho things, as per usual.

I placed the cigarette between my lips, but Roman let out a short, alarmed sound that nearly made me yelp. “Now comes the trick,” he urged, leaning closer— I was unsure whether he was aware he was inching towards my face or not. The closer he got, the easier it was to focus on the single strand of his dark hair that lay over his forehead, straying from his stylings. It was so damn attractive— I had to hold myself back from smiling, now that I remembered the one time I caught him pulling it out of his gelled updo to lay it there on purpose. Cutie.

“The trick?” I echoed, realizing he had frozen to his spot just staring at my lips. I pulled the cigarette away from my mouth; Roman hadn’t said anything for about five seconds. This was bad. This was dangerous. It made me want to jump him and let him fuck me right here on the porch. 

“Uh—” Roman cleared his throat, letting out a breathy chuckle as he shook his head. “Sorry. The trick, right…”

God, I was two seconds away from bursting into flames like a phoenix. Was I still breathing?

“For your first time, you should— because this is your first time, right?”

“Yes!”

“You sure?”

“Roman!”

“Alright, alright!” Roman laughed, biting his lip as he tilted his head just a little. Had the cigarette not forced a space between us, I would’ve started wondering when he would kiss me. “The trick is to not inhale too much smoke for your first time. I don’t want you to cough up your left lung on my new shirt. And hold the smoke in your mouth for a moment, let it cool down, and only inhale it when you’ve taken the cig out of your mouth.”

If Roman one day actually did decide to write a smoking-guide, I could at least be sure the content would be explained simply and concisely. “Seems easy enough,” I mumbled, watching Roman’s pupils widen as I placed the cigarette back between my lips and sucked in a small amount of smoke into my mouth.

It felt like I was getting a mild burn on my tongue— it wasn’t pleasant. For a second, I got scared my eyes would pop from the shock, and I closed them to ensure the blood at least wouldn’t splatter anywhere if I happened to be so unlucky. But when the burning subsided, I finally dared to inhale.

My eyes sprung open, meeting the fascination in Roman’s green gaze as my previous headache caused by the loud music disappeared. My brain suddenly felt like it was buzzing with pleasure and energy. Before I knew it, I was half giggling against Roman’s mouth, letting my cigarette-clad hand fall by my side. “Wow,” I breathed, in awe of the satisfying whirring in my head. 

Roman looked like he was two seconds away from cooing at me, right in my face; “There you go, good girl,” he purred. “Do you get it now?”

God, I hated myself. Still, what I hated more, was that my hot ex-boyfriend was blatantly right. “I think I do,” 

Roman hummed, smirking as he reached for the cigarette in my hand, smoothly brushing his fingers across my skin on his way down. With a content sigh, he looked into my dazed eyes as he pressed his free fingers over the pulse of my wrist— “I still make your heart jump,” he breathed, leaning in so close I could feel the hotness of his breath against my cheek.

I swallowed. “You always will. It doesn’t mean anything,” My eyes flickered back and forth between Roman’s green eyes and his plush, pink lips despite knowing I shouldn’t. 

“It doesn’t?” he echoed, visibly amused as he raised his brows. 

“… Nope,”

Roman hummed, nudging the tip of my nose with his just as he always did—was this maybe just a habit, or was he going to…? The atmosphere was so thick, I could reach out and touch it. My breath had long caught in my chest, but Roman’s next words only made it worse; “Let’s talk about sex again,” he whispered against my lips, his lashes hanging heavy over his eyes.

“No. This is over. We’re just sharing a cigarette,”

“We could share a bed too,”

“Stop it,” I breathed, hoping he’d spot the desperation in my eyes. “It’s been two months. Aren’t you over this?” Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.

Roman stilled. With the next beat of my pulse against his fingers, his eyes softened with a new realization beneath the moonlight; 

“Over you? Never,”

[touchme-teezme]

hi mimi! idk if u take requests but last pick was everything to me like i lovedddd the book that inspired you 😭🥹 can i PLEASE get a san version with the “did you want to watch me burn” poem? just destroy me. my heart is yourssss

This Time.

PAIRING | collegeboy!san x fab!reader

TAGS | arguments, smut with a plot, kissing, oral, angsty unprotected breakup sex, san has great pull out game, and a (sort of?) cliffhanger… again? idk i suck at writing tags and proper endings lolololol

RATINGS | NSFW 18+ (minors pls DNI/if it makes u uncomfortable don’t read it)

SONGS | No One Noticed - The Marías, Not You Too- Dr*ke & Been Like This - Doja Cat

SUMMARY | The breakup for this couple was on the horizon. One of them was in denial, and it’s not you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ thank you all for showing Last Pick a lot of love & anon for enjoying it. since a san version was requested, here ya go :) lmk which member should be next if you'd want me to actually make this into an angsty atz smut series. kinda like the idea they’re all connected?¿ like a smutiverse… im a little tipsy rn writing this part. also if u catch mistakes, no u didn’t. kk bye love uou

inspired by a quote from Save Me An Orange by Hayley Grace: what more did you want from me? i gave you my heart my soul my body i let you build a home inside of me but you still went to the store and bought a lighter just to set me on fire did you want to watch me burn?

You’re usually an optimist but it wasn’t until San smashed the vase you bought and painted together at that one arts and crafts store that you realized optimism could only take you so far.

A screaming match broke out immediately. Words bounced off the walls, echoing in your small apartment as fingers were being pointed. He followed you around the entire house as you tried to walk away from the conversation, pinging in your ear like a fly.

San gets emotional when he cares. It was the first thing you liked about him when you first started to talk. How nice would it be to be with someone so well in-tune with their emotions that they don’t why away from it?

If only you’d known it would result in this.

The relationship was done for. It had been for a while. He had been far too busy juggling classes, work, and his new friends who seemed to suddenly fill all the time he used to spend with you. You’d barely even seen him in weeks, and when you did, it was like you were fighting for scraps of his attention.

San’s voice cracked as he shouted behind your head. “You think I don’t know I’ve been busy? I’ve been juggling everything, trying to keep it all together, and you—you—think I don’t feel guilty? You want me to just drop everything? Stop hanging out with my friends? Quit school? What do you want from me?”

He was following you now, not letting you get a moment of peace. You forced yourself to focus on the task of cleaning up the shards, trying to block out his words as you looked for the broom around your house.

“Do you think I want this? You think I want to feel like this? You think I want to hurt you? But you keep demanding more from me, and I can’t do it anymore! I can’t just stop living my life to fix yours!”

“Oh fuck off!” You barked back, finally finding the broom that was in an odd spot in your wardrobe (probably because San had placed it there the last time he used it). You were now growing more annoyed.

“Don’t curse at me! Listen to me for goodness sake!”

Your hands trembled around the broom handle, but you marched towards the vase shards and started sweeping, trying not to hear the poison dripping from his mouth. You had given up on fighting—there was no point anymore. He was too far gone, wrapped up in his own world that was so difficult for him to show up.

“You’re too much, alright?” he spat, his voice cracking with frustration. “I can’t breathe, I can’t think. Every time I try to focus on something else, you’re right there, needing something from me. I can’t fix this. I can’t keep being suffocated—“

You dropped the broom.

You turned slowly, meeting his gaze for the first time, and in that moment, you never felt like this about him before.

“Do you hear yourself?” Your voice was shaking, but it was steady, sharp. “In that whole rant you just forced me to hear, not once did you mention us—not once did you mention me like i’m not in this fucking relationship with you! Not once did you mention all i’ve done for you, and the only time you did was to insult me!”

San opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He just stood there, eyes wide, lips trembling.

You stepped forward as if to challenge his speechlessness, your heart pounding in your chest. “What the fuck are you still doing here then?!”

The room fell silent.

And then, out of nowhere, he tried to reach for you.

It was a movement fuelled by panic if he was truly honest, it was a final desperate attempt to fix things without actually knowing how.

He just knew that he had to have you in his arms and you’d melt. His hand caught yours, pulling you closer, but you yanked it away.

He stepped closer, his breath ragged, reaching for you again with a look in his eyes that was pure guilt you knew all too well.

Your stern face broke when he managed to get you in his large strong arms that wrapped around you.

You stood there, shaking, breathing hard, barely able to hold back the tears.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” Your cracking voice was muffled against his hard chest.

And then, in his painful silence, he cupped your face and pressed his lips against yours.

You did not stop him.

In fact, you couldn’t.

His next kiss was more desperate and frantic than the last, like he was trying to compensate for all the times he had utterly let you down.

When he finally found the self control to pull back, both of you were panting, faces flushed, hearts racing. He looked at you with a mix of fear, guilt, and longing in his eyes. He wiped your damp cheeks, cupping the sides of your face.

"I don’t mean to," He whispered. “I-I swear, everything I said, I-“

You shook your head in denial, wanting to just shut him up with more kisses knowing if you both talked, you’d eventually argue.

For once, you didn’t want to fight. If the relationship was crashing and burning right now, might as well get one last lick out of it, right?

Metaphorically, and quite literally.

San groaned softly into your mouth, his hands coming up to tangle in your hair and snake to the small of your back as he deepened the kiss with his tongue.

"You drive me insane," He breathed against her lips, breaking the kiss to look into her eyes.

It was true, you always had, in the best and worst ways possible. The feeling was mutual as you stared back at him.

He couldn't resist your pull, the way you were in the moment consumed him entirely. His hands roamed your curves, and reached down to grip your ass firmly as he walked you backwards towards the couch.

You let out a soft gasp, your fingers digging into his waist as you let yourself get sat down with him positioned above you. His knee perched up right between your slightly parted legs.

The friction his knee brushing between your legs sent a jolt of desire straight to your core. He could feel your pulse quickening, and your breath hitching as he sucked and kissed the sides of your neck.

Your hands slipped beneath his black shirt, seeking for skin. With a slight eager tug, he took it off without any argument, revealing his lean muscled torso that you did not hesitate to touch and admire knowing it was going to be the last time.

Instead of letting that knowledge crush you or him, with a low moan, he just leaned into your touch.

“Tell me to stop…” He breathed out, hands on your shoulders to steady himself. He struggled to maintain control as his arousal throbbed against the inside of his zipper.

“Keep going.” You replied in a husky whisper.

With a groan, he gave in to the temptation. His tongue met yours, as his hands slid down to your chest to cup your breasts through the thin fabric of your top, having to bite back a smirk when your back arched into his technique.

Your nimble fingers freed him from his jeans. Unbuttoning, and then zipping down before massaging his hard on through the fabric of his underwear. A breath of relief escaped his lips when his throbbing cock was finally freed.

He helped you out of your top, watching you stroke his impressive length in your hands from above. His hands glided down your back and unclasped your bra, letting your breast sit in all its glory.

He was going to take care of you first until your mouth engulfed him without missing a beat.

“O-oh my god.” His hips bucked involuntarily forward as your skilled hand continued to stroke, the dual sensations of her and her fingers wrapped around his member threatening to overwhelm him.

San’s eyes rolled back as you took him entirely into your mouth. His body weight leaning on his forearms that were on either sides of your head, holding onto the back of the couch for dear life.

Your skilled tongue and throat working in tandem to bring him to the brink of madness. The wet heat blanketing his aching cock was almost too much to bear, each bob of her head sent him more and more over the edge.

"Oh f-fuck!” His mouth hung open as he fisted your hair and fought the urge to thrust deeper.

A part of him couldn’t make sense why this was happening now of all times. He could’ve just taken your desperation to touch him for granted but something about it didn’t feel right.

With effort and a hell lot of focus, San gently stopped you before he could cum. He stroked the side of your face when you looked up at him confused. He shot one of the sweetest dimpled smiles at you.

Seeing that dimpled smile light up your face.

With a hand behind your head, he laid you back on the couch gently. Your hands politely stayed on your own chest, cupping them as you watched his next move.

In one swift motion, he tugged down your underwear with your pyjama shorts and tossed them away.

One of your legs get thrown over his shoulder, and he used his other hand to part your leg wider. His head moved down to your glistening sex and his tongue licked a strip up your folds.

Air got caught in your throat. You let out a shaking deep breath through your lips. His hand on your thigh moved up to your chest, intertwining his fingers with your fingers against your racing heartbeat.

You gripped onto his fingers every time he’d do something that sent shockwaves through your body either with his lips, tongue or his nose. He kissed your sensitive clit, alternating his tongue between that and pounding into your entrance.

“San,” You whined, which only encouraged him to keep going. You tilted your chin upwards, facing the ceiling as tears began welling in your eyes. Unclear if it was the pleasure or the sinking feeling in the out of your stomach.

Then you felt that body shock again, jolting you as you let out a loud moan.

You met his eyes. Those cat-like eyes staring back at you between your legs with laser focus before lazily shutting when he turned his head to the side to lap up your slick arousal from the inner part of your thighs.

He got up and took off his underwear before hovering on-top of you, centring his hard shaft just past your entrance as he supported himself up by the armrest behind your head.

His chain necklace to drop down and dangle in your face.

He gazed into your eyes, reaching down to rub your slick folds once more. He leaned down to kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips as he readjusted his hard dick between your legs. Your hands wrapped themselves in the dip of his waist as your knees pressed against his hips.

“We can’t keep fighting forever,” You told him in a faint whisper.

Leaning down, he distracted you by capturing your lips into a tender loving kiss to slowly pushed in. He felt your teeth on his lip as your walls adjusted to him.

“I know.” Was all he could murmur against your face as a hand cupped one side of your face.

He kept having your lips in between his as he started to move, his hips rolling in a slow rhythm designed to slowly ease into you. Small gasps escaped your lips and you clutched onto his biceps for support while your neck stretched upwards.

“Baby, you feel incredible.” He picked up the pace slightly, his thrusts growing deeper, and more insistent, as he chased the intense feeling coursing through him.

The way your body clenched around his length, the soft gasps falling from your lips.

With your moans of approval, he seized the opportunity to go even deeper and quicken the pace in your wet welcoming heat. He pulled in your mouth for intoxicating searing kisses he couldn’t get enough of.

“I miss you,” You whimpered out the truth between the kisses. “S-so much.”

He snapped forward with new determination accentuated by the lewd sounds of your skin slapping against each other.

He let go of your mouth to focus on your chest. "I'm right here baby." He mumbled over your breasts as he cupped one in his large hands, brushing over your nipples before reaching down to lick.

He alternates between wet kisses and whirling his tongue, aimed to only give you pleasure. In his defence, he hasn't had the opportunity to do this in a while.

You grabbed a side of his face to look into his lustful eyes. “I really did love you.” You breathed out.

“I love you too.” He replied, too entranced by the moment to catch that single word in your sentence.

You crashed your lips against his. The technique of his kissing made you moan loudly into his mouth, and then against his jaw with your eyes shut when he was hitting the perfect spot over and over.

Your body was tensing up tighter and tighter as the pressure of the inside you. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge, ready to shatter into a million pieces at any moment.

“I’m close,” San panted. “Come for me. Come first.”

As a result of his husky words, your walls clench around him, and your climax comes crashing in. One passionate thrust as he buried himself inside your convulsing sex, the intense orgasm shook your entire body violently.

While your final convulsions faded, you slumped against the couch, panting heavily. Meanwhile, San rode off your enjoyment only to abruptly slip out of you before blowing a load inside you without a condom on.

He released himself from your legs that were wrapped around him and hurried to your nearby bathroom, his hard-on in his hands.

You lay there in a daze, trying to make sense of everything, feeling a mix of confusion and shame. You covered your face with your hands, desperate to hide from the reality of the situation.

Slowly, you pulled yourself up from the leather couch to sit up, its surface sticking a little to your sweaty skin, before you reached for your underwear lying forgotten at your feet.

You managed to get most of your clothes back on when he returned. The sight of him—his broad athletic build and that confident stride—distracted you just long enough for him to lean down and kiss you, his hands gently resting on the side of your neck.

You instinctively covered his hand with your own, locking eyes with him.

“Are you okay?” His voice was soft.

You stayed quiet for a moment, the weight of his question sinking in.

He kissed you again, his lips warm and insistent, and for a moment, the thoughts swirling in your head began to fade.

Before you knew it, he lowered himself down onto the floor across from you, wanting to pull you on top of him to straddle him.

“Stop. No more.” you murmured, pushing him away gently.

Your heart pounding as your knees pressed against the hardwood floors when you realised you were already sitting on his thighs.

San sharply sighed, a little disappointed, but he didn’t fight it. He let go of his grip on your waist, and you slowly kicked yourself off him.

The two of you lay on the floor, side by side, your breaths finally slowing after whatever that was. The silence between you wasn’t comforting in the slightest.

He reached for his underwear with his feet, slipping it on slowly, his eyes never leaving you. He was trying to read you, trying to understand what was going on.

You turned your head to look at him. His eyes turned to the ceiling, his expression unreadable, distant even though he was right there.

“San,” you began softly, your voice breaking the stillness. “I think we—”

His phone buzzed, cutting through the tension, and he glanced at it with another sigh. You felt the moment slip away as he got up and fumbled for his phone left in his pants by the couch.

“It’s Mingi,” he muttered.

“San,” you tried again, your tone heavier this time, begging for his attention. But he’d already answered the call.

You stayed on the floor, your chest tightening as fragments of their conversation reached your ears.

“Dude, what? I’m in the middle of… Huh? No, I haven’t heard from her,” San said, his tone sharp but tinged with concern. “She’s been dodging everyone since that night at Yeosang’s when you wouldn’t shut up about your conquests.”

Your frown deepened as you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch him. His brows furrowed, his full attention on the call like you weren’t even there.

“Well, maybe you should go check on her then,” San said, leaning back against the couch. “What, come over? Her place or yours?”

A pause, then his expression shifted—confusion, followed by clear exasperation.

San ran a hand through his messy hair. “Fine, whatever. I’ll come over later.” He hung up, tossing the phone onto the floor like it had personally wronged him.

“Mingi needs help with something,” he said it like that was enough explanation.

You stared at him, baffled and angry, “So you’re going?”

He turned to you, guilt flashing briefly in his eyes before he looked away. “I don’t have a choice,” he said quietly.

The words hit you like a slap, but what was worse than the sting was the inevitability that this was always how it would be. You, waiting for scraps of his time, his attention. Him, running off to play hero for everyone but you.

“San,” you said, your voice trembling. “You always have a choice. You just never choose me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” You shot back. “You couldn’t even let me finish breaking up with you before answering his call.”

“What? It’s not like that. This is serious to him—he really likes her—”

“Save it,” you cut him off, your voice sharp. “Since you’re always serious about everyone else, just go.”

He hesitated, his hand hovering near his phone. “You’re being—”

“Go,” you repeated firmly, tears welling in your eyes but your tone unwavering. “And don’t ever come back this time.”

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to defend himself, or to stay, but then he stood up. He pulled the rest of his clothes back on, grabbed his phone, and shoved it into his back pocket without a word.

He glanced at you on his way out, his gaze searching for something, anything, to make this easier. He convinced himself he’d call you tomorrow, that this wasn’t really goodbye like the other times you both have tried to end it. He didn’t realize how serious you were this time.

He walked past the shards and the broom and left. The door clicked shut behind him.

[pseudowho]

i go looking for fluffy oneshot Nanami/Reader stuff and I'll be honest, even when they're meant to be funny it feels forced and i end up running back to read yours

how do you get the humour and banter so easy/peak/natural in your writing? you don't shortchange on warmth or romance either and I'm beginning to wonder if I've ever seen relationships written as well or honestly as you do it.

are you funny in person too? you gotta be

Oh 😭 thank you! I'm very much reading nothing on here at the moment. We're packing to move house, and it eats into what very little time I had anyway, so I can't say I've read anything to be able to comment.

But I don't know, really. It just...happens. I'm fortunate to have banter and easy humour with my husband and most of my friends, so it comes through I suppose.

Regarding if I'm funny...@mrhaitch, don't let me down.

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

[roseyreveries]

To my lovely anon who sent me a request this morning, I do see it and I have written it for you, but I can not reply to your request 😭 I think I may have replied back to you accidentally half asleep at like 4am this morning and didn’t realize. I feel awful!! but here it is for you!

Domestic Disasters

REQUEST: I was imagining muggleborn!fem!reader and Draco moving in together in their established relationship. I was thinking it would be so funny if the reader realizes Draco doesn’t know how to do simple things with “muggle products”. For example, loading and starting the dishwasher, working the microwave and stove, or even washing a load of laundry. So reader pokes fun at his attempts but eventually teaches him how to do it all. Example of dialogue: “Draco this is not a big enough load to run the washing machine!” Because he has one coat and a pair of socks in it and he’s trying to add a ton of laundry detergent. 🤣

CW: so much flufffff

Directory <- click!

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The first thing you noticed when you moved in with Draco Malfoy was the distinct smell of burning popcorn.

“Draco! What the hell are you doing?” you shouted, bolting into the kitchen. The sight before you was almost comedic. Draco Malfoy, former Slytherin Prince and master of disdainful smirks, stood in front of the microwave, glaring at it like it had insulted his lineage. Smoke curled ominously from the edges of the microwave door.

“It’s supposed to make the popcorn pop, yeah?” he said defensively, his wand gripped in one hand like he was about to duel the appliance. “But it’s not popping. It’s bloody burning! This thing’s defective.”

You groaned, rushing to open the microwave door. A billow of smoke escaped, and you coughed, waving a hand in front of your face. Inside was a charred mess of what had once been a bag of popcorn.

“Draco,” you began, turning to face him, “you’re not supposed to put the bag in for ten minutes! It’s like, two minutes tops. Tops.”

He crossed his arms, scowling like a petulant child caught red-handed. “Well, excuse me for not being fluent in Muggle contraptions. How am I supposed to know the rules for these… infernal devices?” His cheeks were tinged with a faint pink, and you couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or frustration.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, fighting back a laugh. “This is why we read the instructions, Draco.”

“Instructions?” he scoffed, the word sounding almost foreign in his mouth. “Utterly unnecessary. Why don’t we just use magic? One swish of my wand, and the popcorn would be perfect. None of this… nonsense.” He gestured vaguely at the microwave, as if its existence personally offended him.

You stepped forward and plucked the wand from his hand before he could actually cast a spell. “Because,” you said firmly, “we agreed to try doing things the Muggle way. You know, since we’re living together now? And you’re the one who said—and I quote—‘I want to immerse myself in your world, darling.’ Remember that?”

Draco’s lips twitched, and he muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Worst decision of my life.”

“What was that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, though the pink on his cheeks deepened. “But honestly, darling, what’s the point of Muggle contraptions if they can’t even perform their one job properly? Popcorn is supposed to pop, not incinerate.”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore. The sight of Draco Malfoy—the man who had once faced Death Eaters without flinching—getting flustered over a bag of burnt popcorn was just too much. He glared at you, but there was no real heat behind it.

“Oh, come on,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “It’s not the microwave’s fault you set it to ‘obliterate.’”

“I did no such thing,” he retorted, sniffing indignantly. “And for the record, I still think this entire endeavor is ridiculous. Magic is far superior.”

“Sure it is,” you said with a grin, grabbing a fresh bag of popcorn from the counter. “But maybe next time, let the Muggle handle the Muggle contraptions, yeah?”

Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned against the counter, watching you as you placed the new bag in the microwave and set the timer for two minutes.

“See?” you said as the popping sounds began. “Not so hard, is it?”

“Hmm,” he murmured, his gaze shifting from the microwave to you. “I’ll admit, it’s marginally less of a disaster when you do it. But only marginally.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. The timer beeped, and you pulled out the perfectly popped bag, handing it to him with a flourish.

“Your Highness,” you said dramatically. “Your popcorn.”

Later that week, you discovered that Draco Malfoy—the boy who faced down Death Eaters and taunted Harry Potter himself—had met his match. His ultimate nemesis? The washing machine.

“What the bloody hell is that godforsaken racket?!” Draco’s voice rang out, sharp and panicked, from the laundry room. The clanging, banging, and erratic thuds were so loud you’d half-expected the Ministry of Magic to come knocking, accusing you both of harboring a rogue Hippogriff.

You followed the noise, already amused, and froze in the doorway at the sight. Draco stood in front of the vibrating washing machine, his pale face a mix of fury and wide-eyed terror. He looked like he was watching a Hungarian Horntail getting ready to strike. The machine shuddered violently, groaning as if it were about to sprout legs and march out of the house entirely.

“Why is it doing that?!” he demanded, flinging an accusatory finger at the poor appliance. “It’s not normal! Machines shouldn’t move like that!”

You bit back a laugh, though your lips twitched with the effort. “What did you put in there, Draco?”

“Clothes!” he snapped, his tone defensive as if you’d just accused him of committing high treason. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, and his chin tilted up in that trademark Malfoy arrogance, though his shaking voice betrayed him. “And maybe… maybe a pair of shoes. But how was I supposed to know it would throw a tantrum about it?!”

That was it—you lost it. You burst out laughing so hard your knees buckled, and you had to clutch the doorframe for support. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you doubled over, your stomach cramping from the force of it. Draco, meanwhile, stood glaring at you, his cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation.

“This isn’t funny!” he huffed, his sharp tone completely undercut by how ridiculous he looked. “I think it’s trying to kill me!”

“Kill you? Oh, sweetheart, no,” you managed to gasp out between giggles, wiping at your damp eyes. “But you’re absolutely killing me right now.”

Finally able to breathe, you stepped closer to inspect the chaos. Peeking inside the washer, you found the culprits: a single coat, one pair of socks, two heavy sneakers, and what looked like an entire cauldron’s worth of laundry detergent. The foam was nearly pouring out of the machine, and it gave one last menacing thud before falling eerily silent.

“Draco,” you began, trying to sound serious despite your laughter, “you can’t just throw shoes in the washer! Or half a bottle of detergent, for that matter!”

“How was I supposed to know that?!” he hissed, throwing his hands in the air. “This… this Muggle contraption is an instrument of torture! I refuse to go near it again. You’ll have to do the laundry from now on.”

You smirked, leaning up to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Oh no, love. You started this mess; you’re cleaning it up. But don’t worry, I’ll teach you. Just try not to blow up the house in the meantime, yeah?”

Draco groaned, muttering under his breath about “Muggle nonsense” as he begrudgingly followed your instructions. You couldn’t stop grinning, though. For all his dramatics, there was something oddly endearing about seeing him completely out of his depth—and utterly defeated—by something as mundane as a washing machine.

Dishwashing wasn’t exactly Draco’s strong suit either. If the washing machine had been his nemesis, the dishwasher was its equally vengeful twin.

You walked into the kitchen, stopping dead in your tracks at the sight before you. A frothy mountain of soap suds was cascading out of the dishwasher and spreading across the floor like some kind of bubbly, unstoppable avalanche. Draco stood in the middle of the chaos, staring at the mess with a look of sheer disbelief, a bottle of dish soap still clutched in his hand.

“What did you do?” you asked, your tone torn between exasperation and uncontrollable laughter.

“I put the soap in!” he exclaimed, his brows furrowed as if you were the crazy one in this situation. “You said it needed soap!”

“Yeah, but not half the bloody bottle, Draco!” you cried, gesturing wildly at the foamy disaster surrounding you both.

“Well, you didn’t specify how much!” he shot back defensively, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. “How am I supposed to know these things? It’s not as if there’s a spell for proper soap-to-dishwasher ratios!”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, though the corners of your mouth were already twitching upward. When you peeked through your fingers again, Draco had run a hand through his perfectly styled blond hair, messing it up just enough to give him that irresistibly disheveled look. Too bad he was utterly hopeless in this moment.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled, glaring at the soap suds as if they had personally wronged him. “How do Muggles survive without magic? Honestly, it’s barbaric.”

You couldn’t help it anymore—you burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching the counter for support. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad!” you managed between giggles. “You’re just… hilariously bad at it.”

Draco shot you a withering look that would have made lesser mortals quake in their boots. “Glad you’re enjoying my suffering,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, I am,” you replied cheekily, grinning ear to ear as you grabbed a towel to start mopping up the mess. “I’m enjoying it a lot, actually.”

He groaned again, tossing the soap bottle onto the counter in defeat before crouching down to help you clean up. “You know, you could help a little more and laugh a little less,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” you teased, tossing him another towel. “Besides, you’re lucky you didn’t break the damn thing.”

Draco muttered something about “Muggle contraptions being out to get him,” but you couldn’t stop smiling. For all his frustration, there was something undeniably endearing about watching him try—and fail—at the most basic household tasks. As long as he didn’t blow up the kitchen, you figured you’d survive this particular domestic adventure… barely.

One particularly unforgettable evening, you walked into the kitchen to find Draco Malfoy locked in an epic battle with what had apparently become his latest foe: the vacuum cleaner.

“Why is it chasing me?!” he shouted, his voice an octave higher than usual as he backed into a corner. The vacuum’s hose flailed wildly, as if it had a mind of its own, and Draco looked genuinely terrified, his wand gripped tightly in one hand.

You froze for half a second, taking in the scene, before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. You had to clutch the counter to keep from collapsing. “Draco, it’s not alive!” you managed to gasp out, tears streaming down your face.

His silver-grey eyes snapped to yours, full of indignation. “Then explain why it’s attacking me!” he retorted, his chest heaving with frustration. “This… this abomination is clearly bewitched!”

“It’s not bewitched,” you said, still laughing so hard it hurt. “You just turned it on without holding the handle properly!”

Draco’s glare could have frozen the Sahara. He brandished his wand at the vacuum like it was a particularly nasty boggart. “It’s trying to eat me,” he declared with absolute certainty.

You snorted, finally catching your breath enough to step in. Taking pity on him, you reached over and turned the vacuum off with a simple press of a button. It went silent instantly, leaving Draco staring at it with suspicion as if it might spring back to life at any moment.

But before he could recover his pride, you whipped out your phone and snapped a picture of his wide-eyed, cornered expression. His hair was slightly mussed, and he looked so hilariously out of place that you couldn’t resist.

“Give me that,” he demanded, snatching the phone from your hand with a scandalized look. “If you show this to anyone, I swear—”

“Relax,” you interrupted, grinning mischievously. “It’s just for me. You’re way too cute when you’re scared.”

Draco muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Insufferable Muggle contraptions and their even more insufferable girlfriends.” But despite his protests, you caught the tiniest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re lucky you’re adorable,” he added begrudgingly, handing your phone back with a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, I know,” you said cheekily, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. “And you’re lucky you’re mine, even if you are completely hopeless with anything Muggle.”

His ears turned pink, though he quickly tried to hide it with his usual Malfoy bravado. “Hopeless?” he echoed, smirking now. “We’ll see who’s hopeless when I hex that infernal contraption into oblivion.”

You laughed again, shaking your head as you grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s leave the vacuum alone before you traumatize yourself. Or worse—me.”

And though he grumbled the whole way out of the kitchen, you couldn’t help but notice how he held onto your hand just a little tighter.

By the end of the first month, Draco had reluctantly mastered the art of microwaving (under your strict supervision) and had developed a deep, abiding distrust of both the washing machine and the dishwasher. But despite his many domestic disasters, you couldn’t help but find him utterly endearing.

One quiet morning, you wandered into the kitchen, still wearing your sleep shirt and a pair of shorts, your hair slightly messy from bed. Draco was already there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, sipping tea as he watched you with a faint smirk. His grey eyes followed you as you padded over to the toaster, your bare feet making soft sounds on the tiled floor.

You grabbed a couple of slices of bread and popped them into the toaster like it was second nature. You turned the dial, pressed the lever, and leaned against the counter to wait, completely unfazed.

Draco, on the other hand, looked utterly baffled. “That’s it?” he asked, tilting his head like a curious puppy.

You glanced over your shoulder, amused. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? It’s a toaster, Draco. You put the bread in, press the button, and voilà—toast.”

His brows furrowed as if the simplicity offended him. “That’s absurdly easy. Too easy. It can’t be that straightforward.”

“It really is,” you said with a teasing grin, turning back to face the toaster. “But I guess that’s a foreign concept for someone who’s used to snapping their fingers and having everything magically done for them.”

Before you could say anything more, you felt his presence behind you. Warm hands slid around your waist, and his chest pressed against your back as his chin came to rest lightly on your shoulder. “Are you mocking me, love?” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, his breath tickling your ear.

“Always,” you replied, though your voice was softer now. His touch was distracting, his arms holding you snugly against him, and you couldn’t help but feel your pulse quicken.

Draco hummed, his lips curving into a smirk against your shoulder. “It’s not my fault I’ve had house-elves and magic to cater to my every whim. You’ve spoiled me too, you know.”

“Oh, have I?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him. “I didn’t realize making toast would put me in the same league as your house-elves.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back. “You make it look so effortless,” he said, his tone suddenly softer, almost reverent. “Everything you do, really. It’s infuriating how competent you are. Meanwhile, I’m out here battling washing machines and vacuums.”

You laughed, leaning back into him as his arms tightened slightly around you. “It’s called basic life skills, Draco. You might want to pick up a few.”

He let out a dramatic sigh, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Why would I bother when I have you to handle all of that for me?”

“Oh, so I’m your house-elf now?” you teased, arching an eyebrow.

His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he murmured, “You’re far more than that, love. Though I wouldn’t say no to you in an apron…”

You turned your head sharply, your cheeks heating up as you swatted his arm. “Draco Malfoy!”

He laughed, low and teasing, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “What? Just a thought.”

The toaster popped, startling you both. You laughed, and Draco reluctantly loosened his hold on you, though his hands stayed on your hips. “See?” you said, pulling the toast out with a triumphant grin. “Easy. No house-elf required.”

He watched you with a mixture of admiration and amusement. “Maybe I don’t need house-elves,” he said, leaning in close again, his lips ghosting over your jawline. “Maybe I just need you.”

Your breath hitched, and you turned to face him, holding the toast in one hand as you placed the other on his chest. “Careful, Draco,” you said, your voice playful but your heart racing. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Good,” he murmured, his smirk softening into something more genuine as he leaned down to kiss you. The toast was forgotten as you melted into him, his lips warm and gentle against yours.

As the kiss deepened, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “But you’re still not making me learn that infernal contraption.”

You laughed against his lips, shaking your head. “You’re hopeless.”

“And yet, you still love me,” he said smugly, his hands sliding back around your waist.

“Unfortunately for me, I do,” you replied, grinning.

Draco’s smirk returned as he captured your lips again, the kitchen filled with the warm scent of toast and the unmistakable feeling of home.

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@ferntv @katie_kinz

[firelxdykatara]

One of these days I really do need to sit down and do a full Buffy rewatch. It's been a very long time since I've watched the whole show, beginning to end, without jumping to my favorite episodes and then losing track and trailing off. But part of the problem is that every time I think about doing this, I then think about how much time I will have to spend perceiving Xander Harris' existence (a character whom I loathe a little more each and every time I put on an episode of the show, especially when I do a full season rewatch), and I just feel so tired in my fucking bones about it. I don't know if I am strong enough!

Doesn't help that I just watched a youtube video on why Xander is the Worst with a capital W, which in the process reminded me of some of the things he did which I'd evidently blocked completely from my memory. You mean to tell me (as if I had not seen it with my own two eyes multiple times and each time managed, somehow, to purge it from my memory completely) that Xander fucking Harris is the reason Buffy tries to go after Riley (a character I also hate, but unlike Xander, he's only around for two seasons and is ultimately pretty irrelevant and easy to ignore), only to get there too late and watch him leave in a fucking helicopter, crying over him as if she'd lost something significant.

Instead of leaving it at her choosing to let go of a relationship that was going nowhere, and never had been, because she did not love him (seriously, just, compare the way Buffy behaves around him during their relationship with her behavior around Angel and Spike during their respective relationship arcs and tell me you don't see a diffeerence) and he very clearly did not understand her or her burden and had no intention of trying because being with the strongest woman in the world who didn't need him around all the time to be her big strong protector made him feel like less of a man... she has to stand there and get her heart broken, realizing what she lost just a little too late to do anything about it.

All because Xander had to give her his little fucked up 'you need to go after him and beg him to stay! he's perfect for you!' speech.

(There's something in there about Xander needing her to pick Riley and be with Riley because Riley is the normal everyman and it would be, symbolically, him triumphing over Angel after all if she chose the normal boring human dude over a grr face and angst, but it's been a little too long for me to write that essay, it'd have to come in the course of the full rewatch I keep meaning to start and not getting around to because of aforementioned anger about Xander Fucking Harris.)

This on top of shit like 'Xander has a witch help him do a love spell that backfires horribly and instead of facing any consequences from that he has Buffy thanking him for not sexually assaulting her while she was maigcally roofied by, and I cannot stress this enough, the spell he sought out a witch to perform (because he actually wanted to assault Cordelia in revenge for dumping him, but since he saves her from the situation he put her in she decides to give their relationship another chance)' (and in the very next season he cheats on Cordelia with Willow, who is wracked with guilt over what happened and spends multiple episodes trying to make things up to Oz and fix their relationship but Xander has to do none of this cause it's whatever to him I guess lmao), and also him lying about Angel which Buffy never figures out which sticks in my craw like a really bad rash... gods.

See I'm already writing an essay and I haven't done a full rewatch in years 😭😭😭 I love the show so much but I hate Xander SO much I truly suffer more than Jesus for my girl.

[welcome-leon]

seen people talk about re5r and I got the Fear 😖

bc yeah I can see capcom doing re5r next. they have the set up from Seperate Ways and what not. and chronologically re5r is next obviously, so instead of jumping around in the timeline they just keep going forward from what they’ve already established. sure.

but are they really gonna introduce Chris to the remake universe in re5? at the end of the Wesker arc? are they really gonna let Chris’ introduction to a significant amount of new players not include the Spencer Mansion? yeah I know RE1R exists and them making a remake remake would be odd, but most of the players that got into the series bc of RE2R aren’t gonna go back and play a remake made in 2002. so for a lot of people, their first interactions with Chris will be re5r.

which just does so much disservice to his character :( without establishing his backstory, why does it matter if Chris is the one to kill Wesker? why is the entire mission so important to him? why does he care so much about Jill, spending 3 years of his life determinedly searching for her, refusing to believe that she’s dead? the remake universe has barely touched on who Wesker is, why he’s the bad guy, where he came from, how he managed to get to where he is now - why would they reduce their most iconic villain to just a Bad Guy(tm) without any of the emotional weight behind his relationship to Chris and Jill?

​I just!!!!!!! want Chris to be given the same love and care in his writing!!!!!!!!!! Chris already gets simplified to the hypermasculine hero without much room to reflect on his trauma - show me the 25 year old who got betrayed by his captain and lost the life of most of his team!! his friends!!!! RE1 is still a phenomenal game, and it’s still scary as shit, and in a modern remake that game would be magnificent. I don’t want them to forget Chris’ beginnings and fuck up his characterisation as a result 😭

[anxiescape]

What's your moon flowers au about?

The art of it looks very intriguing, I'm worried for Macaque though

Also hi! Are you having a good day? I hope you are

Hi! I’m doing… alive! (is that an acceptable response? 👀😬)

Thank you for the ask, it made my day. 🥰 Buuut the answer is going to be a bit long, because I don’t know how to condense it any more than I was able to. 😭

Now, as for Moon Flowers, I don’t remember how I came up with it (other than I just really wanted a fic with that title XD), but it starts with Sun Wukong (as many of my fics do 😩). He’s a new and upcoming demon king, and he’s just recently joined into a fellowship with a few other demon lords: The Azure Lion, The Golden-Winged Peng, Yellowtusk the Wise, and the Demon Bull King.

The brotherhood has plans—plans of power and greatness. But to put these plans into action, they’ll need resources. Allies, soldiers, weapons, etc. And Wukong knows where they might find a few weapons. For you see, just a year or so ago (probably longer but I haven’t decided yet), Wukong had rescued some of his monkeys from another demon known as the Demon King of Havoc, and he kinda split the guy down the middle and sliced up any goons he ran into while doing the whole “rescuing” bit. So there’s an empty fort that’s gotta have something they can use, right? It wouldn’t hurt to check it out. So that’s exactly what they do.

The brotherhood arrives at the Havoc King’s old place, and it’s definitely abandoned. It’s dusty and full of cobwebs, with bugs and rats running around. There are a few weapons lying around, but not much. The brotherhood splits up to search.

Wukong and Peng find the royal chambers. Wukong wanders down the hall, wondering if maybe there’s a trophy room nearby, and he does find a room with some old, useless junk. He starts digging through it when he hears a commotion, and shouting—mostly Peng. He wonders what trouble Peng got themself into, and when he finally finds them he’s stunned by what he sees.

There’s a monkey demon chained to the wall; one that Wukong has never seen before. He’s skin and bones, and his black fur is riddled with fleas, but he doesn’t seem to care as he snarls at Peng, whose hand is raised as if they just struck him.

“Damn thing bit me!” Peng cried.

As the others enter the room, Wukong steps forward. The monkey turns on him next, but the warning snarl in his throat dies as their eyes meet (because I love me some of that love-at-first-sight crap, baby 😎). Wukong is mesmerized by the stranger in front of him, and the other seems just as starstruck. Wukong holds out his hand, but the monkey is hesitant to take it, a hopeful look in his eyes as he gazes up at the Monkey King. All seems to be going well.

Until Wukong speaks.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

Instantly, the monkey’s expression changes from one of fearful hope to one of rage and pure hatred. It moves faster than Wukong can react, slashing his hand open with its overgrown claws and lunging for his throat. Azure quickly steps in, and with a well-placed sword hilt to the head the monkey is unconscious. (Wukong is upset about that, but anyway.)

The brotherhood discusses what to do with the prisoner they found, and Wukong somehow convinces them to let him take the monkey back with him—a random helpless monkey, and the King of the Monkeys. What could go wrong? (Other than the fact that this monkey seems to hate Wukong’s guts, but anyway—)

So Wukong takes the monkey back to Flower Fruit Mountain, and Marshal Liu nurses it back to health (Wukong isn’t really able to help, since the monkey goes on the attack any time Wukong is in sight). It takes a long time, but eventually the monkey stops attacking Wukong, and their relationship is… uhh… pretty much just acquaintances (not for lack of trying on Wukong’s part). They learn that the monkey goes by Macaque (he doesn’t know any other name), and the strange gold circlet around his neck is suppressing his magic.

Gonna wrap this up a bit more quickly. Macaque gets to learn what it’s like to be a free monkey, he befriends the commanders and others of the troop (but not Wukong), and he’s unwilling to share any of his past. Until Wukong finally finds a way to remove the magic-suppressing collar around Macaque’s neck, anyway. Then, Macaque finally shares why he hates Wukong so much.

So… yeah. Macaque wasn’t one of the Monkey King’s troop, so when he was captured and hidden away with all the Havoc King’s other “treasures” (🤢), no one from Wukong’s troop knew that there was another monkey imprisoned. No one knew that there was another monkey that needed to be saved.

But Macaque knew of Wukong. He heard Wukong arrive, as proud and confident as ever as he defeated the Havoc King and freed his monkeys. And Macaque waited, eager to be saved as well. He heard the monkeys clearing out the kitchen and stuff, and he waited for someone to find him. To rescue him.

But no one did.

Macaque doesn’t know how long he was imprisoned. He tried to break free of his restraints, but he couldn’t. So he lived off of rainwater and rats that he caught, and just… waited. For rescue or death, he wasn’t sure which. And when the day finally came, and someone finally found him, that someone turned out to be the very person who had abandoned him? Well… Macaque had a long time alone with his growing resentment.

(Wrapping this up even quicker!!) Okay! So, these two finally start talking and getting to know one another, Macaque starts his healing journey (with lots of ups and downs), and it’s eventually a happy ending for the two of them (at least, until the War with Heaven and all that mess, but that’s another story lol). This fic mainly deals with Macaque’s recovery and the trauma that he faces from his time with the Havoc King, and there are mentions of self-harm and SA, so it’s not the most lighthearted of stories. But Wukong and the commanders are there to help him through it, and there is a lot of comfort for all the hurt that has happened. 💕

~~~~~~

Aaand there you go! Sorry about the length, I tried to keep it short but I dunno if I did a good job of that. 😅

Fun fact: This AU is actually a Stargaze AU! Starts the same as Stargaze, with Liu’er/Macaque hatching from a fallen meteor, and all that good stuff. (I… I might have too many Stargaze AUs… 👉👈)

[leorawright]

YOU WRITE FOR ARCANE? LETS GOOOOOOOO

I'm still sad about Silco's death so please some comforttt 😭

Can you write Silco x Reader who's a Himbo? Big guy who is just a big softie for him x)

Thembo since it's gender neutral I guess? xD

Thembo, I absolutely love that lol

Silco with a Thembo (gender neutral himbo) partner

You two seem like the weirdest couple with Silco being the calculating twink that he is and you being a huge guy and softie

Even Silco thought you were just putting on a sweet act when you first meet

But now, he knows that's just how you are and you're his favorite person (besides Jinx)

You're the one soft person he's ever met, and he really cherishes that in your relationship

He's spent so much of his life wondering when the next person will betray him, but you help him relax

Even when he's working, he'll walk over to you and lean against your chest because according to him, "you're more comfortable than a chair."

Whenever you help him with his... medicine👀 he's always surprised by how gentle you are, constantly asking if he's okay and getting worried when he flinches

When you two attend a Chem Baron meeting, you look incredibly intimidating at first, but you're completely oblivious to it, all your attention on Silco which causes him to hide a smile the entire meeting

Everyone else thinks you're some dangerous bodyguard. Silco hired due to your size, but only he and Jinx know you're just a sweetheart who adores Silco

Speaking of Jinx, if she does something against Silco's wishes, she'll use you as a human shield since she knows Silco can never be mad at your face

If you attempt to bond with Jinx, it makes Silco silently happy, and Jinx is never rude to you since she knows her "father" loves you

[k-yurieee]

'ALMOST ALWAYS' CHAPTER 4 IS HERE!! WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! 🎉🎉

(Edit 3 : I started writing this post/reblog last week Monday. Don't worry about what day it is today. I just kept nitpicking at it and having more thoughts that I wanted to add everytime I came back to this, and time kept getting away from me because of irl events, sooo yeah. Stuff happens.)

Edit 1 : My usual yapping will be under the cut for this one, cause I might ramble on for bit longer than usual today. Yeah, I've got some things to say. They might not be particularly intelligible, but is anything I ever say on this app comprehensible? Probably not. Soooooo buckle up I guess 🤷‍♀️

Edit 2 : (also please ignore that I'm posting this like wayyyy after I've read this chapter, I had this saved and edited as a draft and thought I had posted it after editing it, before I decided to take a nap, but... Guess I was mistaken lol. And sleep deprived, but that's besides the point. Also I guess the draft didn't even save properly earlier??? Because I'm rereading the whole thing now and I'm pretty sure there's stuff I added earlier that seems to be missing now so.... That's sooo fun haha 🙃 I'll try to re-add anything I can remember 🫡)

Edit 1 (continued) : ohhhhh my gosh, this chapter was another ✨emotional rollercoaster✨ (which isn't anything new with this series, and honestly I should've expected it but mannnn, it just gets me every. single. time 😭😭😔)

Let me just quickly gush about this part first because EEEEEEEEhEEhEEEeeeee I can never NOT giggle and kick my feet over sweet moments like this, are you KIDDING me, I'm an absolute sucker for fluff, and I will die on that hill (also I just need to let myself simmer in this fluffy warmth before I divulge into my slightly more serious thoughts, I'll get to those in a second but firsttttt LOOK AT THIS ARE YOU KIDDING MEEEEEEEE👇👇👇😭😭😭😭)

'You deserve to cuddle up next to someone who truly values your presence and genuinely just wants you to be there with them for a little while.

You deserve the soft tickling fingertips that delicately dance across your hairline, lingering there for far longer than ‘just a second’.

You deserve the barely whispered, super soft “Love you.” spoken so tenderly and punctuated with a gentle kiss pressed to the top of your head, it makes you tighten your arms around him.'

When I tell you this made me wanna scream (wouldn't be the first time this fic affected me this way lolll) into my hands and jump up and down 😭😭😭 like girl can you PLEASE be normal (and by 'you', I mean 'I', as in ME. I need to relax lmaoooo 🙃)

This chapter... This chapter was so much. I truly am not sure how to put into proper words everything it made me feel, but I will try. Honestly I feel (and have felt) more than a bit conflicted about them (Joe & R, obvs). And I mean, that's kind of expected, right?

I want to support them but I also low-key want to smack them both upside their head sometimes (but like, in an affectionate 'why did you do that, you flippin idiot, I believe in you and know you can act better than this' kind of way)

It made me remember this quote I heard a while back that went something like "sometimes we dislike other people because we see the parts of ourselves that we dislike, in them". And it irked me because it reminded me of how I'd treated certain people in my life before, in ways that I'm not proud to admit. In one of the previous chapters, Joe had a thought somewhere along the lines of "I can't control my feelings, but I can control how I treat others", and I thought 'this is great, he knows how he should move forward, good for him, he's learned his lesson.' And I hoped it would be the same for the Reader character as well, and that both of them would implement this afterward.

And then... Then this chapter happened, and yeah, maybe they weren't in a completely committed relationship with the people who were sleeping in their beds, and maybe they 'weren't doing anything illegal', and all that, but... They could still be hurting someone else's feelings. Again. Low-key I had my face in my hands like "guys please, I know y'all can't stay away from each other, and I want you guys to end up together too but likeee there's got to be a better way to do this, pleaseeee" 🛐 😭

And maybe that's the point. They're human. They make mistakes. Sometimes they learn and grow from their past mistakes, and sometimes they continue doing the same stupid thing a million times over even if they know it won't end well for them. And it was when they made those questionable choices, when they tried to pretend that their problems didn't exist, when they constantly made excuses and kept repeating the same regrettable cycle over and over – it was during of all those moments that I looked at these characters, and I saw a part of myself. Parts of myself that I didn't like, but acknowledged was there nonetheless. It was these aspects that I could personally relate to.

This is why they feel so fucking REAL to me.

I just really hope things will end well for everyone in the last chapter because mannnn 🥲🥲😭

'But he wants you to stay. It doesn’t have to be like before. Things can be different. Better.'

This part hurt me more than it should 😭😭😭😭

(I know I wrote more about my personal feelings than about the actual fic, but like I said before, I had written more about it - over a week ago - in this draft that didn't save properly, and my memory is generally not that great, sooo yeah. I at least know that I had some thoughts about Emily's response to the whole situation and stuff but I can't recall anything specific I'd written rn. I want to reread this chapter at some point to see if it re-sparks any of those thoughts I had last time but... we'll see lol.)

Anywayssss I can't believe there is just ONE more chapter left to this series omggggg this fic has been an experience for sure

(I'm gonna need to lie down again aren't I 🥲🙃)

Almost, Always

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, smut, cheating

Author’s note: -

Wordcount: 6.5K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“I didn’t say he doesn’t… I just said, he has never actually said it.”

Emily’s jaw dropped, and you immediately regretted saying what you just said.

“No, stop. He has said it. Forget I said anything. It’s fine.”

You knew exactly what she was going to say.

She’d alluded to it from the start. Rolled her eyes at him. Made faces of outrageous confusion that told you, how can someone behave like that, without having to say the words aloud. Without making you hear them.

“I’m just saying…” Emily started, and showed you a facial expression that made you feel stupid for even bringing it up.

“It’d be better for you to leave him.”

You laughed, like she made a joke, yet so aware that she absolutely wasn’t.

But listen, if you didn’t laugh, you’d cry, because you knew, you knew somewhere in the back of your mind that it probably was better for you to leave him.

Not a truth you wanted to face though.

There were still too many easy excuses for you to make.

So... you made them.

But Emily’s face remained quite serious.

“Emily. You don’t mean that.” You said on the back-end of a giggle.

“Are you joking? My God, it’d be so much better if you left him. Better for you, better for, well, me. Can’t even tell you he loves you? What is he on?!”

You shushed her, and looked over your shoulder in the general direction of your bathroom and listened for a few seconds. The shower was still going. He couldn’t have heard her.

Good.

Not that Emily’s general opinion was a huge secret. But still. It was nice if the peace could be kept for the night.

“He does tell me that.” you argued, much softer. “Just...”

“Just does it when he’s about to hang up the phone? Just a quick, casual, love ya, when he’s saying goodbye?”

“Well, he–”

“Or does he only say it when he’s about to come?”

“Emily.”

“Oh, God. You’re so beyond help, I don’t even know what to tell you anymore.”

For a moment, you avoided eye-contact. Pressed your lips together and looked around the room whilst your friend tried her best to get it into your head that Joe really just wasn’t it.

“You know you’re in second place.” Emily said, suddenly much more earnestly. “You don’t deserve to be in second place.”

Which was a nice sentiment. A thing a best friend was meant to tell you. A bit like a parent calling their baby a genius because they accidentally made a bit of babbling sound like a real string of words.

“Well,” you said, taking a deep breath in and giving Emily your best smile. “So is he, so I guess we’re even.”

He wasn’t.

These were two different leagues.

But suggesting that Emily was in first place with you was the quickest way to make her feel appreciated even though her advice went untaken.

It always did.

Emily was a good friend and always gave excellent advice. And you were a good friend because you always listened to what she had to say. Or, you thought you did. Would tell yourself you did.

But then you simply wouldn’t follow any of it.

You hadn’t taken her advice when she’d told you to stop fucking around in a fourteen month situationship.

“I like how this just… works, don’t you?” Joe had said one evening when you were wrapped up on his sofa together. You’d made a comment that someone had flirted with you and had asked if you were single. You hadn’t known what to tell them.

Joe had just shrugged then.

“Let’s not push for something if it doesn’t need it. Something not broken doesn’t need a fix, does it?”

And you’d disagreed then. Had hoped that he’d grow a little protective and would’ve gone, um what do you mean of course you’re not single. For a while you also hadn’t wanted to define anything, because fuck commitment, right? But it had been over a year and Emily said that you should ask him to just fucking label it already.

You hadn’t.

You also hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you that she thought this guy wasn’t going to make you happy.

Hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you that she thought this guy was ultimately just there for a bit of fun, but not really much else.

Hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you to just leave him already when you told her he had never sincerely told you that he loves you.

“I know you’re smart enough to know that it’s absolutely wild that he’s not said–”  

“It’s because you just hear all the bad things, I’m sorry. I should also tell you about the good shit.”

“Oh, yea? Like what?” Emily challenged, and in the silence that followed, you heard the shower turn off.

“Like... look! Look what he got me!” you said, picking up a bag from a dining table chair.

Your friend looked at it for a moment, blank faced, and then narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“Got you? Like, he went out and bought that for you? Or, was that sent to him by the brand, and he just passed it on?”

You looked at the bag you were still holding, then gave a small shrug. “I don’t know. He still gave it to me.”

It was a nice bag.

“Not exactly the same is it.”

No, it wasn’t. But... you know. You could pretend it was.

“Still counts.”

“Okay. If you think so.”

You didn’t think so, not after what Emily had just said, but you were willing to accept it for the nice gesture, and that was all you cared about. Or, what you told yourself was all you cared about.

“I think so.” You definitively told Emily, breaking into a smile to really sell it.

Just when she was about to roll her eyes at you and maybe try her hand at talking a little more sense into you, Joe called you from the bathroom.

You left Emily on her own for about a minute before joining her again.

“Okay. Let’s go. He’s not coming.” You grabbed your coat and found your bag. The one Joe had given to you, but hadn’t spent a penny on.

“He’s– what?”

“He thought of something that still needs doing. He’s not coming.”

Emily stared at you from where she was sat, watching you hurriedly wrestle your arms into the sleeves of your coat as she slowly caught up to speed.

“So, I’m sorry, but have we just waited for him for ages for fucking nothing then?”

You ignored her tone, finding your phone, your keys, and then Emily’s coat as well.

“Let’s go. If we hurry, we might beat the rain.”

You chucked Emily her coat, and she almost didn’t move her arms in time to catch it. With the front door already open, you gestured for Emily to make her way through, calling, “Bye! We’re off!” into the flat.

Emily, under her breath, very mockingly sing-songed, “Love you!” in that same tone as she walked past you, making her point once more.

You didn’t repeat her, but instead rolled your eyes at what you decided was a joke, and then loudly said, “Don’t wait up!”

You didn’t wait for Joe to answer before you slammed the door shut.

It’s been weeks.

Months, technically, although it doesn’t feel it.

“Please be home, please be home, please be home,” you mutter to yourself as you rush your way down his street. “Please be in the fucking country, for just this fucking once…”

You’d texted and had gotten no coloured ticks from him. So then you’d called, but it just rang for ages before you were eventually sent to voicemail, and that’s something you don’t do. Especially not now. Not about this. Hell would have to freeze over before you’d leave a voicemail message. You could delete a text thread, or a voice note. But, a voicemail? Once a voicemail sends out, there is no undoing that.

Maybe you’re crazy, but what you’re doing now feels safer.

It’s after midnight, dark, the streets wet from earlier rainfall, but you feel wide awake. You’ve got Emily’s words ringing in your ears still, and you’ve not been able to shake them yet.

Her advice.

Or, well, it was more just her opinion. She had expertly dressed it up as a fact, though, which is probably why that one sentence still held you in a vice grip.  

Telling her about how you’d had a few… moments, with Joe, since you’d broken up with him, turns out, was the wrong thing to do.

You just really wanted to tell her about the wine.

The expensive bottle you’d satisfyingly dunked into his kitchen sink.

It’s been weeks by now, but you still think about that all the time. And every time that you do, you feel pure glee spark inside of you.

You thought she’d be the same.

You thought she’d absolutely love it.

But then, after you had told her all about that night, she’d just looked at you with so much disdain and disappointment, it startled you into rambling excuses, none of which sounded true to your own ears, let alone hers. She then had shook her head, and sort of muttered something to herself that you asked her to repeat.

It’s those words that haven’t left the forefront of your mind since.

You didn’t ask Emily to clarify herself. You hadn’t gotten into an argument, either. You had just… moved onto a different topic. A lighter, easier to digest thing to talk about.

It left those words to rein freely, left those words at liberty to inflate themselves until they were all you could think about, and the feeling had clawed at your chest for the rest of the day. The rest of the night.

You hadn’t been able to answer the question, what’s wrong, that you were repeatedly asked until it made you upset.

“Nothing’s wrong! Stop asking me what’s wrong! God! You asking me what’s wrong a million times a minute is what’s wrong!”

Something is wrong though.

Obviously.

You just left someone in your bed for this.

Ringing Joe’s doorbell is a quick action, fingers pressing that familiar button before you can have any doubt of what you’re doing. It takes longer than a few seconds before you hear a small beep.

“Joe? I texted you, can you reply to my text?”

A silence follows, and for a moment you think maybe the intercom doesn’t work properly, or maybe he just hadn’t heard you.

“I– I sent you a message, check your phone–”

A loud click of the door unlocking and a loud shrill buzzing sound interrupts you.

“No you don’t have to– just text me back, will you?”

No answer follows, but the loud buzzing persists. After a few more seconds of it, you know Joe’s just holding down the button until you go inside.

That wasn’t the plan. 

With a frustrated grumbling sigh, swearing under your breath, you push yourself into Joe’s building and make your way to his front door.

In the lift you decide you won’t let the doors close properly when they’ll open on Joe’s floor. You’ll tell him from half inside the lift that he just needs to check his phone.

You just want an answer.

But then the lift doors open and one foot steps out as you lean into the hallway, expecting to see Joe waiting by his front door, yet he isn’t.

You make an angry face, nose pulling up and showing your clenched teeth with a frown. You’re in a building where people are asleep so you can’t make any noise, but you absolutely would have otherwise. Joe leaves you no other choice but to get out of the lift, and begrudgingly, you make your way over to his doormat.

When you get closer, you can see how the door’s been left open.

“Hey,” you whisper-yell into the flat, “Joe?”

You get no answer, and take a few careful steps inside to find him standing in his kitchen in a T-shirt and a pair of boxer-briefs. He’s got his back turned to you, and is seemingly busy cleaning up mess he’s left out from dinner.

It’s the fucking middle of the night.

It’s dark in Joe’s flat, the only light in the room coming from his under cabinet LEDs, and it’s weirdly warm for the time of night, you think.

“Hey, I–” you start, voice low because it’s late, but you quickly get cut off by Joe.

“Did you close the door?”

You blink a few times and watch Joe very carefully load some things into his dishwasher, making little to no noise at all. No plates softly clashing, no rattling cutlery.

“What? No. I–”

“Will you close the door, please?” Joe asks, but it sounds like a demand. Sort of cold, a little detached.

“All I’m here to say,” you try again. “Is that I want you to check your phone...”

Joe stands up straight and finally looks at you. Whilst maintaining eye-contact he slowly closes the dishwasher until it latches, machine clicking shut, and when he then just... keeps staring at you, you throw your head back like an annoyed teenager, and reluctantly do as you’re told.

You go to close his front door.

In the kitchen you hear the tap go, and when you join Joe there again, you can see how he’s filling up a glass with water.

Joe is about to take a sip when he suddenly decides against it and lowers the glass.

“Water?” he then asks, and holds it out to you with a stretched arm.

You’re slightly confused, but you take it, and then watch Joe reach for another glass from a cabinet and fill that one for himself.

“Thanks, but…” you place the glass on his counter and hold two hands up to Joe. “I’m just here because I need an answer to a text.”

Joe, with his mouth in his own glass, sort of looks at you a moment as he gulps water down.

He looks tired.

Which, yea, that checks out.

You fucking woke him up, didn’t you?

There’s so many reasons to declare yourself clinically insane right now, but you’re holding onto the notion that this is actually all totally normal with all of your might. If you pretend to believe it, you might just be able to trick Joe into it as well.

But Joe just looks at you like he’s waiting for you to give the real reason of why you’re there.

“So, if you could just, check that. Answer it. That’d be great.” You force a polite smile and step back. “That’ll be all.” And you turn to leave again.

“You’ve been crying.” Joe stops you in your tracks.

You turn back to him.

“No. Well, yea I was, but that’s not– I’m fine, that was about something else, not this. You don’t have to– stop, I’m going to go, please... respond to my message. I’ll read it when I get in, and that’ll be that.”

“Wait.”

Joe picks up the glass of water you’ve just put down and gives it back to you. When it’s in your hands, he even gives it a little push upward to ensure that you have a sip.

“I’ll go get my phone.”

And he’s so calm and agreeable that it feels rude to do anything else but take a sip and wait for him. You watch Joe walk out of the room to go get his phone, and it’s a lot of opening and closing doors, everything done as quietly as humanly possible. Then, you suddenly notice how hot you feel in your coat. It’s really fucking warm in here.

That’s new.

That’s... weird.

When Joe comes back, he closes the door behind him again and looks at his phone as he unlocks it.

“Why did you call me?”

“Just–”

“I’ll read the text.”

In silence, you stand and watch Joe open his texts and read your message. Messages. There’s several. Then, he starts typing back, and, this is what you came here for, but now that you’re standing in Joe’s kitchen in the middle of the night, having pulled him out of bed for this, you almost want to tell him he’s being an idiot. He can just as easily answer your question in person.

His message sends, and your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Joe places his down and gives you a tired stare.

“Yea, okay. Th-thanks.”

“Read it.”

It startles you.

“No, that’s…” You’re so stupid. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Read your message.”

You feel like a fucking child that’s being scolded by a parent.

Guilt.

Regret.

Self-inflicted, which makes all of it so much worse.

Every feeling sits dark and sticky and bitterly uncomfortable in your gut, clinging to all the edges, stretching longer until the shadows overtake all of the previous excuses you had for being here.

You shouldn’t have come.

You shouldn’t have gone to wake up Joe over something so insignificant and, well, dumb. It’s embarrassing, and you want to leave.

“You’re here now. I’m up. Read your message.”

You inhale deeply. Hold it there for a moment.

He’s right.

The damage has been done.

You’ve dipped a toe into this strange pond, and now you might as well canon ball yourself right into this uncomfortable mess, no matter how cold the water might be.

The only way out seems through.

You pull your phone from your pocket with a clammy hand, and fucking damn it, you’re sweating underneath all of your layers.

“I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

Joe just lets his eyes drop to your phone before he looks right at you again, his very stance issuing the orders.

Read the fucking text.

You see the notification and open your phone with face ID. Your own messages to Joe catch your attention first, before you see his reply.

“Were we as good as we’re going to get?”

“What we were together”

“Was that really as good as it can get?”

“Ever?”

You didn’t have to send the same question in various different ways, but that’s what had happened.

Emily’s reaction to the stand alone get-togethers you’d participated in with Joe hadn’t been what you’d expected. You’d hoped for a level of girl power encouragement. For a loud get it girl, or a, yea babe get what you want.

Instead, you’d gotten a sigh and shake of her head, followed by a soberly mumbled, “You really do deserve each other…” that you’d asked her to repeat.

Before she’d always said that Joe didn’t deserve you. That was always the point she tried to get across. The idea she tried to sear into your brain. Joe was beneath you, and you were far above. Always.

And then suddenly, now you are no longer too good for him?

Suddenly you’re on equal footing, and you deserve each other.

What the fuck.

You look at your own messages and realise in that very second that you have no idea what kind of answer you are after from Joe. This isn’t a coin toss situation where you know what side you want that coin to land on the moment it get’s thrown into the air. Fear strikes you lightning fast. No matter what Joe is going to tell you, it’s going to be wrong.

What the fuck are you doing at Joe’s flat?

And why is it so fucking hot in here?

The only way out is through.

You read Joe’s text.

“Darling it’s late, let’s not do this over text”

A non-answer.

You look up at Joe, who is now leaning against his kitchen counter, legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest. His head tilts to the side a little and neither of you speak.

It’s oddly unexpected that the guy in his underwear exudes more confidence than the girl bundled up in heavy layers of clothing.

You frown and read the message again.

For a second you debate what to do next. What to say. If this is going to be the end of this interaction, or if it’s going to be just the beginning.

It’s late, though.

You inhale deeply. Slowly.

Then, resign.

“Okay.”

Because honestly, what were you really even expecting from him?

Your soft little defeated okay isn’t what Joe expected though, you can see it in the minor change on his face. The eyebrows that quirk up slightly, his jaw that loosens, the eyes that round out...

“I’ll um...” you say softly, letting your phone sink back into a pocket before pulling at your sleeves to let them cover both hands.

Joe steps forward and bends to look at the clock on the oven behind him before he says, “Well. Since you’re here. Might as well.”

He gestures an arm at his dining table. At one of his chairs. It’s hard, but you do your best to ignore the memories of the last time you were there, sat in one of these chairs. Well, technically, you hadn’t sat in one of the chairs... Joe had sat on one of the chairs and you–

“Am I going to get an explanation of what’s going on?” Joe asks as he pulls out a chair for you.

Finally, you remove your coat.

“It’s a long story.” You say, then think for a moment and add, “No it’s not, actually. Emily said–”

“Ah. Emily.” Joe sits down in a chair opposite. “How is Emily doing?”

“Shut up. She’s fine.” You exclaim, voice a little raised in defense, and you’re immediately shushed by Joe. He holds up a hand as he perks up, and you get the message, lowering your tone as you add, “This isn’t about her.”

“It’s not?”

“No. She just said something. I…” you trail off for a second.

Your head’s a scrambled mess of doubt and insecurities and it doesn’t help that all you’ve done in the past few hours is overthink every single thought that’s popped into your brain. It’s a bit of a journey to retrace your steps and go back to the start of all of this.

“We were talking, and suddenly she... she said something and I’m just… I wanted to know if you think that… if you think what I texted you is true.”

“You just… wanted to know… if I think…” Joe narrows his eyes up at the ceiling as he thinks, slowly repeating your words.

It’s condescending.

Patronising.

Joe’s making fun of you.

“All right, be fucking honest or–”

“No, no. I’m sorry. Sorry. It’s nearly two in the fucking morning,” two already big eyes comically enlargen, but don’t make you laugh. Wrong audience. “But, yea, you’re right. Honest. I’ll be honest.”

You take a deep breath in preparation of what he’s about to say.

Were we as good as we’re going to get?

“Imposing question, though.”

Yea, you’re aware. It’s why you hadn’t been able to sleep and had eventually decided to just get up and out of bed, leave the boy you had in there on his own, and make your way over to Joe’s.

“I don’t know.”

Wild how you feel about five inches tall whilst simultaneously feeling like you’re taking up too much space in the room.

“You don’t know.”

Typical.

“Well. No, I… was it as good, wait, what was it?” Joe looks past you and sees that he’s left his phone on the counter. “Was it as good as it could be?”

You exhale through flared nostrils, frustration forcing your eyes shut for a moment.

“Were we as good as it’s ever going to get for us?”

“Were we as good as it’s ever going to get... I mean, I think so? I– But–... you tell me. Were we?”

And Joe’s right. It is late. You have spent hours thinking that question over, and you couldn’t answer it when you weren’t as tired as you are now, so it’s useless to even try at this hour.

You shrug, and for a moment, it’s quiet. You don’t know how to go about leaving now. You came here for something you aren’t going to get and so, fucking now what?

“Why um... why have you been crying?”

“Oh, I...” your fingers find your sleeve to rub. “I was asked why I couldn’t sleep, and I... well, I couldn’t really explain, so...”

Joe frowns in confusion, not understanding.

“I don’t know, you try listening to someone say shit like, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong I can’t help you, fifty times in a row, and try not to fucking snap.”

They’d been tears of angry frustration, mostly with yourself, and they’d actually surprised you. You hadn’t expected to cry, but, you felt hurt by words your best friend said to you, so you guess that does add up, actually.

Something slowly dawns on Joe before he then leans back in his chair and nods, scrunching his nose, and he whispers, “Jasper.”

“Jasper.” you confirm, and it makes you chuckle a little before a yawn breaks it up.

Joe watches you. Lets his eyes take you in. It’s the middle of the night and you’re very clearly going through something, but he hasn’t got the answers to the questions you’re asking him, and he hates it.

Wishes he could help.

Wishes the questions you wanted answers to weren’t so impossible.

Joe watches you yawn. Watches your eyes blink slowly as you stare into space for a moment. It’s so quiet, he can hear his clock tick on the other side of the room. Then suddenly, you smile.

“I told Emily about the wine... about how I was a complete bitch and poured that bottle right down your drain.”

And Joe can’t help but feel more amused at your smile than feel annoyed about his expensive wine being wasted. He won’t let his face show it though.

“Bet she enjoyed that.”

“Yea I thought she would, but... she just... she said that we deserve each other. Whatever that means.”

Joe watches your fingers rub along your sleeves. Knows what that means.

“That’s not true.” he suddenly says, voice low and sincere.

“Oh, right,” you huff a laugh and half-heartedly joke, “I don’t deserve you, of course.”

Joe doesn’t laugh.

“No, I mean... well, yes. Technically.” Before he continues, Joe shakes his head in an attempt get his thoughts in order. It’s late. “But not in the way you just said it. In that... you probably deserve better.”

“Probably?”

“Yea. And so do I. Probably.”

Hmm.

You silently mill that over for a second. Aren’t sure what to make of it. If there’s even anything to agree or disagree with there.

“But, who’s to say. All we know is that we weren’t the best before.”

Joe stresses that last word and then lets the words float in the air for you to draw your own conclusions from. It’s certainly true that you weren’t the best together - hence the break up that eventually happened. But Joe’s expertly sharing the blame, which is not a fun truth to face.

The before saves it, a little.

The before makes it sounds like Joe’s talking about two people who no longer exist. Like, those people are gone. That door is closed. And look at you now. You’re a whole new set of two different people. It’s a different world, and you’ve changed. Grown. Learnt.

Who knows what you’d be like now.

Joe can’t predict the future.

And neither can you.

“Hmm.” you hum, eyes trained on the surface of the table, body flushed with conflicting feelings you don’t know how to put into words. Instead of stumbling through words until you find ones that make sense, you remain silent and pull at your sleeves so there’s more fabric for your fingers to run across.

“Hey,” Joe leans forward a little and catches your attention. “Are you okay? Do I need to be worried about you?”

You smile and let it take over your whole face as you shake your head no before you bring your hand up to cover another yawn.

“No. But I should go. This was never meant to be– she just… I don’t know, Emily got into my head and I didn’t know how to get her out.”

Joe contemplates in silence. Wonders if he’s okay with the idea of you walking out and going home right now, in this state. It’s almost three o’clock.

“I don’t make the best decisions after midnight. Sorry.”

You push your chair back and get up on your feet, the plan being to give Joe a quick polite hug goodbye before you make your way back to his front door.

You’re tired, but you know the second you step outside into the cold air that will make your lungs feel sore, you’ll wake up enough to make your way home without any problems.

But then Joe decides you can’t just go.

You can’t just leave.

He’s stuck.

You’re stuck.

You’re stuck in it, together, in this muddy sludge of whatever the two of you have become now. One of you is going to have to step out of their shoes and escape, and Joe thinks it should be you, because you’ve escaped this quicksand of a relationship before. You know how to get out.

It’s weird that you willingly came back.

Keep coming back.

And it’s awful that Joe just keeps inviting you in. Welcomes you with open arms every single time.

But he wants you to stay. It doesn’t have to be like before. Things can be different. Better.

He decides he’s not just going to let you leave, so when he stands up and you go in for a hug, he takes hold of you by your upper arms and starts moving you towards his sofa.

Says, “Come sit for a second.”

And no resistance comes from you. Joe thinks it must be because you’re tired. You’ve cried and you’ve worried and you’ve let all of it eat away at you until you decided to reach out to him, and now, he wants you to stay. He’s not a fan of how, from a certain angle, it looks like he’s taking advantage of the situation, but... you’re both adults.

He’s not doing anything illegal.

Well.

There’s a girl in his bed.

It’s why the flat is warm and why all the doors are closed. Joe shouldn’t have let you inside. Shouldn’t have made you come in and shouldn’t have made you close the door behind you. Shouldn’t have given you a glass of water and shouldn’t have sat you down.

He doesn’t want you to leave now.

There’s a girl in his bed.

And you’ve got a Jasper in yours.

Joe’s closeness to you will come at a price, he’s aware. But it’s one he’s willing to pay. One he’s got the cash for, no problem. Name the sum and he’ll double it.

He’s got you by the arms and is walking you over to his sofa. You are stopped just before you’re about to step onto the area rug.

“Shoes off,” he says, like he gives a shit. You know he doesn’t, but listen to him anyway, and know that taking your shoes off means you’re not going anywhere. At least not for a while.

You get turned around and get sat down, and immediately, you feel far too comfortable. The seat’s too soft. The cushion’s too fluffy. Memories of the hours spent snuggled up on this sofa shoot into the forefront of your mind and you want to warn Joe that it’s not going to take much for you to fall asleep.

But before you can, he pulls a throw blanket from the other side and hands it to you, and you realise that getting comfy and cosy is actually the goal here.

There’s a guy in your bed, who you’ve just… left. Didn’t tell him anything. Just got out, got dressed and left.

You take the blanket from Joe.

It’s probably a good idea to at least let him know something. Send him a text. Let him know you’re okay. But that little voice of reason in your head gets drowned out when Joe sits down next to you and helps sort out the blanket so it covers you both.

“Sit for a second?” you ask through a soft half-suppressed laugh as Joe settles in beside you, your thighs touch underneath the throw. “Am I staying the night?”

“I don’t know, I don’t control what you do. I just want to sit for a second.”

Joe stretches an arm behind you that you think he’s going to rest on top of the sofa, but it moves your head forward a little as it grabs hold of your bicep to pull you in a bit more.

“Joe...” you warn, but it sounds lighthearted and sleepy.

“What?” Joe acts all innocent, but you can hear his amusement when he adds, “Just for a second.”

Joe is still shuffling in his spot, using his other hand to sort the cushion behind him, then pulling the blanket and tucking it under his leg, followed by him using his chin to fix the bit of flipped cotton of his T-shirt sleeve – it’s a lot of faffing for someone who wants to sit for just a second.

He’s nearly done, a centering sigh half way out of him when, suddenly, you feel how he pipes up a little and see how he looks across the room. His phone’s still on the counter, and for a second, Joe debates getting up to go and get it.

You determine on his behalf that he doesn’t need his phone by draping your arm across his stomach and snuggling up.

It’s warm in Joe’s flat.

And this little nest is perfect.

“Fine.” you mutter softly. “Jus’ for a second.”

Joe pauses for a moment as he looks down at how you let your nose brush his arm, your eyes already closed, and he grins as he sinks back down into his sofa.

You don’t make the best decisions after midnight.

Neither does Joe.

Maybe you do deserve each other. Maybe you don’t.

But you deserve this, you think. And you mean that in the best way possible. You deserve to be comfortable, and cosy, and toasty warm in a dimly lit room with a man who smells really nice.

You deserve to cuddle up next to someone who truly values your presence and genuinely just wants you to be there with them for a little while.

You deserve the soft tickling fingertips that delicately dance across your hairline, lingering there for far longer than ‘just a second’.

You deserve the barely whispered, super soft “Love you.” spoken so tenderly and punctuated with a gentle kiss pressed to the top of your head, it makes you tighten your arms around him.

You fall asleep in the soft glow of the under cabinet LEDs with the knowledge that the next morning is bound to be awkward. But this is still infinitely nicer than trying to fall asleep with Emily’s words on your mind. It’s difficult to think about impossible-to-answer questions when you’re wrapped up in strong warm arms that want you there, so you allow yourself to sink and to drift until dreams fully take you.  

A loud bang of a door slamming shut wakes the both of you with a violent jolt.

Two pairs of tired bleary eyes look around the room, and there’s a fleeting moment of confusion. Your mind scrambles to piece together where you are and what just happened, but all your mind can focus on is how dry and heavy your eyes feel as you blink to adjust to your surroundings.

“Oh, fuck,” Joe croaks, groaning as he goes to sit up. He looks over his shoulder, then rubs a heavy hand across his face before he goes, “Yea…”

You feel disoriented and frazzled, and move to sit up just enough to look over the back of the sofa with squinty eyes to see what Joe is even looking at.

All you see is an open door to the hallway that leads to his bedroom.

“What was that?” you ask, thinking maybe something dropped or knocked over somehow. When Joe gets up and walks over to his bedroom to check, you think that’s it. Something fell because gravity finally got a hold of whatever Joe had been precariously balancing on a bookshelf.

But then you hear Joe audibly sigh and dejectedly go, “Yea, she won’t be coming back.”

That takes minute to land.

It’s too early for your brain to comprehend what just happened, but slowly, puzzle pieces click together.

Oh.

Oh, that’s fucking detestable, isn’t it?

When Joe walks back out, he’s wearing joggers and is holding a ball of socks, and you hope there’s a different explanation than the correct one you just concocted. He looks at you for a moment, and you can tell by the look on his face that he feels awful.

Right.

Emily can fuck off.

You don’t deserve each other.

You deserve better than this.

Okay, so, yea, admittedly, you aren’t really one to talk, seeing the personal choices you have made over the past eight hours. But the choices Joe has made in that same span of time are just as bad, if not worse.

You decide to give into the feeling of wanting to lay back down rather than to face whatever this morning has on offer for you. You disappear from Joe’s sight, and cover all of your face with your hands that press and pull at your skin.

This is such a mess.

“Emily can fuck off.” You mutter into your own palms, hoping Joe can translate that and connect the dots of your disdain for him in this very moment.

You should leave.

Should check your phone for any messages or missed calls, and you should leave.

Never come back.

Learn your fucking lesson already and never set foot into this flat ever again.

But then Joe leans over the back of the sofa, and with knitted eyebrows that show off every single line on his forehead, he softly asks, “Do you want a coffee?”

You drop your hands.

Look up at him. The kind face. His short hair sleep messy. Jaw line. His mouth.

You should leave.

“Um…”

Oh... oh no.

“Yea…”

Fuck.

So close.

“Yea?”

You almost had it.

“Yea. I could use a coffee.”

Almost.

---

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[avonne-writes]

Symmetry might me my favorite fic ever and the drabbles you posted is just everything to me

Do you have any more thoughts on events after? A guard trying something or even another prisoner getting mouthy and saying things he most definitely should not?

Also I love Brady's quiet support in the drabble 😭

Symmetry was one of the first MotA fics I read and I reread it quite often. Thanks for writing it 🫶

Thank you so much, I really appreciate this message! It makes me extra happy when someone brings up an older fic of mine. ❤️

Let's see if I can put together some headcanons!

Well, Gale is a tough man, who has the ability to appear calm and keep an emotionless face even in the hardest of circumstances. He has a lot of respect among the men, so I don't see another POW going after him. But a guard might.

Because of the above qualities, he would take it stoically, even if his heart was racing with fear. As long as no one tries to reach for his face, I think he’d be able to stay calm.

He’d get triggered by a face touch though. Even if it’s not a face touch but something he perceives as aimed at his cheeks, he would flinch and get terribly moody after.

He would not let Bucky or anyone else comfort him or even imply he needs it in public. Only in the limited privacy of the night or in hidden corners would he let Bucky hold him close and see the fear come out of him through suddenly trembling fingers.

I actually think Gale's issues with people touching his face would get worse to the point that he wouldn’t let even Bucky touch or kiss his cheeks. Given that Bucky isn’t in his right mind either due to their captivity, he takes offense and feels really hurt by this. Their relationship frays at the edges.

It's only after the war is over that Bucky has the capacity to handle Gale's issue as a trauma response and not as a reflection of their relationship.

I don't really have the energy for a fic now, but I have an anon prompt related to this which I'm keeping for a while to see if I can get there later.

Do you guys have any other thoughts or headcanons?

[crazylittlejester]

thinking ab wars and his relationship with his hair (from your hc #stealing) (I like it a lot) and like how much effort he puts into his hair to keep his “perfect” image and to keep his hair nice right like how much product he needs to use, so on (I’m getting somewhere with this)

comparing this idea with my idea for legends hair (very soft (like a bunny) with little effort but he just doesn’t tend to actually put much effort in - also like more pink but I’m just obsessed with the pink hair 🧍‍♀️) and like had a funny idea of wars being like annoyed at how little effort legend needs to have “perfect” hair when he needs to put in so much effort to make his “perfect”

was thinking ab expanding this in a more angsty way like wars comparing himself with legend bc legend could be seen as a “proper” hero like he’s a veteran, etc - like he fits the more general idea of a hero more than wars (this could also be more general to the rest of the chain considering the difference between an adventure and a war but I was thinking ab legend and wars here so.)

I’m not sure if I worded this like well bc I’m tired so if smth doesn’t make sense that’s why 😭😭

I'm so sorry this got absolutely buried in my inbox, and there's something weird going on where some of my asks glitch and I can't answer them from my phone and it's a whole mess 😭 So we're both gonna pretend it hasn't been a month and a half since you sent this 🧍‍♂️

I think this was about my day 18 whumptober fic, Love, Me Normally because that was the one about Wars's hair akllskjdhls AND I LIKE THIS. Wars definitely has a little bit of an issue with comparing himself to others, especially those he thinks are better than him in some way, and if Legend can just wake up and have his hair nearly perfect I can absolutely see Warriors feeling upset or even jealous, especially since with Legend's dungeon experience he'd probably feel like Legend is more of a hero than himself. (I mean they literally call the kid 'the veteran', SOME part of Wars probably feels like he's not as good of a hero as Legend is over it)

[tsukimara]

hi hi!!

can you do relationship hcs for momo w/ fem reader please?

-from an anime watcher 😭 tyyy!

๋࣭ ˖ 𐔌 Momo relationship hcs! ࿐ . ۫

-ˏˋ⋆➔ Pairing: Momo Ayase x fem!reader

-ˏˋ⋆➔ hcs, fluff, romantic, fem!reader

-ˏˋ⋆➔ Warnings: None!

-ˏˋ⋆➔ A/N: Thanks for the request! I should go to sleep but I think I'll write another request lmao

• Momo is quite a fierce and self-confident person, she often loses her temper but she's actually nice and friendly, she shows it the most around you. She loves you very much.

• She will stand up for you no matter what the situation is. She would even fight the strongest yokai if it meant she would save you and you would return to her.

• While she can get angry at others, when she sees you she immediately acts differently. You didn't do anything wrong, it was those idiots' fault.

• However, if she vents her anger on you in some way, after a moment of silence she will apologize and hug you, saying she didn't mean to.

• She loves your smile and laughter so she will do anything to see it every day. It usually ends with her arguing in a funny way with Okarun while you laugh in the background.

• Someone insults you? Certainly not in front of her. They will end up a few meters ABOVE the ground, unable to even finish their words.

• You are the closest person to her apart from Seiko and others, so she will not tolerate others insulting you.

• If you are sad or have had a bad day, Momo will help you feel better. She will take you to your favorite cafe or other place, go shopping with you to buy you nice things. She will even go with you to the pet store to look at cute animals!

• However, if you prefer peace and quiet at this point, she has no problem with it. You can also do some cool things at home to improve your mood for example, cuddling up under a warm blanket and drinking tea or whatever you want!

• She's not much into PDA, sometimes you might notice her cheeks turning scarlet from holding her hand in public but if you're at home, expect lots of hugs and kisses!

• She wants to have some matchings with you! It doesn't matter if it's a keychain, bracelet, necklace or even an outfit.

• She loves making you flustered from her teasing, it never ceases to amuse her. She just loves seeing your face when she does it.

• I'm sure Momo would love a girls sleepover! If you agree, she will do your make-up, paint your nails with polish and style your hair.

• She loves talking to you all day and night. When you're not there she often thinks about you and complains to herself how much she wants to see you again.

• She loves lending you her clothes. Not only will you wear HER clothes, but you'll also have a matching style.

• "You know what? You are the best person I could ever meet, I will never regret it. I love you... What? You're my girlfriend what's up with that face? Haha.. HUH?! OKARUN?! DON'T EAPHRASE US WITH TURBO GRANNY!"

-ˏˋ⋆➔ Dandadan Masterlist

-ˏˋ⋆➔ Masterlist

-ˏˋ⋆➔ Rules request