#no way to get better except being embarrassed about yourself and living with it

[madamescarlette]

Hey did anyone realize that to be known you have to let yourself be known?? Illegal. Cancelled. Stop it right now.

[freebooter4ever]

The tech guys are hanging out in my office again and chatting about $10,000 week long vacations like this is normal.

[bananami]

STFUATTDLAGG

character/s: choso kamo x afab!reader

SYNOPSIS: meangirl!reader x loser!choso is a pairing that lives in my head rent free so when you all voted for choso to be the next hot man i wrote for i knew this was what would come out of it so let’s get into it whores

WARNINGS: this is college based bc u know why. 18+, nsfw, mdni, the whole shebang, kiddos avert ur eyes IT'S ALL SMUT / also just be aware i did use fem language for reader. as always, i did not proof read xxx

A/N: delusion is like drugs for simps, and i am the crackhead

Choso isn't like a nerdy loser, more like he’s just an emo boy, he’s got that alternative look going on and in a school full of preppy rich kids he stands out like a sore thumb. Of course this leads to some not so nice kids being not so nice to him, to which like he literally could not care less. He pays no mind to what anyone thinks of him beyond of course what his brothers think of him.

And as much as people aren’t nice to him, they do not fuck with him directly, lowkey scared of his reactions. Especially following a specfic incident in which someone tried to pick a fight with him. At first he was going to just let it slide but then they said something rude about Yuuji and this man laid them out. People were sent to urgent care and everything. Choso was put on suspension and almost kicked out, but their family friend is a lawyer and threatened to sue the school and anyways (if you know who you know who) so he was allowed back at school and everyone’s a little weary of him. This doesn’t stop the mean comments from coming.

And you. You’re no exception. You made fun of him every chance you got. The way he always did his hair in that weird double bun updo, or how he had his nails painted black, his various piercings and tattoos, the way he dressed so much different, was so much different, than any of the other guys you knew at school.

And you were so disgustingly attracted to him. While everyone would sneer and make fun of him and you played along, in reality you were internally berating yourself.

Choso did his best to ignore you but to be honest in the end you were just too fun to mess with. He thought it was cute how you thought you could hurt his feelings, how you really tried, and didn’t realize that he had a thing for brats and that’s just what you were. Everyone else was too afraid to say it straight to his face ever since the fight except for you.

One time he caught you staring at him and he couldn’t help himself, leaning over with a careless smirk. "If you spent less time staring at me and more time paying attention to the lecture maybe you wouldn’t be failing the class."

"Fuck you, Choso.”

"You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You hoped he’d mistake your embarrassment for anger. He didn’t. You snapped back, as usual. "Maybe if you didn’t dress like such a freak, you’d actually have some friends.”

"Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch your boyfriends would actually stick around for longer than a few months."

The one stung, and you tried not to let it show. Thrown off your game, all you could bring yourself to reply back was: “don’t call me a bitch.”

He shrugged, as though he were bored with the conversation already. "I never said it was a bad thing, just that you keep dating dudes who can’t handle you."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He doesn't answer though, and you spend way too much time thinking about what he could've meant. Was he implying that he could handle you? Was that why he constantly found ways to poke at you? Did he like when you were a brat? Did it matter if he liked it? It led your fantasies down a deep and dark rabbit hole that you spent weeks harping on.

Things get even worse after you realize that Choso might’ve been right about your grades slipping and staring at him in class and whatnot. And (for plot reasons of course) that would mean your professor paired you up with him for the final project so that you’d stand a better chance at passing the class.

Which is how you find yourself standing outside of his apartment door, debating how much you need to actually pass the course for your degree. You kept coming to the same conclusion. You definitely needed to.

"You just gonna stand at my door like a creep or can you move so i can let you inside?” He stood at the top of the staircase up to his apartment, watching you with another bored expression.

You're reaction is second nature. "I’m the creep? How long were you just standing there watching me? Maybe I’d already knocked and you didn’t answer so I was waiting. Let’s get on with it, I don’t need anyone seeing me hanging around-”

"Alright relax, princess. No one’s around to hear you act like you hate me. Come inside and I’ll grab us something to drink.” He opened the door to let you both inside, holding it open for you to enter first.

"First off, I do hate you. And second, how do I know you’re not going to poison me?”

"Don’t worry, I wouldn’t poison you. The plan was going more in the direction of choking.”

"Choked to death? Good to know.”

"You implied killing. All i said was choking.”

"Oh, gross.” You groaned. You pushed away the images that were brought to your mind. Choso's hand around your throat, fingers in your mouth, his breathy whispers telling you what else he'd have you choking on by the end of the night.

It's not too bad for the first few hours. You start out working on the project in the living room, but Choso’s neighbors are loud as all hell and you eventually ask if you guys can move into a room away from that shared wall. And (of course for plot purposes) that would be his bedroom.

"Your bedroom is exactly as I pictured it would be."

"This is the part where I make fun of you for picturing what my bedroom looks like."

"Yeah weird and creepy, just like you.”

"Your insults are getting less and less creative.”

"Yeah well….shut up.”

He’s surprised at that, usually you’d come back at him with something witty and clever and he actually enjoyed it.

It’s quiet and he’s sitting at his desk while you lay casually on his bed when he decides now’s as good a time as ever, and he might never actually get you alone again to say it.

"You ever gonna admit that you find me attractive or keep lying to the both of us?"

You wince. "I don't find you attractive. Stop flattering yourself."

"You flatter me enough with all the staring and drooling you do over me in class."

"You're obsessive," you snap at him.

"At least i can admit it."

You're caught off guard, stuck between wanting to ask what he means and not wanting to give in to the obvious baiting he's doing. When he throws the study material down on to his desk and plops down in front of you on his bed, it seems like he's resigned to not giving you that choice.

"Tell you what, I'll tell you all of the dirty and depraved things I think about on a daily basis, and you can decide after whether you'd like to share those same thoughts of yours with me or not."

"Why would I want to hear any of the thoughts in your head?"

"Because a lot of them revolve directly around you." He's leaned so close you're almost touching one another. Your silence is enough to spur him on. "I think you've never been fucked properly before."

You can't contain the look that falls on your face. "Seriously? This what you think about? My sex life is none of your business, but I'm doing just fine in that department, thank you very much."

He ignores you. "I don't think you've ever been told to shut the fuck up and take it like the good girl I know you can be." That shut you up real quick. Choso is on his knees in front of you, hands cupping around your neck, his thumbs running across your cheeks. "You're whiney little fucking attitude not do it for your boyfriends?" He teased. "They not know how to deal with you when you're being a brat, huh?"

You're head moves without conscious effort, nodding to agree with him.

"You just want some attention, don't you?"

Another nod.

"You want my attention, don't you?"

Hesitation. But you can't help yourself, his presence looming heavy over you, pushing you to admit what you'd kept in the dark for so long.

One of his hands slithers from your throat, down your chest, under the sweats you threw on in a rush to get to his apartment. You're so distracted by his fingers that you don't notice his face moving closer until his mouth is prying yours open. That's all it takes from him to have you stroking your fingers through his hair, pulling it out of the buns they typically are held in.

"Such a little brat." He's hovering over you, pushing your hips into the soft cushion of his bed with his. "Feel how hard it makes me?" He teases as he grinds his hips down, his clothed cock sliding against your center. Your eyes flutter and he grips onto your face with one hand, squeezing firmly. "You're gonna fuck me tonight. Nod if you understand."

You can't believe how quick your head moves up and down. "You're gonna take off those pretty little panties you wore hoping I'd get to see and slide up and down my dick until I tell you to stop. I don't want you cumming until I feel you've begged enough."

It takes no time at all for him to flip the two of you and prop himself up on his forearms. His pants are shimmied off and thrown to his bedroom floor alongside yours.

Your hands are desperate to line him up, anticipation building to have him deep inside of you, but his shoot out to pull them up and place them against his chest. "No, no, no. You don't get me inside you yet, not until you prove to me you deserve it." He urges you along his shaft, flat against his stomach. "That's right, be a good little slut for me and let me feel that pussy slide against my dick."

You watch him from above, his face contorting from concentration to pleasure to near desperation. You've never felt as powerful as you did riding him. Not a single one of your boyfriends ever turning you on as much as Choso was right now. He made you work for it, praising you when you did what he asked, and you chased that praise.

"Shit, look at that baby," he grabbed your hair and yanked your face down to watch yourself slide against him. "Need to feel you squeeze that pussy around me. Fuck, slide me in, slide me in-" his loud groans matched your high pitched sound of relief at having him seated inside you. "Fuck this."

He flipped the two of you back over, gripping each of your legs and forcing them up. "Hold right under your knees for me. Good girl, keep yourself open for me, let me just use you." He fell to his forearms as he plowed into you, giving you no time to get used to any sort of pace.

You tried your best to hold your legs, but you wanted so badly to touch him. One of your hands wandered back up into his lose hair.

He could barely keep his eyes open, mumbling all kinds of truths you were sure he would've kept locked inside had he not been so drunk on the feel of being inside you. "So fucking pretty," he kissed you sloppily, "such a stupid fucking brat, just needed my cock inside you. Feel like heaven, baby. Gonna let me cum inside your little cunt, right? Made me wait so fucking long to have you, I deserve it. Don't I deserve it?"

You can barely form any coherent words, setting for nodding and breathy uh huhs.

"So fucking mean to me, and look how good I'm being to you, huh?" You feel the light slap of his head against your cheek. "Say your sorry, beg me to cum inside your pussy."

You do beg, your apology comes out in between the stuttering and slurring of your words, but you beg and plead with him until he concedes. It his own orgasm that pushes you over, his groans and relentlessness that follow, pushing himself passed the point of no return. You can see the beginning of what looks like tears in his eyes, and he has to force himself to stop, his hips jerking from the overstimulation.

He kisses you ruthlessly, letting his tongue claim your mouth in a manner more harsh than it is anything else. And when he pulls away and his eyes settle back on yours they're equally as harsh.

"No more shitty little boyfriends that can't handle you. I'll handle you. You want my cock, you ask nicely. Understand?"

"Yes," you let your lips peck his, surprising him, "what if I don't wanna be nice about it?"

He smirks, "try it and find out. Now get on your knees and suck my cock like the good girl I know you can be."

[daistea]

Could you do a suggestive mithrun x tallman reader fic where the reader somehow managed to become friends with mithrun and they ask if they can touch his ears out of curiosity (I just like the idea of elf ears being sensitive)

Ya! This one was fun 💕 thanks for the prompt!

1800 words

Mithrun x Tall-man Reader

no tws except for smoochin and a suggestive tone

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

You had a measure of decorum. Not much, though. A teaspoon, maybe. A teaspoon of decorum. Yet, that still existing decorum nearly stopped you from doing what you currently wanted the most:

To touch an elf’s ear.

Pattadol said no. Fleki laughed at you and said ‘keep dreaming’ as if you’d just hit on her. Lycion became a bit flirty in a way that threatened you. Cithis also said no. Otta… also said no, out of loyalty to her current partner. Otta’s response made you wonder what the implications of ear touching were to elves. Was it intimate? Was it embarrassing for them? Was it considered rude if you didn’t know the person well, like how using a half-foot’s first name was considered rude for strangers? That teaspoon of decorum caused you to hesitate.

Mithrun, though, wouldn’t care. Mithrun hardly cared about anything. And you were friends, sort of. He didn’t outright call you his friend, but that was fine, you could live with that. He put up with you. That was fine. Fine.

You knocked on the door of the little apartment above the noodle shop. Mithrun’s monotone, though muffled, voice told you to come inside. You found Mithrun on the floor, on his knees and hunched over the baseboards. He wielded a toothbrush like a dagger as he scrubbed at the nonexistent dust, and only spared you a glance, but said no greeting.

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Mithrun clean like that. It was yet another habit Milsiril had instilled in him during rehabilitation, though you had a theory that Milsiril only taught him to clean so ardently because she thought it would come in handy for hiding murder evidence.

Mithrun’s home was simple. It was near empty aside from the most basic furniture. Yourself, Kabru, and several of the Canaries had given him little decorations. The pillows on the couch with the badly embroidered cows on them were from Otta. The simple, thick white curtains were from Pattadol. The painting of Mithrun’s assist dog dressed in royal garb was from Lycion. And most of the utensils in the kitchen were from you, given to him after you saw him attempt to eat spaghetti with a spoon— he knew better, but couldn’t be bothered to buy proper utensils.

As you took a moment to watch Mithrun scrub, your mind began to wander. Was this truly worth it? You’d only recently read about how soft elf ears were, yet you hadn’t been able to get the thought out of your mind. And they were so cute, too, with how they drooped and perked up. You’d even seen Mithrun’s ears droop when he pulled his hair back. It wasn’t as pronounced as other elves’ but no less endearing.

“What do you need?” Mithrun’s voice yanked you from your mind. It was as if he’d grabbed your shirt and pulled you forward, making you stumble for words.

It would be easiest to just blurt it out. He wouldn’t be offended. He might give you the look, but it wouldn’t bother him, surely. Yet, it was as if you’d hit a mental wall. What seemed like such a simple request ended up stuck in your throat, refusing to climb.

Mithrun sat back on his haunches and raised his head to look at you. He rested his forearms on his knees, toothbrush dangling from his fingers. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and there were his ears.

You knew that look. He was expecting something. And he would stare in silence until you blurted it out.

“I want something,” you finally said.

“I already asked what you wanted,” Mithrun reminded, monotone.

“Technically, you asked what I needed, and this isn’t really a need. I mean, it feels like a need, but it’s really not. I can live without it. However, I would like it. It would please me.”

Mithrun didn’t miss a beat, “And you know how much I wish to please you.”

“Okay, smartass, tone it down,” you put up a hand, shooting him a glare, “I’m really nervous, so don’t make this harder for me.”

“I wasn’t kidding.”

“No, you were being sarcastic.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic.”

“You’re just trying to make me squirm,” you accused, “you’ve become a sadist after regaining your desires, huh? You like watching me struggle?”

Mithrun only slightly raised a brow, “A bit. But use your ears, I wasn’t being sardonic.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t help but pause. “...I’m going to think about the implications of that statement at a later date. For now, on the subject of ears, I have a request.”

He finally stood, brushing past you to deposit the cleaning brush into the sink and washing his hands in a water basin. After drying them, he went to pull the rubber band from his hair, but you made a panicked squeak at the sight, which gave him pause.

“Don’t,” you pleaded as he looked at you blankly, “keep your hair up.”

If Mithrun was confused by the request, he gave no hint. He kept his hair up, though, as he strode through the little apartment and sat on the couch, gesturing for you to join him. You’d done this a hundred times before, sitting next to him in comfortable silence as you both focused on your own things— Cithis called it ‘parallel play’ as if you were kids on a playdate. You’d spent hours on this couch, resting an arm over the back of it as you curled your feet up and talked. Mithrun would usually cross his arms and fold one leg over the other, staring at the wall as if he were ignoring you. He wasn’t, he never did— sometimes he did, but you forgave him.

You took a deep breath as you plopped down beside him gracelessly, your nerves taking over your joints and rendering you a clumsy mess. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, though, it wasn’t as if this was a big request. It would only last a few seconds, and you’d have your curiosity sated. If Mithrun didn’t want you to touch his ears, he would simply tell you, and you’d both move on with your lives.

Yet, Otta’s earlier answer rang in your mind. She wouldn’t let you touch her ears ‘out of loyalty.’ What did that mean?

It was yet another statement that you’d have to consider at a later time. For the moment, you tried your best to get comfortable as the request rose in your chest. It was undeniable.

The words broke through the dam and flooded your mouth. “I would like to touch your ears, please.”

You watched as Mithrun stiffened. His good eye widened for half a second before he schooled his expression. He didn’t look at you, gaze glued to the wall, but the slight raise of his brows betrayed his surprise. Surprise. Why was he surprised? Was ear touching offensive in elven culture? Mithrun didn’t even acknowledge elven culture most of the time.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he looked at you. Your heart clenched and it felt as if someone had punched both your lungs, but you managed a smile. You knew you looked stupid, shoulders slumped and eyes wide and smile shaken. But he didn’t look at you like you were stupid, he looked at you like you’d just spoken gibberish.

“You want to feel my ears?” He asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, I like soft things, and they look pretty soft. I asked the other Canaries first and they all said no.”

Mithrun cracked a little smile. It was barely there, but you could feel the amusement coming off him in waves. “Of course they would all say no. They know better.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but he’d yet to give you a straight answer. “Whatever. Can I please just feel them, at least a little? Then I’ll never ask you for anything again.” (That was a lie and you both knew it.)

Nonetheless, Mithrun’s gaze flickered around the room. It didn’t look like he was scanning anything in particular, but rather letting the thought absorb. Once he returned to you, he slowly nodded, “I doubt I have any nerve endings left, so it’s fine.”

Nerve endings? It didn’t matter, you were so close to your goal. Some called you single minded, you preferred the description of ‘determined.’

Slowly, you raised a hand. The moment felt monumental. The air was thick with anticipation that set you on edge, raising the little hairs on your arms. You let out an exhale as if to prepare yourself, then gently brushed your fingers on the soft skin of his cut ears.

You traced the jagged tip. Then the lobe. Then the back. Mithrun leaned into your touch and his eyes threatened to flutter shut, but he managed to send you a look, “Don’t look so excited.”

“Yes, sir,” you answered immediately as you tried to school your expression.

He let his guard down, his eyes shutting as he exhaled slowly. There was a hint of gravel in that exhale that sparked a fire in your lower abdomen.

You should probably stop.

“There are definitely nerve endings left,” he murmured.

You gently took his other ear and began rubbing the tip.

Mithrun lowered his head a little, brows furrowing and lips forming a frustrated frown. He leaned in. Only when you looked down did you notice how tightly he gripped his pants. His knuckles were turning white. The sight just made you want to press a little harder…

Wait.

If you’re getting hot, and if Mithrun is breathing that heavily, then—

Otta’s words made sense. Lycion’s flirting made sense. Elf ears are erogenous zones.

You’d asked every Canary if you could basically touch their privates.

More horrifyingly, you’d asked Mithrun if you could touch his—

It felt as if your face was on fire. You tensed, slowly pulling back, but Mithrun’s hands went to your cheeks before you could react. And his lips were on yours. Eager. Hungry. That spark in your abdomen flared and spread and suddenly you were a bonfire. He held your face a bit roughly, and the kiss was desperate. You should probably kiss back, you thought.

You let yourself melt into the feeling, but kept your fingers on his ears, gently massaging the soft skin. He let out a gasp between kisses before diving back in. His chest pressed against yours and you took the hint to lean back on the couch so he could slip between your legs and consume you entirely.

The mortification concerning the fact that you’d unknowingly sexually harassed all your friends was temporarily set aside. At the moment, all you knew was Mithrun, and this new power over him that your curiosity had bestowed upon you.

You will, most likely, use it for evil.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

[gremlingottoosilly]

Cabin in the woods (yan!slasher!Konig x fem!Reader x yan!slasher!Horangi) part 2

You listen to the story about those woods. Turns out, real life is way, way nastier than any of those stories. Don't lose your head.

TW for the chapter: Blood, gore, dead bodies, slut shaming(usage of outdated horror tropes), knife play, blood play, mentions of STDs

— Do you know what animal is this? 

The body of a small creature – rodent, probably, you don’t think there could be any other animals around – was lying on the road near the place you decided to stay for the night. The “Coolest fucking thing in the world that is also just a few hours from here” was still a few hours from here because it was fucking dark and you already left your car on the sidewalk, hoping no one would steal it because honestly, why would anyone need this pile of burning crap. 

— According to the “Basic Bestiary of Austrian Animals” it might be an extremely rare Austrian Marmont.

You fucking hated Max. Mostly because his form of being different was “being an intelligent asshole” and also because he would never forget to rub the fact you were behind him in the grades into your face. 

— Waaaaaaait, a mamont? But it’s small! You have to give Karen – blonde, tan, tall, straight C everywhere except for her chest (then it would be D everywhere) – credit. As adorably silly as she was, she was still the only person you could have a meaningful conversation with. Except for the times when she was fucking your boyfriends. Or when she forgot that you don’t have a boyfriend so he doesn’t need to fuck random people just to spite you.

— Perhaps, if we are extremely lucky, a European edible dormouse, also known as…

— Fuuuuuck, people eat this thing? Yuck! Austria is like, literally the worst country EVER!

You feel like every second of this conversation, even though you are just listening to it, is going to take 10 years from your life span. You never knew why the two got together – maybe because Max loved fucking someone dumber than he is, and Gretchen loved placing the responsibility for her actions on her beloved sociopathic boyfriend. 

You wanted to say that this was literally a fucking squirrel, but you know better. Not like anyone is going to listen anyway. 

You get to the supposed location a few hours – already deep in the night, everything that you hate about forests – unkept environment, horrible living conditions, mosquitos, and occasionally wild animals are making you squirm each time your butt switches the place and you involuntarily sit on the cold, damp ground. You lick your lips, trying to adjust in the position in front of the fire. Fire that you probably shouldn’t be making in the middle of the private territory, but Chad said the place belongs to some weird hillbillies who wouldn’t care about a bunch of college grads having fun. 

You just finished the last of your coke – mixed with cheap whiskey and rum you got back at home, you feel just buzzy and fuzzy and relaxed enough to at least try to engage with people around you. Just didn’t want to make Jenny embarrassed – she was the one to vouch for you, even though you didn’t want to go camping with them. 

— I heard there is something happening in these woods. 

Everyone around you groans and you comply, groaning too. Chad has the worst storytelling voice and even Marty – the resident stoner of the group – is visibly unhappy about having to listen to his dumb jokes. Brace yourself for at least twenty minutes of dumb story with a cheap attempt to scare you. 

— You talk like those locals. What can be here except for drunkards? 

— Very fucking funny, Marty, I hope you laugh at people’s death too. 

Everyone groans again. 

— Shut up and let me finish! So, there is something hiding in those woods…legends…

— What legends? This place was built like 20 years ago. 

— Shut the fuck up, Max! It’s the legends before the town even was built. In those very forests…

— Forests? I thought it was like, just a suburban area. 

— It’s wild Austrian woods, why I would put you to adventure in the fucking suburbs? 

— You’re a suburb baby. 

— Shut it! God, I hate you guys. Alright, so…these woods are populated with…creatures. 

— Ooooh, like the mammoth we saw! 

— Karen, seriously, what the fuck? These woods are filled with motherfucking human-eating killers, not just some animals! 

— Then why do you say “creatures”? — Because it makes for a good fucking story! God, everyone, this is why none of you are studying creative writing! 

— Only your parents have money to pay for it. 

— This is why you all are fucking losers. Alright…god, I hate you. People went missing in these woods. Mostly tourists, never the local population – this is why police don’t care about it. Bodies were found, half-eaten, rotting under that very tree! 

— Which tree? There are like 10 of them just here. 

— More like 100. 

— Under every fucking tree! — That’s a lot of bodies. 

Chad groans, visibly aggressive. You just tilt your head to the side, only talking to him once before taking the last sip of your Coke and standing from your place. You wanted to take a chance to see those woods before you’d be going even deeper the next night – Chad was planning quite an adventure in the wilderness, to your dismay, and you wanted to have a chance to see the cool part of nature before you would grow tired of it. 

To your surprise, Karen was nowhere to be seen. Knowing the girl, she is far too innocent and dumb to be here – probably ran away to not listen to scary stories or got lost while trying to find a good place to pee. You sigh, feeling that it is your responsibility to pick her up – she is Marty’s girlfriend, but he is too stoned out to notice her disappearance yet. 

You stumble on your foot – alcohol makes you dizzy, makes you relaxed and smiley. You don’t even care that no one came to ask what the fuck you are doing – as far as you aware, they all can go and fuck themselves while you have a lot more fun things to do. Like searching for a drunk girl in the forest in the middle of the night…yeah, you really should work on your definition of fun. 

You already a good few minutes into the forest. Nothing but trees, not even a squirrel or a wolf pocking around to feast on yummy bodies. Not like you wanted to see a wolf, of course, but meeting with the wild life could be fun. You’d like to see a bear, for example. 

(And you will – just a bit later) 

— Karen? Karen, are you alright? You decide to scream for her once you are far enough from your friends that they won’t question why you are so concerned for her. Poor girl was obviously scared and you didn’t want to embarrass her even further, so you stroll through the woods, an empty bottle of coke in your hand – not sure why you didn’t threw it away. Littering isn’t nice, after all. 

— Karen? You’re scaring everyone, come out! 

You scream some more – she is probably lost, deep enough that she can’t even hear you. You try not to panic, try to be the reasonable friend – it’s usually Jenny’s task but here you are, trying to be the cool one of your friend group. You yell for Karen some more, listening closely to every little sound that could be easily taken as her whimper or cry for help. 

Nothing. 

Just how far can a scared drunk girl go? Probably not further away than you – you’re already starting to get tired and you knew that Sidhey got far drunker than you are. Which means she could lay here, somewhere, passed from the exhaustion, freezing, with forest animals feasting on her…no, no, you can’t think like that. She is fine, she has to be, or you are going to get into so much trouble with the police and her parents. You never told any of your families about the trip, so you wouldn’t want to get in trouble what ould require their assistance. 

You take a step into deeper part of the forest – and you think you saw a glimpse of…something. Metal, probably, might be her phone or that atrociour hair dye she is using to stop everyone from calling her a mouse. You also think you could hear a sound of someone breathing – heavily, gruffly, definitely a male, but you don’t really know how. You squint, trying to see through the trees. 

You see Karen. 

— Karen? God, you scared everyone…well, me. Where the fuck have you been? 

You smile and wave at her, your drunken state isn’t allowing you to see that, for some weird reason, she isn’t waving back. Or moving, so to speak. She stared at you with that terrified expression of hers and you tilt your head to the side, not udneratanding why is she like that. Something happened between her and others? 

You take another step back and Karen falls. 

Well…her head falls, anyway. 

There are a lot of feelings right now. Panic, panic, panic, a little bit of panic and, oh, who could have guessed, another riel of panic which makes you freak the fuck out and sprint – towards her. Maybe she will be alive if you could put her head back on her neck really-really fast? 

— Is it too late to convince you this is all a dream? 

The voice. 

You don’t recognize it – it’s distorted and quiet under the mask and you don’t know anyone int his fucking place anyways. The voice is weirdly happy, weirdly laughing and you want to vomit from how easy-going it sounds. Like the corpse of your beheaded friend is nothing, like it’s a fun pun, like…

You laungh forward, trying to, maybe, get revenge on your not-really-a-friend. Guy lets go of Karen’s body, allowing it to fall down, her head rolling to the nearest creek and tumbling into the water like a sports ball. You can’t even sob – the situation feels too unreal, too shocking, you are still very much drunk and when the guy simply wraps his hands around your waist, not allowing you to move even an inch, you fall limp in his hold. 

You sob. 

His hand goes to grasp your face in a tight embrace, making you gag from the smell of blood splattered all across his hand. You hear chuckle. 

— Didn’t want you to see that first. Wanted to play hero, yes? 

You sob, you tremble, you can barely master a few words out of your mouth. You want to scream, but it’s like all the air just decided to disappear from your lungs. So, you cry instead. How brave of you, Karen would be so proud of her friend not even trying to avenge her death. 

— F…fuck…you. 

You master with all you strength. Guy is laughing again – his other hand goes to squeeze your waist even more, pushing you against a tree. He wears a full mask with some red drawings on it – a satanic cult, really? You thought about serial killer, maybe, but definetly not about crazy cult maniacs running around. The more you know. 

— Oh, kitten, I’d love to fuck myself. But you’re here for this, no? 

He called you kitten – you squirm in his grasp, not wanting to give him the easy way to kill you. Something pokes you to the side – it’s a knife. Large, sharp, military-issued, you saw it in movie and action TV shows – and now the bloody razor almost grazing over your skin, through the thing fabric of your open jacter and a simple T-shirt. 

— Wh…who are you? 

Stpuid question, really. 

— Why does everyone wants to ask who we are all the time? Would you die happier knowing my name? Would it help you escape knowing how many beauty marks I have?

It would certainly help the police if you were to survive the encounter. Even though you are certainly going to die right next to Karen over there. 

He pushes a knife towards your side, the blade cutting through fabric easily, You brace yourself for being gutted alive. 

— I don’t like stupid questions. Ask something wrong and I will see if you are as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside. 

In a normal situation, you would punch him for such a corny joke. But you’re too drunk for this, but you’re too exhausted for this, but you just want to curl away in some nice place and fucking die, but not because he was the one to kill you. You certainly do not want to give him the satisfaction of being the one for you. 

So, you feel your cheeks heating up with the faintest of blushes. 

— What are you going to do with me?

He pushes the knife deeper, sharp edge cutting the thin line into your side. You sob immediately, tears filling your eyes as you almost feel blood – not a lot of it, just a tiny sharp streak – fill your shirt. You want to vomit, hate pain, and everything that is related to it. Thinking that the knife is dirty already and he would probably infect you with whatever one of the 13 STDs Karen has if he were to proceed. He stops right before the blade can penetrate your skin. 

— I’m a serial killer. What do you think I will do with you? 

You shake your head, trying to search for the question that won’t make him plunge a knife into your body. 

— W…what is your favorite color? 

Good job. Amazing job. Let’s hope you don’t like your liver all that much because he is definitely going to cut it out and eat it. 

— Red. I like you. 

Suddenly, you are being pushed to your knees. Suddenly, he is standing right in front of you – he is tall, of course, bulky and big, and he seems even bigger from this angle. Your face is pressed against his crotch and you can feel the dread slowly filling up your weins. Is he going to…

He presses a knife against your lips – you part it obediently, nervously, you feel your face twitching with disgust as your mouth immediately fills with the metallic taste of Karen’s blood. You really need to vomit right fucking now, but he is petting your head with his other hand like someone would do to a dog or a cat, and you sob. Too scared to do anything and here you thought you would finally stop letting people walk all over you. You thought it would start a journey of self-actualization and finding your own priorities, but…

He presses the knife a bit deeper. 

— Someone here has manners. Your friend here was trying to fuck me until she saw a knife. 

Sounds like Karen. You still remember her fucked-out face when she happily stumbled out of your room, with your boyfriend that you thought was never into cheerleaders. She had her urges and it was normal until she started to get off with those urges on everyone who liked you, or who you liked – and with such an innocent smile that no one was ever mad at her. 

He presses the knife against your upper jaw, laying it flat on your tongue – you sob, trying not to shake your head too much as he wipes away your tears and pushes your throat even deeper on the blade. You don’t know how it still hasn’t penetrated you yet. 

— Squealed like a fucking pig, not even fun anymore. I assume she was the whore of your group? 

You shook your shoulders, not wanting to give him any answers. He laughs, pressing the blade down and slightly turning it to the side. You feel the string of saliva running from your open mouth – he wipes it with his finger, leaving blood stains on your face. 

— Clean the knife for me, okay? I might leave you live if you would be good for us. You launch onto the opportunity to save your life so quickly, that you don’t even register the word “us” slipping from his tongue. 

You suck the knife obediently, carefully holding your tongue from the sharp edge so you won’t cut yourself, trying so desperately not to hurt yourself on the blade, that it’s almost adorable, He looks at you, the way you even fucking hollow your cheeks to clean it more efficiently, like you were sucking a cock and, with every passing second, he doesn’t really feel like killing you anymore. 

He feels like keeping you bound to him – maybe cutting your ankles so you would never run away from them, maybe tying you up to the body of your friend and holstering you both to the house, making you watch him gut Karen so you’d know not to run away from them. 

He pets your head like you were a cat – and, god, he always adored cats. 

You hear the noises from the side – your gaze darts to the nearest bushes as the guy waves his hand to someone gigantic sitting down at your side. Two pair of hands are now petting your head like you were a fucking animal – and you’re still sucking on his knife, feeling the pressure on your lips. You want to die, but there is no choice but to keep living. 

— Scheisse, what do you have here? 

A hand goes to cup your face and turns you to the side, to meet the giant, bulky figure fully wrapped in camo gear. His face is concealed with some sort of hood, which makes you shake even more. They both look like soldiers – or soldier-cultist-butchers from a horror movie. But, then again, you are in the fucking horror movie, since the big guy has Karen’s head in his hand, holding her by the hair. You sob even more. 

— Stumbled across me as I was gutting the slut. 

— Is she a smart one then? 

The guy with the knife laughs, yanking the blade from your mouth. You want to close it immediately, but the second guy pushes his finger between your lips, keeping them apart – and you are too scared to even try to bite him. Instead, you sit here, obediently, feeling the alcohol in your system working its magic. Again. Making you drowsy and relaxed, panic drained so much energy from your body, that you genuinely feel horrible. 

— No, wouldn’t say so. Obedient, more like. 

— Not a cool one either. Are you a virgin, Schatz? 

You want to lie, just so you won’t feel so fucking embarrassed because of it – but something in the brutality of what they did to Karen made you reconsider. You just shake your shoulders, not wanting to give a definitive answer. 

— Cute. Been some time since we saw a cute one like this. 

Your sobbing intensifies and the big guy suddenly yanks you on your feet. You immediately feel ill, pressing your head against the tree and emptying your insides – mostly because of the panic and partly because of the amount of alcohol you drank. Their touches are surprisingly soft on your skin, gently removing any stray hairs from your face and holding a firm hand on your back, rubbing the blood and grim into your jacket. 

You stand like this for a few minutes, choking on your own tears, vomit, and blood. They coo at you, gentle hands on your body guiding you towards them just so the second guy – a smaller one, relatively of course – could get a hand in your hair and yank it back. Hard. 

— Calm the fuck down. 

— You’re scaring her, Tigeren. 

— Aren’t we here for this? 

— Thought you liked this one. 

— I do. But…

— But? 

— Not fun to take her just now. She can help stir her friends a little. Make them run a little. 

They fucking killed Karen and they want to…let you go? They made you clean their knives, stand on your knees in front of them, and then gently helped you empty your insides – just to let you go when you could run into the nearest policeman and destroy their whole little game? Are they dumb or overly confident? 

— She could run. I would rather keep her with us. 

— They won’t get out of these forests without phones. And their car is already…shit. Spoilers. 

— Alright. But I would be the first to take her next time. 

— She won’t be any good after you, Ko. 

— Our Kleine Hase has more than one hole, ja? 

This is it. 

You take the opportunity – they are distracted by their little conversation, so you duck under the hand of the bigger man and run in the close direction to where the group is sitting. You are covered in blood, and dirt, you shake like crazy and you can barely even run straight without getting right into the various trees, but you don’t care. You aren’t strong enough to sit here and listen to their conversation – not when the self-preservation makes you forget about Karen. Not when that feeling in your chest can only be described as “She got what she asked for” – because she was a bitch, but not nearly enough to deserve being beheaded by two psychos. 

They laugh as they watch you run. Horangi smiles, nudging Konig to the side – you’re not a fighter, but still interesting enough. Adorable and obedient, just vile enough to suck on the same knife that killed your friend – interesting mix, to say the least. Hongjin always wanted a cat, but never got the time on the various deployments – and you behave like a perfect mix of a kitten and bunny. 

Konig tilts his head to the side, watching you, this pathetic little thing, run like the devil was after you. He was, of course. and he came in double, but it was still funny, how a city girl like you seriously thought you would be able to get away if they weren’t allowing you to. You’re cute, for a tourist, and he wants to hunt you some more – perfect foreplay before destroying you with either his cock or his knife. 

One down – and both of them couldn’t wait to finally get to you. 

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: How To Validate Yourself & Stop People Pleasing

A comprehensive guide to learn love & trust yourself and break out of your people-pleasing identity. Hope this helps xx

HOW TO MASTER THE ART OF SELF-VALIDATION:

Remember the longest relationship you have in life is the one with yourself. While we all need an external support system to be well-rounded & healthy individuals, no one else will be with you throughout your entire life except for you. So, acting as your own best friend is the secret to living your happiest and most fulfilling life. You ultimately need to do what's best for you. Otherwise, you're damaging the only relationship you will have to confront in every aspect and stage of your life.

Acknowledge your humanity and fundamental right to have needs, goals, and personal desires. Validate your personhood and individuality. Remember you're only human and are bound to have your own physical/emotional limitations and preferences. If you would be willing to cater to others' schedules, boundaries, and limitations, give yourself this equal level of respect and expect others to do the same.

Know everyone is self-centered to a certain degree. No one cares about your happiness as much or is watching you as closely as you are. They all have themselves and their lives to worry about. People are paying attention to their own self-interests (or want you to accomplish things to boost their own credibility or self-esteem). Being your greatest personal cheerleader is the only way to fully give yourself the praise and spotlight you deserve for your accomplishments.

Self-confidence is magnetic. It is the secret to showing up as your best self in all areas of life. Being secure in yourself makes you a better friend, family member, lover, partner, spouse, professional, conversationalist, etc. Validating yourself will make you feel good, but also radiates into every relationship or interaction in your life.

Discover what you love about yourself. Reflect on the personality traits, skillsets, and behaviors you know to be admirable about yourself. Are you constantly making others laugh? Do you get endless praise for your cooking, drawing, singing, or problem-solving skills? Would people come to you first to manage a crisis like a champion? Are you a master disciplinarian when it comes to going to the gym or reading? Do people regularly compliment your outfits or nails? Think of all of the aspects of your being that make you unique and help you to feel content with your existing, authentic self.

Take control of your life to cultivate your ideal self. While you should consistently praise your naturally admirable qualities, remember that you always can change aspects of your life that will help you feel like your best self. Know that you're in control of your decisions and have the mental freedom to think & act in any way you desire to reach any goals or implement lifestyle changes to feel like the person you feel destined to be.

Block out the noise and negative self-talk. We're (almost always!) our worst critics. Consider every new experience or interaction as a learning opportunity. Mistakes and failures are life lessons that facilitate self-reflection and opportunities for growth. Remember not to beat yourself up for past mistakes: You did the best you could with the information you had at the time. If you weren't embarrassed by your past self, you never gave yourself the chance to evolve and grow. Every success, failure, and new life stage offers its own lessons and teachable moments. Remember that we're all our own unique life paths. Comparing your life to someone else's is like comparing apples and oranges. Both entities may be fruitful but have vastly different flavor profiles, growing seasons, and rates at which they ripen. As Dita Von Tesse shrewdly said: "You can be the ripest, juiciest peach in the world, and there will always be someone who hates peaches."

HOW TO STOP PEOPLE PLEASING:

Acknowledge that people-pleasing is a form of self-neglect. By prioritizing another person's desires or approval above your own, you're ultimately neglecting your physical, emotional, energetic, or spiritual needs. Consider acting in your best in your own best interest as an act of self-care that safeguards your well-being.

Set boundaries. State your limitations, calmly, clearly, and directly. Understand that boundaries are your response to other people's actions, not a means to control other people's behavior. An expectation would be to ask someone not to call you during the workday. A boundary is stating that you will not pick up the phone during the workday and will only make/return calls in the evening after leaving the office.

Communicate your needs & expectations clearly. While you can't control what others will do, being upfront with your needs and expectations can eliminate unnecessary stress, logistical issues, misplaced hurt feelings, or disappointment in any type of relationship. Direct communication between parties will allow you both to respect each other's boundaries and to prioritize interactions that are mutually more positive, helpful, and emotionally nourishing.

Express your "no" freely (and without over-explaining). Remember that "No" is a complete sentence. You do not owe someone your time or emotional energy simply because they asked or expect you to do something/attend an event out of perceived obligation/guilt or simply to make someone else happy. Making sure you're okay is your first priority. Feel free to say "no" to any requests that would emotionally drain you, make you overextend yourself, or compromise any of your personal values/goals/priorities. You don't need to justify your needs. Just kindly decline, and let it be.

Remain consistent with your boundaries & priorities. People will treat you how you let them treat you. Once you set a boundary or share your priorities will someone, stick to these words through your actions to show you're serious about how you expect to be treated. Teach people how to interact with you in a way that doesn't feel self-sacrificing. No one will respect your boundaries and priorities if you don't and are easily swayed to forgo these self-imposed standards on a day-to-day or case-by-case basis.

Consider the long-term consequences of people-pleasing. While it may appease immediate conflict or anxiety, people-pleasing offers a one-way ticket to resentment and misplaced anger. By ignoring our own needs for the sake of others, we place unspoken expectations on these individuals' obligations to reciprocate our emotional labor – whether it be with their future actions or matching our generosity with unprompted favors or emotional support. We start keeping score as we continuously give ourselves over to others of perceived obligation. When someone doesn't return the favor, we get upset, despite never expressing this expectation of someone else or that we're even self-sacrificing in any way. This can lead to us feeling depleted or guilt-tripping others, and from their perspective, seemingly out of nowhere. It is best to remember we always have a choice whether to give to others and it should be of a genuine desire, love, or support for the other person – not as a way to gain external validation or manipulate a situation to create a false sense of obligation that we keep ourselves or the receiving party beholden to. Think of your energy, time, and personal resources given to others as a gift, not a bargaining chip.

[urdepressedslut]

You’re Mine, Sunshine ❝part two❞

♡ Pairing: Grumpy!Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky takes you home, and later finds you in the library. You both get to know each other better, but Bucky is hesitant.

♡ Warnings: daddy issues, angst, mentions of parent death, fluff, bucky being a grumpy boi

Trope ⇢ Grumpy x Sunshine | Mob!Au Bodyguard!Au

Part 3

Italics are flashbacks

Your nails bit into your palm, crescent shapes left on your skin in attempt to hold your emotions back. The stare of your Father only made you feel small, the disappointment evident in his eyes.

“You know why this has to happen, right?” He asked you, annoyance laced in his tone.

You scoffed, trying to focus on the pain from your palms instead of the whirling emotions that threatened to escape.

“Father, you don’t have to lie to me. I’m a big girl.” You answered with some bite.

You were sick and tired of this sudden shift from him, he had changed after your Mothers passing. You understood completely, the death hitting him hard. But it wasn’t an excuse for him to be treating you like this, you lost your Mother too. Instead of both of you leaning on each other, he shut you out almost completely— leaving you to attempt to heal on your own.

He was acting as if buying you a house would fill the hole in your heart— acting like he was doing this for you. In reality, he just wanted nothing to do with you.

You didn’t need a house, you needed him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, exhaling loudly.

“Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. You know why.” He repeated, refusing to meet your now glossy eyes.

“I don’t want to live in a house all by myself! I want to stay with you!” You shouted, scared of being alone— in need of your Fathers comfort.

Your Father had called you in to talk with you about your new living conditions. To which, you were upset about the idea of living alone— away from your only family.

“You’re old enough to live on your own. I’ll provide you with everything you nee—”

“I don’t give a shit about any of that! I need you! I can’t do this alone!” You cried finally, the tears finally making their way down your cheeks.

“Don’t you dare use that language with me! You’re going to do as I say and shut your mouth, understand?” He boomed, and you flinched back from the loudness of his voice.

Your cries died down, only small hiccups here and there. You couldn’t help feeling your heart twinge in pain, his want to get rid of you hurting you deeply. You needed your Father more than ever— and he just didn’t care. You stared mindlessly at the floor, the familiar numbness starting to form in your fingertips, the tightness in your chest growing more intense.

He was willing to provide you everything you needed, except for the one thing you needed the most. His love.

You felt unwanted. You felt like a burden to him.

“Do I make myself clear?” He repeated, his voice sharp and angered.

You swallowed through your tight throat, knowing you wouldn’t be able to word any verbal response. You chose to nod weakly instead, keeping your eyes trained to the ground.

Pierce sighed in frustration, sitting back in his chair. He was stressed about your reactions to his plans, and decided that this conversation was over for now.

“That will be all, you can go.” He dismissed you.

You wanted to laugh in embarrassment, he didn’t even talk you like you were his daughter. He spoke to you like he did with his workers— like you were nothing.

Right now, that’s what you felt like. Nothing.

~

The car’s engine shutting off had woken you up, the drivers door shutting having you perk up in your seat. You straightened yourself in your seat, wiping the little bit of drool off your chin. You didn’t even realize you had dozed off.

You watched from the inside as Bucky moved swiftly to your door, opening it for you.

You swung your legs over the edge, hopping out of the car. You gave Bucky a smile, nodding in appreciation.

“Thank you.” You spoke to him, making your way up the concrete stairs to your house.

He only grunted in response, closing the door— and scanning the area. After the area seemed clear, he followed you up the stairs. The exterior of the house was quite impressive. He was aware that your Father had bought you the house— seeing as he was one of the richest men alive. But he wasn’t expecting the house the be so… you.

Again, he barely knew you. But your light presence seemed to match with this house very well.

He watched over your shoulder as you fiddled with your keys, finally unlocking the door and walking in— to which he followed close behind.

He quickly shut the door, turning and taking in the new environment. Your house.

It was a beautiful home inside as well as the outside, the walls intricate in their carved designs. The floors polished— free of any smudges. The only thing he found a little off, was the fact that there was minimal furniture.

Yes, there was a couch and some side tables here and there, but other than that— it was quite bare.

“I assume you’re going to be staying here?” You guessed, your assumption confirmed when Bucky nodded his head. “Where’s your stuff?”

“Will be delivered eventually.” He answered quickly.

You nodded in understanding, keeping the warm smile on your face.

“Well, help yourself to anything in the house. Its yours now— as well as mine.” You told him so kindly.

Bucky nodded in appreciation, but otherwise didn’t try and make any more conversation.

“Pick any room you’d like. Mine is the farthest room down the right hallway.” You informed him, pointing up the staircase.

He nodded again, staying silent.

It was going to be different having someone lurk around you at all times. But Bucky was so silent sometimes, you wondered if he was even there in the first place.

You took a deep breath, deciding to head into the library. Reading had always been the one thing that could calm you down, let yourself escape from reality for a little while. Your personal library within the house, was one of the things you were most proud of. It was grand and had so many selection of books to choose from. You smiled to yourself just thinking about it.

“I’m going to my library, please make yourself at home.” You told him.

“Very well ma’am.”

“You don’t have to do that, (Y/n)‘s just fine.” You corrected him politely.

“Okay (Y/n).” He tested out, watching your smile grow wider at the sound of your name rolling off his lips.

Giving him one last warm smile, you turned and headed to your library.

Bucky watched as you walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Which was never a good thing. He still didn’t know what to think of you. You just seemed too… chipper. There was a catch— there had to be. He didn’t know when he’d see the true you, but he was prepared for when the moment came.

So far, you were polite and overly kind. It just didn’t make sense— your Father had described so differently. Made Bucky wonder why?

Bucky had walked around the house, curious as to what the rest of the house looked like— along with picking his room out. He decided to pick one in the same hallway as yours, he assumed it was the most practical option— in case of emergencies.

After choosing his room, he made himself comfortable on the couch downstairs. He oddly enjoyed the silence, the only sound being his breathing.

The house was so quiet— too quiet. He furrowed his brows, deciding he should check up on you.

Making his way towards the library, he was amazed as he walked through the doorway— taking in the walls of books. He was quite the book worm himself, just never showing it off. He couldn’t argue with himself that he was obsessed with this room.

He found you quickly, letting out the breath he didn’t know he was holding in. You were curled up on a loveseat, nose buried into a book. You were so lost amongst the words— you hadn’t realized Bucky standing there.

He cleared his throat, making you jump— holding a hand to your chest in fright. He definitely enjoyed spooking you a little too much, as he fought down the urge to chuckle.

“Oh my god— Bucky! You scared me!” You breathed out, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Sorry (Y/n), was just checking on you.” He informed you, turning to head out of the library.

But before he could make it too far, you called out for him.

“Wait! Bucky!” You shouted, making Bucky turn back around to face you, eyebrows up— waiting to see what you wanted. “Sit with me?”

He squinted his eyes, about to remind you that he was working a job. But your soft, desperate voice struck a chord within him.

“Please?” You pleaded, your smile dropping just slightly. Enough for Bucky to notice.

He’d let it pass this time, but he was going to hold himself accountable. He would not slack off, he would not fail at this job.

With a huff he nodded, sitting on the couch across from the loveseat. You were smiling widely now, shimming in excitement in your seat.

“Um… I thought it would be a good idea to get to know each other better.” You suggested with a hopeful smile.

“No.” Bucky shot back.

You flinched slightly back, not expecting that harsh of an answer. Your smile faltered little. You were starting to see your Father in Bucky— with the mood swings and all.

“Why not?” You asked him.

He squinted his eyes at you— something he seemed to do a lot towards you. He was trying to think of a reasonable excuse, but his mind came up empty. He just simply didn’t want to get to know you. He wanted things to stay professional— keeping his distance. For his sake.

“No.” He repeated.

You rolled your eyes with a light chuckle, a sound that had Bucky’s chest all warm.

“We are going to spending a lot of time together, it’s only fair that we trust each other— and I can’t trust you if I don’t know anything about you.” You explained, making a good point.

Bucky clenched his jaw, knowing you were right.

“Fine.” He gave in, leaning his arms on the back of the couch.

You smiled to yourself, pleased that you had convinced him— yet again.

“What’s your favorite color?” You asked him, causing him to scoff.

He tilted his head in amusement. He thought it was a silly thing to know about someone, but he also was stalling because he didn’t have one. He wondered for a moment what was wrong with him, everyone had a favorite color. Even if not a favorite— there was always a color people were drawn to. But not him.

He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on a book cover with a withering tree, the background lavender.

“Purple.” He revealed finally, hoping you wouldn’t notice his lie. Was it a lie? Purple could be his favorite.

You smiled, setting your book down to the table next to you.

“Like a dark purple or a pastel purple— a lighter purple?” You pried, fully serious.

Bucky felt the corners of his mouth twitch, and he had to fight the smile down. He couldn’t help it, seeing your serious face. Interrogating him about a color. It was cute.

“Does it matter?” He asked genuinely, and he watched your mouth open in an O shape. Your eyes staring at him like he just said the most ridiculous thing.

“Does it matt— Bucky. Of course it matters, a person’s favorite color says a lot about them. About what type of person they are. About their secrets.” You whispered the last part.

Bucky squinted his eyes again, this time defensively. Your words were playful, but he couldn’t help but feel self conscious. Your stare all of a sudden felt like you could see right through him.

“Really?” He asked seriously, and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you.

He genuinely looked freaked out for a second there, and you couldn’t contain the laughter. Bucky on the other hand, didn’t find amusement in the situation. He was slightly embarrassed that you were laughing at him, but kept his features neutral.

“No, I’m just messing with ya!” You told him, breathless from laughing. “Seriously, what kind of purple?”

He rolled his eyes, genuinely annoyed. But he couldn’t help but feel so carefree around you, he felt lighter. It almost felt like he wasn’t working a job, and just letting go.

“Light purple.” He told you, watching you nod. “What about yours?”

He dared to ask, knowing you’d probably go on a full tangent about your favorite color and why it was your favorite.

You thought for a moment, looking up to the ceiling in thought.

“Red.” You answered quickly.

Bucky waited for a moment, waiting for you to begin rambling— but you never did.

“Light… dark?” He mirrored, just as you had asked him. But he found himself genuinely curious.

You shook your head, fiddling with your fingers.

“Just red.” You said blankly, readjusting your legs so they were crisscrossed.

Your words from earlier rung through his head, and he knew you were obviously joking— but he did feel that someone’s favorite color said a lot about them. He just didn’t know what yours, said about you.

“What made you wanna be a bodyguard?” You asked him, catching him off guard with the question.

He thought hard for a moment, seeing if he could even come up with an answer. He had done a lot of things throughout his life, each moment having meaning behind it. Each path having a story of why he ended up there. But being a bodyguard? Sure, he had experience but— it wasn’t that easy of an answer.

“Your Father needed someone for the job.” He answered. “I have years of experience as well.”

His answer was quite pathetic, but you didn’t seem the type to judge. You simply nodded along, listening intently like he was saying the most interesting things.

“Well, I’m sure he was very happy that he found you.” You told him with that warm smile of yours.

“You have a nice home.” He pointed out, deciding to change the conversation.

You smiled, looking around your library in pride.

“Thank you. My Father gifted this place to me.” You told him.

“How nice of him.” Bucky thought out loud.

You let your eyes drop to the floor, trying your hardest to keep the smile from dropping. You wished more than anything that you could associate good memories with your Father. All the good memories you had left, were beginning to vanish.

“Yes, he’s a wonderful Father.” You expressed, hating that no matter what went on— you’d always love him.

Bucky listened to you answer him, while he also watched as your face would drop at the mention of him. It was a flash of happiness that looked trapped within this dull expression that would take over your features. You spoke about him like he was only a dream, something of your imagination.

He wanted to pry— but he knew he shouldn’t.

“It’s been uh… hard for him since my Mother passed.” You revealed solemnly, while attempting to keep your features light.

Bucky grew tense at your confession, his own wounds throbbing from the mere mention of your Mother. Despite his discomfort, he stayed silent.

“He tries to put on a good face but— I know he’s hurting. He’s a powerful man but, even he needs a break.” You explained, picking the skin around your nails.

Bucky noticed the way you’d talk about your Father, and your Mother’s passing. The way you were trying to act unbothered. Truthfully, you were good at hiding how you truly felt— but he could still read people well. He knew you were hurting deep down.

You weren’t sure why you felt secure around Bucky. He was a man of few words, and rather let his presence do the talking. He was a reserved guy from what you could tell, but along with that— he was also a good listener. You were also lonely, deprived of human interaction. You didn’t care if he was being paid to be around you, you’d take advantage of the company. Even if it hurt that it wasn’t really real.

“Sorry— he’d probably kill me if he knew I told you that. He’s all about his image, being the tough guy and all. Just forget I said anything.” You rushed out, realizing what you were exposing.

“Don’t worry about it.” He assured you, knowing he’d never utter a word of anything you said.

“So, what about your family?” You shot at him, and Bucky felt attacked.

He squinted his eyes, glaring at you slightly. He knew you didn’t mean any harm with the question— but he couldn’t help the the way his mind filled with dark thoughts.

“No.” He huffed, watching you shrink back back into your seat.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I—”

“I need to get back to work.” He lied, there was nothing for him that needed to be done.

You watched as he got up quickly and stomped away, a scowl etched on his face. You assumed his family was a sensitive topic, and you respected that. Although, you didn’t mean to upset him.

Bucky was mysterious and it made you want to bring him out of his shell, unlock the deepest parts of him. His presence lured you in, making you want to learn everything about him.

Bucky made his way out of the library, angry with himself. Your question was surprisingly not what had him upset, it was the fact that he started to feel comfortable enough to answer it.

There was something about you that had him slowly melting, the walls that he’d built starting to crumble in your presence. He wouldn’t allow that, he couldn’t.

☀️A/N: pls let me know if i forgot to put you on the taglist, and i’ll add you for the next one!

TAGLIST: @winters1917 @unaxv @sebastianstansqueen @casa-boiardi @sonatabee @nytzirhk @almosttoopizza @erinallene @daddy-dotcom @h0nestly-though @beautiful-loserr @gloriouspurpose01 @lesleurs @justherefortheficandsmut @floralwsloki @dottirose @madi-be-buggin @navs-bhat @happinessinthebeing @ximi1315 @buggy14 @dancer3205 @neeezza101 @rovckwells

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddie-week.

Long Long Time

Day #3 - Prompt: Mutual Pining | Word Count: 1050 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Steve | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Idiot 4 Idiot, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication, Platonic Stobin, Robin Knows What's Up

It's not one realization. It's several, over and over again. A steady falling, until he's in so deep, there's just nothing to be done about it. 

"Stop pining, dingus," Robin says, and Steve looks up at her and smiles.

"Impossible," he answers.

"Just tell him," she urges, and he shakes his head. Eddie isn't interested. He's made that pretty clear with the distance he's put between them. 

"Nah, that's not cool. He's getting ready to go," Steve says, "no reason to make it uncomfortable now."

"Dingus. No. Stop it. I can promise you Eddie is pining for you just as hard."

Steve shakes his head. He knows that's not true. Steve's tried all his best moves over the last two years, everything he knows, and has nothing to show for it, except a heart that's maybe not gonna be his anymore.

Steve sits on the floor of Wayne's house, and helps box tapes. Eddie's going. He's really leaving, and soon. 

And Steve's sure that's gonna hurt him for a long, long time. 

"So, what're your big plans for this summer, Harrington?" Eddie asks.

Missing you, Steve thinks, but doesn't say.

"Oh, I don't know. Hang out with Rob, I suppose. Find new jobs. You know we like to change it up every so often. Wreak havoc elsewhere."

Eddie laughs, and it makes Steve smile.

"You could come with me, you know," Eddie offers, but keeps looking down at the box he's packing. "Both of you. All of us."

It's not a real offer, Steve knows that. He knows he's supposed to say no, supposed to let Eddie go, without throwing an anchor around his neck. 

"Oh, you don't want that," Steve rebuffs, and Eddie looks up. "I'll cramp your style."

Eddie laughs, "Yeah, you know me. Party animal."

Steve grins, "You might become one. You won't want me tagging along for that."

"But, what if I do?" Eddie asks, and Steve looks up at him.

"Eddie," Steve says, trying to cut this off before he embarrasses himself.

"You're one of my best friends, and we could have fun together."

They could. Steve knows that's true. But he can't go live in an apartment with Eddie. Can't watch him spread his wings and date, right in front of Steve's face. That'd be too hard.

Even if part of Steve wants to say yes, desperately, just to cling onto anything that's being offered.

But he's trying to be better about that. Trying to grow, and shit.

He can only let his heart get trampled so many times, and he's nearing his limit. He definitely won't be able to survive it happening under Eddie's boot.

"C'mon, Steve. For me."

And that almost does it. He hates to deny anything that Eddie might want, but sometimes, you've got to save yourself first. Put on your own life preserver, then worry about everybody else. Robin's taught him that. Or, has at least tried to.

"I can't."

"Why? Robin? I said she can come, too!"

"Because we don't feel the same way about each other, Eddie!" Steve snaps, and Eddie turns into himself, immediately.

"Oh. Oh shit," Eddie says, "I didn't know you knew. Wow, that's embarrassing," he mutters, and it kind of makes Steve mad. 

"I'm not embarrassed. I can't help who I lov-. Like. Whatever. But I just can't torture myself, man. I want you to be happy, I do. And I'm the wrong guy for making that happen, obviously, so let's just leave it. While we're still friends."

Eddie's nodding, still packing, then he's suddenly frozen in place, "Wait. What? You make me the happiest."

"As a friend," Steve clarifies.

"Well, yeah. But, if you were into it, as more, too."

"Wait. What?" Steve asks, repeating the same thing Eddie had just said. This is gonna turn into Who's on First? if they aren't careful.

"I mean," Eddie says, shying away, "I know you aren't interested like that. But I still want you around."

Steve laughs, fucking cackles, like he's crazy. He feels crazy.

Was Robin right all along? Was Eddie doing the same kind of pining, and Steve just never noticed? Fuck.

They are both goddamn idiots, if that's the case.

"Well, don't laugh," Eddie says, and he sounds dejected.

"Wait, Eddie, hold up," Steve says, crawling across the carpet towards him, putting his hand on Eddie's forearm. "Do we have crossed wires here? Do you like me, like me? Like I like you?'

"You like me?" Eddie asks.

"Uh, yeah," Steve admits, "I have for a while, to be honest."

"Jesus H. Christ, we're idiots," Eddie says, pushing his hand into Steve's hair.

"Dinguses, if you ask Robin," Steve says, smiling, and Eddie's so close he could kiss him. 

Steve thinks he will, and leans in, where Eddie meets him halfway. Kissing him, and it's everything, more than Steve hoped it could ever be.

When Eddie pulls back he's smiling, eyes crinkled at the edges, fucking happy.

He looks thrilled, and Steve decides to go all in. In for a penny, in for a goddamn pound.

"I think I'm gonna love you for a long, long time," Steve whispers in a sing-songy way, because even as happy as Eddie looks right now, Steve's still scared his love won't be wanted.

But Eddie just grins even harder.

"What made you think of that song?" Eddie asks, eyes big and bright, almost shiny.

"You hum it all the time," Steve answers, "under your breath. Like it's soothing."

Eddie wraps his arms around Steve's neck, pulling him tighter. Harder. Closer. They're on their knees, so that kind of hurts, but Steve refuses to let him go as Eddie whispers, "It was my mom's favorite song. She'd sing it to me at night."

"Kind of a sad lullaby," Steve says, and Eddie smiles.

"I was kind of a sad little boy," Eddie admits, and Steve runs his hands up and down Eddie's back.

"Well," Steve says, pressing his lips to Eddie's briefly, "if you'll let me, I'm gonna make sure you're not a sad adult."

Eddie kisses him hard at that, and Steve really will. Even if it takes his whole damn life. 

"I'll definitely let you. For a long, long time," Eddie echoes, the beginnings of a promise.

And Steve will take that deal.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddie-week and follow along with the fun!t

The title is from the Linda Ronstadt song of the same name.

[atydblack]

trouvaille

regulus black x slytherin!reader

masterlist

this is part one of an ongoing series! think there will be 3 parts in total <3 no cws as this is gonna be pure angst

Being James Potter's younger sister inquired a lot to live up to. James was the perfect Gryffindor student who succeeded in all his classes, exuded confidence with his every word, had soulmates for friends and an even better girlfriend.

You, however, were almost the opposite.

You were sorted into Slytherin in your first year and although they tried their best to hide it, you could see the disappointment in James and his friends eyes as you walked over to the Slytherin table. Your parents were still accepting but there was some clear favouritism in the family, no doubt. You did well in classes however didn't ever see yourself becoming a prefect like James or being top of any classes.

You sat in potions next to your best friend, Lara. Her straight blonde hair and bright blue eyes opposed my black curly hair and dark brown eyes. You had always been jealous of her, she was the type to catch everyone's eye when she walked into a room while you just trudged in behind her.

"Do you have idea what this question means?" Lara asks you, huffing slightly as she rested her chin in her hand.

"You really think I'd have the answer if you didn't?" You joked. You glanced up at Slughorn who had started dozing off behind his desk and you smirked. "Look."

Lara mirrored your smirk and you both dropped your quills on the desk to turn around and start talking with your friends instead.

"I'm bored out of my mind." Lara groaned to your other friend Freya sat behind you.

"Slughorn says if we don't get these all finished, he's gonna give us all detention until we get them done." Freya rolled her eyes, but you could clearly see that she'd almost finished.

"Have you got the number to 42?" You asked her with wide eyes, trying to sway her in to letting you copy her. "And 43, 44, 45... and the rest?"

"Merlin your voices are retched." A voice came from a couple desks to your right, none other than Enoch Wilkes. He was a tall boy with sleeked back greasy hair and a superiority complex due to his family heritage.

"What's your problem, Wilkes?" Lara shot at him.

"I'm trying to actually do my work but all I can hear is Potter's squeaky voice in my ear." Wilkes replied with a grunt.

"She's just as unbearable as Saint Potter except dumber." Icarus Nott joined in from next to him.

"What did you just say?" You spat, standing to your feet and making your way over to them with your wand gripped tightly in your palm, willing to do anything to stand up for your older brother. There was a third boy sat with them, Regulus Black.

Regulus had always been quiet, however he never failed to be part of the horrid Slytherins who gave your house a bad name and thought they were elite causing them to look down on everyone else. He had only made a few sly comments in past years, but everyone knew his thoughts on muggle blood.

You were also a pureblood, but would never allow yourself to feel any prejudice towards anyone else.

You couldn't deny that Regulus was attractive. He looked a lot like Sirius... however his facial features were softer. His dark black hair fell onto his forehead effortlessly and his green eyes complimented his pale skin.

"You heard me." Nott mocked you, not moving from his seat. You had gained a small audience as everyone's head turned towards you.

"What an embarrassment having a Gryffindor blood traitor for a brother." Wilkes joked, not backing down. "At least Black had the right idea and cut his off, what's stopping you from doing the same?"

"Y/N, sit down." Freya begged from across the classroom, not wanting to get either of you in trouble. "He's not worth it."

"You have no idea what you're talking about." You smirked, holding up your wand and pointing it right at him.

You were closest to Sirius out of all your brothers friends. He had moved in with your family two years ago after he left his family and you'd always been there for him, especially during everything that happened with his brother Regulus. Regulus was clearly a lost soul, strung along on the same ideologies as his parents however he would send letters to Sirius every once and a while but continued to act like he didn't exist at school.

"Leave it, Wilkes." Regulus muttered. Funny this is the first time he had ever attempted to stick up for you and it was only to save his own back.

"What's she talking about, Black?" Nott glanced at him, but Regulus' eyes were set on yours as you stared each other down. You knew you would never actually say anything to expose Regulus as doing so would only hurt Sirius too, but you could sense how scared he was that you'd open your mouth.

"She's a freak." Wilkes chuckled. "Just like her brother."

This sent you over the edge as everything turned red. You dropped your wand to the floor and quickly punched Wilkes square in the nose.

"Olive!" Lara shouted from across the classroom.

You felt a pair of strong arms pulling you back as you attempted to go in for another hit.

"What on earth is going on?!" Slughorn announced and you all froze. You turned around to see it was in fact Regulus' arms that were holding you back and a brush grew on your cheeks. "Black, Potter - sit down at once!"

You both complied, with a guilty expression you made your way back over to your desk and your friends gave you an apologetic look.

"I expect to see you both after class." Slughorn continued.

"But sir-!" Nott shouted, attempting to stick up for Regulus.

"I don't want to hear it." Slughorn quickly cut him off earning a scoff from the boy.

The lesson felt like it took hours to end but you felt slightly ill in your stomach when everyone else was packing up to leave but you and Regulus sat firmly in your seats.

"We'll be in the great hall; I'll save you a seat." Lara smiled at you before her and Freya took off out the classroom and to dinner.

"Both of you have detention with Filch every night after dinner starting tomorrow." Slughorn mumbled, uninterested. You scoffed as you were way too used to detention with Filch now.

When you were dismissed, you quickly stood to your feet and attempted to leave ahead off Regulus to avoid any awkwardness. You began walking down the corridor, ready to rant to James about what had occured.

"Potter!" Regulus called from behind you. You stopped in your tracks and turned on your feet with a confused expression on your face. He approached you slowly and timidly before speaking. "I-uh. I wanted to thank you for not saying anything about Sirius and I."

"I didn't do it for you. I did it for Sirius." You mutter before turning back around and leaving him there dumbfounded.

You reach the great hall and make a B line for your brother and his friends. James smirked at you as you approach him with a sour expression on your face before sitting in between him and Sirius, your green robes standing out in the sea of red.

"What's up with you, Y/N?" Sirius smirked before patting me on the top of your head.

"I've got detention again this week." You huff, crossing your arms and leaning them on the table.

"How do you manage to get yourself into so much trouble?" Lily quizzed you, a humorous look on her face that mirrored the rest of the group.

"She takes after me, that's why." James joked but you only rolled your eyes in response.

"Yeah, apart from the brains." You sigh, leaning your head on Sirius' shoulder. You glanced over at the Slytherin table and quickly caught eyes with Regulus, who must have been staring at you. You kept eye contact for a short moment before he turned his head and acted like it never happened. You furrow your eyebrows and listed your head once again. "At least I'm the better-looking sibling." You continue, causing everyone to laugh.

"Keep dreaming, kiddo." James rolled his eyes.

"Go on then, what did you do this time?" Remus questions you.

"I punched Enoch Wilkes in the nose during potions." You say smugly causing everyone to laugh once again.

"I would advise you that violence isn't the answer, however we can make some exceptions for people like that." Remus smirked.

"Tell me about it, they're horrid." You scoff before stealing some food from James plate. "No offence obviously, Sirius."

"Go ahead," Sirius chuckled. "I had to endure it for most of my life."

[0blobthefish0]

Partygirl Part 2

leighton murray masterlist | main masterlist

Part 1

Leighton Murray x Female Reader 1769 words

a/n - finally, it is here! i literally had this all written out except for the last part before the 17th, but I am incapable of writing cute date scenes, so this'll have to do 😅

You stir awake and your mouth falls open in a silent scream as you screw your eyes shut. Throbbing pain was incessantly stabbing at your brain, there was no way you didn't have any nerves in there because all you wanted to do was take the damn thing out. What the fuck did you drink last night, the whole bar?

Letting out a defeated sigh, you slowly opened your eyes and brought a hand to your head in an attempt to soothe the ache. Wait..

You froze.

Where were you? You questioned as your eyes adjusted to the dark. God, did you actually follow through with a one night stand? You could now hear, and not to mention feel, the soft puffs of someone breathing. You chewed on your bottom lip, nervously, as you wracked your aching brain for a solution. You nearly choke on a gasp when you feel a pair of arms tighten around your waist, pulling you flush against the other person.

Your eyebrows furrow - boobs? What the hell happened last night? And you almost feel proud of yourself until, you realise that you're still fully clothed, and now you feel horrified; how did you half fail a one night stand?

God, this was so embarrassing.

But then, you smell something familiar, expensive, and you finally pull yourself together enough to take a peek at the mystery person.

You hear yourself squeak and a hand flies to cover your mouth and you can't tell if looking was a good idea because, somehow, your heart is beating faster than it already was. You feel her hand slip from your waist and you feel as if your soul has lifted itself outside of your body.

"Y/n," you hear her croak out, her voice thick with sleep.

You let a stretched-out moment pass before replying, "Yes?"

"You okay?" She whispers softly, and you move to lay on your back.

"Yeah, I just- I wasn't expecting to see you there," you explain and Leighton can hear the nervous smile in your voice.

"You were pretty drunk last night," she recalls and she sees you wince in response. "There's some aspirin outside, if you want."

"Ugh, yes please," you say quickly.

You're sat on the sofa when Leighton passes you a bottle of water and an aspirin before taking a seat next to you. You pop the pill into your mouth and take a swig of water, smiling softly to yourself when you find that the bottle was already open. Your pounding headache seemed to dissipate instantly, it may just be a placebo effect, but you were thankful for it nonetheless, and you turned to her with a relieved smile.

"Better?" She questioned and you nodded your head. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, just listening to the quiet through the darkness that no longer seemed so dark.

Leighton couldn't help but be thankful that the room was still dark, otherwise you most likely would have picked up on the pink tint that was dusting her cheeks. The image of you pulling her in close, your hands on her face, the way you looked at her with those drunken eyes and your voice when you called her pretty was all that she could think about. Goosebumps began to litter her arms as she shook herself out of her daze.

"I should probably get going," you announced quietly and Leighton turned to see you hugging your arms.

"You could always stay y'know? I'm sure your roommate wouldn't be too happy with you," Leighton inputted, "and you do live in the other building." You had to fight the hopeful feeling from growing as you turned to look at her; did she want you to stay? No, she was just being nice, anyone sane would offer the same.

"Really, you don't mind?" You smiled sheepishly.

"No, I wouldn't have offered if I did," she shrugged and got up from the sofa to stand in front of you. "But you need to wear something more comfortable first cause," you watched as Leighton eyed your outfit before lightly shaking her head and gave you her hand to help you up from the sofa.

Quietly, the two of you made your way back into the bedroom and you stood beside her as she rifled through her draw for something for you to wear.

"You can get changed in here, or step outside if you want," she whispered to you as she passed you a pair of neatly folded clothes. You nodded your head in reply, quickly spinning on your heel as soon as you saw Leighton reach for the waistband of her jeans. You took a moment to collect yourself and settle your nerves before swiftly slipping out of your dress and pulling on Leighton's shirt and shorts.

"Done?"

"Yeah," you whispered quietly and turned to see her slipping into the bed.

Leighton watched you as you moved closer to her; something about seeing you in her clothes was making her stomach erupt with butterflies, you looked cute. She didn't know why she did it, maybe it was the time of night, or maybe it was an unconscious decision, but she opened up her arms - inviting you in closer - and to her relief you accepted and crawled into her.

"I meant it, y'know?" You confessed and let out a slow yawn.

"Meant what?"

"Nothing, sorry, I'm just tired," you whispered sheepishly, your one second of courage quickly leaving you as soon as those words left your mouth. What you wanted to say, was that when you had drunkenly told her that she was pretty, you were being earnest. You felt Leighton nod her head above you and then the two of you slowly drifted off to sleep once again.

---

You saw Kimberly send you a small smile and you made your way to their table, food in hand.

"Speak of the devil," you hear Bela sigh out as you place your tray on the table and taking the empty seat next to Leighton.

"Why are we talking about me?" You questioned.

"Bela's in a mood-" Whitney began before being promptly interrupted.

"Why didn't you two fuck?" Bela nearly shouted accusingly.

"Woah-"

"Okay! No need to be so crass."

"Just because we both like girls, does not mean that we automatically want to jump each other's bones," you defended with a hushed voice, hyperaware of the people around you.

"Speak for yourself," Bela mumbled, upset, taking a not so discreet jab at Leighton.

"Hey," Leighton gaped, "you're the one that encouraged me!"

"Yeah, I guess I did. I'm just mad, my ship needs to sail; like you literally have all of the materials, get to building!" You shook your head at that with a slight laugh and soon enough the conversation drifted away from the two of you.

You took a forkful of your lunch before turning to Leighton, the movement catching her eye.

"How'd your quiz go?" You asked her.

"Uh- yeah! It was um," Leighton was struggling to hide her shock, she had only mentioned the quiz once, maybe twice, a week ago, "it went well," she nodded with a smile on her face.

She couldn't remember if you said anything after, too concentrated on the way that she was feeling and the way her face was heating up, so much so that she had to turn away and focus in on the conversation at the table.

---

The following week flew by quickly. You were resting on your bed, the relief of finally sitting the exam washing over you, when you felt your phone vibrate. You felt for it and at seeing the caller ID you squinted suspiciously.

"Leighton?"

"Hi."

"Are you.. okay?" You questioned with confusion; Leighton never calls you.

"Yeah, I- is your roommate there?"

"No, she wen-"

You stared, dumbfounded, at your dark screen. She hung up.

knock. knock. knock.

The fuck?

Almost cautiously, you get out of bed and tip-toe your way to the door before cracking it open ever so slightly and then swinging it fully open.

"Leighton? Are you sure you're okay?"

Standing before you, in all her glory, was Leighton Murray dressed to the nines like she always was whilst you stood in pyjamas. It wasn't even necessarily late, possibly just half-past six, but you enjoyed living in comfort.

"Of course, never better," she replied, moving into the room after you turned to the side to let her in.

In reality, Leighton had never felt so anxious in her life. If she hadn't called you on a whim, she most likely would have been back in her dorm by now. She spun around as you closed the door and, were those her pyjamas? She had let you keep them that night, and just seeing you in them was giving her whiplash to last weekend.

"I want to ask you out, on a date," she stated. "I know you said that thing a few days ago about how just because we both like girls we aren't automatically attracted to each other or whatever, and that other thing of people in a relationship should be in different friend groups, which was basically a big fat sign saying 'we're just friends', but you honestly make me feel insane and I can't stop thinking about you like all the fucking time and maybe, hopefully, you like me back or maybe I'm just crazy and delusional and all the signs are just figments of my imagination."

You stared at her with a growing smile as she ranted and now she was partly out of breath as she searched your eyes, and swallowed nervously.

You nodded your head tentatively and Leighton took a small step toward you. 

"I need you to say it," she whispered softly, the words barely passing her lips, her wide, Bambi-eyes on you. She needed to know it was real.

"Yes," you nodded again, "I'd love to go on a date with you." You saw as she visibly relaxed.

"When are you free?"

"Umm.." you began as you sifted through the busy days ahead for a potential gap.

"Now?" Leighton offered and your eyes snapped to her.

"I mean- yeah?"

"Great." You felt Leighton take your hand and begin to lead you out of your room.

"I'm not changed."

"You don't need to be, plus you look cute in my pyjamas."

"Yours? They're mine now," you grinned as the door shut behind you and the two of you made your way out of the building.

"Do you have a plan?" You questioned as you stepped outside.

"Drive."

[void-wolfie]

Falling Head First

summary: you're a bit clumsy, it's a good thing Jenna's always there to pick you up when you fall. [request]

pairing: Jenna Ortega x gn!Reader

tw: none? terrible writing lol... (let me know if I need to add anything)

words: 2.22k

a/n: hope this is what you were looking for anon. Sorry it took me so long to get to your request.

You skated past that house again, the one where the kids were always outside playing. The one where that pretty girl lived.

Except this time, there weren't any kids outside goofing around. Just her. That pretty girl who was roughly your age, maybe a bit older. She had her headphones in and her nose buried in her phone as she sat on the front porch.

You always rode past her house, hoping maybe one day she'd stop you and say hi. You'd stop yourself, but you just couldn't... Your mother called it being shy, your therapist liked to call it social anxiety. Either way, you couldn't bring yourself to talk to her. Or anyone really. Too many what-ifs... What if she laughed at you? What if you embarrassed yourself? What if she hated you? Or called you stupid? Or-

Lost in your thoughts, you'd completely missed the rock in the road. Your skateboard darted out to the side, throwing you head-first into the pavement.

You rolled over onto your back, trying to brush off the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Everything hurt, but nothing felt broken, right?

"Oh my god, are you ok?" You looked up to notice the girl rushing towards you, looking fairly concerned.

"Uh-" You looked yourself up and down, nothing felt broken, nothing looked broken, "Fine, I think,"

"You're bleeding," She kneeled beside you, softly tilting your chin to get a better look at your head.

She prodded at the corner of your forehead with her finger. You instantly recoiled, hissing at the stinging sensation.

"Sorry, sorry," She backed away, leaving the cut alone. "You're not gonna need stitches, come on, let me get you patched up,"

She stood up and held out her hand, offering to help you up.

Your mind was reeling. Why was she being so nice to you, the two of you were strangers…

"Uh, thanks," You took her hand, letting her help you up. It was either let her help clean you up, or skate home with blood dripping down your face. Might as well pick the option with the pretty girl, you thought to yourself.

You picked up your skateboard and followed the girl into the house, leaving the board by the door so as not to track dirt through the whole place.

"I'm Jenna, by the way,"

"y/n,"

She pointed at the toilet and you sat down, wringing your hands nervously. She dug around underneath the bathroom counter, most likely looking for a first aid kit of some kind.

She set a bottle of hydrogen peroxide on the counter followed up by a washcloth and a box of Band-Aids.

"I've seen you around before, do you live close?"

Oh small talk, why did it have to be small talk? You suck at small talk...

"Uh, yeah. Just a few streets down from here,"

"How old are you?"

You internally cringed, why did this feel so painfully awkward?

"Sixteen, my birthday's in a few months... what about you?"

"Seventeen, my birthday was last week actually,"

"Oh, happy birthday,"

"Thanks,"

The smile she gave you made you feel like you were on cloud nine. Butterflies, fireworks, every other stupid little analogy they talk about in those cheesy romance novels. You'd fall off your skateboard every day if it meant you could see that smile just one more time.

"Stop moving," You hadn't even realized your knee had been bouncing up and down, picking at your fingernails. Bad habits you'd picked up over the years, and ones you generally caught yourself doing when you were nervous.

She grabbed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and the washcloth, placing herself in between your knees as she stood in front of you. "Alright, hold still. This'll probably sting."

"One, two..."

You waited for her to get to three, but it never came. Instead, you felt her pour the liquid into the cut, burning as it fizzled.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow-" You tried to sit still, but you weren't very good at it. You were squirming like a worm on a hook, eyes closed as a mix of hydrogen peroxide and blood dribbled down the side of your face.

You heard Jenna giggle, followed by the feeling of her hand cupping your cheek, "I said hold still." She wiped off the side of your face with the washcloth, dabbing at the cut slightly to make sure it was all dry.

You felt her leave the spot in front of you. You opened your eyes, watching as she tossed the washcloth into the sink, grabbing the box of Band-Aids from the counter.

"Ok, you have a very important decision to make," you tilted your head, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. Jenna had to hold in a laugh at how adorable you looked.

"Scooby-Doo or Spiderman?" She held up two Band-Aids, one with little Scooby-Doo heads and doggy prints, the other with Spiderman doing a bunch of different poses.

She was attempting to look dead serious, a blank stare as she waited for you to answer, but you didn't buy the act for one second.

You scoffed playfully, "Scooby-Doo, of course."

She set the Spiderman Band-Aid back in the box with a smile, "Not a fan of Spiderman, huh?"

"Spiderman is cool, Scooby-Doo is just better,"

She stood back in front of you, nudging your knees further apart so could step between them again. Only so she could get closer to your face for the Band-Aid, no other reason. At least, that's what she told herself.

You watched her as she got closer, getting lost between the freckles that dotted her face like stars in the night sky and those big brown eyes, nearly black as night yet full of so much life and joy.

"You're staring," She smirked, enjoying the blush that spread across your cheeks and up to your ears.

"Sorry," You squeaked out, nervously looking at the ground.

"It's alright,"

She grabbed your chin in her hand, angling your head so you were staring at the wall so she could get a better view of the cut on your head. "Stay,"

You didn't move a muscle. How could you when she said it like that? Like you were some lost little puppy following her every whim… Putting it like that made you feel pathetic, after all, you'd only met the girl today. And yet, part of you knew you'd do whatever she said just to keep seeing that adorable smile.

Five minutes and you were already whipped...

You were so caught up in your thoughts you barely even registered her putting the Band-Aid on. You hadn't realized she was done till her hand was on your chin again. Her hand was still cupping your face as you stared up at her, once again falling prey to those enchanting eyes and countless freckles.

"All better," She took a step back, removing herself from between your legs, much to your disappointment.

"Hi, love," you leaned back, hanging upside down in front of Jenna.

She yelped, jumping back a step out of surprise. She hadn't expected you to be there when she rounded the corner, "Jesus, y/n. You scared the shit outta me."

"Sorry," You gave a sheepish smile, feeling bad for scaring her.

It'd been two years since you met Jenna, and one amazing year since the two of you started dating. Your only regret was not kissing her that first day you met. She was standing right there, right between your knees, and you let the chance slip away... But that was a thing of the past, and now you could kiss her as much as you wanted.

"What are you doing up there? It's starting to rain, baby, we got to go,"

You pouted, a bit childishly at that. Jenna had to fight off the urge to smile at you. She didn't want you to fall and hurt yourself, you were already prone to accidents as is.

The two of you decided to have a day for yourselves, just goofing off and having fun. Somewhere along the way you ended up at the park, walking along the trails and enjoying the peace and quiet. Jenna left you near the playground by yourself while she ran off to the restroom, it was only natural that you decided to goof off and have a little fun. After coming back, Jenna noticed the rain coming in, scaring off what was left of the remaining parents and kids.

It was drizzling as she searched for you. Rounding the corner she found you here, dangling upside-down from the pull-up bars by your knees.

"I wanted to try kissing you upside down, like in the movie last night,"

She couldn't hold back the giggles this time, smiling at your adorable pout, "You mean the Spiderman kiss? The upside-down, kissing in the rain thing?"

"Yes please, kisses now," You made grabby hands at her, which came out a bit awkward and uncoordinated from how you were hanging upside down.

She laughed, showing off that radiant smile that you adored. She grabbed the sides of your face, kissing you as requested. It was soft, simple, and sweet. No different from the dozens of other times she'd kissed you before. But goddamn, that feeling you get every time never seems to go away. Her kisses were addictive, they set your nerves on fire and left you craving more. You felt like you could melt under her touch.

Apparently, you relaxed under her touch a little too much. Your grip on the bar loosened and the bar slipped out from beneath you. Before you knew it Jenna was scrambling back as you tumbled head-first into the uneven ground below.

You knew something was wrong the second you landed, a small crack coming from somewhere.

"Ow..."

Jenna watched you slip from the bar, managing to brace your fall as you stuck out your arms. She heard a yelp, followed by a strained 'ow'. But you didn't get up right away. She watched you curl in on yourself instead, writhing about on the ground in pain.

Shit.

She was down on her knees beside you in the dirt, wanting to help but afraid to touch you and make everything worse, "Hey, what happened? Where's it hurt?"

"My wrist," You managed to get out between gritted teeth, tears already beginning to well up in your eyes from the pain, "I fell on my wrist."

"Ok, let me see,"

You stopped wriggling about long enough for her to look at your arm. It didn't look like it was broken, granted her idea of ‘broken’ entailed bones sticking out of the skin or limbs pointed in funny directions.

Jenna went to gently grab your arm, so she could check the other side, but you quickly pulled back with a little yelp and a rush of tears.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," She was starting to panic now, she'd barely even touched you.

The rain was starting to come down harder now, too much longer and the two of you would be soaked to the bone. Far off in the distance, Jenna could just barely make out the rumbling of thunder.

All she had to do was get you to the car. But that was easier said than done. You were still on the ground, wet from the rain, and tensed up in pain.

"Hey, baby, look at me,"

You stopped wriggling around for just a moment, long enough to focus on Jenna. She placed her hands on either side of your face and you closed your eyes, melting into her touch. She placed a kiss on your forehead, then on your nose, and finally on your lips.

"Let's get you home, alright?"

She lied. Well, not technically, but yes.

When Jenna said she was going to take you home, you assumed she meant right away. But that was a lie. Instead, she forced you into going to the ER first to get your wrist checked out.

After hours of waiting, having to endure the stale smell of disinfectant, and medical professionals poking and prodding at your arm, you were finally being sent home.

You flopped down on the sofa the second you got through the door. You were exhausted. You closed your eyes and curled up into the corner of the couch, being careful not to agitate your arm, wishing you could fall asleep right then and there.

You were just about to doze off when you heard footsteps approaching. You didn't bother to look, only one other person was home.

"Scoot over, love,"

You did as you were told, making room for your girlfriend next to you. The second she was comfortable you laid yourself across her lap, finding it a bit awkward to get comfortable with the splint for your wrist.

Your eyes were shut once again as you felt something soft being nudged into your arms. You didn't have to look to know what it was. It was the stuffed animal Jenna bought you for your birthday, the absolute softest plush dinosaur you'd ever seen. You definitely haven't slept with it every night since then.

She draped a blanket over the two of you and by the time she started running her fingers through your hair, you were already asleep. The only sound in the room coming from your soft snores.

[verspia]

Hi I saw you’re Arda angst ff and I fucking loved it!! I wanted to request a Kenan Yildiz angst fanfic where the reader and Kenan had to get arrange married. But he hated her. He always brought other woman home and she really got sad because she never had the chance to experience real love. Not even from her parents.

He always kept her hidden from social media because he was embarrassed of her. She always went alone and done things alone. The reader is a quite person she an introvert she doesn’t really talk that much or express feelings so she always stays quiet. And she had a really bad childhood, got be@ten up and ignored. She never had a normal childhood. By the time Kenan never knew he starts to see her alone at restaurant or pic nics alone and started to feel guilty but never brought it up.

So one day the reader thought she’s alone at home and Kenan told her that he’ll be away.

So she wanted to sleep without a shirt. And that night Kenan appears there because the game got cancelled and when he approached her he saw her scars on her back that were caused by her parents. He starts to regret treating you like that and starts treating you better and spends time with you.

You can make a fluff or bad ending doesn’t really matter but I always prefer bad endings hehe I would really love for you to make this a story !!

💓💓💓

SAD GIRL • KENAN YILDIZ

( pairing ) kenan yıldız x reader

warnings - trigger warning, violence and abuse, a lot of angst. I tried my best and i hope this meets your expectations 💞

In your eyes, the marriage had been perhaps the best thing to have ever happened to you. It provided you with the opportunity to escape the clutches of your dysfunctional family, and finally find some semblance of normalcy in your life.

Knowing that it had been Kenan had made you feel exhilarated, a feeling that you weren’t quite used to.

Kenan had been reputable for being a rather charismatic gentleman, and his polite, sweet demeanour had been all the talk on your wedding day. You hadn’t met him yet, but the idea of him had made you fall in love.

You couldn’t be blamed, because to you this concept of genuity was so foreign to you, that daydreaming about it had made you feel as if you were on cloud nine.

That was until you truly got to know Kenan behind closed doors. Except you never truly got to know him.

Unlike you, Kenan found this marriage an unappealing burden that had chained him down to a person he could not care less for.

He was incredibly indifferent to your presence, and continued on about as if your marriage had never happened. After the ceremony had occurred and you’d been driven off to a fancy villa, Kenan had behaved as if you didn’t exist.

He never acknowledged your presence until absolutely necessary, and it felt as if you were a ghost living inside this empty house, begging, yearning to be noticed, but never spared a single glance.

For you this marriage had ignited a flicker of hope, of learning to love, and for building a meaningful relationship, a turnabout from the life your parents had imposed on you. You hadn’t imagined anything would hurt more than the scathing words and harsh treatment that they had inflicted upon you, until you were faced with the brutal rejection from Kenan. Atleast, at your parents house, you were never ignored, but with Kenan, you didn’t feel like a person, you felt like a soul in purgatory, suffering endlessly and without anyone to turn to.

This marriage with Kenan broke you in ways that you hadn’t thought possible. How could a rejection from the man you had been promised to have hurt so agonisingly when you didn’t even truly know him?

You couldn’t explain the stark difference in his behaviour from what you’d heard to what you’d experienced, and thus, the only person you had to blame was yourself.

Some nights, when the house is quiet and Kenan’s side of the bed is cold and empty, you lie awake and wonder what it is about you that makes you so unlovable. It’s a question that haunts you, clawing at the edges of your mind until it’s the only thing you can hear. You think back to your childhood, to the years spent trying and failing to earn your parents' love. You tried to be good, to be perfect, to be everything they wanted, but nothing was ever enough. Every cruel word, every slap, every moment of their disdain etched itself into your soul, carving out the belief that you were broken, unworthy, fundamentally flawed. You remember having gone through lengths, making sure you were academically on top, and when that wasn’t enough, pushing yourself towards sports to prove that you were capable, but despite these achievements, your parents refused to acknowledge any of it. You remember once, sitting at the edge of your room, if the tiny space could even be called that, your cheeks red from the stinging slaps and your arms littered with bruises, and not a single tear in your eyes. You felt hollow, the one question rotating over in your head, again and again and again.

“What is wrong with me?”

Your marriage with Kenan has only made this thought return full force, from when it just lingered to the back of your mind, to now always on the forefront of your thoughts, on the tip of your tongue, as if any moment you’d ask the question, say it out loud, but no matter.

Kenan never hears you anyway.

You sit in the spacious lounge of this house, Kenan is home, but you are alone. He’s with someone, another girl who doesn’t share the misfortune as you do, who’s laugh echoes around the house and to you, feels like nails on a chalkboard, pinching at your ears and leaving the heart you have in your chest aching worse as the clock ticks by.

Once again, you sit there and contemplate for perhaps the umpteenth time, the same question that oppresses you.

You see the same disappointment in Kenan’s eyes, the same coldness, the same quiet contempt that tells you what you’ve always feared, there’s something wrong with you. You’ve begun to believe it must be true because why else would Kenan treat you this way? Why else would he refuse to look at you, to touch you, to acknowledge that you’re anything more than an inconvenience he’s forced to endure? Why else would he parade other women in front of you, each of them more beautiful, more captivating, more everything than you’ll ever be?

The more Kenan pulls away, the deeper you sink into yourself, convinced that his indifference is a reflection of your worth. You’ve searched for answers in every mirror, scrutinizing your face, your body, every part of yourself that feels inadequate. You pick apart every flaw, every imperfection, as if solving the puzzle of your own ugliness might finally explain why you are so impossible to love. You try to change, to smile more, to be kinder, quieter, less of whatever it is that pushes people away. But no matter how much you give, no matter how much of yourself you twist and bend and break to fit into the shape of someone deserving, it’s never enough.

The rejection feels like a knife to the heart, twisting deeper each time Kenan walks past you as if you’re nothing. You wonder what it would feel like to be touched by him in kindness, to have him hold you like you mattered, just once. You’ve replayed it in your mind a thousand times, trying to imagine the warmth of his hand in yours, the weight of his arm around your shoulders, the sound of your name spoken with something other than disdain. But that warmth never comes. All you get is the chill of his absence, the searing pain of knowing that you are invisible, unwanted, unloved, and that’s all that you’ll ever be.

Despite all this endless questioning, you never get any closer to understanding why you’re in this predicament.

It hurts, like you’re drowning in a sea of sorrow, and every breath is a struggle against the relentless waves of the ruthless ocean. It’s the taste of salt on your lips—the bitter residue of tears that never seem to end—and the weight in your chest that sits like a stone, heavy and immovable, pressing down with a quiet, unyielding ache.

You have long since given up on hope, that maybe one day it will get better, the pain will decrease, but it never does.

Today, you don’t stay inside, the chattering of the girl twists a little deeper into your poor heart than usual, and you decide to step out.

You somehow make it to a cafe and settle down, in a spot. You’re so attuned to the feeling of loneliness that it doesn’t bother you as people glance at you, some with curiosity and most with pity, preoccupied with your heartache.

You realise just how pathetic, pitiful you must appear. Your face permanently stained with tear marks and eyes so red, your figure frail from negligence on everyone you’ve known, including yourself.

You don’t realise however, that it is enough to warrant headlines.

The next morning you’re going viral on the internet,

“Kenan Yildiz’s wife spotted, lonely and sombre. What could be the cause?”

You can’t help yourself as you look through the comments.

“lol how do we even know if she’s his wife, we’ve never seen a single photo of them together”

“oh please, she’s probably a lying attention seeking white trying to get Kenan’s attention, bet she’s never met the guy. Yawn.”

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Kenan is not married what in the fake news”

You’re not surprised by it, but still it stings. You knew Kenan never made it known that he had been married, the night of your wedding day had become news to the world, but it had been buried away by Kenan’s refusal to acknowledge it.

It wasn’t as if you ever accompanied Kenan anywhere either, you went out alone, he never invited you to his games or any award ceremonies, he ignored you just as much on the outside as he did at home.

The only people who actually acknowledge this news are your parents, they come knocking on your door while Kenan is out, not at all pleased by your act that had so perfectly tarnished their reputation, and then the very night they make it very abundantly clear to you just how much displeasure you bring to them.

The pain is sharp and jagged, like shards of glass lodged deep inside, cutting with every thought, and every word your mother hisses at you, and every hit your father directs at you tears you down further.

When they leave, you’re all by yourself on the floor, like broken china that no one cares about or ever will bother picking up.

That night you cry yourself to sleep, so incredibly tired, and you think to yourself about how much of an abomination you are, if only you didn’t ever exist at all.

You’re mentally exhausted to the point that you fall asleep right there on the floor in your mess. And for the first time, Kenan takes notice of you.

He has always been aware of your presence, but had blatantly rejected it, even though guilt had begun to seep into this facade of pretending that he was indifferent to you.

He had noticed how you were always alone, no friends to tag along with when you went out to a restaurant, and barely anyone to talk to. He noticed how you tried your very hardest to make yourself as small as you could in the home that was supposed to be both his and yours. You never spared any expense on yourself from his money, to the point that all the groceries in the house went untouched by you, never eating the food that was there, as if you felt unworthy of sharing the same stuff he did.

His conscience had fought with him a lot, but then his pertinacity had won out.

Kenan comes home late that night, the weight of his usual indifference wrapped around him like a heavy coat. The house is quiet, too quiet, but it doesn’t feel unfamiliar, because that is how you are, yet as he steps inside, he feels a strange sense of unease. The lights are dim, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls, and for a moment, he almost calls out for you, but stops himself—old habits of pride and detachment still holding him back. As he walks through the hallway, his footsteps echo softly on the wooden floor, and that’s when he sees you, crumpled in the corner, lying there as if the world itself had thrown you away.

He freezes, staring at the scene that steals the breath from his lungs. You’re curled up on the cold, hard floor, your fragile frame barely shielded by the thin shadow that frames you. The soft glow of the lamplight reveals a tapestry of dark, angry bruises spreading across your arms and face, fresh and vicious, like cruel brushstrokes on pale canvas. Your cheeks are stained with dried tears, and your breaths come in shallow, ragged bursts, as if each inhale is a battle against the pain you carry. The sight of you, so small, so vulnerable, hits him like a punch to the gut, and for the first time in a long time, something shifts in him.

Guilt seeps in, thick and suffocating, wrapping around his heart like a vice. He kneels beside you, his hands trembling as he reaches out, hesitant and unsure. He touches your shoulder, lightly at first, afraid of causing you more pain, and when you stir, blinking up at him through swollen eyes, he feels the weight of his neglect crash down on him. He’s been blind to your suffering, wrapped up in his own resentments, his own desires, never once considering the cost of his actions—or inactions—on the person he promised to protect, however unwillingly.

Your own eyes widen a little, surprised at seeing him so close to you, for the first time since your wedding, and you aim to move away, but an egregious amount of pain has you stopping, and you try to keep the groan from escaping out your mouth.

"Who did this to you?" His voice is low, and there’s a vulnerability there, breaking, a far cry from the coldness you’ve grown accustomed to. You don’t answer, still in shock from seeing him so close. That is when you notice the freckles of golden in his green eyes, or perhaps you have a concussion that’s making you see things.

Kenan’s eyes run over your body, the bruises tell a story he can’t ignore, and for the first time, he sees you—not as the burden he’s resented, but as someone who’s been hurt far too many times, someone he’s failed in the worst possible way.

Kenan helps you up, his touch gentler than it has ever been. He wraps his arms around you, careful not to press against your bruises, and for the first time, you feel his warmth—real, unguarded, like he’s trying to shield you from the world that’s been so unkind. He guides you to the bedroom, the one he’s kept so meticulously separate from you, and tucks you into the bed as if you’re something precious. He sits beside you that night, eyes never leaving your face, and vows silently to himself that he will be different, that he will be better. For you, it all feels as if you’re on an alien planet, an alternative reality where everything feels so foreign, unaccustomed to having anyone, not just Kenan, actually look at you beyond the same gaze of disdain that you’ve known your whole life.

In the days that follow, Kenan is not the man you remember. He wakes early to make you breakfast, though he’s clumsy in the kitchen, burning toast and fumbling with the coffee machine. You watch him from the table, wrapped in a blanket, still wary, but there’s something different in his eyes—softer, almost pleading. He sits with you as you eat, quiet but present, as if his mere company might patch over the wounds he’s spent so long ignoring.

He starts to notice the little things—the way you flinch when someone speaks too loudly, the way you keep your head down as if expecting another blow. He learns how sometimes you don’t answer, assuming that he isn’t speaking to you, and it fills him with regret. He learns to be gentle, careful with his words, speaking to you with a softness that feels foreign on his tongue. He doesn’t bring anyone home anymore; the house is yours, a sanctuary he’s determined to protect. Slowly, he starts to open up, telling you about his own struggles, his own fears, the reasons he’s built walls so high around his heart. It’s not an excuse, but it’s a start, and you find yourself listening, inching closer with each shared truth.

Kenan begins to take you out on walks in the park, away from the stifling walls of the house that holds too many memories. He holds your hand, tentatively at first, but when you don’t pull away, he squeezes a little tighter, as if to say he’s here now, and he’s not going anywhere. He surprises you with small gestures—your favorite flowers on the table, a book you mentioned once, a soft touch on your shoulder when you seem lost in thought. It’s awkward and unsure, but it’s real, and each day, the distance between you shrinks just a little more.

One evening, as the sun sets and paints the room in hues of gold, Kenan sits beside you on the couch, holding your hand. He’s nervous, you can tell, but his eyes are earnest. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice cracking under the weight of everything he’s kept buried. “For all of it. For not seeing you, for not being what you needed. I know I’ve hurt you, and I can’t take that back, but I want to try. I want to be better—for you.”

For a moment, you say nothing, the words catching in your throat. But when you look at him, really look at him, you see someone trying, someone who’s finally willing to let you in. You nod, squeezing his hand back, and though the road ahead is uncertain, for the first time, it feels like it’s yours to walk together.

fin

[slutshamethesquirrels]

Infatuation (Part 2)

geto x fat!fem!reader

cw/tw: so much body talk, insecurity, internalized misogyny, flawed reader, minor suicidal ideation (talked about in a non serious/joking manner), bullying, very minor violence, gender heavy implications, mild obsession

It takes a bit for you to get back to a normal routine.

Most of it was your own perception, thoughts mixing and muddying together until you couldn't separate the real from the fantasy anymore. You felt Suguru's fingers on your skin in your sleep, smelled the familiar scent of him, heard his heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then you'd wake up, alone, and the reality of the situation would buzz around in your head once more. Nothing had changed about your relationship with Suguru, except it felt like everything had. You’d allowed him to get too close, see too much of you. Both physically and otherwise. You wondered if he'd look at you with pity or disgust, and which one was worse.

You craved him like sunshine, you always had, but this had to stop now before you dug your hole any deeper. His attempt at being a good friend had only furthered your obsession. You didn't trust your hands to stay at your sides around him. The cold metal of his chain was the only thing grounding you. It felt like a noose, but you couldn't take it off.

You’d missed the last three days of school. There was no way to go to class and still avoid him, and you had no logical answer for him if he were to ask if you were okay. You didn't know. Part of you hoped the boys didn't care. You roll over in your bed and try to convince yourself they weren't concerned, but your phone buzzes with impeccable timing.

You click the screen on, squinting through the dark of your room at a screen that seemed to glow entirely too bright. Suguru.

you dead?

Boy language is laughable, but you know the sentiment behind it. You type back a reply.

yep!

You throw in a couple ghost emojis and hit the send button, almost tossing your phone back into the sheets beside you before deciding that wouldn't be good enough to get him off your case.

seriously, dude. im fine, just sick.

You’d settled back into your sheets and almost slipped back into the comfort of slumber when your phone buzzed again.

You ignored it.

Until it happened a second time, and then a third-

You snatch your phone again and read the series of messages that had been sent to you.

i don't believe you.

look i know i probably did too much the other day

i didn't mean to piss you off. i think we need to talk.

You don't reply, and roll back over. No more opened doors.

xxx

The week finishes and you’re glad to have the weekend to yourself. Slowly, you were starting to feel a little better about the way things had gone. You didn’t think it would ever fully cease, the embarrassment of the whole situation, but you’d hoped your absence had at least drilled it into Geto’s thick ass skull to take you more seriously when you said you were uncomfortable. Maybe the boys would even learn that not everything is a joke.

The only one you’d spoken to was Choso. Sweet, angel baby Cho. He was always the nicest of the group, a tender hearted individual who wore his feelings on his sleeve like a badge of honor. He didn’t fight you when you said you wouldn’t be attending the benefit, he seemed more concerned about your well being. You’d decided to buy his lunch on Monday to try and make up for it.

Reality TV was helping, reminding you that people had it rougher on the daily. For majority of the day you’d been glued to the couch, trying your best to remain immersed in the lives of rich scumbags who had nothing better to do than lie about which plastic surgeries they’d had and cheat on their partners.

Plastic Surgery.

It was a thought, honestly. If you had the funds to do so, you’re almost positive you would do the same. Tummy tucks and facial lifts and reconstruction until you are no longer what you are. You wanted more than the nepo babies of the world. More than just minor adjustments. You wanted to walk back into school on monday unrecognizable, sit and Barbie and Midge’s table with them, gossip about… whatever it was they talked about and act like you didn’t notice the wandering eyes of other people. Maybe Gojo would try and get Suguru to be his wingman. Maybe this time, Suguru would see you and-

Stop it.

You didn’t have the funds anyway, plastic surgery wasn’t and end all to feeling better, and Suguru– You didn’t want to think about Suguru anymore, or his dazzling smile, or his silken hair, or the way his hands felt wrapped around you. In fact, life would be better if you could find a way to never see him at all, at least that way you could grieve without the ghost of hope sneaking it’s way around your mind every time he stood just a little too close.

Destiny had other things in mind, it seems.

The turn of your lock has you jolting up from the couch, frozen in surprise for just a moment before your favorite dream and worst nightmare is pushing his way through your door.

He looks good. A little too good. His hair is half up, which isn't entirely uncommon but the sides are braided back out of his face, every flyaway perfectly tucked into twisting rolls of silken onyx, and the pieces left hanging look like they've been blown out in loose waves. He's carrying armfuls of bags, one from a department store you know all too well.

“What are you doing here? Did Gojo give you my spare key?”

You don't even attempt to get off the couch and help him. He can suffer.

He drops the bags in your living room and kicks the door shut behind him, huffing. He's irritated, you realize. He’d never been one to wear his emotions on his face, at least not permanently. He was always trying to pull himself back down to a state of disinterest, but Suguru was sensitive, and at times quick to anger. You’d seen it time and time before.

“Picking you up for the benefit?” He scoffs like you're stupid “Also, you should know better than to trust Satoru with anything, much less the keys to your apartment.”.

A scowl graces his face for just a fraction of a second before he's back to his stone charade, rifling through the bags which you now assumed contained things for him to get ready with. Studying him closer, you notice he's still dressed in loungewear, sweatpants and an old white t-shirt.

“He lives the closest, it makes the most sense.” You defend yourself, completely unshy about the discontentment that plays on your own face.

“I have a car. I could be here just as fast and I’m way more trustworthy.” He’s not looking at you, but from the sound alone you know the words are coming through gritted teeth. Something is really gnawing at him, and from his cold behavior you could endeavor that something is you.

“Are you mad at me right now?” You laugh humorlessly while rising to your feet, a habit of yours you know pisses him off but you can't care “You're breaking into my house because you knew I wouldn't answer the door and you're mad at me?”.

He shoots a mean glare up at you from where he’s crouched on the floor, fire blazing in his eyes before he sighs and takes a deep breath. Once he's collected himself he rises to his feet again and crosses his arms in front of him, white knuckle gripping the crooks of his elbows.

“I’m not mad.” Liar “I just don't understand why you wouldn't ask me to hold your emergency key– this is stupid. Get dressed.”.

“I already told Choso I’m not going.”

“Oh, so we can talk to Kamo. Funny, I thought you weren't answering texts this week.” He returns to the bags, reaching for the one from the department store earlier in the week “Not good enough to hold a key, not good enough to talk too. Great. Remind me again which one of those pricks is your personal chauffeur? Which one of them is it that your family takes on vacations? Was it Satoru or Kamo who bailed you out when you got pulled over with weed in your car-?”.

“Stop it.” You spit, teeth grit and shoulders tense.

The two of you didn't fight often, not really. Sure, he would spit awful jokes and you would call him a dick. He’d playfully shove you and you’d playfully pull his hair. ‘You’re an asshole’ had become layman's terms for expressions of affection over the years, but this?

He almost sounded jealous.

And he had no right to be. How many times had you watched him slink off to the bathroom with some bimbo at a party? How many times did you keep your calm while he and Gojo gossiped about their casual hookups? How many times did you stand beside him and smile politely while girl after girl hit on him?

You know it's not the same type of jealousy, which is maybe why it burns all the worse when he freezes in place and dares to look at you like he's soft and sorry. He had no idea what all he needed to be sorry for. Every night you’d cried yourself to sleep over one of his shitty jokes or complete lack of awareness when it came to you. Every way he’d rejected you but never directly. For shoving you into a fitting room and making you face every part of yourself–

“I’m sorry. I just…”

He shakes his head and rises to his feet, closing the distance between the two of you while he speaks. Every step winds you tighter, and tighter, and you can feel the temperature rising to a boiling heat–

“It doesn't matter. I brought the dress and some hair and makeup stuff so–”

He wasn't listening. He never listened. He didn't listen when you told him the first time. Or the second. Or the third.

I’m just as unimportant to him as I am to everyone else.

“I’m not. Going.” The words come out quieter and shakier than usual, dug out of the pit of your gut from somewhere deep.

Suguru furrows his brow, his eyes scanning your face and mind undeniably working overtime. You know what he's doing, looking for a de-escalation tactic. Little did he know you were far beyond that.

He reaches forward, and you can hear your heartbeat thrumming in your ears as he speaks “Yes, you are. Are you really so mad at me that you–”.

His hands meet the cloth of your tshirt on either side of your arms and you snap.

“Don’t fucking touch me!!” You voice comes out high pitched and shrill, crackling under the pressure and Suguru jumps backwards, showing you open palms in a soothing gesture, and it only serves to hurt you more. All six foot three of him, acting as if you could do any real damage. Would he startle so easily if you weighed one hundred and fifty pounds? One twenty? One ten? You doubted it. If you were anyone other than you, he'd laugh, grab your wrists, tell you how cute and silly you were being. But fat girls don't get exceptions, understanding. You're supposed to know your place and stay firmly in it.

“I’m not mad at you! I was never mad! I just can't, okay?!” You're slowly regaining control of your volume and he seems to relax a little, though whether that's due to your declining noise level or his own tendency towards self control is for him to know and for you to forever wonder.

“I just fucking can't. That dress looks ridiculous on me and I don't know what to do with my hair or my face and I just feel so fucking disgusting I–”

“Disgusting?” His question slices through the air like a blade, leaving a heavy silence in its wake “What do you mean?”.

He knows what you mean. He always knew. There was rarely a question he needed to ask you, and yet he asked them anyway. You stand tense and frozen, feeling like a cornered dog.

“Don't make me say it.”.

After a few seconds, he sighs and re-attempts approaching. Instead of touching you, he reaches out his hand for you to take, and after a brief moment of hesitation you do. Like always, he's warm, soft skin caressing your fingers with a sickening kind of sweetness, a mixture of skatole, benzaldehyde, and acetone. The kind of sugary bitter notes that make you nauseous, the ones you’ll never forget.

He sits on the coffee table in front of you, examining your fingers like he might find something incredible there, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he looked for a way forward.

Finally, finally he finds a way to sum up whatever was going on in that stupidly attractive brain of his:

“I’m sorry I don't understand. But I want to.”.

He kills you when he does that fucking thing with his eyes, pinning you in place with a piercing gaze. It makes you want to melt into him, to hide from it by coming closer, but it's off limits. It always has been. You were a recovering alcoholic staring into a locked display case. You wanted to run, before you did something stupid and shattered the glass.

“I’m fat, okay?” The admission burns your throat. You know it's true, and you know he's already aware of that fact, but hot shame sets fire to your cheeks anyway. Still, he has to get it through his thick skull.

“I’m fat, and I always have been, and it's never once been cute. That dress fucking exposes every roll and flab and pudge I have and I don't fucking like it.”

You don't understand it, but his expression softens, eyes warming up despite the pain in your voice.

“I just wanna sit here in my pajamas and watch tv and not worry about it. Is that too much to ask?”.

“Thank you for telling me.” He says, his tone honey soft and intentionally gentle, like he’s some sort of pastor, squeezing your hand reassuringly, “But you’re fucking going–”.

“Suguru, please-”

“No, y/n. You're going. And you're gonna wear the dress. Because I told you–”.

You attempt to pull your gaze away from him, turning your head to the side like a petulant child, bottom lip jutting out almost despite your own will, but he follows the movement, dipping down to stay in your line of vision, his hair swishing dramatically as he does so. When he knows he has your attention again, he smiles.

“--you look incredible in it. I meant that.”.

You can feel tears welling in your eyes. Fuck, what is with him making you cry recently? And why does it feel like you have no choice?

He squeezes your hand once more and you attempt to return his smile. You’re certain it looks painful. He switches to a flat palm against your own, and then slowly intertwines his fingers with yours, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles against your flesh, attempting to comfort you.

“You're my date to this thing and I’m so excited to have you hanging off my arm. If you need me to hold your hand the whole time, fine but I’m not letting you talk yourself out of it just because you're insecure. I'm sorry, but then again, I’m absolutely not.”

His what?

He can’t say shit like that, he has to know he can’t just casually say shit like that–

“Is that was this is to you? A date?”

Your brain is short circuiting. You can’t think about anything else. Not the way he just casually called you out, not the way his tone was one of a modern mom-fluencer explaining to her toddler why he can’t have a cookie in front of millions for clout– Your heart is racing. He can’t be serious.

“Is that not what it is to you?” His smile softens a bit, eyes narrowing as he slips into analytics mode, trying to see through your forehead directly into your mind.

Part of you thought he always could.

“I–” You start to feel lightheaded and have to remind yourself to breathe “I don’t know. Did you– do you want it to be?”.

He chuckles, more air than sound, and rolls his eyes at you, like you did exactly what he expected of you.

“Go put the dress on and meet me in the bathroom, dumbass. You’re gonna make us late.”

xxx

By the time you make it to the bathroom, Suguru has a makeshift beauty salon set up in the cramped space, makeup stacked along the cheap faux-marble of your counter, a curling iron heating on a towel. He’s waiting patiently, leaned against the wall tapping away on his phone looking bored, until he sees you.

Warmth and pride swirls in his eyes, the corner crinkling as the corners of his mouth turn up. You can only look at him for a short moment before you’re freezing in place, hands moving to cover your face with an exasperated groan. You’re flanked by your two worst enemies; the bathroom mirror and Suguru. Neither you could face. Neither you could ever see yourself eating in front of–

And then a hand is tugging at your arm, guiding you until you’re sitting on the closed toilet seat. The godforsaken dress rides up with the motion, and your hands quickly fly to correct it, gripping the fabric with white knuckles and doing your best you recover yourself, which causes an amused giggle to escape Suguru.

“How the hell am I supposed to sit in this thing?” You pout, and he shrugs.

“Very carefully.”

You could murder him.

You would be baffled by Suguru’s hair and makeup expertise if you didn’t know exactly where it came from. You remembered when he was learning.

Early Highschool hadn't been easy on Suguru, even less so with the untimely passing of his aunt, leaving two cousin-turned-sisters two look after, to feed, to nurture, to teach. Suguru's parents weren't great, but they were next of kin.

You remembered him watching makeup tutorials in the public library, studying intently and taking notes like he was a pre-med student. He wanted the girls to know how to dress, how to use things no one in their lives had taught them to use before. He read parenting books, kept up with the latest trends via instagram. Hell, at one point he'd joined a facebook group for single moms just to ask for advice from time to time. Initially, the administrators didn't want to let him in, but after a few initial messages and some award winning selfies with Nanako and Mimiko, they relented. He was, like in any other social setting, the shining star of the group. He still had about seven different middle aged white women leaving comments– no, letters of devotion on his page every time he updated his profile picture.

He's gentle, soft hums escaping him as he works on your face, little chuckles when he touches you with something cold or wet and your face scrunches up in displeasure.

You’d be lying if you said it wasn't nice though, being fussed over by him.

What was also nice was the way he kept inching closer. His knee sliding in between your own, his hair toppling forward and tickling your exposed cleavage. At one point he grabs your jaw, angling you a certain way and the pressure lights you on fucking fire. You can’t even help the way your hands fly to the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric there, knuckles scraping against the washboard abdomen beneath.

You're convinced you'll never make it out alive, and the shit he says is worse than any physical action he takes.

“You're so tense. Relax for me, y/n–” As he works on your eyes.

“Open up. Mmhmm, just like that–” As he applies something to your lips.

“Bare with me, good girl–” He purrs while he applies your mascara, cooing at you when he finally releases you and watches you blink rapidly at the new sensation.

It isn't until he steps back to assess his work that you can finally breathe again, lips parted and panting lightly as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and then uses the tips of his fingers to angle your face back and forth, double checking his work.

“Perfect.” He smiles, and all you can do is nod pathetically. The air is too dense for words.

part 1

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute, Chapter 2 - Kid

Source for pic

Word Count: 2347

Warnings: Fem!Reader, swearing, minor sugestive behaviour. This is going to be a series featuring Ace, Sanji, Law, Zoro and Kid.

Special Warning: English is not my first language!

Summary: You had your life in Grand Line City all figured out. A wonderful job, a fiancé and a shared apartment. Until you found out he was cheating. Your father, Shanks, had a horse riding accident and you decided that this was just the right time to return home. You were expecting a peaceful, uneventful life back in the Calm Belt, but, fate had other plans.

|Chapter 1 - Ace| / |Chapter 3 - Zoro|

Kid:

“How’d you sleep, bug?” Shanks asks as soon as you descend the stairs. You're still in your PJ’s, which consist of shorts and a tank top - no bra, it's 8 in the morning for Christ's sake and you've been woken by the rooster call three times already. 

You actually had a nice night. Your childhood bed is still as comfortable as you remember it being and the light snores coming from down the hall in Shanks’ bedroom were oddly comforting, lulling you to sleep almost instantly.

It wasn’t until you woke up in the morning that you remembered why you were in your childhood home and just how much your life sucked at the moment, since all of your life’s plans and goals had been thrown down the toilet. 

“Like a rock until about 6. Then that stupid rooster made it his personal mission to get me out of bed.” You say in between yawns as you fill yourself a cup of coffee. “Hey I was going to make you breakfast!” You whine with a pout while you stare at the eggs and bacon strips on top of the stove. 

Shanks gets up and sets his mug in the sink with a wink. “Bug, if you want to make me breakfast, you need to get up when the rooster tells you to.” 

“I don't know if that is going to happen…” You mumble, stifling another yawn. “And where are you going?” You place a hand on your hip trying to look menacing but failing miserably. “Shouldn't you be resting? Do I need to go speak with the doctor?”

“I'm fine! I was bedridden for a week and a half and I only felt better when I started to work again. If you want your daddy happy and healed, you need to let me work.” You flash him an angry look and he raises his hands defensively. “I'll take it easy, I promise!”

You give him a small, resigned nod and he kisses your forehead with a chuckle as he sets his straw hat on his head. At the same time, the front door springs open and a bulky man with red hair walks through the door, straight to the kitchen. 

“Morning, boss.” He grunts as he passes Shanks and approaches the coffee pot which is right next to you. “Morning, Miss.” His hand reaches for the pot but stops mid-way. 

You stare at his orange eyes and he blinks twice, a crimson blush capable of rivalling his hair spreads across his cheeks. His hand falls back to his side as he finally turns to you, an embarrassed look upon his features as his eyes settle everywhere except on your face. 

“I… um… I… you must be… um…”

“The boss’s daughter.” You add with a smirk and extend him your - still untouched - mug of coffee. “Coffee?”

He grumbles a timid yes and takes the mug from your hand. 

“Hey, Kid. I see you've met my daughter. You remember I told you she was coming to live with me?” Shanks comes into the kitchen, a smirk spreading on his lips at Kid’s evident embarrassment. 

Which is rather cute, you can't help but think. He is really tall and muscular and he's wearing jeans and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looks very similar to your father, with his red hair and a missing arm. Secretly you hope he's not a long-lost brother. On his head, holding back his red hair, lays a set of goggles. He looks tough with his scarred face and heavy bulky body, but his embarrassment is endearing. 

“Yeah, I do.” His eyes wander back, up and down your exposed legs until he hears a dry harumph from your father and turns slightly away, never quite meeting your eyes. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same.” You smile back and tell him your name before you turn and open the cabinet door to get another mug for your coffee. The mugs are all the way in the back so you have to bend and stretch over the counter, your arms raised above your head, unintentionally exposing your belly and making your shorts ride up, almost flashing your butt cheeks. You hear a very audible gulp followed by loud coughing from Kid and turn back around, alarmed. 

He seems to be struggling to get some air, having choked while drinking the coffee, as Shanks just guffaws in the background. “That’ll teach you not to ogle at my baby girl!” He slaps the man's back with more force than necessary, and that helps him breathe again. “Come, Kid. The tractor ain't gonna fix itself.” Then he places a hand on the scruff of his neck and drags him away from you. 

You follow Kid with your eyes as your father drags him away and he flashes you a cocky grin, making you chuckle. 

Between Ace and Kid, your stay in the Calm Belt is sure to provide you with some very nice eye candy. 

-*-

After fixing yourself a plate of breakfast, you decide to scroll through your socials, trying to see what your big city friends are up to and how much of the social life you are missing. 

Obviously you end up depressed because, being an idiot, you didn't delete any of your ex’s socials and he doesn't seem to be the least bit fazed about your breakup or your departure since there's about a dozen different photos with him and three different bimbos latched onto his arm. 

“Having the best time of my life; Wasted and in trouble; Come and get your man!” You make a disgusted sound. “Ugh, what a jerk!”

You groan and block your phone in fury, all hunger forgotten as you get up, throw the plate in the sink and go get dressed. You need to vent. And you might have just the thing to help out with your stress relief. 

Choosing some jean shorts and a white, off-shoulder top, you search your closet from top to bottom before finding out what you were looking for: a bb gun! Shanks had offered you this when you were little and had helped you practise your target shooting with some cans, near the barn. Grinning in victory, you grab a can of pellets and place the bb - which resembles a shotgun - on your shoulder, fetch a hat to protect you from the heat, and head outside with a determined pace. 

On the way, you fill a bag with some empty cans from the recycling bin in the kitchen and draw something that resembles your ex on each of them with a sharpie. To be truthful, it's just a stick figure with his most characteristic traces, but it's the thought that counts, really, so you're satisfied. 

The barn is not far from the main house but the sun is very hot and you feel yourself starting to sweat before you reach the shade. That just adds fuel to the fire that's already burning your insides. 

Grumbling you line up the cans on top of the fence, making sure there are no animals nearby, and fall a few paces behind, aiming your gun as your father thought you to. You try to concentrate but all the clanking coming from inside the barn is distracting you, so you have to take a few deep breaths before you calm down. 

You shoot five times, one for each target, and you fail all of them. 

“What the hell?” You mutter between your teeth as you reload the gun. “I'm gonna have to do this like a freaking child.” You keep grumbling as you take a few steps forward, approaching the target. “Now I have to hit the target.”

You take another deep breath and notice that the clanking noise has stopped, so you can concentrate better. Another five shots and-... 

Another five misses. 

“Son of a nutcracker!” You exclaim while huffing and kicking a nearby rock. 

“Colourful vocabulary. Be careful, you might offend some five year olds.”

You turn around and meet the amused expression of Kid. He's leaning against the barn wall, his hand in his pocket and a smirk on his very red lips. He doesn't seem to be embarrassed by your presence anymore. It might've been just the shock of meeting you. 

You roll your eyes at Kid’s remark, your own smile tugging at your lips despite your frustration. “Why? Are you offended?”

“Sparkles, the person capable of offending me is yet to be born.” 

“Sparkles?” You don't know whether to feel insulted or flattered. “What am I, a dog?”

He smirks again, completely ignoring your question, and you stare him down with fire in your eyes. “You're doing that wrong.” He points at the cans. 

The dormant frustration in your belly roars and rises to meet his taunts. “What do you mean? Dad taught me how to shoot the cans.”

“Your father is great with many things, shooting ain't one of them.” He approaches you and you have to look up to meet his eyes. He has to be at least 2 metres tall. “I'll teach you how to do it properly.”

You tilt your head to the side and grunt, annoyed by his arrogance, and get into position again after loading the gun. “I got it, thanks.” But before you shoot, his foot nudges yours to spread your legs open some more. 

“Spread ‘em, Sparkles.” Your eyes widen and you're about to show him some of your frustration when he gets behind you, his strong arm surrounding yours and raising your elbow, adjusting your aim. The rush of heat to your cheeks and the lack of air in your lungs makes you stop your fussing and actually do what he says. 

“Your weight needs to be evenly distributed or your aim will be shit. Rest the butt of the rifle  against your shoulder to help with the kick.” He adjusts the rifle accordingly and, surprisingly, his touch is gentle. 

You face the targets as he adjusts your arm a bit more, suddenly you're very conscious of the heat coming off of him in waves. He smells faintly of metal and rust, sweat and… gasoline?

His breath comes in hot waves against your ear and neck when he speaks. “You're going to want to aim with one eye closed and focus on the top of the can so you can compensate for the gravity. And then,” His hand wraps around yours and it's impressive how tiny your own hand looks against his, “squeeze the trigger, don't jerk it or you’ll ruin the aim again.” 

Kid removes his hand and you do exactly what he told you to, closing one eye and focusing on the top of the can. “Grip firmly, breathe deeply, let it out slowly and then hold your breath before you press the trigger.” He adds. “Take all the time you need between shots, don’t rush it. Got it, Sparkles?”

You hum softly, trying not to move and waste his efforts with adjusting your aim. You inhale through your nose - yup, gasoline - and exhale through your mouth, feeling Kid's taut muscles against your back.  He falls back just a little, giving you space, and you shoot. 

You try not to lose your cool as the pellets start knocking cans. You want a perfect score. You need a win. This is your inner revenge for those social media photos you had to put up with this morning. You imagine your ex’s stupid face on each of the metal cans, and they keep dropping down with resounding clangs. 

Five freaking hits. 

Taking just a second to absorb the feeling of accomplishment, you then squeal and jump, a victory roar rumbling from your chest as you approach the fallen cans and kick one of them into the air. “Take that, you fluffernutter!”

Kid follows you to inspect your handiwork and his laugh is thunderous but, somehow, it makes you giddy. “Still keeping it G? Not even PG? After hitting all the marks?” He tuts and shakes his head as he picks up one of the cans. “I'm disappointed, Sparkles.”

He guffaws before you have a chance to reply. “Who's this supposed to be?”

Leaning back against the fence and huffing a lock of hair away from your face, you sigh deeply. “An asshole.” You shrug and point at the can he's holding. “That deserves to be in the trash can.” You extend your hand waiting for him to pass it to you, so you can collect the rest and be on your way, but his grin widens, his brows scrunching down into a menacing scowl. 

“Fuck him, then.” He crushes the can with his bare hand into a pile of useless metal and you gasp, finding the action alluring and blushing against your will. 

“That was not PG. You should mind your tongue.” You whisper, your eyes never leaving his. 

“Sparkles,” Kid approaches you and deposits the crushed metal in your hand. Then he leans forward, his head lowering as his lips hover near your ear and his hand grabs the fence beside you, caging you between it and his larger frame. “Swearing is not the only thing I can do with my tongue.”

He groans in your ear - sending a shiver up your spine and catching your breath - and turns around, heading towards the barn and you're positive he's wearing that cocky smirk again.

He halts and turns - yup, the smirk is there. “Sparkles, you know? Like a lively, glittery, bright little thing. Something that brings joy. Not a dog.” He guffaws loudly and disappears inside the barn, leaving you flushed and flattered at the same time. 

Twice this morning you have been stirred against your will. First by the rooster’s wake-up call, and now by Kid’s cocky behaviour and arrogance. If the first one left you annoyed and bothered, the second one left you hot and bothered

You’re used to predictability but if all your days grant you surprises like this one, maybe being stirred awake is not such a bad prospect.

[kazumist]

HAVING THEM AS YOUR CLASSMATE .ᐟ

✩ — includes: various x gn!reader. fluff with a hint of crack. no cws. wc: 1040. please do reblog !! it helps me a lot :DD

xiao — !

the one who would stay in his seat if you fell asleep in class. he doesn’t know why he’s staying—it’s already lunch break and he should be eating, not staying with you doing nothing but just looking at your sleeping face. with venti going up to him and wondering why he’s still in his seat, xiao just told him to eat lunch without him for now. 

he thought of waking you up; however, who knows what your reaction would be? would you be mad at him for disturbing your rest? or would you ignore him and continue dozing off? xiao didn’t get a chance to do anything because, as he was wondering, you had woken up. yawning, you look around and see the classroom empty except for the two of you still being there. but xiao soon left you alone after he pointed out that you had a bit of drool on the side of your lips. he left almost immediately, embarrassed, before you could even ask why he was still there with you.

childe — !

he’d simultaneously annoy the living hell out of you. poking your cheek, stealing your stuff, or even locking the classroom door on you if you’re about to walk in. anything that’ll piss you off, he’ll do it just to see your reaction. one time, he kept poking your cheek during class, and you accidentally yelled at him while the teacher was discussing. the ending was bad, but gladly, the teacher heard you out, and the two of you got kicked out of the class until the period was over. during the whole time you glared at childe, while he just cheekily smiled at you as if what he did was just something small and it wouldn’t be that bad at all. 

but you were mad at him—it’s been going on for what? weeks? months even? you were getting enough of it already. you had no idea why childe had been doing this but it pissed you off, really. (it’s his way of getting your attention because he can’t bring himself to actually hold a proper conversation with you.)

kaeya — !

he’s a bit similar to childe. but instead of annoying you, he flirts. he never shuts up, either. at every single conversation you have with him will always have a stupid pick up line from him, and you’ll just smile at him with an imaginary irk already forming on your forehead. he’s lucky that he’s pretty—but it’d be better if kaeya were to never speak a word in general. 

to those small walks together in the hallways, or to those small notes he silently passes onto you during class, his flirting gets worse and it eventually turns into a never-ending cycle of him just asking you out and you denying him every time. it tires you to decline him, thinking about why he doesn’t even bother to give up. but maybe it isn’t bad to accept his invitation to a cafe date once, right?

albedo — !

albedo is the one who’s really good at art. you always find albedo’s art to be beautiful. i mean, who wouldn’t? he really has a talent when it comes to art, especially when it’s sketching and painting. there was one time where you noticed that albedo’s sketchpad was in kaeya’s hands and he was skimming through it (with albedo’s permission, of course). 

you never know what that sketchpad contains. it’s not like albedo prevents you from touching it; you just never really asked if you could view the content of it. he called you to show some of albedo’s sketches, and you really thought you were going to see drawings of landscapes and such. you didn’t expect to see yourself in his sketchbook. you felt your mind go blank for a moment—albedo has been sketching you? it’s not even one sketch, there’s a few of them, actually. when albedo realized that kaeya was showing you his sketchpad, he never grabbed it out of his friend’s hands so fast. he also took a hold of your wrist and dragged you to somewhere more private to talk.

cyno — !

the famous class president. he’s got everything, really. the looks, the smarts, you name it. but one thing you didn’t expect from cyno is that he tells jokes. corny jokes, to be exact. after being assigned to be seatmates with him for one quarter of the school year, you honestly felt nervous about it. you haven’t properly talked to cyno unless it’s about school related things and all. so you didn’t really know how to act around him in general. 

but surprisingly, you just randomly heard a joke come out of his mouth once when you two decided to stay at school a bit longer to study. although the joke was, well, corny. what you didn’t expect, though, was for cyno to explain the joke in full detail as to why it was hilarious for him. who knew that the president of your class had such a side to him? even if you don’t find his jokes funny, you still find him cute when he tries to explain and reason out why they're funny to him.

tighnari — !

tighnari would notice your struggles when it comes to academics. it’s kind of weird for you, though, since you never really made it obvious. he doesn’t make fun of you, though. of course, he decided to help you with it. you two would meet up at the library, and he would do some small tutorials for you just in case you had difficulties with the lesson and all that. if the library seems packed (this usually happens during exam season), you two would either stay at each other’s residence or go to a cafe for a peaceful ambience.

you are honestly grateful for his help, but you can’t help but think, is he doing this for pity? but if it were to be caused by his pity for you, what’s the reason behind those cliché moments of you accidentally brushing your hands on the same book? or those times when he lets you stay at his place if you accidentally end up studying so late? there has to be another reason for it except for pity, right?

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Vickie wasn't immune to being bullied. It happened to her all the time. Her teeth were weird. She talked too much. Why does she have to have so many freckles? One time, she went quiet for a month when someone told her to shut the hell up. Vickie knows how annoying she can be sometimes, and she always tries to real it in, but it was difficult when she found something she was passionate about. Then, there were times when she had thought that she had made friends until she overheard them in the library.

"God, she's so annoying!"

"Do you hear the way she talks?"

"She's so boring!"

"Well, she's a ginger. She's got no soul!"

Vickie had run all the way home and swore never to return to school. Crying and laying in bed, she didn't understand why anyone ever hated her because all she ever did was try to be nice to people. Does everyone think about her this way? She had gone down to the store not far from her house and bought a bottle of hair dye. Maybe they would like her if she wasn't a ginger. It didn't turn out well. Her mother had returned home and rectified the situation. She always knew how to make things better.

"What are you thinking about?" Robin said as they continued to make peanut butter sandwiches.

They had been volunteering at the same station for the last couple of weeks. Whatever happened with the earthquake seemed to slowly be getting better, but it was still pretty rough. Vickie refused to leave, though even though she had this feeling on the back of her neck, a couple of days after, like something bad was going to happen but then it was gone like it had fixed it self or something. It wasn't the first time she had those feelings.

"My mom. I was thinking about my mom," Vickie said softly. "When she was alive."

"Oh, I didn't know. I'm sorry," Robin said.

"It's alright. I mean, I miss her like crazy. Of course. I was just thinking about the time I tried to dye my hair blonde because I got it into my head that people would like me more. I had these friends or I thought they were my friends. Apparently, I talked too much, and my hair was too red," Vickie said. "It turned green for some reason. I was terribly embarrassed, and when my mom came home, she had to cut my hair. Then she sat me down and said: 'fuck them and what they think.' It shocked me because she doesn't curse a whole lot, not that she had anything against it. She said that there's always going to be people who are always going to comment on the way you live, and that's not on you to make them change how they see you but it is up to you how you see yourself. It's up to you and you alone what you like to see in the mirror."

"Wow," Robin said. "Your mom sounds amazing."

"She was the best," Vickie said proudly and paused. "She would have liked you."

"Yeah?" Robin asked.

"Yeah."

"My mom likes to bowl," Robin blurted out. "I don't know why I said that. I mean, it's true that she does. Although, she hasn't been bowling since she got pregnant with me. She raised me by herself, you know. Single mom. She didn't know who my father was, which didn't say anything about her except that I think she's the best and I never needed a father. She would like you too. What?"

"I like that you ramble," Vickie said.

"Yeah?"

"You know, I could use a break," Vickie said as she took off her gloves.

She started to walk away, and she paused before looking at her shoulder at Robin. Vickie grinned and shook her head, indicating she wanted Robin to follow her. She walked out of the cafeteria and moved far enough down the hallway before moving into an empty closet. She heard the sound of footsteps.

"Vickie?" Robin hissed.

Vickie giggled before opening the closet door and pulling Robin inside. She had apparently yanked her too hard, and she was now pressed up against Vickie. She placed her hands on Robin's hips to stop her from moving back. Vickie moved her face closer to Robin's.

"Life is short, you know," Vickie whispered. "I don't want to regret not doing something that I really wanted to do. You know?"

She brushed her lips against Robin's softly and tentatively. Robin froze for a moment, and Vickie thought she messed up, but then Robin started kissing her back. It was wonderful. Robin cupped her neck, her fingers moving into her hair as her lips moved against Vickie's. They both smiled into the kiss. Vickie wrapped her arms around Robin's neck as she deepened the kiss while Robin moved her arms around her waist to support her. A giddy, warm feeling rose up from her stomach to her chest, and she broke the kiss. They leaned their foreheads together, giggling.

"This is better than any dream that I had," Robin said, biting her lip.

"You dreamed about me?" Vickie asked.

"Yeah."

"I dreamed about you too," Vickie said, and she grinned. "Can I tell you something?"

"Yeah," Robin said.

"I own my own copy of Fast Times," Vickie said.

"Why did you rent it?" She asked.

"I was trying to let you know that I like women without being obvious," Vickie replied.

"Oh my god," Robin laughed. "Steve was right."

"You talk about me with Steve Harrington?" She asked.

"He's my best friend in the whole world," Robin said. "My platonic soulmate."

"That sounds nice. I don't think I've ever had a best friend. I mean, I have friends but. . .that sounds nice," Vickie said.

"It is," Robin said. "And the video thing. . .so cute."

"Really?" Vickie asked.

"You're so cute," Robin said.

Robin kissed her cheek, rapid firing a bunch of kisses against it, causing Vickie to giggle. She began moving her lips down until they were attached to Vickie's neck. Vickie squeaked when Robin started nibbling at her neck, but she pulled her back in when Robin tried to pull away.

"Robin?" A young boy's voice rang out.

Robin and Vickie sprang apart.

"Who's that?" Vickie asked.

"Dustin Henderson. He's one of the kids that Steve and I platonically adopted," Robin said with a sigh, and Vickie's eyes twinkled.

"She's probably in the bathroom," they heard Steve tell him.

"They're going to keep looking for me," Robin groaned.

She cupped Vickie's face and kissed her deeply. Robin pulled away and grabbed a box of gloves off the shelf. She burst out of the closet, right next to them and causing them both to scream. Vickie followed and laughed at the look on their faces.

"What were you doing in the closet, Robin?!" Dustin exclaimed. "You scared the shit out of me and Steve!"

"Looking for gloves," Robin said, shaking the box at him. "What do you want?"

"Oh, they cleared Eddie of all charges!!" Dustin exclaimed.

"Shit! Seriously?!" Robin exclaimed.

"Yeah!"

"Yeah, they arrested Jason Carver," Dustin replied.

"I always thought there was something off about that guy," Vickie muttered. "I mean, Jason, not Eddie."

"Who is this?" Dustin asked, realizing there was someone else there.

"Vickie Fisher," she said, greeted with a smile and holding out her hand. "I like your shirt."

"It's Weird Al," Dustin said, looking at her suspiciously.

"I love Weird Al!" She exclaimed.

"I like you. Robin, I like your friend," Dustin said. "You're automatically my friend now, too. You can come with us to tell Eddie the news."

Dustin took off ahead of them, and Steve pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

"He's adorable," Vickie laughed.

"His moms certainly think so," Robin said, and Steve sighed.

"His moms?" Vickie asked.

"Claudia, his real mom, and Steve," Robin said. "I am, of course, the dad."

"Of course, that makes sense," Vickie said seriously. "I always thought Steve looked like a mom."

"You know, Fisher, I was going to warn you about the hickey on your neck, but I think I changed my mind," Steve said.

Vickie giggled as she buttoned up the collar of her shirt to cover it. She looked at him seriously.

"By the way, I have nothing but honorable intentions with your platonic soulmate," Vickie said.

"That's good to know," Steve said in amusement.

"You were totally right about Phoebe Cates," Robin said.

"I already owned my own copy," Vickie said.

"So, why did you - oh, I see what you did. Nice," Steve said and high fived Vickie.

Robin rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

"You really like me?" Vickie asked.

"Yeah, even if you do like Weird Al," Robin said teasingly and Vickie laughed.

"Oh my God, she would not stop talking about you. It was constant, nonstop," Steve rolled his eyes. "She even called you the girl of her dreams."

Vickie's eyes lit up as she gazed at Robin fondly. The smile dropped from her face as she realized something.

"Wait. . .Eddie's alive?!"