#making the cigarettes for him like he just fucking loves him its so funny. and then when we see stan actually doing his job he complains

[dirt-str1der]

Theres no season 4 because theyre too scared to animate the canon gay couple. They know its going to change the dr stone mrm ecosystem forever

[luludeluluramblings]

With popstar reader and their siblings accidentally simping is so funny to me😭. Dick has always been a little bit, ever so slightly a manwhore. He's always crushing on someone, on the rare occasion that he isn't in a relationship he usually has a sidepiece. So when a popstar pops up singing and dancing around in lingerie of course he's gonna be interested. I feel like Dick would feel equal parts guilt and disgust. Guilt that he didn't even recognize his baby sibling, and disgust that he didn't realize it was his younger sibling ( ykwim).

Jason doesn't really follow pop culture, he listens to whatever music he wants to without shame. He would probably hear about reader from a friend god forbid its dick who tells him or a goon says something in passing. He eventually takes a peek and their music later becomes a guilty pleasure. You were right about his reaction, a cold cigarette on a rooftop while contemplating jumping off.

Tim is up to date with pop culture and upcoming artists. He also has an obsessive personality and falls head over heels with whoever catches his attention. It starts with a member of teen titans or maybe just a video popping up in his feed. The songs are catchy and have clever double entendres, the performances are inspired and playful. It's very easy for him to get entranced. Him finding out would be traumatizing. If he had been keeping tabs on some random popstar it wouldn't be that big a deal, but his adopted sibling, whom he lived in the same house with for most of his life. He needs to clear his search history, delete everything off his computer, see a therapist, and sit alone in a corner for a very long time.

Steph and Duke are major fans. They haven't really interacted with reader much. Reader had already begun to reject their "family" and pull away by the time they entered the manor. Steph plays their music, watches their videos, and goes to concerts with Duke. They have her posters, and albums. It's been Steph's dream to be picked at a concert. When they find out they are easily the most excited. Steph dated Tim in the past she doesn't give two shits that popstar reader is secretly a Wayne. She loudly announces her attraction to reader in detail. Duke is much more respectful about it but can't contain his excitement. He asks when they're going to come home, where their room is, why didn't anyone tell him?

Cass and Damian are in a similar spot. Cass wasn't super into it like the rest of the family. She'd dance around with Steph and peek at Tim's computer occasionally but she wasn't crushing on reader like the rest of them. Damian felt above it all, he saw his family's antics as ridiculous. He refused to fall prey to some siren. It's more of a puppy love type crush, he's not crazy but his stare lingers at Steph's poster. Like a kid outside Victoria's secret. When he finds out he does feel sick, but he covers it with outrage, reader is tainting the family's public image! They're making a mockery of the Wayne name! Don't bring up the stage names, his anger is just to hide his shame.

The way this would just fuck with Singer!Reader mentally.

Think about it?

You finally got your family’s attention, but only because they’re attracted to you. (Sans Bruce cause I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole.)

I love it.

It adds such a sinister vibe to them trying to bring you back to the manor or constantly checking on you. They are your worst fans.

And, the way Gotham Media would gag over the scandal it would cause even if it’s not technically wrong?

Technically. Technically. Technically. It’s such a key word in all this. And, would total used as the justification for their feelings if things became too much.

[ghostgirl-22]

artrick camping🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

GAY THOUGHTS?!!!!!!!!!

Very gay thoughts indeed!!

This time Pats getting all the attention. Art might be too jealous to share though

CW: 18+ NSFW Exhibitionism, voyeurism, public sex, not proofread

—-

It’s kinda perfect for a midsummer night. The kids are out on a two day trek to the big lake and waterfall with Adam, Cassidy and Ryan. Everyone calls them the real adults because they’re 25 and 26 and can handle all sixty kids between the ages of 10 and 13. That leaves the rest of the counselors with an evening to themselves.

Art is happy for the break, he’s half tipsy already. Lounging against a log shaped bench while the campfire he and Patrick lit, murmurs to life working its way up to full strength. The air is heavy, mildly humid with an occasional cool breeze. Fireflies are sparking in and out of existence while cicadas buzz loudly, their song making it feel like the trees have come alive.

Art is pretending to stare at the way the sunset has turned the sky a hazy brilliant shade of navypurple. Acting like the distant quarter moon is so interesting but really he can’t stop staring at Patrick’s body. Spread out in front of him, head resting on Art’s shoulder. He’s in short purple shorts, and a t-shirt, muscular thighs falling open shamelessly as he lights a cigarette. Art’s all tangled up in knots. It was only a kiss. One little three way kiss a few months ago and he can’t stop thinking about it. Who knew one a kiss could ruin his life?

“Fucking pretty out here,” Patrick says, after taking a huff. Oblivious to Art’s internal struggles.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” Art asks, not sure if he’s hiding it well but he’s really trying. 

“Yeah. Easy money. The kids are cool as shit. The other counselors are funny and fucking hot and I get to teach tennis all day. I shoulda come last year.” Patrick grunts. 

A couple of their fellow counselors, Chase and Ronnie are sitting across from them. Ronnie’s sipping his beer while Chase seems to be distracted for the same reason Art is. Mouth open gazing at Patrick’s thighs.  

“Yeah,” Art says. He sits up as Patrick holds out the cigarette so Art can take a puff. But yanks it out of reach just before Art can grab it. Chase giggles as Patrick does it twice more with a shit eating grin on his lips before Art gives up feeling too tipsy and slow to ever grab it. “Dick,” Art mutters.

That’s when Patrick chuckles and puts it straight to Art’s lips watching Art inhale as Patrick moves to lean on the bench next to him.

As Art takes a drag, two other counselors, Cameron and Dustin approach. Art swallows. He didn’t mind them last year but this year they’re kind of on his nerves. Especially Cameron. 

Sure they aren’t the only counselors that find Art’s best friend hot. Hell Art is used to that. Everyone thinks he's hot. Patrick’s all swagger and sex; firm and thick all over. Handsome and tall. So tall. He could be one of those underwear models if he felt like it. Art knows it. Everyone knows it. Even some of the campers long for him, little 12 year old crushes on the hot camp counselor they can’t have.

Of the other counselors, Cameron and Dustin are probably the worst and most ridiculous with their crushes. Hanging all over Patrick like he’s this meal they can’t wait to devour. And of course, Patrick loves the attention. Art is used to him showing off for girls, for Tashi. This summer he’s been leaving the girls alone probably because of her, but he doesn’t hesitate to do it for boys.    

Walking around half naked after sweating too much on the court. Letting some of his fellow counselors touch his waist as they lean in to ask him a question. Taking his time to pull his shirt back on if he ever pulls it back on. Walking with Art back to their shared cabin when training is done, his shirt draped over his shoulder, shorts sitting low. Leaving Art fixated on the curve of his back, the swell of his ass, his perfect abs or the dark trail leading down into his shorts. God. Art needs a break. He shoulda taken the summer to detox. Especially given everything that’s happened between them. But at least he knows Patrick won’t be at Stanford this year.

“What are you guys up to tonight, Zweig?” Cameron asks, he kneels down near Patrick and starts rubbing his thigh. Patrick just fucking lets him. Art glares at his hand, chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“I don’t know, maybe we’ll tell a few scary stories by the campfire,” Patrick says, playfully.  

“I’d be scared if you lost your shorts Zweig,” Dustin laughs and Patrick smiles.

“Scared you’d all fucking cream yourselves,” Patrick teases back.

“You should tell us a scary story about that, Patty,” Ronnie chimes in. “Like size and shape and everything.”

“You’re so fucking horny,” Patrick says, with a sly smile.

Cameron, who’s still sitting too close, leans in closer. Stupid huge grin on his face. “It’s fucking big, isn’t it?”

Patrick shrugs, gesturing down and Cameron slides his hands up his thigh, till he grazes it.

“Oh…fuck, lemme have a turn,” Cameron says softly. Art is just holding the cigarette, biting his cheek. So pent up with irritation and other things.

“Is it circumcised?” Chase asks.

”Come on guys, we’re just… hanging out,” Art interrupts, anxiously.

”But that’s so boring,” Dustin says.

“How bout truth or dare?” Cameron offers, sitting back on his knees.

”That sounds fun,” Chase says giddily from the other side. 

Patrick shrugs, he takes the cigarette back from Arts waiting hand. “Sure.” He says before placing it back to his mouth. Cameron licks his lips, slowly dragging his gaze off Patrick, he looks to Art.  

“You wanna play, Art?” 

Art doesn’t really support what Cameron is up to but he sighs and nods his head anyway. 

“Then you can start, truth or dare?”

”Truth,” Art says defiantly. 

“Boo,” Dustin says, settling on the soft ground on the other side of Cameron and the others laugh which makes Art feel the warm prickle of embarrassment. 

“Okay truth, you guys ever fool around?” Cameron asks. 

Art bites his lip. And Patrick turns to grin at him. It’s like Tashi in the hotel room all over again. Thankfully Patrick doesn’t go back to the jerking off story. “What do you think?” Is what he offers instead, his expression mildly amused. 

“Well,” Cameron starts. They all exchange glances.

“Everyone thinks you go back in the cabin and fuck all night,” Dustin finally says, his voice soft. 

Art feels his skin heating up and it has nothing to do with summer or the campfire. 

Patrick chuckles. “Mm you’re mistaking porn and real life. Come on, he’s my best friend, man…. We only kiss a little bit.” 

“Oh wow,” it comes from either Ronnie or Chase. Art isn’t sure because Patrick is looking at him, grinning. Art forces himself to smile but his insides feel all weird and there’s this twisted feeling of arousal settling low at the base of his stomach. He picks up his half empty beer can and takes another drink. Everyone thinks they fuck. Everyone thinks they fuck.

”Oh? Well. Truth or Dare Patrick,” Cameron says. He scoots closer, takes the cigarette out of Patricks mouth and takes a huff. Art doesn’t like him. Really.

”Dare,” Patrick says, of course. 

“I dare you… to show us how you kiss him.” 

Patrick rests his head on his shoulder. It’s darker outside now. The fires gotten stronger. Shadows dancing all around them, and it feels a little more feral. A little frenzied.

Patrick, never one to lose a dare, slides his fingers into Art’s hair, easily. Art’s drawn to him like a fucking magnet once his parted lips come close enough. He tastes like tobacco and mint, Patrick’s strong hot tongue licking into his mouth makes Art lightheaded immediately. 

God. And he’s hard, fuck. it happens so fast, he can feel his cock straining instantly, starting to leak just a bit.  

“Ohh…fuck,” someone whispers and Art feels even hotter. Of course Patrick would do this in front of everyone. He loves an audience.

He doesn’t stop it there. Patrick takes hold of Art’s face with both hands, thick fingers caressing his jawline, sitting up on his knees as he breathes in through his nose, deepening the kiss. 

Art can hear a whispered, “holy shit” as Patrick moves to straddle him.  

Their lips never separate. Art getting off to the feel of Patrick’s tongue thrusting in deep, licking all around. Art, too dizzy from drink and sex to do anything other than chase the sensation. Pawing helplessly at Patrick’s t-shirt, trying to get access to the heated skin beneath. Feeling up his hard body, muscular waist.  

It’s all fucked up in his head now. Patrick, his best friend. Patrick, the really fucking pretty boy he has wet dreams about. He can hear the sound of moaning over the crackling of the campfire and realizes distractedly it’s his own desperate voice. When the weight of Patrick’s body settles on his lap Art loses his mind a little bit. He can’t help hitching his hips up, gripping at Patrick’s thighs, heavy and solid. Hands sliding up too high he feels what Cameron felt, the full thickness of Patrick’s big hardened cock and he needs to moan. 

Patrick’s not much better, making these soft little growly noises against his lips. his big hands all over Art. gripping his waist. tugging his shirt up, pinching his nipples, dragging through the curls of his hair. The kiss feels like sex, Art’s head resting against the bench while Patrick thrusts his tongue in and out and in and out, and Patrick’s grinding and oh… oh fuck. Art won’t last for the solid weight of him, the slide of fabric against fabric, his perfect ass grinding up against Art’s cock, barely anything between them. 

Art is rubbing, rubbing all along the length of Patrick’s dick just to feel it… just to hear Patrick say his name, this strangled sound pressed between their lips. Each utterance building and building on the heat twisting and blooming all low in Art’s gut. “Mm, mm, yes.” He gasps. “Gonna… gonna…Oh my fucking god,” He groans, deep and guttural and then he’s coming so hard and so suddenly that his vision goes all black for just a moment.

Patrick’s not far behind, hand down his shorts now. Rocking against Art’s already spent and sticky cock, slippery wet and overstimulated. Wet spot spreading fast, all along the thin purple fabric of his shorts all while moaning and panting, hot heavy breaths in Art’s ear. Probably the hottest thing Art’s ever experienced. 

The other boys seem to agree. Cheeks flushed, heavy breathing, desire so naked on all of their faces. Art can’t help the distant hint of arousal that floods his tummy, knowing he’s part of the reason they’re all so eager. Ronnie’s got a palm down his shorts, rubbing idly. Chase is sitting cross legged, his thigh bouncing. Dustin takes a breath and adjusts himself. While Cameron is leaning forward, he’s put out the cigarette in the dirt, palms sliding eagerly over his thighs. “Oh Fuck… what’s a little kiss between friends,” Cameron whispers, softly.      

“Exactly,” Patrick hums as he finally catches his breath, rubbing his slick cum stained thumb along Art’s bottom lip. Art opens up without thinking about it. Sucking his thumb in barely realizing he’s doing it. 

Patrick watches him, grinning as he slowly pulls out and then puts it in his own mouth, biting down on it. Art stares at him as Patrick gazes at the rest of the group. All of them fixated on him. Wanting him. “So, truth or dare,” Patrick says smirking, “who’s next?”  

(Blah idk either lol 🤷🏿‍♀️)

[cherry-romper]

What they're like

+ Kafka, Reno, Iharu, Haruichi, Aoi, Hoshina, Gen

Kafka;

What a fucking himbo

Is so incredibly dedicated to his dream it's so admirable but can be a yapper about it - mostly to do with Kaiju anatomy, his yap sessions end with everyone scrambling to take notes.

Isn't aware of how much people respect and care for him.

Sometimes can be a little overbearing, he DOES NOT have an inside voice. Reno and you often keeps him in check but he insists he's not talking loud.

Tells the DUMBEST jokes: "What two words, when combined, hold the most letters?" Then he'd piss himself telling everyone it's "post office"

Is unaware of his improving strength and tends to expect things to be heavier than they are and ends up launching things across a room.

Sometimes gets withdrawals from quitting cigarettes, especially after a stressful day and can get kinda irritable, but being around you and his friends helps curb the cravings. 

Reno;

Opinionated, always willing to give out advice but doesn't often give it without being asked.

Loves doing things for people. Will go out of his way get people stuff if they need it but also knows how to put himself first.

Often quiet in social situations, more of a people watcher than pleaser

Very focused of improving, you can often find him in the training room or library when he has free time

Pushes people to do their best.

Is so down to help people if they ask him no matter what it is.

Once he's started something he'll see it through no matter what.

He's stubborn to a fault

Iharu;

Hot headed but level headed

Easy to talk to, but often only talks about work - kinda to be expected.

Lightens up every room he's in

Doesn't like to see his comrades down in the dumps so will try his hardest to put a smile on their faces

The hypeman of all hypemen

Smart asf, doesn't need help studying but is so down for group study sessions

Can be quite envious of others constantly improving, sometimes you'll find him staring off Into space thinking about improving, lost in deep thought - often he won't even notice you till you shake him out of it, he will shout at you for "not announcing" yourself.

 Can be quite flirty on and off the field but mostly when his adrenaline is pumping. Back and forth banter and teasing insults do something to him.

Haruichi;

Rich boy with really good manners

Cares about his comrades and treats them to meals when they all have the time

Has a skincare and haircare routine

Sleeps with a silk pillow

Absolutely loves having little rivalries with people, it pushes him to be a better fighter.

Completely dedicated to the force but the reservations about his family and the company he'll inherit one day sometimes hold him back from giving his all.

Takes mental notes on how the suits could be improved while he's fighting.

Aoi;

Built like a brick.

Abs like a washboard.

As dense as his body is, he's very agile and quick to move.

Heaviest footsteps known to man

He absolutely loves his peace and quiet, though he's used to having to share his space and time.

Is big on respect but it's something he believes should be earned and not given.

Being ex-military, he's BIG on routines. Doesn't realise he even has one but you've noticed his little patterns.

Light sleeper, but quick to fall asleep. Once his head hits the pillow he is OUT.

Hoshina;

Is terrifying when he's serious and knows it. He loves pretending to be serious to scare people, he finds their reactions hilarious. 

Finds everything funny. Will laugh just to fill silence. 

Always smiling, its almost uncanny. 

Loves his comrades but isn't one to admit that. 

Sometimes he'll go quiet in social situations and just watch everyone messing around, those little moments are his favourite and he treasures them.

Will linger over peoples shoulders when they're studying then make disappointed faces at their work, known nothing they wrote is wrong, he just finds it funny that he made them paranoid. 

Narumi;

Will only give you the time of day if you're good. If you're average or below when it comes to combat, he will not even know your name.

Egotistical beyond comprehension. 

Cocky and sarcastic, gets away with talking back because he's the strongest. 

Adores back and forth teasing. If you can match him in combat he expects you to match him in wit too. 

Finds comfort in his own mess, reminds him he's still alive (he's just lazy)

Likes making little nooks/nests out of pillows to sleep/game in. Also a big fan of pillow forts.

[bellshells]

A Promise of Grim Death

Hi! First, I’ve never written for Art before- but I loved it. 10/10 will do again.

Second, I wrote, edited and posted this on my phone. Times are hard bestie, we do what we can. So if you see any errors in there, shh no you don’t.

Third, there’s a few TW here; I’ll do my best to list them all. But surely to god if you’re reading Art The Clown anything you know there’s going to be batshit times ahead. Okay, love you bye!

TW: language, smoking (cigarettes), mentions of gratuitous violence, murder (only a little one and it’s not too bad I promise), thoughts of a sexual nature (Art remembers that fucking is a thing), suggestions of grooming, suggestions of familial death, stalking, masturbation, art??? Is he his own trigger warning?

Art had been trailing Sienna for hours. He followed her from Target to what he assumed was her new apartment, and now he sat in a parking lot downtown in a beaten up van. He had seen her go down an alleyway hidden somewhat on the corner of 86th and Maple a couple of hours ago, and whilst he waited for her to reappear, he thought of all the ways in which he could inflict the most unimaginable pain unto her.

He considered flaying, but that was too time consuming for very little pay off. He thought about some good old fashioned water torture, but he was still too impatient. Art was desperate to end Sienna. He wanted to watch the life drain from her eyes, the last thing she would see on this mortal plane was the smiling face of Art the Clown. He sighed silently, he didn’t miss talking per se, but he did miss being able to convey his annoyance. The bike horn had its charm; don’t get him wrong. But sometimes he missed being able to sigh, or grunt or scream. Screaming was also fun. After another thirty minutes of listening to Talk Radio, the only way to consume radio in his opinion, he decided to take action. Pulling his black bag full of items of his pleasure/your pain close to his chest, he exited his vehicle.

Rounding the corner to the alleyway, he surveyed his surroundings. The sun had long set and a low sitting fog had begun to settle. Art loved nights like this, he could often smell the fear of passersby before he could see them. For as they say, you never knew what could be lurking in the dark. For Art though, he could almost sustain himself off of the fear itself. Almost. He gave a trash can a big, jolly kick knocking it tumbling into two more. He genuinely found this very funny indeed, especially when the homeless man who was sound asleep between them jumped up in a daze. The man was all arms and legs, shouting incoherently. When he saw Art, a cold terror swept over his face and he tripped over himself trying to make his escape. Art was faster though, he gripped a handful of the man’s shaggy hair as he tried to run and pulled down, bringing his knee up to meet the man’s face in an expert blow. Art did this a further three times, with each connection to the man’s face, it concaved further in on itself until he was unrecognisable. Just a mass of blood and sharp pieces of bone, exposed cartilage and teeth. Lots of teeth.

A bang from further along the alley made him freeze. He dropped the homeless man immediately, and kicked him against the wall. Dodging behind a broken fire escape, Art saw a door open and a figure step out. He craned his head to see who it was, though he needn’t have. He knew it was her, opening a dumpster and throwing trash bags inside.

He eyed Sienna with a white hot fury as she closed the dumpster, his view partially obscured by the fire escape; but it was enough to see her fish a bottle of hand sanitiser out from an apron she wore around her waist. Art toyed with the idea of shooting her there and then. One swift bullet straight into her skull would leave such a pretty smattering of brain matter on the dull brickwork behind her, but no, he wanted to make this last. He wanted to hurt her. He took one step out from his hiding spot, but the sound of a gruff man’s voice behind Sienna stopped him.

“Get your ass back in here, we’re getting fucked in the ass behind this bar,” Sienna’s shoulders slumped as she turned to face the man, he too wore an apron and dried his hands on an off white towel.

“It’s almost like you want to drown in trash,” she said, the man gave her a sarcastic smile and held the door open for her. Art strained to hear what was said as the fire door slammed shut behind them, but the music emanating from within was too loud even for his sensitive ears.

He made his way over to the door and tried the handle to no avail. He pulled tightly and still the door wouldn’t budge, instead he decided to give it a swift kick. Fuck that door, he thought. Fuck it. Art wandered back onto the street, he counted back the buildings until he was sure he found the one that Sienna had emerged from. The blacked out windows of a bookshop confused Art, he was sure he heard music, and didn’t that guy mention a bar? A single flickering bulb hung limply above the entrance, it was a single framed door with a peephole that watched him as he studied the entrance. This had to be the place, but why did it look so sketchy? Art shrugged and pushed against the door, it opened slowly into a dark vestibule you couldn’t swing a cat in. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he noticed the walls lined with books were just a wallpapered effect. He brought a finger up and traced the seam where two panels joined. It was then that he heard applause, rapturous applause coming from below. He turned on himself, once and then once more until he could faintly make out a heavy black curtain hidden in one of the corners. Tentatively pushing it to one side, a narrow wooden staircase appeared before him. That familiar sound of music rose up from the stairs, and with one silent step, he descended them.

Art expected to find Sienna at the bottom, he deduced that she’d be behind the bar serving overpriced drinks to a newly gentrified crowd. And he did find that, but what surprised him was the unmistakable feeling of his heart pounding in his chest. Its beating was so ferocious he could hear it in his ears. It had been a long time since Art had felt his heartbeat. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure he even had one anymore. But as he rounded the corner after the last step, he felt all too human indeed.

The bottom of the stairs opened up into a wide cavernous room with an arched ceiling decorated with twinkly lights. A bar on the far right hand side is where Sienna stood, chatting cheerfully with a customer as she wiped the bar top down. She hadn’t noticed him yet, and Art didn’t care, for his attention had been entirely captured by the woman who stood on the stage. His black bag of goodies slipped from his shoulder and landed with a clang at his feet. This usually would have drawn attention, but the sound was disguised by the most beautiful sound he had heard.

She was tall this woman, not as tall as him of course, but she stood proudly in a red dress. Art couldn’t help but notice the way the velvet seemed to wrap around her body like an embrace. Her hair, long and the colour of fire pushed over her shoulders to expose her throat. He eyed it as she sang, the way it moved with each note. She was sultry in her movements too, her hands an extension of her voice, in her hair, on her hips, around her waist, thrust out into an equally captivated audience. Art swallowed instinctively and his mouth felt dry, he brought his fingers up to his lips and he noticed they were trembling. He stood until she finished her song, a long sustained note- impressive for any singer, but this was divine treacle dripping from her lips. The audience again were generous with their applause, this woman and her band, a drummer and some men with shitty jazz instruments basked in it. Art always took pleasure in killing musicians, artists or folk of that ilk. He enjoyed watching the life seep from them, their magnum opus often nothing more than a crimson stain upon his gloves. But this woman was wholly different, she was like a monolith of a bygone era. A penetrating gaze suddenly lowered, coupled with a flirtatious smirk of a red lip. A long white glove scandalously exposing the top of a bare arm, the most innocuous piece of flesh unexpectedly the most arousing promise of more. And boy did he feel that arousal.

It was foreign to him, alien almost. A dull ache in the pit of his stomach that had almost been entirely forgotten. He had once been a creature intent on satisfying his most carnal desires, and yet, in his contemporary memory- he was laden with an empty feeling of well, nothing. There was rage, and then, nothing. The only way in which Art could liken this feeling of sudden and irrevocable desire, was the desire in which he wanted Sienna Shaw dead. Not just dead, destroyed. Mutilated and destroyed and dead. Mutilated and destroyed and dead and finished. It was something that Art recognised deeply as an obsession, yet Art was also a master of getting what he wanted. What he wanted in that moment, was to hide.

Art noticed a small table set for two hidden partially behind a supporting pillar. He had a clear line of sight to the stage, yet he would be obscured from the bar. He would get to Sienna, he would, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. Namely, the threat of an erection that pushed gently against the front of his costume. Art’s first erection in a long, long time. He shuffled nervously from foot to foot. A flash of teenage panic behind his eyes. A memory of a girl with huge tits sitting in front of him on the school bus. A memory of another life.

He settled at the table and placed his bag in his lap, folding his hands over the top neatly. Art watched her intently, the way she interacted with her band, the way she fiddled with the cable of her microphone. He watched as it slipped slowly through her fingers, his dull ache became more of a throb. Art tried to skilfully cross one leg over the other without drawing any attention with as much grace a 6”4 monochromatic porteur de mort could muster. For the first time since Art had donned his costume all of those years ago, he tried to blend in. Act natural. He tried to be so inconspicuous he could almost be a waxwork in the corner. A forgotten project, or an antique put on display. Anything to not pull any attention away from this woman on the stage.

“This will be our last number,” the woman spoke into the microphone. The audience made noises of protest, but Art’s mouth ran dry once more. Her voice was like a gong in his ears, reverberating around his head. It was dizzying. It was thrilling. She smiled then, and Art’s chest deflated. His unfamiliar heartbeat arrhythmic, his brow sweaty. Christ, he thought, her smile was downright devastatingly lovely. He bared his bloodied teeth in response, a reflex responding to his unnatural thoughts. A defense against this monstrous vulnerability.

A couple of men on the table next to Art’s stood and moved toward the stairs, momentarily obscuring his view. Art banged his fist on the table furiously, the shorter of the two men jumped in fright and turned to look at Art, the shock on his face visible even in the dim light. Art shooed the man away with a flick of his wrist, his face twisted into a disgruntled snarl. These precious seconds lost, thought Art, she’s only singing one more song. He just wanted to look at her, he wanted to stare at her. He wanted his vision to be filled with nothing but this woman and the way her body moved to this number from the Great American Songbook. He remembered one of the nuns would listen to this song after hours, she would sit in the Reverend Mother’s office on the ledge of a large window. You could just about slip your wrist through the bars affixed on the outside, that was helpful if you needed to flick away the ash of a cigarette. Which she often needed to. Art remembered thinking this nun was rather pretty, for a nun that is. He would stand hidden behind a big filing cabinet and just watch her. She would pull her knees up to her chest and the skirt of her habit with them, letting the moonlight dance across her pale legs. Once, when he was fifteen, he remembered she caught him staring at her whilst she did this, instead of screaming for the Reverend Mother, she smiled and slowly pushed her stockings down her thighs, unclipping the suspender deftly with one hand. That same hand outstretched to him in silent invitation.

Art shook his head to clear his thoughts, he didn’t want to think about her. She was entire lifetime ago, two lifetimes ago even. No, he wouldn’t think about Sister Anne. Instead he would think about this other divine creature, this new one singing his favourite song. At least, it used to be. He was grateful that his little detour of memory had indeed killed his erection. A silent little breath of relief left him, he rubbed his eyes gently so as not to disturb his makeup. At least he could return his attention to the woman, he marvelled at her. She was beautiful, that was a given; but there was something else within her that drew him to her. Art found this physiological reaction complexing, he found it infuriating, but he also found it rather comforting in a strange way. It was like a piece of him that he thought had been lost forever. He supposed in fact not. He supposed that perhaps he just had a type, and his type was this one particular woman. Where usually he would look at someone; man or woman and feel the burning rage and desire to kill them in painful and obscene ways- with her, there was just this almost morbid desire to well, fuck her.

He remembered fucking too. He remembered liking it, loving it even. He used to fuck anyone that would let him, as even psychopathic killers have a line of morality they won’t cross. Boys, girls, nuns and everything in between. Art would fuck them. And he was good at it too. Perhaps a little sadistic, but he was good at making people cum. He wondered if he’d still be able to do it. He knew he still had blood in his veins, and his newfound ability of a racing heart was a not so unpleasant a surprise, but would his cock still work? Would it feel the same? Would he be able to-?

Art was drawn from his deep contemplation by a searing pain in his hand. He cried out, well, he would have if he had a voice. His eyes shot down to see a serrated blade used for cutting steak sticking out of the back of his hand, then a flurry of dark hair appeared over his shoulder. The maddening scent of apple and vanilla washed over him, it turned his stomach.

“You’re a real piece of shit turning up at my job,” Sienna hissed in his ear. Art moved his eyes to look at her menacingly, he brought a finger from his non-stabbed hand and pressed it to his lips and pointed at the stage. Sienna’s gaze wavered for a moment, flickering over to where the woman was finishing her song. Her last song. Art was furious with Sienna for ruining it. He’d add it to the list. “I won’t kill you in front of these people,” She said, “I need to keep this job, and it’s in your best interests if you go quietly. Don’t cause a scene, Art. You’ll regret it.” Art laughed at that, his shoulders bobbing up and down. Did she really think she could tell him what to do? Demand things from him? He swiftly pulled the knife out from the back of his hand and plunged it just as quickly into the top of her thigh. It was the fleshiest part so it wouldn’t kill her, she wouldn’t even bleed all that much. But it would give her a couple of hours in the ER, a minor inconvenience at best. He would have to be satisfied with causing her a minor inconvenience, there were more important things that required his attention. Sienna gasped with pain, her hands coming either side of the protruding blade. “Fuck!” She spat, her teeth clenched together. Art’s hand now ceased in its bleeding and would be right as rain come the morning. Annoyingly, so would Sienna. But that was by the by. “If you do anything to these people,” Sienna wheezed, “I will hunt you down.” Art gave a her a wave with his fingers, a saccharine smile plastered on his face. She limped off in the direction of the bar, the guy Art had seen talking to her in the alleyway rushed to her aid. He saw them talking animatedly, and he ushered her into a room behind the bar.

Art finally, finally returned his attention to the stage just as the woman finished her song. Art felt a sense of deflation as the final sweep of applause bounced off the walls. He joined them, quickly slapping his hands together. It was then, as the woman left the stage and the musicians started packing up their instruments that the house lights were raised ever so slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for the people around him to notice that there was a clown in their midst. Which on any day is odd, but on a cold late November night drew some raised eyebrows. The murmurs started then, and Art felt an unfamiliar discomfort. A heat raised on the back of his neck. He hadn’t felt embarrassment in a long time, even in his former life it had felt an age since the last time he had allowed himself to be embarrassed. Yet, as he heard the whispers and one interesting mention of Miles County he stood. He grasped his black bag and made his way silently up the stairs, acutely aware of the eyes that bore into his back with each step. Glancing over his shoulder, he longed for one last look at this woman, instead he found a poster haphazardly placed on the wall. It had her picture, her dazzling smile. Art gently pulled it from the wall and brought it to his lips, he didn’t kiss it, no, but he did run his lips over hers.

Back in his van, he produced the poster once more. It was an events poster by the looks of it, detailing all the acts playing at that bar, (which he now understood to be named The Speakeasy,) in the run up to Christmas. Art was derailed slightly by how impressed he was with the number of local acts on the bill, nodding in approval. He scoured the calendar at the bottom and found today’s date, November 20th. There he found three acts;

7:00- Sheena Morris

9:30- The Shortage System

11:15- Daphne Loveday and The Little Lovers

Art checked the time on the van clock, it was 12:45, that had to be her. Daphne Loveday. Daphne Loveday.

This woman, this holy apparition was due to perform every Thursday before Christmas. Art grumbled silently to himself. He hated the thought of not being able to see her again for a whole week. He could of course, follow her home tonight. See where she lived, observe her routine, get close to her even. But where Art’s usual vengeful fury lived, the familiar guttural need for blood was replaced with something else entirely. This feeling was not completely unknown to him, he had known desire and even love before. He loved his mother for instance, until he didn’t. He loved the Reverend Mother too, until her skull crumbled beneath his fingertips. He even had a minute softness for Vicky and well, yes, there was Vicky. But this was different. This was something else. This attraction, and he begrudgingly named it so, was an almost cosmic pull. Art had long since questioned his existence, human or otherwise, he knew better than to wonder why the things that happened to him happened.

Art turned the key in the ignition, resolving himself to no more play or plunder tonight. He felt that to take another life tonight would be disrespectful to her, to Daphne. No, tonight would be sacred to him. Whatever that meant. Sienna would have to wait. He pulled out from the parking lot and stopped just shy of the entrance to The Speakeasy, and saw Daphne’s band mates lugging their heavy equipment out of the front doors. They were wrapped up tightly in coats and scarves, the five men passed a lighter around them as they lit celebratory cigarettes. They chatted loudly, Art could hear their laughter as it carried down the street and through the slightly cracked open window of his van. He knew he was waiting for one last glimpse of her. One last glimpse and then he could go home. One last glimpse and he could go home and imagine the things he wanted to do to her. He refused to acknowledge the fact he didn’t want to kill her. He wanted to hurt her, but from the inside. He wanted to see the look on her face when that pain turned into blissful pleasure.

Focus.

Art watched intently as one of the men held the door open. Daphne emerged draped in a long green woollen coat, it hugged her waist and flowed just shy of the sidewalk, now glistening with the promise of a frosty morning. She pulled a large black suitcase behind her, getting caught on the frame of the front door. Before he could realise, Art was slamming the van door and in six quick strides he had grasped the handle of the suitcase and hoisted it over the threshold with ease. He collapsed the extendable piece and lifted it by its handle, waiting for further instruction. The musicians stood dumbfounded, he hadn’t realised that perhaps his silent approach and apparent theft of this woman’s suitcase would cause such an uneasy din to settle. The men eyed each other warily, each of them flashing a concerned look in Daphne’s direction. She, on the other hand looked surprised if largely unphased. This pleased Art. Pride swelled in his chest.

“Oh! Thank you,” Daphne said, her eyes alight with an almost humour. They were green, Art saw. She had the most beautiful green eyes. Art made a gesture for her to proceed and he would follow. Without looking at her band, she nodded and headed back towards the direction of the parking lot. Art followed dutifully behind her, refusing to glance back at the men behind him. He followed her to a silver minivan parked incredibly next to where Art had parked his own van. He could have just waited he thought, without outing himself so quickly. The rest of the band came around the corner as Daphne rooted her through pockets, producing a key. She unlocked the minivan and Art brought the suitcase to the trunk, opening it up and placing it gently inside. Daphne appeared next to him then and he caught a whiff of her. Incense and lily, and an almost metallic smell that he couldn’t work out. She smiled at Art again, as she rearranged some things already in her trunk, an old duffle bag, a pair of sneakers and a large black umbrella that almost took out Art’s good eye when she manoeuvred it. “Oops, sorry,” she giggled. Art thought he simply might pass away at the sound of her small laughter, once more he could hear his uneven heartbeat. It was thunderous. His stomach aflutter with the proximity of her body to his, twice she had accidentally brushed against his arm. Twice he felt the skin beneath his costume feel ablaze. “Thank you,” she said finally to Art. The other musicians had appeared and were adding their own cases into the mini van. Three of them had pushed the larger pieces into the body of the van, covering the back seats usually reserved for small children with black cased instruments. There was certainly no room for anyone else to sit, he wondered whether she would be going home alone.

“Oh fuck me,” said one of the men, he stood a ways off, tapping furiously on his phone. “The road’s closed between 75th and Main, there’s been an accident. Big pile up apparently,” he read from his phone, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Six cars, all dead.”

Yummy, Art thought.

“We’ll have to drive through Fair Creek to drop the stuff off,” said another, pinching the bridge of his nose. Daphne looked between them, Art stood back against the wall, hoping to disappear into the brickwork.

“That’s fine,” she levelled, “I have to swing by the ER anyway, see how madam clumsy is doing,”

Art shot a look at Daphne, she couldn’t possibly be talking about Sienna, could she? Fuck.

“I can take the van then,” said the first man, his hand outstretched for her keys. She dropped them into his palm and walked around the back of the minvan, she turned then.

“Hey, thanks for carrying my-“ she stopped short, looking for the clown. But Art had skulked back to his own van, headlights turned off and the window pulled all the way down. He could hear her perfectly, see her perfectly as she looked over her shoulder for Art. “Where did he go?”

“Who cares, that guy gave me the creeps,” said the new driver of the minivan. “Can we go? It’s fucking freezing,”

Daphne, still craning her neck to look for Art, acquiesced. He watched her climb into the backseat of a beat up Buick LaSabre with four of her bandmates. The other two in the minivan. Art tightened his grip on the steering wheel, he imagined how impossibly close she would be sitting in between two of those men. How they would be able to smell her, to feel her touch. He snarled into the darkness.

Art contemplated for a minute after he watched the cars disappear whether he should head to the hospital. He knew she’d be there, but he also knew Sienna would be there and he just did not have the energy to deal with the bullshit that would come from that. Instead, he drove toward the disused factory he called home. He had made a cozy, well for him, little safe haven in the very far corner of the roof. He figured somebody somewhere must still be paying for gas and water, because he was always able to get a hot shower. He didn’t really feel the need to eat anymore, but sometimes he would heat up a can of beans or a hot dog for old times sake. It was strangely cathartic for him.

He flipped the switch on his tiny, definitely shouldn’t still be working TV when he got home. He was met with a rerun of FRIENDS, he remembered how much Sister Anne had loved that show. How she used to sneak away during evensong to watch it in the Reverend Mother’s private apartment. She would tell Art about it the next day, and Art would recite the lines of characters he had never heard, just to make her laugh. He turned the TV off again. He made his way down to the shower block, stripping himself of his costume along the way. It really was cold outside now, he could see it in the whiteness of his breath as he exhaled under the heat of the shower. He didn’t necessarily remember what it was like to feel cold, but he liked to see the flesh pimple on his skin. He liked it when it happened on his victims too. Maybe it was an open window that did it, or his breath on their neck, but either way, it pleased him.

Art pulled at his mask, it resisted coming away from his skin and he pulled harder. Wincing as bit by bit, his flesh was revealed. It had been a long time since he had removed his mask, too. He let the water drip down his face, using his fingers to rub away months of neglect. In truth, Art had forgotten what he looked like. The mirrors in the shower block had long been smashed, and he had no desire to go outside without his mask, so he felt the contours of his face. His nose, nowhere near as pronounced, and cheekbones not as sallow. He recognised he was thin, as he moved his hands over his torso, he could feel his ribs under his calloused hands. Then, has he cupped his hands over his genitals to wash them, he remembered a flash of green eyes. Bright and dazzling in the night. The erection that he had fought so hard in the bar, reappeared and Art looked on impressed. Another thing he had forgotten about, the look of his cock as it jutted proudly, curving upwards slightly to better fill a pussy. Or an ass, he wasn’t fussy.

Experimentally, he stroked his length once. His head rolled back with a remembered pleasure. It all came back to him with that single stroke, how fucking good it felt. How fucking good it felt to be buried to the hilt in some sweet thing. How fucking good it felt to have someone’s lips wrapped around his end, gagging on his length. Art stroked himself again, this time letting his eyes flutter shut, this way he could imagine Daphne’s hand in place of his own. Imagine the kisses peppered down his back, and her other hand cupping and gently squeezing his balls. If he could moan, he would’ve and loudly. As soon as Art quickened his ministrations, he knew it would be over all too soon, so he stopped. He shut off the water and wrapped himself in a too small towel, trudging his way back to his room. There, he fished out the poster he had taken from the bar, a soft smile plagued his lips as he refreshed his memory of Daphne’s face. Climbing up onto his bed, or rather an old army cot he had found, he lay back, one hand on his cock- the other holding her picture up to the light. He gripped himself harder this time, like he used to like it. Art bared his teeth as he rubbed his finger over his tip, a surprising amount of liquid had emerged and he used it as a lubricant. Quickly, he moved onto his knees, he placed the poster of Daphne on the bed in front of him, and began fucking his hand. His hips moved quickly into his waiting fist, her eyes never leaving his as with a would be grunt, he ejaculated over his hand, spilling his cum over the poster. It dripped onto her face in big lumps. Years of his cock not being used, he deduced. He panted, exhausted. It was one thing swinging an axe around and another making yourself cum. Falling back onto the bed, he pulled the poster with him. Daphne’s smiling face now littered with his seed, inexplicably, he felt the flame of arousal burn deep in his core at the sight. He gently smeared it over her face, paying particular attention to her mouth, as if by some miracle he could shove it inside there. He longed to have her taste him, just as with that thought he longed to taste her. To have her wetness fill his mouth, cover his face and drip down his chin. He gently tapped his teeth, they were rotten, he knew that. But he wasn’t sure what Daphne would make of them, and in that moment he felt a pang of self consciousness. Resigning himself to sleep, he pulled his threadbare cover over his bare shoulders. He felt a contentedness he hadn’t felt since before he was, well, what he was. It felt different going to sleep that evening not full of rage, but with a lazy arousal that more than likely meant when he awoke, he could treat himself once more.

As he closed his eyes, he told himself that his plans for Sienna would have to wait. The rest of Art’s week would be spent in conserving energy for this next Thursday. He had a concert to catch.

[youleftmenochoicebut]

IS IT NEW YEARS YET? — sirius black x reader

SUMMARY. — it’s the new year’s eve party at Potter’s house, and you broke up with your partner a few weeks back.

PAIRING. — sirius black x fem!reader

WARNINGS. — uhm… my writing being fuckass (thats not a word); some making out?

A/N. — just a quick blurb cause its almost 4am and i can’t sleep

„heyyy, there you are!” Sirius’ voice brings you out of your own head and you turn in his direction, amused as you watch him practically waddle over to you.

he’s drunk out of his ass, that stupid goofy smile plastered on his face, making him look ever so softer than usually. you, on the other hand, haven’t drunk almost anything, not really being the life of the party tonight despite trying. you reach out your hands, grasping his shoulder and helping him maintain balance while he enters the balcony and slumps down on the ground with a groan.

the two of you are silent for a moment, you sipping slowly on your heavily watered down drink, and him staring at you.

„party’s that boring you came looking for me?” you finally mutter, raising your eyebrows, and it’s painfully clear for you both that you’re trying to keep the spirits high, poorely.

„it’s almost midnight.” he replies casually, shrugging, and he flashes you another one of those grins of his, to which you just shake your head. „i didn’t want you to be alone. everyone needs someone to kiss when the clock strikes twelve.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes, and for a beat you just gather your thoughts. Sirius and you are… complicated, if to say in one word. never really best friends, never really hated each other. never neutral, but never something more. in the same friend group since your 4th year at Hogwarts, yet never been truly alone together for more than a couple minutes.

surprisingly though, he was the one at your side comforting you after your recent breakup. ever since that, you’ve both been feeling the tension between you, but neither have had the guts to act on it. yet.

„very funny, Pads.” you sigh, running your fingers through your hair to brush it back, and you swear you saw his smile drop for a second, but just like that it’s back. „im not really in the mood to kiss anyone.”

Sirius lets out an annoyed huff, messily searching his pockets to pull out two crumbled up cigarettes, passing one to you. you take it, of course, and light it up with a quick incendio. the air around you feels almost serene as you both inhale and exhale the smoke, and if it wasn’t for the loudness of the party going on inside, you’d say something about it. instead you focus on your cigarette, your gaze focused on the stars above you as you blow out the smoke lazily.

„i cannot understand half of the muggle shit Lils and Remy try to show us, but Merlin, i fucking love cigarettes.” you murmur softly, a chuckle escaping your mouth at your own words, glancing back at Sirius. he’s staring at you again, and when you catch him in the act he smiles, nodding along.

„hell yeah. and that other shit. uh-huh, vodka!” he eagerly weights in, already finishing off his smoke, and he leans in closer to you, his fingers grazing over your knee.

you hum in agreement, taking your sweet time with that cig, before putting it out against the railing. when Sirius leans over, you shudder under his feather-light touch, ready to back away. but that’s right when you hear the people inside start to count down from ten, and you sigh.

suddenly, Sirius tugs on the sleeve of your dress, quickly wrapping his arm around your waist, and he pulls you in. for a wasted man, his moves are smooth and steady as always, hands now resting on your lower back as you’re straddling his lap. your lips pursed together in slight agitation, and the moment you start to pull away you hear a loud ONE, and you know what’s coming.

somehow Sirius’ hands are now on your cheeks, and his lips press against yours lightly, not making any rushed movement, clearly waiting for you to reciprocate. and after a short second you do, your arms wrapping around his neck loosely as you even deepen the kiss.

it gets more heated than you’d thought it would, his hands trailing all over your body almost frantically, squeezing at your thighs, your hips, your waist, the underboob area. a soft whimper escapes you when you two pull away, your lips red and swollen already.

„happy new year, Y/N.” Sirius whispers against your skin, his mouth sauntering over your neck as he starts to leave wet kisses there, and your fingers tangle into his hair.

„happy new year, Siri.” you whisper, biting back a moan at his ministrations, the tiniest of smiles making its way onto your face.

welcome 1979, goodbye 1978.

[fictionalwh0ree]

the gang dating a stoner hcs

warnings: mentions weed and alcohol

a/n: as someone who's a lowkey stoner, i wrote this with the reader being someone who doesn't look like they'd be a stoner.

johnny cade

definitely doesn’t mind that you smoke

he’s maybe tried it once but never enough that he felt anything

one day he tries it with you

he immediately understands why you do it

johnny has a lot of issues and has a lot of baggage, smoking weed helps him calm down

you’re happy that it makes him happy

but that can also be dangerous

you worry about him getting hooked to the feeling, so you make sure he only ever does it with you

thankfully its illegal and since johnny is kind of skittish, he doesn’t go after it on his own

smoking with him is a mix of calm and paranoia

hes paranoid while you’re smoking

worrying about the smell, who’s around, your eyes, etc

but once its done, he’s calm

you spend many late nights just dozing off in each others arms after smoking

also many deep talks

overall, he’s grateful for you (and it) and he accepts your habits

dallas winston

he LOVES that you’re lowkey a stoner

there’s something about how you look when your eyes are all droopy and red that turns him onnnnn

(he also finds you being able to roll hot, idk why)

he definitely does it here and there

but he loves to smoke with you

on a rare night, you two will get crossed at bucks and will probably end up fucking

high sex is his favvvvv

he’ll take you to the drive-in after you smoke

those are probably the only times you’ll pay attention to a movie around him

he’s very rebellious so he doesn’t worry about you getting caught very often

he’ll even steal snacks for you

he lets you crash in his bed if you’re super slumped

you love cuddling with him if you’re high

something about the warmth and skin to skin just feels so much better

he definitely finds it funny when you’re high

he’ll laugh about you demolishing your food

he definitely laughs when you start sharing your high thoughts with him

and he finds it especially funny when you find something funny and can’t stop laughing

you’ve definitely been caught in some dumb ass situations where you look at each other and have to find a way to hold in the laughter

ponyboy curtis

definitely has never smoked

he knows its illegal, so he was definitely surprised to find out you do it

at first, you kept it separate from him

you know his brother would kill him if he tried

you didn’t smoke around him and were never really high around him

until one time you were headed home after a smoke session with your friends and you ran into him

he invited you to the drive- in with the gang

steve and dally could definitely tell

ponyboy could tell something was off but couldn’t pinpoint it

he bought you a popcorn and you couldn’t shut up about how much better it tasted

“has this popcorn always been this good?”

“it doesn’t taste any different than the last time we had it”

“are you sure?”

“are you okay”

dally definitely broke the news to him and it hit him quick

after that, pony started asking you questions about weed

“what does it feel like to be high?”

“does food actually taste better?”

“does it taste like a cigarette?”

you asked him if he wanted to try it one day so you waited until a day where his house was completely empty and smoked

after one hit, he was coughing like crazy

no amount of cigarettes could’ve prepared him for that

he couldn’t smoke very much because of the coughing but he got high and finally understood the food thing

tore apart any food available

he really loves to watch the sunset when he’s high

he thinks the colours and scenery are so much more detailed and pretty

he’s the type to turn into a poet when he’s high

but in the end the coughing was not worth it so he only does it very rarely (and only with you)

its a very special occasion when pony smokes, so you always make sure its a good experience and you do everything so darry will never find out

sodapop curtis

he’s definitely tried it before

he was not a fan

(he wasn’t inhaling it right so he never felt it and thought it was pointless)

he was very surprised when he found out you smoked

he always makes sure you’re careful with it

he takes extra care of you when you’re high

he makes sure you don’t have to talk to anyone

will take you to go get whatever you’re craving

he’s also a fan of the high eyes

he thinks its cute when you laugh at dumb things you wouldn’t usually find that funny

he’s very observant so he can definitely tell when you’re high and even if you’ve smoked at all

you taught him how to inhale

unfortunately he’s a bit of a paranoid high person so you don’t smoke with him

he always feels his senses heightened

this boy will hear a cop car coming from five blocks away and then panic as if you’re not sitting inside his house

however he is the type to EAT when he’s high

he’s like a bottomless pit

but hes also sodapop curtis so he’ll stay skinny anyway

darry curtis

darry definitely tried weed in high school

i mean he was on the football team

but he’s not a fan

too much risk not enough reward

so when it comes to dating a stoner

he’d probably rather not

but if he is

you just have to keep it separate

you don’t smoke around him and you’re never really high around him

he doesn’t mind the habit as long as you don’t let it affect your ambition

darry is a workaholic, he looks for a partner with drive

so as long as you smoking weed isn’t interfering with your job its fine

he would never date someone who is always high

he’s okay with it if its more of a couple days a week type thing

once you’ve been dating a while, he makes it clear that you can smoke and be high around him

because he’d rather you do it around him then alone or out on the streets

he thinks its cute when you’re high

he likes how you’re giggly

he’ll cook for you

and he likes how affectionate you get

he smoked with you ONCE

he, like sodapop, is the type to eat like there’s no tomorrow

after it was done, the entire gang unexpectedly showed up at his house

they could tell

darry’s eyes were practically bloodshot red

ponyboy took advantage of calm darry and got to stay out late

“get him high more often y/n”

they tried to keep their laughs to themselves but it didn’t work

two-bit especially could not contain himself around darry and couldn’t look at him without laughing

you definitely fucked after and the high sex was almost enough to get him to smoke again

but he could never EVER let the gang see him like that again

he only got high with you again after you learnt how to make edibles

two-bit matthews

two-bit loves that you smoked

funniest couple ever

you love smoking with and around him because he makes you laugh so hard

funny sober = super funny high

you two will laugh until you’re clutching your stomachs in pain

he’ll finish a whole chocolate cake high

two-bit is not a sit down and relax type of high person

there’s two potential reasons

a) he’s just like that

b) he’s always a little drunk so he just ends up slightly crossed

he’s super social and bounces off the walls

so sometimes you have to let him just go out with his friends

once he comes down from it all he’s super tired

you guys WILL take naps together

you’ll sleep from 11am-4pm

or you’ll go to bed at 2am and wake up at 1pm

it all depends but the two of you are heavy ass sleepers after smoking

the house could’ve blown up and neither of you would notice

steve randle

he has also tried smoking before, but never too much

he had basically forgotten it existed until you

he doesn’t like it when you smoke alone so if you’re not with friends, sometimes he’ll smoke with you

it actually helps him focus a lot

if he can work on a car high, he will

it becomes the only thing that matters

gets you dx discounts on snacks

he’s pretty quiet high so the two of you will often spend your time watching a move with his arm around your shoulder

he’s lowkey strict with it because he doesn’t want you to get caught

so he doesn’t let you smoke in very public places or in broad daylight unless you’re somewhere safe

doesn’t let you meet your dealer alone

he’s protective of you when you’re high because he thinks it makes you a bit more vulnerable

he’ll do all the talking

he doesn’t like people who spend their entire day high

he’s okay with it as long as you’re not a bum because of it

[notjustjavierpena]

Cravings

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A while back, I saw a text post made by the lovely @kteague and immediately, it sparked a need for more husband!javi. This is the text post in question. It’s sososo great. You should go follow ❤️ It also made me realize that I haven’t written Javier going down on his wife, and honestly wtf??? This takes place before Lucas is born.

Summary: Javi isn’t perfect. He needs a nicotine high badly, but your pregnancy isn’t allowing you to tolerate the smell of cigarettes. He indulges in his next favorite thing to satisfy his craving; going down on his pregnant wife.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut (mdni), nicotine withdrawal, javier is a menace to the pussy eating society, pregnant sex, dirty talk, eat up javi

Word count: 1.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49812556

Cravings

Javier feels extra twitchy today. He paces around the house like a caged animal, tapping his fingers on the side of his thighs, and considers throwing caution to the wind and just having that damn smoke. He has a packet of cigarettes stashed in one of the potted plants outside, but it’s for emergencies only. Like that one time that his Pop had called him to say that a tree had fallen down on the barn overnight, and the very thought of the cost and time it would take to fix it had made him fly out the door to smoke in the far back of the garden.

He does it for you though. He’d do anything for you. Especially now that Lucas Peña is making his arrival in less than three months. He remembers you going into your second trimester, and you’d been around his cigarette smoke only to run to the toilet to reject your dinner. He never wants you to feel like that again, so he quit cold turkey. 

“Perhaps it won’t be a problem when we’re having the next one,” you had said to him, and he had stubbed out the cigarette immediately. He didn’t need the rush of nicotine, because he had the rush of you already thinking of more kids. He knew that he wanted a family with you since he saw you, but only then he had known just how big of a family.

But Javier needs the rush now. He has been through all of the coping mechanisms; sweets, rubber bands on his wrists, even has run out of nicotine gum but he doesn’t dare go to the store in case he comes home with more cigarettes. Has run out of patches too, which he would like to plaster his arms in right now.

You are not home and he needs you. He has a rare day off and you are not home. When are you coming home? He watches the clock, hears the ticking, and wants to rip it off the wall. You’re usually home by now. Where the fuck are you? 

Fuck it. Javier speedwalks to the door to the garden.  He is just about to rip it open, harsh enough to be tearing it off its hinges when he hears the front door. 

“Javi?” You call out his name so heavenly, “Can you help me with the groceries?” 

Oh, so that’s what you have been doing instead of coming straight home to him. He finds you by the front door, barely successful in holding two brown bags and your keys at the same time. Without hesitation, he takes both bags from you and heads to the kitchen to place them on the counter.

“You could’ve asked me to pick something up, y’know,” he says as he busies his hands by unloading everything into their respective places. His hands shake; he needs something to hold onto but you won’t let it be you if the milk hasn’t gone in the fridge yet.

“I was passing by anyway,” you enter the kitchen and start helping him, and he can feel your eyes watching him with curiosity at his urgency, “What’s up with you?”

“There’s something up because I’m helping you in the kitchen?” He quips.

You laugh quietly, “Well… yeah.”

Javier doesn’t know if it’s funny, but he knows that he needs an excuse to get you worked up so that he can satisfy his cravings in the way that works the very best.

He finishes unloading the groceries, turns to you, and doesn’t even hesitate despite you holding onto a box of cereal; he kisses you right then and there. It’s a long, deep, and satisfying kiss with his hands rubbing up and down your sides. You gasp into his mouth, melt against him, and awkwardly put the cereal box onto the kitchen counter so that you can embrace him right back. 

“Thank fucking God you’re home,” he mumbles into you, relishing in the taste and warmth of your tongue. He is insisting in the way he holds you close, and starts to guide you out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom at the end of the hall. 

“Javi,” you protest as you realize his motives. He doesn’t relent, and you reluctantly drag your lips away from his. He groans in frustration, but you find his eyes with flushed cheeks and he might just burst right then at the shy look you are giving him, “I can’t. I haven’t even… I need a shower.”

“No, you fucking don’t,” he opens the door, realizing that the window has been open all day to air out your shared bedroom. You shiver at the cold air and Javier feels like he might be seeing stars soon when he notices your nipples hardening underneath your top. He steers you to the bed by your hips, “Need it. Please don’t deny me, mi amor.”

“What’s gotten into you?” You groan after another kiss, one where Javier’s hand comes up to cup your breast as he devours your mouth. Then you let yourself be guided down onto the bed, legs hanging out over the edge and Javier kneeling down on the floor. 

“Ran outta nicotine gum,” he mutters, too busy undoing your last pair of jeans in a while; they’re straining against your growing belly but he knows how much you love this pair. He yanks them down over your hips after he has undone the zipper.

“Makes sense,” you lift your hips to help him. 

“So lemme have this?” He pleads. He notices the wet patch that has formed on your white cotton panties, refraining from chuckling to himself. You aren’t going to say no. 

“Yes,” your breath hitches in your throat as he finds your clit on the outside of your underwear. He rubs in lazy circles and watches the wet and shiny patch grow larger underneath his touch. He even dares to press his finger against your slit, digging the fabric just slightly into you. 

“Chica sucia,” he says softly as you let out a sigh of pleasure, “So filthy walking around with your pretty little panties so wet.”

“Hasn’t been like this long,” you argue, “Just since you kissed me. Still think I need a shower.”

Javier shakes his head, “Like you like this. Can’t stop thinking about this pussy.”

He slides your underwear down over your thighs, calves, and then ankles. He drops them onto the floor by your jeans, admiring your legs and the cute bows on the socks you are still wearing. You are so beautiful that he might lose his mind, growing belly right in front of him as he kisses his way up your right leg and hears your smile through your moan. 

“Javi,” you say when he loses himself in staring at your swollen cunt a little too long. He can see your clit jump in anticipation and it makes his mouth water, cigarettes long forgotten. 

He pulls you a little closer to the edge of the bed, large hands slipping under the backside of your thighs to bend and spread your legs simultaneously. He handles them roughly and places them flat on the surface of the bed, causing you to whine. Then his palms slide upward to rest on the swell of your belly, his broad shoulders holding your legs in position so you don’t clamp down on his head just yet. He isn’t in doubt that he’d be able to count your heartbeats with the way your cunt throbs. 

“Please,” you clench once, and slick drips from your slit. 

“Shh,” he coos. 

And then he goes down on you like he hasn’t in a long while. He credits himself with being enthusiastic about eating you out every time, but he rarely has the frustration of withdrawal from nicotine to accompany him in his hunger for your sweet taste. He runs his mouth over your whole cunt, kisses your jumping clit, and sucks the slick off where it has smeared across your folds. You taste better than ever, salty and slightly sweet in a way that a shower would have ruined. 

“Mhm,” he hums whilst satiating his cravings. Your breathy moans reward him more than he thinks a smoke could right now. His fingers start to dent your protruding belly, holding on tight as he flicks your clit with his tensed-up tongue over and over again. 

“Just like th— ah, fuck,” you reach for his wrists to desperately hold onto something. He goes harder, moaning into your pussy. It makes you shake on top of the sheets, gushing just a bit into his mouth and he swallows it down greedily. He wants more, dips down to slip his tongue into your cunt, and eats right from you. He fucks you open whilst nosing at your hard clit, the nub peeking out from underneath the hood to demand more attention. He will just have to suck it once and you’ll be screaming, but he needs a little more and reluctantly refrains from doing so. 

Your breathing has become more irregular by now, more high-pitched too. He knows you’re getting close but he keeps you dancing around the edge, tongue sliding through your folds as he bobs his head. 

“Fuck! Baby!” You cry loudly, bucking your hips to seek more friction. 

“Not yet, mi vida, just a moment more,” he mumbles against you, but his mouth still starts climbing up towards your clit again. 

You entwine your fingers with his, holding his hands tightly over your belly as your legs start to move involuntarily. Your feet flex, muscles rippling all the way to your thighs as you near climax.

“I’m… I-it’s gonna happen,” you whine at the ceiling, “Fuck, suck my clit. Javi— fuckfuckfuck.” 

He gives in, raises his head slightly to cover your clit with his mouth, and then he sucks hard. 

You come so hard that your legs find the strength to shoot up from where they are being held down on the bed. Your thighs clamp around Javier’s head, muffling the sound of your cries whilst he works you through every crashing wave of pleasure. 

“I’ll buy you that stupid gum,” you eventually say. 

“Huh?” Javier looks up at you.

“Your nicotine gum, I’ll go out and buy it later,” you clarify, letting go of Javier’s hands to throw your arms above your head on the bed. You stretch, letting out a soft moan, “It’s the least I can do.”

“You spoil me,” he crawls up onto the bed, lying down beside your exhausted body. You’re so perfect, he thinks to himself. 

“But first,” your breathing is finally getting under control again. You turn onto your side, and Javier finds himself supporting your pregnant belly as you move. You smile gently at him, reaching for his belt to unbuckle it with both hands, “I’m going to take care of you too. See… I too have cravings.”

Javier didn’t think that every passing second with someone could feel like his life had peaked. Yet here you were.

.

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[tallwife]

Ive been kind of quiet about personal posts on here in the last year or so making my moves in silence so here's the full crazy rundown of how me and bf got together because all I've been doing really is make the occasional vague post but not expanded on it

Met this guy at a party about a decade ago (omg) when I was about 16/17 who I remember because I talked to him and this other boy about video games. Other boy was like a GIRL who GAMES??? And the guy was like 'obviously girls can play games lol' and I remember it well because it was funny and he was nice. Don't see him again

About 5 years ago meet the guy again, we don't make the connection for another few years that we've met before. He has a gf and is nice enough, but I don't know him very well yet

He hangs out with my friend group a lot and I click very well with him when we talk, but he's not on my radar because of aforementioned gf

I start a VERY tumultuous idiotic embarrassing situationship with one of his best friends aka the 'GIRLS CAN PLAY GAMES???' guy. I'm stupid and have feelings for him and on reflection it was insane. My heart is being ripped out constantly and I'm being toyed with

Meanwhile he and his gf break up and soon after he has a casual fwb thing with another one of my friends. So he's still not on my radar at all

As this is all going on me and him become very very good friends, its 100% just platonic and supportive. He finds out how badly his friend treated me and to my surprise he firmly takes my side on things and is a massive help and a great friend in this time, distances himself a little from situationship guy

We start to click and hang out constantly. We bond over being bi and other personal things and we have the same humour, nobody can make me laugh like him.

At this point about a year and a half ago, we probably hang out at least once a week. We have a cute weekly cinema habit and we talk about everything. I've never felt this comfortable and safe with a guy before. Start to realise he's also very much my type but I try to keep it out of my mind

He starts to get back into the dating world and I realise it makes me feel really nervous and sad. UNSURE WHAT TO DO. I worry that I am just feeling this way because of proximity and also that I am going to fuck things up if I ask about it. I also kind of fell into that trap of thinking 'if he liked me he wouldve already tried to make a move'. i start imagining how id feel if he got another partner longterm and it makes me feel really sad

About this time last year it's like I wake up one day and am like 'fuck I have feelings for him' but figure I just need to ignore it and get on with my life

Attempt to have a brat summer and affirm that I will find someone else and that these feelings will go away. By early July I realise this is IMPOSSIBLE and that I will need to tell him how I feel because he's the only person I ever look for at events and the person i think about all the time.

situationship guy leaves the continent and i never have to see him again HOORAY

A few of us go abroad in mid July. Hot country, us two and another friend, his gf and brother.

the whole time im TRYING to ignore my feelings but im 100% fallen in love and am so attracted to him. we have long late night chats over cigarettes on rooftops, late night swims, day trips by ourselves etc. so i realise i have to tell him how i feel or i'll regret it

almost have a heart attack from nerves but tell him on the last night of the holiday. feel like im going to get rejected and because hes slow to react and needs to process it im SURE hes rejecting me

we basically stay up all night talking about what this could mean, the implications if it goes wrong, can we stay friends if so, etc. but we do end up holding each other and falling asleep together.

the second we land back in ireland we go on a 40k+ step walk all day to discuss EVERY detail. at the end decide we're gonna try it and have a proper first kiss by the ocean AHHHHH

have our first date the next day

we fall crazy in love

both admit later on that we had BOTH been in love with each other for the past year and BOTH had resigned ourselves to never confessing it because we cherished our friendship so much and thought the other person would reject us

friends to lovers arc in real life complete

[konigsluvr]

SWEET 『cigarettes after sex』

MASTERLIST

popular girl x quiet nerd simon

warnings: kissing, horny and simp simon, cuming untouched. And sweetness ♡

cute little series I'm starting. I hope you like this as much as I do. Enjoy and leave any comments on where I can improve, but please be nice, I'm sensitive 💋 this isn't proofread as its currently just past midnight and I'm sleepy and don't want to overthink about posting this. xxx

『★』

Simon thought you didn't notice him staring at you all year. You're popular and he's... a nerd. The amount of picking on you would endure if you did anything with him... you didn't want to think about it.

Yet you couldn't help but smile at your Math teacher as he assigned Simon - the top of the class - to help you with your studies.

Here's the catch, you act dumb and stupid to fit in with your friend group when in reality, whenever there's a test, you never fail to achieve the A+.

"You won't be disappointed," you respond, heading out of class to see it empty.

None of your friends waited for you after class but you brush that aside, looking around for Simon. A minute later, you find him by his locker, taking all of his books and transferring them into his bag.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the school day. "Hi Simon," your sweet voice rang out.

He jumps, dropping his bag, his books scattering on a pile at your feet. He stumbles over his words, eyes wondering over your gorgeous face. His mind was reeling at the fact you knew his name?!

"I... uhh..." he clears his throat, gathering himself. His crush, his godamn crush since forever, is talking to him. Him. "Everything okay?" His voice steadies out, playing it cool.

Your lips quirk, not realising his voice was so deep. You have to look up, yourself standing at 5'5 and him standing at 6'2. You're both 17, so there's still growing to occur.

"Yes, everything's good," you speak, unable to stop your gaze to trailing to his arms. Its so obvious he works hard at the gym. "Mr Barnes assigned you as my study partner."

His eyes widen slightly, taken aback. "Me and... you. Study partners?" He speaks slowly.

He sees your eyebrows furrow. Fuck sake, idiot, he curses in his mind, being an asshole isn't the way to go.

"Um, yeah, for Maths. My grades have dropped so..." You trail off. Does he not like you? You were so sure. He's always glancing at you.

His pause makes you reinforce the idea he's never liked you. "I'll get a new partner," you speak, beginning to step away.

He grabs your wrist, and your eyes snap to his. God, your eyes and politeness... is he still grabbing you? He is! Fuck! Think, think, think!

"Tomorrow after school?" He questions, way too nervous. He bets you can feel his hand shaking. "Your place?" Too bold, Simon.

But you smile, warm, lovely. "Sure, meet here after the last period?" Your unable to tear your gaze from his stunning chocolate eyes, so attentive and aware.

He finally let's go of your hand, relief filling him. He nods, feeling much too shy to speak.

You return the smile and walk by him. As you walk to the main doors, you turn and wave goodbye, and he is already looking at you. You see his lips form a small grin and wave back subtly.

『★』

"Today was so boring," you huff out to Simom as he sits in the passenger. He sits too still, scared to make the wrong move in case you would call off this whole thing.

You find it funny he didn't respond. So you ask a question as you turn out of the car park and drive to your house, which is fifteen minutes away. "How was your day?"

He takes a few moments to reply, "good," his deep voice speaks. You wait for him to elaborate but he doesn't. The truth his, his day has been terrible but his mood is ecstatic (on the inside) about being with you.

Fifteen whole minutes, he had to sit there and pretend he didn't care. Staying silent like a complete douchbag. The smell of your perfume, your pretty outfit - a black jumper, faded blue jeans, Converse, pretty earrings, hair, and makeup. Just you simply being next to him made him hard, his mind running wild.

No, no, no, no. He needs to respect you. He's 17, not a little boy. He is a virgin after all, you definitely were not. The amount of stupid boys that took your attention will never deserve you in all the lifetimes. He's stronger, more respectful, just so, so much better for you. He noticed your smile was strained and he wanted to punch every asshole that made you like that. He covers his crotch with his hands, hoping you don't notice his hand placement.

He's so wrapped up in his own thoughts that you opening your car door and exiting snaps him out of it. He ushers out, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he takes in your families property. A simple, modern but classy home. Adorable. His gaze quickly returns to you, pausing as he sees your looking at him already.

"You work out?" You question, noticing he's wearing a black sleeved long sleeved gym shirt. He wore it just for you. It shows off his muscles perfectly.

"Six days a week," he speaks, trying to show off a little. Douche, again. But you smile and he smiles back.

"I do pilates sometimes," you reply, walking up to your front door. Pilates, Simon thinks of you doing the workout, so feminine and simple.

You both enter and you close the door behind you both. "Would you like a drink?" You ask innocently, looking up at him. You knew you were standing too close.

He swallows thickly, his gaze glancing down to your lips for a sweet second. He got even harder. For fuck sake, Simon. Answer the damned question! "Water would be nice, thanks."

You nod. "My room is upstairs, down the hall to the right," you speak, turning and walking to the kitchen.

He stands there silent for a few moments, watching your body sway. He shakes his head. Stop it now, he thinks. He walks up the stairs as he takes in everything about his small journey. At the end of the hallway, there's a picture of younger you.

He always knew you were an only child, makes sense how much you're put together with your parents attention focused on one child. He can't help but smile, seeing how cute you are. You must've been around 5 or 6 he's guessing, your eyes still the same sweetness.

He enters your room and sits on the edge of your bed, looking around once again. Clean, tidy, and... pink. Lots of light pink and white everywhere. Now he knows what your favourite colours are. Bingo.

He hears your soft footsteps coming up. He takes a quick breath, needing to calm his nerves desperately. Just your presence has him all giddy. You enter the room and close the door behind you.

"Here you are," you talk softly, handing him his water. You sit further up on your bed so you're in the middle of it. He thinks for a moment, copying you timidly. You face him. "I hope you like popcorn."

He nods, looking down, noticing you have a bowl of popcorn. Now he knows your favourite snack. Bingo, again!

You relax for a little while, scrolling on your phone as you chew on some popcorn while Simon takes sips of his drink here and there.

You come off your phone and hear your mother coming into your room. You have no time to prepare yourself or to even warn Simon, but he's already looking at her.

"Hi sweet girl!" Your mother exclaims happily, entering the room, hands on her hips. "How was school-" she cuts herself off, finally noticing Simon. She grins. "And who is this handsome boy?"

"Mom!" You scold, stepping off your bed, ready to usher her out, but she pulls you into a hug, kissing your cheek. You turn back at Simon, and he's gazing with a gentle expression, happy to see you and your mother's bond. "His name is Simon," you respond, pulling out of the hug.

Simon feels a slight blush form on his cheeks, shy once more. Your mom stops gazing at him too fondly for your liking and whispers in your ear, "he's a sweet one, I can tell."

You smile at her and glance back at Simon. "He's helping me with Math," you reveal.

Your mother's face brightens. "That's amazing, honey! Anyways, I'll leave you two to it, don't forget to lock the door-"

"Mom," you scold firmly this time. You love her dearly and you know she can tell that you like Simon.

She winks at you and leaves. You close the door and lock it. Simons muscles tense. You locked it? He doesn't want to think any further but he can see a blush on your face too.

『★』

Two hours. Two whole hours, Simon has spent one on one, simply inches away from each other. He easily covers his straining cock by having the popcorn bowl in front of it. He holds back jolts when you reach your hand for a snack.

You spent half the time looking at him and the other half wondering how his voice is so matured and dreamy. You did all the questions from your homework book and you played dumb on a few so he could lean in and explain it.

Simon grew comfortable in your presence. You are warm, soft and gentle. Everything he loves is you.

The thing he didn't expect at all was when you kissed him. You fucking kissed him. You and him! Kissing! He was explaining the most boring equation of all, leaning in more close, taking the pencil from your hand, your hands brushing together. He talks and continues talking when you catch gazes, noses nearly touching.

He wasn't sure whether Math turned you on? Or having someone tell you what to do? He was completely at loss, but once your lips touched his, the gates of heaven opened. You tasted of strawberries, sweet and addictive.

It was such a brief kiss, lasting a few seconds at most. His jaw goes slack afterwards. It was just a kiss, you don't want anything else. Maybe your thanking him for helping you? Both your hands stayed down at your lap, same with his. He's afraid if he touched you, he would never let go.

Should he confess? You've been staring dumbly at each other for about 30 seconds now.

"You're getting the hang of everything," he whispered smoothly. You sigh, feeling yourself growing wet. He was so good-looking and kind, too kind. He was huge, height and muscle wise, but his hands were so gentle.

In the moment, you place the popcorn on your beside table and climb on his lap. His eyes blow wide open as you take his face and lock your lips together once more. He moans into the kiss, making you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer.

He opens his legs, hands hesitantly holding onto your waist. Should he push you away or hold you closer? You deserved so much better than him. He's never kissed anyone before, and he's probably doing horrible. But he picks option two, he pulls you closer, fingertips pawing at your waist. He was right, warm, and soft.

You tilt your head, deepening the kiss, poking your tongue into his mouth, and he let's you, opening his lips, getting drunk off your taste. You sigh into the kiss. He's really good. You wonder how many girls he's been with, jealousy plaguing your mind.

You grind down on him, hips moving back and forth, needy to calm down your pulsing clit. He was rock solid. You swallow up his strangled moan, hips bucking up into yours like a pathetic mess.

Your hands move behind you, taking his hands and placing them on your asscheeks. He squeezes, becoming lost in everything you're doing. He wants to be in your mind, what are you thinking right now?

He pulls away and you look at him confused. His expression was pure pleasure. "Shit, no- fuck-" he groans, pressing his forehead against your shoulder.

"What's wrong?" You speak softly, stroking his hair. Due to you leaning more down, your clothed pussy was right against him. He felt his stomach tighten, pleasure rippling through his body. Don't cum, don't you fucking dare, Simon. If you speak once more with that honey voice of yours he's done for.

"Simon?" You whisper, hearing his breathing come out in quick pants. He whines into your shoulder, and you stare at your wall, completely confused. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you down onto him as he jerks his hips up a few times, riding out his pleasure.

"Are you..." you pause, thinking about the situation. You saw he was hard, it was obvious with the grey sweatpants he was wearing. But did he seriously just cum under a minute of kissing?

You wait until his breathing goes normal, his body relaxing. You try to get up off him, but he holds onto you tightly.

"I'm sorry," he speaks, the most embarrassed he's ever been. He's made you uncomfortable. He knows it. A disgusting pervert, that's what he is. He pulls his head from your neck, missing the smell of you. He looks up at you half-lidded.

Your hands stroke his cheeks. You grin. "Did you cum?" You speak gently.

He swallows, wanting to look away, blushing furiously. "...yes."

"Don't think you weren't so sneaky with the popcorn bowl," you respond, laughing as you watch his reaction to you catching him out.

He groans, resting his head against yours. He's dreading at the thought of letting you go. The prettiest, sweetest girl ever. So soft and warm, he thinks, sighing.

You laugh, making his head snap up at the sound. "Thank you."

He wants to throw himself off a cliff. He said that out loud. For the love of-

"I take care if my skin," you respond, cupping his face, "all over."

He feels himself grow hard again and that's when he can't be close to you anymore. Crossing boundaries is something he doesn't do, especially around you.

You yelp as he lifts you off him, not a muscle straining, carrying you like your as light as a feather. He places you on the bed and he stands up, covering the dark patch on the crotch of his sweatpants.

You giggle, covering your mouth. "I can give you a t-shirt of mine to cover up."

He nods. "Thanks."

You get up, grabbing a random t-shirt and handing it to him. You gaze up at him, tilting your head. He didn't understand how you were looking at him so happily, he was an asshole to you and was disrespectful-

"Would you like a ride?" You question.

He allows his eyes to admire you for a while before responding. "It's okay, my house is just five minutes away."

"It is?" You question, your smile widening.

He swallows. Damn you, you're teasing him. "See you tomorrow," he grumbles, walking to your door.

"Wait!" You exclaim, grabbing his book bag and handing it to him. You lean up, holding the back of his neck, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

His right hand itches forward to hold you, but he stops himself. No, you've already taken enough from her. What have you given her? The fucking creeps.

He simply nods, keeping his feelings to himself and walks down the hall. It takes every cell in his body to not look back at your face. He can feel your gaze trailing on him.

"Thanks for letting me stay," he thanks your mother, giving her a nod. But she squeals, hugging him close.

"My little love likes you, I can tell," she speaks hushed, not wanting you to hear. Don't give him hope, don't. His mind still races, even your mom can see it, your gaze with more shine as you look at Simon.

He nods again, brain running a million miles an hour to even form a sentence. He walks away from the kitchen and leaves through the door. He closes it behind him and walks down the drive.

He waits until he's completely off the property before grinning and laughing, all while holding your t-shirt to his crotch. The street is quiet, not a soul around. He walks away, an extra leap in his step, happiness fulfilling him.

All in one day, you met up with him, you drove him to your house, you studied in your room, you kissed and he... he cringed hard, not wanting to think about it. You had him wrapped around your finger. He keeps smiling, though. Next Thursday, he'll be with you again.

『★』

EEEEK SO CUTE!!

Guys, Simon is NOT a perv!! I just wanted to include his conflicted thoughts because he loves her so much and doesn't want to make her uncomfortable 🤧. I'm not sure how many parts I'm hoping on doing, mayyyyybe 4... or 5... 😙. For you smut girlies, yes, there WILL be smut in upcoming parts and I hope my writing will be up to your expectations. Have a lovely day💗

Also!! Please note I am not trying to sexualise the characters at all, they will be turning 18 soon and it isn't a shock to anyone that they are doing these kinds of this at 17🤭

[fernlessbastard]

this hc has been brewing in my mind since 2021, butt yeahhh enjoyy

wil loves smoking but hates the taste of alcohol. q loves drinking but hates smoking.

now some people might disagree, ive seen many fanart and such drawing them sharing a cig or doing shotguns but hear me out.

q hates the taste of alcohol, but he loves that it makes him blanks out from reality for a moment. wil hates the taste and how it burns in his throat, even if it does makw him forget his problems for a while he ddint find it worth it. hed always gag and spew it back out whenevr q offers him some, sometimes over dramatically to piss q off.

smoking brings memories to wil, thats how he relives them in his head. its more or less addiction than love, but it calms him down. q hates how the smoke would linger on his clothes and reeks his breath, he does smoke sometimes to remind himself of how much he hates it, but is never able to finish an entire stick and ended up giving the rest to wil if he was around.

theyd hooked up a couple of times, both in pogtopia and in las nevadas. most of the times theyd kiss, never soft and loving but out of desperation (pogtopia) or wanting to dominate the other (las nevadas). either way, wil had always tasted the same to q. smoke, and sometimws a little sweet, the taste of smoke is always there.

a few days before wil left for utah, they hooked up one last time (unknown to q that it was their last time). that was thwir last interaction before wil left without a goodbye. the last memory that q had of wil was the bitter taste of cigarettes.

and so, after wil left, he started smokimg again. and although it left him coughing and hacking for fresh air, he wants to relive the memory.

it was never the same, but he tried and tried again. each and everytime, it left his lungs burning and eyes prickling with tears from the smoke.

he hates smoking, but he loves wilbur.

this was supposed to be a funny hc, but then in took a turn lol :33

(may 2024)

I absofuckinglutely agree oh my god yes exactly

chapter 2 od IUTMTM actually deals with that topic and describes my feelings on it, but yeah no Quackity's drug of choice is alcohol, and it provides such a perfect angsty parallel to Schlatt too. He slips into alcoholism without realising in Las Nevadas. He's still functioning "normally", but uses alcohol in private to be able to quiet the storm inside his head, usually when he's trying to sleep. He doesn't like smoking, but starts to smoke because of Wilbur and after Wilbur's death he is properly addicted to it but more so to how it reminds him of Wilbur, rather than to the substance. The thing is, they were each other's unhealthy coping mechanism, and they still are. Quackity loves Wilbur, is basically the only one who sees him as a person etc, but he still has that subconscious idealised version of how Wilbur used to be able to help him just go on despite the horrors of his life.

(this also ties in with the fact that Q for sure has ADHD and alcohol does initially raise dopamine levels and while then it decreases the dopamine levels even more, it is still something that makes alcohol dangerously addictive to people with ADHD)

Meanwhile Wilbur doesn't like alcohol. Not the taste, not the effect all too much... He doesn't particularly mind it, though usually he just doesn't really go for it. Nicotine relax his muscles, which must be particularly appreciated post revival with his body being fucked up, but also generally as he becomes unstable

Also, an alcohol dependency is technically easier to hide, unless you're drinking right then and there. Yeah, it does affect your body odour a bit, but it's much easier to mask than cigarette smoke. Cigarettes leave a smell, and that fits Wilbur a lot—he doesn't hide the fact that he has issues. Narratively speaking, as he starts smoking he starts using his instability as an intimidation tool, basically. He wears it on his sleeve, he starts portraying himself as the bad guy, and smoking certainly adds to that aura, both with how it's viewed, as well as with how it "announces" itself

actually have the specific fragment under the cut, if someone here doesn't feel like reading the whole thing (though of course i very much encourage you read it):

“Do you have a light?” Wilbur took a lighter out of his pocket. Click. Quackity leaned towards the outstretched flame, which trembled slightly. Last they’d met he assumed emotions were the source of the hands’ unsteadiness, but maybe there was an actual issue there after all, unrelated to their argument. He felt an odd, vague sting around his stomach. Regardless, soon enough smoke was spilling out of his mouth, drowning the tingle in his chest in thoughts of pointless irony. He never even enjoyed smoking. The stench turned foul if not aired out or washed, the smoke made his mouth feel covered in hair, and it didn’t even have much of an effect other than some light-headedness—and even that disappeared quickly. He only engaged in it at parties, if at all… But then his lonely nights became not so lonely anymore, instead suddenly veiled in a thin curtain of smoke. And then he realised that a shared cigarette let him indirectly taste the lips which would then rant to him whenever it’d be his turn for a drag. And then Schlatt’s inquisitive, increasingly agitated comments about the lingering smell made him start smoking where others would see, for an easy explanation. And then Schlatt was finally gone. But so was the initial source of the smell. Convincing himself it was nicotine he was addicted to came easy. His lighter continued clicking, as he gradually learnt not to mind the tang which begrimed his throat. He scrubbed, washed, rinsed, brushed and cleaned in secrecy, having quickly memorised the disappointed looks on his lovers’ faces. He carried chewing gum, bathed in cologne, and covered his hair with a beanie, despite the change in his style. But he didn’t stop. He kept searching. Searching for an ember that’d feel half as warm as the ones in the ravine. For a scratch in his throat that’d itch half as much, as the one he felt when for the first time in forever the hands which held him didn’t make him want to rip his skin off. For a smell half as pungent as the one that used to paint a smile on his face in mere seconds. But there he was now, right next to the lure which pulled him into the habit in the first place. And the smoke still didn’t feel as vivid as the memories, which he’d already taught himself to disregard. He’d gotten over what happened between them. Letting go of his reverie he inhaled greedily, stepping closer to Wilbur and leaning against the pole next to him. Heads touching the cold metal, they stewed in shared smoke. “Well-” Quackity took a drag, “-wanna tell me to what I owe your visit?”

[messenger-of-babel]

Till Death Do Us Part

Summary: Chris is plagued by memories, nightmares, and the dream of you. (Chris Redfield x reader)

Word Count: 2.8K

Notes: UNIT OF A MAN CHRIS REDFIELD. I love how he looks in Re8 (re7 Chris broke my heart and cut the brakes on my car fr). Veryyy minor language, I swore like once. It's funny I came here to be a resi blog and look at how the turn tables. Anyways, Chris stans rise up y'all are so nice~ xx

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Alone in the car, Chris was left with his thoughts a little longer than he would have liked.

Thumbing the lighter, he brings the flickering flame to his mouth, lighting the stick that hung from the press of his lips. With a deep inhale and slow close of his eyes, he lets the nicotine work its way around his system, blissfully whisking the worries from his mind. His muscles loosen under the layers of tactical and cold weather gear, finger relaxing on the gun trigger and letting the weapon rest in his lap. These were the moments that Chris Redfield let the memories catch up with him.

 His team was setting up in their operation in Miranda’s village, voices occasionally cutting in through his radio, but they didn’t need him right now. He could have a moment to himself among the chaos of it all, and deep down he knew his team gave him the space deliberately. For a moment, he stopped running for just a second and let his mistakes settle in.

Most of the time he thought of Piers.

He thought of the young man who came to him all those years ago and dragged him out of the pit he had dug himself into. The stern face of the young soldier who tore away the coffin lid of alcohol and blacking out in alleyways, pulling him back into the light. Who made him a captain again, who never gave up on him. The very same friend who pushed himself past the limits of being human to save Chris. To save the world.

When he was younger and more guilt ridden, he had played out the 'what if' scenarios like clockwork. What Piers would be doing now if he was alive, if Chris had been able to hand the mantle over to him like he intended. It had morphed into what Piers might have done if Chris had died instead, taken his place in the escape pod and been granted the chance to see the sun again. It was endless nights of lost sleep; the dreams being replaced with nightmares every time he thought of one of those situations. His sanity and his mind hung on by a thread in those moments, doing everything he could to not relapse into the place he was before Piers. He slipped more often than he'd like, but the seared face of Piers haunted the back of his eyelids like a ghost, and eventually, he always put the bottle back down.

The second person he thought of was Jill.

She was still alive, but not the same person she had been back in S.T.A.R.S. He couldn’t blame her though; he was hardly the same either. He was more rugged, more gruff, weather beaten and fucking tired. Despite the times she caught his gaze and bluntly told him to stop worrying, he never really could. She was like his lifeline back to the Chris of the past, where he cracked smiles more often than not and spent time making jokes at the captains expense. That kind of Chris who was young and full of cheek, brimming with the audacity of youth.

and with youth came naivety and innocence.

Joining the S.T.A.R.S team as ex-military he thought he had seen everything, which had given him the boisterous ego infamous among the RPD. The fact that he missed that naivety drew a copper taste to his mouth, forcing himself to swallow and take another drag of the cigarette. Back when Wesker was Captain Wesker, and Chris's loyalty was intact and oblivious to the sting of betrayal. When he still had Barry and Dewey and Dooley and Brad. Things were simpler, despite how often he liked to brag about what went on in his job. Yet at the end of the day, he was still passionate about serving and protecting the people he loved. He thought he was making a difference.

Jill never said outright that she was mad at him, she was his partner after all. Guilt had clawed way for a burning rage when he thought he had lost her, settling in his chest like a poison. Then she had come back, with a fire in her eyes that spoke to kill him. They had worked their differences out over the years, overcoming the scars of that ordeal together. The mansion, the canyon, the incident in Africa, all of those they had talked past with more than a bottle of whisky between them, and for like a small moment it was like it had never happened. They moved forward, together. stronger. He was more grateful for her company and support than he showed, and he knew that Jill would be uncomfortable if he brought it up.

Currently his mind was stuck on Ethan.

Ethan Winters, who he had lied to about the situation involving his family. He knew that Ethan deserved to know, deserved to know about Mia, his daughter Rose. Maybe his heart had gotten more and more calloused over the years, building slowly till he felt very little at all. It was so easy to make the calls, to think of the bigger picture all the time. For the greater good of the world, unable to see the pain he caused when he took away the only world that Ethan cared about.

And now Ethan was fighting tooth and nail to get it back.

Chris respected how the man had marched bravely into the face of death for the sake of his family, to get back his daughter. Even though Chris had warned him not to and Ethan caused an insurmountable amount of inconvenience in his wake; Chris respected him. He knew that Ethan would unlikely forgive him when he found everything out, would curse him for hurting who he had thought were his loved ones. Chris knew he had failed him already, so the sting of that thought had dulled each hour he spent in this cursed village. The village that Ethan Winters was currently burning down in the name of love.

Chris wanted to shake the man down, to tell him to stop fighting and to let him and his team handle it. That his emotions were getting the better of him, and he wasn't going to get anywhere with just willpower and a handgun. He wanted nothing more than to tell him he was being an idiot, and that Chris himself would never make such stupid decisions. Yet he couldn't make the words form in his mind, knowing he himself had been just like him once, willing to throw himself in the way of everything for one person.

You.

Chris had made many mistakes in his life, but you never were one. If anything, you were the one thing that was going right for him when everything seemed wrong. When he had come knocking on your door late at night, worn out from work, you always welcomed him in with a warm smile. No one knew about you two, and that's the way both of you preferred to keep it. You were a regular cop working with the RPD, letting you both trade glances with each other in the hallways and a few too many stolen kisses in the evidence room. He had a faint feeling that Jill suspected something, but if she knew she never said.

He loved how warm you were, how kind-hearted. Late nights lying in your bed talking about life, the past and the future. Leaning over his chest with sparkling eyes one night, you had told him why you had become an officer. Something with a wage big enough to pay for your two younger sister's tuition, so they wouldn't have to face the level of poverty you had. Something that could help others get off the streets, keep the kids safe and away from the drugs and addictions that plagued Raccoon's backstreets. With a soft smile on your lips, you told him of how you wanted to buy your mother a bigger house one day, with enough money sent home each week that she would never have to wonder if she could afford heat in winter again.

His breath was stolen at the genuine way you told him of your childhood, your upbringing and struggles. The way your eyes still glimmered with life after everything, that you were still able to see the good in things. The way that you used it to make yourself stronger. Although he had been in S.T.A.R.S, in that moment he wanted nothing but to have a fraction of the sheer strength you had.

Then had come the Arklay mission, which he left for so suddenly there was little room for more than a brief peck on the cheek and a reassurance that he would be back. That hadn't been enough to smooth the worry lines from your forehead, but you let him go anyways, fingers uncurling from the material of his uniform. He wished he had looked back just a little longer, held you just a little closer, not knowing that would be the last time he ever saw you.

Of course, everything in Arklay happened, the memory of that making him sigh and tap his fingers restlessly on the windowsill. Another drag of the cigarette brought his shoulders down from bunching near his ears. exhaling the plume slowly, he closed his eyes and let himself indulge in the thought of you. It was nearly your anniversary, a week off in fact. It was the only time he allowed himself to think of you, the only time he could let himself remember the curve of your smile and the glow of your eyes. If you had been allowed to be together, you would be celebrating your 24th anniversary this year. He wondered how many of those you might have been married for, if you would have had children or any on the way. Where you would have moved to, the house you would have wanted, the life you could have built.

But it hadn't worked like that.

He had left to chase Wesker, hoping he could end it quickly and come home to your arms, body tracing its way home like a beacon. He saw traits of himself in the way Ethan fought, fighting for his daughter and wife the same way Chris had fought for you. Instead, all he got was the news of Raccoon being destroyed, and taking his heart with it. His eyes had been locked onto the grainy TV of the European hotel room, shock making tears sting the back of his eyes. He had raced back, Wesker be damned. He could always chase him down again, but you? He didn't think he could survive another night restless like that again.

He had run home like the fear of God was under his feet, eventually finding Jill. It had been an accidental reunion, and he had been more than glad to see her alive. Someone was alive, which meant that there was hope. But when she regarded him with sad eyes and a slight hitch in her tone, he faltered. He wasn't sure if he had ever felt more fear than he did in that moment, vision blurring at the corners as she pulled something from her jacket pocket to give to him.

Maybe Valentine had pieced it together after all.

For all the horrors, monsters and battlefields Chris Redfield had seen, nothing had hurt him more than seeing your badge lying in the middle of her palm. He had demanded answers, not even caring if the tears burnt themselves to the forefront, but Jill refused. her lips were sealed tight, looking down and away from him.

"For your own good." She had said firmly, jaw set tight. "You don't…you don't want to know. They wouldn't have wanted you to know." She said softly, before quietly muttering her apologies. That had sealed the deal for him, heart beating out of time in his chest. All he could do was close his fingers around the cold piece of metal he scooped from her palm, blood stained and sharp.

Chris was no fool. he knew what had happened in Raccoon prior to it being bombed. The terror on the streets, the outbreak that spread like fire. he knew of cops and S.T.A.R.S members alike that turned, but he had always had a hope that you had gotten out. You were smart, so much smarter than him. But as Jill handed him your badge, he knew that no matter how hard he tried to fight it, you were gone.

Not knowing what happened to you exactly ate at him for years, plaguing his nights and soaking his sheets with sweat. It was the same dream, hand extending out towards him, pain written on your face. "Help me." you'd plead to him, over and over. He'd try his best, but he wouldn't be able to stop the way that your skin fell from your bones, melting off your muscles and running blood down your fingertips. He tried to hold you each time, trying to keep you together as you thrashed and screamed. His touch only seemed to make you decay further, skin rippling and warping under his fingertips. With a final ""Help me," you'd lunge for his neck without fail, jerking him upright with wide eyes and a rabbiting heart. He wasn't sure what was worse, wondering if you had turned and gone though the pain of becoming infected, or experienced the horror of watching a bomb come down on you instead of a rescue chopper.

It was too hard to imagine, so over the years he built his own story. It had started originally that you died doing something heroic, saving a family or some poor civilian. That was in your nature, always kind-hearted. It slowly morphed into you fighting for your life, bravely tracking down horde after horde to defend what survivors you could find before taking your last stand, being the hero he knew you to be. However, in his old age those stories lost their shine, and the comfort they brought turned into a grimace. Nothing could take away that you lost your life too young. So now he thought of a different one, a special one he only indulged in for this time of the year.

One where you were waiting at home for him as usual, radiant and beautiful as ever. He'd be able to come back home from this mission, taking his weary body up to your embrace and letting himself rest there as you welcomed him back. Hip popped as you leant against the front porch, wearing the same uniform he had left you in all those years ago. He could gaze into your bright eyes again, cover the smirk on your lips with his own when he kissed you, hand on your waist to remind himself that you were real. He'd take you out to some local restaurant you had both made your favourite, something he imagined you found together when you moved out of the city. In a quieter place like the countryside, just what you wanted. He'd take great pride ordering the meal you liked, something that he knew by heart. It was a dream where he got to see you all dressed up, smiling at him from across the flickering candlelight, reaching over to envelop his hand with yours. Then he would cast his eyes down and see the ring on your finger, filling his heart with warmth.

That was something that his nightmares couldn't even touch. The thought of you becoming a zombie, one of the infected and rotting away in his arms was banished the nights he let him indulge in the fantasy. A world where his leaving hadn't damned you, where his touch still meant promises for the future, not a death sentence.

For a full moment it would all feel warm and vivid and real, as if you had come down from your heavenly seat just to bless him for another moment. In that small corner of his heart, the rot couldn't touch you. You beamed up at him as radiant as the day he left you, a smile forever etched into his mind.

When he opened his eyes next you were gone, and he was back to sitting in the car preparing his assault on Miranda. There was a weak voice in the back of his head telling him that you were still waiting back home and all he had to do was finish this mission. He kept it alive, even through the crackle of the radio as his team patched in; already in position. He crushed out his cigarette, reloading his gun by muscle memory. As he exited the car he cast one look up at the bleak sky before patting the smooth, RPD police badge tucked into the lining of his vest, right over his heart.

"happy anniversary babe." he murmured softly, and he knew somewhere, someplace, you were smiling on the other end.

[willowlevulett]

The second part of my self-indulgent Jayce smokes sadly on the balcony drabble. Truly, this man can not be written without a desperate longing for his lab partner. Small CW for a small reference of Jayce's canon attempt.

-

The balcony door clicks closed. Jayce feels his throat close along with it.

The freezing air wraps like a wreath around the soft brown hair of his partner, puffs of white smoke from his lips. Puffs of white smoke from Jayce's. Despite everything, all he wants is to know what it tastes like if those clouds meet in the middle.

Despite everything, he wants to press his palm back to the side of his throat for the entirety of whatever was to come. He wants to feel the words Viktor was about to press into the distance between them. If they are to be seperated, deathly final and with a flourish, Jayce wishes he could enscribe each syllable to the harsh callouses on his fingers.

Dramatic, Caitlyn would tease him.

Viktor, despite the surely audible thrash of Jayce's fast beating heart, simply sits and does not speak for several minutes. He stares forward, his eyes focused in a way Jayce knew that he was not on this balcony. Not really. He was a million miles away, dissecting and ripping apart something with his teeth. Savoring each mouthful before he would even think to bring it to Jayce. So he waits, like he always does.

He busies himself with straightening out the mess he made. The one he can at least. The ash tray, now chipped but intact, returns to its spot on the small side table. He scoots his chair back into the position it was before and tosses the chip of glass from the tray into the small trash can where he throws his cigarette butts. It is finished woefully fast and Viktor still isn't looking at him.

He lights another cigarette, angling his chair away from Viktor and blowing the thick smoke out over the side of the balcony. The freezing wind whips it away and ushers it off to better things. His sighs through his teeth. This was stupid. He should just shatter this silence between them. He usually does whenever he messes up bad enough for Viktor to have to gut and clean the imagined Jayce in his head. Looking for clues in the bloodied carcass of his imagined partner of how he could be so stupid. Usually, Viktor would give up, hands buried deep in his spectral innards and demand that Jayce give him the taste of the real thing. And Jayce does, every time.

Jayce would let Viktor rip him open from sternum to hip hone. Would let him dig through as he pleases, caress organs and sinew with the methodical care only Viktor is capable of. Precise and calculated movements, laced with warmth and that small smile Jayce loves so dearly.

Jayce wants to scream 'tell me what to do and I'll do it. I would tear myself apart to keep you warm'.

He keeps his goddamn mouth shut and takes another drag.

"I hate that you got an apartment with a balcony."

The silence stretched for so long, the statement said so briskly that Jayce once again startles.

He huffs a humorless laugh, smoke bleeding through his lips as he repsonds.

"Come on, Vik. You know I'm too dramatic to settle for my own balcony."

"That's not funny."

"It's a little cold to be funny. What did you need? I know you need something. You got that look in your eye like your knee deep in my fucking brain stem." Viktor doesn't turn his head but his eyes shift, giving him an incredulous side eye like Jayce should have no idea that he does that. Feeling bold, Jayce steadily meets his sideways gaze, dares him to deny the assessment.

"I can guess but I always prefer to get my dress downs directly from your mouth." This makes the side of Viktor's mouth quirk. Jayce almost hopes he takes the bait that statement creates. At least it would make this conversation more bearable.

He doesn't.

"What you said." The pause afterward makes Jayce want to tear his hair out. God, he could feel that this conversation was going to be a sputtering engine. Roaring to life and then choking out black smoke, stuttering to a stop in painful stalls.

"You can't just," he bites down onto his lower lip, running it between his teeth before releasing it, "say things like that."

Jayce wishes Viktor would take him between his teeth. Leave dents and marks in him until Viktor was satisfied.

"But it was cruel of me to send you away like that. I apologize."

Cruel is how Viktor still hasn't fully looked at him. Cruel is the unsteady breath Jayce is taking and the pinprick of tears behind his eyes. Cruel is the freezing night air that rushes in the space between their bodies.

The conversation sputters black smoke.

Finally, after one long drag, Jayce rubs his temple and manages to push the words out, "Okay, well, thanks for that. And I am sorry that I made you uncomfortable. I'll keep my feelings to myself from now on."

Viktor seems to crumble in on himself at that. The side of his face looks pained which confuses Jayce. Is this conversation not a continuation of the rejection he received last night? What did Viktor want from this? It certainly wasn't what Jayce just said.

He could feel the cogs slipping in the machine but he couldn't see where it was misaligned. He needed to tear the hatch cover off, get his hands dirty, and potentially mangled in the process.

Well, if there's anything Jayce is good at, it was certainly throwing himself into the blazing heat of forward motion. What were a couple more scars anyway.

"Why does it make you so uncomfortable? Is it truly so horrible that I feel this way for you?" He meant to sound firm, maybe even stern. Instead he sounds petulant, small. The last part of the sentence whispered with a mortifying crack in his voice. He also realizes he hasn't said what he means. Not really. He knows his eyes poured out the truth like a weeping wound, staining Viktor and the couch below them both. But there is a misaligned cog here.

"Viktor, I-"

"I can't." Black smoke, a click of a tongue in frustration, the restart of the engine, "You can't play with me like this, Jayce. You can't look at me like all the hookups you sweep off their feet in bars. I can't be that for you." It was his turn for his voice to drop down into quiet and small. The voice crack sending painful shivers down Jayce's spine.

The statement is so confusing to him at first that he simply stays still for a second, his cigarette dropping ash between his thighs. Can't be that for you and all the hookups you sweep off their feet.

What?

"What?" The misaligned cog in the conversation catches him in the meat of his thumb, ripping out a chunk and sending his heart into a painful squeeze.

"You think that I- oh gods Viktor please look at me."

Finally, oh finally, Viktor turns and his molten honey gaze burns into Jayce. If he was a funeral pyre, Jayce would light the wood himself.

"You think I want a quick, messy fuck?" He huffs out a laugh at the thought. Gods, no. Jayce wanted to bash his skull open and leave his cerebrum as an offering at Viktor's feet.

"Well it makes the most logical sense. You were inebriated and looking at me like-" he clears his throat awkwardly, "like you wanted to eat me alive. After all these years? Of me quietly- well it made the most sense. And I got, emotional. Angry." He shakes his head as if this was the most ridiculous part of the situation, him being angry at Jayce.

"Quietly what, Viktor."

"Please, Jayce."

"Quietly what?"

The wind stills, as if holdings its breath along with the two men on the balcony. Jayce was and always will be reckless.

Jayce slides down onto his knees, the cold ground immediately biting through his jeans and into the bone. He puts his hands forward, clasped as if in prayer, onto Viktor's lap. When the other man startles and looks down at him with a wild look in his eye, Jayce slips his prayers between them, grabbing firmly onto Viktor's hands. His breath, tinged with cigarette smoke and the heat of his emotions boiling over in his stomach, puffs up into the face of the man he's so desperately in love with.

"I am in love with you. So painfully, so wholly that those words aren't enough. If I could tear out my heart and let you inspect it for defects, for a lie, I would. If I could carve your every breath into my ribs, I would. Whatever you want. Whatever you need." He shifts on the ground, pain pulsing up from his right knee. A crunching noise reaches past the pulse pounding in his ears, and he realizes that there was a tiny shard of glass under that knee. He hopes the wound scars.

"I don't care what you have 'quietly' been feeling this whole time. If it's a fraction of what I feel or simply tolerance. I don't care. I'm done folding this away and trying to be normal. I will be whatever you want me to be. A lover, a partner only in the lab, your bed warmer on cold nights. Whatever you want. If I could hand over my soul for you, I would"

As soon as he finishes his dramatic speech, he realizes he means it. More than anything, he means it. He feels insane. He is insane. Those are insane words to say to someone, no matter how entwined you are with them. Despite this, he wants to say more. Needs to say more.

"I don't want to eat you alive." Jayce presses a kiss reverently to Viktor's red tinged knuckles. "I want you to eat me alive."

Black smoke clears, the engine clicks into gear. Viktor's hand snakes out from Jayce's grip and latches onto his chin, a mirror of last night but flipped on its head. Last nights grip was stilling, horrifying, causing him to beg for forgiveness before even knowing the sin. Instead, this touch was electrifying, a potential. A spark for a wildfire that Jayce's mouth stretches open to catch on his tongue. Viktor's thumb sweeps to the side, catching on his lower lip and staying there like it was always meant to.

"You mean it." His mouth is apage in awe, his breath ghosting past his lips and puffing over Jayce's face. "Fuck, you really mean it, Jayce."

And like god sending rain down to parched earth, Viktor presses his freezing, chapped lips to Jayce's. The spark alights on Jayce's teeth and burns through him in a blink of an eye, a gasped breath pushed against a closed mouth.

The kiss descends quickly from the press of lips Viktor might have meant it to be into Jayce desperately angling his head upwards, greedily sucking Viktor's bottom lip between his. Determined to feel where his teeth had sunk into it just a couple minutes earlier. It tastes like smoke, like hot iron, like day old coffee. He drinks it down and begs for more, pressing upwards so his hands can slip from Viktor's lap and into his hair. It's sweaty at the nape from a day in the lab and tangled from his incessant play of the strands there. It's everything Jayce thought it would be. Viktor gasps against his mouth, and that too is everything Jayce had hoped it would be and so much more. Hot and humid breaths passed between mouths. Teeth clicking in a desperate attempt to get closer. Viktor's hand tangling in the fabric of Jayce's sweater, tugging insistently forward, forward, forward.

They break for air out of necessity, but Jayce doesn't let them separate. He buries his face into that column of throat he so desperately wants to map with his tongue.

"I fear more talking will be needed." Viktor out of breath, chest heaving panting breaths that Jayce can feel where his lips brush his neck.

"After. Whatever you need. But after." And Jayce pulls his face down to his once more.

[arivsxq]

Pairing: Jungkook X reader

Theme: angst, friends to lovers to enemies

Warning: +18, mention of drugs, smut, angst, JK is kinda an asshole

Song: Friends-Chase Atlantic

Word count: 1k+

A/N: hey, I was bored last night so I thought “why not write a little one shot?”. Hope u like it and sorry english is my second language so I tend to make some mistakes. Have a great dayyy

One thing I learned in the past few months is to always keep your promises. I didn't do that which led to, me lying to every single person I love only to be with the man that I loved. Can you even call it love? I think so. At least from my perspective, but from his? Did he love me or did he love the rush of excitement that came with the forbidden romance between us? I don't know and I probably won't ever know but what I know is that we both screwed up. The promise we made many years ago had its purpose and we ignored it because we were blinded by the mind-blowing sex we had when none of our friends were around.

Now we're sitting here, pretending like the past months never happened, keeping up this facade for our friends in the hope that they will never find out. The smell of weed lingers in the air, taking me back to the night before everything went down. "You want sum' "J.T. holds a package of cigarettes in his hand. I stretch my arm slightly to take one and light it up before I blow out the smoke into the cold night air. "I thought you wanted to quit" His raspy voice reaches my ears, making me stop my movements for a second. "I've changed my mind" I try to make my voice sound as normal as possible but even an idiot could see that something was off.

We were very close, even before our 'little romance' but now I couldn't even look into his eyes. "You guys are fine?" Cora asks. "Yeah, why wouldn't we?" and another lie. "You two seem off. I just thought you fought or something" She's right, we fought but that's the consequence of fucking your best friend behind closed doors. They drop the topic fortunately and out of one cigarette becomes a joint. Our five friends talk and laugh but the only quiet ones are me and him.

"I should head home now. It's past midnight and I have practice tomorrow" I get up from the bench and take my bag. "How do you get home?" Dane asks, reminding me that he had quite a few drinks by now. "Walkin' " I feel his gaze on my body and before I can think any further he stands up and says "I'll drive you". I want to say something. I want to say no, I really want to but I can't because our friends are listening. I wave them goodbye and start heading into the dark with him behind me like a guardian angel.

"I can walk" my voice echoes through the darkness, making him let out a laugh. "What's so funny?" "When will you stop lying, y/n?" I stop in my tracks and turn around to face him. "You are scared of the dark. You hate walking around at this hour"

"Things change" my answer makes him laugh again. "I still wonder how the others never found out because baby you are a terrible liar". My eyes widened at his statement but also because of the pet name he always called me when no one was around.

"I'm not a liar" another lie. "You are. You never have practice on Sundays". Fuck this son of a bitch. How does he remember every detail about me and makes me feel things I shouldn't? "I'm not the only liar here" my arms crossed in front of my chest, trying to make myself feel less exposed. "You're right but the difference is that I don't deny it" I want to rip this damn smirk off of his face, that he always makes when he knows he's right. He gets on his bike and puts his helmet on while I stand there dumbfounded. "Get on top" he throws the other helmet and I catch it. My eyes roll before putting it on and hopping behind him onto the bike. He puts on the engine after making sure my hands are secured around his waist that I knew so well and before I could feel my heart beating faster, we drove off into the night.

***

I should've known better when he said he wanted to follow me upstairs and make sure I would get home safely. But I was too dumb to think twice or maybe I hoped that this would happen. That's the reason why he's pounding inside me, right? Making me cry out the noises that he loved so much while my acrylic nails bury into his skin. I feel his muscles flex under my touch. "Fuck" he curses when my walls clench around him. His heavy breaths tickle the side of my neck while his tattooed hand goes down to stoke my waist. Soft moans escape my mouth and I feel his lips again.

My legs feel numb, the kiss deepens and I feel him hitting the spot that makes me want to scream out his name. It's like he can read my mind. Fuck you Jeon. "Do it baby. Say my name" he grunts beside my ear. I whine at the pleasure that starts building up inside me and as much I hate him, I still can't get enough of him. "Say my name baby. Tell me who makes you feel good"

"Fuck you, Jungkook" is the only thing I get out before the knot in my stomach explodes and my orgasm rolls all over my body.

He moans at the feeling of my walls tightening around him and increases his speed, pounding faster into my dripping core. "I missed you" did he? "Fuck I missed you so much" my heart clenches and I feel what I did when he whispered sweet nothings when he had me in his arms. And that's the moment I start thinking that maybe he has changed. Maybe we can try to be something again but this time stop lying about it. Dumb little girl. Because the next day I wake up he's gone...again.

[lunarmothim]

nevermore - simon riley x reader

part i: grief is a funny thing - in the wake of devastating loss, nothing looks the same.

word count: 1.2k tags/warnings: mention of major character death, brief description of gore, heavy angst, grief, suicidal thoughts, language. implied ghoap.

notes: and here it is! this labor of love (and many tears) has given me grief for the last two weeks. i decided to start off on this blog with a bang and make the boys suffer :) i have this thing plotted to the last chapter and i'm already preparing a preemptive apology. welcome to hell, population us, i hope you enjoy :)

141 SAFEHOUSE 23 NOV 2023, 10:00 HRS SOMEWHERE IN THE UK

Grief is a funny thing. 

With all the loss in his life, Simon would have thought he'd be used to it by now- the hollow ache in his chest, the empty spaces in his life no amount of alcohol can fill. Some days are easier than others, the pain reduced to a dull, manageable throb. Others it's like a knife between his ribs, pressure building with nowhere to go as the blood pools in his chest cavity. Either way it's familiar. He should be used to it.

But something about this one feels different, hurts more.

Maybe it's that this one is still fresh, the image of his fallen sergeant still burned into the backs of his eyelids like a macabre tattoo. 

Maybe it's that he'd been there for the end, had watched Johnny go down in a spray of blood and brain matter, had pressed trembling fingertips to his neck in search of a pulse he'd already known he wouldn't find. 

Or maybe it's that the infuriating Scot had gotten so deep under his skin that Simon couldn't dig him out if he tried, planting the tentative seed of something better, something kind, something he didn't deserve.

Whatever it is, it keeps him curled up in a too-small bed in a dingy safehouse as many kilometers away from London as he could get on half a tank of gas, staring blankly at the wall with a hangover that feels like a pleasant tickle compared to the agony that winds through every crack and crevice Johnny had carved into his armor, filling the spaces between his ribs until it's pressing against his lungs and he can't breathe under the weight of it.

He can't remember grief hurting this much. He doesn't know what to do with it, how to ease the pressure. 

Well. He knows one way. Cold steel taunting him from a bedside table drawer, always loaded. Always ready. 

Always tempting. 

He reaches for it now, one arm stretching out to slide open the drawer. He doesn't pick it up, just running his fingers over the barrel. It would be easy. Pick it up, feel its weight in his palm. A kiss of metal against his temple. A single squeeze of his finger. He considers it. Has been considering it for the last two days, since he'd stood outside the service entrance to the channel tunnel and watched the bodybag zip closed.

Two days. It feels like no time at all has passed. It feels like it's been decades. 

Some pieces of Johnny are already fading. Simon can't remember their last interaction, the last thing they said to each other. If he'd smiled, what he smelled like beneath the haze of cigarette smoke that clung to him after tailing the hacker. They'd shared a fist bump in the back of a military vehicle as they approached the tunnel, maybe, a silent see you on the other side that had become ritual over the years. Something instinctual, gravitational, a minute offering of something steady before everything went to shit as it often did.

Fuck. His hand retreats from the gun and slams the drawer shut before scrubbing down his face, the rough fabric of his balaclava scratching at his skin. He remembers a different hand, much gentler, following the same path in the opposite direction to yank it off his head. He drops his hand like he's been burned.

He's so wrapped up in the mess in his head that he almost misses the faint footsteps outside.

The sharp snap of a twig is what cuts through the white noise like static in his ears. It's like a switch flips in him at the sound- in the split second between breaths Simon becomes Ghost, the gun in his hand a familiar weight as he snatches it from the drawer. He rolls off the bed, hitting the floor just as the door is blasted clean off its hinges.

Assess the situation. Heavy footsteps. Boots, multiple. At least six, spreading out around the room. The familiar sound of a grip adjusting on a rifle.

"Know you're there, Ghost." That voice. That fucking voice, that lazy southern drawl that drags him back to that night in Las Almas, Johnny bleeding on the ground- "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

"The fuck are you doing here, Graves?" His own voice is rougher than usual, hoarse and scratchy, throat still raw from yelling orders in the chunnel. From yelling for Johnny. Focus. He doesn't rise from the floor just yet, straining his ears. No movement, just the sound of tense breathing. 

"Got orders to bring you in," Graves answers like it's the simplest thing in the world, and Ghost's eyes narrow. "Alive, they said, but you know how accidents happen."

"Who's orders?"

"Army, CIA, Interpol. Take your pick." The finality in Graves' tone says he isn't interested in answering anymore questions. A shame, really, because Ghost has a lot of them and he'd love to beat the answers out of the smarmy asshole. "Now drop your weapon and come out with your hands up. I won't ask again."

Ghost thinks about it for far too long of a second- putting up a fight he likely won't win. Sure, he's brought a knife to a gunfight against Graves and his Shadows before, he'd stand even more of a chance with a pistol, but his mind is stuck on who'd given the orders. Army, CIA, Interpol. He hasn't done anything illegal- lately- that he remembers, certainly nothing that would put him on Interpol's radar, so he makes a choice.

A shit choice, but if the CIA's involved he's sure Laswell is too. Maybe if he cooperates he can get some answers.

Mind made up, Ghost tosses the gun up onto the mattress. It's not the response Graves wants judging by the way he tuts, but he holds out his hand in a stand down motion to his Shadows anyway when Ghost slowly rises to his feet, fingers splayed wide and hands out to his sides to show them empty. You know how accidents happen. There's no doubt in Ghost's mind Graves would shoot him if he so much as twitched in a way he didn't like.

"That wasn't so hard now, was it? Let's go." Graves taunts, nodding to the Shadow closest to Ghost's side of the room. He doesn't fight it when the soldier zip cuffs him with trembling hands, though he could easily take the kid out before any of the others could react and both he and Graves know it- it's why Graves hadn't come over here to do it himself, keeping what he thinks is a safe distance.

It's not. No distance from Ghost is safe enough for Graves, not when he's part of the reason Johnny's dead.

Makarov may have pulled the trigger, but Graves and Shepherd's egos had made it possible.

Five minutes to confirm a kill, and maybe Johnny would still be here.

He stamps out the spark of pain igniting again along the edges of his frayed psyche, shrugging off the hand guiding him to the door. Despite the zip cuffs that speak to the contrary he walks out of his own volition, ducking his head to slide into the backseat of the SUV on the curb when the door's yanked open for him. He doesn't bother to hide his distaste when Graves slides in next to him, keeping his gun trained on him like he's expecting Ghost to do something stupid.

He won't... for now. Not until he knows what's going on. 

Laswell better have a good fucking explanation for this.

part one - masterlist - part two

please like/reblog if you enjoyed! :) dividers by: @/gildui

[dabuerre]

well fellas. its time. the end of the journey is here. only "Daybreak" remaining. lets go. this post is gonna get super long.

its funny that this is gonna be the second time im gonna cry over a ship. first its onepiece, now its battlestar.

holy fuck we actually see Zak. broooo i never expected that lol. also Leoben is super fucked up, considering he literally recreated Kara's apartment in that prison on New Caprica lol.

wooow gaius is/was such a child looool. i heard that he grew up on a farm, but when he was explaining himself to gaetta(i believe thats where he first mentioned it) i didnt believe him haha. so its true.

WHAT THE FUCK???????? so laura's family dies and then a few days later she gets told that she has cancer. this is probably not correct actually. wow. girly....insanity

gaius is gonna be the author of the final chapter for humanity huh. so they all die??

also, fuck boomer. my relationship with her character is just.. im always flip flopping between "fuck her" and "god, she's really got it rough" overall im glad and suprised that boomer still exists. and, i understand.. cavill fucking "groomed" her essentially. but taking hera was super fucked.

chief bro you gotta chill a little bit. i guess from his perspective it does look like just acting and a true betrayal soo.. idk.

the song is pretty much always playing in this episode. i think its called a leiftmotif or something like that. i love it.

awww.. thanks for saying it again bill. kara is your daughter indeed.

okay drunk lee chasing a pigeon with a broom is everything i ever needed. wowie bro. how many glass objects do you need to destroy before you are satisfied hahaaaa.

im hope cavill dies a painful death. well, again, no, but yes? he too is just a sad little man that wants to be a machine.

lets goooo. lets get hera.

oh god no, please dont tell me laura went with the guy that killed her family on a date??????? okay so he might just be her student ok thats better i guess. but still felt like a lie to me, maybe.

its insane that kara and lee are literally flirting from the moment they meet each other. and of course, nothing happens. why should it???

i have no idea why everybody keeps pushing saul to leave bill. they are best friends bro. and they work great together. they went through some shit. and bill IS a great leader. why not follow him. i would.

laura you are truly my hero. in your final moments you would push yourself to go on this silly mission? "go light a cigarette and grumble" :( this is so sad.. "i can barely see"

you know, i just realized, this show is fucking insane. i definitely didnt have "the leader of the Caprican resistance gets turned into a mystical being that can perceive future events and speaks in gibberish" on my bingo card.

girly please go sit on your fucking ass! my god she works??? she works??? in a triage situation??? i love you honey my gooooood. best fucking woman ever. personal, but she does remind me of my mom haha.

gaius did the thing. wish you luck bro.

galacatica's last battle.... oh i thought the colony is gonna be on a planet, not a space station. that does make way more sense. HOLY SHIT THEY ARE IMMEDIATELY JUST PUMMELING THEM :( GIRLLLL HOLD OOON

i love that the whole CIC flashed redddd... so gooooood. oh wow this lady hybrid made it!!

those motherfuckers are really just getting ready to test her. boomer you are sick. hope you wake up soon. THEY ARE SLAMMING OUR GIRL???? BUT SHE HOOOOOLDSSSSSSS.!!! GOOD JOB GIRL

interesting that they still have viable cylon raiders. i thought they too are now self-aware. i guess they continued with their "lobotomies"

they got the old centurion models???? why? oh nice boomer, good job. you woke up. good morning honey. maybe they couldnt lobotomize the new centurion models, so they just built new old models?

OH MY GOOOOD THEY BOTH REALIZED THEY SEE EM FINALLYYY!!!! I THOUGHT THEY WOULD NEVER BRING ATTENTION TO IT

oh nooooo athena :( i.. i guess this was always gonna be the conclusion to boomer but.. she just got gunned down.. no emotion, nothing..

how are they gonna get out?? i doubt galactica is gonna hold on that long.. and then you gotta spool up the drives.. i dont think you got five minutes.. oh i guess they were pretty close huh.

laura really is insane i have to keep stressing that point. OH FUCK KARL NOOOOO. HERA NOOOOOOOOOO.

the opera house... laura found hera, goood. hope caville doesnt find her. seems like god's on her side. THE CHILD IS GONE AGAIN. BRO THIS SHOW IS THE GREATEST. EVEN THE FIVE ARE LIT UP AND SHIT.

gaius really is the chosen one bro. "it requires a leap of faith". saul shut up!! you cant give him ressurection! the cycle will not end this way. dont let him leave!!!!!!!!!!

OH YES FINALLY, GALEN'S GONNA LEARN ABOUT KALLY!! HAHAHAHA! "we are all capable of making mistakes lolll! you killed his wife!!! XD hahahahaahhaa. toryyy you silly girl.

ahh... well... nothing ever changes huh.... fuckk... fuuuuuck.. where is the fucking daybreak??? daybreak implies, light, brightness, which implies hope. hope just died man

HOLY FUCKING SHIT RACETRACK YOU ARE INSANE!!!! SHE NUKED ITTT. she might have saved the situation honestly. AWW I FUCKING LOVE THE THEMEEEE. i hope its on spotify.

oh wow that jump was really fucking rough.. "she's broke her back.. she isn't jumping anymore.."

FUCK YEAH KARA YOU GAVE THEM EARTH, THE REAL ONE!! guys i think its gonna happen. my happy ending is gonna happen. shit i might cry

damn lee. i couldnt leave everything behind haha. the centurions are free! WOW. THE WHOLE FLEET. IN TO THE SUN.... that... is insane.

i would really like to see what they took with them. LAURA STILL LIVES.. goooood.. so goooood. she is seeing animals.. they broke the prophecy haha. i thought it was "the dying leader will not see paradise" or something.

my fucking goood...im weeping bro.. bill carrying laura... shiit. fuckk. so bill is choosing to die with laura? shit... "nothing but the rain".. "grab your gun and bring in the cat"

oh no? kara? honey? bullshit girlie. now its time to heal. you have still not experienced the good part of life. woow. their relationship is just.. a fucking tragedy man.. meant to be, never happened. because they are stupid haha.... holy shit.. she really was... something.. she just.. blipped.. what the fuck man.. how?? that is insane. what are the lore implications for this. insaneeee. she really was an angel. wow. okayy. sureee.

good night, madam president. oh bill.. why did you put it on her so lateeeee :(

nevermind!!! im glad he didnt do it. that goodbye was very strong so i assumed he would chose that but he didnt. nice.

wow. i never thought that gaius and caprica would get such a healthy relationship.. im happy for em.

150.000 years later????? brooooo. and yeah. that is it. the end.

fuu. gonna decompress a little bit. incredible show man. will be doing babylon 5 next. the sci-fi marathon must go on

just for fun, when i finished the pilot, i wanted to see gaius redeemed, boomer uncovered soon, lee forgives his father, kara thrace survives to the end. all of it happened. just not Kara.... she really did die in that nebula... its insane to think. i dont know everyone else's explanation for what kara is, but to me... if gaius and caprica see angels, and kara thrace is an angel.. then.. she wasnt really there.. like.. never i guess... i dont know.