#i wanna just call it off entirely and be like

[officeobject]

Sorry if I didn't take enough platonic hormones off, but that came across as "whatever YOU'D like to call me, homie 😍🥰😏😉😇🤩😀😃🙃😁😄👍", you know?

Anyways, I actually just finished putting MORE links and labels upon my poor new "about me", and was searching for more neopronouns (I want MORE labels too though), and that's a very funny coincidence when you're so chill and don't know every detail about yourself, and you don't even seem worried, and you let people say what they wanna say, meanwhile, I wanna have MORE stuff, you know?

Anyways, so if you ever need help with pronouns, gender, or stuff that I don't even have/can relate to, then you can ask me - also, maybe some of my labels will apply to YOU, and I recommend doing research and getting some blogs about this and that, as long as they're related to what you're looking for, you know?

Do also consider making your own stuff.

And yeah, I KNOW you're young, and some labels change, and it's okay to temporarily have ones or question, etc, but like, I'm TOTALLY willing to make an entire pronoun list for you, full internet name with multiple middle-names, a fursona, a Picrew image, AND to choose gender labels for you, if you want me to! I mean I actually did it for Colby, basically, back when he was ambiguously "my character" then turns out he IS real 😐 ... but it's okay, because I didn't put TOO many labels upon him, and the ones I DID, were correct or accepted (as in, the name for example, was accepted)!

Oh and also, COLBY IS TRANS TOO?! How does that make you feel?! Like, isn't it cool?! He's a binary boy though.

ao3 turns 15 today

reblog if youre older than ao3

(there's a lot of people asking about this, but the legal age to use social media is 13, except in few countries. so yes, there are people here under 15)

[finelinevogue]

you need to calm down

summary - a collection of moments before you and harry go to the eras tour

[ sat in my drafts for FAR too long ]

word count - ~1.5k

pairing - husband!harry x reader

🪩✨🪩✨🪩✨🪩✨🪩✨🪩✨🪩✨🪩✨🪩

It started by fighting for your life to get tickets.

Only to lose the great war.

You’d been in bed all day since you had attempted to get Era’s Tour tickets this morning. You were trying to get tickets for you and your friend - now ex-friend - only to find out she’d already agreed to go with someone else when you couldn’t get yours, leaving you both ticketless and friendless.

You were scrolling through your phone to see how many fans, that you followed on social media, managed to get tickets.

That was when your boyfriend came home.

“Y/N/N? I’m home!”

Harry always called out the same phrase whenever he stepped through the front door. Sometimes, he might have just been washing your car and he’ll announce himself again.

It was very comforting to have the little routine though.

“I’m up here!” You shouted back.

“Okay, one minute!”

You tried to hype yourself into behaving like a normal person, who wasn’t entirely crushed by not getting tickets to your favourite artist.

You sat up in bed and tried to make yourself look a little less distraught.

Harry walked into your shared bedroom a couple minutes later with a gift bag.

“Is that for me?”

“Wh… Not even a hello?” He pretended to be offended, whilst he rounded your side of the bed to sit next to you.

“I’m sorry. Shitty morning,” You smiled papologetically, “Hi.”

He graciously accepted your kiss that you offered as an apology.

Harry’s hand cupped your cheek afterwards, eyebrows furrowed as he searched your eyes for something.

“What was shitty?”

“I didn’t get Taylor tickets.” You frowned, but pretended to pass it off as nothing even though Harry knew you well enough to known it wasn’t.

“Hmm. I’m sorry, baby. That must’ve been horrible.” He kissed your cheek after letting it go.

“It was.” You flopped back on the bed.

“Wanna see what I got?”

“Sure.”

Harry reached into the bag and pulled out a t-shirt. It was a plain white T but you could see it was going to have a print on the front of it.

Harry unfolded it and smiled as he did, watching your reaction rather than the looking at his gift.

You were confused when you saw the print on the t-shirt, though.

In my swiftie boyfriend era.

And it was in the style of the t-shirt that Taylor wears for the Red portion of the Eras Tour.

You laughed, “Nice.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. ‘Cause it’s what i’m going to wear when we go to the Eras Tour.” He smirked then, knowing that would prompt a reaction.

“What?!” You sat up quick.

“What?” Harry pretended to play dumb.

“Harry…” Your lips wobbled and eyes teared up as you processed his sentence.

“Are you upset you’ll have to go with me?” He smiled sympathetically at your tearful face.

“You actually got us tickets?”

“Yeah.”

You lunged for Harry then, tackling him down on the bed and pressing a kiss every 2 centimetres across his face.

You were both laughing, whilst you also crying happy tears, and Harry let you assault him with kisses as much as your heart was content. He did deserve them after all.

•-•

A week before the concert you were panicking.

“I don’t have a suitable outfit!”

You were running between your closet and your bedroom to show Harry possible options.

Currently you were in a sage green bralette and matching panties, in between changing outfits.

You came to stand at the foot of the bed, whilst Harry lay on your bed against the headboard and scrolling through his phone every few minutes for outfit inspiration.

“I like that outfit.” Harry said, smirking.

You picked up a rogue t-shirt that was on the bed, balled it up and threw it at him. “You’re disgusting.”

“What?! I’m just saying you look really good!” He defended himself.

“Okay.” You crossed your arms.

Harry put his phone to the side, stretching his arms behind his head and leaving them to rest there. In doing so, the muscles on his bare chest flexed and made you weak at the sight.

In only his boxers, Harry knew exactly what he was doing but so did you in your lingerie.

“So I should just go to the Eras like this?” You asked, unfolding your arms, bending slightly to press your hands onto the bed in front of you.

“Sure.” Harry said, less confident now.

“You’re okay with me parading around with little to nothing on,” You leant forward to allow yourself to crawl onto the bed, slowly moving forwards towards your awaiting boyfriend, “Showing off to everyone what’s yours.”

Harry tried his best not to move, but he didn’t have that much restraint.

Next thing you knew he had tackled you down onto the bed and rolled on top of you.

You breathed heavily as you awaited what he’d do next.

“Show off to anyone you like, babe, because at the end of the day I’m the only who actually gets to call you mine.”

And he started by kissing you, which made you forget all about your outfit dilemma for… well the rest of the day.

•-•

It was Eras day and you were so not ready.

You and Harry had taken the entire day off because you wanted a full swiftie experience and Harry would do anything to keep you happy.

You started getting ready in the afternoon, seeing as you didn’t need to be at the venue until 3PM and you lived only half an hour away.

Harry was currently ironing his trousers and tshirt, whilst you focused on your makeup.

“Babe?” You called.

“Yeah?”

“Remind me to bring that extra bag of bracelets.”

“It’s by the front door already, love.”

“M’kay!”

You bopped along to your Taylor playlist whilst applying some gems to your eyes to bejewel yourself. You had one opportunity to make this the greatest swiftie experience of you life and you were taking it.

You’d decided to go for a general western theme for your outfit, seeing as you loved all the eras too much to choose one.

The bohemian inspired dress you were wearing was white and you had your beaten brown cowboy boots to go with it. So your accessories had to make up for your plain’ish outfit.

The gems you were applying were silver to match your sliver jewellery.

Harry then appeared behind you in the mirror.

He stood there and smiled at you for a few moments.

“What?” You blushed.

“You look so pretty.” He said, admiring you through the mirror.

“You think?”

“I know.”

He came up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist and kissing your neck.

You closed your eyes as you enjoyed this moment.

Just you and Harry enjoying each others presence and being so close to one another was a feeling second to none.

As you closed your eyes you couldn’t imagine being with anyone else in this moment but him.

“I love you.” He whispered against your neck, causing you to goosebump everywhere.

“I love you too.”

You turned to look at him, before leaning in to kiss him like he deserved.

He welcomed the kiss, cupping the back of your neck to keep you there, kissing him, for a few extra seconds than you’d intended.

When he pulled back he checked to make sure he’d not ruined your makeup.

“Put some gems on me?” He asked.

You smiled, “Okay.”

Harry moved to sit on the toilet lid, whilst you got your self-adhesive gem stickers ready.

You stood in between his legs, Harry gripping the back of your thighs to keep you there as if you’d just slip away otherwise.

“What colour?”

“Don’t know. Whatever you think is best.” He leaned forwards to kiss the bare skin between your bra and your sports leggings.

“Behave.” You warned, pushing his head away.

“I can’t when it comes to you.” He smirked up at you.

You blushed, can’t believing that he still made you blush even after all this time, before grabbing the gems and getting to work.

You applied some silver ones, the same as yours, to the corner of his outer eyes. “Just two?”

“Yeah, thank you baby.”

“Now you look so pretty.” You kissed the top of his head like he was your baby.

“Thank you.” It was his turn to blush.

“Now give me ten more minutes and I’ll be ready.”

“Okay.” He stood up, leaning down to give you a parting kiss.

•-•

Just before you left the house, you made sure Harry had his bracelets on.

“No, I want you to wear this one.”

You took ahold of his hand and slid the bracelet on.

“Out of style.” Harry read the bracelet with a small laugh.

“You need all of the Style ones, okay? Only trade with people who have got 1989 bracelets.”

“I know, I know!”

You had so many on your arms and they were slightly cutting off your blood circulation, but it was so worth it.

Harry had a lot less on, but you also knew people would be desperately throwing their bracelets at him without wanting anything in returning just to be able to say they gave Harry Styles a friendship bracelet.

“Okay, ready to go?”

“I am if you are, m’love.”

“Then let me give you one last thing!”

You reached into your bag and pulled out another bracelet, this one you had spent precious time making.

“What’s this?” Harry asked as he took it from you.

Blue and white beads made the colours of the bracelet, whilst there were also some tiny moon charms and stars too because Harry always wished upon them.

Because he wished so hard, one of them had actually come true.

“Wait… Love, this says…”

“Mhm.” You watched as his eyes filled with tears and his hand holding the bracelet shook.

“Dad to be.” He read out the words wrapped around the bracelet so softly, like he couldn’t understand it yet:

You reached your hand around the back of his head, scratching the scruff on the back of his neck how he liked whenever he was emotional.

“You okay?” You asked with a smile, tearing up yourself over his soft reaction.

“I’m gonna be a dad.”

“Yeah, baby. You are.”

“We’re gonna be parents…” He looked at you and noticed you were as tearful as him.

He immediately put on the bracelet, before putting that hand on your stomach to feel whether he could notice a difference. Not so much yet, but just knowing his child was happily growing there made him want to cry all over.

“I know. It’s crazy.”

“I need to google how to change a nappy.” He made a joke, licking his lips as tears fell around his mouth.

“We’ve got time.”

And you kissed him before he could worry any more and make you miss the Eras…

[peppermintquartz]

stuck in an elevator

Someone with a sick sense of humor must be writing my life, because a benevolent God sure as hell would never plan this, Tommy thinks in his bitchiest mental tone. Then he snorts. As if anyone would be interested enough to write a single paragraph about him.

The other occupant of the elevator pointedly does not look at him. Evan Buck keeps his tone so neutral, it's almost robotic. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. I mean, of all the places in Los Angeles to visit on a day off, we end up at LACMA together. And now we're stuck in the same elevator. What are the odds?" The ludicrously serendipitous nature of this encounter is keeping Tommy from other, less-pleasant thoughts, namely being trapped in a space without a view of the outside world. His pulse is starting to race.

They tried calling 911, but the signal in the elevator was poor. Thankfully the emergency intercom did connect to the museum's operations office, who has contacted emergency services.

"I should've taken the stairs," Tommy grumbles. His skin itches with the need to feel fresh air.

"With that boot on your ankle? Then you're dumber than I thought you were." Evan Buck finally glances over, his blue eyes scanning him from head to toe. "How did you injure yourself anyway?"

"Tripped when I was getting out of the bird," Tommy replies honestly.

Evan Buck scoffs and shakes his head, but his expression softens. "You doing okay otherwise?"

There are so many ways Tommy can answer. He can pretend he is perfectly okay. Somewhat okay. He can claim that he misses Evan Buck, but he wants to be friends, just friends. He can be flippant. Make it funny, keep things superficial.

But this is Evan asking him.

"I miss you like a heartbeat" is what comes out instead. And it's true - Tommy feels like an automaton, moving through time, his routines carrying him along from dawn till dusk.

Entire days going by without a single text from Evan Buck feel empty and pointless. The bedsheets need to be laundered but Tommy doesn't want to lose the final traces of the last time they slept in the same bed. There are books Evan Buck brought over to read when Tommy wants to watch a movie.

And now they are stuck together, in an enclosed metal box, and Tommy is trying not to think about that while also trying not to think about how much he wants to kiss Evan. So he vacillates between a bone-deep phobia and a bone-deep yearning.

"I'm sorry. That was too heavy to lay on you like that." His fingers are clammy where his palms are on the mirrored wall. Licking his lips, he says, "But I don't want to lie to you. Not about anything. But I'm good otherwise, Evan."

"I'm not." Evan inhales deeply and blows out his breath. "I'm... I'm baking every time I think about texting you or calling you. The loft smells like a goddamn bakery. And still, still I can't forget the way you smell, the way you sound, the way you fucking taste. I want - I want so badly - to turn back time, figure out what I said wrong that made you run from me. Maybe I wanna be mad at you. I don't know. But I'm not good, Tommy. I'm not gonna be good for a long time."

"I'm sorry," Tommy begins, but Evan cuts him off.

"I don't want you to be sorry," he snaps, and to Tommy's shame, his eyes well up with tears. "I want you to be mine. I want to be yours. I want... I want us, together. That's what I want. I don't wanna be good, I don't want you to be sorry, I want us to be happy together, that's all I fucking want!"

The silence that falls between them is thick as concrete.

His hands and feet are cold now, and he thinks he is a little dizzy. Gulping down a breath, Tommy says, "I shouldn't have run. It was... I was afraid. That... that you'd see me and everything I'm not."

This is when Evan sighs and turns to face him. "I should've chased after you. I was afraid too. I moved too fast, I know now. But you running away and ghosting me after was a dick move."

"I guess we both have a lot to work through." Tommy manages a tight smile. He is starting to feel lightheaded, and his breathing is picking up pace despite his best efforts to stay calm and distract himself with Evan's presence. His hands are clammy and he tries to wipe them dry on his jeans. "Evan?"

"Tommy?"

"How long before 911 arrives?" Tommy's mouth is dry. His vision sparks and he is valiantly trying to hold on to his composure, but he feels like he's boiling in his dark blue henley; he needs air, he needs the sky, he needs space to flee-

"Tommy!" Evan is right next to him, keeping him from collapsing and hurting himself. His touch grounds Tommy in the present moment, and his face this close blocks out the sight of the metal coffin they are stuck in. "They'll be here soon, okay? It's all good, they'll be here soon. Breathe for me, come on, inhale , two, three, four; hold, two. three, four..."

Evan talks him through the breathing exercises, holding him up and against himself, all the way even after the elevator lurches back to life and delivers them to the next floor safely.

After he's helped out of the elevator, Tommy wretches and vomits all over the floor, some of the sick getting on Evan's nice shoes.

"Sorry," says Tommy, eyes tearing from the force of the nausea, his big frame trembling.

"They're just shoes," says Evan, soothing a hand along his spine. To the attending paramedic, he says, "He has mild claustrophobia. Not usually a problem, but we were in there a while."

Tommy follows the paramedic - Jefferson - to a bench, accepting a quick look-over. To his surprise, Evan stays with him. Jefferson doesn't see anything wrong other than shock and leaves them with a blanket when another call comes in, about some old man and a broken hip.

Tommy finally recovers after about twenty minutes. He smiles wryly at Evan. "Sorry. You don't have to stick around, there's a lot to see in LACMA."

"Tough luck chasing me off," says Evan. There's a determined set to his jaw.

"Evan, I mean, Buck, surely you have other places to go."

"First of all, I hate hearing you call me Buck. Second of all, I'm not going anywhere. I know exactly what I want, and I'm pretty sure I know what you want."

"Yeah? What do I want?"

"To be my forever," says Evan. He looks Tommy in the eye. "And I know enough about myself and relationships, a-and love, to say that I want you to be my forever too. So. Hah. I'm sticking around. Sucks to be you."

Tommy huffs out an amused and exasperated breath. "Still a brat."

"Yeah? Well, you can either put up with me, or you can do something about it." But there's no hiding the curl of his lips.

[daisymbin]

angst prompt #24 + dino

maybe where chan forgets yns bday because of his busy schedule >< (u can disregard this idea if u have other ideas in mind!) ((also up to u if u wanna make it a happy ending or not ><))

I swear dino w angst always hits different for some reason...that boy is just...lowkey kinda angst coded 😭 thank you for requesting!!!!! 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist!

angst prompt #24: "I waited for you, but you never came."

you had been excited for weeks. chan had promised to spend your birthday together—just the two of you, no distractions. even three days ago, he had smiled at you over dinner, reaching across the table to hold your hands.

"it’s gonna be perfect," he’d said. "just wait."

and so you did.

you waited all morning, telling yourself he was probably running late or finishing up something important. by noon, you started to feel the edges of doubt creeping in, but you brushed it off. he was busy; he’d show up soon. you sent a text to check in—no response.

afternoon turned into evening, and the silence from him was deafening. by 6pm, you gave up on texting or calling altogether. your stomach churned every time you glanced at the untouched cake on the counter.

by 8pm, you couldn’t stand sitting on the couch any longer. you slipped into bed, hoping sleep would take away the sting of disappointment, but your mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

he forgot.

the words echoed relentlessly, a cruel chant in the quiet of your bedroom.

you turned over for the hundredth time, staring at the clock on your nightstand. you weren’t sure if it was the lump in your throat or the ache in your chest that kept you awake, but both felt equally miserable.

then, just as you were considering giving up on sleep entirely, you heard the front door open.

your heart jumped, anger and sadness twisting together. you sat up as footsteps hurried toward the bedroom. the door creaked open, and there he was—chan, looking worn out, his hair tousled and face full of guilt.

"i’m so sorry," he blurted out, rushing inside, his face pale. "i messed up. i swear, i didn’t mean to—"

"you forgot," you said, cutting him off, your voice quiet but firm, the weight of the day pressing into your words with heavy disappointment.

"no," he started, stepping closer, desperation in his eyes. "it’s not like that. i’ve just been really busy with work and rehearsals, and everything piled up. i didn’t even realize how late it got." he rubbed his hand over his face. "i swear, i never meant to forget. i… i should’ve called you, i should’ve done something."

you blinked, trying to process his words. "so, you’ve been busy all day? that’s why you didn’t even reach out?"

"yeah," he said guiltily. "i had everything planned, but the schedule got crazy. and then when i finally had time to think about it, i just… lost track of everything. i didn’t mean to hurt you." he walked closer, his eyes full of regret. "i’ve been such an idiot."

you turned away, trying to hold back the tears. "chan.. i thought… i thought you just forgot about me."

"no, i didn’t forget," he said, voice cracking as he moved closer. "i’ve been so wrapped up in everything, and then i didn’t even realize how much time had passed. i’m such a bad boyfriend." his shoulder slumps.

"you didn’t even think to tell me you were busy, chan," you whispered, your voice trembling. "you could’ve at least said something, but instead i spent the whole day waiting for you, thinking you’d forgotten me."

he closed the space between you, his hands reaching for yours. "please don’t think that. i would never forget about you. you mean everything to me." his voice dropped to a whisper. "i just… got caught up. i’m so sorry. i’m really, really sorry."

you pulled your hands away, stepping back slightly. "i waited for you, chan, but you never came."

he winced, as if each word struck him like a blow. "i know, and i’m sorry. but, let me make it up to you. please, there’s still time. we can still have dinner. i’ll cook if we need to, or we can get something, i don’t care. but i want to spend the rest of your birthday with you. please."

you shook your head, the sadness still weighing heavily on you. "it’s late, chan. everything’s closed. the day’s almost over."

he took a deep breath, his eyes softening with determination. "then i’ll make dinner. we can still do something. please, i don’t want to lose the chance to make this right." he stepped closer again, his eyes pleading. "please. just give me a chance."

you looked at him, seeing the exhaustion and regret in his eyes, and something inside you softened. it wasn’t perfect. it wasn’t what you’d imagined for your birthday, but it was still him, still chan, trying to make it right. you sighed, a small part of you already forgiving him.

"fine," you said quietly, though your voice was still tinged with disappointment. "but you’re lighting the candles on the cake."

chan’s face lit up with relief, and he pulled you toward the kitchen. as he fumbled with the candles, trying to light them, he mumbled under his breath, apologizing over and over.

finally, the candles were lit, and he turned to you, his face softening. "happy birthday," he said, his voice full of regret but also a little hope.

you nodded slowly, a faint smile playing on your lips as you looked at the cake. "thank you, chan."

he smiled sheepishly, stepping closer. "there’s one more thing," he said, reaching into his pocket. his hands were slightly shaky as he pulled out a small, carefully wrapped box and handed it to you. "i… i got this for you months ago, i was planning on giving it to you earlier, but with everything happening today, i couldn’t." he looked at you, almost nervously. "i hope you like it."

you stared at the box in your hands, confused but touched. "chan… you got me a present?"

he smiled weakly. "yeah. i’ve been keeping it safe, i wanted it to be special."

you slowly unwrapped it, your heart fluttering with anticipation. inside was a delicate necklace, a simple silver chain with a small pendant shaped like a crescent moon.

"i thought it would be perfect," chan said softly, his voice almost apologetic. "you've always loved the moon, and how it has many faces but its unchaging, always there."

tears pricked your eyes as you looked up at him. despite everything, this was the gift he had been thinking of for months. "chan… this is beautiful."

"i know i messed up today," he whispered, "but i promise i’ll make it up to you. i’ll never forget you again. you mean the world to me."

you smiled softly, wiping away the stray tear that had escaped. "thank you, chan. i love it. and i love you."

"happy birthday," he whispered, pulling you into a hug.

as he held you close, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. maybe this birthday wasn’t perfect, but with chan, you knew you’d get another chance, there's always next year—and that was all that mattered.

[nieceeee]

“WANNA BE”

Bestfriend!ony x reader

P/S: “Not trynna hear you tell nobody that I’m just a friend. Just trynna make sure I’m the body that you call your man…” Ony is your best friend and its been that way for years. He was your safe haven as much as you were his. You've always shared a connection with one another that many didn't understand. But recently Ony has been struggling with his feelings for you. Things that he used to feel don't quite feel the same anymore. And he's forced to come to terms with reality...

• fluffy fluff fluff •

A/N: Well… I’m back😂🫶🏾. I know I been gone. Don’t hate me.

Nighttime stood still, sounds of the city buzzed in the background as the neon lights of the fair flickered casting long shadows on the sidewalk. You and Ony walked through the parking lot, having just spent the entire night stuffing yourself with snacks and riding rides. You stood a bit closer to him than your normally do as your friends around you joked and pulled you into conversation. Ony walked next to you with his hands in his pockets, listening to the melodic sound of your laughter.

He glanced over at you. You. His safe haven. His best friend. The only person who truly could understand everything he thinks without him having to utter a word. The person who accepted every failure and flaw. You were his constant in a world of every changing cycles. But recently, he’s felt a shift. Every since that night.

He couldn’t pinpoint it. Was it your smile? Had it changed and become brighter in recent days. Or your touch. Soft as a feather yet strong enough to send a chill down his spine each time you gently pushed him or touched his face. Was it your eyes? How they widened when you were excited and seemed to glow with passion. There were so many things. Things he didn’t used to notice before and he couldn’t shake the feeling of the fact that something had changed.

“Oh Onybunny. I’m going to go ahead and ride with the girls and just meet yall at the apartment.” You say to him, breaking him from his thoughts. “Oh. Okay. That’s cool pretty girl.” You scrunch your nose at him sweetly and he couldn’t dent the beat skip that thrummed in his chest. It was a pit in his stomach that was only growing deeper.

You smile up at him and it feels as if the world halts on it's axis. He blinked a few times to collect himself, swallowing the lump in his throat. You tilt your head gently to the side. “You ok Ony?” You ask him, concern etched across your face.

He nodded his head, attempting to maintain the lie. He was fighting something inside, fighting the pull of something he wasn’t ready to face. Light reflections bounced off of the puddles near your feet, reflecting in your eyes. Swirls of color wrapping around your beautiful features entranced him.

“I’ll see you later?” you asked, your voice softer than usual.

And just like that, it hit him—hard. His breath caught in his throat. That wave of heat washed over him, spreading from his chest to the tips of his fingers. He felt it—the rush in his ears, the pounding of his heart, the heat flooding his face. He stared at you, trying to process the overwhelming feeling.

And as you released him from your embrace, your eyes shifting up to meet his, he felt it again. That rapid thrumming in his ears. The heat that made his skin burn like it was on fire. His body was tense, rigid, like every nerve was on high alert.

He stared down at you, his pulse racing. Fuck. He thought to himself. Was this what he thought it was? Nah, that couldn’t be right. You were his best friend. That’s all. He couldn’t possibly be feeling this way…

“See you later?” You asked again, smiling at him like everything was normal. Like you weren’t ripping apart the small fraction of life as he knew it and birthing something new.

Unable to speak, he nodded, his throat tight, mind still processing the fuzzy, overwhelming feeling that clung to him. He stepped back, watching you as you walked away, still laughing with your friends. Your voice drifted back to him as you waved goodbye.

He watched you until you disappeared, frozen in time by your touch. His chest constricted and heart beat pounding against his ribs.

That feeling... it wasn’t something he could just ignore anymore. He had known, deep down, that something was changing between you two, but he couldn’t admit it. Not even to himself.

"Damn bro, you good?" Eren’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. Ony shifted his gaze to his friend, who stood beside him, watching him with concern in his eyes.

Ony blinked, his breath coming out in short, uneven bursts. He looked at Eren, then back at where you had just been. "Yo, Ony? What’s up, bro?" Eren asked again, slapping a hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him from the coma like state.

Ony opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words. He was trying to process it all—the weight of the realization, the sudden clarity. His heart hurt in a way he wasn’t prepared for. The tears that stung the back of his eyes weren’t ones of sadness. Instead they built from the weight of something deeper, something more painful. A truth he couldn’t run from.

“I…” He swallowed, his voice rough. His mind screamed at him to keep it inside, to push it down. But it was like the words were clawing their way out of him, too loud to ignore.

“I’m... I’m in love with my best friend,” he whispered, barely able to hear his own voice over the pounding in his head.

Eren’s eyes widened. "Wait, what?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"I’m in love with Y/N, Eren," Ony continued, his tone thick with a mixture of frustration and confusion. "I didn’t want to admit it, but I can’t stop it anymore. It’s... it’s driving me crazy." He ran his hands over his head and slipped them down his face, groaning aloud. "She’s taking over my mind. I’ve tried E. I’ve tried to ignore it but I can't. Eren. She’s my best friend bruh, what the fuck.”

Ony’s mind was spiraling and Eren stood next to him trying to process what to say.

“I mean this wouldn’t be the first time.” He says after a moment. Ony looks up at him in confusion. “You’re not the first person to fall for your friend. Trust me. I know.” He shrugged. “Yeah, but…” Ony paused before letting out a deep sigh. “What if I fuck it up? I can’t lose her Eren. Y/N is my world in human form.” His chest felt tight at the idea of not having you near. “Yeah, but you got to face that shit. You either try or you don’t. But if you don’t, you might actually lose her for real. Better safe than sorry.” Eren encouraged softly.

Ony stared off into the distance, his thoughts a whirlwind in his mind. Could he risk it? Could he put his heart on the line and confess what had been slowly eating away at him for months?

As hIs mind conjured visions of you again, his heart ached with the truth he couldn’t deny. Maybe the fear of losing you would never go away, but the fear of never knowing what could be between the two of you... that was the one thing he couldn’t live with.

With a deep breath, Ony made a decision. It wasn’t going to be easy. But he was done pretending. It was time to stop running from what he felt, and finally face the truth.

"Fuck, man. Ok," he muttered to himself, a faint but resolute smile crossing his face. "I’ll tell her."

And with that, Ony made the decision in his mind and his heart, finally setting on the path that would either change everything or shatter it forever.

[franki-lew-yo]

Mouthwashing and fandom discourse as a whole.

So I recently explored the tag for Mouthwashing after watching two no-commentary lets plays of the entire game. I'm seeing a lot of posts pointing out how annoying it is that this game has a fandom and that this fandom is doing fandom things and stanning/"uwu-ing" characters from this incredibly nuanced, raw and not-fandom friendly piece of art. To paraphrase someone I just saw "you don't want mouthwashing; you want Among Us ocs but darker". And

for a moment I wanna talk a bit about how I absolutely agree with this statement while also talk for a moment about how and why fandom and catharsis fan fics exist and shouldn't be shamed inherently. Or, I guess, not in theory.

The "come on! Stop trying to make everything shippable/cutsey/memey/have a happy AU and face unpleasant emotions someone's trying to tell you about!" is SUCH a vibe with me. I felt this way in the 9 fandom a lot as a kid and that was just 9. Mouthwashing is like 9 on bathsalts emotions and theme-wise. It's a game where you play as both the flawed but caring captain of a doomed ship who's life becomes a Johnny Got His Gun-nightmare, and also a deplorable, hateful piece of garbage who got himself and his friend in that nightmare situation to begin with. Both characters, moreso Jimmy but Curly too, are the causes of their own misery. They're complex dealing with one of the two committing SA and doing nothing really about it/dodging the responsibility and humanity needed to support the victim whom they've wronged.

I fully admit it's groan-inducing seeing people be shipped up Anya with anyone on the ship considering what happens to her. On a pure pr level I think it would be illegal even since romance between coworkers in a workplace is considered conflict of interest/harassment as it so often is. (NOT that what Jimmy did to Anya is 'romance'. I'm talking about the shipping of Anya with the other three guys. I know there's people out there who do ship Jimmy/Anya; you don't have to tell or show me I believe you and also I already hate it.) It's ALSO groan inducing to see people ship Curly and Jimmy considering all Curly does to him- and just the fact that this incredibly tragic, toxic one-way-gone array friendship is reduced to "toxic yaoi teehee". It's annoying AT BEST.

I get the hostility towards fandom-tastic stanning and fandom behavior in general...the issue is it's still hostility and I wish some of you guys got that. Like it or not (you don't have to like it) fandom culture is inevitable to some degree. You can and should complain about your hangups but that's all you can do besides avoiding tags and just not engaging with that side of the fandom at some point. Save your call-outs and rage for when you see active deplorable bs being committed that people are excusing for dumb fandom reasons, like lolicon, hatespeech or harassment. I'm sorry but you can not actively go after and try and take down the innocent people involved in your trigger that aren't directly hurting you by liking the thing that triggers you; ie. people who get all shipping and fandom-brained about Mouthwashing's characters which you find offensive to do at all.

This type of convo is the crux of most 'antifandom' v profandom discourse in general; for Antis I think there ought to be a difference between the people that set you off bcuz of fandom nonsense vs sociopathic 'got mine'-creepiness. There's a difference between someone who draws r34 v Shadbase. For profandom types you out to face the fact that yes- maybe NOT EVERYTHING is meant to be shippable/memed. Maybe try practicing that a bit. Yeah it's most harmless and makes you feel happy, but considering how people outside of your hyperfixation-of-a-hyperfixation is a thing. The thing about the "don't like, don't read" argument is it goes both ways. If you're truly a "good fan" like you say you are than you have to realize that people will not like your problematicisms. Learn to interact with characters and stories without the possibility of shipping sometimes- or at least understand that that's the crux of what makes a story like Mouthwashing engaging, even if you also partake in the fandumb and AUs on the side. You can call Curly your babygirl and ship him or make him happy all you want but PLEASE acoknowledge that the game doesn't woobify him or excuse what he did to Anya as well. You can make some kind of AU scenario where Jimmy gets out somehow and becomes/is a slightly better person for all I care...so long as you PLEASE remember that he is canonically a r@pist and awful. Also, even if I'm okay with your fan decisions, note that myself and others are still going to be critical and be upset that you wrote it at all because of what kind of character Jimmy is. 'Critical' =/= declaring something evil.

Fandom behaviors are not souly a destructive parasocial outcome of brainrot; they're also a natural reaction to what happens canonically and the emotions you have to experiencing a story. It's normal and rational to sympathize and love Curly and despise and hate Jimmy. You can love/like/enjoy a problematic-to-DEEPLY DISTURBED-character based on their complexity in canon. They are fiction. They are not real. The reason you are so invested with them is because of that complexity and yes because they are fiction they are your 'toy' and you can doll them up in any kind of speculative AU crap you make. That's fanfiction, baby. Make yourself a fixit fic if you really want

BUT-

remember: it stays as a fixit fic. DO NOT cross the streams, or insist that your active misreading of the text is the same as the text itself. EVER. You should care about your special interest's escapism as a means of self-care. What you shouldn't do is demand that EVERYONE ELSE LOVE your coping mechanism and that any complaints by people on their own terms on their own blogs is #badfaith or an inherent attack against you. It isn't. You'll know when it is an attack against you and that's when you, the profandom-type, need to be prepared and save your call-out posts and blocklist for.

To me that's the fragility to fandom debates and fandom as a whole. You can not/should not police or control an entire group of people and how they perceive or interact with media. That's not fair and it's definitely not sporting or decent of you in a community. You have to share your community -your fandom- with people who hate ur fav and people who love your least fav. Agreeing to disagree means not tagging your nOTP as their shipname or by tagging your shipname loud and clear. It means filtering out posts with those topics but enjoying and/or reblogging the fandom takes you do share with your fellow fandom-mite that obviously posts abt those topics.

When schmit REALLY goes down and some assface reviewer/fan/SOMETHING is being an assface or doing something amoral under the guise of fandom-ing, that's where you out to put your foot down. Callouts and complaints are for people who did an egregious thing and refuse to take responsibility(lol) for it. They're not for "soandso likes the thing that triggers me, kill them"/"so and so is hating on the thing I'm kinning because it triggers them, kill them". Be an adult.

Your DNI lists should consist of "lolicon defenders" not "proshippers", as those ARE NOT one in the same. Same goes the other way around. List off "bigots, purity culture bs", not "antis and critics". These positions ARE NOT interchangeable. If you make them interchangeable than you're making things a lot harder for yourself.

-sincerely, a message from autistic ADHD/OCD woman who likes horror and media analysis as much as she loves popcorn fanfic schlock.

We don't all have to be friends and buddybuds. I just hate us hurting each other over being different kind of fandom-folk rather than for when someone sincerely mucks up and does something bad. Can't we all stick to our guns and just boycott Harry Potter like god intended?

[lemonisntreal]

TONE DEAF :: Rosita and Norman <3

The first in a [hopefully] series of redesign + headcanon posts where I give you my take on a character for my AU

I'm grouping the two together because a] a lot of fluff headcanons I have, they share [because they're literally husband and wife]. And b] if I made an individual post for every single character, I... would go insane. So yeah. A bunch of characters are gonna get clumped together.

[FULL MASTERPOST HERE [yet to be made <3]]

HEADCANONS // BACKSTORY ⬇️

Me and the bad bitch I pulled by being autistic [also autistic]

Both of them are the same age, mid to late thirties.

In terms of general intelligence: Rosita has gifted IQ, while Norman is at genius level.

I know. I know Norman seems kinda dim in the movies. But guys [LMAO]. "I know it looks like there's nothing happening behind those eyes, but...... he can make entire computers!"

He's so smart yet so stupid. He's that kind of character. Like he can do all of this super impressive shit, and is super talented and can do math like BOOM done, but he's also kinda a "deer-in-the-headlights" when it comes to life [I LOVE HIM 👹]

Both of them worked hard and have their college degrees almost completely paid off at this point because of the scholarships they earned.

Rosita has a degree in engineering, Norman's a computer scientist.

They're both in STEM, it's just that Rosita likes to handle more of the mechanical aspects of things while Norman's better with the technical stuff, which I think is cute af.

Yin and Yang <3

This dynamic is just how they are too. How they act. Like for example, Rosita can be very to-the-point-

She's very much a problem solver and will get right to it once she understands what she's doing. Like yeah, she often takes a very methodical approach to it [see the scene where she's got all the papers laid out to try and learn to dance- very new territory for her], but once she learns, she gos all in. And EATS.

Norman's gotta have a plan before doing anything, meanwhile. He has a morning routine that can't be interrupted or else his whole day and mood will be thrown off. He reads through a recipe twice before even starting. That kind of stuff.

He's a lot more hesitant to even try.

A lot of people find Norman boring. But Rosita is enraptured by every word he says, she LOVES his long spiels about hyper-specific [and often mundane] things.

AAAA--

Norman is also a closeted DORK. He ran a tabletop games club in highschool with a couple other of his geeky ass friends [he's still into D&D to this day and has introduced Rosita to the game too]

[she's fun to play with, but super competitive. This goes for ANY game, actually, not just D&D. She'll kinda accidentally turn everything into a "contest" due to her inability to not do her very best] [it's mostly inspirational, not annoying, if that makes sense?]

I also wanna say Norman was in a weird amount of drama that he didn't want to be in at this time. Like all of his friends had falling-outs, and he was just always caught in the middle of it.

He's afraid of confrontation [UNLESS IT'S FOR HIS WIFE] [HE STANDS UP FOR HER RAHHHH] [this is gonna happen when I get to rewriting Sing 2, he's NOT just gonna take Crystal calling his WIFE "mommy pig"]

They're sooo "excuse me, he asked for no pickles"

Norman and Rosita technically met in high school, in Junior year when Norman first moved to Calatonia.

WHICH, he and his family did this because this was a point in time where laws having to do with the rights of animals were VERY flimsy, and Calatonia was one of the first and only safe places at the time-- for Pigs especially, actually.

The 3 Little Pigs is deadass CANON TO SING. So Pigs were/are actually a marginalized species in this universe.

[[during the warring period that I have yet to really talk about, they were often victims of the anarchy and poaching, so stigmas and insults around them still exist to this day]]

[[[[see Jimmy Crystal]]]]

So anyway, they "met" in high school- Norman totally crushed on Rosita from afar whenever he'd catch her in volleyball matches-

Rosita had a major tomboy phase throughout high school, slowly falling out of it during college [still only saves dresses and skirts for special occasions really]

[[Fun fact, Rosita is also sapiosexual [attracted to intelligence] [Roxanne Ritchi ahh] ]]

[[Norman is bi]]

They actually got introduced to eachother and had a proper arc when they went to the same college [which might've been a college in Redshore actually? But I'm not 100% sure on that headcanon. It would line up since Rosita's "wanted to perform in Redshore since she was a little kid" and Redshore is obviously a massive city with a lot of notoriety. Idk though- and it's not really that important to the story anyways]

Norman and Rosita had plans together- they were gonna make it big and live freely. Things were looking up with the lawmakers, who were finally repealing a bunch of nasty stuff that was put in place during the war times. And the two had hope that their dreams could actually be accomplished.

Rosita, who was originally gonna play it safe and become an engineer, was now thinking about attempting to become a performer [which Norman has supported since the beginning, he LOVES her singing, and often tells her that she's "better than some of the people I've heard on TV!"]

But. Life got in the way...

Present day, Norman works in Redshore at Crystal Enterprises. He's the head of some sort of organizational team- not really working on what he loves at this point.

And this is because of their children, who were a very sudden appearance in their lives [which is why we see so much struggle in the chaos at the beginning of the movie in this AU]

Rosita stopped everything, and Norman grabbed the first high-ish paying job he could, spending all his spare time on clocking in overtime hours.

The kids are all adopted, and there's only 6 now: Oldest Caspar [13], twin boys Mickey and Moe [11], middle child Kelly [9], little bro Freddy[8], and Zoey the sweet baby sister [6].

They became foster parents after the death of Rosita's sister [this hc is kinda subject to change, but this is the story rn. I'll specify on this later ☝️]

So Rosita's kinda put her life on hold for these babies. She's such a great mom to them, and they love her and Norman so much

But some of the older kids [Caspar specifically] are kinda in a rough phase since they feel like she resents them [which she doesn't], or that she isn't their "real mom" [which she IS]

This is like an E plot in the story, but definitely's gonna get at least a little bit of focus.

Rosita and Norman's marriage is falling apart just a little bit due to burnout, but it'll get better <3 [I can't do anything tragic to these two they're too sweet]

Norman snuggles up to Rosita in his sleep. Rosita starfishes LMAO

They wake up entangled. This is normal.

"Pig piles" are also a thing- there have been several nights where all six children "had nightmares" and so the family of 8 all slept in the same bed.

Norman has the best bond with the two girls out of all the children. They immediately latched onto him to be their level-headed dad.

Rosita can carry two kids at once easily, and often "relocates" them like this :>

She's probably the strongest out of everyone in the troupe if you don't count the potential Meena has. She solos.

She's constantly taking notes on everyone and everything around her. At the theater, you'll catch her tidying stuff up she spots out of the corner of her vision while you're having a conversation with her [she's still listening]. She knows everyones favorite foods, and allergies, and their preferences in things, etc. She's the most attentive and considerate out of all of them [the mom]

She may have a touch of OCD.

She gives the best hugs.

Rosita is also a FANTASTIC cook [not even a headcanon, I'm pretty sure the entire fandom agrees on this one] and often bakes stuff for her sweet-toothed children [and husband]

This is actually how she initially connected with Caspar, who refused to eat or speak at first when they were all placed with Rosita.

Cinnamon rolls.

Kelly will only eat the frosting off the top, and has ruined an entire pan before by doing this.

Rosita actually isn't the biggest fan of chocolate, small detail.

Idk why she just strikes me as not being an enjoyer.

Loves vanilla though. People are furious when she answers "vanilla" with zero hesitation to the chocolate vs vanilla question.

Norman is kinda a hopeless romantic, or at least really enjoys the aesthetic of it [in a sweet and not shallow way ofc], and goes all out every Valentine's Day: balloons, flowers, the works. He's learned that Rosita prefers strawberries over a box of chocolates, however. Has a tradition of getting a fruit basket for her <3

They also have a tradition from all the way back in college, where they go out to eat at specifically the in-universe equivalent of Olive Garden [which was the fanciest thing they could afford at the time] and eat a shared giant plate of spaghetti.

Norman loves coffee. Insists he likes it black but actually prefers a good 50:50 ratio of creamer and coffee.

Norman is also ☝️ lactose intolerant LMAO

[[or would be, if traditional milk was widely accessible/a thing. I say "lactose intolerant" but what I really mean is he's allergic to most milk substitutes- like nuts and soy [gives him tummy ache, not anaphylaxis] ]]

God, parenthesis are carrying me so hard rn.

Stopping here because I'm tired, but I could go ON about these two omg-

Normita forever rahhhh <3

[ebonysplendor]

Bruh review the new version of TKaTB bruh because WOWIEEEEEEEEE

I've found that I don't usually do whole reviews on the updated versions of the visual novels I've already written about...but I find it dope that this implies that you lowkey want my unhinged, scatterbrained story telling. Also, big preesh for keeping me straight lol, because, once again, I've been meaning to get around to playing the update, and I just haven't, which is extremely disrespectful. But anyways! I'm yappin' way too early...

TL;DR: HE HIT IT FROM THE BACK. I REPEAT. HE HIT IT FROM THE BACK! ... technically ... we need to have a serious discussion about this thing called "consent", though...

Game Link: https://fantasia-kittcat.itch.io/the-kid-at-the-back-demo

Notable Features: Yandere LI, Custom Pronouns, Self-Insert (first and last name), Two LIs, 1+ Hour Long Demo Spiciness: 2/5 or 8/5 -- Again, it depends on which version you get. If you get the regular degular free version, it'll be more innocent with some flirtiness here and there. If you pay for the NSFW version -- HIGHLY SUGGESTED by the way! -- it'll be way more sinful and the way that the Gods intended it to be. LI Red Flags: 4/5 or 7/5-- Breaking-and-entering, possessive, drugged us, lack of consent, but that "lack of consent" goes even farther in the NSFW version (yes, even farther than in the previous demo) ... but I still can fix him, ya know? Like, that's bae

Wanna know more? If you are not 18+, ABSOLUTELY NOT. You will NOT put this fantastic game in jeopardy, because you're some curious 14-year-old. I honestly don't even want you on my page...but let's be real, are you actually going to listen to me? I hope that you do...ANYWAYS. My 18+ crew, let's get into it!

Almost an entire month with no visual novel review? Nah, we absolutely cannot let that happen.

You know what else we can't let happen? My constant disrespect towards this visual novel. Once AGAIN, the dev(s) ate and left absolutely no crumbs. Like, damn, can you at least leave the plate? Like-- Okay, wait, no, stop. I don't want to get too far into that, because the yap sesh will get kicked off way too early, and I won't have anything for the actual review portion.

That being said, I have done a review of TKATB before, but I'm doing an update of...well, the update. That also being said, because I'm trying to avoid parroting myself too much, the review is going to flow differently. ALSO! Once again, thanks to the bestie, I was able to see the degeneracy LIVE AND IN 4K and biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch~! Let me tell-- Wait, no, no, no, stop. Not yet. Later. We'll talk about that later...at least sorta.

Anyways, like always, I'll def try to make this as spoiler friendly as possible, especially since it's lowkey a different game at this point. Like, the dev(s) have added in extra SCENES. We have new CGs! Like...we've got CONTENT in this update, y'all!

Okay, for realsies now. Enough yappin'. Let's get into it, and y'all...there's a lot to get into.

So, effin' BOOM.

...Actually. Let's do this another way, because we already lowkey know the story. Again, if you don't, I made a review of it a few months back that will get you somewhat caught up. This time around, though, let's just talk and vibe. Enjoy some snacks or whatever, ya know?

Go ahead and pick; there's plenty. I've got me, like, three capri suns and some donut holes. Like, I'm really tryna get into this game convo with y'all because we're squad, ya know? So, let's get comfy while gettin' into it.

All right, so -- *big siiiiiiiiiiip* -- my husband Solivan Brugmansia, right? Let's discuss. Not about him being my husband or not, the game. Respectfully, check yourself. Anyways.

My Gods. that is bae right there. Like, gah damn...

For starters -- even though, I can totally fix him, and I want to make that very clear! My baby ain't do nothing entirely wrong! Like just- just give him to me. He is just a lil' traumatized and misunderstood; he is very capable of change. Like, I can fix him! I can! -- it's only fair to remind you that he is, uh, kind've batshit crazy. Now, the wild part is that I for realsies forgot that he is not entirely sane. Like, not even kidding about that.

This experience has been a sort of "Let me seep you into the madness" versus a "Let's make him insane off rip", and because it was like that, when he started doing typical yandere shit, there were -- specifically -- two different times that I experienced genuine shock. It was literally like, "Oh yeeeeeeah. This is a visual novel with a yandere love interest. Solivan's the yandere. He's not wrapped too tight. Ah, yes, I forgot about that factoid", ya know? The shit genuinely caught me off guard.

Anyways, still can't trust the orange juice, 10 is the magic number, and don't kiss Crowe...like ever lmao. You can dismiss the fuck out of that man, but he's lowkey a simp like Sol is, so as soon as you kiss him lmao...

Just remember that it's implied that Sol is, and has always been, keeping a close eye on you. Actually, let me back up a little. Let's talk more abo-- Oh, wait, do you need a refill? Okay, hold on for a second. Wait, are you good on snackies? You know what? I'll just grab everything, just in case.

...

Okay, now, let's talk more about the orange juice.

Never --

-- and I mean NEVER, trust the orange juice.

There was a moment that we got with Sol, and it was like, "...Aw :)", and then, he was like, "I made orange juice~!", and it was like, "...Aw :(". Like, lmaooooo, I thought we were past that, ya know? Like, I obviously like you! I have you at a 10! Why are you resorting to nonphysical violence? I mean, he got physical in other ways, but it wasn't violent, ya know what I'm sayin'~?

Now, the "10" thing that I keep bringing up.

This competition between them is more intense than I thought, bro, and Sol does not cope with failure well. You know how people will be like, "a win is a win"? Well, with Sol --

-- a loss is a loss, even if it's just by one point.

Remember that whole "Don't kiss Crowe" thing? I genuinely mean that. As tempting as it may be -- and believe me, it's tempting especially because...Crowe can really make a girl feel really, really... wanted, ya know?🫦... ANYWAYS -- DO NOT kiss that man, because that's the game point. Now, who's the actual winner in that scenario.... 👀🧃*dramatic siiiiiiiiiip*. I ain't gon' say it...but I'm just sayin' lmao.

Even though, I really ain't shit because...I willingly cheated on Sol with Crowe. WAIT. LET ME EXPLAIN WHY THOUGH.

This man, dear Gods, this man. I must stay focused... This man is the one that you SHOULD be dating. This is the one that all of your friends and your family really like and approve of. This is the healthy choice, but you don't choose him, because the one that you want is "dark and hot and tall and mysterious" and you're like, "but daddy, I love him!". Meanwhile, your friends are desperately trying to tell you about all the red flags with the other guy and are like "What is with you and toxic men?!". Then, when you defend your toxic crush, they shade you because they "should've saw it coming" when you had picked Sesshomaru and Sasuke over Inuyasha and Naruto.

...But, anyways, when I say that Crowe is Prince damned Charming? Babes... And then he let that hair loose????

Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabes~!

As a side note, lol I wasn't pulling those descriptions (completely) out of my ass; that was the literal intention.

See? "Dark and mysterious" vs "Princely".

Anyways, Crowe's rizz game is...surprisingly strong? Like, I honestly don't know why I was so shocked, but I was shocked. Like, a girl was genuinely flustered, because what do you mean that "you knew that we were going stargazing but you didn't know the brightest start was going to be right in front of you" and "anything for me"? Not to mention that this man was putting flowers in our hair and carRYING US TO OUR APARTMENT IN THE RAIN? BARELY GRUNTING WHILE DOING SO??? Like, sir, please, don't do this. I have a husband...but it's like, shit, I won't tell if you won't at this point.

That's pretty much all the new stuff -- well, that I was willing to partially spoil for you. There's other stuff, but you definitely gotta see that live and in 4K, and trust me, you're gonna want to.

Once again...THE FATTEST EFFING SHOUTOUT TO WHOEVER SENT THAT ANON MESSAGE AS THEY HAVE PUSHED ME TO STAND ON BUSINESS ONCE MORE.

It is even more beautiful than I remember, and thanks to the bestie, I was able to see my husband in all of his glory LIVE and in 4K. Okay, but I was degenerate throughout this whole post, so let's just put a pause on that and actually review the game properly.

This is still a work of the Gods, and I honestly love the tweaks and additions that were made. From Brittany's personality being tweaked so it reads more as "I swear, I'm not mean; I'm just really bad at talking to people" to Crowe's scenario being way more in depth to getting some more CGs of my husband Sol. The art style is still damned IMMACULATE to look at, and the plot is STILL plotting. Also...he's cute, but I lowkey don't trust Crowe, because why are you so perfect? The dev(s) is/are writing the EFF out of these characters. Like, honestly? Continue to pop off.

I definitely plan to buy my own copy, and I HIGHLY suggest that you do the same. It's honestly just the spicy scenes, so it's not like "Ooh, extra lore!" or anything, but they are honestly so deserving of that monetary support. Not to mention, the NSFW version is what the Gods would have wanted.

Even though, I'm wondering if we'll ever explicitly know Sol's (and definitely Crowe's and Hyugo's[/Geo's]) background. Now, admittedly and as far as I know, this is really the only piece of "lore" that you'll miss if you don't get the NSFW version, because I'm certain that I'm not the only one that's noticed it, but just in case you haven't (and I'm cutting the heck out of this CG because it's very spicy, but I need you guys to see what I'm talking about).

What's up with these bruises? Like, you see that right? But it's not in the other picture, so it's like...? What the eff happened? Like, the reason why I say that is because the second picture happened BEFORE the first picture, so something happened to him, but what? I know that it's implied by some of the things that Sol says and how he responds to stuff and some of his mannerisms that he came from a pretty shitty background, but what exactly and is it ongoing?

But, then again, it's like duh it's ongoing, because he said that "it's the usual" that he deals with...uh...certain situations. Check this out though; in that same breath, he was like "every bruise is worth it". Like...what? That's not-- That's not a normal or healthy thought let alone something you'd actual verbalize. Like, I'm telling you, the dev(s) is/are murdering this visual novel thing. No wonder it's so easy to forget that Sol is a literal walking red flag. I'm more focused on the plot than whether or not he's gonna drug my food.

Also, also, also, I just want to yap really briefly about my favorite CG... screen... UI thingy...that I can't show you. Not because it's a spicy one but because, even though you can probably read between the lines, it'd be, what I feel is, a major spoiler. Just as a slight "pro" tip. That little green heart at the top right of your screen that turns blue when you hover over it?

It leads to that screen with the scale that shows your affinity level for Sol and Crowe. Just...check in on that thing a lot; you may see something interesting. When you do see that interesting thing...please, think of me ಥ‿ಥ Because next to the way that the affinity level is shown altogether, it was my absolute favorite thing about the update. That was done so beautifully. ...Damn, I want to show you all so badly ._.

Anyways, I think my yap session should end here. I've already said it a handful on times, but what's one more time? I highly, highly, HIGHLY recommend this game. It's so good, the art is amazing, the plot is plotting, and so much work and love has gone into this game, and it's STILL only in its demo phase. I suggest donating $5 to have (permanent) access to the NSFW version and/or telling the dev(s), "Hey! Really love your game! I was just wondering if you take human sacrifices? Would that expedite the full release? Anyways! You're doing great, sweetie! <3"; aggressively supportive validation is really the only way to go, because they really are doing more than a damned good job. You should honestly see it for yourself. Here, I'll put the direct link for ya.

I'm yapping again. I'm ending it for realsies now. The biggest preesh for hanging out with me today and getting this far. PLEASE, remember to drink water, don't be dumb, and hope to see you around~!

The Kid at the Back (DEMO)

[bookshelf-dust]

you’ll find it in a dresser drawer

billy hargrove x fem!reader

gif by @suledins

word count: 2,550

warnings: mainly fluff and romantic stuff, a little bit of suggestiveness at the start, playful banter/swearing/name-calling (it’s all out of love)

synopsis: on a journey to declutter your little home, you and billy find lots of memories on the past and sit down to reminisce.

a/n: my bestie girl @clovermunson put this idea into my head actual ages ago, and i finally managed to get it done!! besides, we could all use a little love and care right about now <33

————

“BILLY!”

The shower cuts off, leaving only the sound of water dripping from your loofah, down the ends of your hair. 

“Huh!” Billy shouts, already making his way towards the bathroom. He doesn’t need a verbal cue—the tone of your voice is enough. Each lilt you take on tells him what he’s walking into.

You’ve hastily wrapped a towel around your midsection, and he walks in on you waving your leg around in his direction. “I shaved my legs.”

Billy laughs heartily. He leans down, cupping the back of your calf with one hand so he can kiss the skin of your shin. “That’s what you were doin’ in here all this time? Thought maybe you were rubbin’ one out or something.” He winks, dragging his hand up your now very smooth leg. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and let him lift you over the rim of the tub, setting you down securely on the bath mat. “You know I’m too loyal to the fancy shower head for all that manual labor.” You smack a sweet, slightly damp kiss on Billy’s lips. “But seriously, aren’t you impressed? I don’t remember the last time I shaved them.”

He drags his hand up your knee. “I’m so impressed. Even more that you managed to go without a nick.”

Your eyes crinkle up with the biggest smile, reserved just for him. “I know, right?” You lean your head back, allowing Billy to kiss at your shoulder where he’s been nosing at you this entire time. 

“Smell good,” he mumbles. 

“I used the same things as always, pretty.”

Billy’s thumb presses gently under your chin, molding you so he can kiss right where your collar bones meet. “Always smell good. Could eat you right up.”

“Maybe later?” you quip, sneaking out from his hold. He drags his gaze up your legs as you go. Six years in and he still looks at every part of you like it’s the first time. 

“No doubt, pretty girl. When you’re dressed you wanna help me with this box?”

“‘Course! I’ll just be a minute.”

The both of you have made it your mission to sort through every room in your little house. It’s not much, but there’s plenty of room and you take good care of it. Billy’s had more fun painting than he’d ever admit, and he helped you set up flower boxes so you had something to take care of. 

The lone hallway closet, the bane of your existence, was your last task. The one you’d been avoiding. A small, dark hell of clutter. Tubs full of trinkets and memories from you or Billy or both. Extra blankets, board games. Anything that didn’t have a home, or that you’d just rather not deal with on any given day. 

You slip on an oversized sweatshirt you’re sure you’ve had since college and a pair of Billy’s boxer shorts. He never wears this pair anyhow, and who are you to leave them gathering dust in the back of a dresser drawer.

Billy hears your bare feet pad against the hardwoods. You reach for a pillow, meaning to prop yourself up on it. 

Billy grunts. You look up, where he’s motioning towards his lap with his free hand. The one not flipping through what looks like a smaller box full of pictures. You comply, walking over to him. He reaches upward, big hands holding onto your hips as he coaxes you down between his legs, your back resting against his chest. 

“Hair smells good,” he mumbles, kissing the nape of your neck. He always tells you how good you smell. You never tell him that you always use the same things and, therefore, always smell the same. 

“Thank you,” you say. He pushes the thick cotton of your sweatshirt aside, the pilling fabric catching on his calloused fingertips. He presses a kiss to your shoulder and sets the material back where it was. 

Your teeth close around the inside of your cheek, hiding the giddy smile that threatens to appear. You lean forward just a bit, your gaze catching on a pile of photographs that look like they got developed and then set away, their finishes as pristine as if you’d just pulled them out of the paper envelope. 

You suck in a breath. Billy’s hand drags up and down your freshly shaved and moisturized knee fondly. 

“Are these the ones from the disposables?”

Billy grabs a handful of the glossy paper. “Think so. Remember you asked me to get them developed when we moved? So we didn’t take shit we didn’t need.”

“Yeah. I meant to buy an album for ‘em. Thought it seemed very grown up of us to have a photo book.” 

“Even more grown up to leave it disassembled.”

You gaze over your shoulder and lock eyes with Billy. He’s got his bottom lip between his teeth, the first signs of a laugh at the corners of his eyes. You snort.

You grab the photos from his hand, along with the rest, and shift so you can spread them out on the floor between you. The first thought that comes to mind is how your living room floor desperately needs a rug. But then you catch a glimpse of someone’s tummy against a bright, summer sky. 

Your index finger and thumb press against the corner of the paper, lifting it closer. It’s a picture of Billy and you at the beach, the date scrawled messily in his chicken scratch writing along the back: 07/26/91

In the photo, Billy stands under a tilted umbrella, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun, the other pointing at the camera. You remember now that he’d been trying to get you to look at Robin, because she was trying to take your picture. There’s a cocky smirk on his face and a smear of sunscreen on his neck. 

You’re wearing a pair of overalls, but one of the straps is falling down since they’re two sizes too big, your one piece swimsuit showing from underneath. The bottle in your hand and cream on your fingers all act as evidence towards your attempt to protect your boyfriend from the sun.

“I don’t remember Robin taking this,” you laugh, grinning up at Billy, more than pleased to know you have this moment captured forever. 

“I do,” Billy says, flipping the image over to look at the date he saw you glance at seconds before. “She took about a thousand pictures that day. I’m surprised there aren’t more. And I remember writing this when it got printed.”

He turns it toward you once again, pointing out a small line of script at the bottom you’d failed to see before. My pretty girl, it reads. 

You lean forward and kiss him, squeezing his cheeks between your hands because you know he hates it when you do but he looks too damn cute to resist.

There’s a couple of photos mixed in that are older—some from high school, a few baby pictures. You snag one of Billy from prom.

“This Billy would never have been such a sap.” 

He glances at the picture. He’d rented a tux. Worn a red button up underneath it. No tie, no corsage or anything. He wasn’t going to go, but he got in his car about half an hour after it started and drove himself there because you’d mentioned you were going with a couple of friends. 

“That’s because he also kinda had a stick up his ass,” Billy mumbles, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth. 

“Even a cute ass like that couldn’t repel that big ‘ol stick.” You wink, looking at the other prom pictures. Billy pinches your thigh but it only makes you chuckle.

There’s a strip of you and Robin from the photo booth, her hair all frizzy, your forehead glistening with sweat. One awkward picture of you and Billy in front of the pitiful backdrop the student council had put together. Both of your smiles are soft, but it’s obvious neither of you were really comfortable with one another yet. What with the way his hand sits on your rib cage, one of yours on his hip and the other hidden in the tulle of your dress. 

“You know I bought my first push-up bra for that night?”

Billy’s trademark cocky grin appears. “What?”

“I had Robin help me pick out a push-up bra because I was hoping to impress you. I thought maybe if my boobs looked good you’d think I was hot and we could be more than classroom friends. The bra ended up leaving my ribs sore for days after, but my boobs did look good.”

Billy looks pointedly at your boobs in the photo. “They really did. But I already thought you were hot. Why else would I have come in the first place?”

You blink at him. “I dunno, to do like, anything else?” He laughs at your remark. “I figured you wanted to party afterwards or that maybe there was a girl you wanted to see afterwards.”

Billy holds up a photo of you at your college graduation. He cried that day, watching you walk. He thinks you don’t know, but you could tell. 

“I did. She’s right in front of me.”

He passes you a picture from Halloween two years ago. You were Tiffany Valentine and he was Charles Lee Ray. It was much easier to convince Billy to wear a trench coat and go without shaving for a few days than to even attempt putting him in a Chucky costume. 

“Quit fuckin’ with me, baby. You did not want me when we were in high school. Don’t you remember how awkward I was every time we worked on something together?”

Billy leans forward, his lips hovering inches from yours. “You weren’t awkward. I just saw a girl I would’ve sold my soul for because she was so perfect.” He laughs when you try to pull away from his kiss, a result of that cheesy line. You kiss him back all the same.

“You realize we’re not sorting through this box at all?” You say, that matter of fact tone in your voice. “We’re reminiscing. Let’s set the photos aside and finish, yeah? Then we can put them into albums.”

Billy gives you a two finger salute. “Yes ma’am.”

The both of you spend the next few minutes sorting. There’s receipts from years past, piles of number two pencils left from college, stray earring backs, a couple scraps of fabric from when you’d tried to take up sewing. You even find a couple of textbooks—some possibly stolen from the library of Hawkins High School—Billy’s birth certificate, a spare key to his car. 

Just when you reach the bottom, you spot a little wooden box. You’re not sure what it is, but based on the size you’d guess it might be for trinkets or it could have had Billy’s college ring in it. 

You glance over your shoulder at him where he’s sorting through a stack of papers, every once in a while scratching the tip of a pen against a spare piece to see if it’s got ink in it. You don’t think he’s paying you any mind. 

You place your thumb nail under the ledge of the box where it has the smallest groove in it where it’s meant to be opened. You open it haphazardly, with a sharp snap as the hinge widens. 

Your breath catches when your thumb grazes velvet and you realize there’s something inside. You’re too curious, too focused, to notice that Billy has moved closer to you, that he’s now watching your face for any emotion you might show, his own heart smacking against his ribcage. 

He thought this was a clever way to do it. The least stressful one he could think of, anyhow. He knows you don’t like much spectacle and figured keeping it intimate like this would be best for both of you, really.

The box opens with a small click and your eyes start to go all teary, despite the fact that you haven’t registered what’s happening or even looked at Billy or even looked at the damn thing you’re holding. 

The ring is simple: it’s thin silver, with a small, diamond shaped emerald front and center, the prongs and basket twisting gently so that it almost looks like they’re hugging the stone. It’s not too much, but it’s gorgeous. It’s you. Unmistakably. 

You turn to look at Billy. He smiles at you, his eyes all gentle.

“You fucking dickhead,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. He laughs. 

His hand comes to rest on your cheek, thumb caressing away any stray tears. He’s doing his best not to cry himself. “What do you think, huh?” 

You look down at the ring and back at him. Down and back at him. “It’s so pretty.”

“Fitting for such a pretty girl,” Billy says. You’d smack him if you weren’t so busy crying. He gently removes it from your hand, holding it out to you. 

“So, babydoll, how’d you feel about marrying me?”

Your eyes flick back and forth between his. You let out a giggle. “You’re not on one knee, Billy.”

He shifts awkwardly into the “proper” position and you both stare at each other, the beginnings of a hysterical laughing fit on either of your faces. You’d think someone had just made a “your mom” joke—not that you were being proposed to. 

A tear chooses that moment to escape your lash line. 

“I bought this for you about a week ago,” Billy starts. “I couldn’t have it too long because I knew I’d have a panic attack. I went to four different jewelry stores until I saw this one. I remembered, when Robin proposed to her girlfriend, that you said you’d always loved emeralds. Thought diamonds were overrated. And you always gravitate towards that color stuff in the store, y’know?”

“Like that dress you bought on sale for your birthday or the blanket for the couch. I’m hoping you’ll like this one.” He looks down at the ring and back up at you. “I love you, you know that? I know you know that. And I think lately I’ve just realized that I shouldn’t wait for good shit to go down. I don’t need to, especially when I can make it happen.”

“I want you for the rest of forever. Me and you. So really, what do you think? You wanna marry me?”

You blink at him. “Dunno. Jury’s out. Could take a while to reach a verdict.” 

He laughs into your hair, one arm wrapping around the small of your back, the other cradling your head. This feeling right here, of being held, is something you’ll never get over. The way his body feels wrapped around yours. A lifetime of this safety? Duh. 

You slide your hand under his shirt and gently scratch his back. His skin is always so warm. 

“Of course I do, you fucking dumbass,” you mutter, watery eyes overtaking your every sense. Then you kiss him on the cheek and whisper into his ear, “Honestly kinda felt like we were married already anyhow. Now I just have a pretty token of your affection, too.”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

rb banner by @steph-speaks

[730architect]

picture your face - L4B (1.1)

first real tumblr post um hi?? anyways i posted this fic on ao3 last month and it did pretty well so i decided to post it on here as well! so hi if you know me from there or from twt :)

── •✧• ──

wc: 2.4k

tags: liv4brutality, masturbation, hatred, conflicted feelings, liv lowkey hates dominik (yay), callbacks to l4b (2022), liv is still hopelessly in love with rhea but we knew this, light heterosexual couple jumpscares sorry....

── •✧• ──

I had to go into the other room, she sent me something and I can’t think about anything else…

Liv walked confidently to the back after successfully winning a dark match on tonight’s SmackDown, a match she had won with ease. Ease, which really meant continuous interference from her boyfriend, Dominik Mysterio. She cradled her precious championship in her arms as she pointed and laughed in the faces of the fans booing her on her way out. She was on top of the world and there was no woman on the entire roster, on the entire planet for that matter, who could knock her off of her pedestal.

Each victory was sweeter than the last, further cementing her as the greatest women’s world champion of all time, as she so eloquently called herself. She and Dominik were all smiles as they walked through the curtain arm in arm celebrating the champion’s win. However Liv’s smile faded quickly the second they made it back to gorilla, dropping her hand from his.

“You okay, mi güerita?” Dominik asks, immediately noticing her instant lack of affection which had caught him off guard.

“Fine, just a little tired.” Liv replies with a strained smile, attempting to save face. Dominik returned her smile with a bright one of his own, oblivious to her strange behavior.

The truth was, dating Dominik wasn’t all she had imagined it would be. Sure, in the beginning it was sort of fun. But that was due to the fact that Liv had finally gotten the ultimate revenge on the woman who had ruined her life while the whole world watched. She did exactly what she vowed she would do: take everything from Rhea Ripley until she was left with nothing but her shitty shoulder and her own misery.

Unfortunately for Liv, it was obvious that Dominik liked her far more than she liked him; which she took full responsibility for. Her conversations with Finn always seemed to be over the same matter: her true intentions with Dominik. She was not at all prepared for how needy and affectionate Dom would be, both in private and in public. He constantly needed her attention for even the littlest things.

“Hey Liv, should I wear my white or purple boots for my match later?”

“Liv, do you think I look jacked in this picture?”

His constant neediness was enough to drive any woman insane, Liv was amazed that Rhea was able to stay with him for so long. She couldn’t help but discreetly roll her eyes whenever he called her name before putting on a sickeningly sweet smile paired with a skip in her step as she made her way to him. Why did she feel this way?

She and Dominik are back in their shared hotel room after the show. She finds herself trapped in his arms yet again in bed as he mindlessly scrolls through the TV channels. Liv gets up from the bed, tossing Dominik’s tattooed arm off of her and ignoring his audible confusion, mumbling something along the lines of, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Picture your face, I wanna touch you but you’re too far away…

Liv locks herself in the bathroom and surveys her surroundings, mind still racing. Her eyes land on the large bathtub and decides a bath would help clear her head. She empties the pockets of her shorts and runs the bath water to her desired temperature while she pours soap into the tub, allowing it to form bubbles as she undresses. She tosses her clothes into a pile in the corner of the bathroom and ties her blonde hair up into a lazy bun at the top of her head, then climbing into the warm and welcoming water as bubbles swirled around her. Liv allows herself to sink down, down, down into the tub until only her head breaks the surface of the foamy water.

She tries to dilute her stress but Rhea continues to ravage her thoughts relentlessly, refusing to provide her with even a second of relief. Liv finds her mind drifting back to 2022, when she and Rhea were tag team partners and the best of friends. How Rhea treated her like the only girl in the world, how she picked her up with ease in ways that Dominik could only dream of. Liv feels a pang in her heart as she relives each sweet memory she and Rhea shared together on their quest for tag team gold. Her wet fingers rise and ghost over her lips where she swears she can still taste the sweetness of Rhea’s cheek that she would kiss after every win or loss. No matter what, they had each other. Until they didn’t.

And maybe Liv was naive for thinking that they would last forever, but how could she not when Rhea treated her like the only girl she would ever have eyes for for as long as she lived? Sometimes she thinks about what their lives would be like if Rhea had never turned her back on her. Would they still be tag team partners or would they have split on good terms? Would they be champions together like they once dreamed? The constant state of wonder she repeatedly finds herself in leaves her head pounding. They once looked at each other with such tenderness but now every glance is filled with pure malice.

Know I shouldn't need it but I want affection, know I shouldn't want it but I need attention

She hears a familiar snore come from the other room and immediately recognizes it as Dominik, which only seems to piss her off even more. Liv’s mind shifts once again, thinking about how her stomach would jolt whenever her eyes met Rhea’s as she stared her down, blue eyes morphing into angry slits every time Rhea saw her. Liv would try and put on a hardened expression of her own but to no avail. She just couldn’t ignore the heat that pooled in the pit of her stomach every time Rhea was near. Her breath on the back of Liv’s neck every time she pinned her down to the mat, seething over how much she fucking hated her. And by god did it turn her on.

Her nimble fingers begin to trail down her still-immersed body, fantasizing about how roughly Rhea would grab her, practically throwing her around like a rag doll if she really wanted to. How her sharp canines would flash through her snarl every time she had Liv backed into a corner. She found herself dismissing the wet spots in her underwear after every interaction with her or even after just stumbling across a post of hers on social media.

Liv grabs her phone from the side of the tub and opens Instagram, switching between accounts. Her wet fingers slowly find the search bar and tap on the last and only searched profile: Rhea’s. Liv couldn’t risk making a wrong move and tapping something she wasn’t meant to on accident, which would end up being the most embarrassing thing that could ever happen to her. She looks through Rhea’s profile for a couple seconds, nearly missing her latest post.

It was a mirror picture taken at the gym, nothing Rhea hasn’t posted about a million times before. But this one nearly had Liv’s world crumbling around her. It wasn’t the photo that mattered, despite how good she looked in it. Muscles bulging and glistening with a light sheen of sweat after what Liv assumed to be an intense arm-day workout. Black tattoo ink decorated her skin, wrapping themselves around her arms and fingers as she held her phone in one hand and flexed the other. But it was the caption that truly caught Liv’s attention.

“rhearipley_wwe watch me 👁️‍🗨️”

Liv sat up straight in the bathtub, nearly spilling water onto the bathroom floor with the speed she moved at. She waits for the anger to hit her but it never does. Instead it’s that same familiar throb in her core which she’s sure is coated in slick and not because of the water she’s sitting in. She stops for a moment to listen to her surroundings, relieved when she still hears Dom’s obnoxious snores through the locked door. She sinks back down into the tub, still staring at the photo, eyes drooping slightly with lust. Her fingers trace incoherent shapes onto the soft skin of her thighs as she separates them, exposing her cunt to her digits. She glides her index finger over her opening, almost slipping it inside due to how wet she is. Rhea may be obsessed but Liv was nothing short of infatuated by her.

Now I'm picturing you and you're touching yourself…

Her fingers slowly begin to circle her clit, spreading her slick over the puffy pearl. Liv sighs softly to herself, eyes fluttering shut for a split second before opening again to marvel at the photo. The caption itself almost seems like a teasing invitation in its own right, enticing Liv to slip a finger inside of herself, quickly replacing one with two and imagining it was Rhea’s inked ones instead. Water sloshed around due to her movements as her back arched slightly off the back of the tub she leaned on. “Shit… Rhea…” she whispers to herself through parted lips, Rhea’s name slipping past them like a prayer. Like she’s repenting, begging some sort of divine power for forgiveness for what she’s done as she does it.

Liv never slows the relentless piston of her fingers, going in and out of her weeping hole. The heel of her palm hits her clit with every thrust at the perfect angle, making her brain short circuit with every motion.

A memory from years ago plays in her mind like a technicolor movie. Liv had made her way to the locker room, calling out Rhea’s name as she glanced left and right for her then partner until she saw her standing at the end of the locker room, back facing her.

“Hey Rhea, I was wondering if you wanted to grab some food before we head back to the hotel or something.” Liv chirped as she walked up to her partner, blissfully unaware that she was stripping herself of her ring gear. Rhea turns around to face Liv, her hands reaching behind her back to unclasp her bralette that made up the top half of her gear.

“Sounds good to me, love. What are you in the mood for?” Rhea asks with a toothy smile, thick accent slicing through the air.

She turns around once again and lets out a relieved sigh when she finally unfastens her top, allowing it to fall off of her and completely expose the top half of her body. Liv’s mouth drops open before she quickly regains her composure, trying her hardest not to gawk at her tag partner’s physique, now having half of it fully exposed to her.

Rhea had less tattoos back then, her body a little leaner as she's put on more muscle since. But regardless of how she looked, Liv always found herself pressing her thighs together whenever she saw her, searching desperately for even the smallest bit of friction to provide herself with some semblance of relief before she could tend to it herself. Rhea turns to the side as she throws on a t-shirt, allowing Liv to catch a glimpse of her plush tits and the piercings that adorned them; along with the massive gargoyle tattoo that sat right underneath. She didn’t feel worthy of seeing her like this, all exposed and vulnerable. She didn’t feel worthy of seeing her at all.

The fingers wrapped around her phone still displaying Rhea’s photo had begun to tremble due to the sensation, liking the photo accidentally in the process. Liv however paid no mind, how could she with how her heart hammered in her chest, blood pounding in her ears, drowning out the sounds of her breathy moans and pathetic whimpers as she imagined Rhea’s expression seeing her like this behind her rolled back eyes. Liv eventually drops her phone back down and paws at her breasts, rolling her nipples between her index finger and thumb as she continues the assault on her pussy with her other hand.

She feels pressure increase just below her pelvis, making the entire lower half of her body feel like it’s about to implode. She slows the speed of her fingers ever so slightly to be able to grind her hips down onto them, allowing them to hit even deeper inside of her which makes her head spin. She feels the pressure increase more and more until she pinches at her nipple right as her fingers curl up slightly inside her, hitting that spot that makes her see stars every time. Liv throws her head back and detonates like a bomb around her digits, Rhea’s face the only thing she could see behind her tightly closed eyelids.

“Rhea… oh my sweet girl, oh my god…” she wept to herself, only then realizing that a few tears had rolled down her face. She slowly pulls her fingers out of her cunt, whining at the sensitivity and emptiness she felt. Liv laps her fingers clean, moaning around them as she envisions they’re Rhea’s she’s sucking off rather than her own.

She lays back and takes some much needed deep breaths with her eyes closed, feeling her heart rate return to a normal speed. She opens her eyes to the sound of her phone going off, notifying her that she’s received a text message. Liv picks her phone up to check who it is only to almost drop it into the water when she does.

It’s an unsaved number she hasn’t texted in years, but the lack of caller ID doesn’t serve any purpose considering it’s the only phone number besides hers that she knows by heart. With shaking fingers, she taps on the notification, opening the messages app. The text contains a single screenshot of someone’s instagram notifications. She taps on it and reads “yaonlylivvonce and 82,385 others liked your photo”.

You’re fucking kidding.

The photo in question is the post of Rhea that Liv had just spent the last half hour jerking it to. She’s stuck, frozen in shock as the now lukewarm water stills around her. She’s snapped out of her trance with another text notification, this time it’s a short sentence.

“I guess you really were watching me”

Shit.

[twwcs]

the library scene warms my heart that they are still in each other’s side (lets just forgot the whole he needs my help with tutor and i need her help for tutor excuse cause i know they just have and neeeeddd to be close) ughh

"Dinner later?" He inquires, brow raising as he's starting to walk away. Walking backwards away from the table, his eyes on you the entire time. "Sure, I'll meet you there.." You rest your head on your hand, watching him go from where you're sitting. Watching that look on his face. A sort of satisfaction in that he's leaving but already thinking about when he gets to see you next.

just kiss already count : 1

"He's a great friend... isn't he...” He says it with a little bit of annoyance in his voice, thinking about how you two have gotten really close as friends and he didn't even know it. "Yeah he's really sweet," You smile, not really noticing his expression. You want Miguel to know that you can get along with his friends too and you can be a part of his life. "He's funny..." His brow twitches just a bit. He doesn't know how to feel about the fact that you two are friends in and out of the tutoring club. And that you're calling him sweet. And funny.

Oh honey you officially make this man brain restless with your wording😭. Just kiss already count : 2

Maybe you're just so focused on being his friend to prove to Miguel you can be part of his friend group. Miguel can feel his patience slipping. How you seem so oblivious to the fact that Peter is a huge flirt and that Peter was flirting with you earlier when he invited you to the bar. But he's been Peter's friend for years, of course he knows the girls flock around him.

LIKE WHATT JUST PLEASE DONT BE SO CRYPTIC GIVE THIS MAN HIS BREAKK

The topic change gives him some relief. Grateful to think about something other than the image of Peter taking you home tonight. He lifts his hand, flexing a few fingers. "It's fine. Doesn't really hurt much right now. It's a good reminder to not lose my cool again... " "Yeah, that locker room hates to see you comin'..." You joke with a smile. Shaking your head.

Finally just focus on you two, let’s start from there. Just kiss already count :3

Miguel can only listen and watch this interaction between the two of you. It's like a nightmare come to life. And he's feeling claustrophobic in this crowded place with all these people. He just wants to take your hand and go back to campus, go back to your dorm, go back to the library.

Okay sir respectfully why didnt you?. But for real it’s already written there but it’s so frustrating that the reader wanna be close and fit in with miguel’s circle but honey i know you meant well but didnt you see this guy right here is a bout to combust

'Well you all played very well..." You hum. Looking between the two boys. You can't help but notice Miguel's body language. Thinking he must just be upset that he didn't get to play because of his cast. But he did very well on the sidelines.

It’s not that ball you need to be concerned. You succeed on making them both oblivious on one another . Just kiss already count : 4

You giggle softly at Peter's joke and his obvious love for attention. Loving the way you can so casually hang out with Miguel and his friends for the first time ever. Miguel clenches his jaw, sipping his water and trying to keep his cool.

I cant defend you any more girlie, i cantttrttr

"Um..." You're thinking. You don't really do this that often and you're finally getting to hang out with Miguel and his friends. What the hell... "Sure!" Peter flashes that charming smile at you and Miguel can feel his control slipping again. Now he's buying you drinks?

Mig, jealousy looks good on you <3

"I'm sweating..." You huff, moving to get up off the bed and his arms come to steady you. "Woah woah slow down, sweetheart..." The words ooze off his lips.

Just kiss already count : 5

Your mind filled with the thoughts of being Miguel's again. You're friends with his friends like any girlfriend would be. So what's stopping him? What's stopping both of you from just being together again? Since you've proven to him, you can fit in.

Your hips slot between his legs, standing between them and getting closer. Fingers clenching into his shirt and smashing your lips against his. His fingers splay out, shock and surprise. His eyes wide and heart seemingly stops. You're... kissing him... you...

"No baby... you need to go to sleep... you're drunk.." He whispers, feeling so weak, his hands running up your warm bare thighs, like medicine. His cast is slightly scratchy on your thigh. Finally your body on his, your warmths feeding off of each other. "No please... say you want me, please you have to, don't you want to?" You whine. Leaning over him and kissing his cheek, burying your face in his neck. He's speechless. Doesn't know what to say or think. He thought you were done all this time. He thought you were pining after Parker.

"I want you... I do want you..." He whispers before his mind can even think. His hands falling from your thighs and flat on the bed. It feels wrong to touch you this way. His love for you overshadows his own selfish need. You won't remember this in the morning.

I HAVE BEEN SOBBING FOR THE PAST 30 MINUTES.

I Think I'll Keep You 5

a/n: Thank you again for your patience! I hope you guys enjoy and the next chapter is already underway and will come very soon! And some more art and bots coming out as well so look out for that!

w.c.: 10.2k NSFW MINORS DNI

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

“...accurate and efficient methods of decoding… further aiding us in understanding… um… complicated genetic codes… pushing preservation and conservation. Uhh… yeah.” Miguel sighs, sitting up in his seat and peering over your arm as you type away on his laptop. Sitting at a table in the middle of the library during tutoring hours. Your fingers typing for him as he speaks what he wants written. He can’t type. Not with his right hand totally out of commission. So he’s come to your open tutoring hours. And now you have a student to work on so you can get paid and he can get help with his work. It’s Saturday and the two of you have been practically connected at the hip for the past two days.

You woke up beside him yesterday afternoon after that late night emergency room run. Lazily, sleepily taking the rest of the day slowly. Walking across campus to get food since all you both ate the whole night was a few pieces of candy. Smiling and talking, shoes splashing in shallow puddles along the concrete. A refreshing feeling having moved on from the mess of the last few weeks. The bubble has popped. That bubble of sex and ignorance that felt so great for the both of you. Sitting in the dining hall, among the hardwood and tall, ancient windows of your old university; looking over the school grounds turned fall shades and the autumn breeze blowing in through the window. Trying to talk about anything that won’t add any more stress or tension. No talk of friends, or family, not even school. Really just talking about whatever comes into your mind. And the conversation is just so easy. It’s different to spend time with him outside of the dorm room. It didn’t happen very often before. A lot of your conversations were pillowtalk. It’s different talking about the other parts of your life that don’t take place right after doing the deed. Miguel is funny. And he’s a good listener when his mind is clear and he’s focused on you. Only you. 

Feels like things are going back to normal. Well not how it was before. A new normal. 

“I think it sounds good… it’s a little awkward in the intro still but we can fix it up later…” You assure him, fixing a few typos and reading it over. The library is nice and quiet as always. You didn’t have any other students come this afternoon so you have time to focus on this and help Miguel since you know he can’t really do it himself right now.

“I don’t know… feels like I’m missing something. I’m gonna include the research but it doesn't feel like enough.” He sighs, leaning his elbows on the table, pushing his frames further up the bridge of his nose and looking over the notes in his hand. His knee is bouncing under the table and you can feel the vibrations of it in your seat. He’s applying to the Alchemax grant program. A huge grant with a long essay to go with it, multiple letters of recommendation and a personal profile piece. Tens of thousands of dollars for his research project. And he’d basically be an intern there. Able to use their facilities and labs to complete the job and create a brand new study of his own. It would start right after graduation and almost definitely lead to a great job at Alchemax Industries. He sighs, leaning back in his seat, draping his arm over the back of your chair. 

“You okay?” You hum, observing his clearly distressed behavior. His knee bouncing, his brow furrowed, the sighs. He looks over at you, in your eyes. Don’t lie. “Yeah I’m fine… just… want to get this right.” 

You nod. Knowing that’s not all there is to it. But accepting it for now. “Well, maybe you should include some of your… personality…traits…” You suggest with a small smile, knowing that it will be like pulling teeth with him, clasping your hands in your lap and looking over at him next to you. 

“Like what. I mean… Tyler knows me. He’s the one that told me to apply.” [Tyler Stone. President and Ceo of Alchemax Industries.] He sighs, pushing his glasses up on his head, his dark curls becoming a little messy with the metal pushed through them, and rubbing the sides of his nose with his fingers. The ache of wearing his glasses for a while when he usually doesn’t like wearing them at all. But he’s worn them more often the past few days. He can see you more clearly now.  

“Yeah but he’s not the only one who’s gonna be working with you or deciding if you get the job or not. You want people to know who you are… know the kind of person you are. More often than not, that’s more important than the research when it comes to something like this. I mean, you’re not just applying for a grant, you’re applying for a job…” You explain kindly. He looks up, in your eyes, his eyes raking over your pretty face. He loves feeling like he can be close to you again. He loves feeling like he knows what’s going on in your head. Or maybe that’s just his need for control seeping in. Like venom in warm blood. Just sitting next to you like this. Even if he hasn’t so much as kissed you since everything went down. It’s only been nearly two weeks but it feels like an eternity. He wants to so badly. But he reminds himself that this is how things are right now. He messed up and he’s getting a second chance. He won’t take your forgiveness for granted. “Yeah, you’re right.” He admits, dropping the graphs and charts on the table.

“Maybe talk about family… inspirations… personal goals. People like that kind of stuff. People also want to know that you can be a part of something bigger than yourself…” You say, fingers brushing over the keys and ready to type what he says. “Uh…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, trying to pull this out of his brain. He doesn’t really want to talk about his family. Doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of being considered inspiration. But his upbringing and his parents’ names alone have opened a lot of doors for him in the past. His fingers fidget on the back of your chair, catching a few strands of your hair, playing with it so softly that you don’t even feel it. And he watches the side of your face to make sure you don’t notice, your eyes focused on the computer screen. Curling the strands around his finger and getting lost in touching you. Hanging on desperately to this morsel of touch. Knowing he probably shouldn’t but he just can’t help himself.

“I guess… we could say I grew up watching my parents with their business. But that’s more… financial services. When I was born, OLI was just taking off and now… I’ve watched them build it into what it is today.” He explains. You keep typing, writing it down in the notes to keep it straight. You can hear the sigh in his voice like he hates to be talking about it. You don’t know why. Mostly because he’s never spoken about this before. But if he’s applying for such a big opportunity then it’s important to include.

“OLI, I’ve heard of that, I think…” You look over at him, unsure what that stands for but you know you’ve heard that acronym before, or maybe you’ve seen it somewhere? 

“O’hara Legacy Investments.” He says with a nod and sigh, a level of disdain in his tone. He leans forward, his mind still on this essay. On beefing it up with info that might secure him this grant. Even though he’s confident his connections will get him in. There’s always a chance things might not go his way. He wants to prepare for every possible outcome. He hates to feel out of control. You stop typing. That sounds like investment banking. Like the kind of thing that makes people billionaires. 

“Is that the… that tall building downtown?” You ask, looking over at him and he nods, a blank stare in his eyes as he’s looking down at the research notes. “Your family runs that?”

“Yep.” He sighs, not offering more information so you don’t ask for more.

“Okay sooo… how would that influence your work at Alchemax?” You prompt, trying to veer back on course. You can tell he’s losing steam, you’ve been at this a while. 

“So I guess it’s not really the same as what I would be doing at Alchemax but… Watching how that runs… how many people it takes to keep something running like that. I guess something about leading teams of people working towards a goal…” He keeps thinking out loud and you keep typing, interpreting his words into organized notes and ideas. “So.. maybe about you as a leader? You think you can be a good leader…” 

“Yeah. I think so… and soccer, we could include that too.” He says, perking up and sitting up a bit straighter. Although the topic of soccer does bring his anxiety levels up a bit. Watching you type while playing with a piece of frayed material on his cast. “Yeah, captain of the soccer team, sports is always something they want to hear. If you’re a leader… organizer. And coming from SU especially, they love to see it.” You agree, typing and compiling the thoughts that come to mind. “And to know you can work in a team…” 

Miguel nods. Feeling relieved that you’re able to help him with this. He did all the more technical notes for it over the past few weeks. Organized lots of thoughts and data to start the writing process. Then he broke his fingers and that put a wrench in the process. It’s due next week and without you he’d be screwed. But it works out sort of perfectly, and a little selfishly, that now he’s spending more time with you because of that. “I think also…” 

He starts. You look over, ready to type whatever he suggests. “I’m an older brother too… that’s… I don’t know…” He mumbles. You find yourself smiling. “I feel like… maybe being a leader in that way is different.” 

“It’s very different, yes…” You nod, looking back at the laptop screen, a smile dancing on your lips. “Maybe something about… protecting… looking out for those that are important to me. Or being a good role model I guess…” He sighs. Thinking. About Gabriel. About you. Pretty much the two most important people in his life. I guess I haven’t been a very good role model as of late. 

“Loyalty… role model…” You say and nod. Typing those words in the compilation of notes you’re making in the margins. His knee is still bouncing.

“I also think you’re very passionate…” You say. He looks over at you, the side of your face, watching you type more things in the notes. Trying to create a section of his essay that can portray him as not just another applicant. “I think I’m just generally angry… I don’t really think before I do things…” He scoffs, shaking his head and leaning forward, his arms on the table, his head resting down on his forearms, looking at your pretty face from this angle. You grin and nod, giving him a look. “Yeah but we don’t have to include that… passion works…” 

He laughs through his nose, blinking softly and admiring your face. Watching your pretty eyes, the light of the computer screen reflecting in them, making them especially sparkly. It’s quiet for a moment, just the clicks of keys and fingertips. He thinks, reflecting on all that’s happened in the past few weeks. That thing with Dana keeps coming to mind. That was really a moment of lost control. Is that the passion you’re talking about? That he loses control and can’t get it back until it’s almost too late? He worries about that. Not remembering most of it because he was so angry. It sort of feels like a dream. Especially since he fought with you right after that and then everything went right to shit. 

All he knows is that Dana made it back to his dorm. He knows for a fact nothing happened. He wouldn’t have wanted it anyway because he despises her and she was drunk off her ass. But she did lie on his bed. Her perfume was all over him. And he remembers standing over her and wanting to make her hate him. Just so that she would leave him alone. That’s a level of anger he never wants you to witness, or anyone really for that matter. It scares him a bit now to think of it. All he knows is that if you think he’s loyal, he’ll be loyal as a dog. If you think he’s passionate, he’ll be a raging, burning fire to keep you warm. You think he’s anything, he’ll be that. If you want him to be. 

He fidgets with the fray on his cast. Coming off the blue material. His gaze caught on the little cursive “mine” you wrote. That night in the drug store. When you were both so deliriously tired, sitting in the middle of the floor. Having this on his arm is like a reminder. Or a promise. That maybe you’ll be his or he’ll be yours again. He’ll just have to be patient. His thumb brushes over the word, like making sure the letters won’t fall off, making sure they’re stained into the blue permanently. Do you even remember writing this? He thinks. Or were you so tired it feels like a dream? His bouncing knee still vibrates against your chair. 

“Anything else for today? We did a lot…” You ask, looking over at him. Bringing him out of his thoughts. “No, I think that’s good, thank you… but maybe next week we can finalize things and you can help me edit it?” He asks hopefully. “Yeah definitely, I’ll block out some time for you…” 

He nods, sighing and pulling his glasses off his head. Folding them up in his hand and collecting his papers. You just save the document, debating in your head the words on your tongue. Closing the laptop so he can pack it up in his bag. 

“So… you wanna tell me what’s stressing you out?” You ask, turning in your seat to face him and leaning your elbow on the table, head in your hand. He stops what he’s doing, putting down the stack of notebooks. “You can read my mind…” He smiles. 

“No, you’ve just been bouncing your knee against my chair for the past hour.” You sigh, smiling soft but sympathetic at him. His shoulders slump. “Oh sorry…” He shakes his head, feeling embarrassed for being so obvious, pinching the bridge of his nose in his fingers. 

“It’s okay… Is it the grant? I think your essay will be good enough…” You hum. Noticing all of his distress and not wanting him to be freaking out over something he’s already spent so long working on. “No it’s not… I… I’m really glad you can help me with it. Thank you… I’m just worried about the game tomorrow…” He nods. And it dawns on you. “Ohh…”

“I actually should get going… have a meeting with the coach. Figure out how we’re gonna pull this off…” He sighs, getting up from his seat to gather his things. He’s been wracked with anxiety about the game ever since putting two and two together that he’s out for the next few weeks. It’s against the rules for someone to play with a plaster cast on and he’s nowhere near getting that removed. So the team will have to supplement him. 

“You’re not gonna play are you? You shouldn’t… not with your hand like that.” You insist, watching him get up, pulling on his jacket precariously with his one working hand. He can hear the concern in your voice. “I can’t. It's an instant disqualification… so I have to talk to Coach and maybe I’ll just assistant coach tomorrow, I don’t know…” He sighs, knowing it’ll be a struggle for the team to play without him. And they very well might not win. This is a university proud of its win streak so far. 

“If it hurts, let Coach know… you don’t have to do anything that’s uncomfortable.” You advise softly. Wanting him to be comfortable. Always. That look of care on your face makes him feel a little warm. Making him feel a little soft and fuzzy inside. He can’t remember ever being worried over like that. He clears his throat, trying not to let that feeling get to him too much, shoving his laptop in his bag and zipping it up. “I will… don’t worry about me…” 

He says it but he doesn’t really mean it. Although he doesn't want you to be anxious; he definitely doesn’t need to inflict any more emotional pain on you, he’s done more than enough of that over the past few weeks… he does want you to care. Or it’s more like… once he realized you actually do care, now he doesn’t want to lose that. 

“Just be careful… I know you’ll do well and the team will be fine…” You smile gently. Clicking your pen and watching him getting ready to leave. His bag slung over his shoulder. “Thank you… yeah I just need to chill.” He sighs, moving his hurt hand around absentmindedly to soothe the ache. “Well… the feeling you’re having just means you care. It’s a good feeling, even though it’s scary…” 

He looks in your eyes, down at where you’re still sitting. Feeling struck by your words. You’ve always been so good at that. You always know exactly what to say when he needs to hear it. He hopes to do the same for you one day. If only he can figure out how you manage to do it every time. He just nods in thanks, a renewed sense of relief inside. 

“Dinner later?” He inquires, brow raising as he’s starting to walk away. Walking backwards away from the table, his eyes on you the entire time. 

“Sure, I’ll meet you there…” You rest your head on your hand, watching him go from where you’re sitting. Watching that look on his face. A sort of satisfaction in that he’s leaving but already thinking about when he gets to see you next. He nods. Turning towards the library doors and smiling to himself, making his way out. Sneakers tapping on the hardwood floors of the academic building, sparing you one last glance. Finding your eyes still on him. A stupid sort of giddy feeling in his chest. Lopsided grin on his lips as he leaves the library.

“O’hara! Dude.” Peter’s voice brings him out of his flurry of thoughts. Watching his friend march down the rest of the hall to him. “Where you been? You disappeared again…” Peter chuckles.

“Oh yeah I‘ve just been… busy in the lab and stuff… and my application.” He lies. While it’s true he has been working on his application and piles of homework, he’s also been actively avoiding all of his friends ever since your fight. Unable to handle even the slightest of social interaction. His mind set on you and only you. But he won’t tell Peter that. 

“Dana said you were being crazy or something…” Peter huffs, his brow quirked in disbelief. Miguel’s heart starts to beat a little harder at that. Did Dana tell everyone what happened? Or her version of what happened? “What did she say?”

“Well… she’s kinda implying that you two hooked up after the party last week…” Miguel’s eyes widen at that news. It’s just not true. But that seems to be the story everyone believes so far. “MJ thinks she’s full of shit bu-"

“She is full of shit.” Miguel sighs. Pinching the bridge of his nose. Or trying to with his cast. It was a foolish thing to give into his anger and take Dana back to his dorm. But he didn’t sleep with her. He’s not surprised though that she’s spreading that rumor around. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“Shit, what happened?!” Peter flips, looking down at the cast engulfing Miguel’s forearm to the tips of his fingers. Looking at the seemingly broken hand, his eyes scanning over Miguel as a whole. Feeling like he has no idea what’s going on with someone who’s supposed to be his closest friend. “I broke my wrist but it’s fine, doctor says it’ll be fine even without surgery.”

“It’s fine?! What about the game?” Peter asks in panic, running a hand through his previously neat light brown locks. It’s against policy rules to play with a hard plaster cast for the safety of the other players and teammates. But Miguel’s the captain, their top offense and shooter. 

“I’ll be on the sidelines and Miller and Durante can take care of it.”

“It’s Princeton, Miguel. We’re gonna get fuckin’ smoked out there…” Peter huffs, going on and on but Miguel just shakes his head, feeling that anxiety rising again. The anxiety you were able to dampen only moments ago. “I know it sucks… I know. But those new drills have been helping… I’m gonna talk to coach.” 

“Alright… but Marco and Santiago need to get their asses in order before tomorrow. I’m not playing defense because they can’t pay attention to the fucking ball.” 

“I know, I know…” Miguel sighs and nods. Knowing this is all bad timing. They’ve been preparing for this game for a while now and it’s a pretty big spectacle. The stands will undoubtedly be full to the brim. It makes him tense and anxious to think about.

“Okay…” Peter huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Well, text me what Coach says…” He sighs, lifting his fist. Their knuckles colliding as he’s starting to walk off to where he’s going. “No more disappearing…” Peter chuckles, looking back as he starts walking down the hall, pointing a finger at his friend. “Yeah, yeah…”

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” Peter says with a nod, his hands in his pockets as he rounds the corner, walking into the library. Miguel sighs, feeling that tension, that tomorrow might not go well and it’ll be all his fault. Because he can’t do more to help the team he’s supposed to be leading.

He jogs down the stairs, down another hallway and outside. The fall breeze and smell of the trees and crisp autumn air flows past his cheeks, blowing back the little curls by his ears. Hunching his shoulders up when the brisk air cools his neck, pulling his collar up and walking across the commons to get to the athletic building on the other side of campus. To meet with Coach about the game plan for tomorrow. 

“Come on guys, one more time!” Miguel calls out to the team. Dressed in his uniform, dark blue and silver stripes, school colors with the Sterling University crest on his arm, a C on his chest. Number 99 on his back. Cleats and his cast to match. It does suck he has to miss out on actually playing but he does a lot of assistant coaching as captain anyway so it’s nothing he’s not used to. Coach Dean is talking with the referees anyway. Schmoozing on the sidelines, convinced it’ll earn them less whistles through the game. 

Miguel sighs, anxious, shaking his head and directing his attention to the mobs of people filling the stands. The sun is setting, the field lights coming on and a slight chill filling the air. A buzz with that too. College soccer fans here as well as lots of students from both universities. People are excited. The team is excited as well as anxious without Miguel playing beside them. Knowing they’ll have to supplement him being out. Miguel huffs, stretching his arms and wincing slightly at the remnants of ache in his wrist, his breath fogging in the cold air.

“Come on… si yeah! ¡Mantén la posesión!" He shouts from the sides, watching the team warming up with the drills and keeping order, following them up and down their half of the field. “Marco!¡Sigue presionando! Call for it!" A mix of Spanish and English naturally leave his lips. Dark eyes follow their form and technique. Keeping everyone in order. They’re doing really well as always. But Miguel would prefer perfection. “Good! Alright break!” He shouts.

The team all relaxes, sighing in relief and collecting on the sidelines near the bench. Some passing the ball back and forth. The goalie is doing some technique in the practice nets with Durante and Miller. Others glancing at the opposing team warming up on their side of the field. “Marco, you’re gonna break you’re fuckin’ ankle doing that. Keep it light, it doesn’t have to be so fast. Slow down and go through the steps, alright?” Miguel instructs calmly, grabbing a ball and demonstrating on the turf by the benches. Marco nods, wiping his brow with the edge of his jersey. 

“Just like that… keep it loose and look at Miller, he’s the one you’re paying attention to. Don’t look at Durante, he’s gonna be looking at Miller for that pass down the field. But that was still good, keep it up..” 

“There’s a lot of people here…” Peter comments, squirting some water into his mouth, catching his breath. Miguel walks over from helping Marco, standing beside his friend and looking out at the people in the stands. It’s a little more than they’re used to. Little intimidating considering this stadium seats thousands of people.

“It’s a big game…” Miguel huffs, grabbing his water bottle. Wish I could fucking play… he thinks. Glancing at Coach, still talking to the refs near the midline. They have a little while before everything starts.

It’s the end of the first half and it’s been a good game so far. Princeton is good but so is Sterling. They’d be better if Miguel was on the field to help them. He finds himself getting frustrated on the sidelines, disagreeing with the refs calls and calling out to his teammates, trying to lead and instruct. The whistle blows and the team finally relaxes. Panting and walking over to the sidelines. 

“They’re fast…” Marco pants, plopping down on the bench to catch his breath. “We have to be faster… but we’re holding our own…” Miguel says, hands on his hips and looking over the team, trying to keep the edge from his tone. He’s here to lead, not berate.

“You good?” He sees Peter covered in grass stains. Peter’s the one that’s been scoring pretty much all the goals so far. Princeton’s defense is good. It’s one of those games where no one’s going to score very many goals, it’s all about making sure the other team doesn’t get too close. “That was really good, keep doing that. And if it works better for Marco to go up the right side, then do that.” Miguel says. 

“I will… they’re so fuckin fast…” Peter pants, grabbing his water bottle and squirting some in his mouth. Breathing heavy through his nose. The team takes a few minutes at halftime to refuel and plan for the second half. Peter and Marco will have to be smart about the next plays. They’re down by two and the other team just keeps getting closer and closer. 

“I got a girl in the stands…” Peter says with a lopsided smile, still out of breath, spraying some more water into his mouth. “Yeah?” Miguel’s brow quirks at that information. He knows Peter has a lot of girls around him and friends that are girls. Makes sense, he’s very smart, an athlete, loud and the life of the party. Everyone always trying to get a piece of him. Not a foreign concept to Miguel himself. Miguel grabs his water bottle too, raising it to his mouth. “Who is she?” 

“Her name’s y/n…” 

What?

“...yeah you should meet her… she’s really pretty and smart and funny...” 

What?

Peter keeps talking, tossing a ball to someone else across the bench. Not even registering the look on Miguel’s face. Like shock and something else. Something Miguel himself can’t put a finger on. And Miguel can only half listen to Peter’s words. “She’s head of the tutoring club… did I tell you I started doing that? Dude, I’m getting paid to do some freshman’s homework and get course credit. It's like the easiest shit in the world…” Peter laughs, talking on and on. 

Miguel doesn’t understand. It’s like his brain can’t process this. Staring at Peter silently and waiting for him to say it’s a joke. But how could it be a joke?

“She’s riiiiight… there-” Peter turns, pointing at the stands. Turning stiffly, Miguel looks out to where he’s pointing. His dark eyes searching the stands and looking for your face. Hoping to see some stranger who happens to have the same name as you. But no. It’s you. 

He watches your gaze snap onto them, seeming surprised to have both their attention now. How did he not notice? You’ve been here this whole time, sitting nearly 15 rows behind him and he didn’t know? But Peter knew?

He can’t help that his immediate reaction to seeing you is relief. Seeing you up there and he just wants to smile. Wants to disappear with you and forget this stressful game. You’re like… his best friend in the whole world. But then that relief is quickly quelled when he realizes Peter is the one who invited you, he’s the reason you’re here. 

Miguel huffs. Nearly getting hit in the face when Peter starts waving at you. Stepping back and trying to make sense of this. There you are, waving back their way. What is this? He wonders. Unable to help the scowl that appears on his face as he observes Peter waving. What is this happening that he doesn’t know about or had no idea could even happen? Another bubble has popped and he didn’t even know it. 

He looks back up at you. Your eyes looking his way. But are you looking at him or are you looking at Peter? He hates that he can’t even tell. He hopes it’s him but it’s too much distance to know for sure. He just holds up a hand weakly. Waving at you. Feeling like an idiot, a total fool. And here Peter is waving at you, thinking Miguel doesn’t even know who you are. Fuck.

“Alright boys! Let’s huddle up!” Coach yells, coming over to the bench and motioning for everyone to come over. Peter moves to head over, gently kicking a ball on his way. And Miguel can’t help but keep glancing at you. Feeling self conscious. You’ve been watching him and witnessing all of this, this entire time? He didn’t even know you were here and half of the game had already been played. And all he’s done is stand on the sidelines while Peter played big shot scorer. 

Your hands wave at him, mouthing something he can’t make out. His brow knitting together as you try to communicate something to him before Coach snaps again. 

“O’hara!” 

His eyes snap to the team huddled by the bench. Taking long strides to get over there. But his mind is a mess. He didn’t even know you knew each other. 

The second half, the rest of the game, it’s hard for Miguel to focus on coaching. He’s watching the team play but it’s like a delayed reaction in his mind. Like his body is here but his brain is trying to tap into some invisible signal stretching from you to him. Peter scores again and Miguel flinches at the sound of the stands erupting. Cheering and echoing through his head. Pounding the sides of his skull.

He can’t help but glance your way every chance he gets. But every time he’s able to spot you in the sea of colors and foreign faces, you’re looking at the ball on the field. Which is always in Peter’s possession. And he can’t focus on anything except what he doesn’t know. What he can’t control. 

…

“Wooooo!” Marco hollers, the team gathering in a huddle on the field and celebrating their close victory. They won, but it was a tough game. Miguel stares almost blankly as the team all slaps hands and says good game. And by the time he snaps out of it, turning to find you, the stands are already emptying out and you’re gone from your seat. 

“O’hara!” The team shouts, bringing him out of the mess of thoughts. The players crowding him in celebration on the sidelines. Cheers and loud voices. Talking about moments in the game, highlights, certain techniques that had Princeton on their toes. All in all it was an exciting match and Peter was definitely the savior, scoring more goals than anyone and making the game. And Peter is all smiles. 

The team heads back to the locker room. Showering and warming down from the game. Miguel stands at his locker. His new locker since the punched in door wouldn’t close properly on his old one. Pulling off his jersey carefully with one hand and hanging it up. Wiping down his broad chest with a towel and hearing Peter with some of the boys walking in from the showers. His movements slow, brow furrowing, grabbing his change of clothes and pulling a tank top on, the black material bunching down his toned abdomen against his deep skin. Listening to Peter’s voice. 

His mind races. Since when did you two become such good friends? And why wouldn’t I know you were coming to the game when I saw you all day yesterday? Does Peter know that? Does Peter know we spend countless hours together? Does Peter know we have this deep connection that I’m actually working really hard to repair? He ought to. 

He listens to Peter’s conversation, as if waiting for him to say your name to confirm he’s talking about you. But he can’t make it out all the way. Something about a party, something about his car, something about the game. He watches the rest of the guys leave the locker room. Peter walks by with the guys and he just subtly, silently glares as they pass, not noticing him. pulling his hoodie on and shutting his locker gently. Pulling his phone off the charger and slinging his sports bag over his shoulder, walking out. 

He slumps down the concrete steps, the hallway leading to the exit doors, opening out to the athletic parking lot. Raking a hand through his hair, his mind a mess. He’s not used to feeling so beaten down after a game. They won, he should be happy. He should be glad. But he just feels indifferent. Or he just really needs to see you. 

When the door swings from someone else leaving, he catches a glimpse of you through the opening. The bright lights from outside assault his eyes as the door swings again. Seeing you for just a moment. Just a split second. Talking with Peter against the fence. He stops. What is he walking into? What’s about to change? You’re gonna be there right when he goes through that door. He stands in the dim concrete tunnel, feeling his heart race. He doesn’t like this feeling. This is the loss of control.

“Miguel!” Peter smiles, making you turn to look back. And there he is, walking out the door. You want to just run into his arms and tell him how great he was. Even though he didn't get to play he still coached very well and played his part in the victory. But Peter is talkative and gets in there before you can. And you don't really want to interrupt when he's talking with his friends. Since this is the first time you've been around his friends with him. 

“We’re gonna get drinks, you have to come” Peter says, ushering Miguel over to where you’re standing. “This is y/n… y/n this is Miguel” 

“Yeah we know each other.” Miguel says immediately. Not a hint of a smile on his face. He’s annoyed with Peter. Annoyed that it’s not a known thing. He wants it to be known that you two are an item. Or… that there’s something going on… he’s not even sure of at the moment. At least that Peter should know to back off. “Oh cool, so drinks?” 

Miguel’s a little astonished with how easily Peter just brushed that off. Eyes flicking between you two and hoping to god you don’t accept the drink invite. But he bites his tongue. Friends. Really good… friends. 

“Uh… I don’t know, I’m kinda tired…” You sigh. Part of you not wanting to go since it’s not your normal scene but a bigger part needing to go so you can feel like you’re really one of Miguel’s friends. Not someone he has to hide. That you can get along with them and be a part of his life. That’s all you want to prove to him. 

“Come on… please?” Peter pouts. And Miguel wants to scream. Trying to tell you with his eyes that he doesn’t want to do this. Not right now. Maybe later when he’s had time to mentally prepare himself. It doesn’t help that you look adorable right now. In your Sterling Uni hoodie with a scarf to keep warm. He doesn’t want to do this. He’d rather just go to dinner. Like always. Talk for hours and maybe even fall asleep talking in your dorm like always. Not this. Please not this. 

His eyes burning a hole right through you, trying to communicate it without using the words since he can’t right now, not with Peter standing right there. Part of him wants you to come and show you off. The other part of him wants you all to himself, not wanting to share you with anyone. But he’s trying to be better. Trying to control himself rather than try to control everything else around him. 

“It would be fun, right Miguel?” Peter asks, bringing him out of his thoughts. He wants to say no. Wants to say fuck no and disappear, taking you with him. But he can’t do that now. So he just nods stiffly, forcing a smile. Almost painfully. “Yeah… come…” 

Your eyes light up and Miguel knows he’s done for. “Oh great!” You smile and Peter is instantly excited too. Talking about how great it’s going to be and how many people will be there. Miguel’s heart is pounding, seeing how easily Peter was able to get you to come. How Peter is smiling and looking at you. A sense of dread filling his chest.

It’s the usual bar. The college bar around the corner from campus where the sports teams usually congregate after a game. Or the general student body on a Friday night. Loud music and conversation, the place is packed. Football and UFC playing on the multitude of TVs hanging in the place. The team filters in all acting like they own this place. Playing pool and getting drinks, talking to girls in corners and at the bar. It’s a crazy night at least for you. Miguel’s seen nights like this before, but this time you’re here. And he won’t let you out of his sight. Even as people talk to him, trying to strike up conversation and catch up. Since everyone knows who he is and knows his name. He still keeps his attention focused on you. He doesn’t care about anyone else in this bar tonight. 

Drinks flow the second everyone is in there, laughter and loud voices, trying to be heard over the music. Miguel keeps his arm barred at your side to help get you through the density of people. Like a shield to make sure no one bumps into you. Not wanting you to be too claustrophobic or crowded. Staying nearby until you find two seats at the bar miraculously. As you sit down, Miguel quickly scans the room. Looking for one face in particular. No sign of Dana and he can relax a tiny bit. Sliding into his stool seat beside you. 

He sits down, watching how you observe the place, looking a little out of your element here. It’s clear you’re not a party girl. You’re a smart, intelligent tutor and it shows. It would almost be comical if Miguel didn’t have a fierce determination to protect you in this place. 

He leans over, getting closer to your ear to be heard over the noise. The smell of your shampoo mixed with your perfume, so close and familiar, filling his senses and almost making him dizzy. His mind flashing with moments of you in his bed. Your body under his and his face buried in your soft sweet smelling hair. He’s the only one in this bar that knows what you sound like when you come.

“Drink… Do you want a drink?” He asks, trying to be heard over the noise, his cheek brushing against yours. Pulling back to hear your response. “Yeah! Whatever is fine…” You smile, trying to speak over the chaos of people and stimulation. A bit out of your element but doing fine. Excited to be here with him and feel like you’re fitting into his world. 

He gets the bartender's attention, ordering you just a beer in a bottle. He doesn’t know if you’d want anything fruity, not that this crappy bar would have anything that good anyway. He’s never drunk with you before. He slides it over to you, watching you take a gulp and smile. You’re so out of your element here. He sighs. A swell in his chest. 

Even though he would normally be drinking a couple beers himself, he just has water in front of him. He wants to stay relatively sober. Enough to keep watch over you and make sure no one else talks to you. “Oh, I thought you were gonna get the same thing…” You chuckle, leaning your elbows on the bar and watching him sipping his water from a plastic cup. 

“Someone needs to be responsible for all these people right?” He chuckles. As captain of the team he actually does feel that responsibility. To keep people in line since he knows they’ll listen to him. “And I need to be sober if I’m carrying you out of this place drunk off your ass…” He jokes, teasing you. 

“I’m not getting drunk tonight, no way. No thank you…” You sigh, shaking your head. Looking down at the label on the bottle in your hand. Then your eyes dart around the crowded room a few times. He just looks at your face. You’re so pretty. Especially pretty in this low light. 

“Well how is the beer at least? I know it’s not something sweet but it’s probably the best thing they have here.” He huffs, keeping his eyes on you, studying you. He’d love to just be all over you and show people that you’re his. But you’re not right now. You’re his friend and that’s the boundary you both set. He’s trying his best to uphold that after his mistakes. “It’s fine… I don’t ever drink much anyway so I’m not picky…” 

He nods. Learning more about you all the time. The two of you have never been out to a bar or club before so this is all brand new. He can see how you’re a little nervous in this place. It’s not your usual hangout spot and he can tell. “Yeah, this place is pretty chaotic tonight…” He comments, looking around then back at you. “You’re okay though, right?” 

“Yeah I’m fine…” You smile. Clasping your hands in your lap. He’s attentive, more recently than ever. It’s true that he’s become like your best friend over the last month and a half. Even though it hasn’t been that long, it’s felt like a lifetime. And with how much time you spend together, it still feels like he separates you from a lot of the other parts of his life. Friends, family, everything else. You spot Peter across the way standing with some people. The only other person you even know in this place. 

Miguel follows your gaze over towards where Peter is and he can't help but wonder why you're looking at Peter or what you're thinking. He looks at the group of people around him, recognizing teammates and classmates, but notices Peter in particular.He tries to remain cool, looking back at you. "He's a great friend… isn't he… "

He says it with a little bit of annoyance in his voice, thinking about how you two have gotten really close as friends and he didn't even know it.

"Yeah he's really sweet," You smile, not really noticing his expression. You want Miguel to know that you can get along with his friends too and you can be a part of his life. "He's funny…"

His brow twitches just a bit. He doesn't know how to feel about the fact that you two are friends in and out of the tutoring club. And that you’re calling him sweet. And funny. He knows how charismatic and charming Peter is, knowing he could get any girl he wants. "He always gets the girls…  he's quite the flirt…" He mumbles.

"Oh really?" You smile and scrunch your nose up, looking back at Peter and seeing that yes, there are many girls around him right now. And he must be very popular with the girls, you think. You hadn't really noticed that Peter was a flirt but you think he's charming. Maybe you're just so focused on being his friend to prove to Miguel you can be part of his friend group.

Miguel can feel his patience slipping. How you seem so oblivious to the fact that Peter is a huge flirt and that Peter was flirting with you earlier when he invited you to the bar. But he's been Peter's friend for years, of course he knows the girls flock around him. It just annoys him that you’re completely oblivious to it. He watches you watching Peter across the room, trying not to let it show on his face how frustrated he is.

"How's your hand?" You ask, taking a sip from your bottle. Gesturing towards his cast in his lap. Trying to talk over the noise in the room. The topic change gives him some relief. Grateful to think about something other than the image of Peter taking you home tonight. He lifts his hand, flexing a few fingers. "It's fine. Doesn't really hurt much right now. It's a good reminder to not lose my cool again… "

"Yeah, that locker room hates to see you comin’…" You joke with a smile. Shaking your head. Punched his locker like some guy in a movie.

Miguel can't help but smile, knowing you’re referring to him punching the front of his locker like a crazy person. He sighs, knowing it was stupid and a loss of control. "That locker had it coming though…"

You laugh at his words, his eyes lighting up watching your head throw back a bit. The fluttering sound of your laughter carrying slightly over the noise in the room and hitting his ears. He wants to make you laugh like that all the time. Make you smile like this every day. And  Peter works his way through the room over to the bar. 

"There you guys are! I thought I lost you…" Peter's face lights up when he gets closer, excited to see his best friend and you, the pretty tutor. He stands behind both your chairs putting his hands on the backs of them. Miguel’s eyes flick back-and-forth between you two. You're still oblivious. Smiling at Peter like you don't know what he's doing. Every instinct inside of him telling him to make Peter back off. But he's trying to be better for you. Trying not to lose control or act impulsive. 

"Spending the night bragging, are you?" You smile and tease Peter lightly. Leaning over the back of your chair. He did score a lot of the winning goals tonight. Peter laughs and loves any attention from you. Miguel can only listen and watch this interaction between the two of you. It's like a nightmare come to life. And he's feeling claustrophobic in this crowded place with all these people. He just wants to take your hand and go back to campus, go back to your dorm, go back to the library.

"Well you all played very well…" You hum. Looking between the two boys. You can't help but notice Miguel’s body language. Thinking he must just be upset that he didn't get to play because of his cast. But he did very well on the sidelines. 

"Peter here was especially on his game today. Princeton is tough…" Miguel says with tension in his tone, finally joining in on the conversation. His eyes flicking between the two of you but landing on you mostly. Watching your reaction to Peter's words.

"It's all in the foot work really. Reading the opponent… Gotta think about 10 steps ahead." Peter says with a grin, in his element. Miguel has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. As much as he loves Peter, he wants him to fuck off right now.

You giggle softly at Peter's joke and his obvious love for attention. Loving the way you can so casually hang out with Miguel and his friends for the first time ever. Miguel clenches his jaw, sipping his water and trying to keep his cool. You take a sip of your beer finding it's the last one, putting the empty bottle back on the bar. It seems both boys take notice. 

"Can I get you another? "Peter asks, His eyes lighting up.

“Um…" You're thinking. You don't really do this that often and you're finally getting to hang out with Miguel and his friends. What the hell… "Sure!"

Peter flashes that charming smile at you and Miguel can feel his control slipping again. Now he's buying you drinks? 

"I got it." Miguel suddenly says, waving to the bartender for another round. If anyone's getting you drunk tonight, it's gonna be him. So he can make sure you're okay. “Okayyy…” Peter huffs softly, raising his brow at Miguel’s rivalry. But Miguel doesn’t care. Grabbing the fresh cold beer bottle and sliding it over the bar in front of you. Looking back up at Peter, a stern expression on his face. 

Over the next hour and your next two beers, Peter just won’t go away. He’s practically hanging on your chair, talking to you about whatever. And because you’re so nice and sweet you just keep giving into him. Smiling at Miguel too like you want him to be in on the conversation. But it just makes him feel worse somehow. Is he really losing you to Parker? Is that how this is gonna go? 

“So… you guys are like best friends?” You ask, your words slightly slurred, cheeks pink and flushed. You’re tipsy and Miguel’s watching you like a hawk. Your beer shined lips as you smile up at Peter. So damn cute and pretty. “We are… best friends…” Peter says in a cocky way. Grabbing Miguel’s shoulder and shaking it a few times, a beer in his other hand. Miguel might be the only sober one in this place and it’s getting annoying. 

He fidgets with the same fray on his cast, pulling on it and pulling on it. Watching you talk to Peter. Forcing a smile when you look his way. It’s getting unbearable. Eyes flicking around the crowded room and just wanting to get out of here. 

“One more round?” Peter asks and Miguel groans internally. You’re both drunk, everybody is drunk and he just wants to get you back somewhere it’s safer. Peter gets to chatting loudly with some other people down the bar.

“Do you wanna leave?” You lean over, getting closer to Miguel, right up to his face and he just gives you a soft look. Admiring your pretty flushed features. He can see you’ve been having fun. “No, I’m good, we can stay if you want…” He hums gently. 

“Don’t lie, Mig…” You whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear over the noise. And his brow knits together, hearing the nickname, your soft warm voice, wanting to reach out and brush your hair back, kiss your pretty pink lips. Anything. “I’m a little tired…” He admits. And even in your tipsy state, you know it’s time to go. 

“Let’s go then… it’s too loud…” You sigh, a distracted Peter now talking loudly with Marco and Miller down the bar. Relief, Miguel thinks. He does really want to make sure you get back to your dorm okay. 

…

“Wai-I ‘ave a question…” You slur, hanging onto him and pressed up against his chest as he’s trying to get you over to bed. His big strong arms around you and it feels so good, feels so right. What you’ve been missing all this time and now it just feels like everything is perfect and everything is good and… and your tongue still tastes like beer and… and he smells so good. 

“Yeah, what's your question?” He asks so soft and gently. His voice is like smooth melted butter mixed with sweet brown sugar. Bringing you over to your bed and sitting you down on the edge. Making sure you don’t topple over. “Hold still, I’m gonna take your shoes off…” 

“D’you think… that… um…” You sigh, the alcohol clouding everything making you instantly forget what you were about to ask him. But the thought is mixing around your brain just waiting to come out. After all, it’s all you were thinking about all night. “M-my shoe is stuck”

“I know, I’m trying to get it off…” He sighs, unable to stop the smile when he hears your little whine. You are pretty cute like this and he likes helping you. Kneeling down in front of you and taking your shoe onto his knee to undo the laces, slipping it off.

“Do you think that… all your friends… that they like-like it?” You sigh, wiggling your toes in your socks as he slides your shoe off. His hands on your calves, absentmindedly caressing up and down, having you in his hands like this is too good to pass up, but he looks up at you at your question. His brow furrowing, wondering what you mean. “Do they like what,-?” He almost called you baby right there. But stopped himself. Maybe it’s just being like this with you right now. Being close and finally being needy for his help, needing him in any way. Or the way you seem so soft and fragile right now he just wants to protect you. 

“That they like me…” You sigh. Pushing a hand through your hair and he pulls your other shoe off, your feet freeing and legs dangling off the side of the bed. 

He looks up at you, piecing together your broken sentence. Do his friends like you? Peter? 

“Like P-peter… does Peter like me?” You ask and his expression goes serious. Swallowing thickly and setting your shoes to the side. He knows the answer. He knows that Peter obviously has a thing for you. It’s becoming more clear you have a thing for him too. 

Miguel straightens back up, standing over you and listening to your drunken rambling. Your mumbles. “Cuz I think Peter is really nice and I think you and I can be friends… and I can be friends with your friends too…”��

He doesn’t understand what you mean. Towering over you and feeling so blocked up. Like he’s miles away from where he wants to be with you. He wants you to want him. Not think about Peter. 

“Uh… I think Peter likes you, yeah…” He mumbles. Looking down at your face. The way it lights up and his heart falls. “Really? So we can all be friends?” 

His heart hurts, looking in your eyes. So confused, not knowing what to think. But wishing he could just kiss you right now and make your thoughts stop. Or to fill your thoughts with him. If he kissed you right now would you forget Peter ever existed? If he kissed you right now, if he laid you down and pumped into you until you were a crying trembling moaning mess like all those times before, would you forget Peter and think about him again? 

“I’m sweating…” You huff, moving to get up off the bed and his arms come to steady you. “Woah woah slow down, sweetheart…” The words ooze off his lips. His hands guide you before you reassure him you can walk. He huffs, watching you walk over to your closet. He sits down on the edge of your bed, head in his hands. Feeling pathetic and so lost. Not even knowing what to do at this point. Has he actually lost you for good? Will he actually only ever be your friend now?

You’re sweating, pulling at the material of your hoodie and ripping it off over your head. Slipping your pants off and sighing in relief. Standing in your panties and bra by the dresser and looking for some comfy clothes. Your mind filled with the thoughts of being Miguel’s again. You’re friends with his friends like any girlfriend would be. So what’s stopping him? What’s stopping both of you from just being together again? Since you’ve proven to him, you can fit in. 

“Miguel…” You hum, his head coming out of his hands and looking up at you. Eyes widening seeing you in just your underwear. Gulping thickly. “Yes?” He whispers. Like beckoning to your call. Like a plea for you to just put him out of his misery already. 

You walk over to him, trying to half haphazardly pull on a big t-shirt. His hands unable to stop themselves, coming up to help pull the material down. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing. This all just makes him feel somehow worse. Your body taunting him, teasing him with everything he needs and no way to get it. 

Your hips slot between his legs, standing between them and getting closer. Fingers clenching into his shirt and smashing your lips against his. His fingers splay out, shock and surprise. His eyes wide and heart seemingly stops. You’re… kissing him… you…

Heavy breath through his nose and his eyes flutter closed. Kissing you back, feeling your eager tongue tasting like alcohol come into his mouth. Letting it swirl against his lips and his tongue. His big hands snaking around you, holding you for the first time like this in so long. You gasp and hum against his lips and a chill goes down his back. He must be dreaming. 

But your hands go to his chest, pushing him back on the bed, and he’s so weak to you. His back hitting the mattress. He wants this so badly. Wants you more than anything in the entire world. You climb on top of him, clambering over his body, sitting on his abdomen and leaning down to kiss him again. 

“Wait-”

He’s silenced by your lips, trying to be dominant and licking into his mouth. You never did that before. That was always him. But right now it’s like you’re hungry for him in the exact same way he was hungry for you all this time. 

“I need you…” You whisper, pulling back from his lips with a smack. His eyes wide and breath heaving. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and yet it’s not right at all. “No baby… you need to go to sleep… you’re drunk…” He whispers, feeling so weak, his hands running up your warm bare thighs, like medicine. His cast is slightly scratchy on your thigh. Finally your body on his, your warmths feeding off of each other. 

“No please… say you want me, please you have to, don’t you want to?” You whine. Leaning over him and kissing his cheek, burying your face in his neck. He’s speechless. Doesn’t know what to say or think. He thought you were done all this time. He thought you were pining after Parker. 

“I want you… I do want you…” He whispers before his mind can even think. His hands falling from your thighs and flat on the bed. It feels wrong to touch you this way. His love for you overshadows his own selfish need. You won’t remember this in the morning. 

You won’t remember this in the morning. 

“I love you…” He whispers. Into your hair. Choking back a lump in his throat. 

“Mm?” You groan, pushing yourself up drunkenly on your hands, your hair dangling into his face under you. 

“Nothing…” He whispers. Swallowing thickly and wrapping his arms around you again. Pulling you to his chest and hugging you. Keeping you there, knowing you’ll pass out in a few minutes anyway and he can tuck you into bed safe and sound. 

To be continued…

Reblogs and comments very much appreciated!! Let me know what you think or your theories!

Taglist (thank you my sweets 🍬) :

@miguels-cock-piercings @queerponcho @club-danger-zone @bossva @softcrayon

@nommingonfood @bruhhvv

@jessies-unrelagated-thoughts @mauvecherie-writes @haveclayeveryday @kimivixen

@jadeloverxd @chiikasevennn @mvlanchqly @resident-cryptid

@x0tw0d57 @vampyboys @miguelspriscilla

@francesca-the-1st @migueloharasbbm @razertail18 @laysmt

@tojiragdoll @maiyart @wazawazooo @mun-2996 @marshhbs

@curious-randomlr @safixiovi @daddyfroglegs @theplaid-wearingmoose @reader-1290

@yeanika @elysiumsangel @rinnako @mangoslushcrush @twwcs

@izakopanyi2 @migueloharasoulmate @slut4oscarissac23

@miss-loomis @genny101

@aphinthestars @webshooterrr9 @m4dyy

@jdbxws @roserfz27 @ohara-whore @oharaslove @daisy-artfield

@mooreaey6yem @peachey-pie @migueloharacumslut @pxtched

@yougavemeyourheartyouknow @julia4today

[fox-mulder-gets-pegged]

I'm going to kill all my irl friends. You are all gonna see me on the fucking news.

[mrpenguinpants]

Hypothetical question but are we still into windbreaker (nii satoru)? Y'all cool if I put my hyper fixation on center stage?

[luck-of-the-drawings]

THE ORDER OF PALMS An order of holy folk that serve The Helm, working to create powerful Aasimar Paladins for the purpose of protecting any who hire their help. [BACKSTORY UNDER CUT]

One day, Gjör and her peers were lead by their mentor Opheria, to a mission far from their home. On the peak of that mountain village, they saw upon the horizon, the castle of their home go up in flames. Horrified and scared, the apprentices sought to follow their mentors guidance, and followed her lead into a small barn. It was there, that Opheria proceeded to slaughter each and everyone of the apprentices. It seemed she somehow had a hand in this sudden attack on the Order of Palms. Gjör D'annevual survived a sword through the 'heart', on account of a rare condition, that places her heart on the other side of her chest. When she finally managed to bring herself back home, the Order was insulted by her survival. She had so many better peers, why couldn't any of them have survived? This runt was seriously the only thing that survived Opherias wrath? It was better to just wash their hands clean of this. Thus the Order decided to banish Gjör from their ranks. She now travels the land in search of a purpose.

[lizzerswillpoststuffmethinks]

Spoiler: I didn't go to sleep. But I will shortly after this post

[dullahandyke]

and like sidenote if i can make a post with a target audience of zero. i feel like fhsy was to d20 what aa3 was to ace attorney but aa3 pulled it off better for reasons i cannot explain