#let me give you the best star seeing head of your entire life <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[daydreamingleclerc]

he ! is ! so ! broad !

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen react to their s/o backhugging them

requested ^_^ also junhui is in 2 diff bullet points bc i firmly believe he belongs in both categories teehee

masterlist

seungcheol, wonwoo, mingyu, dokyeom

see, here's the thing. he has a pretty broad and warm and sturdy back, and he's just so comfortable and always right there so of course you're gonna bury your face between his shoulder blades and never pay attention to the rest of the world ever again. you always collapse into his back after a particularly tiring day, while he's making dinner for the both of you and you want nothing more than to just bury yourself into his warmth and never leave. he's used to having you clinging to his back like a particularly stubborn limpet, and while he makes a small exclamation of surprise when you come out of nowhere to hug him, eventually he just smiles and lets you cling to him for however long u need

jeonghan, woozi, vernon, (junhui)

when you suddenly come up behind him and clamp an iron grip around his middle, he just pulls your arms more firmly around him, pats your hands and carries on with his day. you're holding him so tightly it's like you're afraid he's gonna disappear, and it's hard to move around bc you're plastered to his back and squeezing him kinda tight, but he does his best. that is, until he almost trips over your feet bc you're standing so close to him. he kinda feels like he's caught up in a trap, and tells you as such, every single time. “you're holding me hostage now, huh?” “i'm not holding you hostage.” “then are you gonna let me go?” “no.” but you're cute, so whatever. he'll happily be held hostage by you for however long it takes for you to decide he can finally be released.

joshua, minghao, chan

the moment he feels you burying your face into his back, hands around his middle, he's smiling and tilting his head back in response to your presence, murmuring a soft “hello, you” as you mumble unintelligible words into his shirt. he's so fond, practically melting in your hold, and he lets you stay plastered to his back for however long it takes you to wake up from your latest drowsy state that had you craving back hugs from him. because you backhugging him is saved for sleepy moments, for times when you're not quite awake and cling to him like a koala until you've fully woken up. it's adorable—you're adorable—so after a few minutes he's turning around and wrapping his arms around your shoulders and kissing ur cheek sweetly and asking if his lovely, lovely darling had a good sleep? <3

hoshi, seungkwan, (junhui)

yelps in surprise every time when you come up behind him and wrap around his back, before he realises that it's you and immediately relaxes. it's kinda comforting, feeling you and your warmth against him, but he gets kinda wriggly after a few minutes, wanting to see your face, so back hugs always end up turning into proper bear hugs where he wraps his arms around you and can look you in the eye properly before covering your entire face in kisses. he likes eye contact, likes seeing the love of his life right before him, and while backhugging is cute as hell do you know what’s even cuter? the little nose scrunch thingy he does when he gives you fluttery soft butterfly kisses over your eyelids.

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reactions tags: @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @newgirlygirl @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @wonranghaeee @yonabutnotyuna @crackedpumpkin @wqnwoos @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @icyminghao @valenhui @sweet-like-caramel @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @chansburgah @pepperonijem @jeonride @kellesvt @hanniehaee @astrozuya @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @all-american-fangirl @f1uffyjun

[yawnderu]

hi, i've only discovered your writing recently but i can't even explain how much i love it 😭 it's like that one anon who i think said that it feels very real, like you're getting 4k ultra hd 8d view of the scene lol 🩷

i really like your bimbo reader posts but i also sort of enjoy seeing them from this point of view that's like.... "this is not his gfs """"constant"""" style but he just lets her be in this kind of persona sometimes because it's relaxing to let him do all the work and thinking for her from time to time".

i hope this makes sense 😭 thank you for writing something that's this cute and wholesome i just love it

Thank you so much sweetheart, this is really lovely!! 😭😭😭<3

Yeah!! I totally get where you're coming from!! She's not exactly dumb, it's actually quite the opposite. I'd like to hc her as a girl who managed to get into a very good university and is studying astrophysics simply because she liked watching stars as a child. She's not dumb— just a girl who grew up extremely sheltered and hasn't seen the world through the eyes of someone who has had a difficult life, like Simon.

There's certain naivety that while it can be dangerous, she's been learning more and more about with Simon's help about stranger danger and trusting her instinct, but the girl is always surrounded by people who enjoy seeing her thrive and always teach her the things that her parents didn't.

I'd say in general she has a very good life, and now paired with Simon, someone whose entire soul wants to see her thrive?? She gets to turn off her brain and simply let him take control— he sometimes picks her clothes for her, dressing her up to the best of his capacity even when he's not a fashion guy.

This man has studied all her Instagram pictures because she's mesmerizing and he loves her that much, yet it also gives him the chance to more or less know what combinations she likes to wear. He still remembers the time she looked at him like he grew a second head for trying to make her wear dots and lines— but he never made that same mistake again.

They work surprisingly well together despite basically being on complete opposite sides of a spectrum, and at the end of the day, they work this well because they're both equally in love with the other.

Simon is level-headed and that gives her the chance to simply be herself without worrying about anything, he gives her a sense of security that she's never gotten with anyone else, while bimbo!reader gives Simon the love and affection he never even dared to think about. The main thing is that she looks and treats him like he's worth something how good of a soldier he is. Hell, she doesn't even know he's a soldier, she simply found the most brooding and intimidating guy and fell in love with him before she even knew it.

They both spoil each other a lot. Simon buys her things, treats her with patience and love, and generally treats her like the princess that she is, while she takes care of Simon like no other. She does face masks with him, gives him massages, does his manicure (trimming and cleaning his nails, putting lotion on his calloused hands), and is overall as patient as they come.

They're a pretty wholesome pair and quite honestly I enjoy writing about them a lot, the love they have for each other is fully pure and it makes me happy. :')

Sorry for going off here HJBEFJBHKFEHBKJEFHBJK I wrote too much but God, I love this pair SO fucking much

Bimbo!Reader Masterlist

[muntitled]

heyyyy!! my brain gave me a half-assed thought in the nighttime starring best friend/perv!Lee Minho and bimbo!Reader. Minho's ALWAYS flirting with and staring at you, but you just (somehow) never notice. he likes seeing you wear those little outfits that barely cover you up and always mentions that you should only wear that stuff for him. one day he was just at his limit after another failed attempt at flirting. so, he just pushes you against the wall. you can feel how hard he is behind you, but you didn't see this coming so you're freaking out. and he just tells you "i'm gonna have what i want. so you might as well take what i give you."

-💌 (p.s. i hope this was coherent) ((p.p.s. make sure you take time for yourself to rest and just breathe bc that beautiful mind of yours is so so important!! <3))

𝐏𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲

Lee Minho x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language, Angst, Insecurities, Jealousy, Possessive!Minho, Smut +18 (Minors DNI) dub/con, Bratty!reader, Brat Tamer!Minho, Perv!Minho, Dom/Sub Themes, Mean Dom!Minho, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Grinding, Mutual Masturbation, CNC, Overstimulation

Fueling the Dom!Minho agenda

You did not particularly deal well with being unliked. Everybody has to like you all the time and there is no concrete way to tell your best friend this. Especially while he's driving down the highway, with rain pellets beating down the windshield.

You did not look at Minho when you initially slipped into the car. So completely and utterly suffocated by embarrassment.

The call prior to being picked up had been less than savoury.

"Isn't it too early to be calling me to come save you from your date?" His voice was completely drenched in his ususual smug sarcasm, "Or was he just that fucking boring?"

"I've been stood up and I'm not exactly sure where I am."

Almost immediately, Minho forced you to send your location until he was speeding over to where you sat, in your little dress all alone under the awning of a Michelin star restaurant.

You had thought the worst of the evening was behind you…

The car is completely drenched in silence with neither you, nor Minho knowing exactly how the broach such a sensitive topic. You're embarrassed. He knows this. The only thing evading his understanding is why… Why are you embarrassed when you shouldn't be?

"At least give me a name or an address or something," Minho's voice is dangerously low and you peer up at him with wide eyes from the passenger seat. Seeing him so put together is wholly off putting. Dressed in nothing but his sweats and a polo shirt- all black, all Tom Ford- Minho's gaze is fucking deadly as he glares at the road ahead. His frustration manifests in the form of whitened knuckles gripping a steering wheel for dear life.

"Minho, I'm not giving you his address just so you can go and harass him." The fact that you even had to reiterate this is beyond your comprehension.

"I honest-to-God, just wanna have a word with the guy..." Minho says, swinging his head towards you, completely paralysing you with the depths of his endless dark eyes. Instead of waging a war with Minho (one you knew you couldn't possibly win,) you choose to accept defeat. It consumes your entire countenance as you sink down into the passenger seat, avoiding eye contact.

"Why can't anyone love me?" The rain droplets rattling Minho's vehicle only amplifies the question and for the umpteenth time tonight, Minho is overcome with mass frustration. Again, you should not be the one feeling unwanted. You should not be letting scum of the very earth dictate the trajectory of your self worth. To make matters impossibly worse, another car swerves into his lane, completely cutting him off from a seamless drive.

"Jesus, Fuck!" While Minho curses out the driver, you keep your head against the window.

"I think I'm cursed to stay single and bitchless for the rest of my life."

You didn't get it.

You were a fairly good girl, never once stepping out of bounds. Not at work: where you worked so diligently for a boss who didn't always deserve it.

Not in your adolescence: Where you never rebelled, not even once. You lovingly spared your parents all the heartache even after you matured enough to go to college.

Perhaps the reason all your dates ended with a certified ghosting was because you simply weren't cut out for relationships. That is the most harrowing thought of them all...

Minho's voice pipes up from beside you, effectively saving you from slipping into self pity, "I think you're overlooking one major factor when it comes to staying single and bitchless for the rest of your life," You're already rolling your eyes, "And what's that?"

You can practically hear the pompous smirk as Minho says, "I'm right here. I'm always right here."

Instead of responding, your tone remains wistful and airy.

"The guy took one look at me and gassed the fuck out of the restaurant." Your blood pressure is being shot to hell at just the very thought of the man (who had contacted you first, thank you very much).

"It's like he decided reality didn't match what he saw on tinder and took it all back..." you conclude your rant with a heavy and listless exhale.

Minho, who continued to glare at the wet tar road ahead, allows his mind to conjure up every possible way your 'date' might've died on his way home. Instead of voicing these homicidal thoughts, Minho instead, cleverly and cooly asks, "What kind of weirdos are you going on dates with?"

Your reply comes sickeningly quick. "The kind of weirdos that give me the time of day," and to make matters impossibly worse, you attach a pitiful and dry chuckle to the end of your sentence. "Not everyone is like you, Minho. Not everyone has the luxury of being the object of everyone's desires." His stomach sinks deeper and deeper with the sadness that coats your voice. Anything that might save him from this suffocating feeling at the bottom of his stomach brought on by the sadness in your tone.

"I just don't get it?" Your sad eyes watch as Minho pulls into the parking lot of his apartment complex.

"I didn't smell bad ‘cus I made sure to wear Chanel number five-" Minho can do nothing except clench his jaw. His grip on the steering wheel is deadly as he eases his car into the vacant spot… “and this dress Lix bought me for graduation- I mean he assured me I don't look fucking bloated in it so I assume I looked fine." He tries to make it through your pity party, really, he does. Whenever you found yourself in this state, slipping deeper and deeper into your insecurities, Minho found it terribly difficult to pull you out.

Difficult but not impossible

"I'm telling you," he chooses to say instead, righting his shoulders and cutting off the engine as he forces that confident smirk back onto his face, "If you wanna get laid so badly I'm always a phone call away...."

Instead of entertaining Minho's words, your mind wanders, “Maybe I'm just not hardwired for a relationship. Maybe all I'll have until I reach my deathbed is my rose toy and 5000 cats-”

“False. You have my fingers any time. Or my mouth-”

And for some reason, that statement alone… that one little flirt becomes the undoing of your sanity. “MINHO BE SERIOUS FOR FIVE FUCKING SECONDS JESUS CHRIST!” You do not know, nor do you care if your voice is loud enough to bleed outside, enough to disrupt any passerbys. You've fucking had it.

With men who disappoint you.

With men who say they'll show up but choose not to.

“I'm telling you I fucking failed this evening! I failed and you're not listening-

In what appears to be a snarky remark to the side, Minho mumbles, “I'm not the one that's not listening-”

“I don't need your teasing right now, Jesus! The fact that I have to spell that out-” you release a sigh “Fucking never mind,” you feel utterly defeated, and before you brain catches up to the movement of your hands, you're already typing frantically for a ride assistance app.

Minho scoffs incredulously. That sunshine smile bleeds quickly into a dangerous glare and he watches as you type frantically across your screen. “Say what you gotta say.”

“I didn't ask you to come pick me up, just so you could interrogate me-” before your sentence could become another uphill screaming match you shake your head in a way that has Minho's knuckles whitening across the inactive steering wheel. His patience was dwindling dismally and he had the vaguest suspicion that you know this.

In fact, you might have always known this: Which buttons to push to get which reaction.

He's noticed it for a while since the peroration of your ‘friendship’. Something that blossomed into a friendship when he so very clearly tried to make it everything but.

“I'm gonna take an Uber home,” you say in a tone he can only describe as bratty.

“I swear to fucking God.” he says, manic eyes crinkling at the sides in a smile of disablief, his tongue jutting against the inside of his cheek.

Minho's not sure what he wants to do but he's damn sure you're not going to like it. “If you set foot out of this car-” He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index. Quietly muttering Korean expletives while you sit meekly, taking your scolding. “If you set foot out this car-”

“You're not my father, Minho,” he flinches. “I'm getting my uber-”

“Try it, see what happens.”

“Minho, goodnight.”

The last thing you expect to feel as your hand touches the car handle, is Minho’s larger hand covering your wrist in a calloused grip. His hand is firm, almost concrete and before you're able to process this, he's already dragging your face towards him.

“W-What the f-fuck, Minho, let me go!” the words come out mangled and squashed because Minho has his hands squishing your cheeks in an equally iron grip. Enough to have your teeth pushing against the inside of your cheeks. Enough to have tears stinging your eyes.

“Why the fuck do you never listen?” He whispers, almost to himself. As if he's completely forgotten about the girl, leaning over the centre console because he's squishing her cheeks for dear life. You anticipate the bruises. You can almost feel them coming on.

“It's like you purposely want to piss me off-”

Despite the aircon pouring warm hair to combat the Korean chill you feel very much icy all over. It's as if the chill has seeped into your very bones and it's not long until you're completely wracked in a series of violent shivers. You have never experienced anything like this.

Minho watches in apparent awe at the way your pupils, dark as they, dilate into even darker slits. His hand shifts silently from your cheeks, to your jaw, and lower until his hand is wrapping around your neck.

“Are you wearing panties right now?”

The question hurtles through your foggy brain like a runaway train until you're forced to bore your eyes into his, “What?”

“Which pair are you wearing right now?” He asks, despite the hand already drifting from your neck, all the way down your body. He swipes his hand against your slightly damp skin, prying your thighs apart with his hand as if it were nothing. “I wanna see which you were planning to have on for him,” he knew he wouldn't like, whatever the outcome may be, but he's only just begun this game and he's not ready to stop.

“Minho.” Your hand shoots out to cradle his bicep, which proves to be a deeply harrowing mistake for someone as inexperienced as you are because his arms are so firm, so taut. You instinctively find your thighs opening just a fraction wider, even as you say, “I don't think we should do this.” You begin oh so slowly. Hoping to convey with your eyes, that which you refused to say with your lips. “I want you to stop.” Minho is absolutely breathless at the sight of the stars sparkling in your dazed eyes.

He knows exactly what you want and he's damn well going to give it to you. An escape.

“I've never known a bigger slut than you, you know that?” So casual. So forward. His words nearly have you whimpering into the quiet air.

“I can see how badly you want this,” Never ever letting his gaze stray from your helpless expression, Minho pushes his hand further into the apex of your thighs and you wait. You wait with bated breath for the euphoria to trickle in by the cold tips of his fingers touching the lace of your underwear. “You want it so bad, don't you?”

“I-I- don't,” you force the words out with your hands unknowingly wrapping themselves around Minho's forearm. “This whole time, you knew,” he laughs dryly as he lets the pad of his fingers finally reach your clothed cunt. Your legs are trembling. “You fucking knew I wanted you and yet you still went on your little date anyways,”

That has you momentarily slipping out of your subspace, but before he lets that happen, he's rubbing slow circles against your cunt, with his right hand, a hand closest to the console, easier to reach the most intimate parts of you.

“didn't know, Minho,” the whimpers leaving your mouth are soft, so intimate, like the colour pink personified and it has Minho squeezing his eyes shut for all of a few tense seconds.

When his eyes flutter open again, the old Minho is nowhere to be found. Gone is the overly flirty best friend. Gone is the unnecessary jokester. Gone is the dry humour. The only thing in its place is a stone whisper of a smirk as he says, “Ride my hand.”

“W-What-”

“You don't talk,” he says, before sliding your panties to the side, “Useless little girls don't get to talk.” He says, racking a moan from straight out your throat as his hand presses against your drenched heat. “Useless little girls don't even get to speak.”

“Minho-”

“All you think about is getting to cum, right?” There's so much of a condescending nature in its tone, it almost has you instinctively tightening your grip on the forearm between your legs and pushing your heat against his fingers. The sight of you so worked up by his bad words have Minho cursing under his breath.

You're watching him as if he invented the stars, as if to say ‘What else’, and it drives him to complete madness.

“F-Fuck,”

“She knows how to say bad words,” he cackles as you squish your soaked cunt against his calloused palm. His knuckles are pressed firmly into the seat and his wrist is giving out but his horny brain fog is far too powerful.

“That's it, Petal,” he says, watching almost as if slipping into his own trance, “fuck my hand, I wanna see how bad you want it-”

“P-Please-” You whisper, “I need your cock-”

“You don’t get to make demands when you're being punished,” he mumbles, before leaning his head back against his seat, watching you desperately try to bring yourself to orgasm by rutting your hips against his hand. “Unless, you don't need my help and you'd rather just make yourself cum-”

“NO!” you keep a firm grip on his forearm, bottom lip quivering as you stare at him with wide eyes. “I'm s-so close, please.”

Minho can't help it. The very act of you asking him for something as sacred as an orgasm… It has him trying to adjust the bulge forming in his sweatpants.

“You're close, yeah?” He asks, now entering his own pleasure. He slips his left hand into his boxers while he watches you ride his hand.

“You’re close from humping that wet pussy against my hand?”

“Oh god, yes,”

“You’re such a good fucking girl you know that?” His breathing is heavy now because he's jerking himself off to the same pace as your cunt rubbing itself against his hand.

“You're such a good whore,” he whispers.

“Call me that again- p-please I’m gonna cum!”

“I've always wanted to treat you like the whore I know you are,” he whispers, watching as your eyes slip to the back of your skull, “I hated watching you go on those dates.”

“M-Minho-”

“Kill them,” he whispers silently, “I’ve fucking wanted to kill every single one of them.” he squeezes his cock, feeling his own ripples of pleasure shoot down your spine.

“Y-Yours,” you whisper, “I'm yours-”

“F-Fuck baby-” Sensing Minho slipping into his own prgasm, you grind your cunt harder against his hand. It doesn't take much for you to make a complete mess all over his seats. You're both wracked with a wave of shivers and Minho tries to keep his eyes open as he milks his cock for all it's got. He wants to watch your hips stutter. He wants to see how you look when you cum and he wants to commit it to memory.

He decides it's the most addictive thing he's ever seen.

“No fucking way you made me cum all over myself like some fuckcing teenager,” he grumbles, staring down at the mess he's made all over his shirt.

You're still a panting shivering mess and you yelp when Minho squeezes your sensitive, overstimulated clit.

“Hey,” he says, gaining your attention immediately, “No more dates yeah?”

You do nothing but nod.

<3

© to @mphountitled on tumblr; do not repost

[wttcsms]

if you feel like falling (catch me on the way down) | ONE

ᝰ.ᐟ after getting your heart broken by professional soccer player, rin itoshi, all because he loved the game more than you, you officially swear off all men — especially athletes. your publicist doesn't get that memo, though, and you find yourself roped into a fake relationship with yoichi isagi, who isn't just a pro soccer player, but also your ex's rival. things could get messy. ( fem!reader )

pairing yoichi isagi x reader (endgame), past! rin itoshi x reader word count 2.9k chapter synopsis there are certain perks to having a relationship that operates on a "private not secret" basis. for example, you're allowed at least two weeks before the batshit crazy people online figure out that little miss it girl just got her ass dumped. chapter contains partying to cope, social drinking, diet culture, this fic is so chronically online LOL author's notes so normally, i would organize the fic's different arcs or acts by explicitly saying "act 1" or whatever. like i said, we're gonna be chronically online, so the arcs are described as different "eras" and when it's a new arc, we'll get a new era 🤭 each era has special graphics for it: what the media sees vs what's actually going on. think of the era intro as a moodboard for the chapters that'll follow <3

⋆˚࿔ CURRENT ERA: PARTY GIRL 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ from the outside, it's giving irl serena van der woodsen but even better, no one can possibly have the same 24 hours as you, someone needs to convince you to drop the skincare routine STAT, matter of fact - we just need your whole game card

— guest starred on the hottest pop culture podcast where it was basically just a glaze session for you (besides the last 10 minutes where the host started asking about rin), articles that want to help readers live your (unattainable if you're not rich!) lifestyle, and a devoted fanpage that updates your every move... every move.

on the inside, it's actually giving listening and actually relating to sad music, asking an 8 ball if you're the problem, being desperate enough to believe those tiktoks that say if you claim this sound and interact 3x he'll text you back, wondering when you should mail him back his stuff, keeping busy in the public eye so no one suspects how miserable you are right now

— even spotify clocked you and it's auto-generated, customized playlist perfectly depicts what you're going through (talk about the saddest soundtrack to your life), got desperate and consulted quora (this is how you know you're at rockbottom). not shown: your credit card statement (retail therapy works, right? right?!)

“Promise you’ll be on your best behavior?” Yukimiya peers over his sunglasses so he can give you a very pointed look. You tilt your head innocently.

“When am I ever not?” 

Yukimiya lets out a very loud, very drawn out, very exasperated sigh. When have you not been on your best behavior? Well, just last month, you got drunk, stumbled out to your garage, hopped in your custom-wrapped pink Porsche, and somehow ended up falling asleep on top of the hood. (In your defense, at least even in a drunken stupor, you weren’t stupid enough to drive.) Last week, you collected the numbers of about eight different athletes and models, sufficiently led every single one of them on, and are now actively ghosting all of them because they committed the cardinal sin of not sounding like, feeling like, or being anything like Rin. And speaking of the devil, Rin’s the reason why just last night, you ended up blocking not just him from your social media, but his whole entire team, too. You felt vindicated when you did this at 2 AM. Yeah, because that’ll sure show him! He hasn’t looked at your story once since the breakup (not that you’ve been keeping track or anything), but in case he tries to play it cool and gets one of his teammates to view it on his behalf, you’ll have put a stop to that plan. 

(Even when you’re spiraling, you’re still painfully aware of the fact that Rin’s most likely doing okay, if not still performing at his best. He is most certainly not doing something as childish as getting his teammates to relay info on you to him. Meanwhile, you are apparently a social liability for your closest friends. Spectacular.) 

“Don’t answer that.” You tell him. “I don’t want to know what my life looks like through your eyes.” It’s bad enough that every little thing you do gets documented, photographed, and then sensationalized on the Internet, but it’s one thing for strangers to commentate on your behavior when they don’t even have the full story. It’s another thing entirely when it’s your best friend criticizing your current lifestyle. 

“I’m just saying, it’s going to be a very casual lunch with my favorite people. Not a party.” Yukimiya clarifies. 

“Kenyu, you do realize that inviting me to a birthday party, and then saying ‘it’s not a party’ is kind of giving mixed signals right now.” Now it’s your turn to give him a pointed look, but just like his, there’s no true venom behind it. It’s Kenyu’s birthday celebration, anyway. You’re not about to corrupt Mr. Catholic Private School and tell him to throw a fucking rager. 

“If my team gets their way, there probably will be an actual party. If there is, you’ll be the first one I give the details to.” There’s a distant shout in the back; the photographer is done with his lunch, and he’s ready to wrap this shoot up. Kenyu examines his hair in the vanity mirror before getting out of his chair and giving you a quick hug. Your photos have already been taken, and there’s really no point for you to be on set still. 

However, Kenyu’s on set. Your only other viable option is to just go home and hide under your covers, rewatching Someone Great on Netflix and Doordashing Ben & Jerry’s. Juliette is home in France and won’t be coming back until the end of the month, and you’re not really in the mood to see any of your other friends. It’s tiring being around people who can’t separate front-cover-of-Vogue you from the real you. If you’re going to have to fake a smile, it might as well be on set rather than grabbing brunch with people who would kill to be able to leak something as headline-inducing as your breakup. 

“Pinky promise?” You look up at Yukimiya. “You promise to tell me about the party even if I’ll make a fool of myself because apparently I don’t act on my best behavior?” 

He rolls his eyes at your comment. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, and you know that. Besides, you could never make a fool of yourself. Anything you do is declared iconic, anyway.”

Having a famous movie director as a father and a certified Hollywood starlet as a mother, life wasn’t just set at easy mode for you. You practically were given an unlimited money hack and started off with like, five times the XP compared to any other beginner. At thirteen, you told your parents that for your birthday, you wanted to become a model. Two phone calls and a private jet flight later, and you had signed with the best modeling agency in the country and had your first ever photoshoot booked. 

Fate gave you parents with connections, and you’d be a fool to not use it to your advantage. Fate also gave you the same photoshoot as another young model, and you’d be a fool to not befriend Kenyu Yukimiya immediately. Out of all the friends you’ve ever made, fate only gives you good luck twice: first with Yuki, then with Juliette. You used to think you got lucky three times — meeting Rin for the first time was like experiencing something cosmic. Now you know better. Even rich people can have shit luck, too. 

Today’s unlucky situation is the way Yukimiya’s “favorite people” all happen to be athletes. There’s not a single person here who isn’t his teammate or somehow related to Bastard Munchen, except for you. If you didn’t love Yukimiya so much, you would have hauled ass. It’s normally easy enough for you to avoid soccer players at parties because they don’t normally get invited to the same social events you do, but now you’re the odd one out. 

At least the food is good. You don’t have a photoshoot scheduled until next week, and that’s exactly why you’re comfortable with choking down half a bagel sandwich rather than socialize with the guys seated by you. Yukimiya’s real big on intimacy and the power of friendship or whatever, which is probably easier to achieve when you play a team sport versus the modeling industry, where good jobs are few and far between, and the reason why some models are so skinny is because they can’t afford to eat — literally and figuratively. If they’re not booking jobs, there’s no way they can buy groceries in this economy. 

He has everyone assembled at one long table in the massive backyard of his mansion. It’s honestly kind of Last Supper-core, but it fits him. Little Yuki’s finally old enough to have a seat at the big kid’s table. He’s sitting across from you, and you’re sandwiched between Kunigami and Hiori. Next to Yukimiya is Isagi. Out of everyone at this party, soccer player or not, Isagi is the person you want to avoid the most. So far, you think you’ve managed to skirt under his radar. If everything goes as planned, you’ll be able to leave this lunch with your belly full and not having to interact with anybody. It’s looking like you won’t even have to drink in order to get through this. 

“Hey, out of all of us at this table, who d’ya think would have the best shot at being a model?” Hiori is clearly speaking to you. The blue-haired player is looking directly at you, for God’s sake. You wonder if it’ll be mean to blatantly ignore him, but considering how this little question seems to have captured the attention of the surrounding players, it looks like pretending you’re hard of hearing is out of the question. 

Inside, you’re dying. The last thing you wanted to do was socialize, but it’d be selfish and bratty to request that Yukimiya find more time in his busy schedule to have a one-on-one celebration with you. You’re here to support your friend. You can stomach being friendly with boys who have probably seen Rin more recently than you’ve last seen him. Fuck — why are you thinking about Rin? Do not think about Rin!

You grab one of the premade mimosas from the tray in the center of the table. You down the glass in one swift gulp. On the outside, you flash Hiori a bright smile and give an airy giggle. “Why? You trying to get a foot into the industry?” 

Hiori’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “W-well, no. Just wanted to make conversation.” 

“No worries! I’ve been trying to keep up with whatever you guys are talking about, but even after all this time being friends with Kenyu, I still don’t really get soccer.” Your smile is still intact. You reach for another mimosa. 

“Rin didn’t teach you anything?” 

Ever since you entered the industry, you knew that you had to get comfortable with standing out. No — you needed to thrive on standing out. You needed to crave, to rely on, people’s undying attention in order to survive. In the eyes of the media, you’re the center of attention. You got what every girl your age wants. At this table, everyone’s eyes are focused on you. What you want is to be back in your room, away from their prying gazes and curious stares.

But you’re a trained professional. Your smile never slides off, never turns into a grimace. You give a casual shrug, directing your answer to the person who mentioned Rin in the first place. 

“I make it a rule to not discuss work when we’re together.” You look at Isagi, asking him with your eyes if that’s a good enough explanation for him. He holds your gaze, looking at you like he sees right through you.

You drink another mimosa. 

After loosening up because of the drinks, you find casual conversation with the Munchen players to be easy. The boys honestly never shut up, and you don’t know what they’re talking about half the time, but you’re cracking genuine smiles every so often, and by the time Yukimiya is going around and saying his thanks for everyone showing up, you are…

Not drunk, per se. You’ve built up quite the tolerance these past few weeks, and it’s hard to get wasted off of drinks that are basically three-fourths orange juice. (Seriously, was Yukimiya getting stingy with the champagne? Sober You might be able to acknowledge the fact that Yukimiya might have just been preparing for the Worst Case Scenario, which would be you hogging all the drinks to yourself. Which sort of happened. Fuck. Sometimes it sucks to be known so well.) You’re definitely tipsy, though. Maybe half a tier above tipsy? Whatever the case, you are definitely in no shape to drive. 

“Kenny,” you whine out his nickname, trying your best to pull out your puppy-dog eyes. “Please take me home.” 

“Ah, damnnit, [Name].” He runs his fingers through his dark curls. “Did you seriously get drunk off of orange juice?” 

“Champagne drunk is the best drunk. I’m pretty sure People Magazine quoted me on that like, last year, so it’s basically fact.” Yukimiya doesn’t seem overly impressed. “And I’m not drunk, but my alcohol levels right now are definitely above the legal limit. Sorry, but I don’t plan on making headlines for a DUI. Hard to spin that into something iconic.” 

This gets Yukimiya to crack a smile. “I thought you were leaning into the party girl look?” 

“Yeah, but after Justin Timberlake got caught for intoxicated driving, he made it look totally lame. He ruined it for us!” 

“I wish I could drive you back, but I have to retake some photos for this sneaker ad I’m doing, and with traffic, I’m really cutting it close already. Do you want to just come with, or hang out at my place until I get back? You should’ve said something sooner; I could’ve asked one of the guys to drop you off.”

You crinkle your nose. “No, thanks. I’m not a fan of strangers knowing where I live.” Becoming a model at such a young age thrust you into the spotlight. With media attention comes total pervs who lurk in Reddit threads and 4Chan, and stumbling upon some of the things said about you, reading the things they would do to you if they found you, all laid out in disgusting, graphic detail, left you kind of paranoid. Getting doxxed might be one of your worst fears. No Ubers. No car ride homes with strangers. “I’ll wait here. It’s been a while since I went through your things, so I’m sure there’ll be enough of your dirty secrets to uncover to keep me occupied.” 

“Did you need a ride?” 

Shitty luck, indeed. 

The teammate who decided to stay behind to help clean up (because he’s just that outstanding of a guy) is the sole reason for why you went buckwild on the mimosas. You can see why Rin was always frustrated with him.

“Nope—” You say, at the same exact time as Yukimiya nods enthusiastically. 

“Would you mind? [Name] actually lives pretty close by, so it might not be out of the way.” 

You shoot Yukimiya a scathing glare. He ignores it completely, smiling at Isagi. 

“I don’t mind. That is, if you don’t mind.” Isagi is looking at you expectantly. Yukimiya trusts him. And you trust Yukimiya. By some sort of logic, you should reasonably be able to trust Isagi. It’s clear that Kenyu wants you to carpool with him, anyway, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so happy to dump you onto him. 

“Sure. I’m ready to go whenever you are.” 

What would happen if you jumped out of a moving vehicle? 

At best, you’d get your pretty skin all scraped up, meaning your photoshoots would either have to be delayed, or you would have to endure all the clear distaste for your “unprofessionalism” in the workplace from the people who actually had to work to get to where they’re at. At worst, you end up hospitalized. Somehow, it seems easier to photoshop out a few cuts and scrapes than working with someone in a full-body cast.

As you weigh the pros and cons of jumping out of Yoichi Isagi’s vehicle — a sleek, black sedan that’s top of the line, sure, but understated luxury; it’s not flashy like the sports cars you see most athletes sporting — he smoothly reverses out of Yukimiya’s driveway. Isagi does that boyish thing where he ignores his backup camera completely and opts to rest one hand on the back of the passenger headrest, the other hand on the steering wheel. Fuck. Maybe it’s not a boyish thing. Maybe it’s manly. Isagi leans a bit into your space; not enough to bother you, but enough to where you can smell the scent of his cologne. He smells clean and fresh. Maybe it’s not cologne, but laundry detergent and fabric softener. Somehow, you find this very fitting of him. 

He glances out the window to check for traffic and eases you two onto the open road. 

He’s not playing any music, and you’re sure as hell not about to ask for the aux. You look out the window instead, watching the world pass you by through tinted glass. It makes everything around you appear darker. Somehow, you find this to be very fitting for you.

“You live around this area, yeah?” Isagi asks you, and you’re reminded that if you want to go home, you actually have to let the driver know where home is. 

“Yeah, sorry. Keep heading straight, and I’ll let you know when there’s a turn coming up.” Talking to Isagi shouldn’t feel so awkward. After all, you managed to talk (and actually enjoy talking) to all of Yukimiya’s teammates. You even got along well with Kaiser. But it just feels weird — you’ve never met him directly, but you’ve heard so much about him, that it’s hard to not see Rin’s rants every time you look at Isagi. 

So you don’t — look at Isagi, that is. You look at everything else. His car is clean. There are air fresheners in the AC vents. The floor of the passenger seat is oddly clean, like no one ever sits here. If that’s the case, you hope your heels didn’t track in any grass blades or dirt. 

“Um,” Isagi awkwardly clears his throat at a red light. “When I mentioned Rin earlier at the party…” 

“What about it?” Fuck, this is so embarrassing. Since the car is stationary, you’re in the clear, right? If you just unlock the door, you can escape on foot. Your house is now close enough that it’ll just count as today’s exercise. 

“Sorry for bringing him up. I didn’t know—”

“—didn’t know what?” You turn to face him. His jaw is surprisingly sharp, and you watch the way he swallows before he answers you. 

“I didn’t know that you two broke up.” 

No one knows that you two broke up. You’re still in the process of making sense of it all, and because you’re so messed up over it, naturally you had to confide in Yukimiya and Juliette. Neither of them would ever share that secret, though. 

So why the hell does Yoichi Isagi know?

“The light’s green.” You tell him, shifting your body in the seat, avoiding him by positioning yourself even closer to the door. 

Neither of you say anything else during the drive.

[borathae]

↳ Index [Snippet #51 - Sad Boy]

"When Jungkook comes home sad from work and you cheer him up."

Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life

Warnings: mention of losing one's partner to death, Koo is a sad boi after work, but she cheers him up, he is a little shit and she is just as much of a little shit, hehe they're annoying <3, and sooooooo in loveeee!!!, casual non-sexual nudity, backhugs with non-sexual fondling of the teeds, he is just the cutest <3

Wordcount: 1.8k

a/n: i was struck by the random thought that ogc!koo would most definitely cry to his wifey if one of his customers had a tattoo wish with a sad backstory, so this snippet was born hihi he is actually the patootiestest <3 i luv him <3

You didn’t have work today and therefore made dinner. Jungkook should be home any second now and you are really excited for it. You made some of his favourite tonight because you wanted to make him happy. Not that there is a day where you don’t want to see him happy, but you felt like surprising him tonight.

Bam has been in the kitchen with you when his ears suddenly perk up. He lifts his head and sniffles, then suddenly stands up from where he was resting to run away. You know exactly what this means. Jungkook is home. 

Feeling like greeting him by the door tonight, you follow Bam. 

You find him and Jungkook in the hallway. The latter is kneeling, hugging Bam as tightly as possible. 

“Hey there, my sweetheart”, you greet him. 

Jungkook lifts his head, giving view to his teary eyes. 

“Did you cry? What happened?” you gasp, instantly jumping into worried mode. “Kookie baby, what happened?”

Jungkook stands up and closes the distance, “I had a really sad day”, he says, hugging you tightly. He lets out small sound, melting into you.

“No, I’m sorry to hear this. Did something happen that made you sad?” you ask him, holding him and rubbing the back of his head.

“Yes”,  he squeaks out, having to sob. 

“Noo Googie, I’m here. Let it all out.”

“___ you, you can’t ever die. You have to promise me to, to never die.” 

“I mean that’s a rather ambitious wish. Why are you asking me that all of a sudden?” 

Jungkook coughs out a sob, making a sad sound.

“Let’s sit down first, okay?” 

“Yes, okay”, he whimpers.

You guide him to the living room, sitting down next to him and holding his hands. The walk from the front door to the sofa gave him enough strength to finally tell you what made him so incredibly sad today. He does so with his head lowered and his sweaty hands clasping yours as if he needed your touch to survive.

“I had a customer today and, and he wanted a tattoo and it was”, his voice quivers in tears, “it was his wife’s star sign and then I started and he cried and told me that his wife died a week ago and that he wants to keep her with him always. It was so sad”, he whimpers, “he cried through the entire session and I cried with him and it made me so sad and made me think of how it would be lose you and, and you can’t die, ___ please you have to let me go first, I can’t go through losing you.”

“Oh Kookie, you sweetest person you”, you breathe, scooting closer to drape your arm over him, “this must have been such an emotional moment. I’m sorry that you had to go through this.” 

“It was so sad. I had to, to take breaks because I kept crying so much”, he drops his head on your shoulder, “my head hurts so bad and I have ringing in my ears. I’m sad, please can you promise me not to die before me?” 

“So I should deal with you losing you?”, you ask in a chuckle. 

“Yes.”

You laugh. He laughs with you, but sniffles vividly.

“You’re a doofus.”

“A really sad doofus.” 

You snicker, kissing his forehead.

“Mhm, I promise you that I won’t leave you for a long time. I don’t wanna think about this day for too long because it’ll make me sad too, but I promise you it’s still going to be a long time till it happens.”

“I promise you too. And I love you so much. You’re my soulmate and my best friend and my life partner. Everything I do, I do for you.” He lifts his head, cradling your cheeks. His eyes, although teary, are filled with love. “Life for me began when I met you. I knew from the very first moment I saw you in Seokjin’s diner that I loved you. And ever since that moment, everything I did was for you. I love you, ___, I always have.” 

“Oh god Googie, I love you too.” You cup his cheeks. “My soulmate, my best friend and my parter for life.”

Jungkook smiles, leaning into your touch.

“Also my cute, sappy doofus.”

He giggles, agreeing with a nod.

“If I didn’t tell you how I felt tonight, I would have imploded. Witnessing my customer grieve so deeply really hurt me. I felt his pain as if it was mine.”

“Of course you did. You have such an empathetic, loving soul. I’m sure that he felt deeply comforted to be understood this way. I’m sorry that it made you feel so sad though.”

“Thank you”, he mumbles and sniffles, “I feel better already. Talking about it really helped. Thank you for listening. I love you  so much.”

“I love you too and I’m always happy to listen. We’re a team, we go through everything together.” 

He nods his head, eyes softening. 

“Maybe we could die together. When we're old like in- Oh no I’m crying again - like in The Notebook. ___, I’m so sad”, he wails, throwing his head back dramatically. 

“Gosh you, come here”, you chuckle fondly, hugging him again. 

“They were so in love and went together. I can’t do this today.”

“Gosh you, it’s okay. I’m right here.” 

“I can’t do this, please just melt into me.”

“I’m trying, I really am”, you tease, ruffling his hair. “You know I love you, don’t you?”

“I love you too, so much.”

“And I made Tangsuyuk tonight with lots of different sides.” 

“Wow, Tangsuyuk”, Jungkook whispers, forgetting all about crying at the mention of his favourite dish. “My favourite. Thank you so much.”

“Of course, everything for you my darling.” 

He lifts his head, letting you wipe his tears and snot.

“No, don’t. It’s yucky.”

“It is. So yucky”, you agree and scrunch your nose, “you snotty baby you.” 

A shy smile washes over his face. It morphs into a shocked gasp when seconds later you wipe his snot into his shirt.

“Did you just wipe my snot on my shirt?”

“Mhm I did”, you grin, standing up to run away from him, “what are you gonna do about it?”

Jungkook feels his heart flutter. When you are being playful like this, he forgets all about his sadness. He jumps to his feet, chasing you all the way to the kitchen.

“Come here you”, he calls after you.

You squeak and increase your steps, making him laugh and do the same.

He catches up with you, swooping you off your feet. You squeal and cackle, throwing your head back in joy as he twirls with you. 

After the twirling he has the audacity to wipe his nose into your shirt, snickering boyishly at the yelp of complaint you let out. 

He sets you down, laughing giddily when you push him away gently.

“That was so much. Why did you have to do that? Eww I can literally see the slime stick to the fabric.” 

Jungkook laughs, throwing his head back and rubbing your waist. 

“Tch, you’re rancid”, you say, swiping his hands away. You pull your shirt over your head.

“Baby wow”, he gasps, eyes instantly landing on your bared chest. “No bra?” 

“We’ve been living together for how many years and you still get surprised that I don’t wear that shit at home?” you ask him, leaving the kitchen. 

Jungkook follows you. You take the stairs down to the cellar where you have your laundry room. It is a very beautiful and homely cellar and feels more like an underground living area than an actual cellar. 

“Your boobs never lose their power. Obviously I’ll keep being surprised by them”, Jungkook says.

You scoff in amusement, wiping some disinfectant on the fabric. Jungkook is going to do laundry tomorrow either way, but you just want to get rid of the worst. 

Suddenly you have two hands on your breasts and two arms around you, a naked chest against your naked back and lips on your shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” you ask him in a chuckle, leaning into his embrace. 

“Just making sure that you’re real”, Jungkook whispers, guiding his kisses up to your neck and ear. 

“And you had to take your shirt off for that?” 

“It was dirty too”, Jungkook says and takes your earlobe between his teeth to tug on it gently, giving your breasts a playful squeeze at the same time. 

You shiver and laugh at the same time, placing your hands over his’. 

“For someone who had a sad day, you’re being very touchy right now.” 

“I’m not trying anything just…” he sighs against your neck, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as possible, “...I get happy when you laugh. And if my goofiness makes you laugh, I keep doing it.”

“It does. You do. You make me laugh a lot”, you say, having to laugh a second later when he blows raspberries on your neck. “Not like this! I hate this, it tickles”, you squeal in giggles, fleeing him as he goes in for a second attack. “Jeon Jungkook, keep doing this and I’ll die right now out of spite.” 

“No, you won’t. I won’t let you”, he says, picks you up and sits you down on the laundry machine. He is between your legs, hands on your waist and lips claiming yours in a kiss. 

You smile and hum, tangling your fingers in his hair. He smiles as well, tugging on your lower lip before putting distance between your faces.

You cradle his cheeks, rubbing them softly. He leans into your touch, rubbing your waist. His eyes are spilling over with love and as he speaks, he does so in a soft voice.

“I just love being alive with you”, he says. He caresses your waist, your hips, your stomach and chest before landing on your face. “I love the way your skin feels, warm and soft. I love the way your hair falls, so beautiful and perfect. I love the way your eyes are so full of life and beauty and love how soft your lips are. You’re perfect and I love you.”

You smile, kissing his thumb as he guides it over your lips.

“I love you too, Kookie.”

“No but, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Jungkook lowers his eyes shyly, “I’m sorry, it’s getting too much, right?”

You tilt his head back up, mirroring his adoring gaze, “this could never get too much, my sweetie.”

He smiles giddily.

“Although I do fear that dinner might be getting cold if we keep being so sappy.”

“Oh dinner! I totally forgot. Wow baby, I’m so happy to be home”, he says, widening his eyes dramatically and rubbing his own tummy, “I’m so ready to eat, wah baby seriously.”

You snicker, “me too, baby.” You jump off the washing machine and take his hand. “First I wanna put on a shirt though. I’m not down to get sweet and spicy sauce on my titties.”

“Why not? You have me. I can clean everything you get on your boobs. I promise, I’m an expert.”

“You’re a dork, that’s what you are”, you say in a chuckle and a fond roll of your eyes.

[ichorai]

spiderling ; peter parker.

sequel to particles!

pairing ; peter parker x stark!reader

synopsis ; peter was supposed to find you after strange wiped everyone's memory of him away. instead, you found him.

words ; 2.0k

themes ; angst, mild fluff and comedy

warnings / includes ; lots of feels crammed into this, peter is a flustered mess, reader is an insanely smart kid of tony’s, mentions of may and the rest of the spidey gang :(

main masterlist.

Ever since Peter had asked Strange to wipe the entire world’s memory of him, things had been… uneventful to say the least. He studied, he worked two boring jobs for a low minimum wage, and he visited May’s grave every afternoon. 

There wasn’t much else to do when nobody knew him as Peter Parker. 

Sometimes, he’d go out in his itchy, make-shift spider suit that he’d fashioned with bright fabrics from a corner store that also sold his most favorite orange-flavored popsicles, stopping common crime as the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Other than that… he slept. He played Crossy Road on his phone—or he’d rewatch the Star Wars movies for the billionth time. 

He thought of his best friends, Ned and MJ. He thought of his brothers, Peter 2 and 3. He thought of his Aunt May, and Happy, who visited her grave almost as frequently as he did. He thought of the closest thing he had to a father figure, Tony Stark. He thought of Mr. Stark’s oldest kid—which he used to refer to as his significant other. 

The love of his life. 

Y/N Stark.

Peter missed you. He missed you more than anything in the entire world. He missed your wide smile and the specific way you’d throw your head back and laugh so hard you’d be grabbing onto his arm, gasping for breath. He missed how you’d press your chest into his back and kiss along his neck while he did his physics homework, quietly mumbling corrections to his calculations when he’d distractedly scribbled down the wrong formula. He missed how Mr. Stark would pull him to the side to give him the ‘Responsible Dad Talk’ just about every time the two of you hung out together, and how you’d have to tell your dad that you could make your own decisions and you didn’t need him to hover over the two of you.

Besides, you used to say with a soft smile, it’s Peter. You know Peter. He’s… he’s Peter. He’d never hurt me, pops.

But he did hurt you. He erased all the memories you had together—he completely wiped himself out of your life.

You loved him—and he had taken that away from you. 

“I love you,” you had whispered into him as you hugged him tight, a tear slipping down the corner of your misty eyes. Peter wrapped his arms around your waist and held you all the closer. “Come back to me, Peter. Or… or I swear to fucking God—I’ll find you myself and—” 

Your words died on your tongue as he surged forward and kissed you, hard and desperate. The kiss tasted of salt from your tears, of coppery blood from his throbbing, split lip. Neither of you cared.

You hiccupped a sob when he reluctantly pulled away, pressing one last kiss to your grimy forehead, before letting you go entirely. He turned before he could see you crumpling into MJ and Ned, who had roped you into a pained embrace, your shoulders trembling with wracking cries. 

That was five months ago. Five months after Strange wiped everybody’s memories of him.

He’d wanted to find you again—he really did. Obviously, you were an extremely busy person, not only being the oldest kid of Tony Stark, but also a genius student, a researcher, the heir of an entire company, and an older sibling to Morgan. But, if he was completely honest, he didn’t really know what to say.

Hey, I’m Peter Parker and I’m in love with you, but I never got the chance to tell you because this wizard that’s sort of a friend of your dad’s erased everyone’s memory of me because the multiverse broke and a bunch of bad guys from other universes slipped into ours because I ruined my friend’s chances of getting into their dream college—

Yeah. That wouldn’t really work out, would it?

So he put it off. 

Put it off for a week, which rolled into two, which became three, which became three months.

All of a sudden, it was summer, and he still hadn’t seen you. 

He made sure to go to the coffee shop MJ worked at, just to see how she and Ned were faring. From what he heard while he eavesdropped—they were doing great at MIT. 

Peter tried his best to keep up with you through those news articles that kept flashing him ads like You Wouldn’t Believe What This Celebrity Looks Like Without Makeup! or Learn All About Steve Rogers’ Exercise Routine! 

There wasn’t much that he could find about you, other than a couple pictures of you with your little sister, Morgan, chowing down on cheeseburgers at McDonald’s. After all, you’d always been a rather private person, which was the one jarring difference between you and your infamously public father. 

Your social medias were, expectedly, all privated. Peter doubted you’d accept his follow request, anyway.

It was an ordinary Tuesday—Peter had a shift at a car garage in a couple hours, which left him quite a bit of time to burn. He had ACDC softly playing in the background—a band that both you and your dad had been completely infatuated with—half a dozen books spread out around him as he multi-tasked studying new chemical compounds for his web fluid, and rotational mechanics for an upcoming exam. 

Then, much to his surprise, the doorbell rang. 

It’s probably the landlord, Peter thought with a grimace, thinking of the old woman who always had a cigarette between her coarse fingers, despite her own strict policy of no smoking in the building. He turned the music down to a low thrum, before swinging the door open.

And… there you were.

Peter could feel his heart drop to the floor.

You were… God, you were beautiful. There wasn’t much about you that changed—you got a new pair of glasses, he could see, and you’d cut your hair shorter. There was a tattoo peeking slightly out of your loose-hanging t-shirt etched over your skin, depicting a sketch of an arc reactor, in memory of your late father. 

Besides that, you were the very same. The same bright, intelligent eyes, the same lips that puckered ever so slightly to the side in thought, and the same brows that knitted together whenever you were concentrating. 

Your hands were shoved into your jeans as you cocked your head, studying him with narrowed eyes.

“Erm,” Peter started, mouth opening and closing as his brain struggled to comprehend that you were here. In the flesh. Fuck, you were gorgeous. “Wh… Y/N?”

Your eyebrow arched high up, closer to your hairline. “First name basis already, huh?”

“I’m—”

“You’re the Spiderling, aren’t you?” you asked abruptly, nearly giving him whiplash. Before he could say anything else, you were swiping your phone open, a hologram of a Youtube video playing right in front of his face. The video displayed Spider-Man swinging from building to building, stopping a car from ramming into an elderly woman crossing the street with nothing but brute strength. Peter didn’t even remember that happening. To him, that was just an ordinary day. “That must’ve been, what—like, thirty-five hundred pounds, about fifty miles an hour? Impressive.”

“Wh—”

You brushed past him into his tiny apartment. Peter cursed himself for not throwing away the pizza boxes stacked on his kitchen counter, and for leaving his sketches of web shooters out on his desk. 

A small smile graced your lips as you spotted the blue and red scrap fabrics discarded into the trash can. “Hm. You make your own suit? My dad did, too. God—are those goggles?” You picked up his vision goggles from his unmade bed, peering through them as you snorted in amusement. “How on earth do you see anything though these?”

“I—”

You turned to him with an intrigued grin. “I’m sure you already know who I am, seeing as you knew my dad. It’s nice to finally meet you, Spiderling.”

Peter blinked. The overwhelming sense of deja vu washed over him like a tidal wave—you were behaving eerily similar to when Mr. Stark had approached him to go to Germany back in 2016.

“I… how…”

“What’s your name?” you asked, gingerly stepping over his textbooks to stare at his pinboard, where his calendar hung. 

“Peter,” he finally mumbled in reply, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “And it’s Spider-Man, not Spiderling. What are you doing here? I mean, not that I don’t want you here, but, uhm—how did you find me?”

You looked over your shoulder with a knowing glint to your eyes. “I keep tabs on everybody my dad used to work with. Honestly, it wasn't too difficult to track you down—given the radius of where Spider-Man usually frequents and his response times to local crimes, it was easy to pinpoint where you lived. After my AI ran a couple voice recognition tests and estimated bodily proportions, that led me right to you.” You leaned against his rickety wooden desk with a curious grin. “Thought you’d be a bit older, though. Looks like you’re around my age.”

“I… that’s… wow.”

Wrinkling your nose in amusement, you turned back to his full calendar. 

Peter prayed you wouldn’t flip over to your birthday month—he’d circled your birthday with bright red sharpie and drew loopy hearts all over the little square. Thankfully, you stopped skimming through, pausing at the relatively empty weeks where he had nothing planned other than a few work shifts.

“Looks like you’re free from school in a couple weeks,” you said. “I know this is really sudden and very abrupt of me, but—I’d love to offer you a job at Stark Labs. You must be crazy smart to design synthetic webs with a Young’s modulus that’s off the charts. Could really use that brain of yours at my company. Plus, you’ve got a lot of work experience in the bag.” 

There was a beat of silence. Peter stared at you with parted lips. 

A bit more timidly, you added on, “And… it’d be nice to work with someone that knew my dad.”

Well, Peter didn’t want to brag, but he’d definitely say that he didn’t only just know Tony Stark. But you didn’t need to know that right at this moment. 

“Yes,” he blurted out, a bit louder than necessary. “Are you kidding me? That’s… that’s amazing! Yeah, oh my God, I’d love to! Thank you!”

Before he could stop himself, his body moved out of pure muscle memory and excitement, stepping forward to wind his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. Your familiar perfume made his eyes well with tears—fuck, he missed you so fucking much.

“Oh—” you began to say, muscles tensing. “Okay, then. You’re welcome, pal.”

Rouge flushed hotly over his cheeks as he realized that you weren’t his significant other anymore—in your mind, this was the first time the two of you were meeting. Quickly, he let you go, backing away with a grimace. 

“Sorry,” he winced. “Sorry, I just—”

“Have we met before?” you asked, cutting him off. “I don’t know… it just feels like… nevermind. I’d probably remember a cute face like yours.” 

Peter’s face burned an even brighter shade of red. 

“Here’s my contact information. I’ll send you any contracts, NDAs, legality issues, dates for any research projects you might be interested in joining, payment negotiations, all that jazz,” you told him, placing a card onto his desk. “I look forward to working with you, Patrick.”

“Peter,” he corrected.

A smile played with the corner of your lips. “Right. Peter. Nice music taste, by the way. I love ACDC—I can see why my dad liked you so much.” 

With that, you ambled over his scattered belongings on the floor, flashing him one last beam, before striding straight out the door. 

Peter stared at the open doorway for a minute—or was it an hour? He really couldn’t tell. 

He collapsed into his bed, the goggles you’d dangled digging into his back. He arched up just enough to pull it away, clutching it to his chest with a goofy smile.

You found him. 

Against all odds, you’d found him.

Fuck, Peter loved you so much.

Telling you though—now that was a different story entirely. One that Peter knew was going to take time. 

But for you… 

He’d wait centuries.

[pazziville]

Can I Be Him — A Pazzi Fic

Wherein Paige Bueckers, UConn’s prolific point guard, has been in love with Azzi Fudd, her longtime best friend and current teammate for the longest time. The persistence in scouting the girl to the huskies was not for nothing. But of course, Paige kept this fact to herself. Yet, even after all these years, behind the basketball star’s confident and cocky-like attitude, lies insecurities for seemingly not being enough for Azzi.  Azzi constantly reminding Paige of the reality that she may never have feelings for the girl the same way the girl has for her when she repeatedly talks to Paige about her boy problems, deflates the latter’s self-esteem, while Azzi remains unaware. With the next season around the corner and Paige’s newfound courage to move on from Azzi, what would become of their relationship?

CHAPTER 3.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

word count: 1,127

“You know you can’t just bribe me with a Shirley Temple and not explain your side of what happened earlier.” Azzi laughs at Paige’s way of getting her to speak up and communicate. She sure knows how to make the younger laugh and open up to her.

Azzi places down her drink and gives in, “I was jealous of you and Nika.”

Paige, shocked by Azzi’s confession, chokes on her drink. Azzi panics, standing up and getting behind Paige, then proceeding to hardly slap her back repeatedly as an attempt to ‘save’ the girl.

“Azzi what the hell are you doing?!” Paige’s face was red from choking and was even struggling to question Azzi’s action.

“Helping! What does it look like I’m doing?!” Azzi seemed offended Paige was even asking that question.

“Well, stop it! You’re making me choke even more!” Azzi lets out a low ‘oh’ in realization and scratches her head, “My bad, went a little overboard.” She apologizes and sits back down, now avoiding eye contact with the blonde.

Silence followed Paige’s choking incident, but she wouldn’t let Azzi not expound on what she just said a while ago.

“What did you mean when you said you were jealous of me and Nika?” Paige breaks the silence and Azzi’s face turns hot in an instant, something Paige was oblivious to but Azzi felt like she was literally in the Sahara while being in an airconditioned establishment.

“Azzi?” Paige noticed Azzi looked out of it, growing concerned.

The older girl stretches her arm and feels Azzi’s face. When Azzi flinches, Paige grips her arm tightly but not roughly, “Are you sick?”

“What? No?” Azzi answers with a short and fake laugh to break the tension she felt.

Paige had her hand on Azzi’s face longer than she should have, not even realizing that she has been longing for Azzi’s presence after an entire summer of not seeing each other because of Azzi spending more time with Parker. She sees Azzi’s intense stare at her and pulls back her hand, clears her throat, and recoups herself.

“How are things with you and Parker?” Paige’s questions catches Azzi off guard, making her uncomfortable, but she plays it off not wanting Paige to think she’s the one making her feel that way when in fact it was the mention of Parker.

Azzi takes a sip of her drink before answering, “He’s funny. Nice. Great at basketball.”

“Are you interested in him?” The blue eyed girl asks Azzi with softness written all over her eyes and at this point, Azzi knew they were eyes she wanted to keep seeing for the rest of her life. So, despite knowing the answer to the question deep inside her heart, she chooses to lie.

“I am.” Two words that were enough for Paige’s heart to drop. Yet, she loves the girl too much. Enough for her to choose to lie to herself if it was to make the girl happy. She gives Azzi a genuine smile, “That’s all I needed to know.” Paige wanted to say so much more, but it was all she could get herself to say.

She was in pain, but that didn’t matter because her best friend had finally found herself someone and what she felt didn’t matter. She should be happy for Azzi and she was trying. If it was for Azzi, there’s nothing she wouldn’t do.

Seeing how Paige was seemingly happy for her, Azzi thought it was the perfect time to explain herself and the incident regarding Paige and Nika earlier, “About Nika. Ice made me realize I was jealous of the fact Nika and you are starting to have the friendship we share. Which sort of aggravated me once I saw you were also starting to care for her the same way you care for me, leading me to say those words to you.”

Paige just listened to the girl carefully, her heart too heavy to even say a word.

“I’m sorry for what I said, Paige. I truly am sorry. You are not careless nor stupid. If anyone was at that moment, it was me and I just–” Azzi starts rambling out of guilt and as Paige recognizes it, cutting off the curly haired girl immediately, “Can you stand for me?”

“Huh?” Azzi, confused, doesn’t do what Paige asks of her. 

Paige is forced to leave her seat, walks up to Azzi’s side, gently grabbing her arm up for her to stand, and hugs her. She hugs her tightly and although the shorter one was puzzled, she hugs her back in the same intensity she was being hugged. Azzi craved Paige’s presence just as much as Paige craved Azzi’s, yet none of them knew that. But for a moment, their hug communicated the longing the two had for each other.

“Close or far. With me or without me. Even if you see me or you don’t. You’ll always have me as your best friend, Paige.” And that was it. Azzi’s words were enough for Paige to hug her tighter and make up her mind about moving on because in the end this was the extent of their relationship.

Azzi will never see you as more than her best friend and it would be unfair for her if you do. A tear falls from Paige’s eye and she sniffles as a result, making it known to Azzi that her best friend had gotten emotional, but when she attempts to check up on Paige by releasing herself from the girl’s embrace, Paige repositions her left arm to Azzi’s head, pushing it gently back to her shoulder.

“You’ll always have me as your best friend too, Azzi.” This time, it was Azzi’s turn to be teary eyed and bury her head deeper into Paige’s shoulder.

“Let me make it up to you. From now on I’ll be a better best friend.” Paige promises and Azzi wasn’t so sure if she even wanted Paige to fulfill it.

I don’t want you to. A thought that stayed in Azzi’s mind, unable to get past her tongue because she was too scared. Too caught up in the possible consequences. Too frightened she’d lose the best thing she’s ever had. 

I’m yours. Words that Paige always told Azzi and she always never knew what to say in response, but right now, she did, although it may have been too late. Paige Bueckers was the best Azzi Fudd’s ever had and she’s known it since forever, but has been too much of a coward to admit it. Not until now that she’s starting to lose the girl. Meanwhile for Paige, all the years of her asking herself the question ‘Can I be him?’ has finally been answered: She no longer can.

a/n: here's a sort of filler chapter. sorry to have kept those who anticipate updates waiting. hopefully everyone's doing well. much love. <3

[blingblong55]

Hi! if you take requests I would like to make one where tf 141 + Los Vaqeros reaction to r/n coming back to the base/common room covered in blood, hurt and tortured (I love angst ngl)

( if its okay can you make a Platonic r/n with little sibling energy)

Last Words of a Shooting Star -141+ Los Vaqueros

I love angst too and because I love hurting my own feelings.... here goes a little something. Not sure if it needs a warning but, just read at your own risk babes, bc I do talk abt I guess heavy stuff (as you can tell,,,I can't tell what is and what isn't traumatizing anymore so be careful.) This one gives me Every Since New York vibes

Pt. 2

----

You had been on leave after a mission back in November. Price made sure you stayed off base for 3 months. The excuse was: they need peace for a few months, they deserve it." But instead of being home you had been captured, tortured and almost trafficked. You fought for ever second of life you knew you deserved, while being captured. No one in the team knew about any of this.

*3 MONTHS BEFORE*

"see ya later boys" you said and got in your truck. (yes you drive one bc ghost said it was a better vehicle.) Soap waved until your cars silhouette was no longer in view. He knows you'll come back with home back goodies for him. But before you passed the first stop light one car crashed into yours. Another pulled over, 4 men with guns got out. You quickly held onto your pistol, but you knew best and didn't fight them. Your left eyebrow dripping blood. You got off the car and held your hands up. "Get in the car with them" he ordered you and a big buff man pushed you around until you sat in their vehicle, "My team will be here any minute now you know." you bluffed.

"Well by the time they get here we'll be gone." and off they drove. The man sitting next to you hit your head with the end of his gun, you blacked out.

These men had carefully planned the hold kidnapping. From taking your car elsewhere to texting Price that you made it home, the same way you would've texted him.

For 3 months they tortured you, asking questions you swore you didn't have an answer to. For 2 months you believed that the team would know you'd be missing. For 1 month you planned your escape.

And as the near came close, you heard them talk about trafficking you. "Think about it boss, anyone will pay good money for a member of that task force." That's when all hope was gone. Your limbs had been slowly giving up. By this point you were sure that your plan wouldn't work.

Until you saw the perfect opportunity.

"When kidnapped remember there is a window of opportunity when being transported from location A to B, so be wise and use that."

So you did, and now you had found your way back to the base.

You managed to get pass security and into your part of the base, there you heard Gaz and Soap laughing. Your eyes watered. You walked in and held the floor as everyones eyes met you.

"Kid," was all price could let out, he soon ran to your side. Holding on to you with so much care. Soap ran out for a medic, Ghost made way as you were taken to the infirmary.

Gaz held your hand the entire time. But your grip wasn't too strong. They were all losing you.

"Cariño, don' close your eyes." fear taking control over Alejandros' voice.

Rudy ran behind you all. But soon stoped when he got a call from his team. He soon found the footage of your kidnap. Los vaqueros were all informed of what had happened. They had taken you under their wings when you first met them. You reminded them of their siblings at home. How energetic and funny you were. You like a storm, took over their hearts. "Le diré al coronel de esto." He walked away from his team and to the infirmary.

These are their own personal reactions:

Price:

The second he held you in his hands his heart completely shattered.

He hated how your body leaned against his, this time your weight much lighter.

He didn't care about anyone else in the room

There was hesitation, his first thoughts were on taking care of you, but he is a soldier first. He must know what happened and who is to blame.

For hours while the medical staff was treating your injuries, he would leaved the room, making phone calls and deals with old colleagues of his.

Ghost had to stop him from hitting a medical staff member, "sir you can't come in," "that's my soldier in there, kid needs me!" he'd say. "c'mon old man , sit down" Ghost would try and guide him back to his seat.

For minutes he was close to loosing his shit.

Once Rudy walked in with information, he went hysterical

He cursed every one and everything

He never lit a cigar, because if he did, he was afraid shit would hit the fan and he'd burn that last gift you gave him.

Soap:

He never spoke, the man that had been talking for hours before you arrival stopped.

He couldn't form any words, he thought of when he last saw you, how your eyes were so full of life, and now that image replaced a much weaker version of you.

The blood around your body he hoped was someone else's

He left the room when Price and Ghost were talking to doctors.

He discovered you had to be put in the ICU,

He cried, and as tears fell down his face, his hand made way to the cross that hanged from his neck.

The same one you gave him on his birthday, after you had found out he lost his.

He cried even more thinking of the times you and him had laughed together. How much Gaz and you made him miss his family back home.

"r/n's okay...they'll be better tomorrow" he assured himself and repeated it like a mantra.

"Please be okay" he whispered as kicked a rock while walking around.

Gaz:

Like Soap, he stayed quiet, only spoke when he made calls to his friends at the local police station.

He cried too, but he soon left once Price told him to. "take time son"

Once he reached his room, he got on his bed and hugged a pillow.

it was times like this when you'd come in and hug him. "Everything will be fine" you'd say as he embraced you.

He called him mom, something you had taught him to do, incase things went south and you wouldn't be there to listen.

The images of the torn clothes and frail body of yours came to mind every time he closed his eyes.

It was always you and Gaz who at times would fall short on the kindness of Ghost.

When he least needed it, a joke you once told him came across his train of thoughts.

He called every doctor he knew

He walked into your room and laid in your bed.

" just tell me something George,...what do you mean you don't know nothing...okay can you just pretend you do?...I need something, so tell me something"

Ghost:

This man had it bad. When he first saw you, his mind when to when he discovered his family had died

He swore he only let you in because you somehow creeped into his heart

Your jokes and attitude reminded him of his brother Tommy

"Look ghost..look" you would say as you attempted a cart wheel. 'You'll only get hurt" he'd reply. But when you did things like that, he looked at you with such adoration.

Between you two, it was black cat and golden retriever type of vibe.

He stayed next to price, but once he was alone in that hall, he almost let the guilt win.How can a man as strong as him let this happen to you

The first time he knew you'd be his family was when you held him in your arms as you two laid in a field

His tears falling down as he heard your heartbeat, "close your eyes, have no fear, the monster's gone and r/n is here," you softly sang, a giggle mixed with the melody

"beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy" you whispered as your hands caressed his hair. He closed his eyes slowly drifting to sleep. "Good night Simon, see you in the morning" you whispered against his head.

When he stopped Price from hurting that staff member, he went out and picked any flowers around base. He came back with a handful, so tiny on his palms, but so meaningful to him

He sneaked into your room, no one noticed and he sat on your bed, holding you so close to him.

"Before you cross the street, Take my hand, Life is what happens to you, While you're busy making other plans, Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, Beautiful r/n" he quietly sang to you.

Alejandro:

Once Rudy had told him they had footage of your kidnap, he lost his mind.

this man went feral, Rudy would try and stop it, but man was he furious.

"No hagas algo a lo pendejo, coronel" But he'd discard his friend and eventually after 4 hours of search, he'd find the perpetrators

We've heard people say "met hell" but these men met Alejandro and boy did they met more than hell

Idc what you say he prayed for the first time since he was a child.

While on search this man swore he heard your voice, "r/n?" he would walk around a crowd of people

for moments he believed it was all a dream or a horrible prank you managed to pull. But once he saw Rudy wipe a few tears, he knew it was real

He went numb when his hand met your skin

I swear this man got sick the moment he saw you, he never got sick when looking at anyone in the condition you were now in.

His mind went back to the times he was teaching you Spanish.

"el helicóptero no puede volar" he said, to which you replied "volar? the helicopters got no balls?" you asked and he bursted out laughing

Rudy:

this man was devastated, but he had to be the strong one while everyone wasn't

he was the one to pray while looking at the footage. "Dios mío" he kept sayin as he repeated the video.

But soon emotions took over and he left the room.

He held onto the bracelet you two bought while he showed you around his town, you had visited Las Almas long after your mission there. You two ate and ate until your stomachs hurt. "Eres mi mejor amigo Rudy." you hugged him, Alejandro sat in the front, content with you for speaking Spanish.

When he first saw how bloody you looked he went pale. It was one of the things he never knew he would see

You remind him of his siblings, annoying at times, funny, but understands his humor like no other.

This man is the biggest softie, he was always Rodolfo on the job or Rudy, but man he was someone else with ya, always soft and kind to you, his voice would switch so fast when speaking from soap to you.

He was a trained solider to withstand any form of torture, but seeing you hurt would've made that soldier talk.

When no one looked he walked into a church and confessed to a priest, then asked "por favor dime que estará bien"

When all else fails, you pray, mijo, his mother would say.

a/n: I absolutely adored writing this, so I hope you all enjoyed!

REQUEST ARE OPEN!

[r4vensheaven]

Loser!Ellie x Vampire!Reader

Authors note: hii guys, this is my first time posting on tumblr so please go easy on me lmaoo, also English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes, please don’t hesitate to call me out im always open to criticism!! (just don’t be mean about it lol)

>loser!Ellie who’s life is just so mundane and boring until she finds out the new girl in her class, who she has a little crush on , is a vampire but instead of being scared,she falls even more for the girl and offers to be her personal blood buffet.

>loser!Ellie that spends entire nights researching about vampires so she can know more about you but eventually develops into a hyperfixation .

>loser!Ellie that can’t help but whimper every time your fangs pierce her skin, it hurts but it feels so good at the same time (she can’t help but get a little turned on).

>loser! Ellie who would lay her head on your lap demanding that you play with her hair while she babbles about space and dinosaurs, stumbling on her words,all dizzy after you drank from her.

>loser!Ellie who would blush so hard when you tell her how delicious her blood is.

>loser!Ellie whose favorite book is now “Carmilla” (iykyk).

>loser!Ellie who gets addicted to your bites to the point she makes herself bleed around you in order to tempt you to bite her again.

>Loser!Ellie that could hear your stories of many year ago for hours. She’s so fascinated by all the lives you’ve lived (and she’s really grateful she can be part of one of your many stories).

>loser!Ellie who thinks you are the stylish person on earth.

>loser!Ellie who looks up at you with the prettiest green doe eyes you have ever seen after feeding on her.

>loser!Ellie who finally finds courage to kiss you, your mouth still stained with her blood, but she doesn’t care( she thinks it’s hot), a soft loving kiss that eventually gets more heated and aggressive, your fangs poking her lips,your blood red lipstick living kiss marks all over her face, Ellie is having the time of her life.

>loser!Ellie who’s addicted to your natural seductive vampire scent, always with her head somewhere on your neck, collarbone or chest.

>loser!Ellie that finds you the hottest when you just finished drinking from her, your mouth is covered in her blood, your chest rising from your heaving breathing, your eyes rolling back from how good she tastes…

>loser!Ellie that gets so shy and flustered because of the amount of expensive gifts you give her. She likes this new guitar? It’s hers. She needs more art supplies? You buy her the best ones. A telescope so she can see the stars and planets? Already in her room. When you have been alive for so long it’s not weird to have an insane amount of money to spend on your sweet girlfriend <3

>loser!Ellie who feels bad for not being able to buy you a bunch of stuff back,she wants to spoil you too :’)

>loser!Ellie who’s eyes water and is left speechless when you tell her that she is the greatest gift you could have.

>loser!Ellie that paints and draws you over and over again because you’re her muse. She also makes paintings to decorate your big mansion, every room has at least something made by her.

>loser!Ellie always losing card games against you, who after so many years became a master in them, but Ellie still has hope that she’ll win against you someday( when she does its because you let her win).

>loser!Ellie who’s had many sleepless nights thinking (and crying) about how she’s going to get old and die while you stay young forever :’(

>loser!Ellie that begs you to turn her because there’s nothing she wants more than to spend eternity with you.

Thinking of writing a full fic on this, i just need the time lmao

[teen-antisocial]

Man After Midnight - Matpat x reader

TW: Collen Balinger, mention of death

The air was still. No breeze. No wind. No rain. No warmth. It was haunting. The group of youtubers had been at Everlock for about 3 hours, making it half past 12. Y/N Davidson had been constantly on edge. She had won about 2 challenges out of the 4 that have happened. She had just witnessed her best friend, and crush, die. He lost a challenge to Manny, and it was heartbreaking to see. She looked at him before it happened, he couldn't move which triggered her to do the same.

She hoped all this was a nightmare and she would wake up and watch the late show in her flat all alone. Normally she would hate to spend the evening on her own, but right now. She would take it. Y/N couldn't bring herself to watch another friend die. She was currently fighting survivors guilt.

Currently, she is sitting next to Joey, listening to him rant on about something to do with the league of evil he's with. She just wanted him to shut up. That league is the reason Mat was dead. Nothing could convince her otherwise. Autumn winds started blowing outside the window, possibly a sign the curse was wearing off maybe? Probably not!

It made her so depressed to look around the room and see the gloom. However she didn't blame anyone, the best player had just died. Who wouldn't give up? By this point all the players had. Y/N found herself praying to herself. Praying for someone to come and save them. 'is there a man out there? Someone to hear my prayer?' she wondered, looking around the room.

Suddenly, Nikita placed a bottle in front of her. "Drink up sunshine, you can't give up now!" She stated "Mat would want you to fight for your survival, to live your life, not to give up!" All Y/N could do is nod and take a swig of her drink. "Gimmie gimmie gimmie a man after midnight" she thought to herself as she took the sip. "Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away"

All Y/N wanted to do was go home and give her brother the biggest hug ever. Tell him she's sorry for everything she had ever done to him. This mission really made her realize that tomorrow isn't always promised. "Gimmie gimmie gimmie a man after midnight" she repeated hoping something would happen. "To lead me through the darkness to the break of the day"

This seems like something a movie star would film for a horror film. It's crazy to think she was living it. Looking around, she realized the next task was being read out loud. She needed to stop day dreaming and get her head into focus. She needed to survive. For George (her brother) , for her family. She couldn't let them down by giving up and dying.

"Find the end of the rainbow, with a fortune to win! It's so different from the world you're living in" Calliope states, great another riddle. After a while of thinking, Y/N finally says something.

"It must be about children, they live in the same world yet it's so different to the world we live in. They have an imagination, and see the world in bright colourful rainbows."

"True, but why would there be a task involving children?" Manny asks, raising an eyebrow

"Well this entire carnival is messed up, it wouldn't surprise me if there were children involved"

"Wait! Y/N/N you're onto something there! Think about it! Maybe there are not fully children. Maybe they are dolls. They are so common at these things, aren't they? Think about it! It makes so much sense!" Colleen agrees

"So you mean to tell me that we might have to fight killer children!" Rossana comments

"Doll children but basically" Joey says

Y/N found herself hoping again that all this was a nightmare, she was going to stop day dreaming and then be in her living room. She would be tired of the TV and she opens a window and she gazes into a night but there's nothing to see, no one in sight.

Y/N doesn't know when, she had been silent and following the others, but they had found themselves in a room with a maiden of madness. God help whoever had to be put in there. It's gonna hurt. She hoped it wasn't her. The tarret cards were put at the front and Calliope brought Colleen up to do the first vote.

She looked around the room, at all the people who were there. Somehow she wondered who would most likely go after her. Y/N! It clicked! Y/N would want revenge about what happened to Mat. Of course she would vote for Colleen. She debated on whether to tell or not. In the end she decided to.

"I'm voting for Y/N" she said emotionless "she wants me dead, and I am planning on surviving!"

"Is there a man out there, someone to hear my prayers!" Y/N screamed internally, hoping if she prayed hard enough she wouldn't be put in the box.

Before Colleen could step back from placing a vote, Safiya said something "why would Y/N want you dead. In every challenge she has voted for herself of Joey!"

"I voted for Matt Safiya! She's going to want me dead!"

Y/N's heart broke. She had defended Colleen to Mat almost a dozen times and yet this is how she repaid her. "You voted for Mat?" She whispered

Colleen didn't know what to say, she assumed Y/N knew, and had voted her into a death trap. No one said a word, until Joey went up, "look I'm sorry Colleen but, I'm going to vote you in, you can't just vote someone in for a reason like that!"

"Gimmie gimmie gimmie a man after midnight! Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away!" Y/N said internally as she stepped up, she looked at all the names. She didn't want to start drama, and so she subtly put Colleens card forward, making her vote hidden!

Quite a lot of people voted for Colleen, there were a few random votes here and there due to lack of cards in Colleen's pile. "Gimmie gimmie gimmie a man after midnight, take me through the darkness, to the break of the day!" Y/N internally prayed again, nerves twisting in her stomach, her heart beat quickening by the second. She feared that she was going to be the one to go in.

The cards were shuffled, and a card was chosen. "Gimmie gimmie gimmie a man after midnight won't somebody help me chase the shadows away" another silent prayer. Calliope took a card and looked at it, "gimmie gimmie gimmie a man after midnight take me through the darkness through the break of the day!"

"The disco dancer" Calliope announced showing the card to the rest of the group. Colleen shook her head, as Joey and Safiya grabbed her. Y/N stood at the back of the room with Rosanna as the rest of the group put Colleen in the box, despite her screams and pleas for mercy. None were listened to. As the doors shut, Colleen let out a scream as powerful as banshee, causing the group to cover their ears.

A tear gently fell down Rosanna's face, this felt immoral to her. Slowly, the group headed back to their safe space, making sure they had the artifact. Through investigation, the group found out that they could revive one person. Y/N was laid on a sofa as Safiya and Joey discussed who to bring back. Manny and Nikita sat on another sofa, while Rossana sat on her own playing with Matt's badge.

Y/N found herself drifting to sleep, she needed the sleep, she couldn't sleep though. She needed it though. Before she could properly drift off, the two came over and announced they had chosen someone. The group sat and looked around, wondering where the said person was. Wondering, if it even worked.

"Is there a man out there? Someone to hear my prayers?" Y/N internally prayed again. "Gimmie gimmie gimmie a man after midnight, won't somebody help me chase the shadows away" there was still no sign of life. Just as the group were about to give up, a crash was made, followed by a yellow flash. "Gimmie gimmie gimmie a man after midnight, take me through the shadows, through the break of the day"

She exhaled slightly, and sat up a little and repeated the thoughts in her head. "Gimmie gimmie gimmie a man after midnight, won't somebody help me chase the shadows away, gimmie gimmie gimmie a man after midnight take me through the shadows to the break of the day"

Suddenly, a confused figure walked into the room, Y/N couldn't believe her eyes when she saw Mat walk through the door. Carefully, she rubbed her eyes and watched Rossana walk over and hug Mat, giving him back his badge.

Mat proceeded to hug everyone in the group, how her he saw no sign of Colleen, or his crush Y/N which made a sort of anxiety rise inside of him. Mainly directed at Y/N. Once he hugged the others, he looked over at the sofa and saw a tired, unmotivated and emotional Y/N looking at him. He ran over and gave her the biggest hug he could possibly give. He was thankful to be alive. And he was reunited with Y/N.

"I'm sorry for leaving you" he muttered, looking at her, admiring the twinkle in her eyes. He quickly looked down at her lips and then back at her own, realizing she had done the same. He thought nothing of it.

However, once it was all over, and the five survivors (Joey, Matt, Nikita, Y/N and Rossana) walked out, Mat carefully pulled Y/N aside. "Y/N, please, we've been friends for months now, and I always feel this feeling around you. Like there's butterflies in my stomach. And it took dying for me to realize this, but I like you! Not in a friend way, or a platonic way, as In I want a relationship with you" he confessed.

Y/N didn't even answer, she just crashed her lips onto his, that gave him his answer. The answer is that they were official. "I like you too!"

if you want to support this account; please like and follow, maybe even repost and go look on my AO3 and Wattpad - both under the name teen_antisocial. and if you're feeling up to it, please buy me a coffee but please don't feel pressured to.

masterlist

[griffonsgrove]

Haiii!! These headcanons have been amazing!!! Could I perhaps ask for a Dr.Flug X Reader where they're a famous popstar, please?? tysm!! <3

Dr. Flug X Popstar!Reader

a/n: eeee of course I can write this!! This is a really cute idea, I hope you enjoy!! Im working my way through a few of your guy's requests so bare with me! I plan on maybe doing a few drabbles or headcanons for some other fandoms within the following days so keep a look out for that!

fandom: Villainous/Villainos words: 1026 cw: none! just super cute fluff!

(PLATONIC):

Now that you were starting to gain more and more popularity amongst people, you had been wanting to expand your musical talent to all reaches of life, whether it be good or bad.

Being a famous popstar made it easy to get connections, thankfully, and a little birdie had told you about the infamous ‘Hat Island” that was rumored to be crawling with villains, owned by none other ‘Lord Black Hat’ himself.

You were by no means a saint, let alone a hero, and thought that everyone deserved to have the joy of music, even those of lower status. So what do you do? Schedule a meeting with the most feared villain known to man!

Imagine Flug's surprise when he opens the door to see you standing there.

The man about damn near faints on the spot. A famous super-star, standing right in front of him? AND they're cute?? Oh boy.

He had heard of you when Demencia would loudly blast her music from her boombox, Obnoxious yes, but he would absentmindedly find himself humming your tunes or tapping his foot to the beat while he worked in the lab, much to his dismay.

Eventually that led to him listening to you in his (very little) free time, and he, actually?? Enjoyed?? It??

Now, the tricky part was going to be trying to convince Black Hat to let you hold a concert on his island, This old man  intimidated tf out of you, if looks could kill you’d be dead before you even stepped into his office. But, you tried to remain confident.

You offer to pay him for compensation, and give him a small percentage of the profits from your show. How can he refuse that offer? It’s money! He reluctantly agrees to your proposition, and you sign a temporary contract.

For extra gratitude you offer him and his henchman VIP tickets for your show, Black Hat scowls, saying something along the lines of “that frivolous techno music gives me a headache..” But! He doesn't deny his henchmen going!

Of course you don't leave without the eldritch putting the fear of god into you.

Demencia vigorously shakes Flug in excitement, when she finds out they have VIP tickets to your performance, for once the doctor’s eyes light up.

The night of your performance happened to be one of his best memories, he was absolutely enthralled by your singing, and he got to witness all up close!

When he comes backstage to meet you after the show he nearly faints again. You thought he was kind of cute for that really.

You excitedly greet him and his group and chat for a while. Answering questions and sharing stories, you actually find out the two of you have a lot in common! As the evening wraps up you pull him aside privately to give him your number, if he ever wanted to chat. HE NEARLY FAINTS AGAIN.

(ROMANTIC):

That’s how you two began talking. You texted frequently, excitedly sharing each other's interests. Sometimes you’d snap a photo before or after a performance, and he’d send you pictures of his latest invention, or his model airplane collection.

It’s actually you, that ends up asking him out on a date. Through a video call, his reaction was adorable, he looked almost in disbelief but dumbly nodded his head to your confession.

The both of you lead busy lives, so you carefully plan out when you can visit and when he can get the time off. (He sucks up to Black Hat for an entire week).

You settle on something quiet and not far away, you didn’t want to be bombarded by fans or paparazzi during your small visit. It’s at a small cafe, Flug claimed it made the best coffee he’s ever had.

He watches all of your shows btw. Man’s is committed. Whether that be streaming the concert on his phone while he works or going to your shows/events in person whenever you visit the island again. It’s also a plus that he enjoys your music!

You singing to him, ouGHHHH. He’s starstruck every time, entranced by your voice. He really thinks of you as an angel, maybe a siren.

Love songs!! You write several dedicated to him while your dating, he nearly cries when you reveal this to him. Who am I kidding? He totally cried.

He makes you cute little gadgets to make your life a little easier. Like a custom-made microphone for your shows, you use it every time <3.

You SPOIL him. You get that bag (pun intended) and you think he deserves to be treated with everything he could possibly want.

If you ever meet 5.0.5 you best believe you’re treating that bear like your own son. He’s such a sweetie, how could you not? And if you sing him little lullabies to help him fall asleep?? Flug’s heart almost bursts out of his chest. How did he get so lucky??

He often wonders how he bagged you (pun intended). He's pretty insecure of himself already, it really is a mystery to him. He almost feels like he doesn't deserve any of it at all. But of course, you see right through his act, and reassure him endlessly.

You both keep the relationship on the downlow, mainly for your sake. He didn't want your reputation to be ruined if the press found out you were dating a notorious supervillain. You had told him you didn't care what the public thought, but he insisted.

There are numerous photos of you on his phone, not in a creepy way though. Most of them are selfies of two of you, or from photoshoots/concerts. He def has you as his screensaver.

You loooove peppering his bagged face with kisses. He gets so flustered it's adorable!! He secretly loves them. If you wear lipstick, you love seeing the aftermath of your kiss attack, his face painted in a lovely shade of red.

Overall, being in a long-distance relationship definitely has its ups and downs, but Flug thinks it’s all worth it, especially for you, he’s willing to give it a try. How romantic.

[lunarw0rks]

Old Bones | Chapter Five

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): strong language, gore, violence, blood, mentions of guns, depictions of injuries

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: new hiding spot, or just an excuse for them to cuddle for warmth later?? you tell me ;) also, not proofread so don't mind grammar mistakes pls&lt;3

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ♡¸.•*' ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter | ao3 ver. | playlist ꒦꒷ O.B MASTERLIST

Metanoia

Simon’s eyes crinkled in defeat. It was a double-edged sword no matter what he said.

“You shouldn’t be out anywhere right now, you realize that?” He remained stiff as if that was going to stop you.

Weeks before, it was him shutting you down; stunning you into silence. The tables turned on that dynamic at about the fourth day—the fourth day of hunkering down in his disarranged apartment. Sure, the place was nice, the couch was cushy, and the view of the stars was quite literally out of this world.

However, the honeymoon phase of limited amenities had faded away, and you were on the verge of ending up in a padded room with a lifetime ticket clenched in your fist.

“Simon, if I don’t see some sunshine, I’m going to strangle you myself.” The sarcastic, jovial grin on your face remained, even after threatening to squeeze the life out of him.

And not to mention, that goddamn tea; seemingly the only beverage he had to drink aside from dodgy tap water. Every morning you’d sit there, sipping on it like you weren’t on the brink of throwing it all out. All while you do it, he’s drinking his own, letting out a ‘hmm’ like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“Sunshine?” He asks rhetorically, eyes now squinting. “Go to the roof, wave your arms around, and absorb it. There’s your sunshine.”

Next thing you know, one of the pencils from his workspace is hurling toward his face. If you can’t get your enrichment time outside, you might as well find it in the little things.

His hand is out in record time, catching the pencil before it touches him. His head cocked downward slightly as if completely bored by your ‘efforts’ already. He tosses the pencil back onto the table, watching as it comes to a stop when it collides with your mug.

The rest of your face remained stoic, except for your lips, which have pursed into a displeased arch.

“Fucking hell…” he repines, this time under his breath.

The usual glare he gives in an attempt to end the argument has fallen void against your stubbornness, causing his posture to drop in defeat.

“One hour, and not a minute more.”

—

For the first time in weeks, you can finally stretch your limbs. Being planted in front of a television is enjoyable until the couch starts to memorize the shape of your hips—then it becomes downright depressing.

You’re pulling at the grass and rubbing the strands between your fingers, savoring the feeling of Earth below you, rather than a foam cushion. This was all you wanted and more. To enjoy the last few sunny days of autumn, before the entire city is covered in blankets of snow.

“You’ve got thirteen minutes left.” He’s either been looking at the ticking watch on his wrist, or around at the surroundings for threats. It’s no wonder he’s so miserable in the heat; he’s in his typical sauna of a black bomber jacket.

You reach for your bag and pull out a few bills, starting toward the vending machines. “Do you want something?”

Simon waves his hand, nearly rolling his eyes. Inside he’s probably cursing himself for saying an hour, instead of thirty minutes. But if he’s anything, he’s a man of his word.

When you return, you slide a can of soda across the top of the bench regardless. The can is swallowed by his large fist and stuffed into one of his bottomless pockets. He’d rather die than let you watch him enjoy the soda he refused.

You, on the other hand, feel like you’re drinking a delicacy; it’s practically by the time the one you bought him reaches his fist. Miles better than hard tap water, or the goddamn tea he buys.

Considering how far you’d wandered from the lot when you arrived, you take him standing as your cue to trek across the park. Instead of staying a few feet behind this time, Simon walks side by side, nearly causing you to walk halfway in the grass. He has no perception of how large he truly is or just doesn’t care to—either way is plausible to you.

Although his instincts told him not to let you come out here, deep inside he was savoring any moment he was not dodging a bullet, or reaching for his pistol.

Once you’ve reached the lot again, you’re peeking at his watch when it comes into view, watching as each second ticks away. He’s holding open the passenger door, leaning his hip against it in impatience.

“I still have two minutes of air.”

This time, the look in his eyes actually causes you to drop any further argument about to come out. Once he’s climbed inside the driver’s seat again, he makes a show of locking the doors right away.

Click.

He shifts the truck into drive, looking down at the gas icon, which is nearing empty. He grumbles something under his breath as if threatening the truck like a hostage who he’s finally fed up with. Simon pulls around and finds the nearest gas station, pulling up to the pump closest to the entrance.

You reach over to the buttons on your side, unlocking the doors when he parks. You’re determined to savor those two minutes you were denied.

He keeps his eyes on you as he begins pumping the gas, watching as you lean against the bed of the truck, nose in the air to spite him.

Once he returns the nozzle to the pump, he shuts the gas cap. “Stay by the truck.”

He’s gone inside to pay, and you’re relishing in the breeze blowing on you. Half of it is annoying him with punctuality, and the other is genuinely minding the freedom. You’re shielding the top of your field of vision as you peer up at the cerulean sky, for a few seconds forgetting about the horror show this endeavor has been.

The crinkle of a paper bag rips the tranquility out of your hands, snapping your vision to the man in front of you. He’s digging through the paper bag, unkempt brows tightened. Your posture straightens, and your hand is already on the revolver tucked in your waistband.

Although, it’s not a gun you’re greeted with, nor a weapon at all for that matter. It’s a box—a small, nicely embellished gift box—now outstretched to you.

“What is it?” You question, hand still resting on the grip of the pistol. His expression is as unsure as yours as if he isn’t privy to the details either.

As soon as you’ve gripped the box with your other hand, the man tosses the bag aside and begins walking back in the direction he came.

Simon noticed the man approach as he was collecting his change. His reflexes allowed him to tuck his wallet away, all while watching the encounter without breaking his glare. He takes the side route, going through the aisles so the clerk doesn’t notice how he’s reaching for his iron.

You’re holding the gift box, and the stranger has walked around the building, now out of Simon’s sight. Every bit of this put a sour taste in his mouth. More so the man he could no longer see, than the gift you were holding.

You’d thrown the box on the floor, scrambling back into the passenger seat. Your face had lost its blood flow from the shock of the gift’s contents, while Simon’s was turning red in agitation.

Instead of stuffed into a trunk, or spurting blood from a bullet wound, it's still you standing there; unscathed, confused, and peeling the lid off the arcane gift box.

Gold tissue paper to match the outside, paired with small sapphire confetti blowing away with the axis of the wind. You took one last look around the side of the building, where the man was still nowhere to be seen, then pulled back the paper.

You felt like you were going to squeeze the life out of the cardboard box at the sight of it. Your fingers felt clammy, and the tremble you’d finally gotten over had returned. It was the ring—the one you’d left behind several towns ago, hundreds of miles ago, and most of all the one you had to fight so hard to finally rid yourself of.

But yet there it was, glimmering in all its glory, tinkering from the sun rays just as it did during the outdoor reception Cal insisted on.

You shook your head visibly as if to physically rid your body of the vivid memories coming back to you, causing the box to tumble to the cement below you. Any semblance of survival instinct you had moments ago—the compulsion to search for any threats, had fizzled away the second you laid eyes on the salient diamond.

You climbed back inside the truck and locked the doors, finding the burner phone in your pocket. Simon had disappeared from the spot in front of the cashier counter, nowhere to be found. The jitter caused a few typos in your text, but you sent it in nonetheless. Your head hit the headrest behind you, as you were now white-knuckling your revolver, searching for any sign of a tail in the neighboring vehicles.

One thing was clear now—you were being surveillance again and probably watched the entirety of your hiding at Simon’s apartment. Cal had stepped up his game.

It was no longer gunmen, nor a petty attempt to corner you at the courthouse—it was mind games. The last play he had, was a futile attempt to break you without breaking the skin.

You could lie to yourself, and hide behind Simon, but once he was inside your head, he was winning the game.

His phone chimed in his pocket—the ringtone he’d picked for your SOS messages only. He wasn’t going to check it and be sure; he was going to find the bastard that brought the gift to you and get his answers. That was the only thing he was sure of right now.

He concealed the hold he had on his pistol with the flap of his jacket, exiting the gas station the way he came in. Simon snuck around his truck first, stuffing the ring into his pocket once he spotted it. Then, kept moving to meet the man around the other side.

Simon noticed the man within seconds; the back profile of him as he made his attempt at stealth. Skittish feet wearing sneakers a few sizes too big, stumbling as he looked over his shoulder constantly.

His hand clamped around the shoulder of the stranger, forcing him to whip around. Simon gave no attempt at a greeting, nor any negotiation. Simon pistol-whipped the captive with only a sliver of his strength, as to stun him, not crack his skull open—yet.

He merely dragged the man into the bathroom of the gas station—the only single stall left unoccupied. A grimy box with a toilet and sink, clearly accumulating the filth from years of no maintenance. To Simon, it was a perfect room for ‘conversation’ with the man—any knocks given, or screams of agony would be drowned out by the constant passing of eighteen-wheelers.

Simon shoved the meek captive against the door once he’d slammed it shut, gripping him by the t-shirt swallowing his wimpish body. He was much younger; youthful clothes, a dingy appearance, and widened eyes spilling over with alarm.

Not a plea in the book could phase Simon, or make him loosen his grip. Whether he was given specifics or not, he gave you something that unnerved you, he put you in harm’s way, even if only mentally.

“Who gave the order?” He spat, only giving the man mere seconds to reply. His mouth quivered, left agape like he was still too disoriented from the blow.

There was no time for negotiations, waiting, or pandering. That got him nowhere before.

Simon held onto the collar of his shirt and plummeted his head into the edge of the sink, each throw given with pure brute force. The impact echoed off the walls of the room—the deep thunk of a metal sink against a brittle skull. His brutish grip was the only sense of balance to the man, now sputtering as the crimson dripped from the exposed flesh on his forehead, all the way down to his neckline.

Patience was wavering as was the man’s ability to enunciate a single word. “Who…” Simon began, blinking away the splatter that found its way to his lashes, “...gave the order?” His tone was more of an inhumane growl.

“No idea,” the stranger’s eyes began to waver shut, as the blood trickling began to stain the whites of his eyes, “—just the money and a picture of her, I swear—”

Simon's umbrage only worsened at the sight of his cluelessness. He gave a few blows, each one causing a more audible snap; one on the cheekbone, then the jaw, and a final one on the bridge of his nose.

He released the now-soaked fabric, letting the man slump to the ground. His face was now nothing but a repulsive bundle of blood and bone. Simon looked down at his knuckles; spots where abrasions had swelled when the man’s bone sliced him, as well as the familiar, chronic stinging of a hairline fracture from his metacarpals down to the heel of his hand.

Rage didn’t blind him, nor did it control—he was solemnly aware of the carnage caused by his own fist. He was the one propelling each knock, every squeeze of the trigger, every trained maneuver.

The man was somehow still conscious after the beating, but unstirring as he croaked pleas for someone, anyone to find him. Simon tossed the ring into his lap, figuring that would be a sufficient message toward Cal—the crook he hired beaten to a pulp, while still clutching the item he failed to deliver.

It seemed like an eternity, how long Simon had disappeared into the back somewhere. And yet, no suspicious cars, no eyes watching you—no one to be suspicious of. The scene around you remained the same; a bustling gas station.

Each time you looked in the rearview mirror, you could see the crumpled box still laying on the pavement where you left it. The holographic diamond would bounce off the shine of a passing car, sometimes projecting the hue of it onto the mirror, like some sick hypnosis to further remind you of the past you thought was left behind.

When he returned, his shoulders were hunched forward in discomfort as he massaged his right fist. You could spot the stains on the pale skin of his eyes, as well as the ones seeping into the fabric of his mask.

You remained as still as the captive, refusing to look at his bloodied fists. He’d just tortured a man for you. Simon wasn’t going to patronize you, nor was he going to bother to hide the taints of what he did.

This was his job; his disquieting, gruesome job—one he carried out with regrettable necessity.

Simon went through his pockets, finding the cold soda you’d bought him, holding it against the bruising skin for a few minutes, until the flesh was iced enough to drive the next several hours.

“We’ll need to keep moving. Today.” You were already familiar with the routine; settle somewhere, bloodbath, keep moving. It was second nature by now. His words were just an attempt to cover a pained groan as his throbbing fingers wrapped around the steering wheel.

—

Straight out of a storybook, that’s how you’d describe the new hiding place.

A spacey cabin somewhere in the mountains, supposedly used by his old Task Force as a hideout at one point. Although, it was less military, and more like an abandoned ski lodge. Rather than the concern of not enough space, it was how much there was—especially when surrounded by acres of seclusion.

The wind got colder, more bitter with each passing day. The only saving grace was the books you’d already read over a few times since leaving home. The amusement would fade soon enough, just like it did when you were cooped up in Simon’s apartment for weeks on end. It was only a matter of time before another ambush, or another problem costing one, or both of you your lives. Cat and Mouse was a game that didn’t go very long; someone always gets caught—always.

Conversations remained cold and simple; a storm rolling in that night, if there was any hot water left, how long the latest ration run would last.

You’d lost sight of the end goal of this fighting.

The night you patched Simon’s wounds, it began to chip away at you slowly. Next, when he showed you that picture of him, there went another piece of your willingness. Then, the first time you began to put things behind you, it ended in more violence—and now you’re here—hiding in the middle of nowhere again, more desolate than any evening with Cal.

Simon is perched on one of the barstools, cleaning his personal arsenal of weapons. Something he seems to do daily now. His right hand is still bandaged—sloppily to put it lightly, since he insisted on doing it himself.

“How’s the hand?” You asked, not caring too much about the answer, you were just out of options. Talking to the wind only kept you entertained for so long, not to mention the bitterness of it whipping your skin the longer you stood out there.

“Fine.” His eyes only flick up once, then they return to the rag in his hands, scrubbing non-existent grime off his pistol. Truth is, he’d rather talk about anything but the hand, or anything to do with that day.

Your eyes carried down his long sleeves to the bandage again, picturing the bruising and gashes underneath, then the face of the man that caused it. “If that man looked like me,” you began, “would you have done that?”

His sore fingers came to a stop mid-scrub, something they’d been begging for him to do all afternoon. “I needed answers, don’t treat me like a barbarian.”

His deflection from the point was an answer in itself—an answer that made your hairs stand.

“Did you get what you needed?” You twisted the knife further, nearly mocking him by now, pressing a palm onto the countertop for support.

Simon could conceal his feelings all he wanted, but his microexpressions played out the story for you. He looked down at his hand again, probably thinking of the meaningless beating he’d given. It did little to nothing to protect you, that was unmistakable.

“I did what I had to do,” he declared, “you of all people should understand that.” Weeks before, those words might’ve eased the conflict brewing inside you. Today, it only added to it.

“Do you really believe that, Simon?” It was blatantly clear he didn’t. He was still stopped in his tracks, attempting to hide the gears turning in his head.

The pistol clattered onto the counter. He’d stopped his chore entirely. “If you’ve got something to say, you should say it.” His eyes roamed up and down again, searching for any semblance of hesitation showing.

The bullets, the stabbing, the bloodshed—the violence caused to stop the violence. How did this make any sense? At first, you believed you fit into this twisted puzzle somewhere, that the jagged edges would find their place and somehow the kinks would work themselves out.

“What the hell is the point of all this? Are we really any better than him?” You finally replied, looking at the fruitless landscape painted out the window.

“If you have to ask that question, you’re already better than him.” You were. Not him. This, he was used to, hell, meant for. But for you, there was still expectancy. That’s truly what Simon believed.

If it weren’t for the guilt swallowing you, you might’ve scoffed at his patronizing.

“I’m not so sure I believe that anymore, Simon.”

TAGLIST: @random-thot-generator @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @illyanam1011 @stunkbiggu @bi-witch-bxtch @warm-milk-with-honey @xheera (if you're not tagged properly, it's not letting me)

[siremasterlawrence]

The Handler’s Red Carpet Express 3 & 4

The success of my launch party with BAFTA aid is week known so my appearance at the lots of many Hollywood executives soon lead to submissions galore.

Part 1 - 2

Tyler Hoechlin is magnetic walking across the red carpet tonight something has gotten into him that my spirit driving him ever on forward.

He smiles so bright the light glistening on his teeth he blows me the camera a kiss he is waving his hand and demanding so much attention.

No one has ever seen him so happy with the camera men before taking one position like pose one way other than that and the crowd is so exciting.

The lights of the camera crew flashes going on blinding him in a fleeing sea of lights on and off clicking away the sound messing with his head.

Everything begin to slow down to a cruel a heavy weight off his body is unleash in a shocking wave hitting him head on in a life of fire.

Another hot, sexy and beautiful steadily sturdy stud man stops next to him with love, light, power and passion consuming him in a white glow.

He spun a bit feeling the man’s arms on his shoulders letting it spread over the man’s entire width groping it he yanks him closer to his body.

The flashing conquers both wiping away all fears, worries and desires because all they can do is wait for further commands to be given.

The other man is former Titans star known as Brenton Thwaites is in the mood as well as I notice a cock sprang forward in his suit pants.

The active flesh overacting into a myriad of cum explosion his facial expression are trying to hide as his brain cell die out on live tv.

My reporter walks straight forward toward them as the crowd is pumped for this super star studded event and Tyler follows suit ok cumming.

The man guides them to side by the red and gold blinds shoving them in playfully as they join the ranks of my loyal Hollywood pets or slaves which ever you prefer.

Inside there is a long set of stairs to the base of the bottom floor they both descend down the swirling staircase. Meanwhile two Men appearColton Haynes is at the welcoming desk he is getting a champagne glass as he takes a sip he can see silhouette in the shade of yeh red and gold blinds.

Australia star Brenton Thwaites walks on to the scene and soon the world stops making sense of anything and everything in utter life’s existence.

“Hey Colton over here buddy…what’s up?” Brenton yells at him.

“Hey Brenton! Waiting for the festivities?” Colton asks.

“Hell Yeah!” He says prepped for a high five.

“So do you even know what this is about?”

“To be honest no clue”

“Me Either! I am not sure why but…”

“You felt compacted to come”

“Exactly “

“Same here”

“Things are shaking up “

“You noticed then”

“I kind of like it actually I am embracing it”

“You are embracing your darkness”

“Oh God! Why am so hot?l

“Me too…I feel wet”

“Fuck”

“Ffffuuuuccccckkkk”

“Gentlemen! Excuse me ! Follow me please “

Part 3 - 4

The time for fun has come and gone so the real party begins when Tom Ellis gets hit with a spotlight encroaching on him ever so closer.

Stephen Amell is standing right next to him in surprise they both stare at the crowd in a cool style give a shrug with their shoulders in disbelief

“Oh How Cute? Two best pals”

“Who is this?”

“Is this a prank”

“Trick Or Treat”

“Neither! Fuck Off”

“Mwahahahahaha “

“Sinister laugh you got their pal”

“I’m aware it’s just for you “

“My two good fellows…do me a favor and”

“I said to fuck ….”

“SLEEP”

“Ooooohhhh Mmmyyyy Goooodddd”

“The audience gasps”

“Perform routine debauchery”

“Yes Master!”

They start to smile hands on each other in a warm embrace, a jaw dropping kiss, clothes disrobing in to the air, and most importantly a whip transports in to Tom’s hand and he whips his pals ass till it is red.

“Thank you and goodnight everyone “

“Say goodnight guys “

“Goodnight friends “

“Take A Bow”

They take a bow disappearing into the night in a flash of smoke slowly filling the room to the top and memory of this event is erased throughout the world.

“Enjoy your stay Mr. Evans” the hotel bell hop says to an exhausted Chris.

He fell a sleep unknowingly ceiling his faith at the Circus Hotel chain with a bright smile to his face his expression is silly after the night he had.

A strange looking clown pops out undoing his pants slowly stripping him and the lifting him into his arms and pressing the elevator to the basement.

“Master Lawrence, Chris is E is fast a sleep for you.”

“Place him in the elevator shaft “

“Press basement, clear the room of any and all evidence.”

“Yes Master”

“We are leaving now”

“Too perfect “

The elevator door descending to the cellar of the basement takes its time lights up in all manner of collar stirring Chris awake as he rubs his eyes.

Chris comes to laying on the floor he sat up placing his back to the wall his laborious breathing lessons and he returns to a sight for me.

He starts to widen his mouth into a smile and he cracks up hilariously for the world to see in this video he stands up bouncing wall to wall.

“Hahahahahahaha…the fuck…what is so…”

“Soooooohhhhhaaaa….i am going insane”

“Nah! It’s normal “ a voice comes from the speaker”

“The elevator is talking…hahahaha”

“Funny”

“It’s right this natural and right “

“Chris Hemsworth”

“Wawwhhhaaaattt” he answers in slumber as his body rises.

“Stand by the wall”

“Yes”

The wall at the touch of his back spins him to the opposite side of the wall into the shaft to join his friend.

“Barrel of laughs you two”

“Why are we laughing”

“I don’t know “

“It feels good though”

“Give in”

“Let’s go mad together “

“We can’t stop it”

“We can’t help it”

“Aaaahhhh…ooooohhhhh….aaahhhhh…babe….mmmmnnnnn….ffffuuucccckkkk….yyyyyyyyyeeeeaaaaahhhhhhh.”

The end

[pressedink]

hi it's me back again (shadys back tell your friends (idek ignore me)) so i just read the new chapter and i think i might die. literally SOBBING

i knew they were probably gonna kiss but i was reallyyy hoping they wouldn't. i actually screamed and had to put my phone down when they did i don't think ill ever recover from this

ik i've said it before but i absolutely LOVE this fic so here r some things from that chapter that made me scream :)

"Barty is obsessed with it. He needs to book a tattoo appointment immediately." literally screaming barty would def be the type to get things like that, he'd have so many tattoos dedicated to evan that evan wouldnt evan know of all of them😭

"Because friends is what Evan wants" no it's not u oblivious idiot

"...that loving Evan Rosier is something he can control. But it isn’t. It never has been." i'm fucking screaming i love them sm😭

"Oh god, Barty's struck with a sudden deeply upsetting thought: he’s acting like James Potter. Barty physcically recoils" STOP THIS MADE ME LAUGH SO HARD😭

"Evan was the first person who made him feel like he was truly loved. How could he stop himself from falling in love with him?" stop i'm gonna cry😭

"Evan just kissed him. They kissed. They have less than 4 hours left, and then they can never see each other again." oh wow isnt that fun. i'm going to kms/hj

PLEASE TELL ME THERES A HAPPY ENDING I DONT THINK ILL SURVIVE IF THERE ISNT😭

there's like. so many other scenes i loved loved loved (and made me scream ofc) but i'd probably end of pasting almost the entire thing if i added literally everything😭

hello Eminem! thank you for gracing my tumblr inbox. had no idea you were a Marauders stan tbh but welcome!!

lmao HI WELCOME BACK TY FOR ANOTHER ASK THAT'S MAKING ME BLUSH AND SMILE AND GAH

it's the way i almost didn't have them kiss too. i was fully prepared to just let them hash it out without the tiny little added complication of you know, never being able to see each other again, but where's the fun in that?

you're so right about Barty and his tattoos, like every single one is about Evan whether he knows it or not and Barty will just make shit up to make them connect like 'oh this frog riding a motorcycle? Evan's eyes sometimes have a little bit of frog green in them' or 'yeah my Fruit Loops Toucan Sam tattoo? Evan's fruity and hates cereal'

Evan isn't really giving Barty a ton of clues to be so real, like yes he's being oblivious and literally has now stated he understands Evan doesn't ask for what he wants ever so why would he lie and pretend he wants Barty now? but that's the key point: Barty thinks Evan wants him, not loves him. he's in denial because yes Evan loves him as a friend but how could he ever love him more than that?

James Potter as both Barty and Evan's standard of 'yeah, i've done something wrong here' is SO real and i love that they both just silently use him in their heads without voicing it out loud to each other

i can't confirm or deny a happy ending (bc again i ask, whereee is the fun in that?) but i can say [redacted] >:)

you're a star, light of my life, my favorite tumblr human. thank you so much for taking the time to not only read but hop over to tumblr and rap in my inbox :,) i'm honored, and hope you have the best day!! take care my friend <3

[yanderecrazysie]

Public Sex with Kageyama

DAY 9 OF KINKTOBER

Kink: Public Sex

Pairing: Kageyama Tobio x Reader

WARNINGS: NSFW, public sex

You love your boyfriend, but he’s always been a little uptight.

He’s vanilla in bed and, while you enjoy every moment of it, you wish he’d be a little more adventurous. That’s why, when the idea occurs to you, you decide to put your plan in action as soon as possible.

The movie isn’t one you particularly want to see, but you pretend like you’ve been wanting to go see it your entire life. A chick flick, something Kageyama would also find no interest in.

Kageyama trudges over, balancing a huge bucket of popcorn and two sodas. He knows you well enough to guess which one you’ll want and puts on the exact amount of butter that you both like. He’s an amazing boyfriend.

You take the sodas from him so he’ll have an easier time and the two of you make your way to theater 3, where the movie will start in just a few short minutes. When you walk inside, you thank your lucky stars that there’s not too many people inside and no kids. The back rows are all empty and Kageyama’s surprised that you head for a back corner.

“Don’t you want to get a little closer so you can see?” He asks, confused.

“No, not this time,” you hope that you don’t come off as too suspicious. You don’t want him to insist. Thankfully, he just shrugs and follows you into the row.

The movie starts after a few commercials and it’s just as boring as you’d predicted. Kageyama looks about ready to fall asleep. You wait until the main character starts kissing the love interest to make your move.

Your hand sneaks onto Kageyama’s thigh before sliding onto his crotch, giving his dick a gentle squeeze through his pants. You feel it immediately spring to life in your hand, hardening a little.

Kageyama whisper-yells at you, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just trust me, babe,” you pout, “Please?”

To your surprise, Kageyama leans back in his seat and, although his gaze is unsure, he gives you a small nod. Through his jeans, your hand strokes his hardening length until there’s a visible bulge in his pants.

Your fingers make quick work of the button at the top of his jeans and then the zipper. Your hands dip inside his boxer shorts and wrap around his hardened cock. Quickly, you pull it free and the cock springs up, hitting Kageyama’s shirt, oozing a little precum onto it. 

You rub a finger against the head of his cock, making large circles and sliding across the slit. Kageyama lets out a soft hiss and he tries to contain his reactions to the pleasure. Your hand slides lower and grips the base, moving upwards, feeling every vein against your soft skin. 

Kageyama’s shifting in his seat, his hands in tight fists and his lip pulled under his teeth. He’s obviously doing his very best not to moan out loud, considering he’s surprisingly vocal in bed.

You stroke up and down, your thumb still playing with the mushroom head. You push down a little, opening the slit a little more, before rubbing against it again.

Precum coats your thumb, but you don’t care. If anything, it turns you on more.

You lean over and lick the head, tasting the salty pre on your tongue. You hold back a moan of your own as you start to take him into your mouth. You bob your head as you take more and more of him inside, swirling your tongue around his length.

Kageyama’s letting out muffled moans now, a hand shakily resting on the back of your head before gently pushing down, forcing you to take even more of his cock into your throat. You move up and down, tracing a particularly large vein with your tongue as you do so.

Kageyama’s fingers tangle in your hair, warning you that he’s getting close. On the movie screen, you hear the couple moaning and assume that they’ve gotten to the scene that gave it an R rating. Perfect!

Kageyama lets out a grunt, slamming his hips upwards until it hits the back of your throat, making you gag a little. Cum coats your throat as he hits his high, and you gratefully swallow it all, running your tongue across the tip to greedily gather up every drop.

You pull off of his cock with a pop and grin at him, licking your lips before tucking his spent member back into his boxers.

“You never really wanted to see this movie, did you?”

��Not even remotely.”