#i wrote this in october and forgot???

[sexynetra]

“I… wow, you look incredible.”  with boxer au

Hi I just found this fully written in my drafts from the end of October and I never posted it???? Anyways idk if you remember sending this ask but :) here you go :)

~~~~~

read on Ao3

“You know, you really aren’t allowed to request specific nurses. This is an emergency room,” Marcia said as she stepped inside the hospital room, eyes skimming the chart in her hands. “You can if you’re as cute as I am. Or maybe it was my annoying persistence that finally wore them down. Not sure which.” Marcia finally looked up at the now-familiar voice, a soft smile on her lips. Over the past month, Anetra had come to the emergency room for a variety of cuts and bruises, and each time, she had managed to finagle her way into having Marcia take care of her. It didn’t hurt that Anetra had endeared herself to the rest of the staff there over her many visits. She opened her mouth to make some snarky reply before her brain caught up to the sight before her. Most of the time when Anetra came in, she was in workout gear, clearly coming straight from whatever fight she had been at. But this time, she looked ready for a night on the town. Her hair, albeit messy, had been curled and pinned into an updo, her skimpy dress left little to the imagination, and her already pretty face was even more striking with the addition of carefully applied makeup. Marcia had seen a million drunk incidents, a million club and partygoers dressed up for a fun night who ended up in her care. But none of them held a candle to the still-smirking girl sitting in front of her. “I… wow, you look incredible. Um. I mean. What brought you here anyways? You don’t seem to be in distress, and I can't see any visible injuries,” Marcia swallowed, trying to get herself back on track. This was a professional setting, after all. She needed to do her job, not drool over a pretty girl. “I was out dancing and there was a guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I had to resort to using my right hook to get my message across,” Anetra said, mirth in her tone. “Okay. Did you land it wrong? What’s bothering you?” Marcia asked as she stepped closer, motioning for Anetra to hold out her hand. Anetra extended her right hand delicately and Marcia carefully took it in her own, moving the hand gently as she watched for Anetra’s reactions. Anetra winced slightly as Marcia tilted her hand up. “I didn’t have a great angle, my wrist is feeling kind of sore.” “The wrist is a delicate joint, I can imagine it isn’t comfortable. It doesn’t seem like it's broken, though. And you really don’t need the ER for anything less than a break,” Marcia glanced up, catching Anetra’s knowing smirk. “You already knew that though, didn’t you? You probably know perfectly well what a broken wrist feels like.” “It may not be broken, but it still hurts. Think you could kiss it better?” Anetra fluttered her eyelashes. “Did you seriously come to the Emergency Room without a real injury? I think this might be the most expensive way anyone has ever tried to flirt with me.” “Is it working?” Marcia’s tongue darted over her lips as she stared at the woman sitting in front of her, the woman she had met just one month ago but who had become a constant in her life already, just through her ER visits. “I’ll let you know if it's working or not when I get off my shift in an hour. Maybe over some late-night diner food,” Marcia smiled, squeezing her hand before letting go and stepping back. “I have some other patients to check on, but if you want to wait in the lobby, I can come find you after.” Anetra hummed, pushing herself to her feet and smoothing her hands down her dress. “We’ll make quite the duo.” She winked and blew her a kiss before walking out of the room. Marcia leaned against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment. The next hour was going to feel like an eternity.

[mikhardwheat]

Dustin is the only one who can communicate with a cursed man, who turned into a bat. Can be read without context, I suppose?

Steve is hanging out at Dustin's house (he gets lonely). Dustin does his hw, pointedly ignoring how Steve is petting the bat he told him multiple times is actually a human being.

Steve: I think, he likes me

Dustin:

Steve: don't you look cute, little thing

Steve: come here, come to da-

Dustin immediately turns in his chair. Steve stills under his glare, refusing to look his way.

Dustin: don't you dare finish that sentence

Steve: but-

Dustin: it's a grown-up man you're holding

Steve: he doesn't mind?

Steve looks at his chest, where the bat is plastered, wings all over his shirt.

Steve: you don't mind, do you?

The bat nods eagerly.

Steve: see?

Dustin: I have a better question for you

Dustin: do you hear?

Steve: now, that's just rude

Dustin: I'm not talking about your hearing, dumbass

Dustin: I'm talking about the Bat's thoughts

Dustin: do you hear them?

Steve: no?..

Dustin: obviously.

Steve looks at Dustin, then at the bat, then again at Dustin.

Steve: what's he's thinking about now?

Dustin: he...

Dustin:

Dustin: DUDE.

Steve jumps, the bat leaves his chest to sit at the Dustin's desk. It does some weird moves with its wings, clearly arguing about something.

Dustin: I don't care

Bat does some wiggling.

Dustin: keep it in your fucking non-existent pants

Bat looks warily Steve's way for a moment. Dustin's arms are now crossed over his chest and he looks pissed.

Steve: what's happening?

Dustin: nothing

He makes a pause, clearly listening to the bat.

Dustin: don't touch him anymore

Bat stills.

Steve: why

Dustin: I'm just repeating his words

For some reason, Steve's expression changes.

Steve: I- I just assumed he liked it too

Steve: I'm sorry I didn't ask for permission

Dustin: it's not-

Steve: I didn't mean to make him uncomfortable, I'm sorry

Dustin: Steve-

Steve: I- I probably should go, sorry aga-

Dustin: STEVE

He only now notices the bat crawling up his shirt. He stops in the middle of standing up to cup a hand around it, so it won't fall.

Dustin: you didn't make him uncomfortable

Dustin: the only one who's uncomfortable here is me

Steve: I'm not sure I follow?

Dustin: you make him... happy?

Steve: you mean, he likes me?

Dustin: I mean "he wants to fuck you", but close enough

Steve: oh.

[sosadraws]

Sometimes I do this thing where before starting a new piece of media, I write down my impressions for the plot and characters based on it's fandom. This was the one for SIGNALIS

[icedmetaltea]

WHY DOES AO3 HAVE TO DELETE DRAFTS AFTER A MERE 30 DAYS, IF AT ALL. LIKE WHAT IS THE P O I N T

[mcalhenwrites]

A year spent together, as always Year of the OTP prompts for Hazel/Ferdinand August: Storm (Yes, I'm behind on these, blame Seasons for the distraction!)

“You’re going to be kind to the person I love most in the world,” scolds Ferdinand. “You are doing your best, and your job and family make everything much harder for you. We have a beautiful house and this warm bed thanks to you, and you are a lovely boy. My lovely boy.”

[poemtrans]

cold is an old feeling

warm is always, always new

hope is born every burning sunrise

but when it sets in the wind shift

we bury a grandfather

and not an infant

nor a child; and yet

it still finds it's way

into the grave

/

yes, flower bloomes always seem to surprise;

you never quite remember what it's like to be warm

but then the cold sets in, and we know

this was always where those flowers were heading

sweetly, warmly, fondly, and aching

into their ancient grave-wombs

/

warm is an ancient birth

cold is a infant's sickness

— cold is an old feeling @poemtrans

[sinsistersin]

wow wait my periods has never been this fast after each other, will they actually turn normal and happen at a normal rate 👀👀👀

[australieh]

thoughts from a rainy day in october

something about being a Canadian in Australia during October is that I am absolutely craving comfy fall food. I want to curl up in a blanket on the couch with a bowl of potato leek soup and watch gilmore girls all evening long. I want to roast brussel sprouts and broccolini and squash, and drink warm cups of bone broth. it probably doesn't help that I am sick right now, or that the temperature hasnt been above 20 in a while. I can't believe I am saying it but 15 degrees is actually quite cold! the sea breeze (nick-named the “Fremantle Doctor” by locals) comes in around 2pm every day and chills you to the bone, whether you're in the sun or not. the buildings don't really have windows, the walls are made of brick and the floor is concrete tile. you want it that way considering you would get baked to death in the summer without those features. however, it makes for quite a cold, dark environment- especially when you're spending 5 days in a row home sick.

so, here I am. walking to the store to buy a million vegetables and throw them in the oven slicked in oil and tossed in garlic, thyme and rosemary. there might be a day in the future where vegetables don't excite me as much they have since I worked in organic produce, but I have not yet encountered it. I hope I never do! I walk into the produce section and spend easily 20 minutes inspecting the vegetables. purple cauliflower, asparagus on sale, 3 varietals of bok choy; don't even get me started on the citrus or we’ll be here all day. weird or not, browsing through the colourful sections of apples and kales and onions brings my soul a crazy amount of joy. 

these days, the joys I find in small things feel much more important. I am in my fourth year of being away from home, and I have always found ways to bring home to me through food. when I am sick, as I am now, I make what my mom has called “St. Anne’s Soup” since I was probably 10 years old. stirring the pot of chicken broth, canned tomatoes and mirepoix, I feel the same warm feeling in my chest that shows up when I am pulling in to her driveway. every christmas I make shortbread cookies, also my mom’s recipe. when I bite into them I feel I could be 13 again, sitting at the table with my sister after dinner at memere and pepere’s house. I keep my bread in the freezer and microwave it so the butter melts and the edges are crispy, just like we ate at my grandma’s house when she picked us up from school. every time I order pizza I put my fingers to my lips, kiss them and exclaim ‘foccacia!” in my worst italian accent. I eat it on the couch with the tv on and laugh loudly at a stupid movie, and it’s like my dad is sitting next to me. these little joys, and the memories that come with them, they help fill the spot in my heart thats missing home. they make the rainy days warm and full of light.

[v0rpalsword]

On Calling Out Antisemitism... in the Crossword

So I like to do crosswords. It's fun, sometimes I learn random facts, it exercises my brain, and that jolt of satisfaction when I figure out the gimmick brightens my day. I usually do it on the Washington Post, which is the same as the LA Times, mainly because it's free (though these days I pay for the WP in large part because I like Alexandra Petri's pieces, but I digress.)

So there I am, working on the Sunday crossword at work on a quiet Monday morning, and the clue is "sanctimonious sort." Could be many things, I skip it and continue. Slowly, as I get some of the crosses, I say to myself, "surely this isn't going to be 'pharisee'. I'm gonna be so mad if the answer is 'pharisee.'"

The answer was Pharisee.

If you don't know why that's a problem, in brief: The Pharisees were the precursors to modern Rabbinic Judaism, and that word has been used by those enacting violence upon us for centuries-- throughout blood libels, Inquisition, crusades, expulsions, etc. When "pharisee" means "sanctimonious, hypocritical, self-righteous, etc." and "pharisee" also means "Jew" even of the historic variety, it tends to be extremely bad news for the actual living Jews of whatever era it is.

So I wrote the editors of the LA Times and the Washington Post, and I said so. I told them about the history of the term. I told them that at a time when antisemitism across the United States is rising alarmingly, it is, at best, deeply irresponsible of the newspapers to allow this insidious conflation of Judaism with moral corruption and hypocrisy to appear in what ought to be a light-hearted game.

And you know what? I got a response from the LA Times within hours apologizing for the harm and saying they'd reached out to the crossword writing company to discuss it. I got a response from the acquisitions editor, who had spoken with the crossword editor, conveying their sincere apologies, saying that they were unaware of the antisemitic implications of the term, and they would never intentionally cause harm. They thanked me for bringing it to their attention, and also thanked me for my suggestion of an alternate clue ("Contemporary of Jesus").

We on Jumblr and in the Jewish community offline have spent so much time talking our throats hoarse and our typing fingers sore about the harms of antisemitism, especially since October 7. I know many of us are feeling frustrated, burnt out, and hopeless. We start to wonder what the point is, when none of it seems to be making a dent. I almost didn't send that email. I almost let it go. I let myself be distracted by work, forgot about it for a week or so until something reminded me and I got angry all over again, and then I sent off an email that I expected to be buried in the inbox to maybe get a response in a month or so, because even if it never got read, at least I knew I had written it. But it did get read, and it got shared with the relevant people, and they cared.

Sometimes people listen. Sometimes they learn. Sometimes, all it takes is one person saying "hey, this hurt me."

I'm taking the win today.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Moves

Hozier x fem!reader

Author's note: loosely based off Suki Waterhouse's Moves. It was also supposed to be SMUT, but apparently that wasn't meant to be.

Author's note 2: y'all I meant to post this earlier but got distracted.

Summary: Y/n has had feelings for Andrew for a while now, and she's pretty sure he feels the same. Can one night change everything?

Warnings: unrequited love, but also, more requited than not.

She likes him – maybe its a little more than like, at this point. She adores the colour of his eyes, the way they’re green when its bright out, but then when they meet at dimly lit pubs or he hangs around late at night and neither of them bothers to turn on an overhead light, they’re this dark, hazel hue. She is thrilled by his laugh – not the polite courtesy chuckle he spares when someone tells a joke that isn’t even funny – she means that full bodied sound that erupts from his throat when they’re watching that one episode of that one show, the way he rocks backwards a little and rests his hand over his chest. And there’s something about the way he says her name too, that makes Y/n giddy inside, especially when she picks up his call late at night, while he’s on tour and the rest of the band is asleep but he can’t seem to keep his eyes shut without her voice being the last thing he hears before doing it.

Andrew told her that once;

"I don't think I could sleep if I tried....I need to talk to you first. Hear your voice so I can just...."

"Just what?"

He paused, hesitating, "nothing, I just like the way you sound. That's all."

Y/n could have sworn that it would have been the call that changed everything. She'd held her breath until around two am, when he finally yawned and said he was going to try to get some sleep.

He must feel the same, Y/n determined shortly after that. Because friends don’t sling their long arms around your shoulders, or kiss your forehead right after pulling you against them.

Friends don’t have moments where their lips get so close to the other’s that it won’t expend any real effort to make them to touch.

Andrew was the one to pull away that night and apologize profusely before blaming it on the liquor. She’s never told him, but she wishes he hadn’t. She thinks about it so painfully often that she swears the memory is burning a hole into her heart – the ache of what could've been, but isn’t.

Y/n is thinking about it tonight. They’re sitting on Andrew's back porch, a bottle of wine shared between them. The backyard is illuminated by the light over the wide, glass door that separates his kitchen from the deck, and the blue hued, inground lights that give the pool that sits between his house and the foliage bordering the woods a glacial glow. Off in the distance, she can hear crickets and the occasional rustle of some other, nocturnal creature moving through the trees.

The mood would be entirely romantic if it weren’t for the smell of barbeque and booze clinging to the thick, humid air. It's why they’re outside; its unusually warm and sticky for an Irish October, but Andrew has informed her its becoming typical for this time of the year. He also said that being outside helps, but Y/n thinks that was just an excuse for them to sit outside in hopes that the fresh air would sober them up.

But she doesn’t particularly mind – even if she’s been bitten by a couple mosquitoes.

Everyone else is long gone, and he'd asked her to stay back for a few more drinks while she helped him cram leftovers into his fridge. Its not unusual for her to be the only one left at his place – or vise versa – so Y/n is used to being alone in Andrew’s presence. In fact, she thinks she prefers when its just the pair of them, occupying a quiet space saying nothing but whatever pops into their somewhat inebriated minds;

“I read this poem that made me think of you.”

“I bought you a jacket, but I forgot to pack it.”

“Have you read that book I told you about?”

“Would you read this thing I wrote?” He asks after a couple hours of them going around in circles of menial chatter. Of late, everything Andrew writes is about her, and while he’s thought of telling her that more times than he can count, he can't seem to force the words out of his mouth. It isn’t even that he’s intimidated by her – that would be far too uncomplicated for an overthinker of his caliber. No.

He could never be intimidated by Y/n anyway; he’s known her for too long, too well. She’s the person that puts him most at ease; his heart doesn’t quicken when she touches his arm the way she’s touching it now as she says, “Of course, I’d love to.” In fact, the tick in his chest slows when she does that, he isn't nervous or worried or anything, he's just…. happy. And though her hands are usually so cold, Andrew swears there’s a tingle permeating the thin fabric of his grey Henley when she touches him.

Their eyes meet as Y/n promises to read what he’s written and she finds herself drawing in a shallow breath. There’s something else on the barest top of her liquor-stained tongue, but its refusing to break past her lips;

“I’ll read anything you write. I’d do anything for you, really.”

“Great, great,” Andrew beams suddenly, straightening his back before standing with purpose. “I’m gonna get it, wait here.” He doesn’t wait for Y/n to respond, not even with a nod, before disappearing into the house.

While he’s gone, Y/n tops off those sleek, stemless wine glasses with the remainder of the chilled Sauvignon Blanc and takes a sip of hers, hoping it’ll help combat the sticky heat that’s surrounding the property. She knows she probably shouldn't have anymore; her head is already fuzzy and there’s that tell tale film over her eyes. The one that makes lights stretch out like shooting stars and makes you feel like you're walking through a dream. Andrew must not be any better either, because he stumbled over all too familiar steps on his way back into the house.

“Got it,” he announces as he returns to the patio, raising the notebook over the head in triumph. Andrew is less than graceful when he retires next to her again, dropping the book into her lap. After a lengthy sip of his wine, he leans back onto his elbows. “It's the last thing in there,” his cheeks heat up, the dusty red colour creeping up his cheeks, towards his ears.

He’s a funny sort of drunk; chatty and able to make a joke of literally anything. He’s flirty too, yet somehow retaining his usual reserve. When they venture to pubs, he’ll flirt his way right into a one night stand without even realizing it, and then slink back to her side, rattling off an excuse involving the words, “ehm, well, she isn’t really my type.”

“Yeah? What is your type?” She’d ask, eyes challenging him.

He’ll look at her for a bit longer than usual, squirting his eyes a little as his waning smile fades completely. “Doesn’t matter,” he’ll eventually say dismissively, covering his words with a swing of his drink before changing the topic.

“Its not finished yet,” he mumbles as Y/n finds the page.

“It looks finished,” Y/n frowns, looking down at the way he’s signed the bottom of the page, the way he usually does after scrawling out the final words.

Andrew shakes his head, “ehm, I mean….the idea. I’m not done with the idea.”

“Oh.” They lapse into easy silence when she starts reading, meticulously scanning every line, barely restraining herself from ghosting her thumb over his hurried, untidy penmanship. Y/n can feel Andrew’s eyes on her as she reads. He's still laid back and propped on one elbow as he steadily sips his wine while she tries to get her hazy mind to comprehend everything on the page.

Its a love song or a profession – or she’s pretty fucking drunk and has lost all ability to to comprehend words.

No, its definitely a confession. A beautifully written one. Of course everything he writes is always much akin to poetry; but with this, every word is strung together like tiny bulbs in a reel of fairy lights. Each one in perfect harmony with the other. They’re carefully chosen, as if just one were missing its entire, delicate balance would be pitched into uncertainty.

“Andrew….” He sits up, draining the last of his wine as she lifts her head from the page.

“Is it bad? The worst fuckin’ thing I’ve ever written?” He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he flashes her a lopsided smile.

“It's beautiful,” Y/n rasps, suddenly feeling like the air’s been knocked from her chest, or like she’s been running too fast. There’s something besides the night’s oppressive heat surrounding them, something fragile and precious. Part of her wants to say something else, she can see on his face that he’s aching for more, but Y/n is absolutely terrified that if she does, it’ll be the wrong thing and the moment will be shattered into a million little pieces, scattered across the forests behind his house by an unexpected breeze, the way it happened on a night all too similar to this one.

“But?” Andrew is the one that dares to speak, the word uttered softly and with the weight of reproach clinging to its single syllable.

God, what if he’s ruined everything? What if the reason he’s never been able to tell Y/n the way he feels is because a morsel deep within him knows she doesn’t return his feelings. Andrew doesn’t even know if she’s interested in a relationship – or anything adjacent – right now, she doesn’t talk about going on dates and or fancying anyone.

What if the reason she never talks about other men is because she’s somehow gathered how he feels and is trying to protect him from the hurt? That would be awfully cruel, but he supposes it's the kindest thing she can do without ruining their friendship.

“But….” Right before her, in a matter of seconds, a dozen emotions cross Andrew's face and Y/n realizes that, if she’d been in front of a mirror the night he told her he likes hearing her voice before he goes to sleep, this is what she might have seen reflected in it. That cautious hope, with a bit of fear sprinkled in.

Upon realizing that there's no ‘perfect’ thing to say, Y/n hastily leans forward and rests her lips on his, in a chaste, close-mouthed kiss. He’s shocked at first, she can feel it in the way he stiffens. But after another couple breaths spent like that, Andrew wraps an arm around her, flattening his palm on the center of her back. As he relaxes, Y/n deepens the kiss, deserting the book in her lap to cup his face. His beard tickles the inside of her hands, just like she’s always imagined it would, and his tongue and lips are sweet with the wine’s fruity notes.

When they break, faces only inches apart, Andrew lets out a shaking breath while Y/n holds onto hers. “God….I don’t think I would’ve ever done that,” he admits, shoulders rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths.

Sometimes he wishes he had her courage, but most times, he’s glad its hers.

A hint of a smile tugs at her kiss-swollen lips. “I know,” she laughs softly, the sound airy and musical.

Her eyes are twinkling, like two stars plucked from right over the vast bed of darkness hung over their heads. Andrew is certain that no two stars have ever shone brighter, so its fitting that they belong to her – the most dazzling person he knows. Setting his glass down, he lifts his free hand to her cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing her lips. “I’ve been thinking about it for a damn long time,” he admits. It's hard for him to put a definite number to it, it might as well have been very soon after they met.

“Me too,” Y/n rests her hand over his wrist, offering it an affectionate squeeze.

“I think…..” he trails off, struggling to keep a firm grip on his thoughts. His imagination is running a little wild right now; his mind is already churning out thoughts of his future as it changes shape. It's funny to him how one thing can change everything else.

One kiss, and he swears he’s seeing the rest of his life. Holding it.

“Sshh, we don’t have to talk about it tonight,” Y/n whispers. Talking complicates – they’ve been talking for too damn long anyway, and knowing Andrew, his brain is already three weeks ahead of him. Its sweet actually, because every plan she’s made for her future has been built around him, and now suddenly, he’s doing the same thing. “Lets just….”

“Just what?”

“Do this,” in an instant, Y/n closes the space between them again and seals her lips over Andrew’s. That time, he responds immediately, pulling her against him until the only thing left for her to do is slide her leg over his thighs and shuffle into his lap, pressing her chest to his and draping one arm over his shoulder while she keeps her other against his cheek. The way his beard scratches the area around her mouth makes her smile, and she thinks its something she'll get used to quickly.

All of it is so close to being as commonplace his arm slung around her shoulders and the sound of his voice coming through her phone while there’s a timezone and entire ocean between them. The way his mouth moves against hers, the heat of his hands as they hold onto her waist, the sound of his voice as he says;

“I’m glad you stayed.”

[presleyluvschris]

chilly

pairing(s): mcu peter parker x sick!fem!reader

desc basically im obsessed with sick!fics. posted one a while back for another fandom 🤭 just peter worried.

a/n holy shit im so sorry i haven't been posting lately my loves. my house is currently being sold and i've been running ramped. i wrote this after i had time off work. hope you enjoy.

warnings language, fluff, grammar. (please message me if i missed any!)

@cozytober2023

requests | open 💌 masterlist

It was only October 7th and you we're already a stuffy snotty sticky mess from the sudden drop of temperature outside.

It was cold outside, but the light from your wooden bedroom windows sunbathed the room, brightening your pale complexion.

tissues were plastered all over your messy bed and your phone was constantly dinging with messages from your group chat. you didn't show up to work, or to school that day, and by the looks of your random naps and binge watches on Netflix, you had forgot to call anyone to let them know you couldn't make it, including your boyfriend peter.

you kept coughing which made your head pulsate more as you wrapped your blanket around you and curled into it, squirming and desperately trying to get comfortable.

he was always super protective of you. sometimes it was really annoying but it felt good to know he was always thinking of you. and thats probably an understatement.

you felt sick. that might've been a blunt word, but everytime you tried to swallow your own spit it hurt like hell and you felt your head beating in pain like a heart would pump blood.

you groan and pull your comforter back over your head before you flutter your eyes closed and try to get your mind off the pain in your throat. It burned everytime you breathed which made you hiss uncomfortably. You eventually get yourself to fall asleep (after way too many doses of NyQuil) with half of your body immersed in your pillow.

you rested softly for a few hours before you woke to the sound of peter climbing through your window. you're eyes could barely adjust to the light as your tried to look up to see who it was, but your body was too tired to try and shake yourself up.

he rolled on the floor after falling from your complicated window sill but quickly got up with a groan.

he puffs, dusting him self off as he looks around the room for his girl.

"love?" peter looked around curiously to find you laying in your bed.

he carefully knelt down and shook you slightly as you woke up again with a jump.

you cough. "jesus, peter. you scared the shit out of me." you shift your arms behind you to prop yourself up, as he tucks a piece of your hair that fell back behind your ear.

"sorry," he laughs. "i just got really worried. I came as soon as I could. are you alright? why weren't you at school? or work- MJ said you didn't come."

his smile turns into a concerned perplexed look.

"uh", you sit up and rub your eye, coughing.

he noticed you sweating, and your puffy red eyes and a nose rubbed red.

"are you feeling okay?" his eyes and face look soft for you as his lip pouted a little.

he comes closer to you, kneeling down as he rests his hand on your forehead gently. you press your lips together and sniffle.

"pete, im fine."

"but- you're burning up!" he adds, as you look away from him.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier? i could've taken school off or-"

"peter." you look up.

"no." you croak, "i would never let you do that."

He puffs his cheeks and breathes out as he sits with you in your bed. You look in your boyfriends eyes as he turns his head to examine you.

"you don't look well, sweets." he frowns as he kisses the top of your forehead.

"i know", you say as you sniffle and your face starts to tickle a little.

he hands you a tissue as you sneeze in your sleeves. "bless you." he rests his tongue to the side of his mouth.

spidey senses.

"you okay?" he looks at you.

"mhm", you purse your lips.

you blow your nose as he looks at your face again.

"you gonna let me take care of you?" he holds his breath in worry.

you shake your head. "no."

he frowns again. "but you're sick! you're my girlfriend I can't just leave you here." He seems stressed, folding his his hands on your arms.

you cough and add, "i don't want you to get sick. plus, you have patrol tonight."

he shakes his head. "no way, im staying."

"No." you look in his eyes.

"Yes." he nods.

"No, peter."

"Yes, y/n." he crosses his arms.

you sigh.

"im staying right here." He says determinedly as he wraps his arms around you from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder. worry chilled up his spine for you.

"okay," you give up. "its cold anyway." you couldn't resist him. you didn't want him to patrol in the this insane cold weather anyways.

you pull a sweatshirt over your head.

"movie?" we whispers. "i'll get you snacks." he rubs your back softly.

you sweat a little and try to swallow.

you smile a little, "okay."

coughing, he rubs your arm. "are you okay?" he looks at you worriedly.

"im fine, my body just hurts."

he pulls you in a hug before kissing your head and leaving the room to go to the kitchen.

he gets back almost instantly with a bag of candy and popcorn, setting it on the bed and a mug of hot tea for your throat on the bedside table.

"can i get you anything else?" he looked sad.

your heart warmed and hurt at the same time.

"no, im okay."

he places a bowl of soup down next to the mug as you lean over to take it and sip it gently.

he lays in your bed as you open your laptop to the same crime documentary.

"again?" he groans, shifting his neck up against the pillow as he scrunches his face, looking at the ceiling.

as you giggle he looks up to see your smile which made his stomach hurt.

"yes, again." you try to hold back your lips from curling into a laugh.

he sighs and clicks the play button on your computer.

you rest your head on his chest, snuggling into him as he lays his arm around you, intertwining your hand into his.

"love you." he whispers in your hair softly, tucking a kiss to the back of your head.

taglist my idols/inspo @everythingisawayoflife @cafekitsune @luveline @scarthefangirl @elliexmylove @thevoidsaidnothanks @thestarvingwriter @spider-stark @bittenbyyou @incorrectmarvelquote @badass-dora-milaje @yes-i-am-happyaspie join my taglist ♡

[gimmethatagustd]

okay I’m here like two business days later with that request because my adhd brain forgot about it lmao

GHOSTFACE!! YOONGI!! I added the picture of yoongi because I had a very ~specific~ yoongi look in mind when thinking of this loll. I’m thinking Halloween party vibes?? or any other way that a costume would make sense. idk I’m making this request late at night so my brain is half turned off. I’m kind of letting you take the reins here and make it as spooky as you feel comfortable with. like I said I’d love to see your take on this because I love your mind <3

You've had your eyes set on Yoongi for as long as you can remember. What you didn't know is that he's had his eyes on you, too.

↳ pairing: yoongi x f!reader

↳ rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | halloween | friends to... (?) | light smut | angst | dead dove

↳ wc/date: 1.4k | October 2023

↳ warnings: dubcon, knife play, blood play, yandere vibes, mc is afraid but also turned on, mc is confused and so am i, slut shaming, humiliation, lowkey gaslighting/victim-blaming, a toxic relationship at the least, vaginal fingering, open ending, i wrote this half asleep and without editing

↳ notes: i have no idea what the fuck this is 🥲 pls forgive me. idk how this happened

↳ masterlist / taglist

↳ what was jai listening to? freak - sub urban ft. rei ami

Halloween 2023 Masterlist

Clink. Clink. Clink. 

The wind kicks dry leaves across the sidewalk, swirling them around your feet. Twisting your torso around, you glance over your shoulder as you walk. One of your red stiletto heels falls in the crack between the slabs of concrete. Pain blooms in your ankle when you wobble. The sound of you sucking a breath through your clenched teeth is the only thing disrupting the still, crisp autumn air. 

Until you hear it again. 

Clink. Clink. Clink. 

It sounds like metal on metal, perhaps the jingle of keys or buckles knocking into each other as someone walks. 

Alcohol warms your cheeks and chest despite how revealing your red corset and miniskirt are. Still, you know that the sound following you ever since you left Jungkook’s Halloween party is real and not some alcohol-induced paranoia from walking home alone at two in the morning on Halloween. 

Jungkook hadn’t wanted you to walk, but finding an Uber so late at night would be impossible, and everyone else at the party had been too drunk to drive you home. 

Two blocks isn’t much at all.  

Clink. Clink. Clink. 

The sidewalk is empty when you twist around and try not to trip again. Streetlights cast shadows across the grass that could be people. Or animals. Or monsters. Creatures of the night. 

Taking a deep breath, you quickly unlock the gate that opens to wooden stairs leading to the backdoor of your apartment on the second floor. You rush up the stairs as quickly as you can in the stupid heels your best friend convinced you to wear because they’re sexy, and you both thought they might help you catch the eye of a certain boy. 

It wasn’t worth the trouble, though. The certain boy barely looked your way. 

For a second too long, you stall, fumbling with your keys to find the one that will unlock your backdoor. Your fingers feel numb from the cold, and your reflexes are dulled by whatever was in the punch Hoseok made. Perhaps that’s why you don’t know what looms behind you until its body has yours pressed against your door. 

Sticking your hands out, you try to stop yourself from hitting your face. It works, but now your arms are trapped between your body and the door. Your keys fall with a hollow thud, and for a heartbeat, the world is silent, like every creature in existence is holding its breath. 

Every creature except for the one crowding you against the door. It breathes, hot and heavy, against the shell of your ear, scattering goosebumps across your skin. You’re burning up from its body heat, the creature big and firmly pressed against every inch of you. 

But what makes your knees tremble isn’t the oppressive force of this thing sticking to you like a second skin. It’s the clink and then something cool and sharp pressed against your throat. 

You can’t swallow down your nerves without fear of your throat bobbing against what you guess is a large knife. 

“Are you scared?” a voice whispers. Soft lips brush the tip of your ear. Then a nose, buttoned and cold, drags along the side of your neck. “You’re being such a good girl, didn’t even scream.” 

Fear clutches your heart, but that voice strokes a fire in your core. It’s sick how you shiver against the man’s chest because you know it isn’t only because you’re scared of him. 

“You’re not funny, Yoongi,” you say with a shaky breath and do your best not to move too much when you talk. 

Yoongi chuckles into your shoulder, where he’s nuzzled his face. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.” 

The knife glides down your throat at the point with not enough pressure to break the skin but just enough for it to feel uncomfortable. 

“Are you gonna let me in?” 

It’s not a real knife. Yoongi is your friend; he wouldn’t threaten you. Or, at least, you think he’s your friend. He’d ignored you all night, though. 

“Did you seriously follow me all the way here at two in the morning just to scare me?” You elbow him out of the way so you can bend down to retrieve your keys. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi admits with a gummy smile. 

Inside your apartment, you can get a better look at him. His costume is just his regular clothes with a Ghostface mask, though he isn’t wearing the mask anymore. It’s tied to one of his belt loops. The side bumps against the metal of his belt when he walks. 

Clink. Clink. Clink. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

Yoongi’s grin grows. “Jungkook didn’t want you walking by yourself.” 

“Then why didn’t you walk with me instead of following me around like a creep?” 

You kick off your heels and take ginger steps toward the kitchen, the balls of your feet throbbing. Out of the corner of your eye, Yoongi shrugs. His pretty black hair falls against his shoulders and curls into his eyelashes when he tilts his head to watch you. 

“You knew I was there,” he doesn’t ask, just smiles when you roll your eyes. 

Catching your wrist, Yoongi stops you from crossing the living room to the kitchen. His grip on you is bruising when he yanks you into his chest. It’s claustrophobic and makes your stomach churn when you twist your wrist, and Yoongi doesn’t let go. 

“I’m thirsty.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, can’t manage to get any louder. “Let me go.” 

“Interesting,” Yoongi murmurs. “I’m thirsty, too.” 

You follow his eyes when he drops his chin to peer between your bodies. At the same time, you feel the cool edge of the knife drag up your thigh. The tip eventually catches on the edge of your miniskirt. In one swift motion, Yoongi flicks the knife up and cuts through the thin, stretchy fabric. A thin line of blood sprouts from the shallow cut his knife makes up the inside of your thigh. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, watching little dribbles of blood trickle down your leg. Heat spreads from the cut across your thigh and unfurls in your stomach. 

The dim lighting of your living room reflects in warm tones within Yoongi’s dark irises. Squeezing your wrist even tighter, he walks you backward until your legs hit the edge of your couch. 

“You liked it,” Yoongi points out with a tut of his tongue, his tone condescending and judgemental. The shame it stirs in your chest makes it hard for you to breathe. “Let me press you up against the door. Mark you up with this,” he twirls the knife around, making a show of how loosely he grasps it. 

“Yoongi.” 

Yoongi brings the knife to your lips to silence you. The tip glistens with your blood. 

“Keep quiet like a good girl for me, okay, sweetheart?” Yoongi kneels on the couch in between your spread legs. The position forces your ruined skirt higher up your thighs, exposing your sheer red thong. 

You watch in amazement as Yoongi drags the tip of his knife up your inner thigh until he reaches the edge of your thong. Lightly, he drags the tip along your clothed pussy. It doesn’t cut you, but you can’t stop shaking because it could, and you don't know what that would mean for you if you admitted that you kind of want it to. 

“Why are you–” 

“Shhh, don’t play so innocent,” Yoongi murmurs. He leans forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “You dressed up so pretty for me. Look so good in red; I wanted to see more of it on you.” 

The knife presses against the crease of your inner thigh and slices upward, giving you another shallow cut while cutting you loose from your thong. 

You moan when Yoongi drags his cold fingers along your folds, dig your nails into his forearm when he plunges two fingers into your pussy and makes your muscles flutter.

“So wet for me, fuck, you’re such a slut,” Yoongi moans as your pussy greedily sucks in his fingers despite the press of the bloodied blade against your throat. 

"Yoongi, please," you buck into his hand, urging him to fuck you faster. Your thighs sting from the cuts, and your legs are wet with little streams of blood, but you've never felt so close to an orgasm so quickly in your life.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take good care of you.” 

Halloween 2023 Masterlist

all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & AO3

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

[ox1-lovesick]

✶ ─── TXT REACTION TO YOU FORGETTING THEIR PET'S BIRTHDAY

pairing. txt x gn!reader genre. fluff and crack warnings. profanity (?) wc. 100-200 each

synopsis. you forget tubatu's pet's birthday, and they aren't very happy about that 😟

a/n. here she is, from the 15th of October 2022 😭 literal nonsense ahead I wrote this at 4 am on a school night. may odi rest in peace 😞❤️

✧ YEONJUN

yeonjun unfortunately has no pets so we're going to pretend like you forgot his nephew's birthday okay 💀

memory was never your strong suit, and you've only met his nephew a few times so he couldn't really blame you after all but he's still heartbroken 😞

it strikes a nerve because as his partner, yeonjun expects you to make his family a priority as he does yours

his nephew adores you, whenever he's on the phone with his cousin he always yanks the phone away and asks to speak to you or asks about you if you're not there

and when you are there he'll chat away with you for hours at a time, telling you about the new dinosaur figurine he got or whatever shenanigans his favourite hey tayo character is up to

so when you go about your day acting like his nephews birthday party was not later that night his heart just 💔

"anything special you were supposed to do today? 🤨 y'know maybe you had somewhere to go or someone to see, maybe something special is happening 🤨"

was he upset with you ? if so why ?? should you go talk to him ??? will that make things worse ????

has you googling HIS birthday every 5 seconds to make sure you didn't forget it

bro's so butthurt 😭

does a little fashion show for you to help him choose an outfit for later

takes your mind off the whole thing for a while because you're just having fun styling him

you decide on an outfit you both like and get all his accessories in order and he's like "cool, what are you wearing to match?"

huh 🧍

"today's my nephew's birthday silly don't tell me you forgot 🤨🤨" and he absolutely knows you forgot he just wants to be spiteful

he feels a bit guilty after seeing the way you panic, but in back of his head... deserved

you feel really sad because you know how much his nephew loves you 🙁 it just completely slipped your mind somehow

so he decides to put his pettiness aside and tell you to get changed quickly so you can both be there on time and hopefully make a pitstop on the way to get a present

and happy nephew = happy junnie. and happy junnie = happy you, so happily ever after

and although you arrive a little late—his nephew is beyond ecstatic to see you and yeonjun, maybe

✧ SOOBIN

firstly, how DARE you forget the 4th gen it pet's birthday???

secondly, soobin is so so petty about it

even more than yeonjun probably

yes he knows odi is an animal and probably doesn't give a shit whether you're there or not, but you know who is a human with feelings and does give very many shits? soobin.

after you've both decided to raise him as your own? after all the family photoshoots? after soobin odi wrote that card for you on parents day telling you how happy he was to have you? how could you forget your own son's birthday??

he's livid

talks about odi the entire day, shows you a gazillion pictures of him doing random things and constantly redirects any conversation you have to back odi

"there's a fire in the kitchen" "okay, but didn't odi look so cute today?"

if you don't catch on after a while he'll be even more upset 😭

cue the silent treatment

you have to remember on your own, it's not special anymore if he tells you

locks himself in his room to celebrate with odi while complaining very loudly

"why am I the only one here? well odi, I'm the only who cares enough to remember your birthday"

every few minutes he randomly laughs at the top of his lungs as if odi told him the most stomach grabbing, knee slapping, air gasping joke in existence

gets sick of it eventually and just tells you to join him because as much as he loves odi he can't keep pretending to have conversations with him 😭

you make odi a paper mache birthday hat as an apology and all is forgiven

✧ BEOMGYU

poor gyu had a vision of how this day would go

he was ecstatic when you told him you too the day off on toto's birthday a weak prior

the two of you would head to daegu on a bus and share earphones and listen to the playlist he made and you and his family would celebrate toto's birthday together and the day would be full of rainbows of and glitter

why are you not sticking to the script and taking on a shift for your co-worker instead of celebrating your son's birthday

you will be receiving an earful from both him and toto

teaches toto how to swear so he can yell at you too

it's already a crime you didn't get him any gifts ontop of it you just forgot it was his birthday as a whole? the audacity

will take you to court to file for a divorce and claim full custody of toto

jokes aside i feel like of them all he'd be the most upset about this

it's not just about you forgetting toto's birthday, it's about you promising you'd be there just to forget and bail last minute

it wouldn't hurt him too much but he's still sad your forgot because toto means so much to him

i feel like at first he'd get in his head about it, wondering if maybe you did remember but just don't care or didn't want to go with him in the first place

which will make him more upset 😭

will definitely complain to toto

eventually he'll realise it's silly to make those assumptions and calm down but don't expect him to forgive you

silent treatment pt 2

you're so confused about why he refuses to talk to you until his mom sends you the pictures they took that day with toto

you are screwed ❤️

you will NEVER live this down

buy him iu albums for his lp player and he's all over you again, but he won't forget to mention it every birthday toto has in the future

✧ TAEHYUN

he doesn't want to tell you it's hobak's birthday and make you feel bad but at the same he wants to tell you it's hobak's birthday and make you feel bad

being a sadist and an opportunist is a dangerous combo

he is a bit sad you forgot hobak's birthday but we live, we love, we lie 🤥

probably one of those pet owners who go out of their way to throw their pet a birthday party and bake them a cake and everything

he understands it probably just slipped your mind and it isn't that deep to him, he just wants to tease you because it's funny

so he's making a cake out of fish heads for hobak as you watch in horror

goes on about how fish bones are actually really good for your digestive system and you're just nodding along trying to figure out how you're going to order other food without him noticing

"...what are you making babe?" "dinner"

expects you to realise what's actually happening when he starts grinding cat treats for a crumble but at that point you're just too scared to question what's happening

and it is hilarious to him 😭

tries to feed you some every now and then and puts all his child actor skills into not laughing

"but you're my taste tester babe how else will I know of everyone else will like it?" 😞😞

you can feel your heart in your ass when he says that because no way he's planning to feed his monstrosity to other people too???

he drags you along to his parents' house and you don't even want to look at the food table because he's convinced you everyone will be enjoying a pedigree tiramisu

you wonder if it's too late to break up with him and save yourself

thankfully his sister informs you that taehyun is pulling your leg and the cake is for hobak

you don't even care anymore you're just glad to not be eating cat food for dinner

✧ HEUNINGKAI

honestly forgot his rock's birthday himself

both of you are just blissfully unaware it's been a year since Huening Lionel Mbappe has graced you with its presence

he collects dust on Kai's windowsill as you both go about your day 😭

it's like one of those toys you're fascinated with for a day and then it rots and decomposes in your cupboard for the rest of eternity

the both of you wake up with this feeling of impending doom thinking that you forgot something really important, but can't put your finger on it

so to try and figure it out you both do everything you've been putting off for a while

it's the most productive either of you have been in years

assignments? submitted. lyrics? written. laundry that's been laying on the floor since 2018? washed, dried, packed and folded

gets praise from all the staff and members because they think he's finally taking those new years resolutions seriously

january was almost a year ago but it's never too late to start !!

you get a shit ton of chores done but something still feels off

the both of you are just going mad lol

eventually you admit defeat and decide whatever it is, you will hope it wasn't important and deal with it when the time comes

you're both watching jjk when taehyun comes in with a cupcake ready to sing to the birthday rock and you feel so stupid ❤️

he's genuinely upset you both forgot the rock's birthday

the fact taehyun remembered just adds salt to his wounds 😭

so you split the cupcake on behalf of Huening Lionel Mbappe and call it a day

🗯️ taglist. @k-labels @kpopcontentcreatorsclub @kflixnet @newbie-kpop-fan @fairy-yeo @tsxkkis @pnkvernon @kynrki @hoonfever @haknom @soov

★ OX1-LOVESICK all rights reserved. do not copy, distribute, translate, alter or repost my work without my explicit permission.

[venus-haze]

Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? (Foxy Coltrane x Reader)

Summary: It’s Halloween, 1985, and your Little Red Riding Hood costume catches the attention of the Midnight Wolfman himself.

Note: Female (incredibly unhinged) reader. Foxy calls the reader “Red” because of the Halloween costume, not due to any physical descriptors. I've literally been working on this since February🫠 Anyway, this is for all the old man fuckers out there🖤 Except if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Discussions of canon typical violence. Sexually explicit content involving semi-public play, oral sex (m. receiving) and light roleplaying elements.

October 31, 1985

As soon as you walked into the bar up the road from your place, you immediately wanted to walk out. Having no other plans for Halloween night, you figured you could make the best of going solo. Wore a cute little costume to see where the night led you. Somehow you ended up in a bar where no one else was dressed up for the holiday that called for it. At least, not to the extent you were. Sure, it was a mass-produced Little Red Riding Hood costume you bought on your way home from work, but you made it your own with some makeup and cute heels you dug out of your closet.

You trudged over to the bar, soon nursing your drink and your hurt feelings. With your lip pouted in a slight sulk, you looked around, hoping to catch someone’s attention. Just when it seemed like all hope was lost, a man approached. Dark eyes locked on you. Sly grin on his face. Older, handsome in a scruffy way that your friends always teased you for being into.

You craned your neck to look up at him from your barstool. He sure as hell had that going for him too.

“I dig your costume, Little Red.”

You smiled. “Thanks. Seems like I’m the only one here who got the memo that it’s Halloween.”

“Hell, Halloween is everyday for me,” he said.

“You got a name?”

“You can call me the Midnight Wolfman.” He threw his head back and bellowed out a howl.

Your eyes widened. Heart might’ve skipped a beat. 

Shouts and cheers punctuated the sound, a few of the bar patrons following his lead with weak howls of their own. 

He was probably crazy. Or drunk. Likely both. But fuck, why else would you have gone out on Halloween?

“Buy me a drink, Wolfman?” 

“Glad to, Red.” 

He sat down at the stool next to you, long legs splayed out as one of his boots rested between your heels on your footrest. He claimed your space so easily, you nearly forgot you’d only just met him.

Two shared shots of whiskey later, your face was warm as he leaned in to talk. His easy drawl lured you closer, knees touching, close enough that you could see yourself in his steel blue gaze. You nearly suggested finding a booth to squeeze into. 

Your mind raced with visions of him pulling you onto his lap, his big hands all over you, lips attached to your neck while the other bar patrons were none the wiser.

“Most people call me Foxy, though,” he said.

You furrowed your brows, hoping you hadn’t been fantasizing through too much of the conversation. “Foxy?”

“That’s my name. Winslow Foxworth Coltrane.”

“I like it. Sounds like an F. Scott Fitzgerald character or something.”

“Who’s that?”

“He wrote The Great Gatsby.”

“Oh yeah, I saw that one, had Redford in it. Kind of a snoozefest if you ask me. I mean, hard to follow up Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” he said. “What kind of movies are you into, Red?”

“I love horror, especially the gory shit,” you said before you could think twice. 

He grinned, giving you a nod of approval. “Right on.”

“My favorite is probably The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. Have you seen that one?”

“Yeah, it was great. Reminds me of my family.”

You laughed. “No kidding.”

His smile wavered, and for the first time all night it felt like you two weren’t on the same wavelength. Had you missed something in your half-drunk stupor? Was there something he mentioned that you fantasized through?

“Um, how about you?” you asked, trying to salvage the connection. “Westerns?”

“I’m into the classics, like those old monster movies.”

“Well, you’re way more handsome than Lon Chaney, Wolfman.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m the real deal, baby.”

“I believe it.”

“Yeah?”

You licked your lips. “With a howl like yours? Makes a girl think you could eat her alive.”

“C’mere,” he growled, pulling you to him. 

His lips were on yours, wild and passionate that would keep you up the rest of the night even if nothing else happened. The way he had his hands on you, though, bringing you closer to him, deepening the kiss so you could taste the whiskey on his tongue, the very same he bought you, made you certain he wanted the night to end exactly the same way you did.

He pawed at your ass, his hands pushing up your short, red, satin skirt until your panties peaked out. You moaned when his fingers brushed the wet spot on the fabric, pushing against your clit. Fuck the notion of a getting busy in a back booth, you were ready to let him take you up against the bar if you weren’t so rudely interrupted.

“Hey, c’mon,” the bartender said, looking equally disturbed and exasperated. “You guys can’t—”

Foxy slammed his palm onto the bar, nearby glasses rattling on impact. “Motherfucker, if you don’t get out of my girl’s face I’ll crack your skull open.”

A smile twitched across your lips.

“Get out before I call the cops. Both of you.”

Foxy stood up. “Think I’m scared of some fuckin’ pigs?” Grabbed a nearby beer bottle and smashed it against the bar. Before you could blink, the jagged edge was pressed against the bartender’s throat. If anyone noticed what was going on, they sure as hell weren’t trying to intervene. “By the time they get here I could gut you like a fish.” 

A delirious thrill rolled down your spine at the gleam in Foxy’s eyes. 

“Look man, you—you don’t even have to pay for the drinks. Just go, alright?”

Deathly silence fell over the altercation, the bartender glancing between Foxy’s wild face and the broken bottle.

Do it, a dark, repressed part of you, ravenous for blood, hissed.

Foxy laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a fuckin’ pussy, man.” He threw his arm around you, letting the broken bottle shatter on the floor as he led you out.

“Don’t come back!”

“I wouldn’t shit here if I ate a gas station hot dog, asshole,” he shouted over his shoulder.

You pulled your polyester cloak a little tighter when you walked outside. Damn, you and Foxy probably looked like one hell of a pair to the people just getting to the bar.

The two of you stood in the middle of the parking lot while he lit a cigarette. “I don’t eat gas station hot dogs if I can help it. Give me indigestion. My ol’ man—well, adopted ol’ man—he used to make a mean fried chicken at his gas station,” he said, taking a drag. “Get a hankering for the stuff sometimes, and KFC sure as hell doesn’t cut it. Guess Colonel Sanders’ get-up is better than dressing like a clown, though.”

You interjected his rambling, “You would’ve done it, wouldn’t you? The bartender—”

“Wouldn’t have been the first time.” He stared you down, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He took a long drag, smoke rolling from his lips and circling above his head as he asked, “You afraid of the big bad Wolfman, Red?”

“Terrified.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Then show me.”

“Mine or yours?”

“Mine. Yours. I don’t know—I need you, Foxy.” Your voice neared a whine. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Say that again.”

“I need you.” You tugged on his shirt. “Foxy, c’mon.”

“Yours. I can’t drive at night for shit.”

You grabbed him by the arm, practically pulling him over to your car. 

Jamming the key into the lock, you couldn’t open the driver’s side door fast enough, quickly unlocking the passenger door for him. Your hands would’ve been shaking if you weren’t gripping the steering wheel within an inch of your life as you peeled out of the parking lot the moment he finished adjusting the seat, moving it as far back as it could go to accommodate his long legs. 

“Mind if I turn on the radio?” Foxy asked.

“Sure. I don’t live far, though. Should only be ten minutes.”

He fiddled with the stations until a late night news broadcast mentioned the name Otis Driftwood. He paused before sitting back.

“‘Free the Three’ demonstrations in support of the notorious Devil’s Rejects death cult continue well into the night.”

The reporter detailed the Fireflys’ crimes, as if anyone could have missed them. Hundreds of gruesome murders to their names. You, just like everyone else in America, had been glued to the story when it broke. All work practically came to a halt when their trials were going on, obvious guilty verdicts amidst a media circus.

“What do you think of ‘em?” Foxy asked, breaking the silence.

“The Fireflys?”

“Yeah.”

You glanced at him, tearing your eyes off the road for a moment to gauge how he’d react to your answer. “I guess what they did is fucked up, but the police and military have done way worse. Like, Otis Driftwood never dropped nukes on entire cities,” you said. “Why?”

“That’s my family.”

“Really?”

“Well, Otis is my half-brother. The rest of ‘em are all adopted.”

You looked at him again. Then the road. Then him in disbelief. “Then you—“

“Told you I was the real deal, sweetheart.”

“Why didn’t you get caught?”

“I was already in the can. Crazy how that shit happens, huh?”

You hit the gas, accelerating from 50 to 85 in a flash. No cops. Didn’t matter. Foxy could handle them if there were. You pressed your thighs together. Almost considered pulling over and just fucking in the backseat. But where was the fun in that? The excitement? The vulnerability of letting a killer into your home, where you’re supposed to be safe, and hoping to god he wouldn’t see your kitchen knives and get some bright ideas? You moaned. Oh god. You moaned.

“Red?”

“I know, Foxy. I’m going as fast as I can.” Your voice was whiny, high-pitched, desperate. “Piece of shit car—”

He grinned, shaking his head. “You’re nuts.”

“Is that a turn off?”

“Hell no.”

——

You nearly dropped your keys by the time you unlocked the door to your apartment, Foxy feeling you up from behind while you fumbled with them, obviously amused by your racing pulse and trembling hands.

“Cool place,” he said when he walked inside. “You got any roommates or—”

You pushed him against the front door, your mouth on his, desperate, hungry for anything he’d give you. Slipping your hand between your bodies, you cupped the bulge in his jeans. He groaned into your mouth, and you squeezed gently, feeling his cock strain against the rough denim.

“Don’t tease,” he growled.

“It’s only teasing if you don’t follow through.” You kneeled in front of him, moving to untie your cloak while he unbuckled his belt, unzipping his jeans.

“Wait,” he said, “leave the costume on.”

“Whatever you want, Wolfman.”

He pulled his cock from his boxers, big enough to be intimidating at first glance. But he was a killer, part of the Firefly clan, for god's sake, you wouldn't falter, instead mustering up the courage you had to even invite him home in the first place.

“My, what a big cock you have,” you teased, taking it in your hand, spreading the precum at his tip with your thumb while slowly pumping his length.

“All the better to fuck that pretty mouth with, Red.”

You licked your lips, holding eye contact with him as you took him in your mouth. Something primal about him, inherently dangerous. He’d killed people before, probably done far worse. Could change his mind at any time and cause you a world of hell. You pressed your thighs together, trying to ignore the ache in your core for hopes he’d take care of it if you did a good enough job. With the way he dug his fingers into your scalp, loud curses and praises falling from his mouth, you weren’t doing half bad.

“Midnight Wolfman’s got you right where he wants you, huh, Red? Turned you into his little bitch?” he taunted. “C’mon, gimme a howl.”

You whined around his cock, choking a bit when he thrust in your mouth. You liked this version of the story a hell of a lot better. No one to save you. Just you, in your Little Red Riding Hood costume, and the wolf, his crooked teeth bared as he hissed through them, grinning down at you. And you brought him there. Invited him into your home knowing he could tear you apart if he wanted to—maybe you wanted him to.

“You’re a good slut, ain’t you?” He groaned. His cock twitched in your mouth, you could feel the salty taste of him on your tongue as he came with a howl. “Take it all, Red—fuck, take it.” As if you had much of a choice but to swallow, but his praise went to your head, to your pussy. “Fuck, you’re like a dream come true.”

Pulling back, sitting on your heels, you looked up at him with a newfound predatory gleam in your eye as he caught his breath.

“By the way,” you said, acutely aware of the wet ache between your thighs, “I live alone, if you wanna return the favor.”

[theycallmemisterbutterfingers]

Somebody To Luuuvvvvvv

so, i wrote this fic a WHILE ago, and promptly forgot abt it lmao. it was something i worked at on and off for a month, so it may be a little disjointed. also, I very much recommend listening to Somebody To Love (Queen) while reading, although depending on how speedy you are with reading, the fic will extend past the song's length. ALSO, I started writing it to mirror the lyrics of Somebody To Love, but I lost track of it a little in the last stretch, since there's a lotta instrumental and I just kinda went off HAH

anyhow

oh also i drew this little animation in like October and i'm sorry and you're welcome? sorry because ACK i swear to god i can draw better but you're welcome in case you like it ,,,,, yeah ,,,,,,, much love!!

Can

Anybody?

Find me

Somebody to…

Love.

…

Crowley launched himself up from his desk, sending a few pieces of glass clattering to the floor, shattered remains of his heart. He wobbled for a moment, the alcohol settling in weird places.  Reality spun. He thought he saw stars. And then worse.

He thought he saw his angel.

His knees buckled, and his hand shot out to brace himself on his desk. His other hand reached up to shakily run a hand down his face. Take a look at this poor sod, he thought bitterly, about to berate himself. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of his window, and he traced the scars down her cheeks that the tears had left in their wake. Crowley sighed, then chuckled—a small, self-deprecating one. Oh, what he’s doing to me.

He’d spent all his years believing in the bastard, chasing him, wanting him, hoping that they were the same. Thinking that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t fully alone. 

And then the angel took his heart and blasted it away with his halo. With his Heaven-besotted ideals that Crowley thought he had left behind. No such relief.

And all Crowley wanted was to love and be loved by him. Too much to ask, turns out.

…

He was behind the wheel. Again. He didn’t quite know how he got there, really, and he didn’t know where he was going, either. All he knew was that he was driving—driving away. Driving far away from…what? The work he had put in for himself—for his angel—to live a life safely in the corner? Maybe. Driving away from being alone? Hm. As if he could be driving away from the ache in his bones and towards Az—well. He wasn’t, at any rate. Crowley cursed himself under his breath and pulled over.

The sun was setting, colors bleeding out into the sky. Bleeding out. Now that was something that Crowley was familiar with. He looked up at it all, trying in vain to see anything—any sign from the Universe, from God, anything at all—but no. His knees hit the dirt. “God…what’re you doing to me? You listening? This part of your Great Plan, too?”

Nothing. Crowley dug his nails into his palms until he drew blood.

They do say that snakes can’t cry. 

Well. 

They also say snakes don’t fall in love. That they can’t feel it.

But just look at Crowley.

🌟

Aziraphale hurried through the empty space of Heaven, a harried look on his face. He had been working nonstop ever since he returned, trying to prove his worth, trying to do good, trying to be good. But there were stares pricking the back of his neck. Veiled criticism, judgement. They thought him odd, strange, impure. Tainted from Earth. They don’t want me here, he thought, then quickly shook it away. He had to keep faith. Believe in good in others, and the good of God. 

But there’s nobody left to believe in me.

…

Aziraphale blinked. He had been heading towards the higher floors, but his feet had betrayed him. They had led him to the globe. His chest warmed seeing Earth, but there was this terrible, sudden ache in his gut. Aziraphale put a hand to his stomach, breathless for a moment. 

Guilt. 

Horrible, horrible guilt. 

His hands shook. His stomach roiled like there was a nest of snakes, snakes, Crowley, his Crowley, his Crowley that he left behind, the desperation etched into his face as he—

Stop, he told himself. Stop. You can’t. Push it down, push it down, remember? You need to focus on your tasks. You need to forget.

Do you? Part of him whispered.

Quiet, he thought. No thoughts. You must be good. 

It would be good, this traitorous part of him whispered. You would be doing a good thing. Checking up on that nice angel, Muriel. 

Oh, yes, Muriel. Of course. It would only take a moment to pop in, after all. He wrung his hands, thinking hard and thinking fast. His tasks weren’t too urgent—just some paperwork, a few visits to the superiors; yes, it would be fine. Tickety-boo. Besides, he really needed to make sure the bookshop and Muriel were fine. Nothing else. What else would there be, really? For such a quick visit, especially? Aziraphale was still for a moment—save for his hands, which shook like leaves—and then with one decisive motion he tapped the globe, and felt himself dissolve into light. 

🥀

Crowley slumped in his Bentley, cheeks stinging, throat hurting. Queen played over the speakers, but he kept losing track of the song, sliding in and out of white noise. After a few moments, he inhaled sharply and clenched his jaw. He was alright. He was fine. He was a demon. Of course he was alright. In fact, he was so alright, he would go and make sure Muriel hadn’t sold anything. At the bookshop. Because he was alright he was alright he was FINE. He stomped on the gas pedal with a bit more vigor than usual and began to whip through the streets, disregarding anything his mind might mutter to him. Perhaps that—Crowley ignoring himself as much as he possibly could—perhaps that was why he didn’t notice the feeling of his angel returning to Earth. 

…

Crowley slammed the Bentley’s door shut and sauntered across the street to the bookshop, confident as a lioness. The confidence was a sham. He was a right wreck internally. He unlocked the door and swung inside with carefully practiced nonchalance, carefully hidden nerves, everything under the surface, as it should be. But the memories still hit him like a Bentley going 90. Frozen, he could do nothing but boggle at the bookshelves with their alphabetized books all in the right places and the angel wing mug with hot chocolate still steaming, until he heard a cheerful voice from up the stairs, “Be with you in a minute!!”

This managed to jolt Crowley out of his reverie, and he managed to shout back, “It’s me!”

“Oh!! Ah,” and there was quite a bit of shuffling around. Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to take measured breaths. Being back in the same place, the same spot where he—

“Hello, Mr. Crowley!!” Muriel beamed over the banister upstairs before hurrying down the stairs. “Haven’t seen you in a bit!”

Crowley hummed noncommittally. Muriel fidgeted.

“Did you need anything, Mr. Crowley?” They asked, looking at him a little too expectantly. Crowley had a sudden memory of that kid he had encountered as Bilidad, the little one who wanted to be a lizard. 

“Erm…”

It wasn’t to check on the books, really. What did Crowley need?

Well.

Wasn’t it obvious?

He needed him. 

His angel. His Az—hm. 

His A—guh.

His A…He needed Aziraphale. 

There, he said it. Wasn’t so hard.

He needed his somebody to love.

But his somebody was gone.

He didn’t say any of this to Muriel, though. Instead, he just shrugged. “Thought I’d stop by, make sure you hadn’t sold anything.”

Muriel shook their head vehemently. “Oh, no, certainly not!! I remember what you were like when I first took over the shop,,” they took on a grumpy, spiky air then, ignoring the dinging of the shop bell, “Now listen here, Muriel, if you sell any one of these books, I will march right up to heaven and tell those higher-ups that you are doing Very, Very Bad Things. So do not, under any circumstances, sell these books!!” Muriel finished their impression attempting a scowl matching Crowley’s, cementing their inability to make any sort of coarse expression.

Crowley scoffed and was about to complain that he did NOT sound like that, not in the slightest, when—

“Oh, Crowley, did you really?”

Fireworks rocketed up Crowley’s spine and exploded in his chest, and he whipped around to see—

To see—

His angel. 

Aziraphale standing in the doorway of the shop, looking like he was already regretting even stepping through the door, but still with that nervous, gentle smile Crowley loved so, and he could do nothing but gape at Aziraphale, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Aziraphale didn’t fare much better, only just managing to stand there, wobbly and woeful. Muriel, slowly becoming more adept at social situations, sidled into the back room, and the sound of the door shutting snapped Crowley out of his stupor—and his wounded heart throbbed.

“Back to forgive me again, then?” Spat Crowley bitterly.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, teary-eyed, and before Crowley could say anything else, Aziraphale rushed into him, grabbing his lapels and burying his face in Crowley’s chest. 

“I mi-i-issed-d you,” He sobbed, and Crowley wanted to shove him away, wanted to snarl barbed words and sharp jabs, wanted try and make him feel some semblance of the pain he felt—

But he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt his angel, when he was already so awfully distraught. So he put a tentative, shaky hand on Aziraphale’s back, and said, quietly, “Hi, Angel.”

Aziraphale sniffed loudly at that and looked up at him. Then he stepped back, only slightly, and they simply looked at each other for a moment. Then—

“Why did you leave—?!” They started, simultaneously, then stopped. 

“Well, you were the one leaving, Angel,” Crowley snapped, brows knitted together.

Aziraphale looked at him quizzically and sniffed again. “B-But I asked you to come with me, dear. I wanted you to come with me. I wanted you to come so terribly,” his lip wobbled, “And-and then you got mad, and ki-kissed me, and then—hic—and then you left!”

Crowley scowled, confused. He was quite certain that Aziraphale had been the one to do the leaving.

“But you abandoned me,” he said, voice rough, “After all we’ve gone through! I thought we were a team, Aziraphale. I thought you liked me how I was—not an angel, not a demon, as me.”

Aziraphale whimpered, wringing his hands. “But I do like you, Crowley! I’m so, so s-sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I promise, I just—I want to be with you, oh so much! And we could be together, in Heaven, as angels, without messiness, and—and, oh, I thought you’d be happier as an angel. I mean, you used to be, when you were…”

Crowley sighed, his anger beginning to cool. Oh, Angel. “I don’t want Heaven. I don’t want to be who I was. I just want to be me, now, here, with you,” He said, as gently as he could muster, taking his sunglasses off. Aziraphale blinked, another sparkling tear trailing down his cheek. Crowley had to curb the urge to wipe it away by shoving his hands in his pockets.

“B-But…but an angel? A-a demon?? That—”

“Would be alright.” Crowley finished, trying to smile, trying not to hope. “We could do it.” Aziraphale wavered, unsure, worried. He cast a look around him, and then, resolutely, 

“I need to go back.” Crowley’s heart plummeted to the floor and shattered like an empty bottle. Again. 

He made to leave, eyes already stinging, but Aziraphale grabbed at him. “Wait, Crowley!!” But no. Not again. Never again. Crowley wrenched away, looking at the ground, trying to stride past him, a painful crescendo rising in his head, already berating himself for trusting so quickly, hoping so easily, and then, and then he felt a soft hand tilt his face up and take off his glasses and, and, and—and Aziraphale was kissing him. Kissing him. Crowley’s thoughts blinked out of existence completely. All he could focus on was Aziraphale, him against Crowley’s lips, again, finally. Aziraphale’s tears wet Crowley’s cheeks and burned there and Crowley didn’t mind in the slightest. And he kissed back, fiercely, not caring if the rest of him burned up as a result.

Aziraphale gasped at the kiss deepening, and something roared deep inside of Crowley, and then, suddenly—Aziraphale pulled away.

It was as if Crowley had been lit on fire and then doused with cold water, and all he could do was stand there, shivering and overheating at the same time. Aziraphale, though shaking as well, took a deep breath.

“Crowley. I am going, but I’m not leaving,” and he took Crowley’s face in both hands, “I’m not leaving you. I never meant to in the first place. I’m sorry. Please…forgive me.”

Crowley didn’t know how to respond. What could he possibly say? What could he—

A tear slid down his face, and Aziraphale brushed it away with his thumb, tenderly, lovingly. 

And Crowley broke. 

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale murmured, and cradled Crowley close as he crumpled into his arms. He trembled like a leaf, loud sobs wracking his body. 

They sank to the ground together, and stayed that way for a long time. 

Eventually, Crowley could breathe without feeling like he was suffocating. Cheeks burning, he slowly sat up, looking anywhere but at Aziraphale, embarrassed. “Ngk—sorry, Angel.”

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale turned his face back to him with a feather-light touch, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Crowley damn near started crying again. He nodded and sniffed, rubbing his face. “You’re too nice to me.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, eyes twinkling. “Nice is a four-letter word.”

They gazed at each other adoringly, neither quite believing that they could hope again, hope for a future together, as hope was a four-letter word, too. Then Crowley looked down at the ground. “So…you have to go.”

“I will be back, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and stood up, “I just need to do a few things first.”

“I need you,” Crowley pleaded, on his knees, all defenses forgotten, all barriers down. “Stay. Please.”

“I need you too,” Aziraphale said softly, doe-eyed, and kissed him on the forehead. “I want to stay with you. But I have to keep Earth safe. I can change things, in Heaven. I can stop the Second Coming.”

His face hardened and, for a moment, looked every bit the Archangel he was supposed to be. “Even if it means making a few…executive decisions. In the name of good, of course.”

“Of course,” Crowley echoed, feeling a bit dazed.

Aziraphale smiled at him and then looked up, wings materializing behind him. “I’ll see you soon, dear.”

Crowley, as if struck by a pin, sprung up towards Aziraphale and kissed him once more. Aziraphale, who had already begun to glow with departure, kissed back just as hard, if not harder. Crowley held onto the quickly dissipating angel tightly, as long as he could, until Aziraphale fully disappeared…and then Crowley fell flat on his face. 

Oh, would you look at that, Crowley mused to himself, ass up, face down. I’ve fallen. “Erm,” said a timid voice behind him, “Would you like some hot chocolate, Mr. Crowley?”

thank you for reading!!!!!!!

[olivianyx]

I didn't knew u were a respawner! That's so cool, I've been on my respawn journey for like 1-2 months, I hope this is okay to ask but how is your respawning routine? Currently I am taking a break but I would love to hear abt your respawning journey so far :>

Heyy! I'm glad I find many people who are into respawning! Actually mine's a long ass story and you might wonder how am I even doing fine to this day 😭

Okay so long story short, let's begin.

Back in 2022, I discovered shifting. After finding out about loa in 2021, I was anticipated to shift realities just to escape this one. I hated being here. I was suffering with depression, bi polar, avpd, anxiety and maladaptive daydreaming, and I was from a toxic household with narcissistic, toxic and strict parents and fake af friends. It was really hard for me to even open up to somebody. It was hard for me to handle (actually I'm tearing up rn while I type this... Especially those traumas are the worst thing I ever experienced)

When I started my research about shifting, I got into amino. I saw the word 'respawn' and I was like tf is this?? I thought it was some gaming shit and then when I researched it on amino, I really wanted to go away from here and be happier than ever. I wanted to be in peace and do whatever I want in my reality. And no one should judge or stop me from getting what I want. I quickly scripted the place I wanna respawn, and other stuffs. I decided that I will get tf outta here.

Well because I had a reason that I'll respawn, I completely ignored my 3D circumstances. Like I stopped taking care of myself, stopped talking to people around me, stopped studying, stopped doing everything. I just was desperately trying to respawn every night telling myself that I will.

When in fact I was wasting my time and energy into lack. I almost didn't study for my finals and wrote the exams and hope that I'd respawn before my results will be declared. I used to keep time crunches to respawn, and when I didn't, I used to get so depressed, that I attempted to take my own life for the first time ever back in may 2022.

My brother accidentally entered my room and saved me from doing that. When I say I've almost attempted to take my own life for like 10+ times that same year, I still didn't give up. My exam results came and I luckily passed my exams.

So after all these I decided to give a break for 3 months completely for my own mental health. Ik my journey for 2 years wasn't smooth, it was full of ups and downs, and it messed my mental health up. I wasn't even using loassumption in a proper manner at that time. Ngl, I was so damn desperate for manifesting even the smallest stuff (I just wanna time travel back in time and slap the shit outta that version of me that I was back then 💀)

So when I got into a medical university in 2023 January, I completely forgot about respawning for a while. And again in October 2023, I logged into Tumblr, and became friends with one of the respawner Julie. She was so sweet, that she even answered every stupid doubts of mine (God give me Julie's patience 🗣️🗣️) she had respawned back in October 2023.

She was the one who told me 'SELF CONCEPT IS THE KEY!' so I started working on my self concept for like 1 and a half-ish months.... Well, I wasn't even perfect with it, but I tried. I did many challenges but the meraskii one had a good effect on my mindset. So last Christmas, I even learnt about the void (I hate implying it as void, I'd rather say it as I AM state) I wanted to enter it so bad.

I just did my affs, persisted in it, and listened to subs, and on Christmas Eve, I got into it successfully.

This year, I find respawning a very relaxing topic. Like I don't even get bothered by it. I know I'm already where I wanna be. And don't worry, my mental health has been good for a few days now. I was thinking of changing my script, so for the past 2 months, I've been scripting my new reality, well still it's only half way done hehe.

By the end of this month, I'm planning on respawning through the void. So till then I just wanna be thankful for everything here and enjoy every moment here without regrets.

Everybody's journey is different. All you have to do is embody your desired state. You just have to be the version of you having your desires. Be the one who already has it. For me, that took 3 years to click. I just had to relax and give myself in. Let go and enjoy the fact that I already have my desires in the 4d.

Ig this helped... any further doubts, you can ask me! Lots of luv 🤍🤍🤍🤍

- olivia 🤍