#my inbox is always a safe spot if you want to talk about him

[sehtoast]

How are you able to like Homelander and not condone his actions at the same time, without feeling crappy? This sounds accusing but I’m asking bc I’m struggling with it. I know ppl who do the same with characters, but I’ve had an unwelcome fixation on him come out of nowhere and I feel sick and guilty bc I feel like everyone will think I’m some kind of freak or something. I’m very much anti-sa and other gross stuff esp as a victim but I still feel like I’m being hypocritical or something. I’m sorry for the weird message but I feel like I’m losing my mind

The short answer is that he’s fictional.  Think of… I dunno, an antagonist in media of a different form (let’s go with anime).  I was a naruto kid growing up, so let’s use Orochimaru for an example.  My guy was on some fuck shit through the entire show. Snatching bodies, murkin’ Hokages, wild experiments, all that shit with Sasuke, and so on.  People still liked him regardless because he was a cool character despite the bad things he’s done.  Some people may have even found him relatable in certain ways.  I feel like it’s the same concept here.

You don’t have to feel bad about enjoying fictional characters, no matter how awful they may be.  At the end of the day, they’re fictional and their actions have harmed nobody in real life.  Their actions may mirror that which does harm real people, but they themselves have not dealt real harm to real people.  Enjoying them does not mean you condone their actions.

I’m also extremely anti-SA, and am a victim of it myself, but I still find a lot of love and appreciation for Homelander’s character– but this isn’t hypocritical.  My love for him doesn’t come from the fact he has perpetrated that act, nor should it come from that.  I love him as a character with the bottom line that he is… extremely complex.  

I’ve said it for years now, but I think Homelander is a compelling tale of the dangers of commodifying the human soul.  He is an example of how awful someone can turn out if you deprive them of humanity with the goal of creating a product.  People are not products, we are not a means to an end, and we certainly should never be treated that way. He was, and this is how he turned out.  He’s a take on the cyclical nature of trauma in a lot of really interesting ways as well.

I find him relatable from a standpoint of my own traumas and being transgender.  Episode four of s4 revealed that I have a jarring amount of trauma that mirrors his own to some capacity.  I’ve always suspected these things, and I’ve had headcanons since the first season, and having them confirmed reminded me just how much I’ve latched onto this character because of it.  Homelander experienced some degree of sexual abuse in the labs– and I wager there may have been worse than simply being called ‘squirt.’ Homelander was subjected to physical torture and locked in a room where his mind slowly fractured, all while being conditioned to never seek escape otherwise he’d be too devastated from disappointing the scientists or losing their ‘love.’ 

I have experienced SA, I was locked in my room with nothing as punishment (my 'bad room'), had very little privacy and next to no access to boundaries as a kid, I was put through physical pain very often by a sibling (my furnace), I was reared and conditioned to have a fear of disappointing others so severe it made my blood pressure drop into the danger zone a couple times as a kid– and still has similar effects as an adult.  I’d literally pass out, have panic/anxiety attacks, vomit, etc.  I also know what it’s like, as a trans man, to have been raised and reared for a life that was designed for me, but was not me.  I was lucky enough to find my way to the person I needed to be; Homelander has not and likely will not ever be able to do so.  In all of the aforementioned, I have a lot of empathy and compassion for him that combines with my fascination with his complexity.  There were a lot of things in my life that should have pushed me down the road to be an awful person, much like the things in his life did. But I had a handful of people to guide me toward better things.  He didn’t.

But I see myself in there nonetheless. Homelander was the first time I ever saw so much of my own trauma on display in a single character.  I’d love to hug the man and tell him he’s enough, show him the humanity he was and continues to be denied, and so on.  When I realized that means that I would, in turn, do that for myself if I only viewed myself through a lens that wasn’t my own, my life changed.  This character changed my life.  I know I thirst-post about him a lot, but my love for Homie runs a lot deeper than just finding him attractive, you feel?

A fictional character doesn’t have to be one of moral high ground or superiority for it to be okay for you to enjoy them.  You can enjoy characters who commit horrible acts. This does not make you someone who condones horrible acts.  I was initially pretty embarrassed to admit I like Homelander as much as I do, but I slowly realized that it does not make me a bad person and it should never be used as a gauge to find out how ‘moral’ someone is or not.  People like Hannibal Lecter, people like Thomas Hewitt, Joffrey, Albert Wesker, Cletus Kasady– any number of fictional characters who have an ugly record or have done horrific things.  We do not assume someone is evil because they like Hannibal, nor should we do the same for people who like Homelander.

At the end of the day, do what makes you happy. If exploring Homie is something you would have fun with, do it! Engage in media, learn tales of caution and tragedy– stories make us human.  You are not inhuman for enjoying Homelander and his tale.  In fact, I would argue you are very human because of it.

[theonottsbxtch]

COURAGE | OP81

an: i warn you ahead of time this faces the topic of substance abuse, if you or anyone you know needs help, please feel free to talk to me or here are links for who to talk to: united kingdom, united states, canada, europe. these are some of the links i've found, if you need help searching for one, my inbox is always open!

warnings: substance abuse, religous themes, mentions of death & hospitals.

wc: 4.6k

The church bells rang out over the small town of Willow Creek, their low hum rolling through the autumn air like a solemn hymn. Oscar stood at the edge of his front porch, adjusting the cuffs of his Sunday shirt as he waited for her. He always waited for her.

She emerged moments later from her house next door, pulling her shawl tighter against the chill. The hem of her modest dress caught the breeze, brushing against her knees as she approached. She didn’t say much, she never did on Sundays. Her gaze, solemn and steady, flicked toward the church steeple visible from the end of the street.

“Ready?” Oscar asked, though he already knew the answer.

She nodded, her braid catching the sunlight as they started down the gravel path.

The girl was his best friend, his constant, the one person in this quiet town who felt as real to him as the chipped paint on his window frame or the threadbare pews at St. Anne’s.

Their routine was always the same: church in the morning, quiet afternoons spent sitting on his porch or hers, talking about scripture or nothing at all. It was an existence that felt safe and good, built on a foundation as steady as the faith they shared.

But something had shifted in her lately. He couldn’t place it, not exactly. She still walked with him to church. She still bowed her head during the prayers, her lips moving silently along with the hymns. But her eyes were somewhere else, distant and restless, as though her thoughts had wandered too far and couldn’t find their way home.

“I heard Father O’Connell mention the youth retreat next month,” Oscar said, breaking the silence as they neared the church steps. “He said he’s hoping for a big turnout this year. Are you thinking of going?”

She hesitated. The pause was brief, but it was there, and Oscar caught it like a pebble in his shoe.

“Maybe,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. Then she offered him a faint smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ll see.”

Oscar didn’t press her. He never did. But as they entered the church, he couldn’t help but notice the way her hand lingered at the edge of her shawl, clutching it like a tether.

It started with small things.

Oscar didn’t think much of it when she skipped their afternoon talks one Sunday. Her mum had said she wasn’t feeling well, and that made sense. People got sick; life happened. But then she missed the next Sunday, too. And the one after that.

She stopped coming to the Wednesday youth group meetings at church, which was even stranger. For as long as he could remember, she’d been one of the first to volunteer for scripture readings or help organise bake sales. Now, her name wasn’t even on the signup sheets.

Oscar wanted to ask her about it, but he couldn’t figure out how. It wasn’t like they had a friendship built on confrontation. They’d grown up side by side in the same pews, their lives as intertwined as the ivy creeping up the churchyard walls. But it was a quiet bond, one where words weren’t always necessary.

That’s what made the silence feel so loud.

One Friday afternoon, after work, Oscar saw her for the first time in weeks. She was sitting on the front steps of her house, legs crossed, the heel of her shoe tapping a restless rhythm against the wood.

“Hey,” he called as he approached, hands in his pockets. “Haven’t seen you around.”

She looked up, her expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’ve been busy.”

Busy. The word felt wrong coming from her, like a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong spot.

“Your mum said you were sick,” he said, testing the waters.

Her eyes flickered, just for a moment. “Yeah. That too.”

He leaned against the porch railing, watching her closely. There was something different about her, but he couldn’t pin it down. Her braid was still neat, her dress still modest, but the way she sat—loose, almost careless—was unfamiliar.

“You coming to youth group next week?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

She shrugged. “Probably not.”

“Why not?”

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and he felt like she was seeing through him instead of at him.

“Just not my thing right now,” she said, and there was an edge to her voice he didn’t recognise.

Oscar frowned. “You’ve been going for years.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, standing abruptly. “People change.”

And just like that, she disappeared inside, leaving Oscar alone on the porch with the sound of her footsteps echoing in his ears.

Over the next few weeks, Oscar saw less and less of her. When he did see her, she wasn’t the same.

The first time he noticed the guy, it was at the diner on Main Street. She was sitting in a booth near the window, her back to him, but he recognised her laugh instantly. She wasn’t alone.

The guy was tall, older, with a leather jacket slung over the back of his chair. He leaned in close when he talked to her, his hand brushing her arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Oscar stood outside the diner for a long time, watching them through the glass.

When she turned her head and laughed again, Oscar caught a glimpse of her face. There was something wild in her expression, something unrestrained and electric. It scared him.

He didn’t tell her he’d seen her. He wasn’t sure why.

But the next Sunday, when her mum stopped him on his way to church, the worry in her eyes told him she’d seen it too.

“Have you talked to her?” her mum asked, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “She’s… I don’t know what’s going on with her. She won’t talk to me.”

Oscar didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sure it’s just a phase,” he offered weakly.

Her mum smiled, but it was the kind of smile people gave at funerals.

“I hope so,” she said.

The next time Oscar saw her, it wasn’t at church or on her front porch. It was behind the convenience store on Elm Street, just after dusk.

He had been walking home, the kind of mindless stroll he often took when his thoughts got too loud. The streets were mostly empty, the only sounds the faint hum of a streetlamp and the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes.

He heard her before he saw her. Laughter—sharp, jagged, and nothing like the laugh he remembered. It came from the alley behind the store, followed by the low murmur of voices.

Oscar turned the corner, and there she was.

She leaned against the brick wall, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. The glow of the lighter in the guy’s hand caught her face just long enough for Oscar to see the hollow beneath her eyes, the strange way her smile curled at the edges, like she wasn’t entirely sure it belonged there.

The guy was the same one from the diner, older and out of place in this small town. He said something to her, and she threw her head back in laughter, her voice ringing out into the quiet night.

Oscar froze. She looked so different. Her braid was gone, her hair loose and tangled, framing a face that seemed sharper, thinner. Her clothes were casual but careless, like she’d grabbed the first things within reach. She didn’t look like the girl he’d grown up with—the girl who bowed her head in prayer and scolded him when he skipped scripture reading. She looked like someone else entirely.

The guy noticed Oscar first. He smirked, nudging her with his elbow. “Friend of yours?”

She turned her head, her smile fading when she saw him. For a moment, something flickered in her expression—guilt, maybe, or shame—but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharper than he expected.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, his throat dry.

She rolled her eyes and took a drag from the cigarette, exhaling smoke into the cold air. “It’s none of your business, Oscar.”

“It is my business,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re my friend.”

She laughed, but it was a brittle sound, lacking any real warmth. “Yeah, well, friends don’t follow each other around like lost puppies.”

Oscar felt the words like a slap, but he didn’t back down. “This isn’t you,” he said quietly. “What are you doing with him?”

The guy smirked again, clearly enjoying the tension. “Relax, man. She’s fine.”

“No one asked you,” Oscar snapped, his voice louder than he intended.

The guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you two to it.” He handed her the lighter, brushing her fingers with his in a way that made Oscar’s stomach turn, and walked off down the alley.

She didn’t look at Oscar right away. Instead, she stared at the lighter in her hand, turning it over like it was a puzzle she couldn’t solve.

“I’m fine,” she said finally, her voice softer but still distant. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“You’re not fine,” Oscar said, his frustration bubbling over. “You’ve stopped coming to church. You won’t talk to your mum. And now you’re…” He trailed off, gesturing helplessly toward the cigarette still in her hand.

She sighed, tilting her head back against the wall. “I don’t need a lecture, okay? I get enough of that at home.”

“I’m not trying to lecture you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I just… I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

Her gaze flicked to his, and for a brief moment, he saw something raw in her eyes—pain, anger, maybe even fear. But then she blinked, and the mask was back.

“Maybe I’m tired of being the perfect little Catholic girl,” she said, her tone light but cutting. “Did you ever think of that?”

Oscar stared at her, searching for the girl he knew beneath the stranger in front of him. “This isn’t you,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

She pushed off the wall, brushing past him. “Maybe you never really knew me.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving him standing alone in the alley, the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air.

That night, Oscar lay awake, staring at the cracks in his ceiling. He wanted to help her, to pull her out of whatever dark place she’d fallen into, but he didn’t know how. She wouldn’t let him.

For the first time in years, he prayed not for himself, but for her.

“God,” he whispered into the stillness of his room. “Please. Bring her back.”

It became a pattern.

Oscar would see her slipping further away, each time a little less like the girl he had grown up with and a little more like a stranger. Sometimes it was behind the convenience store. Other times he saw her stumbling out of a car that didn’t belong in their quiet town, the headlights cutting through the dark as it sped off, leaving her swaying on the curb.

She wasn’t hiding it anymore.

When their paths crossed now, she barely looked at him. Her words, when she offered any, were short and cold, like she was daring him to stop caring. But he couldn’t stop.

So he prayed.

Every night, he knelt by his bed, his hands clasped tightly together, his eyes shut so hard it hurt. He prayed for her to come back, for her to see what she was doing to herself. He prayed for the strength to find the right words, the right actions, anything to pull her out of this spiral. But every morning, when he saw her again—laughing too loud, her eyes bloodshot and empty—it felt like no one was listening.

One night, well past midnight, there was a knock on his window. He woke with a start, his heart pounding, and stumbled to open it. She was standing there, her hair tangled and wild, her face streaked with something he couldn’t tell if it was makeup or tears.

“You need to stop,” she said, her voice slurred but venomous.

“Stop what?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“Praying for me,” she snapped. “I know you’re doing it. Just… stop.”

Her words stung, but what hurt more was the way she looked at him—like he was the enemy. Before he could respond, she turned and disappeared into the night, leaving him standing in the cold.

A week later, it was her mum who knocked—not on his window, but on his door.

Oscar opened it to find her standing on the porch, her face pale and drawn, her eyes red from crying. She looked older than he’d ever seen her, like the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders and wouldn’t let go.

“Hi, Ms,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

She didn’t move. Instead, she stood there, clutching the edge of her sweater like it was the only thing keeping her together. “Oscar,” she began, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know who else to come to.”

He felt his stomach sink. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s her,” she said, her voice cracking. “She’s… I don’t know what’s happening to her. She barely comes home anymore. And when she does…” She broke off, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Oscar didn’t need her to finish. He’d seen it all himself.

“I’ve tried talking to her,” Her mother continued, her words spilling out in a rush. “I’ve begged her to stop, to come back to church, to tell me what’s going on, but she won’t listen. She doesn’t even look at me anymore. And now…” She trailed off again, her shoulders shaking as tears filled her eyes.

Oscar reached out instinctively, placing a hand on her arm. “Ms…”

She shook her head, brushing his hand away. “I don’t know what to do, Oscar. She’s slipping away from me, and I can’t stop it. I thought maybe you could… I don’t know. Talk to her. Get through to her. She listens to you, doesn’t she?”

The desperation in her voice was like a knife in his chest.

“She used to,” he admitted, his throat tight. “But not anymore. She won’t let me help her. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so many times.”

Her face crumpled, and she let out a sob, covering her face with her hands. “She’s all I have,” she choked out. “It’s just me and her. I don’t know how to do this alone.”

Oscar hesitated, his heart breaking at the sight of her. He wanted to promise her that he could fix everything, that he’d bring her daughter back, but the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t know if he could keep that promise.

Instead, he did the only thing he could think of. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. She stiffened for a moment, then broke down completely, her sobs muffled against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his own voice shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, the house silent except for her quiet, broken cries.

When she finally pulled away, wiping her eyes, she gave him a look so full of raw hope it made his chest ache. “Please, Oscar,” she said. “Don’t give up on her.”

He nodded, though his heart was heavy with doubt. “I won’t.”

But as he watched her walk back across the front garden to her house, the weight of the promise settled over him like a stone. He didn’t know how to save someone who didn’t want saving.

So that night, like every night before, he knelt by his bed and prayed.

“God,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice trembling. “Please. Show me what to do.”

That night the ringing of his phone jolted Oscar out of a restless sleep. For a moment, he thought it was his alarm, but the screen glowed faintly in the dark: Unknown Number.

He rubbed his eyes and answered, his voice groggy. “Hello?”

The sound on the other end wasn’t words at first. It was crying—deep, heaving sobs that clawed at his chest before he even recognised her voice.

“It’s me,” she managed between gasps.

Oscar sat up so quickly the blankets slid off his lap. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she choked out. “I’m… I’m at this party, and I—I took something, and now I can’t—” Her voice cracked, and she let out another sob. “I feel so weird, Oscar. I feel like I’m dying.”

His heart dropped. “You’re not dying,” he said quickly, already grabbing his keys from the nightstand. “You’re not. I’m coming to get you. Just tell me where you are.”

She mumbled the address through her tears, barely coherent, but he caught enough to recognise the street. It was across town, the kind of neighborhood he tried to avoid.

“Stay where you are,” he said, his voice shaking. “Don’t move. I’m on my way.”

He hung up and bolted for the door, his chest tight with fear.

The streets were eerily quiet as he sped through town, the glow of his headlights slicing through the darkness. His mind raced faster than the car, flashing through every worst-case scenario he could imagine. He gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his foot pressing harder on the gas.

When he turned onto the street, he knew he was in the right place. Cars were lined haphazardly along the curb, some with doors still hanging open. Music blared from the house, but the sound was disjointed, chaotic.

And then he saw them.

A wave of people surged out the front door, spilling into the front garden and onto the street. They were shouting, laughing, some tripping over themselves in their haste to leave. Oscar pulled over and jumped out of the car, his heart pounding.

“What’s going on?” he yelled at one of them, grabbing a guy by the arm.

“Cops are coming,” the guy slurred, shaking him off. “Some girl OD’d, man. It’s bad.”

Oscar didn’t wait to hear more. He shoved his way through the crowd, pushing against the flow of bodies until he reached the front door. The smell hit him first—alcohol, smoke, and something sour underneath.

Inside, the scene was chaos. The music was still blaring, but most of the partygoers were gone, leaving behind overturned cups and broken bottles. He stepped over a pile of discarded coats and followed the sound of a frantic voice.

In the living room, he found her.

She was lying on the floor, her face pale, looking like nothing he’d ever seen before. A girl about their age was kneeling beside her, pressing her hands against her chest in a desperate rhythm.

“Come on,” the girl muttered, her voice shaking. “Come on, don’t do this.” She glanced up briefly, her phone pressed to her ear. “Yeah, I’m doing compressions,” she said into the receiver. “Please, hurry.”

Oscar froze for a moment, the sight stealing the air from his lungs. She looked so small, so fragile. Her hair was damp with sweat, her lips tinged blue.

The girl performing CPR looked up again, her eyes wild. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?”

Her words jolted him into motion. He dropped to his knees beside them, his hands trembling as he reached for her. “What happened?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“I don’t know,” the girl snapped. “She took something—pills, I think. Someone said it was laced, but I don’t know with what.” 

Oscar’s hands hovered uselessly over her, his mind racing. He didn’t know what to do. He’d never been trained for this, never thought he’d need to be.

But he knew he needed to do something, looking at the girl in front of him, he watched her hands and pushed them aside, continuing for her. 

“She went upstairs to take a phone call, walked back in and collapsed.” The girl sat back on her heels, then leaned forward to blow two breaths into her mouth. “They thought it was a joke at first, but it all got so serious all of a sudden.” Oscar continued the same rhythm on her chest, watching as the girl flexed her hands nervously. Underneath his breath, he was silently praying that someone was listening, because in the last couple of weeks he was beginning to lose faith. No one listened to him when he was desperate, begging for someone to save her.

“Stay with me,” the other girl murmured, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face. “Don’t you dare give up.”

The distant wail of sirens broke through the chaos, growing louder with every passing second. Relief flooded Oscar’s chest, but it was fleeting. He looked down at her pale, lifeless face and felt the weight of every prayer he’d ever whispered.

“God,” he said under his breath, his voice breaking. “Please. Don’t take her.”

The sirens grew deafening as the paramedics burst through the door. Oscar was pulled back, forced to watch as they took over, their voices calm but urgent as they worked to save her.

He didn’t realise he was crying until he tasted salt on his lips.

As they loaded her onto a stretcher and wheeled her out the door, Oscar followed, his legs unsteady but his resolve firm. He wasn’t leaving her—not now, not ever.

He watched them close the doors of the back of the ambulance and ran back to his car to follow them when he saw the girl weakly walk out of the house. He could have just left her, but she had just saved his best friend’s life. Instead, he walked back up to the house, hugged her and offered her a lift.

When Oscar finally got to the hospital, it was cold and quiet in a way that felt wrong, like it was holding its breath. Oscar sat in the hard plastic chair next to her bed, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tightly together. He had barely spoken to anyone since they arrived, giving only short, clipped answers to the nurses’ questions.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at her pale face, willing her to wake up. The IV in her arm looked too big, too intrusive, and the steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

Finally, her eyelids fluttered.

He shot upright, his breath catching as she groaned softly, her head turning toward him. Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused and heavy, but when they landed on him, recognition flickered.

“Oscar?” she croaked, her voice barely audible.

Tears sprang to his eyes, and he let out a shaky laugh that was more relief than joy. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice thick. He reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He never cursed. 

She blinked, her gaze shifting to the IV in her arm, the sterile hospital room around her. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked, his voice breaking.

She shook her head weakly, then winced. “I… I don’t know. I was at the party, and then…” Her voice trailed off, her brows furrowing as if the memory was too painful to touch.

Oscar leaned closer, his face inches from hers. “What were you thinking?” he asked, his voice low but trembling. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you? You could’ve—” He stopped himself, his chest heaving as he swallowed back the lump in his throat.

This wasn’t what she needed to hear.

She looked away, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to,” she whispered. “I didn’t think it would…”

Oscar let out a shuddering breath, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I lost you,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

They sat in silence, the weight of his words hanging between them.

A nurse came in not long after, checking her vitals and saying she’d be discharged soon. Oscar nodded numbly, his mind already racing.

When they stepped out of the hospital, the chill of the early morning air hit them both. He helped her to the car, her steps unsteady, and buckled her into the passenger seat. She leaned her head against the window, her eyes glassy and distant.

“I’ll call your mum,” he said, turning the key in the ignition.

“No,” she said quickly, her voice hoarse but firm.

Oscar paused, his hand on the wheel. “I need to tell her. I stopped the hospital from calling her.”

“Please, don’t,” she said, her voice breaking. She turned to him, her eyes pleading. “I can’t face her right now.”

He hesitated, the conflict written all over his face. “What do you want me to do?” he asked finally, his voice soft.

“Just drive,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

So he did.

They didn’t talk as the car rumbled down the empty highway. The radio was off, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of her shifting in her seat.

She didn’t cry, but her silence was heavy, and Oscar didn’t push her. He kept his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

After a couple of hours, her breathing evened out, and when he glanced over, he saw that she’d fallen asleep, her face turned toward him, her expression soft but exhausted.

He sighed, his chest aching with a mix of relief and sadness. He took the next exit and drove toward her house.

When they arrived, it was still early, the sky a pale gray as dawn broke. He parked in front of her house, then got out and walked around to her side. Carefully, he opened the door and unbuckled her seatbelt, slipping an arm under her knees and another around her back.

She stirred slightly as he lifted her, but she didn’t wake. Her head lolled against his chest, and he carried her up the porch steps and knocked softly on the door.

It swung open almost immediately, and her mum stood there, her face a mixture of worry and exhaustion. When she saw her daughter in his arms, she let out a strangled cry, her hands flying to her mouth.

“She’s okay,” Oscar said quickly, his voice gentle. “She’s just sleeping.”

Her mum nodded, tears streaming down her face. She stepped aside, and he carried her inside, laying her gently on the sofa.

Her mother sank to her knees beside her, sobbing quietly as she brushed the hair from her daughter’s face. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at Oscar. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

Oscar knelt beside her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “She’s going to be okay,” he said softly, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

They sat there for a while, her mum’s quiet cries filling the silence.

Eventually, Oscar cleared his throat. “Do you have a spare set of sheets?” he asked.

She looked at him, confused. “Why?”

“I’m going to stay,” he said. “Just for tonight. I’ll sleep on the floor. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Her mum nodded, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said again, her voice breaking.

Later, after setting up a makeshift bed on the floor beside the couch, Oscar lay there, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet now, her mum having gone to bed, but he could hear her breathing softly above him.

He closed his eyes and whispered another prayer, one of gratitude this time.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for giving her another chance.”

And for the first time in a long time, he felt like someone was listening.

the end.

[sillygoosealert]

I was so hurt after (https://www.tumblr.com/sillygoosealert/757389587337412608/stuipid-fucking-slut-i-hate-you) 🥹🥹, can you do a part two where reader goes missing after he left her but found unconscious/dead because of a reason (you could come up with one! :D)

AND ALSO, UR WRITING IS SOO GOOD, +1 FOLLOWER >.<

-🍞 anon (I will try giving you good requests >:)

I promise I won't kill myself, death is not my last resort

haiiii :3 so I'm making this part two but honestly, I might end up deleting both of the stories because I was in a bad place when I wrote that 😓 also..besides the other anon's rotting in my inbox until I respond..ur my first anon !! yippy !!

Implied Rape. You die, talks of being unsafe and how it feels to be assaulted

Love is a gentle thing, as is the innocence you once had.

It wasn't a gradual fruition to see that being a woman would change the reality of everything for you. They warned you to steer clear of dark spots and secluded areas and always be aware. The things events that were organized and reenacted are nothing short of gender-based violence.

You understood why you and many others were constantly warned, but experiencing it was so different and vile, something you should never have gone through.

Today almost didn't end with you dead, but you didn't listen to the one thing that was looking out for you- you. That day, your gut instinct felt something was awry.

The morning was fine. You got a quick kiss on Sukuna's cheek before running off to your garden work.

The garden is split into sections. Working in them isn't an issue- except the one furthest from the estate. It's where you are most likely to get harassed by other servants as it is where most people turn a blind eye to.

Your body physically would not go near it today, you just couldn't.

Maybe it's the black crow you saw out of the corner of your eye or the sinking feeling you got whenever you looked over in its direction, but you couldn't shake the uncanny feeling it was giving you.

But as a mouse gets caught in a mouse trap, you are lured into the back part of the garden when something that resembles a doe is staring right at you. Not wanting to pass up the chance to see something so pure so up close, you walk to it.

But as you walk towards the feeble deer, and it walks further and further into the now forest, you question if you really saw anything at all.

When the doe is no longer in sight, you think about how you got here. Is it too late to turn back? I don't want this anymore.

You don't get the chance to turn back, as a pair of hands are roughly groping you from behind.

What happened in the woods wasn't your fault. You were lured to the spot in the first place. Then, when you wanted out, the exit was no longer there.

It wasn't your fault.

When you don't show up to clean the garden, that one thing.

But your body was found before dinner, where the forest meets the garden, disrespected in horrendous ways.

When you mentioned the concern that you were being targeted by other peers, he recognized the validity of your perspective.

He knew you were being harassed, but to accept it was something he couldn't do.

It would mean several things to take action - the most significant being that you had a major influence on how he chose to address the situation.

The other is over half of the people working for him would be slaughtered if he honestly wanted you safe. That type of fear egged him on usually, with him being your savior at the end of the day.

Knowing the nature of these situations, something would have to be addressed sooner or later.

He was scared indigo at the thought of making that type of commitment to someone, but he wanted to for you.

The thought of death didn't scare him. He would tell death himself he wasn't afraid to die. However, the idea of you being beaten nearly to death, only to bleed out and perish, shook him to his core. This was something no amount of strength or intimidation could undo.

He doesn't find out about...your passing until he requests to see you after dinner.

The feeling that washes over him is indifferent, he doesn't know what he wants anymore, but he knows that he wants you back.

He will never know how the world could keep spinning after you were ripped away from his grasp, it should have been the end of the world.

You didn't want to die, you shouldn't have died.

That shouldn't have happened to you, you didn't deserve it.

Death is a pathic escape, I will not kill myself- not for my loved ones, but for me.

Songs referenced: Velvet Ring, The End of The World, N64, My Body's Made of Crushed Little Stars, Crack Baby, Anything.

[libraryledge]

Safe Haven (A Regulus Black Story)

A/N: This is my first time writing for Regulus Black. Thanks to a kind request in my inbox, I took on the challenge! This story is about the reader encountering a mysterious and distressed Regulus in the library and how the pair connects over books.

The library has always been my safe haven. A place of quiet and tranquility to collect my thoughts, to study, and most importantly to read. Books have always been my favorite companions. They offer me a chance to explore, learn, challenge my opinions, and above all travel to new places and meet new people.

Most of my classmates at Hogwarts preferred to spend time at the Quidditch pitch or by the lake. While I loved these places as well, I felt most at home with my nose in a book. It's not as if I was an extremely reserved person. In fact, once you got me going, it was hard to get me to stop talking, especially if the topic was a good book. However, most students preferred not to think about reading outside of class time.

Therefore, one could imagine my surprise when a scrawny boy with curly hair and deep green eyes was seated at my usual spot at the library table. He was intensely scrutinizing a book as if attempting to decipher an ancient riddle that was written amongst its pages. curiosity got the better of me so I walked over towards him. He was so engrossed in the text that he did not hear me approach the table.

“ What are you reading?” I asked, making him jump.

He gave me an annoyed look, and I could tell he was trying to cover up the fact that I scared him.

“What's it to you?” he replied with a look of displeasure.

I frowned, but I didn't let his cold demeanor bother me. I startled him after all, and he probably wanted some peace and quiet as he read. However, I was still dying to know. Hardly anyone came up to the library to read for fun.

“Well, I myself am a huge bookworm, and just by looking at the way you're scrunching your nose as you turn each page, I can tell it's something incredible,” I replied.

The boy scowled down at the book, avoiding eye contact with me as he replied, “ I am not scrunching my nose!”

I chuckled at his serious demeanor and said, “ Boy! You are grumpy. It's okay. You don't have to tell me.”

I was used to people not wanting to engage in conversations with me over my chatty nature, but something about this boy was intriguing. I studied his stern face for a second until it hit me.

“Black!” I exclaimed as he finally looked up at me with a perplexed look.

“What?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and confusion.

“Regulus Black! You're in my potions class! Turn around for a second," I said eagerly.

“Why?” he asked, his signature sour look plastered upon his face.

“Please just do it,” I said.

With a huff, he gave in and turned around ever so slightly. I studied the back of his head, specifically the thick dark colored curls.

“I'd recognize that hair anywhere!” I proclaimed, much to his confusion.

“I sit behind you in class,” I explained.

He scoffed and replied, “I know that,” sounding almost insulted that I implied that he didn't remember me.

“I'm glad to know that you do. You always have your nose in a book so I wasn't sure,” I replied.

A shadow of a smile crossed his lips as he retorted, “You're one to talk.”

“Hey!” I protested, but was equally amused as he was right. I approached him to talk about his latest read after all.

“So… what are you reading right now?" I inquired, trying my luck again as I took a seat next to him. Much to my surprise, he didn't protest.

“A Standard Book of Spells,” he revealed, almost reluctantly.

“Seriously?” I asked, not fully grasping how that could cause him to consume the pages so eagerly.

“What? Not interesting enough for you?” he asked, giving me a side-eyed glance.

“No, that's not what I meant. It's just that your eyes practically danced across the page as you read. I assumed that it was a wild fantasy or a thrilling romance tale,” I responded.

“Do I really strike you as the romance novel type?” he asked, following his brows in an attempt to mask amusement.

“I don't know. This is the first time I've heard you utter more than a sentence that involves you telling Barty Crouch to shut up.”

Regulus snorted “He deserves it. Besides, I don't mess with fictional stories. Reality is complicated enough as it is.”

He said this with the hearty sigh that led me to wonder what hardships he faced in his life. I didn't know much about the scrawny fellow, other than the fact that he came from the Black family, which was one of the most prestigious pureblood wizarding houses.

I knew he had an older brother named Sirius, who if he didn't share a physical resemblance to Regulus, I'd never have guessed was related to him.

Sirius was constantly goofing off with his Gryffindor pals James, Remus, and Peter, while Regulus kept to himself. This tended to make people hesitant to approach the brooding figure. Despite not knowing much about him, I always figured that the pressure of being part of such a prestigious family must be difficult. I didn't blame Regulus for wanting to avoid confrontation.

Studying him, I asked, “ So why the spell book?”

He took a deep breath and then exhaled, “I'm trying out some new charms. An experiment.”

“Really? Isn't that dangerous?” I asked him. “My friend Pandora is always tinkering with spells, and I'm terrified that she'll get herself killed.”

Regulus contemplated this for a moment. “Well… we've got to learn somehow. How else would someone know the truth if they don't bend the rules a bit? A person's got to leave their mark on the world somehow or it’ll leave a mark on them.” He tugged on the sleeve of his robe anxiously as if it held a secret he was trying to conceal.

“Okay. That's pretty insightful,” I replied, impressed as Regulus squirmed in his seat over my compliment. “Anything in particular you're trying to learn?” I peered at his book.

“Well, I overheard Severus Snape working on some incantations the other night and wanted to try them for myself, but the information in the books is quite limited,” he said.

“Snape?” I asked in surprise. He was an odd fellow who was somewhat of an outcast. Lily Evans seemed to be the only one he spent time with on occasion. However, rumor had it that they'd had a row, and since then, Snape had been acting more dark and mysterious than usual. In fact, word around the castle was that he was involved in the dark arts.

Regulus nodded. “He's a strange bloke, but he's wickedly clever. I'd love to be able to learn his way with magic.”

I frowned and said, “You need to be careful with that. Snape's been known to mess around with the dark arts. That's a dangerous route to follow.”

Regulus looked paler than usual as I said that. After a moment of uncomfortable silence he said, “Toujour pur.”

I arched and eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Always pure” he replied. 

I shook my head. “No, no, no. I know what it means. I do know a bit of French. I mean what do you mean by that?”

It's the Black family motto. We are driven by so-called purity. Pure ambition. Pure education. Pure sacrifice. Pureblood,” he said with a sigh. “I've always felt the need to strive for success and prove to my family that I fit their ways, and I'm not just some pathetic loser. Maybe learning those incantations could be my way.”

“You don't need to perform risky incantations to prove yourself to others, and if anyone expects that from you, then maybe it's time to distance yourself from them,” I replied seriously.

He sighed once more, and we sat in silence for a moment until he said, “My brother, Sirius moved out over the summer. He spent the school holidays living with his friend James Potter because he couldn't stand being around our parents.”

I mulled over his confession and replied, ”I'm so sorry to hear that. I had no idea.”

“How could you? It's not like I go around chatting things up with every witch or wizard I meet,” he replied sarcastically. I had to smile as I pictured the usually sullen Regulus gossiping with our peers.

“Sometimes I resent my brother for leaving me alone with our perfectionist parents. Other times, I envy him because he managed to escape their harsh expectations,” he admitted reluctantly.

I nodded sympathetically. I figured that Sirius and Regulus weren’t as thick as thieves considering how one spent his days prancing around Hogwarts while the other preferred the confines of the library. I just never knew the reason for their strained relationship.

“It does make sense. You crave the freedom that Sirius has, but you also feel the need to live up to your family's name,” I replied understandingly. “I know you said that you've grown apart, but I bet you and your brother are not as different as you might believe.”

He raised an eyebrow at me and I could sense the scoff that he was about to emit.

“I’m serious,” I replied, and he gave me a smirk.

“I didn’t know you were my brother,” he said with an amused look.

“Ha, ha,” I said, rolling my eyes at his attempt at being comedic. “Glad to see you can have a sense of humor.

He shrugged, “There’s a lot people don’t know about me.”

I nodded empathetically. “What I meant was that you both clearly have a shared trauma. It’s just the way that you cope that is different. Sirius seems to find creative ways to distract himself from your parents' pressure, and you seem to gravitate towards meeting their expectations.”

Regulus met my eye with an incredulous and reluctant look. “So, you’re a shrink too?" Apparently, I’d hit the nail on the head with my observation.

“What can I say?” It’s the Hufflepuff in me. All my loyalty and kindness must be put to use somehow,” I joked.

He nodded pensively. After a beat of silence, he said, “Thank you”, as he studied the book in front of him. I knew he was only using it to hide behind because his eyes were no longer dancing across the page.

“You’re welcome,” I replied, matching his now gentle tone.

Regulus eventually looked up at me, “I know I may come off as a prick to most people, but I’ve had a lot of responsibility thrust upon me recently. There’s also so much darkness surrounding me. I want to leave it all behind, but I feel like I don’t have a choice,” he said with a sigh.

I sensed that he was alluding to a specific situation, but I didn’t push for him to elaborate.

“I may not know everything you’re going through since you’re a man of few words,” I teased as I elbowed Regulus playfully, which prompted a smile from him. “But, it’s evident that you’re not all darkness,” I replied.

He scoffed, “I appreciate you trying to inflate my ego, but trust me, I’ve really screwed up a lot in my life.”

“Who says I haven’t? I could be a real whack job under this kind exterior. You don’t know where my loyalties lie,” I joked.

Suddenly, the color drained from his already pale face, and for a second, I thought he was going to be sick.

“What if you trusted someone that you shouldn’t have, and now there’s no way out, and I’m…uh…I mean you’re stuck,” he asked with a twinge of desperation mixed with painful regret in his gaze. In our short conversation together, I’d come to realize how much he spoke with his eyes. They communicated what his words could not.

Curiosity was killing me over what circumstances could have left such a grave mark upon Regulus, but I continued to push aside that inkling feeling.

“There’s always a way out. It may not seem that way in the moment, but there’s always an antidote to break a curse, metaphorically speaking of course,” I replied.

Regulus looked at me, and for the first time during our conversation, he held eye contact with me for more than a few seconds.

He swore under his breath. “I wish we’d had this conversation sooner. You could have talked me out of doing something stupid,” he said and then paused. “You’re really smart,” he said, finally breaking eye contact.

I waved off his compliment. “I’m definitely no Ravenclaw. Besides, I’m sure anyone could have told you what I just did.”

"But most won’t,” Regulus said matter of factly. "I appreciate the insight. You probably get it from all those books you’re always reading in class or in the library.”

I raised my eyebrows, surprised by his comment.

“What? I may be stupid, but I’m not oblivious. I’m more observant than most people give me credit for,” he replied with a smirk.

l felt my cheeks grow warm over the implication that Regulus found my habits interesting enough to take notice of.

“Anyway, I’ve talked more about myself than I’ve liked to, so I believe it’s only fair that I flip the table and ask you: what are you reading?” he interrogated with a playful twinkle in his eye.

“Oh!” I said with a chuckle. “The Tales of Beedle the Bard.”

“Fairy tales?" Regulus asked with a grin.

“Hey now! I didn’t judge your reading material, so don't judge mine,” I shot back.

“Me being judgmental? Never!” he teased, and I had to laugh.

“But in all seriousness, I’m surprised that someone as well read as yourself hasn’t read that one yet. Isn’t it like the first book wizarding families read to their children?”

I grew quiet for a second, unsure of how to respond.

At last I said, “The key word there is wizarding families,” I said and paused before continuing. “I’m muggle born.”

Regulus’ eyes widened at my confession. “What? You’re so knowledgeable about magic and the wizarding world in general that I assumed…” he began, his voice trailing off.

“There’s an old muggle saying about assumptions. If you assume, you make an ass out of you and me,” I replied, watching as his eyes shifted from surprise to almost bashful as he registered my words.

“You got me there. I'm sorry. Old habits die hard,” he replied awkwardly. “My parents have been trying to instill their pureblood propaganda into my head.” He tugged at his left sleeve nervously. “I do hope you'll forgive me for my ignorance.”

I gave him a small smile to show him that I wasn't upset.

“Apology accepted. Trust me, being called smart by a sweet guy like you isn't the worst thing I could be called as a muggle-born,” I replied.

Regulus’ pale face flushed pink, but whether it was over my compliment or the insult I was alluding to wasn't clear.

“Gosh! You've enlightened me in more ways than one today,” he replied, still slightly flustered.

I shrugged. “It's a special skill I possess,” I replied with a wink. “Anyway, I think I've kept you long enough. I should probably head up to the dormitory.

“You're leaving already?” Regulus asked in surprise.

“Wow! For someone who didn't want me around earlier, you're a little eager for me to stay,” I teased.

Regulus smiled down at his book, and I had to admit that he looked much more handsome with that expression instead of the usual scowl he wore.

“I mean we spent the entire time talking about my problems. Don't I at least get to know more about you?”

Before I could respond, a clock was heard striking outside in the Great Hall. “Like I was saying, I have to go. Cinderella needs to get home before the magic runs out,” I said in jest.

He gave me an inquisitive look, clearly not understanding my reference.

“Oh, right. I forgot. You don't read fairy tales, much less muggle stories,” I told him as he rolled his eyes good naturedly.

”Smooth,” he replied sarcastically as he gave me a small smirk.

“I'd be happy to share some with you if you'd like. Perhaps, we can meet here again tomorrow evening. Unless, you have a hex that you're researching so you can use it on people who annoy you,” I teased as I eyed A Standard Book of Spells upon the table.

He gave me an uncharacteristically sheepish look, which made me think that my flippant comment wasn't far from the truth. “Luckily, you haven't made it into that category,” he said with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Yet,” I replied with the same playful tone.

He snorted and asked, “So tomorrow then?”

“It's a date,” I replied, picking up my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard and giving him a final wave as I headed towards the library's exit. As I walked out, the last thing I saw was the small smile that crossed Regulus’ lips as he closed his spell book.

I didn't care what anyone thought. The library would always be my favorite place. People are often dismissive of those of us who love to read, but we tend to be the ones with the most interesting stories to tell. Surrounded by the shelves of fact and fiction, we find camaraderie and become open books. I couldn't wait to return tomorrow because no matter what secrets we possessed, the library was our safe haven.

A/N: I am super proud of this piece, so thank you again to the person who requested a Regulus Black story. Please feel free to request a topic you'd like me to write about next from my Masterlist (or another character or topic that interests you).

[rerefundslocals]

drunk on lust j.jk

Summary : drinking night with your best friend spills the truth upon secrets within you both.

>>paring - jungkook x fem!reader (she/her)

>>trope - best friends to lovers

>>genre - angst, fluff(smut in prt2)

>>warnings/tags - horny Kook, feeling and confessions, some tears, not many warnings as smut is in part 2.

a/n - soo this was supposed to be one thing but until I actually know how to put the keep reading thingy, my first will be longer, don't be shy, please help. But for now please enjoy and give feedback through reblogs or inbox me! Not proofread

~★~

"C'mon give me a kiss- infact make out with me and then make love with me. Pretty please ____."

"Jungkook, you drink too much beer. You're drunk." Internally his words make you hot inside.

Your feelings are kept at bay because you don't really want to ruin the ten year friendship with Jungkook. Though you always dream about having him in not so innocent ways, but that doesn't mean you don't think of the softer side of it.

Dreams of you holding his hand romantically in public, give him kisses when you feel like it and make love to him just like he'd said a minute ago,but it must be the alcohol in his system.

So you don't let it bug you too much.

"I'm not drunk, I seriously just want you." He smirks at you. It's a lazy seductive smirk, and definitely soaks your underwear right through. But your mind tells you it's inappropriate because the man is clearly drunk ; karaoke mic in his hand, the beat of the song acting as background music for this conversation.

Lips pulled into a light frown, you tell jungkook that, "it's time for bed, Kook."

"So yes? You'll make out with me and let me fill your cunt?"

"Jungkook, stop! Just stop it." You're hot all over. You wish he could stop putting ideas into your head and just call it night.

Just like every other night, the next morning is a harsh hangover and forgotten words.

"I'm sorry, love, I really am." He mutters, head thrown back with eyes closed, clear to see he I lulling to sleep.

"It's okay, Kook." You whisper.

You move closer to him out instinctively ; cuddling into his warm chest, your hand reaches up to his hair as you lightly brush his scalp.

Besides his words and his flirty demeanor, you nonetheless feel safe in his arms and everything almost feels the same, as if he wasn't talking about filling your cunt.

You irraduclly swallow your spit at that thought, focusing back on your mission, putting Jungkook to sleep.

Mission successful.

You know this because his snores and the burning candle are almost in sync.

You move even closer, if possible. Face tucked into jungkooks neck and his tattooed hand wraps around your waist, the blanket falling off your hips.

That's a normal night in Jeons household, the conversation long forgotten about and the mission is just sleep now.

~><~

The next morning is a cry for help as you turn to Jungkooks empty spot on the couch.

You can hear him throw up in his bathroom, the sounds making you jump off the couch to help your best friend.

Sliding onto your knees, next to Jungkook, you bunch up his hair in your hands allowing him more space to throw up ; your head is turned to the side as you avoid the smell of black noodles and beer.

"Holy shit." Jungkook, now leaned up against the wall mutters as he removes himself from your body.

"You okay, Kook? That was pretty bad." You ask.

He nods at you, simply standing up to flush the toilet and you feel dismissed as he walks out on you,not even muttering a thanks.

You wonder if it's still the hangover making him behave like that. It could be. The alcohol can't possibly wear off that quick.

That's what you tell yourself 3 hours later, sitting in jungkooks bed, cleaned up and feeling fresh as ever.

Except Jungkook hasn't spoken to you the whole day, only when he asked what you wanted on your pizza.

He is currently sat by his gaming setup, dressed in his black Nike tech, paired with socks and slides.

Most importantly, his incredibly sexy glasses.

You snap out of your sick thoughts as you stand up from the bed to finally get down to the bottom of this.

"Jungkook, can we talk?" You ask behind him.

He ignores you. As expected. He only responds to his teammates on the other side, shouting over at them to 'take cover'

Sighing with a prominent frown on your face, you shuffle on your feet, feeling really really sad. "I'll go home then. Goodnight." Despite him ignoring you, you'd never miss the chance to kiss him goodbye.

So you do that, leaning down to place a peck on his toned cheek.

Grabbing your duffel with a weight of a mini fridge, you start packing in your dirty laundry and other essentials you had left out in Jungkooks room, tant you had planned to keep for the whole week you were spending with him at his apartment.

But not anymore, you guess. The guy doesn't even want to talk to you.

"Where you going?" Pulled out from packing, you look up at Jungkooks hovering body over his nightstand, where you stand.

"I figured you didn't want me here, so I'm just leaving." Your response is straight forward.

"Oh, who said that?" Jungkook chuckles. For the first time today.

"I dont need to hear it from you. I can see it. Ever since this morning! You say different shit the night before but you're a different, bitter person the next day!"

"So what___ you want me to repeat the shit I said? I know why I did this. I figured you were uncomfortable so I gave you space." Almost shouting in response, Jungkook keeps his cool, his voice at a lower bass so he isn't scaring you away.

"You what-? I never once felt uncomfortable. I wouldn't have laid up with you or tried to help you if I want fucking uncomfortable, Kook." By the time youre done, the room is dead silent. It's just you and Jungkook locking eyes. Difference is yours are slightly watery, the tears threatening to fall.

At the Crack of your voice, you speak up, "I have feelings for you, Jungkook. What you said last night was under the influence of alcohol so I figured it meant nothing. And it probably still doesn't." You pause.

"You don't have to reciprocate my feelings, if it makes things awkward,I'll leave. I really am sorry that things turned out this way." When done with you mini speech, you turn away from him, continuing to pack.

He so then starts, "look, I...have feeling for you too and how I went about wasn't the best way. Yeah sure I was drunk and said some sexual stuff, and I do understand now that I should've been straight forward but you wouldn't believe me anyway. So yeah, ____. I feel the exact same way." He finishes.

You both stare into each other's eyes, shock in yours and hope in his.

"You really- really mean that?" You carefully ask. Not trying to ruin anything.

His lips lift in anticipation. A loving smile. "I mean that. Sorry it took so long. "

"It's okay. I kinda liked what you were saying." The last sentence was meant to be playful and Jungkook catches on, as his lips lift into a smirk.

Walking closer to you,hands in his pocket, and nose on yours. He whispers in question, "wanna make it come true?" You nod at him.

"I do."

~♥︎~

Part 2 here

[elysia-nsimp]

Well. Saw this blog and I've grown curious about it. Saw requests are open and also you haven't writen anything for Savanaclaw and other dorms so... Yeah I'll shoot my shot. Can you do jealousy headcanons? (Mainly for Leona but Malleus,Vil and Azul too if you're okay doing multiple characters in one post). Just y'know the bois feeling someone is becoming too touchy or getting too close to their S/O (even if said S/O wouldn't change them for anyone else obviously). Okay thank you,have a lovely day <3

Hi!! I just got around to actually working on the few requests in my inbox, so thanks for your patience Anon ^^

I’m nervous about my ability to write Leona, but I’ll do my best !!!

Contents: lack of COMMUNICATION (Azul, Leona, Malleus), insecurity (Azul), possessiveness (Malleus), reader’s gender or pronouns are never mentioned.

Leona

Initially, Leona would start shutting himself off from you.

Suddenly, he’s way more distant and guarded when you’re around.

If you don’t talk to him about it first, and whoever he’s jealous of gets closer to you, that’s when he jumps back in

NOW he’s trying to prove that he’s BETTER than whoever he’s jealous of via leaning against you, buying you things, draping his clothes over you, etc etc.

He WILL NOT communicate his feelings I’m sorry, you’re gonna have to pry it out of him

Good luck 👍

Thanks @thesunshineriptide for basically doing this one for me I got. very stuck

Azul

For the most part, Azul would act unfazed by someone getting too close to you… at least, on the outside.

Inside? He’s both a mix of angry (at them, not you. Never at you.) and worried he’ll lose you.

Even if you don’t notice it, the twins certainly do.

They know him REALLY well, so they see right through that disguise.

If you don’t notice, the twins will probably hint at it until you catch on.

Either way, once you approach Azul about the situation, he seems… panicked? Like, he will deny feeling jealous for a few minutes.

When he stops denying it, it’s clear he’s holding back tears, not wanting to seem like a fool in front of you.

You assure him you love him, you wouldn’t trade him for the world, and if he’s ever feeling insecure, to please talk to you so you can assure him again.

He REALLY appreciates this, more than he can put into words.

He apologies for his silly concerns, to which you tell him that having worries isn’t silly of him. If it’s bothering him, he should be able to feel safe enough to talk about it.

If it ever happens again, Azul is gonna do his best to talk to you, rather than bottling it up.

Vil

Vil is extremely confident in how much you love him. He wouldn’t be dating you otherwise!

However, sometimes concerns still arise… like now!

He takes notices to how close you are to a friend of yours, and suddenly the worry that maybe he’s not affectionate enough with you crosses his mind.

He’s also a tad jealous that they get your affection and he doesn’t. At least, in that very moment.

It doesn’t take long before he approaches you during your down time, asking if he could tell you something.

He takes your hands in his, admitting he’s just a liiittle jealous of your friend, and asks if there’s something missing in your relationship with him.

You tell him you love him just the way he is, and he doesn’t need to change. You assure him you’re just friends with the person he saw you with, and they’re just a hugger.

He’s relieved at this and offers you a kiss, thanking you for listening to his concerns.

He WILL offer you more hugs though. Better safe than sorry!

Malleus

It is… BLATANTLY obvious when Malleus is jealous.

Not only is Lilia always chuckling under his breath whenever Malleus spots you with your affectionate friends,

But he becomes SUPER possessive over you.

You’ll be talking with your friends, then suddenly BOOM! Malleus hugging you out of nowhere.

He shows up unprompted to your dorm just to snuggle up next to you.

He’s quieter than usual, which makes it easy to conclude he’s in a bad mood.

When asked, he simply responds with “Is my love not enough?”

…Ooooohhhh he’s jealous. That makes a lot more sense.

You squish his cheeks and tell him that YES his love is enough, you just have different relationships with your peers and their affections.

He asks if he needs to be more physically affectionate with you, to which you tell him that you wouldn’t change him. It’s entirely up to him to decide that, to which he promptly decides you’re coming with him to cuddle

He’s still lowkey jealous when he sees others getting too close to you, often appearing and hugging you to remind them to not get too touchy feely with HIS Child of Man, but he trusts you a ton and believes you when you say you love him.

——

Thanks again to my buddy Howl for. Basically doing Leonas for me. Lol I’ll work on studying his character more so I can better respond to requests for him. Hope you enjoy this ^^ Have a lovely day yourself Anon!!

I’m still working on formatting for my posts lol, maybe they’ll be prettier one day

[rewritingcanon]

what do u think of the portrayal of harry and ginny in the cursed child (i feel like it's so out of character, especially for harry) also that he works at the ministry and that ginny gave up her quidditch career (same goes for harry)

alright ive had this in my inbox for so long because i wanted to do this ask justice so i really hope that anon is still around to read this. in saying that harry was ‘out of character’ in hpcc, i assume you’re talking about how he was a bad/flawed father, as MANY fans have argued the same. so i will address that first and then i will talk about ginny and hinny’s careers.

disclaimer: when i say “you” im not talking specifically about anon but about fandom.

harry potter vs fatherhood

harry’s whole life resolved around being the chosen one and the prophesied saviour of the wizarding world. it was either being The Hero or being the unwanted, abused and scorned freak living with the dursleys. when thats your home life, then you tend to cling on to anything that is an escape from that— and in harry’s experience that was hogwarts.

if you really think about it, hogwarts was very nasty to harry as well. he was always getting picked on or bullied or in some life threatening danger that he got blamed for half of the time— but because it was better than living with the dursleys, his mind idolised it as a safe haven.

harry also reflects this idolising behaviour onto parental figures, especially paternal figures. he doesnt actually know his parents, only has an ideal of them in his head that was constructed as a coping mechanism to the abuse and neglect he went through at home. he projects The Perfect Father onto every one of his paternal figures (i think the only exception to this is arthur but i mayyy be wrong)— sirius and dumbledore are the biggest ones that come to mind, even though sirius only knew him for two years, and dumbledore would manipulate and use harry for the betterment of the world, which is unlike a parent who would put their child’s needs first (harry did not recognise these issues at length at the time as he was used to the idea of self sacrifice and probs understood that it came with the territory of being The Hero). harry even projected his father onto himself in PoA and nearly died from it.

in saying this, its reasonable to argue that there’s a disconnect with harry and the idea of what a good father actually is. this is challenged in the books itself (with SWM, harry seeing that james was not the Perfect Man he built up in his head), but this is challenged the most in the cursed child.

throughout the play, harry acts as the personified ideal he grew up with. easygoing, confident, wise— when in reality he is the opposite of those attributes and albus can see right through it (ginny says this to harry in the play, i would find the line but alas, im on the train rn). hes not easygoing or confident— he’s fearful that he doesn’t know what hes doing or how to be a father, and hes scared not knowing makes him a bad father. hes acted out in fear multiple times— the biggest moment is when he bans albus from seeing scorpius to keep him ‘safe.’ he has constant nightmares about his trauma as a child when living with the dursleys and not having the stability or love he craved. his ‘wise’ advice is not applicable to his children because he is harry potter, The Hero, and they are just normal kids. this is why albus and harry get on each others nerves so badly— because they are constantly stomping on each others sore spots by accident. albus doesn’t appreciate the facade that harry tries to uphold, and harry doesn’t understand why— because he’s projecting that ideal onto all of his kids, and if it works for james and lily (presumably), why doesn’t it work for albus? harry would’ve done anything for a father figure like himself!! there must be something wrong with albus!! (🙄)

now The Blanket SceneTM is very controversial and pissed off a lot of longtime fans into denouncing the entire play as canon. ive talked about it at length and since theres more to discuss in this post, i will shorten it down as best i can for you:

as a way of bonding, harry tries to give his precious blanket to albus. he believes albus may be more like him and may be able to understand the sacredness of the present unlike his siblings.

unknowingly, harry is still projecting his ideals onto albus. the blanket is only so extremely precious to him because it represents his parents, who he still views in an idolised light. therefore the blanket is the ideal.

albus scorns this ideal so he scorns the gift. however, because hes a confused and possibly depressed fourteen year old, he doesn’t communicate the rejection of this in a healthy way and basically insults the blanket by calling it old and mouldy and comparing it to james and lily’s presents, which outwardly could make him seem like a brat.

by attacking the blanket, he attacks harry’s parents and the ideal. and harry is very sensitive about this

albus then accidentally triggers very central fears surrounding being an orphan and being a father when he says “i wish you werent my dad”

harrys first thought is that albus wants him dead. at this point, hes stopped listening to albus trying to explain himself as he’s already triggered, so he’s acting in complete defence when he responds “sometimes i wish you werent my son”

this was said with the intention to hurt albus, it was a mindless act with one goal. saying this is out of character for harry is ridiculous, because he’s done the exact same thing in the books multiple times to the people he loves.

another important note: these characters trigger each other accidentally. the intent to connect is there, but there are deep seated issues on harry’s side that was never confronted leading to these issues. and as albus is a young angsty teen who does get bullied and is a little self-centred (again, very normal for a 14yo), he can’t really communicate these issues to harry effectively (harry being dismissive of the bullying (that he believes is normal for hogwarts students) albus goes through doesn’t help the situation either), leaving harry stumbling in the dark and further emboldening that The Perfect Father he imagined as a child may not exist.

ok that wasnt very economical but anyways! those are the issues! what happens next is harry spiralling and confirming those fears, being forced to confront them and deal with them, and then the steps toward healing his relationship with albus.

im not defending how harry treated albus (dismissing his bullying, lashing out, the enmeshment abuse) but offering insight and trying to explain that he was certainly in-character. i think people simply had an emotional reaction to seeing their loved character being very realistically flawed, and decided they didnt like it without doing much analysis as to why harry was acting the way he was. trauma is very complex, and theres no expiry date for it if you simply refuse to confront it or heal.

a lot of harry’s journey with interrogating the Perfect Father concept was to confront and acknowledge his inner child. he has to recognise his childhood for the childhood it was without the flashy titles or impressed ideals. the confrontation with dumbledore is the pinnacle of it— harry idolised dumbledore as a central father figure, and he realised when confronting the portrait that his relationship with dumbledore was much more complex and nuanced than he originally thought. suddenly dumbledore ceases to be an ideal, and harry sees him for the man that he was: conflicted, more uncertain in his own choices than he let on, heartbroken and self-sabotaging.

when harry presents himself at the end of the play to albus, he presents himself as human— an escapist, unsure in his decisions, insecure, and scared of the dark, small spaces and pigeons. and albus appreciates the flawed, real version of harry. those expectations and ideals that albus struggled to uphold in the face of harry’s projecting simply disappear, and he finally feels like he can adequately be harry’s son just by being.

another less obvious moment that shows this, is how harry and delphi mirror each other. delphi is the more extreme version of this— she is completely deluded in her worship for a father she never knew, so desperate for the love and respect shes built up in her mind that she’s dedicated her life to it and feels empty without the ideal to go off of. its why harry defends her when albus asks him why they shouldn’t just kill her— because hes the only one who understands the pain of being an orphan, living in an abusive household, dreams of ‘what ifs’ and what it can do to a person.

whats important to take away is that harry and albus love each other immensely, which is why they are able to turn over a new leaf at the end. it speaks of incredible strength on albus’ half, and i really want to stress that albus LOVES harry, because i see so much content about him straight up butchering or slandering harry when that is sooo not them!! if albus saw the way some of yall were misinterpreting his relationship with his dad he’d be livid. whether or not you would do the same in forgiving harry is irrelevant— albus has always wanted to have a good relationship with harry and the same goes both ways. people hurt each other, sometimes egregiously so, but when one promises change and is serious about it, than chances are there will be change. this is especially so in the case of family.

ginny weasley vs age

what is paradoxical is how self-centred harry is, despite also being very willing to sacrifice himself for other people. albus possesses a self-centredness similar to him. harry is so caught up in his own world and comparing it to albus’ situation, and vice versa. ginny is normally the middle man who can see both harry and albus for what they are and the individual worlds they inhabit, and tries to communicate effectively between them. the play mostly revolves around harry and albus, so what i’ll have to say for her will not be as in-depth.

short answer: ginny matured with age. she is probably the most mature character alongside draco, although draco does let his emotions get in the way at times (funnily enough i think this is why ginny and draco get along so well in the cursed child and are able to recognise each other for who they are). she was very brash and courageous and wonderfully chaotic in the books, but she was also blunt and impatient, which is not something thats presented in the cursed child. instead, she is VERY patient and communicates extremely well, being able to navigate both harry and albus without prodding their weak spots like they do to each other.

she offers her own experiences to albus as her own experiences, not projecting them onto him as an unequivocal truth. this can be seen in how she opens up to him about how she was exploited by tom riddle, and she lets albus draw his own comparisons to himself and delphi without pushing his experiences into a box.

her relationship with harry is interesting, because she is the only one who sees him for him and the only one that harry’s not bothered by when she makes honest judgments on his actions. he’s only okay with her seeing him for the flawed man he is. she doesn’t make him feel defensive, nor does she make him feel demonised for not knowing how to parent albus, or for messing up with him (though she does call him out when he is in the wrong, something her younger self would be quick to do too). one of the most heart wrenching scenes is when ginny blows up at harry and really screams at him about albus being missing and him being self-centred about it, making it out to be about himself and his issues surrounding fatherhood. despite this, harry does not get defensive— which shows that he trusts even her negative judgments of him because she knows him so well (very very similar to the library scene with scorpius screaming at albus over his self-centeredness as well btw).

she still possesses key qualities from her younger self, she’s just ironed out the rougher ones as she’s grown— she’s still impossibly brave, fiercely loyal, extremely devoted to those she loves and also very logical. you can tell harry and albus are more emotional than she is, which is part of the reason why she is able to construct her points so effectively. she puts her logical thinking to good use in emotional situations. i think people are forgetting that people aren’t typically going to be the same as who they were as teenagers.

why has ginny been able to grow so much in comparison to harry? because she’s recognised what she went through as a teenager and made peace with it. you can see it in the way she freely offers her own experiences about it. she’s been able to build on top of what she went through in a healthy way, and was able to experience real, healthy change. and she is so much wiser and kinder for it.

hinny vs their careers

first i’ll talk about harry because i think i have more stuff to go off of with him.

we’ve already established that hes The Hero first and foremost. after he fulfilled the prophecy and saved the world i dont think its such a stretch to argue that he may have needed another similar purpose to latch onto, and that being an auror granted him that. quidditch was fun for him, but it couldn’t give him the same purchase that being an auror could. heroes dont play quidditch, they save the world. the same could be said for neville and ron, who were also aurors at first. was it the healthiest road to go down for harry? i dont think so, but considering his characterisation in the cursed child, i think it works. ron ended up quitting to be a father, neville ended up quitting to focus on his real passion (herbology), and harry continued to cling onto The Hero image he’s used to presenting. yes, the ministry was impossibly corrupt and worked against him in his youth, but to harry that could’ve served as more of a reason to change the institution from the inside. this, i imagine, was most definitely the case with hermione, who was always an idealist.

that being said, i don’t think continuing being an auror is such a great idea post-hpcc. he at least needs a break in order to continue his job in a healthy manner and not misconstrue his identity with it.

in terms of ginny, i don’t believe she’d still be playing quidditch in her 40s. if you think about real athletes, very few of them continue playing professionally in their 40s (i think the average age is 34 but i may be wrong), especially after birthing three kids. we dont know much about her retirement, but there are many reasons one can assume ginny retired for, kids and/or age being the most reasonable deduction. its not so much a question of characterisation but more about the reality of having to give up your passion earlier than most if its sports.

despite retiring, its clear ginny is still very passionate about quidditch as shes still working within the field, just not playing the sport professionally anymore.

[yeahspider]

SWEET LIFE

A/n- this is so self indulgent. like seriously. maknae line x f. reader fluff yes plz! might get a hyung line version bc I like the concept (maybe if yall want it) but this is just a vibe so vibe with me. nsfw (weed mention) . enjoy and feel free to visit my inbox as I am taking requests. <3

Your apartment was a little crowded today. Considering it was everybody's off day. The boys decided to spend most of it at your place. Your apartment for them was a safe haven away from prying eyes and demanding schedules.

You didn't mind having them all over as you hated when you were alone. The noise they brought provided you a piece of comfort. After grueling rehearsals all week and your never-ending day job, this was a much-needed moment of peace.

“Someone take the scissors out of Jisung’s hand thank you very much!” you say as you prepare yourself for the task of taking down your braids. Your next appointment is in the upcoming week and you wanted to give your hair some time to breathe. With the length they're at, it was going to take a while. But of course, your boys are ever excited to help you out. Well most of them.

I feel like you’re scamming me babe.” says Seungmin as he grabs the scissors from Jisung. No one wanted to risk your wraith if he cut too high.

"I don't know what are you talking about Minnie I'd never scam you beloved," you say in your defense.

"yeah because five dollars is a completely reasonable nonscamming price," he says with a smile. Taking your braids gently out of the bonnet you had them in. Seungmin didn't want to pull on them if he could help it.

Jisung, now scissorless, took a seat beside you on the floor. Setting the blunt wraps on the coffee table in front of you. Preparing to roll for you and himself.

"I wish you would let me help more," he said with a pout on his face. You wanted to kiss it off him.

"you are helping sungie your presence is enough. It keeps me calm. Plus no one else rolls a blunt for me as good as you do." you comfort me as you kiss his now smiling lips. That seemed to satisfy him enough as he started the rolling process.

Felix came bounding into the living room from his napping spot in your room, flopping himself on the couch and picking up the remote to the TV. Channel surfing for something interesting to watch.

"Ugh, nothing is interesting to watch on TV. Felix complained while sliding down the couch to the floor as if he was melting in boredom.

"You could always just hook up the game and play Mario Kart or something. Go see if one of the boys wanna play with you," you suggested. Smiling at his antics as he crawled across the floor to give you a kiss. "You always have the best ideas, babe." He said as he practically skipped out of the room. Making your face flush at his praise. Just waving it off as Jisung teased you for your reaction.

A soft moan left your mouth as Seungmin got to the root of a braid. His hands gently unbraiding and giving your scalp a little rub to loosen up the tension. His hands felt so heavenly on your head after the rough week you had.

Felix took his time dragging a sleepy Jeongin into the room. It seems as if he found his gaming partner, although unwillingly. Going straight to the TV to set everything up, meanwhile, Jeongin sleepily made his way to you. Placing his head in your lap as he pulled himself closer to your stomach. You just laughed softly at his cat-like antics. Reminding you of a certain someone.

"Tell Felix to let me sleep." Jeongin groaned. His warm breath hits the exposed skin on your stomach. Hands hin his hair as you stroking softly.

"Now you know once Lix has his mind set on something there is no telling him anything." you comfort the boy.

"But I'm so tired and you're so warm and comfortable Don't make me go over there to that heathen."

Felix can get kind of crazy while gaming but before you could even suggest a solution the sunshine boy dragged the sleepy one out of your embrace. A groan erupts from the latter. There was no saving him now.

An object in front of your vision distracted you from the two gaming boys. It was the blunt Jisung rolled especially for you. To take the edge off a rough week. Encouraging you to take a hit he placed it right between your lips. Murmurung a "There you go. good girl." as you inhaled. Normally you would correct him for goodgirling you but today you didn't care. So you let him get away with it. Plus he could roll one hell of a blunt. And it was kind of hard to be cross with his hand on your thigh and Seungmin'd in your hair. In fact, you were quite content.

"Chan texted he and the hyungs should be home in a bit," Felix said from in front of the TV.

"Good, that's just enough time for Jisung to roll another one," you suggested. Tugging on the hem of his shirt. Maybe you were too high, because you really wanted him to take it off. Yeah, you were so high.

"Hey, I'm not rolling for those losers! I roll for you, and for you only! They have their own hands." Jisung protested as he offered it to Seungmin to which the younger declined, stating that he had to stay focused on your hair. Something about his statement made your heart swell. It's a nice feeling to be cared for.

Jisung then offered to blunt the other two in the room. They on the other hand accepted his offer. It was often he shared his blunts with anyone other than his girl. He said it was the gentlemen in him.

Time passed as you all waited for the older ones to get home. The more that passed the higher you got, and soon enough everyone in the room was higher than you originally intended to be. You could tell in the way everyone was lying to each other. Felix and Jeongin are a pile of limbs, their game long abandoned. Music is playing from the speakers as they whisper secrets to each other, giggling like school children while watching random videos on their phones. You were still seated between Seungmin's legs. His hands still dutifully unbraiding. Ever dedicated to his craft. But you could tell he was contact high as well. You could tell in the way he would kiss your head ever so often. A gentle reminder of his affection for you.

Jisung was sitting in your lap, playing with random parts of your body. Your face arms legs had all been prodded by him, not that it bothered you in the slightest. His touch left sparks all over you. You were having conversations about whatever came to mind. And finding comfort in one another. The atmosphere is warm and cozy. You wish every day could be like this.

[sugarcoated-lame]

Hourglass | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

*all of my works are 18+, minors do not interact, you will be blocked (:

Summary: this is a songfic inspired by Hourglass by Catfish and the Bottlemen

or you and Bradley are reunited after months apart and realize just how hard you’ve fallen for each other

WC: 2360

Warnings: 18+ only minors dni, literally just tooth-rotting fluff, mentions of smut, a hint of angst at the beginning if you squint, mentions of pregnancy, some really silly baby names, just two fools in love

A/N: thank you my love @sebsxphia for letting me rant about this idea in your inbox a couple weeks ago, I hope you enjoy <3

•

Know when you’re gone I struggle at night

Dreams of you fucking me all the time

And I know you’re tied up

And I know your phone’s fucked

I’m craving your calls like a soldier’s wife

I wanna bring you home myself

Bring you home myself

Five months. It had been five long months since you had last seen your boyfriend, Bradley. Five months of longing—missing his smile, his warm touch, his even warmer honey colored eyes that always look at you like you’re the only person that matters in the world.

Countless nights spent dreaming about his strong body and his hands and how he’d make you fall apart underneath them. Months of struggling to sleep alone, missing the feeling of being wrapped up in his arms because you’d started to feel more at home in his bed than in your own.

You’d only been together for a little over three months when Bradley got word that he’d have to leave for deployment. His first since your relationship began. Five long months spent thousands of miles away from the sweet, handsome pilot that you’ve grown to want to spend all of your time with. 

You knew it was going to be hard, but you couldn’t have expected just how hard it would be. How much you would miss him. The lack of contact and the not knowing if Bradley was okay was beginning to get to you, the sporadic phone calls hardly enough to tide you over.

So, you were more than happy when you received a call from Bradley a week earlier, letting you know he was coming home and that he wanted you to pick him up from the base, because your face was the first one he wanted to see.

You, too, couldn’t wait to finally see Bradley with your own two eyes. To hear the deep, raspy tone of his voice outside the confines of a phone, and feel the radiating warmth of his touch without the barrier of thousands of miles between you.

It almost feels unreal to be standing here now, on the naval base awaiting Bradley’s return, antsy and debating pinching yourself as you stand alongside the other families and loved ones waiting for their own aviators’ safe return. Your back straightens up as you watch a sea of dark green flight suits begin to pour out of the carrier and in your general direction.

You and Bradley seem to spot each other at the same time. His mustached lips break into that boyish smile as a giddy one lights up your own face, and you watch him clap the sweet looking, glasses-wearing aviator he’s talking to on the shoulder before separating from him and starting towards you with a new spring in his step.

After a few moments that feel like they pass in slow motion, Bradley finally reaches you. Carelessly dropping the small duffle bag that holds his belongings to the ground, he wastes no time pulling you into his strong arms.

Your face pressed into his chest, enveloped by his warmth and his scent—a bit the fresh, piney cologne you’ve always known him to wear, a little bit of sweat, and the pleasant musk that is just so inherently Bradley. The two of you stay like that for a few long moments, just reveling in being in each other’s presence for the first time in months.

You pull back and take a moment to just look at him—all sandy hair and golden skin, honeyed eyes squinting a bit in the harsh sunlight. Big and broad and even more beautiful than you remember, if that’s even possible. 

Bradley’s mustached lips quirk back up as he grins down at you again. He looks tired, but happy to see you.

Your hands slide up from his chest to the short hair at the nape of Bradley’s neck, and you can’t hold back from pulling him down into a kiss. Bradley’s just as eager, a hand on the small of your back bringing you in closer as his lips move against yours. Slow and languid, just enjoying the moment.  

“I missed you, baby girl.” His words are murmured against your lips.

You don’t clue him in on how hard these past five months have been without him. How you already struggled to sleep at night without him next to you. How his calls, though far and few, had been like a lifeline for you.

You just reattach your lips to his in a bruising kiss that you hope conveys the emotions you’re not sure you’re verbally ready to express just yet. “I missed you, too.”

You don’t know that all of those same emotions are swirling through Bradley’s mind too.

Bradley’s tongue begs for entrance at the seam of your lips and there’s a collective sigh from the both of you when you let him in. You’re in silent agreement that five months is far too long to go without this feeling.

You’re not entirely sure how long you continue on like that—seconds or minutes—you and Bradley both forgetting that you’re in public as your tongues tangle together, mouths moving in a smooth rhythm that you’re happy to register still feels familiar after so much time apart.

You only remember your surroundings when the raucous sounds of cheering hit your ears. You spring back from Bradley to see a few of his fellow aviators a short distance away, hollering at your public display of affection. Your cheeks heat as a handsome blonde—Hangman, you recall Bradley telling you—obnoxiously imitates a rooster call.

Your gaze returns to Bradley, whose face is just as flushed as yours; an adorable scowl on his features that pulls a quiet giggle from you as he raises a hand to flip off his friends.

Pressing one last kiss to his lips and one to the corner of his jaw, you reach out and tug on Bradley’s hand. “Come on, Flyboy. Let’s get you home.”

With a gruff, chuckled “yes, ma’am” Bradley leans down to pick up his duffle with his free hand. He gently squeezes your hand that’s still holding his other one, and he lets you lead the way to your car.

Come back, move in, mess my place

Chest infect me, waste my days

‘Cause I know you love to drive me up the wall

I know you love to drive me up the wall

I wanna bring you home myself

Bring you home myself

Bradley loved the sight of you in his home. You, in his Hawaiian shirts or ratty Navy tees, nothing but your panties underneath. Sat atop his kitchen counter, the mess from the breakfast you cooked for him still surrounding you while he stands between your legs, kissing you breathless. You, curled up on the couch next to him while you watch tv, trying—and failing—to stay awake, lulled to sleep by the steady beating of his heart in your ear as you lay against his chest.

But, what Bradley thinks he enjoys seeing most is you as you are now. Laying under the silky sheets on his bed, skin still bare from the hours spent tangled up with him between said sheets. 

Your hair is sprawled across his pillow, the scent of your shampoo captivating his senses. Your shining eyes are staring up at him with nothing but pure adoration. He wishes he could have you like this every day.

And I’m so impatient when you’re not mine

I just wanna catch up on all the lost times

And I’ll say I’m sorry if I sound sordid

‘Cause all I really ever want is you

It’s as you’re lying on your sides facing one another, your nimble fingers running through Bradley’s curls as the two of you quietly catch each other up on anything either of you missed during your months apart, that it hits Bradley just how hard he’s falling for you. Despite more or your relationship up to this point being spent apart than together. How much he’s missed this.

And, before his brain can catch up, he’s telling you just that.

“Fuck, I missed you. I thought about you every second I was away.” Bradley moves his body to hover over yours like he had a number of times already, since getting you into his bed earlier in the afternoon.

“Really?” Your one-word question is a quiet whisper with a hint of disbelief, and you’re sure that the expression on your face as you look up at him matches the lovesick one he wears on his own.

Bradley’s lips can’t help but quirk up into a grin at that shy look of adoration he’s come to love so well, like you’re afraid to let him in on just how much you’ve fallen for him. He wants to make it known that he’s fallen just as hard.

“Mhm,” Bradley gives a small nod, golden brown eyes peering down at you with an intensity that makes you want to squirm underneath him.

“Missed those big, beautiful Bambi eyes,” he leans down to press a featherlight kiss to each of your eyelids, a giggle escaping you as you close your eyes for him, Bradley’s mustache tickling the thin skin.

“This cute little nose,” he places another kiss on the tip of your nose, “and these adorable, pouty lips.”

Bradley’s thumb runs along your plush bottom lip before gently pulling down and watching it flip back into place.

When he finally leans in closer to kiss you, you can’t help but smile into it. Bradley pulls away, only slightly, his eyes still focused on your lips.

“And that sweet smile… thought about that pretty much every second of every day. Couldn’t wait to come home and see that again.”

Your smile could only grow at his words, absolutely beaming up at him, eyes sparkling and Bradley can’t help but grin right back at you.

“There she is,” he lets out a breathless chuckle before leaning back in to kiss you again. Smiling lips pressed against smiling lips. Teeth slightly knocking together, but you’re both too love-drunk to care. “That’s the one.”

Offer my hand and I’ll take your name

Share my shower, kiss my frame

‘Cause I wanna carry all of your children

And I wanna call them stupid shit

It’s late into the night now as you and Bradley find yourselves cuddled back up in the blankets of his warm bed. Legs intertwined, your limbs heavy and sated from exertion, pleasantly sore. You’re holding one of Bradley’s large hands and absentmindedly playing with his fingers.

It’s now Bradley’s turn to play with your hair, deft fingers of his free hand running through the tendrils; still damp from the shower you just shared, smoothing strands away from your face and twirling the ends around his fingers. Both of you, unbeknownst to the other, silently daydreaming about a future with the person lying next to you.

Bradley kisses your forehead lightly before pulling you into his warm chest, where he feels you yawn against his skin

“Tired?” You don’t have to see the mirth in Bradley’s eyes to detect the hint of smugness in his tone when he asks the question.  

He knows that last round in the shower—pinned up against the slippery tile by his hips as he fucked into you, your legs hooked over the crook of his elbows as he held you up–definitely wore you out.

“Yeah,” your breathy laugh fans against the plane of his chest, “I don’t think I can feel my legs. Might just have to marry you if you keep fucking me like that.”

Bradley tilts his head to lay a kiss to the crown of your hair and hums almost pensively, “Mm- I like the sound of that… Mrs. Bradshaw.”

You can’t contain the giggles that escape your lips at his words and man, does Bradley love that sound.

You press your lips to his pec in a sweet kiss before tilting your head up to look at him, the two of you grinning at each other like lovesick fools at the notion of being married; of spending the rest of your lives together.

“We can get married and you can keep me in this bed forever, and we’ll have like a million little mustached babies.”

Now it’s Bradley who can’t contain his laughter, the vibrations of his bare chest jostling yours that’s covered by his old Navy t-shirt, and you can’t help but join him, tinkling giggles mingling with his heartier chuckles.

“Yeah, they’d be born with a full-on Tom Selleck stache. We could call them ‘Magnum, P.I’, or-“

“The Lorax,” you interrupt him, the both of you still giggling. “What if it’s a girl?”

You nearly swoon at how adorable Bradley looks in that moment, like a confused puppy as he tilts his head in thought. “Uh… Magnella?”

Your head dips back down to lean on his chest as you laugh into his skin. “Oh god, that’s awful!”

Bradley’s missed this feeling these last few months. Laughing with you, your body pressed tightly against him to absorb his furnace-like warmth, and he thinks for a moment that he’s damn near ready to leave the navy if it means he never has to miss this again.

He wraps his arms around you a little tighter, still chuckling as he drops a featherlight kiss to your head. “Well, she has a mustache, she’s already doomed.”

You and Bradley both know it’s too soon, but neither one of you can help but think that you’d be more than happy to spend your lives together.

Get married, buy a pretty house with a picket fence, have a few—hopefully mustache-less—babies, and spend every night together wrapped up in his warm bed and his even warmer embrace.

Those three little words that neither of you have yet to say linger in the air as you fall asleep that night. Wrapped up in Bradley’s strong arms, your cheek comfortably squished against his chest as he holds you like he never wants to let you go again. You both dream that night of a future that you hope to one day build into a reality.

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Thank you for reading! x

Tagging a few people I think might be interested: @sunlightmurdock @wkndwlff @bradshawsbitch @lewmagoo @roleycoleyreccenter @teacupsandtopgun <3

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[ravenloop]

-In Time-

Pairing: Yandere!Heimdall X Female!reader

Request (in summary [requested by @oyasumimosura]): Reader is the daughter of Kratos and sister of Atreus. She goes to Asgard with Atreus and is very protective of him. While she's there, she catches the eyes of Heimdall and finds out his feelings for her are far more deeper and darker than she thought. (So sorry this took so long! Also was worried about making Heimdall too OOC so I changed it a bit, hope you don't mind :))

Warnings: Just normal Yandere stuff, Heimdall being creepy and possessive (more towards the end), bit of swearing, some violence.

AN: YALL IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN SO LONG 😭 I was busy and honestly didn't even know how long I didn't post in :') so have this request! Trying to clear out my inbox lol. I hope y'all like it cause I Def stressed trying to make it good sjnsj enjoy <3

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There was something so creepy about him.

The way he looked at you. Stared at you. He didn't even think about looking away when your gazes crossed. It was like he wanted things to be awkward between you both.

Not like you wanted any sort of relationship with Heimdall, but it would be nice if he tried to be a little hospitable, would be far better than whatever he was currently doing. Which was—not so shockingly—staring.

You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, trying to act like you couldn't see him. Though, by now he probably read your mind and knew how you felt. Maybe that's why he kept doing it, he wanted you to feel extremely unwelcomed.

It wasn't like you wanted to come to Asgard in the first place. Your brother, Atreus, did. After a very heated argument back at Sindri's tree home, he ran off and sought out Asgard in spite. Of course he wasn't happy when you tracked him down, your father wouldn't be happy either—considering you went without his permission.

All you wanted was for Atreus to be safe. You'll be damned if you let your little brother get hurt by a bunch of piss-faced gods who think they're above everyone else.

With a sigh, you turned and walked away from the open area where Heimdall and a few other Aesir stood. Still, you could feel those eyes piercing through you like a spear.

"He's a weirdo, right?" You jolted, not expecting someone to talk to you. Turning towards the voice, you noticed Thor's daughter, "Um..."

She snorted at your awkward demeanor, "Relax. Everyone here thinks Heimdall is a jerk." You chuckled slightly at that, at least you knew you weren't alone.

"Im... glad to hear. Thrúd, is it?" She nodded. You've seen her talking to Atreus before leaving back at the lodge. Maybe she didn't have enough time to talk to you then, so she's doing it now. That or her parents didn't want her to.

"And you're Loki's sister, Huh?" She put her hand out, "Nice to meet ya!" Slowly you reached out and grabbed her hand, she shook it roughly. Seems like she's excited.

"He's told me a lot about you. Must be fun having a big sister. I've only had brothers." Oh, right. You remember her brothers, Magni and Modi—the ones father killed.

"Right." Suddenly the situation turned awkward.

"Always have to make newcomers feel threatened or uncomfortable, do you?" A hand landed on your shoulder, making you flinch and turn.

It was Heimdall again.

Good gods, how long was he standing there—was he watching you the entire time?!

This time he wasn't looking at you though, he was staring at Thrúd. She stared back, a frown on her face, "I don't always make people uncomfortable. Right?" She looked at you, making Heimdall do the same.

Both pair of eyes pinned you to your spot. Licking your teeth, you responded, "No, I don't think you do." This was literally your first time talking to her so you didn't know if what you said was even true. Hopefully it was.

Heimdall rolled his eyes, "Lies. Lies. But I will leave you to be her personal toy if that's what you'd like. Nine realms know she hasn't made a single friend since being pushed out." Stepping back, he bowed mockingly before walking off with a laugh. But you didn't miss the way his eyes lingered on you a little longer.

Thrúd scowl, "Don't worry about him. He's just being an ass as always. It's nothing new." You nodded. That was strangely relieving. Maybe he'd soon realise you weren't worth it and would leave you alone. Maybe.

____________________

He didn't stop.

Those purple eyes never left your form. They tracked your everywhere. It felt like not even walls could stop him, like he'd just burn holes through them.

Even now, as people talked and murmured amongst themselves in the dining hall, he didn't focus on them. He only focused on one person. You.

The only reason you were even there was because Atreus was. It was late, the moon was high, and he had only just gotten back from a mission Odin sent him on a few minutes ago. It frustrated you how much Odin kept you and your brother separate, and Atreus was too oblivious to notice it.

I need to speak to him privately. We can't stay here any longer, You thought, staring at Atreus as he munched on a piece of bread. It was probably cold.

Opening your mouth, you were about to call his name, but he cut you off by yawning. "I think that mission tired me..." He laughed sheepishly, rubbing his neck, "I'm gonna go sleep."

Atreus stood quickly, moving to leave the hall. "Wait-" You grabbed his shoulder, making him turn, "Atreus, I need to speak to you... In private."

He stared at you. His eyes swiftly glanced over your shoulder before returning to you, "Could... It wait until morning? I'm really tired..." Your brows furrowed. Why was he acting like this? "I- alright..." You let go of him, watching as he smiled at you, saying goodnight before disappearing down the stairs.

It bothered you that he clearly knew it was important, yet decided it could wait, but the look in his eyes told you something was off. And the way he looked past you—at what? At who?

Turning around, your eyes scanned the hall. And you noticed one person—one god—who wasn't there. Heimdall.

That bastard.

The large doors of the lodge swayed the tiniest bit, indicating someone just left, forgetting to close them properly maybe.

You weaved past a few servants in your way, not caring about what they whispered to their fellow acquaintances. You shouldered open the door more aggressively than intended, but you didn't care. Right now you had your mind set on confronting a certain Aesir.

It didn't even cross your mind that whoever left the lodge could have just been a random Aesir that likely didn't even know your name. But to your eyes only one person was missing from that room, and you would have noticed if he went down the stairs in the lodge, right?

Just in case, you kept one hand on the dagger attached to your hip. The one your mother gave you, since your father was far more detached from you when you were a child than he was with Atreus.

You shook the thought from your head. Now wasn't the time to reflect on your childhood. Things have changed. For better and for worse.

Slowly, you stalked through a smaller, narrower path connected to a larger one. It made you less likely to be seen by others, and right now you didn't need people being suspicious of you—far more than they already are—you'd add.

"Looking for me? I feel honoured." You turned around, finding Heimdall emerging from a gap between houses. It was just big enough for a person to make themselves comfortable between.

Not wasting any time, you asked, "What did you tell my brother?" You saw his lips turn upwards ever so slightly, but it was hard to make out his expressions when he was standing so far, in the shadows of the houses, caused by the moon's light.

"You caught onto that quick. Though," His arms raised, extending outwards, "I guess I shouldn't be so surprised. You're one of the smarter... Half-giants I've met. I mean it, really!" Could he answer your question any slower?

"I didn't ask if you think I'm smart. I asked you what the hel you told my brother." You saw his eyes roll. They were the only things that the darkness couldn't hide from you. Every second they glowed brightly.

"I only instructed him one thing..." Heimdall moved closer to you, stepping out of the dark and into the moonlight. Instinctively you pulled out your dagger, aiming it at him. He stopped moving, but by the look on his face, you doubted he was intimidated. "...that he stay away from you, or I'd hurt you in ways that he'd never imagine possible."

That didn't scare you, it may have you feeling a bit uneasy, but not scared. "Is that what you're here to do now? Hurt me?" "No. Something quite the opposite, actually. That is... If you comply." The hand holding your weapon to him didn't falter, not even as he took a step closer.

"You don't scare me, Heimdall." He took another step closer, you stood your ground, "That's exactly what draws me to you."

You scoffed, "My lack of fear for you?"

"That and the lack of consideration you put behind your actions. I mean, how many other people would put a weapon  between themselves and I?" The tone of his voice grew more playful, as if the current situation didn't stress him, "When they know damn well it cannot stop me." It was clear it did not.

And to you It became increasingly more clear that you were in a secluded area. Hidden from any and all eyes expect Heimdall's. No one was around. No one could help you. No one would hear you.

He led you here. So you were with him and him only.

You gripped your dagger harder, the muscles in your arm straining, your breathing growing heavier when he stepped even closer, "Try anything and I'll kill you." He stared at you, a frown on his face. And you silently regretted saying that when he didn't speak.

It was tense. Quiet. All Heimdall did was stare into your eyes. You didn't dare tear your gaze away from his.

After a moment, he scoffed, before breaking out into laughter. Moonlight bounced off his golden teeth as he continued laughing, making them shine. "Do you..." He calmed himself down, still smiling widely, "Really think... That you can kill me?" He tutted, eyebrows furrowing in a way that made him look like he was staring at you with pity. "Oh, sunshine... That will never, never happen."

You dashed toward him.

As soon as the last syllable rolled off his tongue, you moved forward. The muscles in your arm burned at the movement, but it was a relief. They were finally able to move after being suspended in the air for so long.

You aimed for his throat. Your mission was to kill him. He gripped your wrist, yanking you towards him before throwing you into a nearby building. Your head banged against the wall and you hissed in pain. Weapon long forgotten, lost somewhere on the ground when Heimdall threw you. Everything became blurry and you closed your eyes for a moment.

When you opened them, Heimdall was kneeling in front of you. "Have we learnt our lesson yet?" His head tilted to the side, eyes staring into your half-opened ones.

Clear your mind. The words of your father echoed through your head. Do not let your enemy know your thoughts.

"No." Your left hand reached up to grip his braids, your right hand punching his face.

He stumbled back, groaning, his hand reaching up to his now bleeding face. You took your chance and ran, heading for the lodge. You needed to find Atreus.

The path seemed a lot more confusing on the way back, or maybe it was your racing mind making it seem like that.

You could hear Heimdall's rushing footsteps growing louder and closer. They were far more quiet than yours, but you could still pick up on them.

Finally, you saw the lodge come into view, the lights on it glowing brightly—but there was one thing that worried you.

Heimdall's footsteps stopped.

But yours didn't. Your legs kept moving. They went even faster now. Just as you were in a meter or two of the lodge, a hand gripped your arm, pulling you behind a house and back into the darkness as a hand covered your mouth.

You squirmed in Heimdall's grip, biting, kicking and doing whatever to try and escape.

Your teeth bit deep into his palm and he gritted his own teeth. The hand around your midsection, holding your back to Heimdall's chest, squeezed tight until there was little air in your lungs.

This caused you to stop moving, your head spinning once more. You heard Heimdall 'tsk', "Now now... Is this any way to treat your lover?" He finally released his hand from your mouth, trusting and knowing you wouldn't scream.

"You're a deranged fuck if you think anyone could ever love you," Venom dripped from your words, "Especially... when you do... stupid shit like this..." The little air in your body slowly disappeared with each word.

Heimdall noticed your struggles, and despite your words, he loosened the grip on your waist. You took in large gasps of air while Heimdall began speaking.

"True. Though being loved is a hard thing to do or come across now." His hand on your torso moved further up until it reached your throat. It didn't do anything, it just lingered there. "So sometimes, you just need to do things like this."

"I wonder why it's so hard for you..." He didn't like your tone. "Don't worry, you'll have plenty time to find out. It's not like you're ever leaving."

Your eyes narrowed, staring at the wooden wall in front of you. Before you could speak, Heimdall did, "And you will be staying here, sunshine. Unless you wanted your brother to have a... Painful death."

"Touch him and I'll-" you choked on your words when he squeezed your throat, stopping your breathing again.

"I won't touch him if you agree to what I'm proposing." His hand let go so you could breath, "And we both know you can't defeat me. So your best option would be complying." Not even the slightest bit did you agree to what he wanted you to. You hated him. This only expanded that feeling.

But your brother...

You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if he died.

"I'll make your life a living nightmare." It wasn't a yes or a no, as much as you wanted to say the latter.

There was a warm feeling on your neck and you recognized it as Heimdall's breath, "Even better. I love a good challenge. Hard to find one when you're a god of my capabilities."

Everything he said made you want to roll your eyes or curl you lips in anger. The hate you had for him was unmatched. The anger that filled your body when near him made you feel like exploding.

"I hate you."

He chuckled and it sounded like what a snowstorm felt like. Cold.

"I know. But don't worry... in time, you'll learn to love me."

No. No, you definitely would not.

[elvisabutler]

a love supreme seems far removed

summary: it appears old wounds between you and professor presley die hard after one particularly pleasurable but exhausting incident. fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: professor! elvis presley ( big daddy flavor ) x student! female reader ( nicknamed belle ) word count: 2462 warnings: big daddy elvis. elvis using a walking stick/cane. implied praise kink. student and professor relationship ( everyone is of legal age ). use of the derogatory name jezebel,in a negative way toward oneself. caning in a sexual way/sexual punishment way. negative self talk. dom/sub dynamics though not explicitly stated. near use of a safe word. sub drop. mild daddy kink? it's there, belle calls him that once or twice and elvis refers to himself as big daddy once. abandonment issues. author’s note: so this was sort of an accidental fic. once upon a time an anon came into my inbox and mentioned liking my fic about belle and professor presley with belle experiencing sub drop. i had never written that but between my right hand woman for belle and elvis @butlersxbirdy ( seriously, y'all she is the reason this entire series exists ) and my baby girl @stylespresleyhearted going "OKAY BUT CAN YOU DO IT THO I WANT IT." this fic was born. special thanks as always to my discord wives, christi and marina and for kicks also bee who i made love big daddy with these two. as always i love the love this fic series gets and truly i live for comments and questions regarding it or any of my serieses/fics. hell, the reason this series is a series is because y'all keep requesting more stuff from it. pay no mind to the moodboard as far as physicality goes or ethnicity, i just basically fell in love with her face because of daisy jones and she's got the right vibe.

It's funny, you think, how once upon a time the things you do with Elvis were things you shied away from with your other- partners if you could even call them that. There's something to be said about the sheer ease at which Elvis puts you in to make you agree to anything. You figure it's because you know he'll always take care of you. You figure it's because of how he'll stop if you cry out in more than just a pleasurable pain. No, he'll make sure you're alright, make sure his precious Belle, his angel sent from God himself is alright.

Smack.

A low keen leaves your mouth at the sting of his cane against your ass, hitting a spot still a bit tender from a week ago. Elvis had asked if you were alright with this, asked if you were ready to take this on this soon and it had been an easy question to answer. Of course you were alright because you had been the one to ask for it again. It's not that you needed it- craved it every second of the day but you knew very well you had nearly gotten yourself and him in some very hot water. It deserved more than his words of admonishment murmured against your neck and your hair. It deserved the caning that he rarely brings out but that you know tends to set you straight. Tends to keep you in line in a way you'll both never admit or question beyond these moments when he uses it. Your hand starts to move toward your ass, wanting to rub the spot that's sore before—

"Hands on the bed. Ya know better. Keep 'em where they're 'posed t'be," Elvis commands as your hands settle back against the bed. Back to where they ought to be because Elvis- Big Daddy- Professor Presley told you to keep them there.

"Elvis—" you start before another smack of the cane has your ass jiggling and has him chuckling a little as his ringed hand palms the area. You hiss.

"Ya asked for this, 'member? Told me ya needed the lesson, hm? Needed t'be 'minded that ya need t'be good, right? Keep that tongue o'yours in check. Doin' so good, Y/N. Doin' so good. What number we on?"

Your mind, fuzzy as it's becoming can focus on the number, can focus on something, settle on something that allows you to not float completely away. The grounding element of everything that keeps you tied to the Earth, tied to him and your life together. Your mouth opens and one single word falls out, "Three."

"Outta five, that's right, Belle. But ya haven't been countin' 'em out loud, have ya? Been tryin' to keep me from hearin' ya? Hearin' what my cane does to ya?" Elvis allows himself to lean against you, to press his stomach against your burning backside, his own warmth both a balm and an irritant against it. His chest hair scratches at your skin and earns a light whine as some rubs just the wrong way, the friction unwanted for now.

"Yes," you whine, arching your back as if to tease when really you only want to chase after the feel of the cane, of his body against yours in order to float and to feel safe. At your arch, he moves off of you and brings down his cane once more, this time closer to your vagina, in that dip where your thighs and butt meet. The part where his hands would grip and squeeze and slap when you rode his cock or his thighs. The number slides through your brain and into your mouth. "Four!"

You hadn't meant to shout the number but the sting overwhelmed you, the sting almost had you telling Elvis to stop, that this was too much too soon after the last week. It stopped though, the urge to tell him to set down his cane and pull you into his arms stopped. Still, even with your lack of asking, there's a pause with Elvis, a pause that has him leaning against you once more, his hand automatically starting to palm your ass. "Y'alight?"

He expects an honest answer out of you as you expect honest answers out of him when he wants to pretend his body isn't betraying him and hurting him. The bright side of when you do things like this, when you trust him to remind you to be a good girl- a good woman- you'll always tell him the truth.

A nod is what you manage before your body slumps forward just a little, the effort of holding yourself up on your hands against the bed becoming just a bit too much to handle. Elvis ought to stop right there and he knows it, can see an exhaustion settling into your body but a promise is a promise and he allows himself one final smack of the cane, lighter than all the others at the most fleshy and least bruised part of your behind.

"Five," you murmur against the sheets of the bed, your eyes a little glassy as he moves the cane to the side and tries to pull you up to a standing position. He manges it just barely but you lean against his chest, hand snaking up his chest to run your fingers through his chest hair. "Shower?"

You think it's you who asked for a shower but you're not sure, not sure with how your clit throbs and aches as it always does when Elvis does this to you, whenever you do something similar to this. Whenever he disciplines you like you deserve to be, because a simple talking to wouldn't have done, your body needed to know what was at stake. Whoever asked didn't matter as Elvis helped you walk to the bathroom anyway, his hands moving between your legs, playing with your clit, sliding his fingers between your folds gently as you rested your body against his own. It doesn't take long to finish the shower, doesn't take long for Elvis to wrap you in a towel and dry you off, only detaching himself to grab pajamas for both of you. You hadn't been this way last week but it had been earlier in the night, perhaps you were just tired from the day.

The bed sheets and Elvis provide a warmth that finally drags you into the land of sleep willingly and gladly.

It's cold.

It shouldn't be cold, you think. Elvis runs as hot as a furnace and usually makes you so hot that you have to slip from under the covers in the middle of the night. Your eyes blink to try and adjust to your surroundings and you realize it is the middle of the night. Why is it cold in the middle of the night?

Your heart lurches in your chest, moving upward to your throat as your hand moves to Elvis's side of the bed only to feel cool emptiness beside you.

Elvis isn't there. Elvis isn't beside you. You are alone in your shared bed. Was it shared any more? Was this his way of telling you to leave? After everything? Had you finally made him realize you made a mistake?

There's a sliver of your brain, of your mind that knows the thoughts that are swarming your mind are silly and yet you can't listen to that sliver. It's wrong. Elvis isn't here with you. Why hadn't he fucked you to sleep? Why hadn't you woken up with his soft cock inside of you? Had Daddy- Had Elvis taken care of you after he hit you? Where was he? Why wasn't— Why wasn't he here? He left you. He's leaving you. He's going to kick you out when the first rays of sunlight enter through the curtains.

You don't know when you start to sob, don't know when your body starts to shake, the overwhelming lack of warmth settling into your bones, don't know when your stomach threatens to empty onto the bed. All you know is that they happen all at once. All you know is that you've done something to make Elvis abandon you.

Maybe, maybe he was still in the house, maybe you didn't disgust him so much he had to leave the entire house. If you called for him maybe he'd come. Maybe you could find out— maybe you could convince him that it was fine. You were still worthy of his love.

The wail that leaves you would embarrass you in any other context. It would mortify you if your brain could process what was happening.

He hadn't quite registered that the noise he heard was you. Hadn't quite registered that the wail he heard was you. Graceland occasionally made noises that didn't make a whole lot of sense and that hadn't changed in the entire time you've been with him. It's only when he gets closer to your shared room that he hears your wail, your moan of unmitigated distress and anguish and knows it's you. He moves as fast as his body will let him and practically slams open the door, ready to use old karate moves and the gun he's got hidden in his dresser to defend you only to realize there's no one in the room but you.

There's no one in here who could hurt you and yet you're clutching at your stomach, curled in on yourself, looking as if you want to vomit all over everything. When you look up at him he sees your glassy eyes staring back at him, unshed tears in them to go with the ones streaming down your face. He opens his mouth to ask you what's wrong only to hear your whimpers and whispers to yourself.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry D- Elvis. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." It practically sounds like a mantra, a chant you'd only a monk say. It sounds wrong coming from your lips. What did you have to be sorry for? What would make you act this way? In what feels like a flash he moves to sit next to you on the bed and starts to touch you.

For once you shy away from his touch and Elvis's heart falls through his body to the ground. You never do that, even when the two of you hadn't worked through the dumbest set of issues known to man you had never shied away from his touch. Normally you would sink into it, but— what had he done to you. Had earlier been too much? Had he broken something inside you in a way he hadn't before?

"Y/N? Belle? What—" He doesn't get the question out before you whimper.

"You were gonna leave me like I did to you. I— I was alone. You hate— you don't love me anymore. Don't want to be with— you realized what everyone else does."

Tour Guide. Used. Whore. Bel— Jezebel. Not worthy of being with him or anyone else. But especially not him. Not worthy to spend the rest of your life waking up with him. Not worthy to have children with him.

Your hands tighten around your middle even more, as if that's the part of you that needs shielding the most. As if that will make the nausea you feel go away. As if it'll keep your stomach from revolting even as you feel Elvis's hand on your shoulder, tight as it was the first day he met you.

"My— Y/N. My angel from heaven. My Belle. No—" He pulls you into a hug despite your protests and your shaking head. "I couldn't sleep. I was downstairs. You—Belle. I— After everything, I would never do that to you. I could never hate you."

"You did," you whimper, your shoulders shaking even as you feel some form of warmth from him sinking through your pajamas and into your soul. "You did. You— I left you and I deserve— I don't— I made you hate me. You're gonna—"

Elvis shushes you, forcing your body against his, forcing your chest to rub against his, his chest hair brushing against the faintest bit of skin your pajamas show. "No. You're my good girl, Belle. Always have been even when I was so angry with you. I'm here. Your Big Daddy's here." He uses the nickname you had let slip that one time so long ago, knowing he finds it funny. It's supposed to put you at ease and he feels a tension in your shoulders lessen at it.

"For— You won't make me leave?" That's the question you ask, not does he still love you, because the two go hand in hand in your mind. For him to love you, he can't abandon you.

His answer should be silly, it should make you roll your eyes but something deep inside you finally uncurls when you hear him sing one of his own song lyrics acapella. "A team of wild horses couldn't tear us apart."

A sob, stronger than the rest wrenches itself from your throat, finally earning a proper release as he holds you even tighter through the tears, his hands petting your hair, murmuring soft words of comfort. You know the position has to be uncomfortable for him but he doesn't complain, too focused on making sure you're alright. Your tears and shivers finally settle into something manageable after what feels like hours and Elvis moves to lay you down on the bed, his hand still rubbing on your chest, right where your heart is. A whimper escapes your lips in fear only for him to shake his head.

"Let me get on my side of the bed. Then ya can curl up to me," he says and to show you how serious he is, he manages to clamber on top of the bed from the bottom, his hands never leaving your body, the warmth from his touch— his always burning hands allowing embers of warmth to blossom slowly but surely inside of you.

The second he's under the covers, you move to lay on top of him. He can't abandon you, can't leave you without warning if he has to move you from atop his body. Your hands haven't left your stomach as it still continues to roil and twist inside you, the nausea refusing to abate. Elvis looks at you and follows where your hands are before placing the hand that rubbing against your chest onto your stomach. For some strange reason it calms your stomach, allows for your body to settle down, and allows for you to lock your arms around Elvis's middle.

"Stay," you whisper, placing a kiss against his skin.

"Wouldn't dream of doin' anything but."

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted y'all know the drill with the taglist by now.

[thecultoflove]

thinking about the post you made about Our Word n dsmit tony nd id like to make some sort of meaningless addition to it

"Puppet Loosely Strung" – The Correspondents

something about how tonys parents want to pretend they're very close nd stuff while tony is literally going through utter torment under their hand .... i think "they" in this instance could certainly refer to the general public . and the line "it was me needing you, not you needing me" could certainly tie in with the fact that tony always chased the approval and love of his family . while they couldn't be bothered with him – thatz not even mentioning the fact that he was "strung" into managing the casino also by them . so of course he feels like a sort of puppet

i guess

please stay safe

i love you

SPOOKY I AM SO GLAD YOU SHOW UP EVERYDAY TO MY INBOX I ACTUALLY SMILE SO MUCH SEEING YOU CONTRIBUTE TO MY STORY, I NEED YOU TO TALK MORE ABOUT HIGH VOLTAGE PLEASE. never feel shy to share your ideas/headcanons ILYYILYILY AND YOU MAKE ME WANT TO SCREAM AND CRYYY BECAUSE I KNOW THIS SONG. I KNOW THIS SONG I KNOW THIS SONG. THIS IS SUCH A COMPARSION I'M GONNA SCREAM AND SHAKEEE?? you're so spot on i'd say you're like dsmit tony's biggest rightest truest fan over here literally LOVE how right you are

[aphroditestummyrolls]

Crows Masterlist ❤️

A list of my most recent stories and their AO3 links. Since I’m writing more than one story at once, it doesn’t make sense to just pin my latest chapter every time I update.

So, as I write new oneshots/update stories, I’ll update this post. There’s still so many stories to add to the Engagement Series, and like it says on the tin, I will not rest until I’ve sated every last bit of my Colm Fahey Drama.

If you like my stories, please tell me, either through an AO3 comment or here on tungl ❤️ my inbox is always open to talk about characters or stories/series you want to know more about. You might even get a new snippet 👀.

The Wylan Whump Fic™️

Between Hope and Desperation (Jesper/Wylan & everyone)

Wylan and Jesper are kidnapped when Wylan Van Eck's past bursts in on Wylan Hendriks's fragile present. Secrets are revealed, blood is spilled, and trust is required.

The Engagement Series (Jesper/Wylan)

Terrible, Absolutely Horrible (affectionate)

Jesper and Wylan being giggly, giddy, and newly engaged, featuring bad pick up lines and being excited about the future

A More Formal Title

Wylan and Jesper are settling into life on the geldstraat, but the older council members are… traditionalists. Wylan is summoned to a last minute council meeting, regarding his barrel boyfriend.

In Fits and Starts

on the eve of their sons’ wedding, two strangers come to understand each other. with a bottle of whiskey and a quiet spot to rest, they indulge the memories of their little boys, and look to the future when the past hurts too much.

Colm Fahey Discovers Jesper’s Ketterdam Life (I will not rest until I’ve written just about every version of this trope)/Colm Fahey-heavy Stories

Keep You Safe (Colm Fahey & Jesper/Wylan)

6 months post Crooked Kingdom— in a universe where Jesper took the parem, Matthias lived, and Colm Fahey didn’t make an appearance in CK— Colm Fahey comes looking for his son, and doesn’t find him in any of the places he expected.

Time for a Spare Prayer (Colm & Everyone; Jesper/Wylan)

Wylan’s name has become a target on his back, but his crows are there to protect him. Until things go wrong and Wylan is alone. Suddenly, Colm Fahey is the only witness to an attempt on Wylan’s life, and becomes a target himself.

Stronger than Fear (Wylan & Matthias)

A deleted scene directly after the end of Chapter 4 of Time for a Spare Prayer. Matthias brings Wylan something to eat after a truly terrible day.

The Only Way Out (is through) (Colm & Wylan/Jesper)

3 times that Colm Fahey was acutely aware that Wylan Van Eck needed a better father, plus 1 time where he stepped up to be the da he deserved.

Five More Minutes (Colm & Wylan/Jesper)

a missing scene from Only Way Out (is through) inspired by a drabble game request for wesper “accidentally sleeping in”.

Before Sunrise (Colm/Aditi featuring tiny baby Jesper)

Jesper is a colicky little baby, and Colm just wants his poor wife to be able to sleep. (Inspired by Colm’s description of Jesper in In Fits and Starts)

If you like my writing, please consider buying me a coffee

[alwritey-aphrodite]

ok ok I’m gonna send one more pookie before I hog all of them 🙏🙏

could I possibly get beach trips with sejanus? I know you’ve written on this before and I loved it soso much - if you don’t want to be repetitive pls pls ignore this one though!!

THANK YOU SOSOS MUCH I LOVE YOU!!!

(ps: sejanus rant making its way to your inbox in a while😋)

This is… much longer than all my other blurbs so far <3 I just love Sejanus (and pookie) so much

2024 Summer Blurbs

Summer so far out in the Districts has always been a struggle, but this year has been a particular kind of hell. You can’t think of a single day that was a reasonable temperature, spending all your time sweating no matter what you’re doing. It’s practically impossible to sleep in your crowded little bedroom, but you keep the windows open and wear as little clothing as possible in a sad attempt to keep you from melting.

“C’mon, we’re takin’ a trip,” Lucy Gray says after you emerge from your room, taking care not to step on any of your cousins spread out across the floor, where they swear it’s cooler than sleeping on a mattress. You can tell where she wants to go just by the glimmer in her eyes, so you make sure to pack yourself a bag with everything you think you could need and wait for everyone else to wake up.

It doesn’t take long, the heat making it unbearable to sleep any longer than you need to, and right before you’re about to leave, Coriolanus and Sejanus are making their way down the path to your front door. You wonder if Lucy Gray invites them or if they have a knack for always showing up right on time. Either way, you’re not mad about it, embarrassingly desperate to spend any time possible with Sejanus and his pretty smile and beautiful eyes.

As much as you’d love to talk, you’re all mostly silent during your trek to your destination, focusing on breathing and not dying from the heat. The only thing keeping you moving is the knowledge that soon you’ll be getting some needed relief from the stifling air, and that you’ve got nothing ahead of you but a day spent with Sejanus, which is your favorite kind of day even though you’d never admit that to anyone.

By the time you’ve made it to your hidden gem, you’ve sweat so much that your shirt is clinging to your back, and you’re too busy fishing around in your bag for the water you’d packed to take in the views. It’s a quiet little lake, closer in size to a pond, that you and Lucy Gray had discovered years ago and you’re convinced no one else knows it exists. It’s farther out of the way than the big lake, more difficult and more time consuming to get to, and you’re sure no one else cares enough to go looking for a private little beach.

Beach seems like a generous title when it’s just a small ring of sand to transition from scraggly grass to the water, but it’s quiet and hidden and blessedly cool. Sejanus has set his belongings next to yours, and you try your best not to ogle as he peels his shirt off. As much as you’d like to stare at him for hours, you turn your back to change out of your own clothes, desperate to get into the water.

The water is just as cool as it looks, clean and perfect and undisturbed by anyone except you and your cousins, and now, Sejanus and Coryo. You can’t tell if your little group is exceptionally loud with the joy of finally cooling down or if this part of the forest is simply always silent, with any noise sounding out of place and foreign. The depth of the lake is perfect, your feet safely on the sandy bottom with your shoulders fully submerged and your head clear above the water line, as if the lake was made with you in mind.

“Are you hungry?” You ask, swimming over to Sejanus and practicing the words in your head because something about him makes you so absurdly nervous, especially now when he’s all smiley and sunkissed, that you don’t trust yourself to form words on the spot. “We should eat before Maude Ivory realizes I brought snacks.” Sejanus matches your grin and follows you out of the water, trying as hard as he can not to stare as you swim gracefully towards the shore, water and sunlight surrounding your movements like a halo.

Luckily for you, Maude Ivory is far too busy trying her hardest to wrestle Coryo under the water while Lucy Grah just laughs to notice you and Sejanus slip from the water. You settle onto one of the blankets you’ve brought to protect your bare legs from the grass and you rummage through your bag until you find the food you’d brought.

“Don’t tell Lucy Gray, I think she was saving this for something special,” you tell Sejanus with a self conscious sort of giggle, unused to his bare skin being so close to yours and a little nervous at the idea of any of your cousins looking over and seeing what you’re eating.

“I think this is pretty special though, don’t you?” Sejanus asks casually as if those words didn’t make your heart stop, as if he doesn’t routinely send you spiraling when he smiles or laughs or even just looks at you.

The moment comes to a screeching halt when Lucy Gray looks away from Maude Ivory and Coryo just for a second and realizes that you’d been hiding snacks from them all, and suddenly it’s all chaos and shouting and uncontrollable laughter as you and Sejanus try and defend yourselves. With everyone caught up in the insanity, you don’t notice the way you’ve flopped over onto Sejanus’s legs when you’d doubled over in laughter, far too distracted with the look of pure betrayal plastered on Maude Ivory’s face.

Finally catching your breath once everyone has been nullified with a share of your snacks, you look up to see Sejanus already looking down at you with an unnamed emotion plastered all over his face that makes you want to get up and run. Instead, you look back at him, almost certain your expression is a mirror of his own.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Winter, 2019 - San Diego, California

Chapter 4 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: It's been a week since the accident. A week since you collapsed, a week since you saw the man who could be your soulmate fall from the heavens in a jet he shouldn't have been in at all. And you can't help but blame yourself. The should haves, would haves and could haves crowd your brain until there isn't anything else in it. Until, that is, you wake up one morning to find what looks to be all of the journalists in San Diego parked out in your front lawn. That's when you discover that Hawk had given interviews across the city dragging your name through the mud. You can't even open your windows without them hounding you. So you trust your welfare to your best friends, your family. And pray that Bradley Bradshaw wakes up soon. If only because you're not sure how much of this you can take. Meanwhile, Rooster's in heaven. He's got his mom and dad nearby, he's never hungry, thirsty or tired, but as time passes, he can't help wondering about his soulmate. Is she alright? Is she safe? She's not hurting too badly because of his stupid actions, right? One chance vision from the universe shows him what he didn't know he needed. Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Angst. Flagrant disregard for protocols or Authority. Angst. Anguish. This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story. Warnings: Female!Reader Word Count: 3142 A/N: Here's Chapter 4 of YAMS! This is where the shit hits the fan, quite literally for Tinkerbell and Rooster! Hawk makes a second appearance, and if you all hated him when you first saw him, you haven't seen anything yet! As always, your reblogs and comments make me so happy! Feel free to drop me an ask if you want to chat about this chapter or any of my other works! AO3:Cross-posted Here! My Masterlist Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

Tinkerbell

You feel rather like you're walking around in a haze after the accident. You live so close to base and have so many friends that are Navy or affiliated with the Navy that it feels a lot like the entire world is talking about what happened. The rumors and wondering comments follow you around. You can't even walk into the commissary anymore without hearing some new theory about what happened.

Jake and Javy do their best to shield you from the speculation, but you can't hide from yourself. Your brain may be telling you that it wasn't your fault that Bradley crashed, but your heart, your soul, is telling you differently. Your actions resulted in your soulmate being in a hospital bed, unconscious and unknowing right now. You could have done something more to disable his jet. You could've had the maintenance crew remove the master ignition switch. You could've. You could've. You could've. It's eating you alive. Since you're on medical suspension for a month, you don't even have the distraction of work anymore.

You have one week of relative quiet. Then you wake up one morning to your phone blowing up. Everyone you know who has your phone number seems to be texting you the same link. You're half awake, sleep clouding your eyes even as you fumble for your ringing phone and answer the phone call.

It's an awfully insistent voice asking you why you put Bradley in the hospital. You ignore it and hang up. The words don't penetrate your sleepy brain until a few seconds later, when you jolt up from your comfy spot in bed. You've gotten over sixty unread messages and fourteen voicemails in the past three hours. Most of the voicemails are from Jake and when you open the first of the many articles in your inbox, it's an interview.

You're going to murder Lieutenant Junior Grade George Taylor, the cocky little shit soon to be formerly known as Hawk. He's spoken to what seems to be every news outlet in San Diego and given them a tell-all expose about how you're a nosy, jealous bitch who hated Lieutenant Bradshaw from the moment she saw him and wanted him gone.

No wonder your phone has been ringing off the hook. Everybody wants to stick their mics into your face and get the true story. How could you tell them it was your soulmate's fault when he isn't even awake to corroborate your story? You don't even know if he is your soulmate, for goodness's sake. Not definitively, at least. 

You can't even draw back your curtains, because when you try, you are nearly blinded by the entire troupe of reporters camping out on your front lawn. No wonder Jake sounds frantic when you finally pick up the phone when he calls next.

"Hey darling." He sounds worried, like he's been pacing back and forth on the hot tarmac for hours. "What happened? Are you okay? Did you see my messages?"

"I saw, Jake. I was asleep. If you forget, I'm on medical leave for the next three weeks." Your voice is weak as you burrow back under your sheets. "I saw your messages, Jake. I'm dreaming, right?"

"I wish you were, Tinky-tink." You can hear the pain in Jake's voice as a tear drips unbidden down your cheek. "Hawk's been swanning around on base. He's been talking shit all day. Javy's already punched him in the nose hard enough to cause a nosebleed. Thankfully Cyclone and Warlock weren't nearby or my darling would've ended up with a formal reprimand by now."

You have to smile, even if it's half-hearted, because it's so like Jake and Javy to have your back, even at the risk of their own careers.

"You guys have to toe the line, though, Jake. This may very well be the end of my career, but it's not going to be the end of yours." Your voice is filled with so much regret. So much pain and sorrow. "I'm not going to drag you and Javy down with me."

"Baby, who said you're dragging us down with you? We're your family, remember?" He sounds so genuinely distressed for you.

"I know, Jake. And I love you. I love Javy. But you can't punch Hawk out every time you see him on base. But you can smuggle me out of my house and hug me for a good long while later today?" You feel extra small in that moment, the flashes of light from the lenses on the other side of your curtain still burning after-images into your retinas.

"The paparazzi are all over, huh?" You can hear the furrow in Jake's brow as he asks you that question.

"I feel kinda like Marilyn Monroe. I have after-images burned into my retinas from the flashes on all the pictures they got of me in my frumpy, old, US Navy t-shirt a few minutes ago." You can just barely hear the rage in Jake's voice as he calls out to Javy and the other Daggers. 

"Hey, sweetheart." It's Javy's smooth, deep voice that you hear on the phone all of a sudden. "Jakey's flipping his shit, I dunno if you can hear him, baby, but we're really worried about you. Let me see if I can get Mav to let Jake and I out early. We'll roll up in the lifted truck with the blacked out windows, y’know, the one I kept telling Jake was a ridiculous purchase, and get you to our place. You know what Jake can drive like when he gets motivated."

You have to chuckle at that, a little. Jake normally drives like a perfectly respectable person. But when he's angry or worried, he's got a lead foot. You've definitely been holding onto the passenger "Oh Shit!" handles a few times as Jake drives.

"Pack your bags, baby. You're coming to stay with us until the paparazzi back off. All I know is that if I see that little ass wipe ever again, he'll be wishing that the worst thing he gets is a broken nose." Your chuckle is watery and sniffly at his words.

"Thank you, Javy. I love you."

"Love you too, baby. If you hear tires screeching on pavement, know that sound means that Jake and I are rolling up to break you out of jail." 

The phone goes dead soon after and it takes everything you have to not start hyperventilating on the spot. You could probably handle Hawk's interview alone, but now with reporters camping out on your front lawn and hounding your every move, it's only a matter of time before some other corrupt person lets it spill that Bradley Bradshaw might be your soulmate. With no knowledge of his prognosis, it's likely that you're going to get a court martial, then be dishonorably discharged, and finally imprisoned. Who'd ever take your word over Hawk's? There are still Admirals who believe that a woman's place is in the home, after all.

Everything you've ever worked for will have turned into dust in moments. All because of one action, one reaction, really. If he weren’t so badly hurt already, you’d hate Bradley Bradshaw for what he's done to ruin your life. But you can’t hate him. You couldn’t hate him if you tried. Now that you know he’s yours, that he’s linked to you in a way nobody else will ever be, ever can be, you can catalog all of the things you’ve ever felt about him. The instant jolt of attraction you’d felt that first night, the need to have his body pressed up against yours as he crooned sweet nothings to you? That must’ve been your bond asserting itself for the first time. Your giddy feelings after the AMDO inspection are just further proof. 

You pack bag after bag as you go over every memory you have with Bradley Bradshaw. In truth, he’s always in the periphery of your memories of your time at North Island, always in the shadows, lurking at the outskirts. You know it’s not his relationship with his team, because they love him. You have to be the reason why he’d become so nervous all of a sudden. Could he have sensed the nascent bond between the two of you? But that doesn’t explain the horrible things Bradley had said about you. You’ve gone over that night over and over in your mind, but it’s standing in your sun drenched bedroom that you finally realize why. Jake had come oh-so protectively up to you after the crowd had nearly crushed you, after Bradley had saved you. He’d smothered you in his embrace and his cloying older-brotherly love and had scarcely left your side the remainder of the night.

Could Bradley have thought that Jake was your soulmate? Jake?! The very man who is so in love with his own soul that he never even lets Javy get his own beer? Ever? The man who'd called you after Javy went into G-Loc and was in the hospital for the night, crying because he'd nearly lost the most important person in his life? That Jake? It’s a ludicrous thought to you, but a conceivable one. And you can’t even disabuse Bradley Bradshaw of the notion. Not when he’s lying in a hospital bed deep in a coma.

It’s that thought which swarms in your mind as you sit in your silent, dark living room waiting for Jake and Javy to come ‘break you out of jail’ as Javy had called it. You’re paralyzed by it, in truth. How? How can you fix this? How? The more you think about the situation you’ve found yourself in, the less you think you’ve found a solution. You’re curled into a ball on the sofa, staring blankly at the television you’re not sure when you turned on, when the door opens. You’re blasted with an onslaught of noise in the short while it’s opened.

“Hi, Tink.” You blink unseeingly at the voices. These are people you can trust, you know you can, but you can’t make yourself respond. All of your feelings have clogged up your throat, muting your voice until you’re caught in the riptide-current of everything that’s happened to you.

“C’mon, darling. Let’s get you out of here, huh?” You just nod, allowing Javy to put your shoes on your feet and wrap you in a big hoodie, drawing the hood over your face before propping a pair of sunglasses on your nose.

The sound is worse the minute you set foot outside of the door. The flashes are blindingly bright even through the dark lenses on your face, and if it weren’t for how Jake and Javy sandwich you between them, both of them still in their khakis, you’d have broken in the couple of dozen steps it takes to get into Jake’s lifted truck with the blacked out windows. The reporters are shouting questions to you so insistently that you can hear them even once you’re safely ensconced in the backseat with Javy. For several long moments, they turn their hounding on Jake as he carts your bags to the tailgate in a couple of quick trips. It’s barely ten minutes later that Jake takes off down the road. But it’s in the quiet of the cab that you break down.

It’s an acute despair that’s got hold of your heart, tears slipping down your cheeks in big globs at the pain you’re feeling all over again. It’s not enough that you had to watch your soulmate crash, that you can’t know how he is doing. No, now you have to face the entire world lambasting you for something that you didn’t do. This soulmate thing didn’t come with instructions. If the gods had been a little more specific, could you have avoided all of this? Why didn’t your life come with some kind of instruction booklet? Would it have saved all of this heartache? You honestly don’t know and you’re sure you never will.

Javy’s an angel throughout it, holding you tight against his chest and letting you cry until your tears peter out. You can’t hear anything for a long while, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the big palm cradling your head or if it’s just that the beating of your heart is drowning out everything else. 

“How’s she doing, darling?” You’re struck dumb, your mind moving far too fast to put your thoughts to words.

“I dunno, Jake.” The rumble of Javy’s voice in his chest feels like home. “She cried for a long time, and now Tink’s just lying against my chest limply.”

“I wish there was something we could do to help her more, Javy.” It sounds like Jake’s choked up. Why? It’s not like you’re anything special.

“What else could we do? We got that little prick under investigation. And I punched him square in the nose. Everything else is up to Bradshaw. And we’ll take care of our girl as long as we have to. She may not believe that she did the right thing at this very moment, but we’ll help her. It’s the least we can do.” Javy sounds so sure of his ability to help you. But what if you’re past saving? It’s not like Hawk will ever change his tune.

“Then why doesn’t it feel like it’s enough? This is Tink, Javy. Our Tink. We wouldn’t have each other without her.” You’ve never heard Jake like this.

“It’ll be okay, darling. You and me, we’ll take care of our Tink as long as we have to.” 

You must fall asleep after that conversation because the next thing you know is the feeling of cool blankets over your exhausted body and a soft pillow under your heavy head. Somebody has laid your cell phone down on the nightstand and your bags are in a corner. You feel weighed down and groggy, like you’ve been sleeping for far too long and yet are still completely exhausted. You have to force yourself to walk down the stairs of Jake and Javy’s house, though you can’t quite give up the comfort of the blanket they’d draped over you. Your socked feet whisper softly against the shining wood floors, and the stealth it provides leads to you seeing something which warms your nearly broken heart.

There are takeout boxes on the counter and two half filled glasses of wine nearby.  Soft music spills from the speaker on the counter and Jake and Javy are swaying gently to the beat. As you creep closer to the kitchen, you can hear the lyrics. If you know Jake correctly, it sounds like Tim McGraw’s My Best Friend. Jake’s mouthing the words gently, Javy’s head against the crook of his neck and his hand over Jake’s heart. Both of their eyes are closed and they look completely at peace with each other. Their love for each other speaks volumes. They seem so at ease with each other, like they belong here in each other's arms. 

In this cozy ranch style kitchen, all of your problems seem miles away. If you close your eyes and let the music wash over you, you would almost think you’re in your own kitchen, dancing barefoot in somebody’s arms. There’s a dog underfoot and even though the two of you nearly fall, it feels right. When you open your eyes, you half expect yourself to be there in your kitchen, to see Bradley looking down on you. But nothing’s changed. You’re still lost and alone. Adrift in stormy seas without a life raft or life jacket. But in the warm yellow light, you let yourself hope, just a little. You have Jake, and you have Javy. Maybe they’re enough?

Rooster

In the who-knows-how-long since he’s been stuck in limbo with his mom and dad, Bradley’s filled them in on everything they’ve missed in his life. He’s been yelled at and squished by both his parents and he feels more settled than he has been in a long, long time. From what his parents have told him, he’s not dead, not completely. There’s something tethering him to his life, something more than just his bruised, broken, battered body in a coma. 

If he stops concentrating on what it is, just a little, Bradley sometimes thinks he sees a string, shooting out from his heart and extending out, farther than he could possibly see. It’s crimson, the color bright against the pale nothingness he’s in, and god he wishes he could see who it points to. But more than anything, he wishes he’d just not decided to get into a broken jet and fly. It’s the biggest regret of his not-quite-life, not-quite-death, and he wishes more than anything that he could apologize to his soulmate.

But he can't. Not until he wakes up. It's impossible to know how many days he's been stuck in this liminal space too, the days punctuated by his mom and dad appearing and disappearing in golden motes of light, leaving him in solitude at times. It must be nice, Bradley's sure, to know you've lived a life well, to know your soulmate is waiting for you on the other side of a golden bridge waiting for you.

That's the first time he sees her, his soul. She's standing in a kitchen, wrapped in a fluffy blanket, the only parts of her visible are her sock-clad feet and her head. There's music playing, some country tune Bradley couldn't name if he tried. Her eyes are welling with tears as she watches two men dance. One is pale-skinned and blond haired, the other deeply tanned with close-cropped inky black curls. They're wrapped around each other, love dripping from every motion. Bradley knows exactly whose face it is, Tinkerbell, just as well as he knows the blond's face. It's a face he would have argued he's seen too many times since the Uranium Mission. Fucking Jake Seresin. But why's he dancing with somebody else? Shouldn't he be dancing with Tinkerbell? She’s in the room after all. How could he cheat on a girl like her? More's the question, why's he seeing Seresin and Tinkerbell instead of his soulmate?

But before Bradley can get or manipulate the visions to show him something else, he's left with only his thoughts. Those thoughts keep focusing on Tinkerbell standing in the kitchen. She’d looked so sad, so lonely. Oh god, is this when she found out Jake was cheating on her? He can’t help wishing he were there so he could hug her and kiss her tears away.  Which is ridiculous, right? But he does promise that the next time he sees Bagman, the two of them are going to have words. Nobody gets to treat their soulmate like that, not on his watch.

Taglist:

🛩️ @roosters-girl 🛩️ @infamous-reindeer 🛩️ @caitsymichelle13 🛩️ @mattyskies 🛩️ @cosmic-psychickitty 🛩️ @mygyn 🛩️ @julesclues 🛩️ @greenbaby12 🛩️ @bubblegumbeautyqueen 🛩️ @briseisgone 🛩️ @soulmates8 🛩️ @meganlpie 

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[sleepingdeath-light]

langue de chat cookie smut hcs ; 18+

requested by ; 🏹💜 anon (01/08/23)

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; langue de chat cookie

outline ; “So, I keep coming across your page and I can’t help but adore your content!

I’ve been feeling a little deprived of the fact there’s not a lot of langue de chat cookie, so I slipped through your inbox to ask for some possible smut headcanons with a female reader, of course when you have the time as there’s no rush! If you have any concerns with my request, please bring it to my attention so I don’t mess up anything so I don’t go past boundaries.

Love your content, please do keep up the great work!

Your new anon, 🏹💜”

warning(s) ; sexually explicit content, switch!langue de chat cookie, body worship, bondage, overstimulation, praise kink, oral sex

note ; i opted to make the insert gender neutral for this instead to make the hcs more accessible for any readers

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

langue de chat cookie is the ultimate service switch — he lives to pleasure you and will happily dominate you or let you dominate him if only you ask, with his own preferences in the moment mostly being dependent on yours (he equally enjoys being able to let off some steam after a taxing case, and being able to hand over the reigns to someone else for a change and let you take care of him in the bedroom)

as a dominant he takes a much softer and kinder approach, preferring to reward and pleasure you rather than punish and degrade you — so with him as a dom you’re more likely to be praised and overstimulated than you are to be spanked and humiliated (unless you make it very clear to him that that is what you prefer in bed)

as a submissive he’s much more obedient and easily flustered than he is normally, leaning into every touch and ounce of praise and whimpering if you deny him — he’s completely and utterly desperate to please you, even if that means doing things that leave him terribly red in the face (such as begging, grinding against you, or masturbating for you) and if you call him your ‘good boy’ then you might just make him cry

he can easily spend hours worshipping and pleasuring and praising you (bonus points if this whole process involves some light bondage) — just touching, caressing, kissing and making love to you with everything he has until you’re whimpering and panting and so far gone that that’s all you can do (of course he knows your limits well and will stop once he deems it too far, but he does enjoy to overstimulate you every now and then)

he’s pretty vanilla for the most part but he will occasionally incorporate some kinks into the bedroom when you ask — such as bondage and praise (as mentioned above) but also some light impact play and some degradation if you ask (he’s incredibly articulate when he wants to be, a perk of his profession, and as such can be proficient in dirty talk if he’s given some time to prepare — but if he’s put on the spot he might flounder a bit)

might be up for some risky sex if you’re really convincing and he’s especially horny — such as the one occasion where you managed to convince him to fuck you on his work desk when the rest of his department were out — but those occasions are very much so few and far between as he’s a bit shy and prefers to keep anything sexual confined to private areas for the two of you

if you send him a nude photograph or another sort of ‘risky’ message when he’s working then he’ll lose the ability to speak and work normally for the rest of the day — he’s too flustered to think about his cases/arguments, even after excusing himself to the bathroom to ‘take care of the issue’, and all he can think about is you and all of the things he can’t wait to do when he finally gets home

even if most of your play is relatively safe and vanilla, langue de chat cookie always insists on the two of you establishing a very thorough consent system — full on traffic light signals, safe word, safe action, asking before doing anything, the works — because he’s such a gentleman and always terribly concerned about your well-being and enjoyment in the bedroom

loves going down on you (and could actually get off on doing that alone) but gets terribly flustered and guilty if you try to return the favour — it’s not that he dislikes receiving oral, just that he feels bad about not pleasuring you in return and worries about making you uncomfortable in the moment without realising it

he’s a bit of a traditionalist and quite enjoys the missionary position because he deems it to be very intimate (which he appreciates) — that being said he can also see the appeal of positions like ‘doggy style’, ‘concubine’, ‘cowgirl’ and things like wall sex, spooning (which is another strong favourite of his) and fucking you when you’re sat on an elevated surface, so long as they occur just as often as his preferred position

lazy, slow, early morning sex with him is a given and usually involves languid movements, lots of compliments and hugs as the two of you gradually wake up in each other’s embrace

quite enjoys casual cock warming as a type of intimacy and does appreciate the feeling of you sinking down on his cock and staying there to cuddle him and keep him company whilst he works on some odd paperwork in his home office — having you around makes the work far more bearable and the both of you get to enjoy some intimacy in the meantime (until the both of you break and you start to ride him to completion in his chair)