#motherfucker you just got played right back little bitch

[sistertinysips]

Adriel was his own down fall. Remember that scene in his tomb where he's trapped and Ava offers the halo to him and she even has her back to him? But he says to her 'I won't leave you here my child'. He had Ava's consent to take the halo. He had her fooled completely because she only knew what the OCS history books told her. But even tho he's not a man, he isn't very far from human behavior. He isn't satisfied with getting away with his plan, he wants, NEEDS Ava to believe every lying word he's spouting and for her to be convinced he's grandiose and forgiving and merciful. So he doesn't take the halo right then and instead lays a hand in Ava's shoulder and unintendedly gives Ava a vision of what really happened. It's then that Ava realizes something is very wrong with this guy. She needs more info asap without making too obvious that she distrusts him. So she asks him what he intends to do with the halo and he goes into that bullshit about how he'll bring light into the world and go back to being an angel, and then touches Ava again, and she goads him to keep him talking to touch him back and get another vision, and she discovers the truth. And now he has to try to rip the halo out of her through her fucking chest. He's such a douchebag he just had to make Ava have the best possible image of him even tho he was going to rip the halo out of her anyways, and she would have died thinking he was an actual angel and good. But he kick started his defeat, because he's just that self fucking centered and egotistical, that was narcissistic behavior plainly

[sanguineterrain]

restroom attendant | jason todd

Summary: Tonight is the worst night ever--you just got dumped on your birthday, and all you want to do is cry in the restaurant bathroom in peace. That is, until, the Red Hood bursts in. This city just won't cut you a break.

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader 

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings/tags: humor, mild angst, reader's ex-bf cheats and dumps her, jason is such a silly goose, flirting, meet ugly, canon-typical violence, awkward jason, comic relief dick grayson.

A/N: this is probably the silliest fic i've ever written LOL! i hope you guys enjoy it. please support your local jason todd enthusiast and reblog :)

the divider

Tonight sucks. 

With a shaky hand, you attempt to soothe your swollen eyes. You’ve probably been in here for about twenty minutes. Your Uber has definitely left, as has your now ex-boyfriend of three years. 

Yoga instructor. It’s always the yoga instructor. They’re always fucking the yoga instructor.

You swallow a mouthful of tears and phlegm and try not to let the wet sink touch your dress. All you’d wanted was a little class on your birthday, maybe have some wine and play footsie under the table with your boyfriend. But no. That would’ve been too easy for you. 

You’re starting to think this city is cursed.

The door slams open. The force of it shakes the bathroom, rattles the mirrors. You spin around.

A man slides across the floor and smacks his head on the opposite wall. Red Hood appears in the doorway, the eyes of his helmet glowing eerily. 

Yep. Definitely cursed.

"Let's try this again," Hood says pleasantly, reloading his gun with a fresh magazine. "And in the interest of making myself transparent: when I ask you a question, Jerry, I expect a truthful answer."

He stalks over to Jerry and heaves him up by the lapels of his suit jacket. Hood's biceps bulge as he holds Jerry against the wall. You squish yourself against the sink. Water soaks the back of your dress. 

"You're crazy, I didn't do anything!" Jerry shouts, feet barely scraping the floor. 

"Volume, Jerry. People are trying to enjoy their meals.”

“Let go of me, Hood! I wasn’t anywhere near the Iceberg Lounge!”

“Yeah, see, words are coming outta your mouth, but they don't match the fact that I have three people who put you at the scene. How can we remedy this inconsistency? Any ideas?"

Jerry squirms, but he's no match for Hood's strength. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Don't give me to the cops!" Jerry begs. 

"Cops are the least of your worries right now," Hood snarls. "You're damn lucky Nightwing wants to talk to you, Jerry, or your head would hurt a lot more."

Slowly, you reach for your purse, trying to pull out your phone. Instead, you knock it to the floor. Tears gather in your eyes because this night just can’t cut you a break.

“Motherfucker,” you whisper. 

Hood turns, those frightening white eyes now on you. Jerry also looks at you, legs still dangling.

“Hey,” Hood says without a sign of struggle. “Shit. Y'alright? Did I swipe ya?”

“No,” you say, voice shaky.

His posture softens. “Okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”

“I believe you. But, um… you're in the women's bathroom.”

Red Hood gives the room a onceover. 

“Huh. So we are. Dunno how that happened.” He shakes Jerry by the collar. “Why’d you run into the women’s bathroom, asshole?”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Don't kill me!” Jerry wails. 

“Shut it, Jesus. I'm not gonna kill you. Not yet, anyway.” 

“It's fine, I was just leaving,” you say, bending down to get your purse. 

“Hey, no, don't let me push you out,” Hood says. “Sorry. I'll be gone in a couple minutes.”

Hood adjusts his grip so Jerry's face is against the wall, arms and legs restrained. Then he zipties Jerry and sits him down hard on the floor. Hood presses a button on his helmet. 

“Yo, N, I'm at Prescott's. Yeah, with Jerry. No, I didn't tell him to run in here, he did that all on his own! Well, I chased him for ten blocks, so I’d prefer if you’d keep your bitching to yourself. Thank you… Okay, we're in the women's bathroom, so—well, I didn't do it on purpose! No, I’m—will you just come here? There’s a side window.” Hood presses the button again with a grunt. “Dickhead.”

“Are you gonna erase my memory?” you ask. 

Hood jerks, turning back to you.

“What? Hell no, I'm not gonna erase your memory. I don't do that shit, I promise.”

You slump against the sink. “That's too bad. I would prefer it.”

He looks up from Jerry’s last ziptie and pulls it extra tight. Jerry whimpers. 

“How come?” Hood asks.

You shake your head. “It's nothing.”

“Hm. Doesn't look like nothing. If you're in danger—”

“I'm not in danger. I…”

You glance at Hood. You can't see his face, but his body language seems genuine. From what you've heard, Hood isn't known for mincing words or doing things he doesn't want to. And he’s good to Gothamites. Well, the law-abiding ones, anyway. He’s even been endorsed by Batman.

What's the harm in telling him about your disastrous night? Not like you'll see him again. Or Jerry. 

“I got dumped,” you say. 

“Ah.” Hood nods. “Been there.”

Somehow, the idea of Red Hood getting dumped is weirder than him beating up a guy in the women’s bathroom of Prescott’s.

You sniffle, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. 

“Yeah, um. It was our three year anniversary today. He took me here, told me he was in love with his yoga instructor, and then left.”

You tear up thinking about it. Hood makes a quiet noise.

“Shit. Well, I haven't been there,” he says. “But I know infidelity. I'm sorry. Dudes are trash.”

“And it's my birthday today,” you blurt, sniffling. 

“Happy birthday,” Jerry says, clutching his stomach. 

“What a fucking asshole!” Hood snarls, and lets go of Jerry, who crumples like a sack of potatoes. He’s out cold in a second, frozen on the floor.

Your brows rise. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. It’s his first time in Gotham.” Hood shrugs. “Anyway, where was I? Right, your asshole ex. Like it's not enough to publicly dump you, and then he goes and does it on your birthday? Who is this guy? I'll go talk to him right now.”

You laugh a loud, snorting laugh. It bounces off the tiles. 

Hood tilts his head. “What’d I say?”

You catch your breath and wave your hand. 

“No, nothing, I’m sorry. I’ve just had a crappy night and that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever offered to me.”

“I mean it,” Hood says. “I’ll scare him if you want.”

“As tempting as that is, I don’t want to be an accessory to a crime.”

You also don’t want to put your ex in the ICU, no matter how much he might deserve it. Best to let the universe do its thing.

“You’d be acquitted, don’t worry.” Hood leans against the stall. “I’d never letcha go to jail.”

You smile, your ears growing warm. “You don’t even know me. What if I deserve it?”

“Nah. I got a good sense about people. I can tell you’re sweet. Probably don’t even run through red lights.”

“I try not to,” you say, heat spreading to your face. 

“Yeah, a good girl. I figured as much.”

Your eyes widen. Hood coughs and rubs his neck. Even his coughs sound intimidating through the helmet, but that’s negated by his scrunched-up posture.

“Fuck. Sorry. That wasn’t a come-on,” he says. “I mean, it sounded like one, but I’m realizing what a creep I am, flirting with you in a bathroom with a zip-tied criminal. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I hate myself.”

You grin. “It’s okay. You made my night better, actually. Thanks.”

“That’s a testament to how terrible your night’s been if I made it better.”

You shrug. “Could always be worse. I bet Jerry had an even shittier night than me.”

“You’d win that bet. But I—”

The window swings open with a clunk. Nightwing pops his head in. He looks at Hood, then you. 

“Uh,” he says. “Evening. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is it took you almost ten minutes to get here,” Hood says, back in Vigilante Mode. “Did you get lost?”

Nightwing smiles with all his teeth. “I was actually cleaning up your mess at the Bowery, Hood. You’re welcome.” 

He looks at you. “Hi. Sorry about this. I hope we didn’t ruin your night. If there’s anything we can reimburse you for…”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. My night was already sunk. Don’t worry about it. Thanks for keeping Gotham safe.”

Nightwing laughs. “The pleasure is ours.”

“Alright, enough chattering, Dickwing,” Hood says. “Take him.”

He lifts the unconscious Jerry, pushing him up to the window. He does so effortlessly, his jacket riding up to reveal his skin-tight jumpsuit. 

You look away before he catches you staring. There’s definitely something wrong with you. 

Nightwing takes Jerry and waves at you. Then he disappears.

“So, uh,” Hood says. “I gotta go.”

“Oh! Right, of course. Sorry to keep you.”

“Now what’re you apologizing for?” he asks, and it almost sounds like a tease. You wonder what his smile looks like. What color his eyes are.

“Well, I really didn’t mean to keep you…”

“You didn’t keep me,” Hood says, and you can hear the warmth even through his decoder. “This is probably the best arrest I’ve ever made.”

He starts to climb through the window, then stops. He digs into one of the pockets of his belt and pulls out a scrap of paper. 

“This is my number,” he says. “Well, it’s kind of the vigilante hotline. But you can reach me here, in case you ever need help.”

Hood walks over to give it to you. He smells like gunpowder and oranges. He’s even larger this close, the width of his shoulders dwarfing you. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

He nods and backs up, clapping his hands.

“Right. So I’ll go… Bye.”

Hood looks at you for a moment more. Then he hops up onto the window sill and slides out, somehow graceful despite his bulk. The window closes. 

Your dress has dried, which is nice. You walk out of the bathroom. It’s a miracle no one else has come in. 

You get your coat and this time, when you see the empty seat across from yours, you don’t burst into tears, which is progress. You call another Uber and go to wait for it at the front. The hostess approaches you.

“Ma’am?” she says, and holds out a small, plastic container. In it is a slice of tiramisu. 

“I didn’t order this,” you say.

“It was called in and paid for by a Mr. R.H. He wishes you a happy birthday.” 

“Oh. Thank you.”

You’re definitely leaving a five-star review on Yelp.

[0423s]

Pairing : Sub! Fem reader x Meandom! Heesung

Warnings : nipple pinching, cunninglingus, choking, spanking, hair pulling, rough handling, spitting, slapping face, degradation, dacryphilia, hate sex, definitely offensive to some people

Summary: Heesung is your fuckbuddy but since he got himself a girlfriend, he haven't talk and contact you at all for months not until after he broke up with his gf and you guys met together at club and had a heavy make out session and it turned into sexual. And now both of you in his room butt naked.

A/n : ignore the grammatical errors it's not that deep, not proofread cause I'm lazy...

"Heesung can you stfu for fuck sake and just put your dick inside of me. You are wasting my time!!" You can feel your face start to redden, and your blood boil in anger, unlike him smirking down at you in a mocking way. His devious smile doesn't even help your burning state. It only add more fuel. "Beg for it bitch!" He bites back,you click your tongue in disbelief before you yell at his face "Fuck it just do it motherfucker!"

Heesung scoffs in annoyance, your piercing voice echoes all over his room. Clearly in frustration as to why he keeps teasing you over and over again,your legs already spread out for him,all he has to do is to put his goddamn dick inside of you. "You're a little bit demanding as someone who's obviously not incharge here." He cocks an eyebrow as his obnoxious smirk still plaster on his face. You roll your eyes at his sarcastic remark. "Well sir, can you stop with your dirty talking shit cause it's clearly does not turn me on, in fact it makes me want to puke so- FUCK SH-IT!!"

He deliberately ram his length into your cunt stopping you from whatever insulting words you gonna throw at him. Your eyes roll at his sudden action, mouth agape and almost drooling at how his dick perfectly hit your spot. He smirks in amusement. "Yeah that's better, keep your fucking mouth shut like that and let me do the works." You frown in disbelief at how easily he put you back in your place and how easy for you to obey him. Unable to resist the feeling of how his dick brutally abuse your cunt. His thrust getting harsher and rougher,you gasp in pure bliss and your eyes dart to his face, observe at how he hisses through his gritted teeth and his face contort in pleasure.

His eyes focusing on how your wet cunt taking his length so good, watching at how his dick move in and out of your tight hole, he groans looking at the sinful sight. You begin to close your eyes, slightly blushing at how he suddenly stares at you with his smug face, missionary position indeed was a bad idea,you flustered at how hot he looks fucking you like that. He smirk looking at how you purposely avoiding his eyes, one of his hands start to land on your face harshly,yeah that motherfucker indeed slaping the shit out of you, you immediately open your eyes at the sudden pain, he licks his lips as tears start to form on your cheeks. "Look at me, when I fuck you." He states calmly, completely contrast from his actions. You bite your lips at his words and he laughs at how quiet you become.

"Did I fuck that bitchy attitude out if you?? Fucking slut desperate for its hole to be filled." Fuck, honestly he sucks at dirty talk but this one definitely did something to you, the way he humiliated you spark something within in you. His insulting remarks make your pussy clench on his dick deliciously.

"Fu-ck you like when I say that huh,you like be treated like a whore hmm-" his left hand goes straight on your neck and wrap around it tightly, you gasp for air and your eyes roll when his right hand groping and playing with both of your tits. Your legs start to shake when he fastens his pace and put all of his weight down onto his thrust.

"Haa f-fuck wait-wait- it ah-ee" you squek when he starts to cum inside of your cunt. All of his semen goes out of your vagina dripping to the bed sheet. "Fuck baby fuck does it feels good hmm~" his hand starts to rub your swollen clit and lowers his body so his face literally infront of your bruised pussy. He spits on your cunt and continuing rubbing your clit, you squirming and let out a small cry.

"Nghh hee fck f-ahsj hm~" your words are completely incoherent and your lips quivering when his face goes straight down sucking your pussy filled with his semen,devouring that cunt as if there's no tommorow. Your body arch and you can't help to close your thighs around his head when he starts to hum teasingly so your pussy can feel the vibration,he shakes his head violently makes you poor puss squirt on his face. A sudden smack on your thigh make you yelp in pain. "Nasty bitch fuck! It went to my eyes shit."

He stands up and looks at you in annoyance because his upper body drench in your juices soon that annoyance and menacing look turn into lustful gaze, his eyes darken when his eyes met the sight of your juices spilling out messing his bedsheet and he laughs in an evil manner before swiping the slimy liquid on his face with his finger and put it in his mouth sucking as if it was the most delicious thing."fuck it baby,damn hm~"

You swear to god you could die just right now from the heat of how hot he looks right now. The way he chuckles at your pathetic state,the way his eyes gazing at your limp body shaking in pleasure, the way he speaks to you with his seductive soft voice completely contrast to how he treats you. He gazes in awe as you start to cum despite him not doing anything. You cry out of embarrassment. Fuck this situation, you can't believe you let him see this side of you. He cooed at you with that teasing smile on his face. "Aww baby~look at you,can't help yourself whenever you around me hmm~" he talks in mocking manner while pouting his face literally making fun of you.

"Is that why you shamelessly and desperately begging me to fuck you like a slut you are,is that why baby hmm??does me not touching you for months make you crave me and so desperate like this baby hm~does other guys don't know how to fuck you like I do" he pulls your ankle and lifting your legs before bending them to your chest.

"Sweet little cunt,look at you wet for me,you enjoy it so much don't you fucking slut hm~" you let out a small yelp when he smacks his hand onto your pussy,you letting out another juice spill out of it. "Fuck baby do you touch yourself when I'm not around,do you think of me while you play with this cunt hm~" he instruct you to hold both of your ankles so his hands are free. And he is smirking while rubbing his shaft on your pussy and slapping it harshly on on lips.

You scream your lungs out when he slams his hips without a warning and aggressively chocking your neck. Your moan in pain when he's groping your tits harshly. Snots, saliva and tears those mixture of liquids are all over your face. "That's it cry for me bitch you look so good like that." He spits on your face before slapping your face. "Dirty fucking slut,bet you can't find a guy who pound this hole so good like this huh" He pinch your nipple to make you cry even more.

"Fuck I miss this cunt so much" he licks his lips while looking at your face. His hand pulls your hair to make you look at his face directly. "I'm going to make it up for those months baby,so spread that legs wider for me slut"

A/n : I don't even know I had this in my draft for a year lol

[piningforstan]

I just recently found your page and love your work!!

can you write an angsty Stan fic where reader and Stan are still dancing around their feelings and reader finally gets the courage to confess to Stan but maybe overhears a conversation with him and Ford out of context saying he won’t date them and r is crushed? Then cue r trying to move on and jealous!Stan and then they get together somehow?

Thank you!!💕

I ended up placing this fic when Stan and Ford are still in high school before their falling out. I apologize if the timeline with Carla isn’t canon, I just wanted to include her. Also, reader is mentioned as a female a few times but this can easily be read as gender neutral.

I hope you like it!

You loved alcohol as much as you loved getting bamboo shoots shoved under your nail beds. But Carla “Hotpants” McCorkle had just broken up with Stan, and it was your duty as his best friend to support him. And if that meant drinking cheap beer on the beach with his brother, then so be it.

“I thought she was the one,” Stan grumbled. He crunched his empty beer can, belched, then reached for another.

You rolled your eyes. “You say that about every girl. Even that one you saw in a dream.”

You knew because you kept a detailed record of Stan’s revolving door of women, each declaration of love another stake in your heart. Secretly, you were pleased that Carla ended things with Stan. You could never date him in fear of ruining your friendship, but that didn’t mean you liked to see him with other girls. Especially not stuck-up bitches like Carla.

“I just dunno what she sees in this new guy.”

“He doesn’t litter?” Ford answered. He nudged the growing pile of discarded cans with his foot. Stan’s brother never drank, but he certainly lamented about how much the two of you did.

Stan continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “So what he can play guitar. Anyone can do that.”

“Can you?”

“No.” Stan angrily kicked up sand. “But I would learn if I thought I had a chance of winning her back.”

“You don’t need her,” you told him. The beer in you warmed you from the inside out, initiating the familiar tingling sensation in your legs that happened when you drank. “You’re Stan motherfucking Pines.”

Stan grinned at you. “You’re right. I don’t need her.” After slurping down the rest of his beer, Stan grabbed the bottom of your chair and pulled you closer. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple.

It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to — Stan happened to be very affectionate, even worse when he was drunk — but it still sent your pulse skyrocketing.

“I got the only girl I need right here,” Stan said, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

Your insides turned molten. Of course, you loved when Stan called you “his girl” but the sting of the words were especially painful in the wake of his breakup. You would never actually be his girl in the way that it mattered.

You could never jeopardize your friendship with Stan, or Ford. You had been inseparable since you were children, when Stan received a particularly nasty note about you in class and instead of passing it on promptly ate it. You took a likening to him immediately. And, since Stan was never without his brother for very long, Ford became the reasonable cornerstone of your friendship.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that you realized you saw Stan as much more of a friend. To be specific, when he successfully grew out his mullet and you fawned over it instead of throwing up in your mouth. On anyone else you might’ve. But it weirdly fit Stan, who you’d watched go from a weird, skinned-knee little boy to a weird, broad-shouldered man with dark curls that you desperately wanted to run your hands through.

Ford shattered the moment. “Why don’t you guys just date then?”

You’d both been asked the question before. It was expected, when a boy and girl were friends. Parents, nosy teachers, old ladies peering at you from wiry glasses. Usually the two of you fielded the question with various degrees of hilarity — “he gave me an STD” or “that’s my sister!” — but tonight it felt profoundly different.

Perhaps it was because you were so close, physically. Or perhaps because you had confided in Ford the secret crush you harbored on his brother. You trusted him not to tell but to hear it now, spelled out in the air, made you stiffen.

“She knows all my disgusting habits,” Stan finally said to break the silence, “I couldn’t trick her into it.”

He grinned at you in your peripheral, a certain softness in the corners of his mouth that weren’t usually there. You rallied your best grin back,

“Yeah, it would be weird. Right?” You chuckled nervously.

Stan, with unprecedented exuberance, nodded in agreement. “S’weird. I’ve seen you in your retainer. Could never fool around with you after that.”

Ouch. You pretended it didn’t feel like a blow to the stomach. “And you smoke too much. It would be like kissing an exhaust pipe.”

“See? It could never work.” Stan tore another beer off the plastic rings, drained it, then announced he was going on a walk. You watched his retreating form until you were sure that he could no longer hear you.

You whipped around. “Ford! What was that?”

“I’m sick of you two dancing around the subject. If you just dated I wouldn’t have to sit out here every few months when you inevitably get dumped because you’re with the wrong person.”

You groaned and slid down in the lawn chair, covering your face with your hands. You actually liked the smoke that clung to Stan’s clothes, the deft flick of his thumb striking up the lighter. Why did you tell him you didn’t?

You’re a coward, your inner voice accused. You panicked. It wasn’t like you could exactly agree with Ford, especially not after what Stan said about your retainer. Did he mean that?

If he did, that was worse than anything else. Not only did he not harbor a secret attraction, but he was repulsed at the idea of you together.

Stan stumbled back down the beach a few minutes later, to your chagrin. It was much easier not to think of him when he wasn’t in front of you; even like this, swaying on his feet and looking slightly green.

“Stan, are you —?”

He lurched and fell face forward into the sand.

Ford glared at you like it was your fault. “This is the last time.”

“Sure. Just get his other side.”

“Thank you again, hun.” Caryn Pines smiled sweetly at you. The small kitchen smelled profusely of her perfume and cigarette smoke, wrapping around you like an embrace.

“Yeah, of course. No big deal.”

Caryn looked at you strangely, in that way that adults did sometimes. “You’re always takin’ care of my Stanley. I know he ‘ppreciates it, even if he doesn’t say it.”

“I couldn’t leave him on the beach.” You took a bite of the babka that Stan’s Ma put out, chewing thoughtfully. “Again.”

Caryn always tried to feed you when you came over, no matter how fleeting of a visit. You had seen her sneak the food out of packages and container and pass it off as her own, but you didn’t care. It encompassed her parenting abilities — well-meaning but slightly manufactured, a desire to be the mother that she wanted to be but not exactly the drive to put in the work.

Either way, you knew she loved you like her own.

“Ya know, I see the way he looks at you. And you look at him. It doesn’t take a psychic to figure it out,” Caryn said.

Your face warmed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s crazy ‘bout you. I know my Stanley.”

“But what if…what if we broke-up ? I can’t lose him in my life.” Tears strained your voice. Here you were, admitting your feelings to another Pines family member except for the one who actually needed to hear it.

Caryn clicked her tongue and edged around the island, pulling you into a hug. “But what if it’s great? What if it’s everything you imagined?”

“Maybe,” you said, muffled in her side.

Caryn gave you a final squeeze. “I could only pray for someone like you for my son. Say, you don’t happen to have a sibling for Ford, do ya?”

You shook your head. Caryn made a gesture like too bad then fiddled with the coffee machine.

“Here.” Caryn shoved a steaming mug in your direction, then wiped her hands on her dress. “Take this upstairs for me, will ya? I’ve gotta check on Shermie.”

You stood rooted in place for an embarrassing amount of time, mulling over what she had said. What if it was great? Your heart jumped. Maybe she was right. You would tell Stan.

Emboldened, you crept down the hall and past the living room. The TV flickered ghostly blue lights over the couch where Filbrick snored, and you were careful to avoid the creaky stairs. It wasn’t ever said aloud but everyone knew in the house not to disturb Pa after work. He wasn’t abusive, that you could tell, but somewhere on the verge of it.

Stan and Ford’s voice drifted from their shared bedroom — Stan’s gruff, drunken mumbles and Ford’s clever quips lined with affection.

You were going to tell him. You loved him.

A hitch of agitation in Stan’s voice made you pause at the first step, just out of earshot, a silver of light falling across you from the cracked door.

The delirious, bubbly feeling of excitement in your chest fluttered uncertainly.

“Oh, would give it a rest, Sixer?”

“Stan, I just think —”

“You know how I feel about her,” Stan interrupted. From your vantage point you could see him sprawled out on his bed, one hand over his face.

Her? Meaning you?

Your grip tightened on the mug. Here it was, the universe delivering you a sign that Caryn was right. That you were right.

The view didn’t offer any insight on Ford but you could hear his desk chair squeaking as he leaned backwards, contemplative. “And how do you feel about her?”

A beat of silence, the covers rustling as Stan lifted himself onto his elbows. “She’s my best friend.”

“Uh huh.”

“And-And of course I love her.”

“Uh huh.”

“But I could never date her.”

Your blood turned cold. What? Didn’t he just say that he loved you? Whatever brief, sweet bliss you had went plummeting into the ground. You turned away, coffee in hand, unable to listen to more.

Stan stared up at the ceiling, at the water stain that looked like an elephant. Sometimes when he tried to get his feelings out, the words would run circles around and around in his head until he chased them down. It didn’t help that he had drank so much.

Towards the end it wasn’t even really about Carla anymore, but you. You, with your dumb perfect face and laugh. The way that you stuck around despite knowing everything about him, about his family, leaving him feeling raw and infested like an overturned rock.

His stomach churned. Stan waited for the nausea to pass, pinning down his words before eking out, “I would fuck things up with her. It ain’t worth it. Losin’ her. Ya know?”

God he hoped he was making sense. The room was spinning and the elephant was now doing summersaults.

“I wouldn’t let you,” Ford quietly replied. “I know you love her. I’d stop you from fucking up.”

Stan laughed, dry and brittle. “No one can stop me. I’m a one man fuck-up.”

“You’ve never been one man.”

Stan curbed his nausea enough to look at his brother. Really look at him. Any other given day and he might’ve kicked him for saying something like that. His throat bobbed. “Yeah. Yer right.”

A moment passed between them, one of those brotherly, twin moments that he hadn’t felt since they were kids. Ford clapped his hands together.

“My first declaration of not letting you fuck up is to tell her tomorrow how you feel.”

“What? Tomorrow! No way.”

Ford narrowed his eyes. Stan waved a hand and flopped back down onto the bed, resigned. “Fine, fine. Hey, can you tell that elephant to stop moving? He’s bein’ a real dick.”

After that night, you avoided the Pines family like the plague, dodging after-class visits and letting calls go to the answering machine. Your parents asked where your “boyfriend” was, as they lovingly referred to him, but it only felt like salt in the wound. Stan would never be your boyfriend. He said it himself — he could never date you.

You hated the heavy grayness that clung to you, and most importantly, you hated that the one person you wanted to talk to about Stan was…Stan. And you couldn’t. How mortifying it would be to confess something so life altering for him to say that he only saw you as a friend.

Stan left message after message, wondering what he had done and if you could. But you couldn’t bear to see him. You ate lunch in the girl’s bathroom and nearly sprinted to your car after school, peeling out of the lot as soon as the final bell rang. He tried to come by your house, too. Your parents, loyal to you no matter how much they loved Stan, told him you weren’t there.

It was safe to say that, after a month of this, they were relieved when you stepped out of your room in actual clothes. Your mother actually clutched her pearls. “You look amazing. Where are you going? Did you make up with Stanley?”

You ignored that line of inquiry. “I have a date. Not with Stan,” you added, well aware that was the follow up question.

“Oh.” Your mother’s happiness faltered slightly. “Who with?”

“Just someone from school. I’ll make sure they drop me off before curfew.” You pretended to be oblivious to their probing stares, kissing them each on the cheek before striding out the front door to the idled car in the drive.

A dark shape shot out of the driver’s seat and scrambled to open up your door. Eugene glanced nervously at your house as you climbed in. “Are you sure you don’t want me to meet your folks?”

“I’m sure,” you said, monotone.

Eugene had been interested in you for a while now, but you always hedged your answers, not wanting to commit. Last week you finally said yes. You needed to get over Stan — even though the first thing you thought of was how he would laugh at Eugene for opening your door. You could just hear his rasping, seething laugh. Pussy, he would call Eugene, and you would punch him.

Throat thickening with tears, you forced yourself to admire Eugene in the glow of the streetlights that passed by. He was classically handsome. Smart, kind. A musician. Everything that, on paper, would make the perfect boyfriend. It was incredibly sweet that he wanted to meet your parents and open your car door.

Yet all you could think about was Stan: his untamed mullet and cauliflower ears from boxing, the nose slightly too large for his face that was crooked from all the fights he instigated. The braying sound of his laugh and how he thought it was funny to snap your bra strap. The fact that, beneath the jokes and the crude humor, he was soft and compassionate and an excellent artist. He always made you laugh. He was a million things that Eugene would never be.

But Eugene was one thing Stan wasn’t.

Interested in you.

You shoved all of that down by the time Eugene pulled up to your date, flashing him your most winning smile. A drive-in movie seemed innocent enough. You were confident that Eugene wouldn’t try to make any moves, but you still directed him to park near a minivan of children.

“Want to steal some candy from them?” You asked.

Eugene’s expression shifted as if you’d suggested something morally offensive. “What? From the kids?”

“I was just teasing,” you said. You hadn’t been.

Stan would’ve happily jumped at the offer, distracting the family with one of his wild stories while you snuck a pack of candy. The two of you would then share whatever snack and giggle the rest of the movie over your cleverness.

You felt like throwing up. Why couldn’t you stop thinking about Stan?

Abruptly you shoved open the door. “I’ll just go get snacks then.”

“Wait!” Eugene’s voice was muffled, you had already shot out of the car and nearly closed the door. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I’ll pay,” Eugene said.

“It’s fine.”

You needed to get out. Needed to get away. Without waiting for any further questions, you slammed the door shut and stalked off towards the concessions. The night air was uncharacteristically cool, brushing over your flushed skin.

“Okay, calm down, you’re okay. You’re on a date with a nice guy,” you coached yourself.

“You’re on a date?”

You wheeled on your heel. Stan stood a few feet away, brow furrowed. His fur-lined jacket bulged with hidden contraband. “Stan?”

“You’re on a date?” He repeated, the timbre of his voice sinking dangerously low.

“Yes.” You raised your chin.

His jaw feathered. “I haven’t spoken to you in, like, a month. You’ve been dodgin’ my calls and avoidin’ me. What’s goin’ on? Now you’re on a date?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you bit back.

“You don’t?” Stan barked out a scathing laugh. “You just stopped talkin’ to me without any s’planation. What am I supposed to think?”

You stepped into line at concessions. “I don’t know, Stan.”

“Talk to me.” Your name on his tongue was a prayer. “Please. I can’t take this.”

A knot formed in your stomach. You ordered for you and Eugene then brushed past Stan, ignoring his protests. He followed you to Eugene’s car. You wretched open the door, intending to fling yourself inside, but Stan stopped it. He leaned down to peer at your date.

“Eugene? Really? This guy?”

Eugene sputtered. You gritted out, “Stan. Go. Away.”

Stan’s dark gaze bounced from you to Eugene, then back to you. The look on his face was unreadable. “Fine.”

The door shut with a resounding thud. It took all of your strength not to watch him walk away. You tore off the top of a box of M&M’s and shoveled the candies into your mouth.

“Was that Stan Pines? I thought you guys were, like, friends,” Eugene finally said.

“Not anymore.” The candies slid down your throat, suddenly dry and pasty.

“Oh.” Eugene pretended to fiddle with the radio, switching through stations. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Mercifully, the movie screen flickered to life and saved you from more awkward conversation. You kept putting handfuls of candy in your mouth to keep from talking or interacting with Eugene at all. Frankly, you just wanted this date to end.

Eugene respected your space, too, which only worsened your conflicting emotions of shame and regret. You wished you could apologize to him but you couldn’t form the words.

You were jerked from your self-loathing when a huge shadow played across the screen, disrupting the movie. Yells of outrage sounded from across the grassy knoll, until the dark shape on the screen split apart. The candy in your stomach threatened to come up. The profile was unmistakably Stan’s, confirming your theory when you twisted around to spot him in front of the projector, entangled with Carla McCorkle.

He grabbed her hand, smirking at the enraged onlookers, and ran off.

Carla? Again?

Eugene examined you. “Do you…want to go somewhere else?”

“Yes. Please.”

He took you to get Dairy Queen, then dropped you back off at home. The passing shadows in the window told you that your parents had anxiously been awaiting your arrival. Eugene moved to get out, to open your door again, but you laid a hand on his arm.

“I’m really sorry. About tonight,” you choked out.

Eugene smiled sadly. “It’s okay.”

You kissed his cheek and climbed out of the car, up the stairs to your house. Eugene waited until you were safely inside before pulling away.

School sucked. You were forced to see Stan with any number of girls. In fact, it seemed as if he was going out of his way to flaunt them, the lingering touches and kisses. It burned you inside.

He preferred anyone but you.

Another month passed, each day growing more and more unbearable without your best friend, without Ford, the reliable foundation of your friendship. With the end of school approaching, so was college, the awaiting jaws of a monster threatening to swallow you whole. You couldn’t even tell them that you got accepted into your dream school.

When a hand grabbed your arm, the familiar face following, you were struck with a swell of emotions. But it wasn’t Stan. The body was all wrong, the measured expression never once belonging to him but his brother. Ford’s eyes were pleading. “We need to talk.”

“Stan can’t know about this,” you said after consideration. Ford nodded.

He brought you into a deserted classroom. You lingered near the door, not sure what to say after all of this time.

“Stan is falling apart,” Ford said without preamble. “I don’t know what happened, but neither of you can continue like this.” A flicker of vulnerability crossed his features. “I can’t.”

You inhaled. It wasn’t fair to drag Ford into this, but it was hard not to. You could never make him side against Stan. “I just…I can’t do it.”

“Do what?”

You turned your face from him, ashamed. “I heard him. That night after we brought Stan home from the beach. He said…he said he could never date me.”

Ford’s face shutters closed. “Is that all you heard?”

“I didn’t need to stick around to hear about how abhorrent the thought of dating me is,” you replied, tone bitter.

Ford flipped open his messenger bag and rifled through it, muttering something that sounded a lot like “two idiots” before finding what he needed. He handed you a folded flyer. “Stan is throwing a party here this weekend.”

“And you’re telling me this because…?”

“You should go.”

You glanced at the paper. The address stated a beach not far from your usual haunt, promising alcohol and a good time. Leave it to Stan to make invitations to a party like this, complete with crude renditions of women in bikinis. You clutched the paper. “I’ll think about it.”

Ford was halfway out the door when he stopped. “He really misses you.”

The words resonated with you the rest of the day. Sometime between meeting with Ford and that weekend, you decided you would go. Eugene told you he couldn’t go, he had to study, so you informed your parents you were going out and that was that. They let you without complaint, probably because you had been moping around the house the last two months.

Tonight you donned your best dress, black and sparkling and totally inappropriate for a beach party but when you bought it, at the mall with the twins, Stan hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off you. There had been no reason to wear it until now and you secretly hoped he had forgotten about it so you could shock him all over again.

By the time you arrived, sweat had gathered at the base of your neck and dampened your hair. You regretted wearing the dress upon seeing the other girls in their bikinis and hotpants, and made a beeline for the keg to soothe your nerves.

The beer was sticky and warm. You sipped it, wishing that instead of being here with people you didn’t know (or care about) you were with Stan and Ford on lawn chairs. The usual. Instead you gazed out upon the rest of the party and found Ford, trapping someone into listening to his theories most likely, and Stan presiding over a beer pong games.

Almost as if your gaze was a beacon, Stan looked up immediately as you spotted him. A cord of familiarity, of affection, tied you together and you could feel its tug behind your navel.

Stan stormed over to you, kicking up sand in his wake. “What are you doing here?”

“Ford invited me.”

“He did?” Stan searched for his brother, who had conveniently found somewhere else to be. “Why are you here?”

“I got invited, remember?”

“Where’s Eugene? Is he here, too?”

“No.” You didn’t feel like giving him an explanation, didn’t need to. You especially didn’t want to tell Stan that it was because you were still in love with him.

His dark eyes hardened. “Where is he?”

“What does it matter to you?”

Stan’s mouth moved as if he was biting back a retort, debating whether to say it. He raked a hand through his hair. He spit. “It doesn’t.”

You spent the rest of the party drifting from place to place, never lingering long. The bonfire funneled smoke into the air, as inconsistent and tangible as you, a ghost on the outskirts. You’re not sure why you came, why Ford invited, why you were still here. The beer had given you a nice buzz, a certain looseness in your limbs, and you decided that was enough. You started up the sandy dunes, shoes in hand, when you heard the sand behind you being displaced by footsteps.

Stan followed you, silhouetted by the fire in an orange haze. “What do you want?”

“I’m walking you home.”

“No. You’re not.” You marched off.

He trailed behind. You thought that he might get bored or fed up and leave you alone but he persisted. Only once you hit the sidewalk did you furiously spin around. “What do you want?”

“I ain’t lettin’ you walk home by yourself,” he replied.

“I walked here by myself. I’m fine.”

Stan took a few steps toward you. “Just let me do this, okay?”

“It’s your party, you shouldn’t leave,” you replied.

“Exactly. My party. I can do what I want.” Stan drew to his full height, shoulders back, reminding you that without his rounded posture he cut an intimidating figure. But it wasn’t intimidation he sought, but protection — protection of you.

Your back molars gritted together. “Fine.”

It actually felt nice, relieving, actually, to walk side by side with him. He maintained a step or two behind you, undoubtedly sensing your anger, but you didn’t correct him. You stayed like that, your strange, wordless dance all the way to your house. When Stan moved as if to follow you inside, what he would’ve done before, you barred him from the door.

“You shouldn’t,” you told him softly.

His brow furrowed and Stan shoved his hands in the pocket of his jacket. The porch awning cast him half in shadows. “What did I do? I know you’re punishin’ me but what I can’t figure out is why.”

“I’m not…I’m not punishing you.” You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Then what? Is it your new boyfriend?”

“Who, Eugene?” You shook your head. “No, this isn’t because of him. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“He’s not?”

“No.”

“What ‘bout yer date?”

“It was just one time. And it was a mistake,” you admitted.

“Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

Stan’s infuriatingly handsome features were set in determination. You wanted to go to him, bury yourself in his chest and let him envelope you. But that same feeling twisted, grew sharp teeth that latched on and refused to let go.

“Why? What do you care?” You fired back. “You’ve been so busy with your tongue down every girl’s throat that I’m surprised you even noticed I wasn’t around.”

Something shifted in Stan, a spark igniting into an inferno. “You’ve been avoidin’ me and ignorin’ my calls, refusin’ to speak to me without telling me why. I don’t get it. If you’re so against me, then why do you care what I do?”

You hissed back, “I don’t. But it’s hard to miss when you’re dry humping your flavor of the week in front of the whole school.”

“How do you think I felt when I saw you with Eugene?”

You paused, his words soaking into your skin. The fist of anger in your stomach loosened at the pain in those words, if only slightly. “I didn’t know you were going to be there, Stan. And I didn’t think it would matter even if you were. You could never date me.”

“What?” Stan’s entire body stiffened.

“You said it yourself,” you said. You were loathed to say the words aloud, which made you cry, which only made you angry to be crying. “You could never date me.”

“When did I ever say that?”

“I heard you,” you said. You explained to him how you had overheard the conversation between him and Ford that night. He listened the entire time, quiet and unmoving.

Stan rubbed a hand over his face. “You didn’t stick around to find out why?”

“Sorry if I didn’t want to hear how repulsive and horrible I was,” you snapped.

“I told Ford that I couldn’t date you because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. The last few months have been hell, doll. Going without you every day has been…unbearable.” Stan brushed his knuckles over your cheek, tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Please don’t make me go through that again.”

You leaned into his touch, eyes swimming with tears. “I’m sorry, Stan. I only did it because I couldn’t stand to be around you if you didn’t feel the same way.”

“Same way?” Stan’s mouth morphed into a tired, wistful smile. “I’ve loved you since that first day in class. Since you saw them passin’ that note and instead of bein’ upset you raised your chin.”

You faltered. “You love me?”

“Of course I love you.” Such a simple, genuine statement.

“Stan, I love you too. I’m so sorry —”

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve just told you how I feel. I’m an idiot.”

You touched his arm. “No, you’re not. Well, you are, but not because of that. I was scared too. And I hurt you.”

“I’m tough.” Stan lifted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. In his face you saw a whole lifetime of memories, of laughter. “But you gotta promise me not to ignore me again. Messed me up so bad that Ford said he saw me stare at a wall for two days straight without sayin’ a word.”

“You? Not talking?”

“I know.” Stan shuddered. His composure softened a bit, examining you as if seeing you for the first time. “When I told you that you were my girl, I meant it. You’re the only girl for me.”

In way of reply, you grabbed the front of his jacket and pressed your lips to his.

You had kissed before, in middle school, just to get the first one over with. It had been brief and awkward, his front tooth clashing off yours. This kiss maintained the same level of comfort, of familiarity and safety, but charged with a current of passion. He kissed you like he had been waiting his whole life to do it again, pulling you into him in a frenzied manner.

Stan’s tongue ran over the seam of your lips, parting them so that he could slip inside, invited by your breath of surprise. You melted into him. Everything about him, this moment, felt right. Perfect. His hands in your hair and roving over the form-fitting dress you had worn for him, sighing and muttering praises on your flushed skin.

You didn’t stop until the porchlight flickered on and the front door ensnared you in its beam. Stan still held you to him, lips bruised, frozen. Your mother took one look at you entangled together on the porch and then sighed in relief.

“Well, finally.”

[bambi-slxt]

I’ve been feeling really down lately so would you mind writing something real fluffy with either chris x reader or matt x reader and it’s about how playful they are together and they’re always teasing and tickling each other and stuff like that.

Just something real cute, love your writing btw!!

of course, honey <3 a/n at the bottom

playful!matt & playful!chris:

✨a concept✨

making dinner -

chris: definitely dancing around the kitchen and being exactly zero help. "come on," he yaps, grinning his cute stupid little grin, "dance with me, pretty girl, the pasta can wait." "chris!" you can't help but giggle at the kid. "wanna dance with my lady." his smile is almost too big for his face, and your heart feels tight.

matt: does everything he can to distract you while simultaneously assuming an air of utter and absolute innocence. "i don't know what you're talking about," he says, slipping behind you and pinching your side, rolling his eyes at what he believes is an incredible overreaction from you.

going thrifting -

chris: tries to scare you by hiding in the racks like you haven't been watching him the entire time, only to be disappointed when you're not startled in the slightest. "but...but..." he grumbles, hanging off your shoulders, arms wrapped dejectedly around your neck, "i tried so hard."

matt: "what do you mean, 'don't get the grand-dad shirt'? this is the peak of fashion!"

the shirt in question:

movie night -

chris: resorts to assailing you with tickling when he doesn't get his way. "i wanna - mmfh - watch The Lion - fuck! - King, so we're gonna fuckin' watch - you motherfucker - The Lion - GET BACK HERE!"

matt: keeps trying to drown his face in your tummy instead of watching whatever's put on the tv. "it's just so cozy." his words are incredibly muffled. "you begged me for three days to watch this with you." "mmfh. gimme head scratches." "you're such a baby." "i love youuuuu."

beach day -

chris: insists on playing mermaids ("wait how come you get the sparkly tail. i'm the merman king, i should get the sparkly tail."), lifeguards ("okay, okay, pretend you're like, drowning, yeah. why? so i can be a hero and save you! duh."), and terraforming the beach itself ("it'll be good for a tiktok, yeah, just dig the trench all the way up there by the towels, and then we can divert all the water away from here and-").

matt: hunts all morning for shells for you and teaches himself to braid so he can string them in your hair. he ends up tangling things more than he produces actual results, but is very careful to undo his mistakes and reapply sunscreen on your shoulders. "and here i thought you hated the beach." "i despise the beach," he says cheerfully, closing yet another ziploc baggie filled to the brim with shells. "can't wait to go home." "liar." matt smiles against your neck, his chest pressing into your back. "yeah, maybe."

farmer's market -

chris: conveniently forgets how much he hates fruits and vegetables because, "they just look so, like...anasthetic. that's the word right?" "nope." "anta...antacid? anna..." "aesthetic?" "that's the bitch, look at these strawberries, they're fucking huge-" "you let the strawberries nick bought last week grow mold in the fridge!" chris grins. "what's your point?"

matt: more focused on petting the dogs people brought with them than looking at the actual stalls with products/goods. "who's a good boy, yeah you are, hey babe we should get a dog, oh my god, you're just the sweetest lil' guy-"

night out:

chris: never lets you walk on the outside of the sidewalk and always stops to listen to the musicians through the bars' flung-wide windows. "baby, look, his guitar's got flames on the side. oh shit, you cold? hey, come here, kid," he chuffs, gathering you under his arm, dulcet harmonies flowing from the bar into the soft night air. "i love you," he murmurs, his lips fluttering against the shell of your ear. "i love bein' out here with ya."

matt: gently hands his finger from the belt loop of your jeans, guiding you lightly through the crowds, watching your face light up at the sights and sounds around you. "holy shit, they're so drunk!" "yeah," he says softly. he couldn't care less about a single other thing in this moment - how would he, when the sparkling neon of the nighttime scene washed over your features?

ice-cream date -

chris: plans to get something to share and refuses to hear anything to the contrary, grinning at all attempts to sway him. "yeah, she'll have - quit it - that one over there, please - i'll tickle you right here in public, i swear to god i will - yeah, thanks - miss lady you better watch it-" "...okay, this is pretty good." he scrunches his nose quite cutely in lieu of a verbal response, shoveling spoonfuls into his mouth.

matt: does literally everything he can to get you to make a mess just so he can do the cliche 'wipe ice cream from your lip' move. "i'm a classy guy, alright, leave me alone," he says with a grin.

cleaning day -

chris: CAUTION- may actually flat-out refuse. "we could just stay in bed though," he grumbles, holding your arm hostage. "we gotta cleannnn..." "nahhhh, come back to me." in a sudden burst of energy, he tugs you all the way back onto him, rolling you onto the mattress and under the blanket in one fell movement.

matt: shuffles your favorite playlist, turns it up, and dances with a feather duster you didn't even know he owned. "WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM?" "STOLE IT FROM NICK'S ROOM. COME ON, WE GOTTA DUST!"

grocery shopping -

chris: has a cart and a dream, and is infinitely more focused on you than actually locating the necessary items. "you want it? yes, mamas," he chuckles, "get whatever you want. yeah i mean it. that's what you want for dinner? okay," he shrugs, his downturned smile making his dimples show up and show out, "i'll make ya whatever you want."

matt: has a list and a plan, both of which quickly crumble as he finds it impossible to resist your impulse-purchasing. "no, baby, we gotta..." - long-suffering sigh - "we already have...yes we do, they're at home in your drawer...what do you mean, 'they're all gone', how did you...okay, well chris isn't SUPPOSED to eat your fucking snacks-"

vlogging -

chris: "okay guys, so i'm gonna take her to build-a-bear but it's gonna be a surprise so don't- HEY YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE OUT HERE YET-" the camera falls onto the couch as a blurry image of you and chris rolling around on the floor fades into view. his hat flies off and his weird, goofy laugh fills the living room.

matt: "hey guys >:|" "tell them :)" "i'm fuckin' getting there. so i said last time that i would never do this stupid wheel of punishments again, but someone convinced me-"

makeup/facials -

chris: "this feels colllld. i'm only doing this cuz i love u. what's this one supposed to do? the last one said it was gonna clean out my pores or something, and this one...'just looks cute', huh? i'm gonna fUCKING-" he launches off his bathroom counter and tackles you onto his bed in a flurry of kisses and tickles

matt: "i think i look great with eyeliner actually. what is it larray says, cunty? do i look cunty? why are you laughing?"

cuddle time -

chris: "absolutely not. come here mamas. you're not goin' anywhere, it's rainin' outside, an' i know you're still tired...come on, i miss ya already..." he smiles as you oh-so-reluctantly nestle back into the covers he holds up for you. "atta girl. stay here til' you die." "chris what the fuck." "that was romantic!" "...sure it was honey. sure it was." his laugh makes you roll your eyes, but the peppered kisses that follow make you smile in spite of yourself. "i love you...you know that, right?" "i had an idea, yeah." he tugs you into his body with a playful growl. "shut up."

matt: simply locks his legs around yours so you couldn't leave even if you wanted to. he traces lazy shapes on the back of your hand and his breath fans down over your neck. "miss girl..." "hm?" "were you aware that i loved you?" "ohmygoddoyoureally?" matt's hold tightens and his low chuckle rumbles through your skin. "you're terrible."

request to be on the taglist under this post right here

tags: @pinksturniolo @malirosee @st7rnioioss @nonat-111 @cindylcuwho @evie-sturns @h3arts4harry @fanficsbymia @dazednmatthews @sturniolo-rat @mattsmad @sturniolo04 @bellasturn @blahbel668 @yomamaslays4lyfe @stasiesturn @pleasantlycrazyworld @ariqolyx @wh0resstuff @krissy4gov @coochiedestroyer1 @solarsturniolo 

notes from bambi:

thank you for the request anon! i'm so sorry this took so long but i hope it was at least somewhat worth the wait, and i hope things get back on track for you soon <3

[wroteclassicaly]

Girl. Gator. Plus size girl. Blurb. Go!

Lol. I just love the way you utilize details and I need this mans hands on me in the worst way rn. Lol. MAYBE somewhere where we could get caught😈

Oooooh, you’re speaking right to my soul 😭

~*~

Warnings: Language, smut, Gator acts like his jerky, bitchy, temper tantrum throwing, misogynistic, toxic self. Body positive, plus size reader with large breasts, hidden hookups, spit, some titty play, vaginal fingering, jealous and possessive Gator, slightly mean reader, degrading kink, praise kink mention, filthy talk, mean Gator, dominant reader/dominant Gator, public smut, getting caught, and NSFW.

Pairings: Gator Tillman x Plus Size Female Reader

Wordcount: 2,043

A/N: Really love working on exploring Gator with a bigger girlie, because in the Midwest, his options would’ve been a lot of big women. Sooooo, yeah. ;) Note that this is not some fluffy Gator. Man is gonna be mean and nasty as hell, so be warned (he’s cornered with his feelings and he doesn’t like that shit)!

~*~

He really cannot fucking believe this. You actually have the nerve to show up where you know that he will be, dressed like this, acting as if you didn’t want him to call you the second that you got back into town (Because WHEN the fuck did you get back? And why didn’t you call him?). A calloused trigger finger massaged off leftover condensation, nothing but mere drops of amber liquid left over in his glass. He feels like a snarling, raging beast, a fucking embarrassment.

And you simply tuck your handbag into your armpit, situating the end of a very tight black dress, one that slices into a cutoff at your cleavage, the swells of your goods leaving little to the imagination. Stupid bitch. Those are his tits. Besides, since when do you care about what you wear out when you rarely come to bars or club joints around town, anyways…? Your makeup is dark, like wafts of smoke, shimmering on your lid, lips lined a deep blood red, something else you never do around him, either.

Okay, so he’s not good enough to try all of your tricks on?

He’s got that familiar clench starting in his toes, licking his muscles with electricity, pushing on his ribcage, digging painfully into his internal organs to do something. You wave at a couple of local girls, but you don’t join them at a table, no. You head directly to some punk faced fuck in tight jeans and cowboy boots, a cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other. Gator’s eyes widen so hard that the muscles protest in stroking stings, his fist clenching over his thigh, knuckles white, taunt flesh wrapped shakily around his glass. He lets it go before it shatters.

A date. A fucking, motherfucking date.

You couldn’t call him, didn’t text him (embarrassing how much he refreshed your thread, honestly), but you bitch about secrecy. And this is what he gets for staying sober from the pussy he could be getting? Nah, he’s not gonna be shown up by some slut that should be grateful he gives her attention at all, and definitely not with this fucking pencil dick of a man, whose joke you’re pathetically giggling at. Abandoning his glass, Gator is walking his way on a sticky bar floor, passing your backside to slam his hands on your table and let out a hysterical chuckle.

“Well, bust my balls. What’s so funny over here, huh?”

Gator takes a mental backflip for points as your eyes widen and you look like you’ve dove into the pools of humiliation. Your date, for lack of better word - he’s trying to figure out what’s going on, but Gator doesn’t let him get in a word. Crowding in front of his space, he’s in your airspace now, reaching down to find your date’s drink, lips wrapping at the bottle’s end as he sips and lets out a snort. “Lightweight.”

“Gator…” You warn, reaching out to attempt to grab his wrist. He shrugs you off, shaking his head as he eyes your ensemble, those fucking tits pressed together and spilling over your cleavage’s hem.

“Look at you, honey. All dressed up, not answering your phone. How long you been back for?”

“I’m busy, back the fuck off —“ He’s suddenly very close to you now, nose nearly brushing, actually letting his personal rules slip, your own emotions becoming discombobulated.

You don’t back away, breathing escalating as his hot breath fans along your painted mouth. He’d like to shut that up, keep you full. And you, you cannot keep your eyes off of his tight black shirt, arms bare and tan from the Midwest summer sun — freckles and moles on display. He’s wearing dark jeans, his normal boots, and thigh holster for show. Fuck, he smells good. He knows it too, as he watches your eyes dart across his wet lips.

He simply smirks, reaches down for your drink this time, and brings it to his lips. Straight whiskey. You were here for a purpose, and it’s up to him to redirect it. You watch in wondrous fascination when he drinks down your remaining liquor in a straight shot, his tongue making a show to lick the rim along the glass, before he lets it settle back onto the cheap bar table coaster. He’s taking that air about, every single inch of him away from you before you can blink, one hand rubbing behind his neck, pulling on his chain that’s tucked beneath his collar, knowing the action specifically drives you crazy, the other hand retrieving his vape.

He blows smoke directly above his head, looking between you and Mr. Clueless Cowboy, laughing lightly. He’s pissing you off. “Hope you folks intend to call a car tonight. I’d hate to have to arrest anyone for driving under the influence.”

And he’s gone. Leaving you practically smoking, aching, hurt, and severely pissed. You grab your purse and excuse yourself to the restroom to get your bearings. You should’ve known, however, the second that the door closes behind you — Gator would be too. He doesn’t approach too fast, doesn’t scare you or grab you, he has his own lines not to cross, to respect.

You’re clenching the sink by the time he’s nearly behind you. You’re tired, pent up, but you still manage to speak. “Don’t. I’m getting sick of you and your games.”

“Is that why you didn’t answer me? Think that’s polite —“

You spin around and level your palms to his chest, shoving him back, hard. “You know, I’m the one that should be embarrassed. Your fucking dad, you being his lackey. I should be the one to be afraid to be seen with you, but I’m not.”

Gator perks at the mention of Roy, of his debt towards him just by being born under his namesake. He feels cornered, losing control. “Watch your mouth. I’m not afraid of anything —“

As if you are ignoring his words, you continue. “I want a real man, not some pussy who is afraid to be seen in public with me. You’re a fucking coward, Tillman. You don’t deserve one single inch of me, and I’ve got plenty to go around, baby.”

Now, Gator can lie and say he is further pissed, that he intends to leave and forget you. But your words, how you stand up to him — his cock kicks, slacks becoming less loose. You’ve got the power and you’re more than ready to use it. Leaving your purse in the sink behind you, you stand a few inches from his airspace, your perfume soaking into his senses, making his jaw unhinged with sinful babble. “I bet you’re fuckin’ wet right now.”

You shrug, crossing your arms to purposely accentuate your chest. “Just because I like looking at you, doesn’t mean that I like listening to your mouth run. Pompous, annoying, disgustingly pathetic. And I can’t stand you.”

His brows press together, his pupils blown so far to hell that he’s seething when the words leave his clenched teeth. “One more word, bitch…”

You lick your mouth and smile lowly, tongue practically caressing the words as they drop off. “Fuck. You.”

What happens next is a dizzying array of blurs. The open pipes and exposed beams - clad ceiling passes in your vision as you meet Gator into a chest crushing embrace, pulling when he pushes, the both of you falling onto a stall with your mouths locked. You’re already working your hands into his belt, a grip hard to maintain with how worked up he is. Gator knows just what to do with you, his own hands immediately ripping the fabric of your dress down to expose your perfect breasts. His mouth waters, his hands paused.

He gives you a look, but you’ve already got his hands closing around your tits, encouraging him to squeeze. His knees knock you into the toilet, his mouth smeared with red kisses. His jaw clenches, nose wrinkles, his eyes glazed over as he lets them roam you, palming you, sampling you. You’re his. He needs more, though, his body rampaged, starved for more you.

You can read those thoughts immediately, the same want, a silent communication. “Put your mouth on me.”

He doesn’t waste a second, head tilting, letting you tug it into shambled strands, his lips close over your bud, tongue lapping around your areola, only to give you what you after you start to beg him for teasing. He isn’t phased that you aren’t jerking him, all that he wants right now is get you off, be with you, be around you. He tries to ignore what that realization means, and luckily, you’re rucking your own dress around your waist, his orbs catching a slinky thong as you work it down your curved hips. He briefly stops what he’s doing, groaning in appreciation as your glistening curls are put on display and your beautiful stomach, with stretch marks that his tongue has traced not enough times yet. He’ll have to fix that.

You’re a little quieter after you’re so naked in front of you, despite having been before. He notices this and abandons his focus on your chest to grab you around the waist. His voice is hoarse, exploding into a molten rasp, coated in the warmth of tension, a vulnerability leaving as he pinches your chin to raise your gaze. “You’re too beautiful for him. Too beautiful for me.”

Your reluctance to accept any compliments, especially his, that is automatically clear when you make your statement. “You could’ve gotten plenty pussy with me gone, Gator.”

He’s never felt more like a piece of shit than in this moment, watching as you truly believe that. He inhales sharply, throat tied to it, escaping words evaporating off his tongue’s tip, shared with you. “I missed you,” It’s actually a freeing statement, one that he feels braver saying, continuing. “And I didn’t screw around on you, y’ know.”

You’re looking at him as if you’re made of glass, irises darting back and forth. He can’t decipher his anticipations, but you save him. “I missed you too. But I had to draw a line, Gator…”

“I know.” He’s resolved to it.

He’s ready to back off, praying it’s not too late. You grasp his wrist, lifting it directly beneath your mouth, and he’s sure he blurts a little in his boxers the moment that your spit settles into his palm. He’s cursing, panting, rocking onto his heels as you lead him between your legs, spreading them, separating two of his fingers, taking them into your warm cunt. His hand tightens on your overflowing waist, fingers instinctively beginning to fuck you, enjoying the devious squelch that echoes. You become more handsy as the minutes pass, eagerly seeking out his chain from his collar to hold onto, rocking against his wrist, bouncing yourself on his fingers — taking what you want.

Gator assists by leaning to lick your nipple into his mouth, letting you hold tightly to his hair, suffocated by your moans and the scent of you. Neither of you hear your date enter the bathroom, not until he’s by the stall and speaking. He doesn’t get the hint, maybe he’ll go away? You don’t want to stop and reject the idea of Gator taking his hand away, leaving his hair, and holding onto his wrist tighter. You give zero fucks if he can hear what you’re doing in here, but he probably thinks Gator makes fun of you —

Your insecurities are tangled into a trap the second that Gator kicks the door open with his boot to give your date an eyeful. Publicly. His eyes widen, posture stiffening, you gasping. Gator adds in a third finger and your legs wobble, making you toss your head back and fuck yourself harder, inner thighs a soaking mess, forgetting everything but the pleasure that you deserve. Your ears are ringing static, a creamy wetness all that can be heard beneath your pleading breaths, uncaring what’s going to happen after, needing to get there NOW.

Gator makes his claim, a lazy little smirk quirking in the corners of his stained mouth. “Be safe on the road, bud.”

[watarfallar]

*gay braincell tossing*

Scar: Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Grian: Why start now?

Grian: I love you. Scar: I love me too.

Grian: I literally cannot believe I let you talk me into this. Scar: I literally said “I have an idea,” and you just went along with it without question.

Scar: Snow got me feeling some type of way. Grian: That's hypothermia.  Scar: Damn, the paramedics told me it was the magic of Christmas.

Grian: Surgery is basically just stabbing someone to life. Scar: Please never become a surgeon.

Scar: *gets set on fire and screams in agony* Scar: Nah, I’m just kidding. Fire does nothing to me.

Scar: Damn, the power went out. Grian: Don’t worry, I got this. Grian: *stomps foot* Scar: What-? Grian: *Sketchers light up*

Grian: We either die free, or die trying! Scar: Are those the only choices?

Scar: I’m totally useless. Grian: You’re not totally useless. Grian: You can be used as a bad example.

Scar: Fellas, I gotta know for science. Is the opposite of red green or blue? Grian: Technically a mix of green and blue? Scar: So blurple. Grian: That's implying you're mixing blue and purple. Scar: Would you rather have fucking bleen? MOTHERFUCKING GRUE? Grian: You were confusing before but now I'm scared.

Scar: Why is it so hard for you to believe me?! Grian: ... Scar: Oh, right. The lying.

Grian: You’re not jealous, are you? Scar: No! Grian: Good, ‘cause I consider my fake relationship with you a lot more meaningful.

Scar: And what did we learn, Grian? Grian: Tackling someone isn’t the correct response to being asked a simple question.

Scar: You know, it’s fine to admit you were wrong. Grian: *Sipping their drink after accidentally adding salt* I just like the way it tastes.

Scar: You are a solid 11/10. Grian: Aw, thank- Scar: Which is 1.1 because you look like shit.

Scar: And have you learnt anything this Christmas, Grian? Grian: …Not really. Scar: Nothing? Grian: Tell you one thing I have learnt—Christmas; ultimately, commercial holiday. Who's the real winner at Christmas? Amazon. they have drones now! Tiny little dystopian slaves delivering iPads and headphones. I ordered a toaster; It was on the doorstep five hours later! Do we need that? It was 4.99! For a toaster! I mean, someone's being exploited there.

Grian: Kill him. Scar: This is the kind of quality advice I look for.

Scar: There are no friends when playing board games. I am here to win.

Grian, texting: Scar, will you please go to sleep? Scar, texting back: What makes you think you didn’t just wake me up? Grian, yelling: I CAN HEAR YOU CLAPPING TO THE FRIENDS THEME EVERY TWENTY MINUTES SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP! Grian, texting: Just a hunch :) You goin’ to sleep soon? Scar, texting: I’m trying Grian, yelling again: TRY HARDER I HAVE A 5:45 AM MEETING TOMORROW BITCH Grian, texting: Okay, don’t stay up too late or you’ll be cranky :)

Scar: I’m a masochist, not a loser.

Scar: Wow, that was quick thinking on that phony sacrifice stuff. Grian: Oh, that was all real. Scar: Wait, you were trying to help them kill us?! Grian: If I’m gonna be sacrificed, I’m gonna do it right.

Grian: *spins around in chair ominously* I’ve been expecting y- *chair continues to spin* shit *tries to stop spinning* shit *tries to grab a table to stop spinning* sHIT *falls out of chair*

Grian: I’m not stupid, you know. Scar: Well, you’re doing a really good impression of it!

Scar: Why do you think I don’t like you? I do. I would kill for you. Scar: Ask me to kill for you. Grian: ...First of all, calm down-

Scar: Grian, you’ve tried 37 times and you’ve failed every time. Give it a break. Grian: DO I HEAR “FIRST TRY PART 38?”

Grian: I know how this must look but I can assure you we have a perfectly logical explanation. Scar: Yeah! We’re cowards!

Scar: *holds a gun out to Grian* Grian: I-I don't believe in guns. Scar: Well, trust me, they're very real. Now take it.

Scar: I owe you one. Grian: That’s ok. You can just date me and we’ll call it even.

Grian: I hate you with every inch of my body! Scar: That’s not a lot of inches.

Scar, to Grian: You drink too much, swear too much, and your morals are highly questionable. Grian: … Scar: You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a best friend.

Scar: I need a long word. Grian: T-rex but the long one.

Grian: I see the red flags, I acknowledge that they're there, and then I completely ignore them.

Grian: You know you've made it when you see your picture everywhere you go. Scar: Those are wanted posters!

[mediumgayitalian]

part one

———

Finding parking is, as expected, hard, largely in part because Michael wants to get them all killed.

“— yeah, that’s right, shitwad! Back off! We were here —”

“Will you please shut the fuck up,” Lee hisses, jamming the switch for Michael’s window. Unfortunately, Michael is sticking his fucking head out of it, so it won’t close.

“This fucking guy! This fucking guy thinks he can swoop up to our spot —”

“Motherfucker we’re in Wilmington, do you want to get fucking shot —”

“He can wait his godsdamn turn like everybody else! Hey, fucker —”

He succeeds, finally, in yanking his brother back in by the scruff of his neck and speeding away from the shitwad in question.

“I can’t believe you let him walk all over us!”

“If I end up with a bullet hole through my windshield, I am kicking your ass, Michael. I won’t need to worry about some trigger happy mortal taking you out. I’ll kill you.”

“Drama queen. Now we’re never gonna find a damn spot.”

They do, in fact, find a damn spot. Within forty-three seconds of Michael saying that, actually, Will points out not just a parking spot but a pull-through, which Lee takes, smirking. Michael aims a kick for his knee.

“Go help Will unbuckle, you bitter bitch. I gotta grab something.”

Ignoring both Michael’s grumbling and Will’s insistence that he can unbuckle himself, thank you very much, Lee jogs over to the trunk. He grabs his and Michael’s bows, just in case, and carefully grabs the bundle of roses he bought from the stand across from his apartment. The stems are a little crushed, but the flowers all seem fine, full and bright, sunny yellow. Even the paper is relatively uncrinkled, folding delicately around the thorny leaves.

Michael nods when he sees them. “Nice.”

“Thanks.” Lee tosses him his bow, slinging his own over his back. It flickers with his quiver under the Mist, settling eventually to look like a small backpack. “Got ‘em this morning.”

“Can I hold them?” Will asks.

“Sure, kiddo.”

He lays them gently in his arms, the same way Cass has taught him to bundle herbs and plants when they gather for poultices. Every step is suddenly much more deliberate, avoiding potholes and cracks in the pavement so he doesn’t trip and crush them under his body. When he nearly walks in front of a car, not paying attention, Michael plants a hand on his head, guiding him around like a claw machine.

“Okay,” Lee says, holding open the door. “Let’s find Diana.”

The lobby is crowded. There are people everywhere — families, grandparents, and of course dozens of dancers, shining hair pieces glinting in the low lights, tutus and rhinestones peeking out of studio sweatsuits. Faces heavy with stage makeup bleed into each other. The building is abuzz with sound, chatter and laughter and shouting and twenty different songs playing at once. Lee can hardly believe they’re all fitting in the same building, and almost convinces himself it’s actually enchanted, smaller on the outside. He glances down when Will backs into him, flowers clutched tighter to his chest, and rests a firm hand on his shoulder. He hooks his finger around Michael’s hoodie, too, and for once he doesn’t complain.

“You see her?” he shouts over the noise. Or, well, Lee’s pretty sure that’s what he said. He shakes his head, anyway, and Michael scowls, standing uselessly on his tiptoes. Even if that didn’t put him just barely over most people’s shoulders, the throng of people is too thick to see much. People elbow and push each other around to meet up with family members, and groups of dancers do their best to practice their routines in what limited space is available. Lee has felt less claustrophobic in Times Square at Christmas.

In a stroke of brilliance, in his very humble opinion, he lets go of Will’s shoulder, puts both hands under his arms, and hauls him over his head, settling him on his shoulders.

“Keep an eye out,” he shouts.

Will grins, tugging on Lee’s hair with his free hand in confirmation.

One hand clamped over Will’s knees, the other still hooked on Michael’s hoodie, Lee starts to wade through the crowd. He can start to see, as he gets farther from the door, the entrance to the stage, the ticket stands, the coat check. Several banners hang temporarily from the ceiling and stick to doorways, welcoming them all to the Twenty-Sixth Annual Believe Dance Comp!, and a table laden with trophies sits proudly by the stage doors.

Sitting under one of the banners, Lee notices a group of girls of varying ages, all wearing the green and purple Stage Lights Dance Academy Cass sometimes wears. He guides them closer, scanning each stage makeup-ed face to try and find his sister, but stops short before he gets too close.

Two girls, sitting at the head of the group, mime twisting their hair, exaggeratedly anxious looks on their faces. The rest of the girls roar with laughter.

Lee feels something heavy settle in his stomach.

“You think anyone will come for her?” a younger girl asks, hushed so that Lee can barely hear her over the crowd.

One of the older girls snorts. “Are you kidding? The only way her mom will come is if there’s an open bar!”

Lee is reminded of the one and only time he’d fought a group of empousai. There’d been a trio of them a Central Park, on a field trip he’d gone on with his ninth grade class, surrounding one of the oak dryads. They’d crooned at her, tugging on her leafy hair and trailing clawed fingers down her handmade dress, calling out backhanded compliments. But Lee’s skin felt like it was crawling, he remembers, and the dryad had been tense, green tears building in her eyes. Every bleat of their laughter had grated his ears, and he’d snapped, eventually, ripping off his bow and picking them off one by one. The third one had seen him, chasing him away from his group, but he’d been so mad that he wasn’t even scared. The dryad hadn’t done anything. They got nothing from poking at her. They’d just done it to be cruel, because it was fun for them.

“I don’t even know why she has the gall to show up. She missed the final practice.”

“Miss Breanna likes her, that’s why,” one of the girls scoffs. “Of course she can skiff off practice and still compete. She thinks she’s so much better than us.”

Michael shifts forward. Lee throws out an arm to stop him, shooting him a warning look.

“You think anyone’ll take your side?” he murmurs.

“They’re talking about —!”

“I know, Michael.”

“They can’t talk about her like that!”

“I know, Michael.” He forces his jaw to unclench. “I know.”

“Yeah, well, favourite or not,” another dancer says wickedly, “her seats will be empty again. And she’ll walk out empty-handed and alone, like she always does.”

Most of the adults milling about the lobby hold flowers, like they do. Except unlike them, their bouquets are large, unlike them the stems are not crushed, unlike them they are wrapped in ribbons, in embroidered banners. One is, even, shaped as a ballet slipper, and Lee notices the oldest girl in the group, the one who made the joke about Cass’s mother, eyeing it, smirking.

He pictures Cass holding it next to all the other girls from her studio. With their big, normal families, their wide smiles, their fancy cameras, their beautiful, expensive bouquets. Pictures the smirks that will be sent her way, the whispers. They can’t — gods, what was he thinking?

“What time is it?” he asks.

Michael glances at his watch. “Quarter to.”

“Hm.”

In her frantic IM, yesterday, Diana had ordered them to be here by noon. From what little he knows about dance competitions, Cass’s performance will be sometime after that, nestled among the many. When exactly, he doesn’t know.

If they leave now, wagering, they could miss it. And that would be the worst thing of them all. But…

“Will,” he says, suddenly getting an idea. “C’mere.”

He reaches up and sets Will back on the ground, clutching his hand as he weaves through the crowd, beelining for the far corner. He stops at a sign with a little stick person on it, gently taking the flowers from Will’s hold and passing them back to Michael.

“Listen to me carefully.” He crouches to Will’s level, meeting his eyes. “Diana is — somewhere, in there, getting Cass ready. Michael and I can’t go in there. We need you to go in and act really confused.”

“That will be very easy, because I am confused,” Will protests. “Why do I have to go in there? I don’t even really know why we’re here!”

“Just — go in,” Lee insists. “Trust me. If I give you more instructions, it’ll ruin it.”

Huffing, Will goes.

“Brilliant,” Michael mutters. “Lose the kid and Diana. Great plan, Lee.”

“Come on, does no one trust me?”

“No one knows what you’re doing, dude! You hang around Carter for five minutes and suddenly you think you’re Mr. Plan Guy —”

Lee flushes. “That is not what this is about!”

“I am not missing this! I swear Lee, if we’re late —”

“We’re not gonna be late!”

“Why is it that every boy on Earth is actually stupid,” hisses a new voice. The change room door busts open, damn near cracking under the heel of a heavy boot, and Diana comes striding out behind it, Will perched on her hip. Her short dark hair sticks out in every which way, shoulders tense as a line, mouth twisted in a scowl. Immediately, Lee and Michael snap their mouths shut.

“Hey,” Will complains, pouting.

She adjusts her hold on him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Not you, sweetpea. Only Thing One and Thing Two, over here.” She glares at them. “Why did I find him wandering around in the change room? I told you to wait for me in the lobby! I swear you two want to — ruin this!”

“Hey,” Lee says, flinching back. “You know we don’t, Diana. That’s not fair.”

She scrubs a hand down her face, sighing. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. It’s just —” She presses another kiss to Will’s cheek and sets him down, leaning on the doorframe. “It’s been a rough morning. She keeps trying to call her mom, and — well.”

Lee hates that those girls were right. He hates it. He hates that they’ve been right before, that Cass has walked off the stage, face blank, alone. Hearing their giggling, probably. Twisting her hair around her fingers as she tries to hold it together.

His jaw tightens.

Not this fucking time.

“What time is Cass on?” he asks

“…Her solo at one-thirty,” Diana says. “But —”

“Great.” Lee grabs each brother’s shoulder, pulling them back. “We won’t be late, Diana, I promise.”

“Wait! Lee — dude, what are you —”

“We’ll meet you inside! Save us seats!”

“Lee! Get back here!”

“Seats!” Lee calls, glancing back. He makes a vague gesture in return to her incredulous, spread-wide hands, trying to convey the Situation. “We won’t be late! Promise!”

“I’ll kill you if you are!” she relents. “Be fucking back on time!”

———

In hindsight, it would have been smarter to take the car.

For whatever reason, both Lee and Michael assumed there would be a flower stand just outside the theatre. Neither of them had seen one on the way in, but it made sense. If Lee had a flower business, he’d probably put it next to a theatre. Where else would you put it?

Regardless, there isn’t anything close across the street, or even on the whole block. Will sits on his shoulders again, because it’s easier than trying to guide him, and every so often he glances at the watch Beckendorf made him, calling out the time.

“Will,” Lee begs, veering around a street corner, “you are not helping.”

“I am so!” He checks his watch again. “Twenty-seven minutes ‘til Cass starts. That’s why we’re here, right? To watch Cass dance?”

“So long as we make it in time,” Michael stresses. “Shit, Lee, maybe we should just head back. The flowers we have are fine —”

“Cass deserves more than fine.”

Michael snaps his mouth shut. “I know that.”

Lee slumps. “I — know you know. Sorry.”

Their steps fall in synch, footsteps making level prints in the light dusting of snow. On occasion a passing car drowns them out, but for the most part the only sound is their breathing, and Will picking at his nails. The shifting of their jackets.

“You’ll never undo it, Lee.” The road cross button makes a heavy click noise under Michael’s fist. The countdown for the walking man is loud, four, three, two, one. Three of the little lights are broken, making it look like its chest is cracked open. “There’s some shit you just can’t fix.”

“I’m not trying to — fix her,” he argues weakly. “I’m just…”

He can’t push away the horrible ache in his chest. The rapidly expanding feeling, the sinking chasm of expecting and hoping and being disappointed. Of looking out into the crowd to find a familiar face and not finding one. Of hearing giggles as you walk past and clenching your teeth, knowing. It balloons, pushing out on his ribcage, forcing its way up his throat.

Michael stops, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed. Lee stares at a spot at the air above his shoulder, swallowing roughly, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood.

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, Lee. You think competing with those assholes is gonna — go back? Gonna magically bring her fucking — hell, bring Dad?”

Lee looks away. “Of course not.”

“We’re going to be there. That’s what matters, isn’t it? That’s what’s really important.”

“Oh, to hell with high horses, Michael. I’m fucking tired of — of pretending it’s okay!” He starts forward again, ignoring the twinge of pain in his skull when Will grips his hair, yelping at the sudden surge forward. Michael jogs to keep up. “It’s — fight these monsters, train these kids, lead your cabin. Ignore the fact that your dad couldn’t be assed to visit a few times a year, he’s an Olympian, after all, you understand. Well, I’m tired of it! I’m tired of —” he trips over a crack in the sidewalk, barely catching himself — “I’m tired of being so damn understanding!”

For a moment Michael says nothing. Lee’s breathing is heavy, shakey, and it takes effort to still the tremble in his hands.

“The girl,” Michael says eventually. “The prissy one, who sat closer to the door.”

“…What about her?”

“I just.” He chews at his bottom lip. “I’m not saying I disagree with you, dude, but you have issues, dude, and shit you need to work out. For real. Besides just —” he gestures broadly at the mostly empty street — “ranting into the air.” Slowly, a smirk spreads across his face. “It would be really, really funny to see her face if Cass walks out with a bouquet three times the size of hers, wouldn’t it.”

Lee matches his grin. “It would be.”

“Betcha she’d seethe.”

“Probably turn purple.”

They turn to each other, finally back in synch.

“Nineteen minutes,” Will pipes up.

Lee startles. He checks his own watch. “Oh, shit. Let’s go.”

———

part three

[water-loos]

All American Bitch !

“I’ve got sun in my motherfucking pocket, best believe”

player!steve harrington x fem!reader

series masterlist ; next chapter

cw: college au, alcohol consumption, tipsy sexual acts, smut implied (fade to black), angst, swearing, steve’s a dick

wc: 3.5k

a/n: this is a very shitty first installment but i promise it’ll make sense eventually

You didn’t plan on going to any Halloween parties. You never did. You thought the holiday was stupid, and just an excuse to drop way too much money on multiple costumes that only covered about a third of your body.

But that little lacy white slip dress that you found in the racks of a thrift store last weekend fit you too perfectly.

And the angel wings that you used for a photo shoot in May had been sitting lonely in your closet for far too long.

And you did consider Romeo + Juliet to be your favorite movie of all time.

That’s how you found yourself climbing the steps of a brownstone just north of Chicago, your hair tied back into a pretty half-up-half-down hairdo. Your makeup was flawless, even with your pink cheeks due to the biting wind and the plethora of shots that your friends had fed you before the train ride up from the city. The party itself was pretty packed just inside the door, with a box TV playing Scream as people mingled right in front of the screen. You pushed your way through the mass of people into the dining room, where a pair of plastic tables with holes sawed in them for cups were manned by tens of people in various costumes.

You craned your neck to look for a way to the kitchen, which was down a long hallway that was probably the only open portion of the house. Your friend Alexandra trailed behind you, eyeing the pong table as you attempted to drag her with you.

“Do you just want me to get you a drink?” You sighed as she nearly got caught in the crowd once more. “You don’t have to come with if you don’t want to.”

“Can I stay? That guy in the Risky Business costume seems a little lonely at the table if you know what I mean,” She winked, squeezing your hand. You rolled your eyes and squeezed back, letting her go. She kissed your cheek joyfully before bouncing over to him, her fairy wings sparkling almost as much as the tinsel in her hair.

As soon as she bounded away, you turned on your heel to the hallway, pushing past a few couples that were making out against the wall to get into the tiny kitchen. The keg took up a decent amount of space in the corner, a stack of red solo cups perched on the windowsill next to it. The thought of putting beer anywhere near your body was enough to make you gag, so you pivoted to the corner, where a punch bowl, a bottle of Captain Morgan, and some more solo cups lay, glittery green liquid splashed everywhere.

Beer, or mystery punch.

Great.

You opted for a heavy pour of the white rum and two ladles of the green punch before you pushed your way back into the hallway, but took a sharp right toward the staircase and the basement, where the dance floor must have been.

That’s where you saw him.

Steve Harrington, hair perfectly coiffed and cheetah print vest hanging open over his too-tight white tee. You knew who he was— he was notorious across most of the Chicago colleges and universities, known for his looks and his kilowatt smile. You shared a few classes and tended to think he was an egotistical douchebag who didn’t know what he was talking about half the time.

But god did his arms look good enough to bite in that shirt.

One big gulp of the drink in your hand was enough to push you toward him, chin held high in the air as you sauntered in his direction, catching him just as the girl he was talking to walked off in search of another drink.

“Ferris Bueller,” You said, voice dipped in faux sugar. “How fitting, Harrington.”

“Juliet,” He immediately smiled down at you, his shoulder falling to rest on the wall beside the two of you. “To what do I owe the absolute pleasure of seeing you? I thought you weren’t really into Halloween.”

“I’m not normally,” You nodded, maintaining eye contact over your cup as you turned to let your back rest on the wall. “But this costume was just too cute to leave hanging in my closet, don’t you think?”

You watched with a smug smile as his eyes raked down your body, slowly taking you in. You could see his gaze catch on the body glitter you had applied along your chest and shoulders, a warm blush spreading across your cheeks as he hummed his approval. “Definitely. It’s a shame, though.”

You watched as he flicked your left wing, caging you against the wall. Unfazed, you looked up at him with doe eyes, lashes fluttering. “What’s a shame, Stevie?”

You watched his front crumble, a rosy blush spreading over his freckled cheeks. He was put under your spell way too easily, and you could almost feel his ego bruising as he gathered himself from the momentary pause. “It’s a shame that it’d look about ten times better on my bedroom floor.”

You were moving a little fast, but your impulse control was left back in your apartment, miles away. It’s almost like your body was moving quicker than your brain was. Your hand smoothed up the front of his vest, adjusting it against his tee. “D’you think about my clothes on your floor often, Stevie? I’m flattered.”

“More than you know, sweetheart,” He huffed, standing up straight and taking your free hand in his. “Let’s find somewhere more private, yeah?”

“You’re so cute when you’re eager,” You pouted, pounding back the rest of your drink, gracefully putting the cup down on the ground beside you. “You’ve gotta dance with me first, Harrington.”

You kept your fingers intertwined as you pulled him down the stairs and toward the dance floor, which was packed wall to wall with dancing people, with colorful strobe lights flashing across the room. You watched the boy chug the last of his beer and toss the crushed cup behind him, his body not far behind yours as you made your way to the center of the floor. The electric beat of a techno song that you couldn’t name bleated around you as you began to sway back and forth, eyes on the boy who had followed you. He looked downright delectable in this lighting— his skin almost glistened under the lights, his hair slightly tousled, and his chest heaving as he watched you.

You two didn’t last long on the dance floor.

Only two or three songs passed before you were tugged down the back hallway of the basement and pressed against the door of the hidden bathroom in the corner. Steve wasted almost no time in connecting your lips, the lingering taste of beer bitter on his tongue as it danced with your own. Your hands wandered across his shoulders and up to the curled ends at the back of his hair, tugging gently as he moaned softly into this kiss. His hands held one of your legs up around his hip while the other pushed at your lower back, leaving very little space between the two of you. Your head lolled against the wood behind you as his kisses trailed down your exposed neck, nipping soon-to-be lavender bruises down across the glittery skin.

“You know,” He huffed into your neck, gripping the soft skin of your hip. “Been waiting for you since you destroyed me in our debate project.”

“Oh I know, baby,” You breathed out a laugh as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot behind your ear. “D’you get off to that? Being shown up in front of everyone?”

He bit down harder then, enticing a squeal out of you. “Only when it’s you.”

You try not to scoff as he pulls back, watching your face. It’s evident that you don’t believe him, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “Oh really?”

“Really.”

You hum, tilting your head back up for another kiss as your hand trailed across the sliver of skin that peeked out between his white tee and his dark blue jeans. “You promise?”

His throat bobbed and his cheeks grew pink as he watched your hand dip lower and lower, fingertips ghosting over the obvious bulge in his pants. “Promise. On my life, sweetheart.”

You’d never seen Steve Harrington a nervous mess before, but you decided right then and there that it was your favorite version of him. It was easy to nudge him a little further into the room so his hips hit the counter of the vanity, and even easier to drop to your knees in front of him. He sighed at the sight of you, with big doe eyes and angel wings, staring up at him with your best innocent look.

“This okay?” You whispered, hands placed on the front of his thighs, waiting for his verbal confirmation. You watched as his chest heaved, and he nodded, but you shook your head. “Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear,” A hand, big against your face, came to cradle your cheek, his eyes dilated as he stared down at you. “Are you sure? You don’t have to…”

“I wouldn’t be on my knees if I didn’t want to, Stevie,” You snorted, one hand reaching up to pop the button of his jeans and slowly pull down the zipper. “Pinky swear.”

———————

You started seeing Steve around a lot more after that weekend. By mid-January, he suddenly had more friends in your apartment complex, he sat right beside you in all three of the classes you shared this semester, and he had taken it upon himself to walk you back to your apartment or the student center after every single one. Alexandra started to call him your shadow, and she had even started keeping a six-pack of Miller High Life’s in the fridge for him, just so he’d have something to drink and every pregame party your friends threw.

He spent most nights in your bedroom, actually.

He snuck in as soon as you heard Alex close her bedroom door and put on her LED lights, and he knew the code to get into your building by heart. He knew that your door squeaked, and he mastered exactly how to open it to make the least amount of noise. Most of the time he found you in bed, glasses and an oversized hoodie on, scrolling on your phone as you waited for him. Some nights, he’d crawl in beside you and ask you about your day, maybe he’d joke with you about how stupid your teacher was, or how he thought you did great on a presentation, and others he’d waste almost no time in pulling your phone from your hand and pinning you to your mattress.

Tonight had been the latter.

Most of the time it made you feel like shit when there was barely any greeting, even if he tried to make it up to you by taking you for a drive in his car. “Taking you for a drive” consisted of buying you a milkshake, asking you all of your deepest secrets, and then eating you out in the backseat of that goddamn maroon BMW. But, after months of the same thing, you felt like a milkshake was better than nothing.

You laid across the backseat, warm and almost cuddling into the hoodie you had stolen from him last week, and nothing covering your legs besides the panties he had so gently put back on your body. God forbid you made a mess of his leather seats. He was sitting on the end, hands tracing your face as you tried to steady your breathing and recover.

“Y’know, we should go to the library to study for that quiz this week,” He said, voice gravelly. “I’m a little worried with how little she’s preparing us.”

“Ooh, a location change,” You hummed, sarcasm whispering in your tone. “I‘ll go. When do you want to?”

His hand stilled. “What do you mean?”

Your chest tightened. “It’s a joke, Stevie. We just haven’t been to the library together before.”

He let his head lean back on his headrest, his face stilling. “You know that I don’t mean anything bad by that, right?”

“What, that we don’t really go anywhere together?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Oh, I don’t care,” You shrugged, lying through your teeth. “I like what we do together now. It’s like a nightly routine. Helps me sleep better.”

He chuckled and started to trace around your hairline again. “Really?”

“Yeah. Having my own personal radiator in my freezing apartment is heaven.”

He snorted, softly whacking your shoulder. “I’m not that hot.”

“Half of the student body would disagree with you.”

“Oh, come on. That’s not true.”

“Steve. Lying is not going to get you anywhere,” You sat up, scooting closer to face him. “I think you might want to look in a mirror. Besides, everyone knowing you’re hot doesn’t really bother me.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Why would it?”

You stop, taken aback. “I mean, I’m the one whose bed you’re in almost every night. Everyone else who drools over you doesn’t get that honor.”

Steve goes rigid, and you can tell something’s bothering him. You can tell by the way he refuses to make eye contact with you that whatever he’s thinking is not going to be very nice to you.

It’s silent for a moment.

“Just say it.”

“What?”

You reach onto the floor in front of you and slide on the sweatpants you had been wearing. You set your jaw and dare to look in his direction. “Say the thing you’re thinking about. Even if it’s going to make me upset. I’d rather you be upfront than sit here in silence, Steve.”

“We’re not together.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t talk about us like we are.”

Your chest squeezes.

“I don’t.”

“You literally just did.”

“Saying you’re in my bed every night doesn’t mean shit, Steve,” You scoff, grabbing the Converse you had haphazardly shoved on your feet on the way out and pulling them on. “I was just stating the truth. You’re the one who texts me for our nightly booty call, remember?”

“And you always answer. C’mon, sweetheart,” He almost whines, reaching over to turn you back toward him. “You’re not a booty call. You never have been.”

“Then what am I, Steve? Your friend?” You bite back, pulling your arm from his gentle grasp.

“No. You’re not just a friend, you know that,” He says, watching mournfully as you open the back door and step out of the car. Your cheeks are still warm from the orgasm he’d pulled from you almost twenty minutes ago.

“Yeah, I’m your fuck buddy who’s at your every beck and call. I know what I am, Steve,” You scoff and close the door behind you as he quickly pops out of the opposite side. Your hand pulls on the passenger side, opening it, but still addressing him over the car. “I’m not fucking stupid, in case you’ve already forgotten.”

“When you say it like that it sounds bad.”

“Steve, you literally have done nothing tonight but walk into my room, fuck me, buy me a consolation milkshake, and then fuck me again in your car. You don’t even know anything about me,” You snap, hand white-knuckle gripping the door. “What’s my favorite color? What’s my favorite food? The cat that curls at your feet every night, what’s her name?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked down at his feet.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” You say lowly and duck into the car, almost slamming the door behind you. He follows after a few moments, getting into the car slowly and quietly. “Take me home. Please.”

“Babe—“

“Don’t.”

He doesn’t argue as he starts the car and pulls out of the heavily wooded parking lot that you always went to. The drive was only fifteen minutes, but it was spent in excruciating silence as you quietly picked at the clear compartment of your wallet, attempting to remove your ID in order to get the Polaroid that lived behind it out. It was a sweet picture of you and Steve at your birthday party back in November, where you had been wearing matching sunglasses and had been looking at each other and laughing. It was your favorite picture ever taken, and he had said it was his too.

Once you pulled up to your apartment, you were quick to open the door and stand outside of the doorway. You dropped the Polaroid onto the seat and reached to grab the edge of his hoodie.

You were done.

You pulled off the yellow hoodie, his cologne dripping from the threads as you dropped it on the seat. You were freezing in the flimsy tank you had been wearing underneath, but you tried not to let it bother you as you slammed the door and finally walked away.

You didn’t hear him call after you, even as you slowly punched in the code. He had driven off before you stepped through the threshold.

You were crying by the time you made it into your actual apartment, the door still unlocked from earlier. You locked the door for the first time in months and practically stomped into your room, the door squeaking loudly behind you as you shut it. It was easy to flop into bed, and even easier to sob harder when you smelled him all over your comforter.

You wallowed for all of five minutes before Alex came in, teary-eyed from sleep, but with a knowing look on her face.

“Did you finally end it?”

You sniffled.

“Aw, babe,” She tutted and laid beside you in bed, reaching over to rub your shoulder. “It’ll be okay. He’s just a man.”

“I just don’t get how all of this time means nothing to him. Nothing! He’s here almost every night and he can’t even tell me what I am to him.”

“It’s just what he does. He’s known for being a whore, and that’s exactly what he is— a whore.”

“A whore who’s been leading me on for almost three months,” You replied pathetically, putting your hands over your face as you cried harder. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re literally the smartest, kindest, and most fun person I know. The fact that he can’t see that has nothing to do with you— it has to do with the fact that he’s just not a good person,” Alex defended, climbing off the bed to pull you to your feet. “You’re a great person, and everyone you’ve ever met loves you. You’re gorgeous, fun, and hilarious. He’s going to come crawling back on his hands and fucking knees, babe.”

You sadly smile at her, and wipe the tears from your face. “Thank you, Alex. I don’t think you’re right about the last part, but I’ll try to believe you about the rest.”

“We’ll make him regret he ever treated you like this. I promise.”

You and she linked pinkies, kissing the other end of your hands as you did so.

“I’ll make sure he regrets it. He deserves to feel just as shitty as I do right now.”

“Damn straight!”

[blushblushbear]

The Kitsune’s if they were Yandere’s?😃

who says they aren't >;3

okay but no seriously--

TRIGGER WARNING FOR YANDERE SHIT--- manipulative, violent, toxic as hell, you guys know the drill

Aki

really brings the dere into yandere

he seems so cute and sweet and harmless

and he is!

mostly...

he tries not to show it

and when he does show it he plays it off as haha cutesy I'm just a little guy

but he's got a jealous streak a mile wide

he jokes around about 'the great Aki saw you first'

but you do not understand the depths of his dibs...

has a lot of animalistic tendencies

and he plays it either as innocent or kinky

sorry I bit you, I just couldn't control myself <:c

but don't fall for it

he's marking you

also it's funny how the people he pranks for revenge involving you seem to have their pranks go 'horrible wrong'

oops

welp, guess that guy only has one eye now but serves him right for talking like that to you

plays like he's joking when he acts a little possessive

'hey bud, they're spoken for >:T'

but the moment your back is turned he is giving them a look that they will see in their nightmares

likes to used pranks to remind people he's 'always watching'

and maybe he is maybe he isn't

it's hard to tell

always super sweet and loving with you

and maybe a little insecure

you love him don't you?? <:c

you'll stay with him forever right?? <:c

you're all his right??? <:c

he puppy eyes it but he's ready to take matters into his own hands if any of that ever changes...

don't buy those puppy eyes

Haru

WOOF POSSESSIVE

I mean, all of them are but HIM ESPECIALLY

also SUPER jealous

is hyper aware of the way people might try and get into your pants

mostly cause he does the same thing lol

also a big fan of marking you and isn't even shy about making that known

what?? gotta give you a few bite marks to let them know you're mine

loves to put his scent on you, more marking

is usually constantly hovering

another king of the haha yeah totally :) then once your back is turned HE'S GLARING DAGGERS >8l

likes to have you wear his stuff so people know your taken

if someone is rude to you he'll pull them off to the side for 'a quick chat'

and they are never heard from again

very much standing behind you with his hand on his sword daring a motherfucker to try him

but he's super sweet to you always

constant love bombing

lots of gifts

lots of spoiling you

declarations of love and devotion as he kisses your hand

and you think he's flirting or just being a little romantic

but no he's so dead serious you don't even know

will kidnap you if it comes to that

worried about you being safe

also don't bring up the idea of you dying, either by natural causes or other means, cause it will trigger a melt down

tears and a little bit of violence and a whole lot of not letting you leave for anything

also is about ready to restart the clan wars if he sees the other kitsune touch you for even a second

violently or romantically

your his precious mate and no one else can have you

Fuyu

WELP

this dude is already lonely and violent at the start of his route so

surprising no one he can and will get that way again at the drop of a hat if it involves you

he is actually the most reluctant to backhand a bitch since he did all this growing for you

but don't get it twisted he did all this growing FOR YOU

without you he's not actually grown (at least in yandere form)

he will kill someone very quickly if he thinks even for a second that they'll hurt you

also another dude who will restart these clan wars over you

will rip out the other kitsune's throats if he sees them near you

also more marking here

he's actually very gentle with his marking

until he's feeling insecure

then he bites a little too hard

and is very tearful and apologetic afterwards

he feels like a monster

but he will do it again if jealousy takes hold of him

another one whose easily triggered to dramatics but his aren't always violent

well they ARE just not VIOLENCE you see

violent break downs

violent sobbing

may border on threats of harming himself if you leave

very manipulative but he gets away with it cause it all comes from a place of pain and you're a bleeding heart

will kidnap you and then swan about on how he's such a monster but he can not let you go but he hates himself for it

true drama llama

but when he's sweet or romantic it's like a poem

everything he does he does out of love

you just kinda wish cha boy was more fucking stable about it.....

[missblissy]

Vox x reader but its fluufffy as shit- like im talking hurt/comfort like full on motherfucker is down so infamously bad

((Ofc Nonny UwU Vox is a guilty pleasure of mine, so this was fun to write. Again.... IM STILL A LIL RUSTY SO IM SORRY IF IT'S NO EXACTLY WHAT YOU HAD IN MIND QWQ... But! As always, Enjoy!))

Little taps traveled down the lush golden halls, with a tiny fury in each step. Sparks and zaps and zips twisted from the broken wires popping out of your skin. The arm you clutched tightly let out fizzes and glitches and your broken hand moved on its own. 

You found an elevator and slapped the buttons with your good hand then stared at the spycam in the corner, “Vox!” You whined, “Let me in!” Your high pitched cry was more of an annoying beg but still… It worked. The elevator’s door dinged and shut before lowering down into the catacombs of the mega tower.

At first some silly stupid song played in the elevator before a familiar voice came over the speakers, “What did you do now?” It was Vox. You raised a brow, a pointed and angry pout as you took a side glance at the spycam. Shameless guilt was on your face, as you caved and confessed, “It wasn’t my fault! I was just trying to get today’s filming done and that-” You stopped yourself and took a breath before you got worked up again, “Anyways,” You held up the broken arm and hand, “I need a tune up, and you know I won’t let the tech boys touch me,” 

The elevator slowly lost its walls and you were standing alone on a moving platform lowering itself to a bridge. You didn’t even wait for it to reach the ground or stop, you jumped halfway down and started skipping along the bridge. With a new tune in your step, happy to have gotten your way, you gave a cheerful wave to the tanks full of sharks while heading towards Vox’s lair. 

You first checked his room full of tv monitors and spy cams, he wasn’t in his Little Throne as he put it. So you made your way to his workshop. He was already there sorting through replacement arms for you. With your good arm you looped it with his and gave him a playful nudge, “Thank you, Voxxy~!” You hummed out, putting on extra layers of cuteness knowing he’d be annoyed with you already for interrupting his work. 

“Mhmm,” Vox hummed, then reached for a robotic arm. You quickly pushed his hand away from that one, “Not that model,” You told him, “Remember? It’s got that bug that makes the nervous system fail,” He just nodded his head and reached for another arm while gesturing for you to sit down. You did just that, sitting on the workbench with your feet swinging back and forth off the edge. 

“So are you going to tell me what happened?” Vox asked while keeping his eyes focused on the task at hand. He took your broken arm and first looked over the damage, then the hand as well. His eyes flicked up to yours as he added, “Or do I need to check the surveillance system?” His hands lightly grabbed you by the crook of your arm, bending it by the elbow to find the hidden port under your skin. He pressed nothing, just skin, but soon it lit up in the shape of a little heart.

You looked away with a pout, maybe the cute act wasn’t going to help. You huffed and rolled your eyes, “She started it!” You yelped, “I was doing the scene for this month’s show perfectly, as always, and the stupid bitch couldn’t deliver her lines right!” All while you ranted, Vox managed to run his finger along your arm and unlock the skin shell, uncovering the wires, blots, tubes and bars that made up your insides. 

A heavy gulp came from your throat, and your irritation slowly melted to an uncomfortable uneasiness. It was still so strange to you to be nearly fully made of bits and parts. So was Vox…. but still… It wasn’t a familiar concept to you quite yet. On the outside you looked completely the same as you’d always had in your afterlife. Selling your soul to the overlord was the biggest decision you’ve ever made. Surely one day you’d live to regret it, but so early on into the contract you hadn’t found any solid reason to regret a single choice you’ve made with Vox thus far.

He treated you so much better than Valentino did to Angel Dust. in fact Vox tried his best to keep you as far from them as possible. You were uniquely his. Literally, he made you. Bought your soul, tore it from its flesh and welded it to new metals. And you’d be lying entirely if you said you didn’t feel something for Vox. It was the biggest reason for being his, you felt some type of way and he liked to stroke that ego and play along with it.

Vox gave you a smug look however, with gentle hands he removed the arm entirely, “And who threw the first punch?” He asked. Which was a very good question, because you definitely did. Called out and put on the spot, your cheeks started to burn different shades of pink and red, “You’re still a prototype,” Vox hummed. From what you could feel, it was nice. The way his cool finger tips tentatively work at the seams of your sinews. He clearly was putting care into each and every work on your wiring, “You aren’t yet strong enough to take on a co-star, much less anyone, in a fight,” He said.

He had never been cruel with you, or even mean. Vox could be stern, like now, lecturing you to do better, be better. But his touch was always soft and careful. Like you were his greatest work of art, his favorite thing to work on, and his beloved precious project. And sure, he liked the person you were too. It was just a bonus that you could make him laugh, or get him to stop faking his smiles for real ones.

It didn’t help how often he kept you at his side. Filming was really the only time you were away from Vox, otherwise, you were always near, always in sight, and never too far from reach. Vox preferred it that way, and, honestly… so did you. So it was a welcoming and familiar touch, his hands tinkering away, checking you over as to look for any other damage.

Sheepishly you laughed and said, “Well, at least I only walked away with a broken arm,” And Vox chuckled along with you. The girl you fought couldn’t say as much. You nearly tore her in two… She was just so… annoying! And you got so sick of doing the same scene over and over and over…. “I taught her a thing or two about real tears, that’s for sure,” Your snotted little huff and pout was back, though luckily Vox seemed to enjoy it, “She had it coming, and I basically won if there was even a competition anyways,” 

He even agreed and said, “I’m sure you held your own, I don’t doubt you can’t kick some ass,” He then attached the new arm and started flicking and switching things on from within your hardware, “But I can’t have my little super star starting fights, or getting into them, or risk damaging the goods,” He smirked as he looked over his work with pride. Finally he snuck in a kiss and you felt all your rage melt away. First there was one on your cheek, then Vox gave you a quick but deep kiss before pulling away.

Vox then grabbed a new skin shell and snapped it in place, slowly feeling returned. The chill of his hands running down your arm, clearing off all the dust and fuzz, sent little buzzing sparks down the newly awakened skin, “It’s not good for our image either,” Vox added with a smirk and raised brow, “You’re my little super star, hell’s new sweetheart that everyone can’t get enough of,” He then fixed your hair, tuffing it back in place, curling it around your ear, “We can’t have leaks of you beating your co-star into a pulp getting out,” He rolled the sleeve of your shit back down, smoothed it out, and stole another kiss.

You could feel your arm again and life buzzed into the metal, until it heated up and felt all the same as any natural or organic creatures. As much as you like the coddling in his words, you tried out your wrist and looked at your nails, asking, “What am I, if I’m just your little super star? Are you trying to make your own fizz bot? A Vox bot? Whatever you call it, just some way to steal Mammon’s power?”

Vox smirked and pinched your cheek with his fingers and gave a little shake, cooing at you while saying, “To some degree, yes. A bigger, better, smarter one that runs off a human soul,” You pushed his hand away but he just grabbed your hand instead, pulled you off the table, to your feet, and gave you a little spin, “But for now, you’re just my favorite little toy, right?” 

A little yelp jumped from your lips as he spun you around, then caught you with one hand. You could not lie, the way this man spoiled you had you hooked, line and caught. He made it so easy for the both of you to forget what goes on outside this workshop of his. He made it easy to forget he owned you…. He made you what you are now.

Or perhaps that part of the deal you like. Who knows. It was unexplainable your attraction to him and you honestly didn’t mind being his pet, his distraction, his stowaway. Whatever one may call it, you were sucked in by his every word and move… every single time. Besides, you could pride yourself on being the one that cheered him up, that made him happy, especially when Valentino upset him. You were the one that Vox poured hours of his time into, who he tediously worked to improve. You were his favorite distraction.

He moved you about in a silly little mock dance, an equally silly tune playing from him, “And for now, your job is to just stay pretty, talented, flawless, and overall perfect just as you are,” His wooing words melted your metal heart. He slowed, holding your hands in his while he then gave a smile, a raised brow, and asked in a way that wasn’t really asking, but rather telling, “So no more fights, and ruining all my hard work, right?”

You blinked up at him, still slightly flustered from the mini dance, and even more so that he held you so close to him, “R-right,” You breathed then gave a small smile yourself. It was a strange relationship the two of you had, it clearly wasn’t something outsiders would understand. He peppered kisses along your new arm and trailed them up your shoulder, leaving a few on your cheek as you giggled out. 

He gave you a twirl then spun you off, “Now get back to work,” Vox’s grin stayed full on his face while you got your footing again. With a huff, you crossed your arms and gave a pointed look, teasing him obviously and putting on a bratty act, “I don’t need anymore distractions until about…” He paused and looked at his watch, “Five thirty?” 

Your foot tapped a few times and you shifted weight from one leg to the other, hip out in a sassy look, “I’m not a distraction,” You pouted, then rolled your eyes with a grin to match his, “Six thirty,” You challenged him, seeing if he could push off the time and actually commit to his work, “I should be done filming by then anyways,” 

“Fine,” Vox shrugged, seemingly unbothered by your teasing, “Six thirty,” He echoed. Vox then blew a little kiss to you, with spark and zap it zipped across the air in the shape of a little heart. The sweet sting of its electric shock warmed your cheek and let out a little snap on contact. You giggled and let your arms fall, a more cheeky look on your face and less of a pout as you spun on your heel and skipped back off to work.

[joemama-2]

A SPRINKLE OF CURIOSITY

a/n: part two to “made with love”.

word count: 1859

toji x reader

tags/warning: angst, fluff

find part one here: made with love

toji wakes up with a pounding headache, like always. he really doesn’t want to get up but he knows he has to. rubbing his bleary eyes, he can faintly make out what room he is in. not his.

he can tell by the cleaner walls, the faint scent of something floral and a woman he doesn’t even remember the name of passed out to his right. from the view of her bare back on display, he can piece together that he had maybe a little too much to drink last night.

toji never stays long enough for them to wake up, so like routine, he finds his scattered pieces of clothing, putting them back on. it feels uncomfortable, dried semen making the boxers feel a little too tight. and like the stealthy man he is, he slips out the bedroom and apartment without much noise.

he doesn't even remember what city he's in, but he can only assume it's not close. having picked up a small job shiu assigned to him yesterday in the hokkaido prefecture, he hasn't been in the comfort of his own place for a couple days now.

he slowly walked to the nearest ATM, pulling out his card to check his balance. and would you look at that? still 0. now he’s pissed. he’s stranded in some city he doesn’t know with no money to get back and the job he was there for in the first place didn’t even pay him. those motherfuckers.

he huffs and pulls out his phone, calling his handler's number. without even waiting, as soon as he picks up, toji is quick to express his annoyance. "where's my damn deposit?"

shiu's tired chuckle sounds through the receiver. "relax, it's a weekend. won't come in until tomorrow."

of course. "then how the hell am i supposed to get back?"

"like you have a home?"

toji's eye twitches, grip tightening around the small cellular device. "keep talking, i'll rip that tongue out your mouth."

with a sigh, the other man responds. "jesus christ, you can't go one day without bitching. i left some cash in your pocket."

"how much?" toji's hand feels for the money, reaching in to grab it out and count it, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear. "is this enough for a train ticket?"

"if you didn't use it already, then yeah."

and another huff before toji closes the screen of his phone, effectively ending the call.

so this was basically the lead up to where toji currently finds himself. after hours of a stiff chair that hurt his ass, stiff air, and the smell of elderly all around him, he practically throws himself into his small, run-down apartment and onto the mattress. there's no bed frame, hell there's barely anything inside, but it's enough for him. the tiny sheet crumples underneath his large form as he gets comfy, a small sigh escaping him.

everything is just as he left it, dishes in the sink, an old takeout box and the counter and the TV playing some who knows what show. damn it, was that on the whole time he was gone? now his bill will be even higher. there's never a moment of peace with toji, even after days and days of where he honestly deserves it.

his eye peak open, hand reaching for the remote to shut the TV off. just as the screen blanks, something instantly catches his attention. one that makes him sit up, despite his fatigue. it looks so out of place, like it doesn't belong. and quite frankly, it doesn't.

the pink box is vibrant against the cold surface of his kitchen counter, standing out like it directly has a light shone on it. it's almost taunting him, enticing him to come closer. and toji has never been one to show a lot of self-restraint. when it comes to you though, he didn't think he could try harder.

but he finds himself standing up and walking to the box. the heart drawn on top causes an eyebrow to raise as he opens it. there's nothing inside. after having got home from the encounter with you, he was hesitant to bite into the first cookie. but he's glad that he did. they tasted better than any other sweet he had tasted. the powder littered his lips and the soft jelly exploded into his mouth like fireworks. before he knew it, all five treats were gone in the matter of minutes.

but the box is still here for some reason. why he kept it and now threw it out as soon as he finished is questionable, but toji chalks it up to being lazy. because why else would he keep it? he sighs and closes the box again.

he falls back onto the mattress, eyes glued to the ceiling that has cracks and some mold growing. he really needs to move out. that thought is quickly thrown out when something else invades his brain. you.

your voice, your face, your stupid smile, and the words you told him. "love." the oh so holy pastries were made with your love. you were obviously joking, but an idiotic part of his mind entertains the idea that you weren't.

his head shakes. what are you doing? why is he acting this way about you? he barely knows you, you just own the bakery he knows. you're nothing more than a simple person who has no business getting involved with him. no, he has no business getting involved with you.

you're too kind, too sweet for him. he can't even see himself with another woman right now, not after his wife. at least, that's what he thinks. either way, there's no way someone like you would be interested in him. you probably have a loving family, a loving boyfriend. all in all, you have something going for you. you have things to lose. he doesn't. oh and of course, the main part of it all,

you're a complete normie.

you probably don't even know about curses, let alone sorcerers. you're probably one of those people who blame it on life's obstacles, the unwarranted negativity. but maybe you're just so damn positive all the time that you do literally the opposite of attracting curses. curses are formed from negative emotions, and you don't seem like you have those. that's what he thinks.

you see, toji has a very bad habit of assuming things. he's here having this entire dilemma on the kind of person you are when he knows jack shit about you. that's wrong, he knows. but toji....toji does a lot of wrong things. a very shitty justification, but toji is a shitty person.

would you think so too?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------——

it's been about a week, give or take, since he last saw you. but no matter where he goes or who he's killing, it's like the simplest things remind him of you. this is unhealthy, honestly. growing attached way too quick and way too easily, he has a lot of things to fix up on.

pink reminds him of you. puppies remind him of you. rainbows remind him of you. sweets remind him of you. and the sun reminds him of you.

so as you can see, you're everywhere he goes. following him when he wants nothing more than to get away. you must be a witch.

he just wants to gouge his own eyes out at this point, anything will save him from the restraints of adoring someone. he likes to think he's strong. wait no, he knows he's strong. but for some reason, you make him weak. and toji hates being weak. he confronts those who try to make him seem like he's anything but the terrifying killer he is and makes them beg for mercy.

which is why, he's currently back in the god forsaken place that started it all.

and what are you doing? greeting him like he's an old friend, like you've known each other for years. it makes him sick.

"you're back." you say, almost sounding relieved. do you always greet customers like this? or is it just him? "did you like my love?"

he wishes you would just stop referring to your treats as your damn love, it makes him want to hate you even more. "yeah." is all he says, a small scowl present with his arms crossed over his chest.

"tooooold you." you chuckle.

he wants to scoff at your cockiness, at your playfulness. can you just stop being so damn cute? silence follows as he stares you down, but you don't look the slightest bit bothered by it. why aren't you? do you think you're better than him?

"i'm assuming you came back for more." he didn't, but you're already completing the same routine as last time, picking a box and filling it. "we have some new ones this week, so i'll give you some of those. unless you really liked the ones from last time, we still have the custard ones, so i can give you that to--"

"what's your name?" he cuts you off, firmly.

you momentarily still, eyes flicking back up to his over the counter, he's still looking at you. as you stand back to your full height, you're slightly confused. however, you tell him. "y/n."

he knows he's in deep shit when just your name gives him butterflies. and hearing you say it? he just wants to grab you from over the counter and kiss you until you can't even rem--

he clears his throat. god, he's too horny.

"y/n what?"

"y/n l/n."

"are you lying?"

you snort a laugh. "who lies about their name?"

you're right, who does do that? "suspicious people."

"am i suspicious?" your head tilts in an frustratingly adorable manner.

no, he thinks. you're anything but. you seem like you wear your heart on your sleeve and you just seriously might be the most genuine person he's met. but then again, he doesn't know you, so this might all be a facade. you might actually be a two-faced bitch. "a little."

you hum softly and nod. with a small look to the ceiling, in thought, you say the most ridiculous thing ever. "well, how about we change that?"

a scoff breaks through. "how?"

and he supposes this entire time, you were filling the box and closing it back with the same sticker and heart from before. "you can get to know me." scratch that, that was the most ridiculous thing he ever heard you say.

"no." is his automatic response.

"why not?"

"i'm not looking for friends."

"we don't have to be friends." you say, sliding the box over to him. "but we can know each other's name at least. and since you already know mine......" you trail off as he gets the hint to what you're saying.

hesitation floods him because you really could be a spy or a fake. telling you his name could be dangerous and what if you try to report him to some authorities or something.

he's overthinking if you couldn't already tell.

but, he's getting older and probably won't have much more time left with what his occupation is. he's taken risks before, so what's one more? and again, you're right. how can he assume you're not really who you say you are if he doesn't find out himself.

so, with a deep exhale, his fingers twitching against his arm, he tells you. "toji fushiguro."

[sanjithesimp]

♡ shameless ft. min yoongi♡

a/n: yoongi has a chokehold on me, idk what he has done but omggg. btw did anyone here went to see the live viewing? I LOVEEED IT SM…..anyways enjoy :)

warnings: nsfw (minors DNI). pwp (very little plot). daddy kink. praising kink. degradation. oral (m!receiving). unprotected sex. creampie.

summary: yoongi + reader being touch starved and very horny

playlist suggested to listen while you read this <3

it was his last concert in the U.S, he was exhausted but happy to see all the fans were enjoying his shows. you hadn’t seen him happier, you were so proud of him. and you would be lying if you said he didn’t look fucking hot, you had to control yourself from fucking him right after the end of every show, mostly because after getting to the hotel he would just switch off and instantly fall asleep. but tonight was the night, you wouldn’t let him go without rewarding him for the great work he had done.

this time when you went inside the car you whispered in his ear, while you caressed his inner thigh, each time moving further “i’m so proud of you baby, you did a great job out there” you could feel his heart beating faster.

“i’m so going to ruin you when we get back at the hotel” he said, his lips centimeters from yours, as he guided your hand to his growing erection. you audibly gasped at his words, as you imagined what he would do to you, the way he would fuck you until you couldn’t move a single muscle.

once you got to the hotel, you couldn’t wait to get to your room and strip every single piece of clothing you both had on. but yoongi had other plans, he liked taking control over you, he liked watching you beg. when he closed the door behind him he demanded you to get on your knees, or else you would be punished.

you watched him take off his black gloves removing them slowly, finger by finger to reveal his veiny hand. he knew exactly what he was doing to you, never failing to tease you.

motherfucker. you thought, as he had a stupid smirk on his face, enjoying torturing you.

“so darling, are you going to be good for me?” you nodded, as you stayed on your knees like he ordered.

“words, i can’t hear you, babe” he said as he threw his gloves somewhere in the room.

“i’ll be good, daddy” you say pouting, knowing that he loved it when you called him daddy.

he sat on the couch and signaled you to come to him. you started crawling, swinging your hips. you had his full attention, as he palmed the bulge forming on his sweatpants. his eyes darkened with lust, in his mind ideas of what he wanted to do to you. the way you looked so delicious with that small skirt and the small top that had squeezed your tits so that they were almost out for everyone else to see. it took every ounce of him to not cum in his pants just by looking at you kneeling in front of him.

“open up for me, love” he said guiding his thumb inside your mouth, and then making you suck on it, your tongue moving all over it. his groans and moans were more than enough to get your panties soaking wet. but you needed more of him, you wanted to taste him, have him begging for more as you sucked him off, have him cum inside your mouth, ruin you.

“babe, i want you…now, please” you said, looking at him as you massaged his firm thighs. you couldn’t wait much longer, you were starving.

“such a needy bitch…” he said, and then he removed his sweatpants and boxers, only to reveal his painfully hard cock, precum dripping from his red tip. you took him with your free hand, while the other massaged his thigh. you stroked him first, from the base to the tip, teasing him with your thumb watching him throw back his head, hissing at how sensitive he was.

you gave a few kitten licks before taking him all in, never losing eye contact with yoongi. he couldn’t resist whenever you did that, watching as you took him all in inch by inch until you bottomed out and chocked on his big cock. he watched as you bobbed your head up and down, drooling all over his cock, as you played with his balls. your makeup smudged and your eyeliner ruined as you gagged over his length.

“fuck, you’re going to make me cum if you don’t stop that..” he said as he gripped the armrests of the chair until his knuckles were white. he bucked his hips as you lapped your tongue and grazed his cock with your teeth. you wanted to make a mess out of him before he ruined you too.

you bobbed your head a few more times before he came hard on your mouth, you swallowed every single drop of it. “good girl” yoongi growled as he cleaned the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

“as you’ve been a good girl, i will make it up to you” he said as he helped you get on his lap, and pulled you in for a kiss tasting himself. his hands roaming all over your body, moving under the small top you had on, cupping your breasts, feeling your hard nipples as you moaned in his mouth. one of his hands traveled under your skirt, only to find your soaking wet panties.

“you’re so wet and i haven’t even started with you babe” his fingers teased your cunt over the fabric sending electric shocks through your spine, making you whimper and squirm. he then took off the rest of your clothes, leaving you completely naked.

he took one of your breasts on his hand, and started sucking on it, his tongue making its magic as it played with your hardened nipple, his teeth grazing your soft skin as you clawed your nails on his back and begged him under your breath for more, just as he liked it.

“i want you inside me, y-yoongi” you whispered, as your pussy ached to be filled with his cock, you had been waiting for a long week for it. you took him in your hand and gave him a few pumps.

“as you wish, my princess” he said, as he took over and lined his cock to your entrance, teasing your cunt a few times before finally pushing himself inside you, inch by inch, you enjoyed the burn as your gummy walls adjusted to his length until he bottomed out.

his thrusts were hard and fast, making you leave red marks all over his back, as his lips attacked your neck, sucking on your soft delicate skin until he left no more space for marks. he liked it when you wore the little marks proudly, letting everyone know you were his.

“you like it ?” yoongi asked as he pressed his thumb on your swollen clit, rubbing small circles making you clench around his cock.

“it feels so good” you said, as you rolled your hips to the rhythm of his thrusts, you could feel your orgasm building up in your belly. as you were getting closer, his thrusts started getting faster until you creamed all over his cock, while he continued fucking it all back as he tried to reach his own orgasm.

he then placed a hand around your neck, squeezing lightly. “what a good girl you have been all night, i love you” he said before kissing your lips passionately, his tongue playing with yours. he filled you up with his cum until it was dripping down your thighs.

“i love you too, yoongi” you said, as you both moved to the bed and laid side by side.

[captain-mj]

09Soapghost heellll yeah. Captain MacTavish going uno reverse and going aha now you can’t get rid of me. Prepare to be made to heel

You got the psychic messages I was adding to the post

It started with the interrogation. That was it. With Ghost breaking that person down to nothing with Soap's help. If Soap gave a suggestion, which he did only when he wasn't sure he could stomach doing it himself so rarely, Ghost would do it.

Right now, he was running a flame over one of his knives, no doubt about to do something awful with it while Soap sat in front of the guy, waiting for the fear to build enough for him to back down.

And when Ghost put the burning red knife next to his eye, swaying it slightly like he might just drop it on him, he broke. He blabbered on and on and on about this and that and whatever. Soap took the important things down.

"Can I see my wife?"

Soap was just about to answer when Ghost did. He never spoke during things like this. Not wanting people to hear his voice. But Price had told him to kill the guy afterward and that was enough for him to not care. "Yeah. You can see her." He cocked his gun and put it between his eyes.

"My wife isn't dead." The man looked angry.

"Course she is. Suicide to be exact. Apparently a couple of our boys got a little rough. Made some comments. I wonder, did she kill herself to prevent being defiled or because she was afraid of being used against you? Which one? Did she love your country more than you? Just like you did her."

The man started to curse and sob and bitch in Russian.

Ghost let him for a moment, enjoying this Soap realized, before moving the sunglasses to the top of his head to uncover his eyes. "Look me in the eyes. I want to see you die."

The gunshot was loud and it echoed. And Ghost put the gun back in place.

"His wife is safe and sound in a house not too far from here. Why did you lie?"

"So when he gets to whatever afterlife there is, he searches for her for years, not know she just isn't there yet. I like the think the grim reaper is in on the joke and plays along."

"You're a sick fucking bastard." Soap said and meant it.

Ghost looked at him. And those eyes... stone cold dead. Nothing fucking there. On anyone else, they'd be gorgeous. Beautiful browns like several of the sweet little things Soap picked up at bars. But there was not a hint of emotion in those things at all. "You know I am."

That's when Soap realized that Ghost was a little feral. Demented even. Something was Fucking wrong with him.

It didn’t scare him as much as it should. His head gets a little fuzzy at the thought actually.

There were other moments. Times where Ghost would be a little more fucked up around him. Letting Soap catch him licking one of his knives or purposely dragging out someone's death for his own pleasure.

Somehow it was made worse by the moments of Ghost's humanity. HIs humming. His inane way of making tea and how he disliked coffee and his stupid jokes. It was at such odds with the way he looked at him, dangerous and mutant.

Until Soap found himself cornered by Ghost who was trying to tower over him despite their size difference being laughably small. Only an inch or so. And his shoulders weren't that bad, but they weren't much against his own. Riley just wasn't doing a good job of being intimidating, especially considering Soap had seen him do far better with enemies.

"MacTavish." He growled at him.

Soap looked at him. "Simon. Heel, boy."

Ghost stared at him blankly, only those dead black eyes looking at him.

"You're not getting rid of me, Simon. So go ahead and get used to it."

He scoffed like Johnny was the dumbest motherfucker ever. "You don't own me. Can't tell me what to do."

"Heel, Simon." Soap whispered at him, patting his side. "You're not going to get my attention like this."

Riley growled at him again.

"That's your problem. Can barely touch ya. You hide under that mask like a coward. So you skulk around and hope I'll kick you away."

Riley made a ragged noise and almost barked at him. "Fuck you."

"I'll kick you when I want." Soap hissed and shoved him to the side, noticing how he moved so easily.

That exchange was why he didn't feel as much as surprise as one would expect to find Ghost unmasked in his room late at night, knife in hand.

Soap looked at Riley, watching his breathing as ragged as it was. Looking at how he looked defenseless despite holding a knife. He flipped it in his fingers and held out the handle.

“Captain, I’d let you do anything to me.” His tone was steady, even maybe a tad breathless. There was no hesitation or pain in the admittance.

Soap frowned at him but his interest was undeniable piqued. “Anything I wanted?” He took the knife and dragged it along his jugular. Just letting him feel it.

It was the first break in the facade. A small painful sound. “Yes. Anything. I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“For giving you this burden.” Ghost choked out. “Anything you want.”

Soap shouldn’t push. He knew Ghost didn’t say things like this lightly. But he did anyway. “Even sex? I know how you are.”

Ghost shivered but it wasn’t from fear. His pupils were blown and he reacted like he had not considered this option. “I haven't had sex in years. But if it would please you. I’d let you fuck me however you want. Even if it’s the same way they did. Even if it's worse. As long as it's you."

“You’d let me kill you.” Soap waited for something. A survival instinct of some kind. But Ghost licked his pretty lips.

“Johnny, if you asked, I’d beg you to. If that’s what you wanted.”

“Beg.”

Ghost gently grabbed the wrist that was controlling the knife as it went further down but still didn’t cut. He just needed the stability. “Please. Whatever you want. You want me dead? Do it. I’ll write up a note saying i asked for it. You want me kill someone for you and I will. Bleed me dry, Johnny. I’ll enjoy it.”

Soap looked at where he was clearly hard in his pants. “Should I get you off first?”

“If you think I deserve it.” Ghost exposed his throat for him, swallowing.

The knife hit the floor and Soap kissed him properly. Really kissed him. He dragged him up and out of the chair. Ghost sobbed against his mouth but he ignored it, instead laying him out over his desk.

Soap wasn’t cruel. He could be stern and mean but cruelness was never his thing. And in this moment, he wished nothing more to be cruel. To be able to rend Ghost down in a way that he clearly needed.

Instead, he undid his belt. "Simon."

"Yes, sir?" Ghost looked at him, biting his lip delicately.

"I am going to fuck you. Gonna let you sit there and just feel it. Be real good to you. And when I'm done, you're going to warm my cock under my desk."

Ghost softened, eyelashes fluttering. If not for the scars, he'd be model material. But Soap preferred him with the scars. "Thank you."

He kept lotion at his desk, something that Gaz usually teased him over, but it was perfect for right now. Using a generous amount to make it easier for him. One finger in and he already felt tighter than anything else Soap had fucked in... ever. "You weren't kidding. Practically a virgin huh?"

Ghost tensed up and Soap could feel it around his finger. "Hey, it's okay. I like it. Feels like I'm getting to break you in."

A sweet moan. "Yes. You want me to tell you how big you feel? I know you're probably packing. I'll even exaggerate. Tell you how you're breaking me."

"Only if that's what it really feels like." Soap assured, realizing just how much of a freak Ghost was. And subsequently how much of a freak he was himself, because this was all getting him going. Still, he worked him open until he could easily take three fingers and the lotion was starting to overflow.

Soap knew what he had. He had been turned down by a partner or two because of the size. And the way Ghost arched to keep taking it. Thighs trembling. It gave him a sense of satisfaction.

"I don't need to make you crave me. You already do."

"Yes, sir." He sounded strained but he managed the words.

"How do you feel?"

Ghost put his forehead against the soft wood. "Like you're breaking me." He shook and sobbed, but Soap knew if he pulled that pretty head up and made him look at him, there wouldn't actually be any tears.

A slow gentle push and pull. Soap didn't mind, the tightness and the pressure doing everything he needed. Ghost never asked for more. Though if it was because he was pleased, it was too much or he'd only take what he was being given was a mystery.

He abused his prostate. Mentally tallied how many times he hit it dead on as Ghost's body betrayed him. Causing his hips to cant up for more or his body to thrash until he fell against the desk like his strings had been cut.

And then Soap felt the tell tale tightening around his cock. Rhythmic and still desperate. "You came?"

Ghost nodded against the desk but didn't show his face. The back of his neck was a bright red.

"So the dead can blush."

Soap sped up a little, focusing on his own pleasure, and Ghost would clench every time he went all the way in, and then he came too. Deep inside so Ghost would struggle to clean it out.

Ghost got up and got on his knees. Soap gave him his shirt back so he wouldn't be half dressed.

"My life is yours." Simon Riley mumbled to him and the look he gave him was the same dead eyed stare as always.

Soap smiled at him anyway. "Thank you. It's a gift I'll appreciate."

For a brief moment, there seemed to be something like contentment in Ghost's eyes before closing his eyes and starting his job of pleasing his Captain.

[vioartemis]

Madly in love

(Amber Freeman x fem! Carpenter! reader)

Summary: After being attacked two times by Ghostface, you find out your girlfriend is one of them. The moment you think everything is over, she talks to you, and the story take a whole new turn... a/n: In this it's not Amber who attacks in the opening scene, it's Richie (I know according to the timeline and all it's impossible but I didn't how to do otherwise TT) Request is here :)) hope that's what you wanted Warnings: blood, injuries, death (English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn't make sense TvT)

“Y/n can you try and convince your girlfriend to come over? I don’t like to be alone a night..”

“Well you’re not..? I’m here too”

“You know what I mean”

“No I don’t”

You took two plates out of the drawer and set them on the kitchen’s counter.

“Come on you don’t like it either. We get bored way too easily, Amber would find something fun to do” Tara said, filling two glasses of water

“You’re not wrong… I’m gonna try something”

You took your phone out of your pocket, turned around, took a picture of your upper torso, and sent it to your girlfriend.

Her answer was quick, as you expected.

“She's getting ready” you informed the brunette

“How did you- I’ve been trying for twenty minutes!”

“Let’s say I gave her two good reasons to come”

You winked at your sister as she opened her mouth wide, understanding what you did.

“Y/n!”

“What? You told me to convince her!”

“Not like that! Really you-”

You both jumped when the phone rang. Unknown number.

Tara answered.

“Hello?”

Everything seemed alright, so you went into the living room to grab some chips, texting Amber about the situation.

When you came back, Tara looked panicked.

“What’s wrong?”

She put the phone on speaker and showed you a video of Amber brushing her hair in her room.

“Oh hello there. You didn’t tell me your sister was with you Tara.”

“How do you know I’m-”

“I know many things about you, Y/n. To answer your question, I suggested we played a little game. Stab movies trivia. You wouldn’t want your girlfriend to die, would you?”

“Wait no! I’ve never seen these movies and neither does Tara! Choose something else, It Follows, The Witch-”

“Warm up question, who is the protagonist of the Stab movies?” interrupted the person on the phone

“U-uh…”

“Sidney Prescott! It’s Sidney Prescott!”

“Good, you see you know the movies. First question-”

“Wait we got it right! It should count!”

Once again, he didn’t listen to you.

“Who wrote the original book that the Stab movies are based on?

“It’s um the chick from tv!” Tara said

“‘The chick from tv’ is not gonna cut it, Tara”

“I-it’s Gale Weathers! It’s Gale Weathers you motherfucker!” you said, trying to call 911 at the same time, hands shaking in fear

“Correct. Amber might live to see the sunrise. Unless you finish typing 911, then she has no chance of survival.”

You froze, finger hovering over the last 1.

“Question two: Who played the dumb bitch at the beginning of Stab 1, who answers the phone and gets carved up by the killer?”

“Fuck you.” you spat

“Is that the answer you’re going with?”

Tara opened a new tab and Google the cast of Stab.

“A non-answer counts as a wrong answer. Time’s running out. Tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock..”

“Heather Graham!” Tara suddenly said

“Correct. You pulled that one out. Now for the final question: who was the killer in Stab 1?”

Your sister answered quickly.

“I know this one, you fuck. It’s Billy Loomis! I got you asshole!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Tara, but that’s just not correct.”

“What…?”

“The correct answer is Billy Loomis and Stu Macher. There are two killers in the original Stab.”

“No no we got it right! You said killer not killers!” you said

“Don’t play on words Y/n. I’m afraid someone’s got to die now.”

You felt your heart drop as a knife showed in the video. You didn’t think twice and grabbed a knife before running to the door.

“Y/n!”

Tara followed you, and just as you opened the door, let out a scream. A Ghostface was standing right in front of you. He tried to stab you, but Tara pushed the door on him, resulting in him just cutting your abdomen.

You help her close the door, punching him in the face so he backed up a little.

“Lock the door!”

“I’m trying!”

The blood on your hands made it difficult to press the buttons on your phone so you handed it to Tara.

Systems armed.

“The police are on their way asshole!” she yelled

All systems disarmed.

You looked at each other in fear. Tara pressed the button again.

Systems armed.

You backed up in the kitchen.

All systems disarmed.

Systems armed.

Then the landline rung again. You were the one who answered this time.

“Hello..?”

“Bonus question Y/n.”

“Please stop…”

You put him on speaker again.

“Do you think I could make it inside your house before you could rearm?”

That’s when you saw a dark silhouette behind your sister.

“Tara behind you!”

She didn’t have the time to move before the Ghostface grabbed her and sunk his blade into her stomach.

He threw her on the counter. You punched him as strongly as you could, but he was quick to grab your hair and slammed your head on the said counter. You felt your nose break on the spot.

You hissed in pain as he pushed Tara to the ground. She kicked him, only for him to break her leg right after. You took the nearest object, a coffee pot, and threw it on his head.

He grabbed your arm and twisted it harshly in the wrong direction, breaking it at the elbow, before sinking his knife in your stomach and pushing you on Tara.

You both screamed in pain and tried to reach the door. Ghostface stabbed you both at least 3 times, and when Tara turned on her back and held a hand in front of her, the blade passed through her hand.

You kicked him in his private parts, hoping it would hurt enough so you could escape before getting killed, but it only took him a second to stand up again.

You were less than thirty centimeters away from the door when he grabbed your feet and pulled back. You could see the police’s lights reflecting on his mask as he raised his knife, ready to kill you both.

<><><><> ♡ <><><><>

When you woke up, in a hospital room, you were surprised to be alive. You turned around a little to quickly, searching for your sister. She was in another bed beside you, already awake, in the phone with someone.

“Yeah okay of course…”

She turned to look at you and smiled a little when she saw you were awake. She took the phone away from her mouth.

“It’s mom. Do you to talk to her..?”

You shook your head. Tara pulled the phone closer to her.

“No Y/n’s not awake yet. …. Yeah I’ll tell her. …. Bye”

She hung up before turning back to you.

“How are we still alive..?” you asked in a weak voice

“I don’t know…” then, after a little pause “I texted Wes and the others, they should arrive soon”

Indeed, they arrived ten minutes later, all worried.

Amber rushed to you, concern written on her face, while the rest of them sat hesitantly around your beds, not wanting to hurt you by hugging you.

Your girlfriend wanted to take your hand, but noticed your broken arm and froze.

Before she could sit beside you, you asked her to help you move your bed next to Tara’s.

“It would be easier for you all to sit around us, and I’d like to be close to my beloved twin”

They helped moving the beds quickly, understanding your need to be close to Tara. Even though you were twins, you didn’t look much alike physically.

Amber sat on your bed next to you, her left hand making its way to your hair. You tilted your head slightly up so she could kiss you, which she did softly, before resting your head against her.

You talked a little, before your older sister came in, to your surprise, followed by a guy. Almost immediately, she knelt next to Tara and you.

"How are you feeling?" she asked

"You came.."

"Of course I came" then, turning to the guy "This is my boyfriend Richie”

You greeted him with a little smile, and so did Tara.

Sam introduced everyone to her boyfriend, before Amber spoke.

“Look guys, they are really tired. Maybe we should give them some space”

They all agreed and started to leave. Tara looked at you, seeking your approval to her silent question. You nodded slightly, understanding what she wanted.

“Not you Sam” she said

“We want you to stay” you continued

“Okay” Sam smiled a little “If it’s okay with you, I could sleep here tonight..”

“I’d really like that”

“Me too”

Everyone was gone now, except from Amber.

"Do have your extra inhaler?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine"

"Okay, be safe Tara…” Amber looked down at you “You too baby…”

She kissed you softly. Sam looked at you with wide eyes. Amber and you had been dating for three years now, but how could she know, as she’s been gone for five whole years?

“Call me if something’s wrong..”

“Will do”

“Okay, bye, I love you baby”

“I love you too”

You smiled at her before she excited the room, followed by Richie.

As soon as the door closed, you started to tear up. Both you and Tara.

<><><><> ♡ <><><><>

After Ghostface attacked you again at the hospital, you all decided it was time to leave Woodsboro.

"Can we at least stop at Amber's house? I have to say goodbye, tell her we're leaving..."

"Y/n, I'm sorry but it's just not safe"

"Why? You don't- you don't think she's the killer, right?"

"... I don't know..."

You looked at her in disbelief.

“She would never do that..!”

"Guys I don't find my inhaler..." Tara suddenly said

"Are you sure? I think I saw it before we left the hospital.."

You helped her search in her bag with your valid arm.

"I have an extra one at Amber's. We have to go pick it up, her house’s on the way”

Richie and Sam argued for a while, before he gave up and drove to your girlfriend's house.

"Welcome to act 3"

You were too shocked to say anything. Your girlfriend just shot Liv in the head and revealed herself as the killer in front of everyone.

They all started to run away, and you were about to do the same, but Amber grabbed your hand and pulled you into an empty room.

"Baby I- I'm sorry for everything... for lying to you, for hurting Tara, everything... He forced me to.. He said he would kill you if I said anything..!"

"'He'? Who? I don't understand I-"

"Richie! He's the other one..!"

She started to mumble nonsenses, completely panicked.

"Amber stop I don't understand anything- Amber! My love!"

You grabbed her face and kissed her to shut her up. When you pulled away, she looked at you, confused.

"You don't hate me...?"

"I should. I really should. My sister almost died twice, I almost died too, our friends.. our friends died. But I don't. I don't hate you. I am still madly, deeply, completely in love with you"

You felt her relax almost instantly at your words. She wrapped her arms around your waist and hugged you tight. You ran a hand through her hair.

"It wasn't me... The Ghostface that attacked you at your house.. It wasn't me.. I wouldn't have laid a hand on you.. I swear.."

"It's okay my love, you're okay..."

You pulled away after a moment. Amber handed you her knife and took her gun in hand. Before you could take the weapon, she was hit from behind by a crutch. She was so surprised she fell on the floor.

You didn't expect Tara to use her crutch this way, so it took you a second to react.

"Tara stop! It's not her fault- Tara!"

You grabbed her waist and dragged her away from Amber.

"What are you doing? Let me go Y/n! She tried to kill us! Twice!"

"I know. But it's not her fault I-"

"Not her fault? Y/n I know you love her but you can't find her excuses! She literally killed Liv in front of us!"

A scream came from the kitchen.

"Can we talk about this later? We need to get rid of Richie before someone else dies. I'll tell you everything after, but I need you to trust me for now"

She stopped struggling against you and nodded slowly. You let go of her and walked to Amber, taking the gun from her.

"Stay here, I don't want you to get hurt more"

"No I'm coming with you."

"No you're not. Call the police and hide. Please.."

She hesitated, but finally agreed and went upstairs with her phone.

You went to the kitchen, where Richie threatened Sam, Gale and Sidney. They must've arrive when you were talking with Amber.

"What took you so long?" he asked his accomplice

"They fought back"

Amber pushed you in a corner of the room, not too hard, scared she might hurt you. He frowned a bit. Shit, you thought, he's understanding.

You reached for the gun you hid behind your back, but Richie was faster than you and shot you in the leg. You dropped the gun and fell on the floor, holding your thigh.

Right after, Sam threw herself at Richie, who tried to shoot her, but only managed to shoot you again, in the stomach this time. Sam bit his arm and ran away from the kitchen, before he followed her.

Sidney grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed Amber when she tried to get close to you.

The next minutes were a little confused. You were bleeding on the floor, trying to recover, when you heard Amber screaming. That brought you back to reality pretty quickly.

You got up painfully, and saw Gale, gun in hand, ready to shoot Amber.

"No no no! I'm sorry about Dewey!"

"Fuck you."

Just as she was about to pull the trigger, you stepped in front of your girlfriend.

"What the hell? Move!" Gale said, pissed

Sam entered the room with Tara and looked at you with wide eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Sam-"

"Y/n you can't protect her this time! We all saw her!"

"I know but-"

"Move. The fuck. Out of my way." Gale interrupted you

"She's right, move Y/n." Sam added

"Can you listen to me for a second?!"

No one said a word, and Gale put the gun down with a sigh.

"Thank you." you stayed in front of Amber, just in case, and continued "I know she's one of the killers. But, he manipulated her. He groomed her into doing this. She's a victim too."

"She told you that?"

"Yes. And I believe her."

"Y/n for fuck's sake! She's lying again."

"I know her better than you. All of you. We've been dating for three years, and not once she lied to me. Not once she hurt me. Not once she raised her voice at me. Not once. So yes, I believe her. I love her. You have to trust me. Please..."

You were not one to trust someone without a good reason, and your sisters knew it. They looked at each other, and Sam sighed.

"I trust you"

<><><><> ♡ <><><><>

Eight months after these events, everything seemed back to normal. Your sisters didn't hate you for protecting Amber, even though she killed people. They even said they would try to forgive her.

When Amber knocked at your door that night, Tara was the one who opened the door.

"Y/n! Amber's here!"

When you arrived downstairs, you saw them hug. That made you happy.

"Where are you guys going?" Tara asked

"Can't tell you, it's a surprise"

Amber winked at you playfully when she saw you arriving.

"You're beautiful tonight baby..."

"You too..."

She was wearing a black dress with flowers on it, and a leather jacket on top of it.

"Have fun" Tara said, smiling at you

"We will"

You took Amber's hand before going out of the house.

"So, where are we going?" you asked

"Like I said, it's a surprise, so I'm not telling you"

"Oh come on!"

You pouted, but she didn't give up.

You walked for twenty minutes, before arriving to a house you had never seen before.

"What's that?"

"You'll see in a minute"

You climbed on the roof, where a telescope and picnic were waiting for you.

"Happy anniversary baby"

You had always dreamed of watching the stars with her. You talked about it many times, but never actually did it. It was the best gift she could've found.

She led you to the blanket on the floor, making you sit on her lap. You were quick to crash your lips on hers in a feverish kiss, locking your arms around her neck, her hands on your waist.

You made out for a while, until your lips were all red and swollen. Her lipstick was all messed up, and so was yours. You both laughed and tried to take the makeup off your faces.

After a minute, you reached in your pocket and took a little box out of it, which you handed to Amber.

She opened it, curious. It was a little black box, with a red rose on top of it, kept behind a plastic glass. There was a little drawer under it, with a necklace in it, with a heart shaped pendant.

"Baby..."

"Look in the little orb in the middle of the heart"

She was a little confused but did as you told. She gasped as she saw it. Inside the orb, "I love you" was written in 100 languages.

"Happy anniversary my love"

[mayflora-18]

Incorrect CoD Quotes #7

Sherlock, in response to being asked to sneak into Valeria’s house: Okay. Don’t worry, guys. I got your back!

*She steps behind Ghost*

Sherlock: From right here.

———

Laswell: Hey did you call General Shepherd a bitch?

Price: Yeaaahh! He changed the Wi-Fi password!

Laswell: You can’t be-

Nikolai: THAT BITCH CHANGED THE WI-FI PASSWORD!!!!

———

*Something bad and unexpected happens on a mission*

Nikolai: Why didn’t you tell me?!

Sherlock: Well, because I wanted us to fail.

Nikolai: 😑

Sherlock: OBVIOUSLY I DIDN’T KNOW!!!!

———

Graves: Hey, I always get the vibe that you, like, hate me or something.

Ghost: What?! Me, hate you?!

Ghost: …You’re right.

———

Soap: If I punch myself in the face and it hurts, am I strong or weak?

Ghost: Strong.

Gaz: Weak.

Price: A dumbass is what you are.

———

Alejandro: When I first met you, I thought you were weird and annoying.

Graves: …

Graves: And?

Alejandro: And you are.

———

Hadir: Sorry I’m late, I was… doing things.

*pounding footsteps can be heard from behind the door*

Alex, bursting through the door: HE PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKING STAIRS!

Hadir: Push is such a strong word. I prefer calling it … giving you a little nudge.

Alex: Oh I’ll give you a nudge when I shove mY FOOT UP YOUR ASS!

Price, covering Farah’s ears: Hey! Watch your fucking language in front of the president!

———

Graves: Yo, what’s that song that goes like, “Despacito”?

Alejandro: Despacito?

Graves: Yeah. What’s the name?

Alejandro: DESPACITO

Graves: …Yeah. What’s the name?

Alejandro, pissed: Dios mío, you’re an idiot!

Graves: Thank you! Alexa, play “Dios mío, you’re an idiot!”

Echo Dot Alexa: Ok *starts playing Despacito*

Alejandro: 😦

Graves 😎

———

Ghost: What happens to the car if you press the break and the accelerator at the same time? Does it take a screenshot?

Price:

Soap:

Gaz:

Roach, wanting to be a little shit: Ye-

Sherlock being done with life: No. That’s it, I’m driving.

———

Soap: Go to bed! It’s 3am. If you don’t you’re going to hate yourself in the morning!

Roach: Jokes on you, I’m gonna hate myself in the morning ✨REGARDLESS✨

———

Sherlock: I don’t want to be a person anymore.

Ghost: … What?

Sherlock: I’m tired of it.

Soap: 😥 Maybe we should talk about this-

Sherlock: I just wanna be a dinosaur.

Ghost:

Soap:

Roach: Me too!

———

*Sherlock walks into the rec room and drops her bag on the floor*

Sherlock: tEll mE wHy tHerE arE 7 BiLlioN peOplE On tHiS DAmN PlaNEt ANd NoT 1 pErsOn hAs A CrUsH On mE!? WhAt ThE HelL UNiveRsE?!!

Gaz, whose been pining for her since the day he met her: what about me 🥺

———

Roach, sleep deprived: All I want-

Soap: Oh no

Roach: -is for for someone to walk up to me-

Ghost: What’s going on now?

Roach: -look me in the eyes, put their hands on my face, and very passionately-

Gaz: Kiss you?

Roach: -twist as hard as they can and put me out of my fucking misery!

Price: Roach no

Roach: Roach yes

———

Laswell: John, aren’t you supposed to be on a Zoom call right now?

Price: I got kicked off already.

Laswell: Why! What did you do?!

Price: Well she said, “DoN’t GeT sMaRt WiTh Me!” and I said, “Then what are we paying you for?” and she did not like that!

Laswell: John that’s rude.

Price: …But I’m right on this.

———

Roach: Remember when you guys told me to go to the pharmacy?

Sherlock: *looks at Gaz before looking at Roach* Yess

Roach: Mmm they’re out of my ADHD medication for five days.

Sherlock: Oh my god-

Roach: It’s gonna be a fun week!

Gaz, already leaving the room: I’m going to my mother’s-

Sherlock, pissed that she would have to watch Roach by herself: What happened to “in sickness and in health”, motherfucker!?

———

Sherlock: I’m sorry guys… there’s nothing else we can do. Graves is dying, we’re gonna have to pull the plug.

Gen. Herschel Shepherd: Oh my god… Oh my god…

Soap: Can I do it?

Gen. Herschel Shepherd: What?

Soap: Can I pull the plug?

Gaz: Hey no! I wanna pull the plug!

Ghost: No fuck you! I get to do it!

Soap: This is bullshit! I wanna do it!

Price: NO! I-I’m the oldest, I should be the one to do it!

Ghost: I’ll thumb wrestle you for it.

Price: Fine, let’s go BITCHHH

Price & Ghost, hands together for thumb wrestling: 1, 2, 3, 4, I declare a thumb war!

Gen. Herschel Shepherd: Are you two serious?!

Price: YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE A CHANCE

Ghost: OH, YOU’RE GOING DOWN

Price: NOOO, NO, NO, NOO

Ghost: OHHHHHHHHHH

*Ghost wins*

Ghost: Yess

Price: NO

Ghost: yEsSSSSS

Price: DAMN IT

Ghost: Alright, where’s that plug?!

Soap: Where’s that plug?

Ghost: Where’s that mother fucking plug?!

Sherlock: Do you have ANY respecT?!

Ghost: No, I have 0 respect!

Soap: We have 0.

Price: We have 0 respect.

Gaz: I have nothing!

Gen. Herschel Shepherd: I can’t even believe this!

Sherlock: Yeah, me too. Alright let’s get this show on the road! I got some leftover lasagna at home, and it’s got my name on it!

———

Ghost: Good morning, everyone. God has let me live another day. And I’m about to make it EVERYONE’S problem.

Soap: Good morning to you too.

Price: 🤦‍♂️ I give up.

———

Alex: What do we do when we’re feeling sad?

Farah: Watch a murder documentary and plan out how to do it without getting caught?

Hadir’s soul in Hell: *scared shitless despite already being dead*

Alex: Jesus fuck, NO!

———

Soap: You guys won’t believe what just happened!

Ghost: What happened?

Soap: Some guy from Shadow Company wouldn’t leave Sherlock alone-

Nikolai, maternal uncle instincts kicking in: Excuse me!

Soap: -but she took care of it!

Price, to Sherlock: How’d you take care of it?

Sherlock: Simple. *clears throat* 🎶Row row row your boat, The fuck away from me, Felony felony just tried to test me, And I’m a cause a scene🎶

Nikolai, laughing: That’s my girl!