#pretty enough to talk to and i can make friends that way. idk. im not sure where id even meet people. hmmm. well id be willing to do some

[puppyeared]

act 4 :(

@chipper-smol and i came to a realization

[britneyshakespeare]

Yesterday at the high school I was in for this art teacher and they all had like projects they were gonna present to work on in Google classroom, so like many days as a substitute teacher it was quiet and I mostly just sat at the desk and read. But then this one kid in my peripheral vision was looking at me and when I glanced over her laughed a little. And I looked away cuz I was like whatever maybe he was whispering smth w his friends.

But then he says "I have a question"

"Yeah?"

"What two colors make purple?"

"Oh. Red and blue"

"Thank you... I appreciate the no judgment answer"

I didn't even think about it lol

[girl-bateman]

it sounds so obvious now, but im pretty sure my physical problems rn can all be traced back to the fact that my brain and body has been in a constant hypervigilance and cortisol overload for 3 months straight. the dizziness, the blackouts, the acne, the constant nausea, the giant eyebags and sudden crows feet ?? Like yeah, no shit thats what happens when ur every waking hour is the equivalent of that camille preaker crying gif

[orcelito]

Having lost my cat, my uncle, my great grandmother, my grandma's best friend (& one of the people who helped raise me), AND my dad all within the span of 9 months,

I have little sympathy for people who use deaths as an excuse to be an asshole. I get it, it sucks. Get the fuck over it. Your grief is not an excuse to treat others like shit. What the fuck.

[tinylittlebab]

maybe when im skinny ill somehow magically have friends somehow. idk how me having friends would change the fact i dont know or meet people but i bet it will fix all my problems

[minhosimthings]

Gilded Skin || 18+

Synopsis: A makeout session with your tattoo artist neighbour

Pairings: tattoo artist!Jay × fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+, Dom!Jay, sub!reader, fingering, p in v sex, rough sex, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, manhandling because idk I love Jay's hands, kinda pervert Jay, unprotected sex (not for you), swearing, use of "sweetheart"

A/N: for you my beloved @jaeyunluvr. Also possibly my last work for in a while since I'm getting kinda busy!

Tattoos.

Controversial (to some people) as they were, you loved them.

The mere thought of getting a tattoo scared you though, yes they were pretty, but number one, money and number two, needles. But soon enough, your friend, Heeseung, who was ironically a tattoo artist himself convinced you to pay a visit to the tattoo parlour.

Normally you would have refused, stating the usual excuse of 'I'm busy maybe next time?'. But lo and behold to Heeseung's ears you agreed this time.

"It's because of that hot guy there isn't it?" Heeseung snickered, his hands on the steering wheel as he drove you to the parlour.

'That hot guy' aka your new neighbour, aka the tattoo artist at the new tattoo parlour that had opened up down the street.

Even though it had been just a two minute walk's distance from you, Heeseung insisted on coming to the parlour with you. Although his actual motives were to see you absolutely melt infront of the man you had a cunt-destroying crush on, he kept on with the absolute lie that he was trying to be a supportive friend, and also obseve the artists at the parlor.

"He has a name you know." You rolled your eyes as Heeseung parked his car into the alleyway, "It's Jay or something."

"So we can no longer call him 'hot guy'?" Heeseung asked, seemingly amused by the way you were fiddling with your fingers, "Shame, I liked that nickname. What do you like about him anyway?"

What did you like about him. What answer could you have possibly given to that? Of course there were so many factors. The fact that he was your new neighbour but you still hadn't talked to him, the fact that he fed the street cats, the fact that he-

"His hands."

Heeseung's reaction was... appropriate to say the least. His choking on air made you roll your eyes, as you slapped his back to make him calm down. Then after a few moments of silence, he burst out laughing.

"His WHAT?" Heeseung held his stomach as raucous laughs escaped his lips, "Please don't tell me you're being serious right now." He doubled over again, almost hitting his head to the car's ceiling.

"Oh shut up, you're talking as if you're any better." You rolled your eyes, opening the car door, with Heeseung doing the same, "Remember last September when you-"

"Do not even start right now." Heeseung glared, slamming his car door shut, "Come on, don't want to keep the hands waiting do we?"

Taking a deep breath and letting it out rather too quickly, you pushed on the neon pink decorated door, which opened with a tinkling sound. The smell of lavender hung around, an unfamiliar scent for a tattoo store, which was covered in rock posters from head to toe, along with a few blue beads here and there, the kind Heeseung liked to collect.

"Hey." You greeted the red haired girl behind the counter, "I have an appointment under the name Y/N."

The girl looked up and sent you a quick smile before looking down at her computer, her eyes whipping around before finding a spot she thought was satisfactory.

"Yep right here." She popped her lips together, "I'll see if anyone is free Ma'am, could you wait for a minute?"

You smiled at her as if to say yes and plopped down on the couch next to Heeseung, who had been analysing the store with a lot of vigour in his eyes.

"It's fancy." He whispered, eyeing the girl at the counter, "Let's just hope your man comes out and you can get to catcall him before he goes."

"I am not going to catcall him, im not you." You chuckled, getting distracted from the conversation when you saw a black haired figure from the corner of your eye.

"Is that-?" Heeseung didn't even have to finish his sentence. He knew, judging from the look in your eyes and the fact that your mouth fell slightly open, that this was the person he ever so passionately called "your man".

You were mesmerised.

No, mesmerised wasn't the right word.

You were starstruck.

Maybe your hormones were on a whole different level, maybe you had just been dick-deprived for a long time, or maybe it was the lavender fumes, but you truly thought you had seen a Greek God fill the vision of your corneas.

"Y/N. Y/N!"

You felt Heeseung's elbow jab you painfully in the side, which was effective in breaking you out of your stupor. You blinked a couple of times, to see the red haired woman and Jay looking at you in what seemed to be amusement.

The woman coughed to defuse the seeming tention, you swore you could feel Heeseung awkwardly smiling for your left.

Well they always say bad beginnings have good endings don't they?

"So," A steady hand carefully polished the silver of the miniscule needle, "Y/N was it?"

Though the air conditioning was turned onto a high, you could feel sweat drops form at your forehead, why were his hands polishing the needle so erotically?

"Y-Yeah. You're Jay right?" You managed to cough out, feeling yourself immediately melt into the chair leather chain again when his eyes fell on you. His eyes were sharp as an eagle's, seemingly darting around to catch it's prey, but never leaving one point of focus.

"Nervous?" Jay chuckled, "Don't be, unless you're chronically afraid of needles."

"I am." You laughed, leaning back a little more comfortably on the chair, "Probably shouldn't have gotten a tattoo then should I?"

"Perhaps not on your most sensitive area." Jay nodded, sitting in front of you, his legs spread wide open, did he realise how welcoming that was to you?, "Most people go for the arm, I'm surprised you went for your thigh."

"Heeseung told me it doesn't hurt much." You braced yourself in the chair at the sight of Jay's needle pressing into his tattoo machine, "He's a tattoo artist too."

"I should make a friend of him then." Jay chuckled, looking into your eyes, he could bore deepwells in them and you thought you'd forgive such a handsome man like him, "How did you meet him?"

"Are you-" you gave him a funny look, "Are you trying to make conversation with me?"

"It helps most of them." Jay shrugged and smiled at you, you noticed his dimple come off his cheek, the one you saw last week, whilst spying on him from your bedroom window.

"So, new neighbour who I've never talked to until now," Jay raised his eyes up to you, "How about some conversation to lessen the pain?"

You had always known since you were a child that you had the attention span of a butterfly, eyes always zooming from one place to the other, but you never knew all you needed was a handsome face and some pretty hands to get you to focus.

Jay's deep voice soothed into your nerves, effectively proving his theory of "more talk, less pain". You hadn't noticed much of the tattooing process, except for a few instances here and there when his knuckles brushed across the skin of your thigh, making you mold your orgasmic whimpers into 'painful' winces. You could physically hear Heeseung in your brain telling you about your pain kink.

"So any relationship goals?" Jay asked you, your eyes briefly meeting with his, as his fingers stopped to move across the cross section, "I know that's sorta personal, don't answer if you don't want to."

"No it's fine." You laughed, pretending as if you didn't maniacally want to answer the question, "I'm still single for now, and as for goals, I'm free for ramen tomorrow, and that's it."

"So how about ramen tomorrow then?" Jay smiled, looking up at you, his hands coming to a halt and resting softly on your thigh.

"Will we be eating or will we be talking like this?" You chuckled, your brain fog capturing you entirely as you had no idea what words were coming out of your mouth, "Because to be honest, I'd just be staring at either your lips or your hands if we do either of them."

The most painful part of getting a tattoo, according to the internet, was the beginning part, when you'd be so scared, because apparently fear paralyses you more than the actual tattoo process. But you now knew, the most painful part would probably be Jay's amused eyes staring at you, while your brain managed to catch up with what you just said.

"Oh- no! No I'm so sorry—i didn't mean-"

"It's fine sweetheart." Jay's soft voice stopped your panicking, he stifled a chuckle at your behaviour. Adorable, he thought.

"No I'm really sorry Jay, I shouldn't have said that." You apologised again, feeling the heat come upto your cheeks.

"Oh sweetheart." Jay chuckled, leaning in towards you, "Do you really think I had no idea of your pretty little face spying on me through your window?"

He knew?

"I must admit, you look cute in that flimsy tank top, which hides nothing by the way." His deep voice rang through your eardrums, "but don't worry, I won't press charges or anything on you for spying."

Your back pressed against the leather of the leaning chair, as Jay put his tattoo machine down. Taking off his gloves, his tongue swept across his lips in a swift motion, as his hands trapped you in a cage, laying on either side of you.

"May I?" Jay asked, not even waiting for permission, he already knew the next thing to come out of your mouth was a pathetic whimper.

Without a moment's waste, his soft lips landed on yours, hands rubbing to take off your shorts.

You soon became lost in his presence, lips meeting his in a fiery kiss. his tongue pushed past, kissing you like his life depended on it.

"Fuck sweetheart." Jay said, "You taste good."

You moaned quietly into his mouth, feeling his fingers trail down and start to rub your clit. Your hand came down to grab his cock, already half hard, and you could feel him growing with each stroke you gave him.

His fingers slipped past your clit, toying with your opening and eventually plunging in as deep as he could with the angle he was at. Your head fell back, resting on the leather of the chair as your pussy fluttered around his fingers.

“fuck, you're so tight.,” he managed to say through gritted teeth, chuckling as you let out a stifled whimper, "You like that baby? You like my fingers hm?"

He began to set a fast pace, one of his hands gripping your hip to keep you in place for him and the other hand next to your head. you could see the veins in his arms as it flexed beside you, no doubt he was trying to hold back.

Small whimpers came out of your mouth with each thrust, but then you heard it. Footsteps outside the room, you had forgotten you were in a public place in the heat of the moment. The footsteps died down after a few seconds.

“Just gonna have to keep those pretty sounds in. Wouldn’t want them to hear you,” You clenched down at that.

He chuckled, a devilish, almost cruel sounding chuckle like he had something in mind.

“oh you like that, huh? Like the idea of someone walking in on us fucking in here, watching us. Watching you come apart on my fingers. You’d like that, wouldn’t you baby? Dirty fucking slut.”

At that moment, he made it his mission to make you cum, hard. keeping one hand clamped around your mouth to stifle your moans, your eyes practically rolled back into your head when his fingers touched a particularly sensitive position, the new position making his fingers fuck impossibly deeper into you.

As you were nearing release Jay pulled away standing up, quickly unbuckling his pants to unveil his already hard twitching cock eager to pound into you.

“gonna let me fuck you princess? gonna be a good girl for me?” he says, stroking his dick as he swipes his thumb over his slit wiping away his precum yet it still spews out, covering thumbs in the substance

He held the base of his cock, dragging the tip in between your wet folds, before slowly pushing himself into you, causing a groan to escape from the back of his throat.

His hands grabbing onto your hips, he began to slowly move his hips watching your pussy swallow his cock.

“You feel so fucking good” he said as he began to pick up the pace. Your hand moved up to your mouth blocking out the moans leaving your lips, doing your very best to stay quiet enough so others wouldn’t hear your lewd sounds.

Jay's thrusts became rough, his hand releasing your hip entangling his fingers through your hair tugging on it as he pounded into you. “You’re such a good girl, taking me so well”. 

“fuck…you’re so tight” he says, pulling your legs up to sit on his shoulders as he thrusts inside you at a steady motion, fucking you deliciously in missionary. His eyes stare at your tits that are bouncing with each motion he pulls you in.

“fuck baby..i’m gonna cum…gonna cum inside” he says as he gets that dumb look on his face, he squeezes your breast with white knuckles as something to hold on to while his eyes roll back in his head, a beam of his sweat falling on your chest.

your orgasm comes as his does, his dick twitching inside of your cunt making it almost impossible to keep going.

“m’gonna cum too…” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist, pushing him further into you to feel his cum covering your walls. the warm liquid coming fast inside you.

as Jay pulls out, he’s met with his mess, the pool of his cum leaking out of your cunt.

His fingers make their way down and pump inside of you, the squelching noise of your wet pussy filling the room. His fingers make their way out of your cunt and up to your mouth, pushing in his cum covered fingers inside your mouth.

“Suck sweetheart.” he demands, and so you do. You suck the mixture of cum off of his fingers while maintaining eye contact, his thumb cradling your chin for support. You could get intoxicated on those eyes for centuries.

Jay's thumb swept out of your mouth swiftly, as his lips landed on yours again, pressing you into a sweet and chaste kiss, breathing heavily as he pulled away and supported your tired structure with his strong arms. You could see the veins flex on his hands.

"So how about that ramen date tomorrow hm?" Jay asked, his dimple once again appearing on his cheek, "that is, if you can handle staring at my hands while I eat."

"A ramen date, if I can walk by tomorrow." You chuckled, "So, I guess this messy hair is because I was struggling too much out of pain while getting the tattoo? Or should I tell Heeseung something else?"

"Tell him how good of an artist I am." Jay chuckled, "And that his friend won't have to spy through bedroom windows anymore."

"Was I really that noticeable?" You rolled your eyes playfully, as Jay handed you your shorts.

"Sweetheart you have no idea."

[harrysfolklore]

Can we get y/n as a total book worm and Harry just finding it so adorable, like no matter what she’s doing she always has a book in her hands. Cooking, has a book. Backstage, reading a book. At a cafe for breakfast, reading a book.

Ofc you don’t have tot do this idea, it’s just an idea

here it is !! one of my favorite tropes i’ve done coming to tumblr <3

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

coffeeandbookss - yn’s bookstagram

yourinstagram- yn’s personal insta

liked by emmachamberlain, gemmastyles and 15,937 others

coffeeandbookss Now reading: My policeman by Bethan Roberts ! In 1957, we meet Marion, a young woman hopelessly in love with Tom, her best friend’s brother. Tom — training to become a policeman — returns her affections, but holds a secret of his own. Will let you know my full review once done ! 💙

view all 2,986 comments

bookfan1 just added it to my list !

bookfan2 i love everything you recommend

bookfan3 started it this week !

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 3,938 others

harryupdates Harry just followed this account on instagram !

view all 846 comments

harryfan1 harry on his bookstagram era

harryfan2 AHH ONE OF MY FAVE BOOK CREATORS

harryfan3 she’s so pretty also

harryfan4 IM SUBSCRIBED TO HER YOUTUBE CHANNEL shes soooo good

liked by yoursister, gemmastyles and 1,937 others

yourinstagram um harry styles follows mt bookstagram?? am i dreaming?

view all 527 comments

yoursister YOU LUCKY BITCH

gemmastyles I’d love to think I’m responsible for that, I kept talking about your account 🫣

↳ yourinstagram love you gem thanks for your constant support 💓

username1 you’re the best out there

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 3,986 others

harryupdates Harry in London today ! He carried this book with himself

view all 985 comments

harryfan1 he’s really in his books era

harryfan2 i started that book the other week omg

harryfan3 omw to buy it

harryfan4 my favorite booktuber just recommended this omg

DMS BETWEEN HARRY AND YN

//

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 4,937 others

harryupdates Harry having dinner tonight !

view all 826 comments

harryfan1 OHHH

harryfan2 is that a DATE

harryfan3 boyfriendrry?

harryfan4 respect his privacy

liked by harrystyles, gemmastyles and 10,872 others

yourinstagram happy days :)

view all 3,983 comments

harryfan1 um why did harry like?

gemmastyles my babies 🥹

↳ harryfan2 hello are we missing something

harrystyles ❤️

↳ harryfan2 HELLO?

harryfan4 i’m so confused right now

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 201,928 others

tmz_tv Seems like Harry Styles got a new girl. More of his beach outing at the link in our bio 👀

view all 17,928 comments

harryfan1 wtffff

harryfan2 WHO IS THAT

harryfan3 man i hate tmz

harryfan4 FIND OUT WHO THE GIRL IS RIGHT NOW

↳ harryfan1 i think their privacy was disturbed enough already

↳ harryfan2 yeah we’re shouldn’t snoop around trying to dig personal information of whoever the girl with him is

harryfan6 sucks as hell that they took these without their consent but i can’t help but be all 🥲🥲 over the fact that they’re reading together

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 4,029 others

theharrytea okay yall so i was watching yn’s latest video because of all the rumors going around her and harry (yk he followed her and commented on her posts and harry has been seen with someone we don’t know yet) AND i swear to god i heard his voice around min 7 😭 you could clearly hear that someone opens the door and a faint “sorry” I KNOW MY MAN’S VOICE AND THAT WAS HIS

view all 108 comments

harryfan1 OH

harryfan2 omfg i can hear it now

harryfan3 y’all are tripping at this point

harryfan4 delulu

harryfan5 idk if any of this is true but they would make a cute couple like they would ready to each other and stuff :(

YN VIA INSTAGRAM STORIES

//

liked by harrystyles, annetwist and 107,837 others

coffeeandbookss This week’s recommendation is presented by my brand new reading partner ! Love is a Mixtape is a soulful book, written as a way of understanding not only love and loss, but also the way music is can get us through those happy or sad times ! Full review this weekend 🤍

view all 43,973 comments

bookfan1 IS THAT HARRY STYLES ??

annetwist ❤️❤️

harryfan1 HARRYYYYY

harryfan2 THEY ARE SOOO DATING

harrystyles It is my pleasure to be featured x

↳ harryfan3 OMFG THEY FR ARE DATING

gemmastyles 🥹

harryfan4 I MEAN we kinda already knew it was her who has seen kissing harry BUT I LOVE THIS HARD LAUNCH

liked by yourinstagram, gemmastyles and 6,837,927 others

harrystyles She’s got a book for every situation x

view all 96,836 comments

harryfan1 AHHH IS THIS YN

jefezoff 🙌🏻🙌🏻

harryfan2 LOVE ME A HARD LAUNCH

gemmastyles ❤️

harryfan3 harry is not single anymore omfg

yourinstagram 🥹💓

harryfan4 COUPLE OF THE YEAR

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 27,947 others

harryismysun Worth the shot

view all 3,097 comments

harryfan1 PLEASEEEEE

harryfan2 you're so funny

harryfan3 i love this fandom

yourinstagram 😂😂 I can confirm this is how it all went down

↳ harryfan1 I LOVE HER

↳ harryfan2 she's the best

taglist: @lightsoutstyles @willowpains @straightontilmornin n @sleutherclaw @gimsaysay @hazzassmirk @platinumbarbie143 @musicforcinemas @celesteblack08 @scntfrhs @eleanordaisy @lomlolivia @iceebabies @iloveshawn @be-with-me-so-happily @watermelonsugacry @rayisthehoe @drewrry

[drunkenkissesatdusk]

Can u maybe do like a Damian wayne x reader where they're friends and all but sometimes they (reader) tends to zone out a lot and think abt a lot of deep ish things that cause her to make weird faces without even realizing? Like she's much more quieter than usual and when he turns to look at her, he sees that she's visibly very upset but for seemingly no reason.

Oh, and if u want angst, maybe the specific thing she's thinking abt has something to do with him so she's really annoyed and snappy when he asks her what's wrong? Like she's be thinking abt how rude guys in their school are and then it kinda reminds her of Damian. Idk🙈🙉

(*ˊᗜˋ*)ᵗᑋᵃᐢᵏ ᵞᵒᵘ

am i good at angst? no… will i try? absolutely.

NOT YOUR FAULT.

pairings — damian wayne - al ghul x reader (platonic)

warnings — i tried to write angst but gave up, that’s all (and the ending sucks that’s not my fault (it is))

summary — pretty much what the request is gangsters

notes — i don’t know how to write angst 😞

━━━━━━━ YOU SHOULD’VE SEEN THE SIGNS before it was too late. you were sleeping more, food was suddenly too plain, you were easy to irritate, and you felt like you couldn’t do anything.

but, of course, you hadn’t understood when they began, you just blamed it on stress, since you had tons of tests coming up that you were relentlessly studying.

at some point, your grades had started slipping, and your teachers didn’t miss that. you were forgetting to turn in assignments, and whenever you suddenly couldn’t sleep the night before, you started falling asleep in class.

multiple teachers had brought it up after class with you, and you were able to come up with excuse after excuse.

eventually, Damian noticed. Damian, one of the only kids who didn’t ignore you this year, your first year of high school. but, obviously, that wasn’t always the case. Damian had originally been mean, tormenting you alongside all his other friends.

Damian only noticed because of your lack of emotions throughout the time you’d spend with him. on top of that, said time was clearly dwindling.

“hey, hey.” Damian called after you, catching up soon after and walking with you outside, far enough away from other kids so that the two of you could talk without anyone being nosy.

“what’s going on? you’ve been acting weird the past few days.” Damian’s face was clearly concerned, which irritated you further.

sure, you’d been quieter recently, and you almost always had a sour look on your face, but why would he bring it up?

“nothing, im fine.” you defensively crossed your arms over your chest — also doing so for a little bit of extra comfort as Damian seemed to be interrogating you.

“bullshit. talk to me, i’m your friend.” Damian stared at you, face full of worry.

“nothing.” you reiterated, “i said i’m fine, Damian. i’m fine.” you put emphasis on your words.

“you’re not a good liar.” he stated.

“like you even care.” you scoffed, turning on your heel and walking away. you found semblance in the school library, in the back of the room where you doubted anyone would go looking for you in.

with the silence of the room suddenly hitting you, your guard was up and your eyes were relentlessly looking around.

you probably looked angry. if anyone were to look at you, they’d probably think you were pissed off. were you? yeah, probably. why were you mad? you had no clue.

inhaling carefully, you felt your body begin to unwind, your heart rate slowly slowed.

guilt and regret flooded your system. you could then remember the way you’d treated Damian.

he was truthfully your only friend, he hadn’t deserved that.

i’m sorry, you sent the message. i didn’t mean to be so rude, you sent afterwards. he read the messages almost instantly.

it’s fine, not ur fault, he sent back.

sleepover at mine? you asked him, gathering yourself again before making your way to your next class. he agreed, and the day went on swimmingly.

the sleepover was practically the same, nothing bad happened, and it was easier to talk about it with him.

masterlist — reminder that asks / requests are open!!

[big-box-of-kinda-silly-fop-ideas]

Just wanted to make like a proper way bio thing for peri (irep coming soon probably if i bother)

I would write fanfiction but uh idk if i could so these are more like characters notes

real long post below

Peri is a highly independent adult, he doesn’t like being coddled or touched without any warning and isnt the type to ask for help at all even if he really needs it. He’s an extremely closed off person using the suave act as a way to personally seperate himself to others which he developed due to his celebrity status, the suave personality also acts as a way to keep face as he never knows where could be camera. He pretends this cool collected guy, that can worm his way to getting anything (which is true) that has everything under control but in reality he’s this kinda dorky dude, that always anxious on how people perceive him and his grades. He’s an overachiever, after the initial first baby born hype died down he’s mostly known as the really smart youngest fairy in existence, he’s was an academic weapon throughout spellementary school and hs (im basing his education system off mine which is only two schools no middle 4-12 and 12-18) and came to uni with overconfidence in his educational abilities. Theres one thing thats consistent between his suave act and his actual self which is he’s petty as hell and very snarky, you can try talking him down but he’ll roast you back or give you a vaguely threatening threat. As well as being a bit prideful and vain, like he knows he’s pretty and smart and cares a lot about his appearance.

In this uni au he’ll be a bit of a static character he doesnt grow much, and struggles with demonstrating his affection or his struggles. (Which is why dev and peri dont exactly work much cause peri is overcompensating on how much coddling he got, and show affection in a more subtle way that dev doesn’t need as he need a more direct way (and heres a thought i dont think peri wouldve ever said he cared for dev unless delirious) ) . But he’s more openly affectionate with his parents cause he loves them. What he mainly goes through is humbling, he starts fairly prideful and overconfident but starts to slowly crumble from the pressure and anxiety. As in he doesnt say no to anything, hes somehow always busy or doing something, he also studies not enough and too much (crams shit in) and he also got his celebrity things to do. Another arc will be opening up to Goldie and Irep (but they'll be his only friends) cause he doesnt learn shit about how to socialise without depending on the act. He’s also easily frustrated, if things dont go in the way he wants he gets frustrated at himself, like he really put his self worth on his abilities to do things and less on who he is as a person. Like everyone praised him for his intelligence, charm, talent, magic and appearance, like he hates being coddled but he likes being praised, while irep doesnt get praised and seeks getting praised. But that doesnt change the fact he is a genuinely nice-ish person he just doesn’t like disappointing people, especially those close to him but he’s got a bit of an ego but not in a narcissistic way but in a young adult way where he doesnt exactly think for others first but for himself because he doesnt want to disappoint people. (Which is seen in battle of dimmsonian where hes more worried about being seen by his parents and his career choices then dev). Which is also why he’s a stickler to the rules, like he doesnt want people to think he’s bad person but also jorgen literally drilled it into him that breaking the rules is bad. Like he’s the type to do it right by the books, that comes from him being a bit of a people pleaser, and genuine concern of him messing up his perfect facade.

Speaking of Goldie, i would describe their relationship as fairly close. It takes a while for the either of them to open up to anything personal but they start off as friends of mutual benefits. They use eachother as study buddies, people to hang out with and to talk about their slightly weird interests. And the more they go through uni the more they will confide with each other. Like i imagine a tipping off point for their friendship is when peri finally breaks and gets like a panic attack, Goldie will be there to boost him up. Irep is also their friend but he’s in it more to best Peri or to piss him off. Irep is one of few to see through his act and knows how to break it.

Like genuinely i do think hazel and peri may be counterparts to each other like they both lost their sibling figure, both overthinks scenarios and both want to be appear more mature then they actually are. Like i want anw to be where he grows the most because he’s more challenged to question his behaviours and habits, especially with how these traits affect his and dev’s relationship for the worse.

[goldfades]

𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋, 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ─ TZ¹¹

TRACK 11 ─── I CAN FIX HIM (NO REALLY I CAN)

TTPD CELLY MASTERLIST !

౨ৎ ─ summary | you navigate a tumultuous relationship with trevor, filled with ups and downs as you cling to the belief that you can fix him and reignite the connection you shared after a fateful night together. amidst the judgment of friends and the complexities of your past, you grapple with the challenge of making things work this time while trying to prove that your love is worth fighting for

─ word count | 5.5k

─ warnings | NSFW (with plot) under the cut! read at your own discretion, p in v, praise/degradation (if you squint). pretty angsty, asshole trevor (like i mean REALLY ASSHOLE!), on and off relationship, umm... idk im pretty sure nothing else

The music was loud that night, the kind of thumping bass that rattled through your chest and made conversation nearly impossible. But you didn’t need words. Not then. Not with him.

Trevor was all smirks and sharp blue eyes, a whirlwind of energy as he made his way through the crowded room, laughing too loud, moving too fast. You didn’t know what pulled you to him—maybe it was the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room, or the easy confidence in his voice when he asked if you wanted to step outside for some air.

One minute, you were strangers, and the next, you were leaning against the railing of a balcony with the city skyline behind you, the party fading into a distant hum. Trevor told you things that night. Things that felt... real. He wasn't just the Trevor Zegras everyone else saw—funny, cocky, and always in the spotlight.

No, there was something deeper, something raw beneath the surface. He had opened up to you in a way you hadn't expected, and you thought, This is the real him. This is the Trevor he doesn’t show anyone else.

Later, when the night blurred into something heated, and your lips found each other in the dark, it felt like more than just a hookup. It felt like a connection. You woke up convinced that there was something between you, something worth fighting for.

And now, months later, you're still fighting.

You didn't know how you ended up locking him down. You see, Trevor wasn't a "boyfriend" kinda guy, until he met you. At least, that was what everyone else told you.

He was the one everyone whispered about, the one people said never stayed in one place too long—whether it was at a party, in the middle of a conversation, or in someone’s life. He was always in motion, constantly chasing the next thrill, the next distraction. But after that night, things shifted. You didn’t think you’d be the exception. You hadn’t planned for it, hadn’t expected that one encounter on that balcony to become something more. Yet here you are.

At first, it seemed like the universe was proving everyone wrong.

The people who warned you, who raised their eyebrows when you said you were “seeing” Trevor Zegras—they didn’t know him like you did. They hadn’t seen him the way you had that night, with the vulnerability in his voice, the way he’d let his guard down. You clung to that version of him, the one who had told you he felt lost sometimes, who had confessed that all the attention—the pressure, the expectations—it got to him. In that moment, he wasn’t the guy who laughed the loudest or wore that devil-may-care grin. He was real, stripped down in a way that felt… intimate.

You’d wake up in the morning with his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against your neck, and for a second, everything felt perfect. Like this was how it was supposed to be. Like you had found a version of him no one else had. The connection from that night still lingered, and it was enough to keep you chasing it.

But then there were the moments in between. The way Trevor would pull away, emotionally at first, then physically—nights when he’d say he was too tired to talk or that he was out with the guys, shrugging it off like it was no big deal. You’d try not to let it get to you, convincing yourself that this was just how he was. He needed space. He wasn’t used to being in a relationship, and maybe he didn’t know how to act. You were different for him, something new. Something worth adjusting for.

So you waited.

You waited for the nights when he would come back around, when his smile would soften and his lips would find yours in the dark again, and for a few hours, it felt like he was the guy from the party all over again. The guy who opened up to you, who made you feel like you were the only person who understood him. You lived for those moments, told yourself they were enough.

After all, no one else saw that side of him. Just you.

It wasn’t that Trevor didn’t care. He did—in his own way. He’d call you after a tough game, not saying much, but you could hear the exhaustion in his voice, the way he leaned on you even in silence. And when you were together, there were times when he looked at you like you were the only steady thing in his life, like you grounded him. Those moments kept you going, made you believe you could fix him, that you were slowly chipping away at the walls he’d built up.

That beneath the carefree, reckless exterior was the guy you’d seen on that balcony, the one who wanted more but was just afraid to admit it.

But the disapproving looks from your friends started to weigh on you. The way they’d purse their lips or exchange glances when you mentioned his name. It was subtle at first—comments like, “You’re really still with him?” or “I don’t know, he just doesn’t seem like the relationship type.” You’d brush it off with a laugh, repeating the same thing every time: He’s different with me.

They didn’t get it. They didn’t see the side of Trevor that you did. The side that, even if fleeting, was real enough to make you stay.

It wasn’t just your friends, either. His teammates, people you’d meet at events or in passing, would make their own comments. “Zegras? You’re dating him?” There was always a note of surprise, like it didn’t quite add up. Trevor, in their eyes, was a wild card—a player, not just on the ice but in life. It wasn’t that they didn’t like you. They just didn’t understand how someone like you could tie down someone like him. But they didn’t know what you knew. They hadn’t seen the cracks in his armor.

At least, that was what you were trying to convince yourself.

Sometimes, when you were alone in your apartment, waiting for him to come back from another late night, you’d wonder if maybe they were right. If maybe you were chasing a version of Trevor that didn’t really exist, not anymore. But then he’d come back, all charming smiles and lazy kisses, and the doubts would fade. You’d tell yourself it was just a phase. He was figuring it out, just like you were. Relationships weren’t always easy. He wasn’t perfect, but neither were you. And wasn’t that the point? To fight for something worth having?

But still, in the quiet moments, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were the only one fighting. That every time you reached for him, he pulled away just a little bit more, and all you were left with were fragments of the guy you met that night, scattered and hard to piece together.

Yet you stayed. You stayed because you believed in him. You stayed because, deep down, you were convinced that Trevor was someone worth saving. You could fix him. You had to.

Then, your first break-up happened. Keyword: first.

It wasn’t explosive, like you’d expect. No shouting, no slammed doors or broken dishes. It happened on a Thursday—of all the ordinary days—and it crept up on you like a slow, inevitable wave. You should’ve seen it coming, maybe even prepared for it, but when it finally happened, it still felt like it knocked the air out of your lungs.

Trevor was distant that entire week. More than usual. He didn’t return your texts for hours, sometimes not at all, and when he did, it was always a short reply: busy, later, can’t tonight. You told yourself he had a lot on his plate—the season was in full swing, practices were intense, and the pressure from the media never let up. But deep down, you knew something else was going on.

That night, when he came over, there was a heaviness between you, the kind of weight that pressed down on your chest and made it hard to breathe. He didn’t kiss you when he walked in. Didn’t even flash you that half-smile you’d grown to crave. He just tossed his keys on the counter and collapsed onto your couch like the energy had been drained out of him. You asked how his day went, trying to make small talk, trying to ignore the growing pit in your stomach. He barely responded, and when he did, his words were clipped, distant.

You tried to bridge the gap, but it was like reaching for someone underwater—close enough to see, too far to touch. The silence stretched until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Trevor,” you said, voice tight, “what’s going on?”

He rubbed his hand over his face, exhaling in a way that made you feel like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. For a moment, he didn’t answer, just stared at the floor, and in that silence, you knew.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

His words hung in the air, so soft, yet they cut deeper than you could’ve imagined. You blinked, trying to process it, the suddenness of it, even though you’d felt it coming. “What do you mean?” Your voice cracked, and you hated it, hated the vulnerability that crept in, but you couldn’t help it.

“I just…” Trevor sighed, leaning back against the couch, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes weren’t as bright as they usually were, dulled by something you couldn’t quite place. “I’m not good at this. At… relationships. I thought maybe I could be, with you, but…” He trailed off, running his fingers through his hair, the gesture so familiar it twisted your heart.

“But you are,” you whispered, your throat tightening with desperation. “You can be.”

He shook his head, and there it was—that wall he always put up when things got too real. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly. “But I think I already am.”

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it?

The thing you’d tried to ignore, to explain away with excuses. You were hurting, and he knew it. Maybe he even felt it, too. But instead of pulling you closer, he was doing what he always did—running.

“You’re not hurting me,” you said quickly, stepping closer, trying to bridge the gap between you. “We can figure this out. We can make it work.”

But Trevor shook his head again, standing up, his movements slow, like this was the last place he wanted to be but felt he had no choice. “I don’t think we can. I don’t think I’m what you need.”

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest, the ache spreading through every part of you. “You are,” you insisted, tears threatening to spill over, but you swallowed them down, refusing to break. “You just—you're just going through something right now. We can fix this, Trevor. I can help you.”

There it was again. The words that had become a mantra in your mind. I can fix this. I can fix him.

But Trevor’s face didn’t soften. His jaw tightened, and his eyes—those eyes that had once made you feel like you were the only person in the world—were cold. Detached. “You can’t,” he said quietly, almost regretfully. “I can’t even fix myself.”

He turned away then, and the sight of him walking toward the door felt like a punch to the gut. This was it. You were losing him. And no matter how hard you tried to hold on, he was slipping through your fingers.

“I thought we had something,” you said, your voice trembling now. You hated how small you sounded, how helpless, but you needed him to understand. “I thought we—”

“We did,” he interrupted, turning back to you, his expression unreadable. “But it’s not enough.”

The finality in his voice hit you like ice water. There was nothing left to say. Nothing you could do to change his mind. You wanted to scream, to beg him to stay, to tell him that he was wrong, that what you had was worth fighting for. But all the words caught in your throat, strangled by the weight of his decision.

And just like that, it was over. He grabbed his keys and walked out of your apartment, leaving you standing there in the middle of the room, your heart shattered on the floor in pieces you didn’t know how to pick up.

It felt like the end. But you didn’t realize it was only the beginning of a cycle you’d find yourself stuck in—over and over again. Because with Trevor, the break-ups were never final. There was always something pulling him back, something unfinished between you.

This was only the first.

───

Trevor's lips slammed into yours, his hand found your neck in the way it always did. You weren't sure how you ended up tipsy at Quinn fucking Hughes' party, making out with your ex again. His fingers pressed into your skin, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand the thought of space between you.

The taste of him—familiar and intoxicating—blurred your thoughts, and for a moment, nothing else mattered. Not the history, not the break-ups, not the fact that this had happened before. You were back in that heady, heated moment, the one that always made you forget how things fell apart.

You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t get sucked back in. Not again.

But the second you locked eyes with him across the room, something shifted. The electricity was still there, sparking between you like it always had. You’d been sipping on your drink, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up the moment you spotted him leaning against the wall, laughing at something Jack had said. He hadn’t noticed you at first, but when he did, his eyes lingered, the corner of his mouth lifting in that lazy half-smile that always made your stomach flip.

It was as if time stood still for a moment, the crowd around you fading into a dull hum. You told yourself to stay away, to keep your distance, but then he started making his way toward you, weaving through the throng of people like a magnet drawn to steel. By the time he reached you, it was too late.

One drink turned into two, and then you were leaning against the counter together, his arm brushing yours, every touch sending sparks through your skin. You didn’t mean to let it happen—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But when he leaned in, eyes dark and intent, you were powerless.

His mouth was on yours before you had time to think. Before you had time to remind yourself why this was a bad idea. Your back hit the wall as Trevor pressed closer, his body solid and warm against yours, his kiss rough, urgent. He kissed you like he was drowning and you were the only thing keeping him afloat. And just like that, you were right back where you started.

The noise of the party faded into the background, the music, the laughter, the voices—it all disappeared. All you could focus on was the way his hands roamed your body, the way his lips moved against yours, the way everything about him felt so damn familiar.

He hadn’t changed. Not really. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because neither had you.

It was always like this with Trevor—crashing back into each other like waves against the shore, only to pull away and leave destruction in your wake. You knew it, deep down, but the connection between you was like gravity, impossible to resist.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he muttered against your mouth, his words muffled by the kiss, but you heard them. Felt them in the way his grip tightened on your waist, in the heat of his breath against your skin.

You should’ve stopped him. You should’ve pushed him away, told him that this wasn’t what you needed, that he couldn’t just waltz back into your life after breaking your heart. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, as if holding on tighter would somehow make this all make sense. As if it would make the hurt go away. Because when Trevor kissed you like this, when he touched you like this, it was easy to forget the pain, the doubt, the nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you that this was a mistake.

You wanted to believe that this time would be different. That maybe, just maybe, this kiss meant something more than just a fleeting moment of lust and longing. But you knew better. You’d been here before. You’d lived this cycle over and over again, and every time, it ended the same way—with you left wondering how you ever thought it would be different.

“Trevor,” you whispered against his lips, trying to catch your breath, but he didn’t let up.

His hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing against your skin under your bra, sending shivers down your spine. He always knew exactly how to undo you, how to make you forget everything except the way he made you feel.

“Just… don’t think,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes were half-lidded, intense, and you could see the hunger there, the desperation. “I missed you. Missed us.”

Us. The word twisted something in your chest, and you couldn’t help the bitter laugh that bubbled up. “There is no ‘us,’ Trevor. Not anymore.”

He froze for a split second, just long enough for the reality of your words to sink in. But then he was kissing you again, harder this time, as if he could erase the truth with his lips, as if he could will you back into the illusion you both clung to. And for a moment, you let him. For a moment, you let yourself pretend that maybe, just maybe, you could make it work this time.

But deep down, you knew this wasn’t real. Not really. It never was.

“You're the only one for me, y'know?” He mumbled against your lips as if he heard your thoughts, your doubts.

He pulled away for a second, gazing into your eyes like you were the only person in the world—no, in his world. You averted your gaze, your lips forming something in between a frown and pout.

“I'm serious,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was pleading for you to believe him. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in that familiar way that always made your heart skip a beat. “You’re the only one for me.”

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe that the Trevor standing in front of you right now was telling the truth, that he wasn’t just saying what he thought you wanted to hear. But how many times had you been here before? How many times had he looked at you with those same eyes, said those same words, only to disappear the moment things got hard?

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, searching for something—anything—that would make this feel real. But all you could see was the same pattern, the same cycle repeating itself over and over again. He always came back. And every time, you let him.

“Trevor…” You said his name softly, your heart aching with the weight of everything left unsaid. “You say that now, but—”

“But what?” he cut you off, his grip on you tightening as if he were afraid you might slip away. “I mean it. I know I’ve screwed up before, but this… this is different.”

Different. He always said that, too.

You swallowed hard, the words tangled on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t do this again, that you couldn’t keep letting him back into your life only for him to break your heart all over again. But when you opened your mouth, the words wouldn’t come. Instead, all you could think about was the way he made you feel in this moment—the way his touch still sent sparks through your body, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you like this.

But before you could voice your concerns, his lips were on yours again. This time the kiss was softer, almost tender, as if he were trying to tell you all the things he couldn’t say out loud. The urgency from earlier was gone, replaced by something gentler, something that tugged at your heart in ways you wished it didn’t. His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like the world had quieted, like maybe this could be the start of something better.

But deep down, you knew better.

You kissed him back anyway, letting yourself get lost in the warmth of his embrace, in the way his mouth moved with a kind of reverence, like he was trying to make you believe that this time was different. And for a split second, you wanted to let yourself believe it. You wanted to pretend that everything you felt—the hope, the heartbreak, the endless cycle of push and pull—was leading somewhere other than the same painful end.

Trevor pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, his voice low and filled with a vulnerability you hadn’t heard in a long time. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, his hands still holding your face like you were something fragile, something worth protecting. “I need you to know that.”

Before you could reply, his hands slipped under your thighs, lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. Trevor kicked open the door of Quinn's room, dropping you on the bed as he pushed you down. His lips smashed into yours, the desperation was back as you sighed into his lips.

He leaned away for a second, gazing into your eyes, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmured, his voice rough with a mix of desire and something deeper—something that made your heart ache.

His eyes searched yours, pleading, as if he needed you to say the words that would give him permission to keep going. To keep pretending that this was enough.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. The room felt suffocating, the weight of his body pressing into yours, grounding you in the moment even though your mind was spinning. You could feel his hands trembling slightly as they gripped your hips, like he was terrified you might push him away.

And for a second, you almost did.

You almost told him that this—whatever this was—wasn’t what you needed, that the late-night kisses and whispered promises weren’t going to fix what was broken between you.

But instead, you stared up at him, the words lodged in your throat. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Couldn’t bring yourself to end the moment when everything felt so perfect, so right, even though you knew it wasn’t. Even though you knew this was just another temporary high, another rush of emotion that would crash down just as quickly as it had started.

You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that he wasn’t going anywhere, that maybe this time would be different. But you knew better. You’d been here before, and every time, it ended the same way—with him leaving and you left picking up the pieces.

“I…” Your voice was shaky, barely audible, as you stared up into his blue eyes. You should say no. You should tell him that you needed more than this.

But when you opened your mouth, what came out was, “I want this.”

Trevor’s gaze darkened, and without another word, he crashed his lips against yours, his kiss more urgent this time, as if he needed to prove something. His hands roamed your body, tugging at your clothes, and you let him. You let him because it was easier than facing the truth. Easier than admitting that this—these fleeting moments of passion—was all you ever really had with him.

Your back arched as he moved over you, his hands exploring every inch of your skin, his mouth tracing a line down your neck, making you forget, if only for a moment, about all the things that weren’t said. All the doubts that had been lingering in the back of your mind since the moment you walked into that party and saw him again.

You let yourself get lost in him, in the way he touched you, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment. Because in those moments, it was easy to forget the pain, the heartache, the constant push and pull. It was easy to believe that maybe, just maybe, this was enough.

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t.

It never would be.

And as Trevor’s lips found yours again as he finally pushed into you, you couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in your chest—that no matter how much you wanted to believe in the potential of what you could be, the reality was that Trevor could never give you what you truly needed.

“God, this pussy was made for me,” he moaned as he slammed into you, his forehead falling into yours.

You nodded, your eyes squeezing shut. “Trev,” you moaned as you gripped the sheets underneath. “Oh, God.”

His hands grabbed your face, forcing you to meet his dark gaze. “No one can ever make you feel this way, right?”

You let out a small whimper as you gazed up at him, shaking your head. “No, only you,” you told him—and it was the honest truth.

His grip tightened just enough to make your heart race, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice low and rough, filled with something almost desperate. “Tell me it’s only me.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling beneath him as his words sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the weight of his need, the way he was searching for something—validation, control, reassurance—that you weren’t sure you could give. But in that moment, with his hands on you, his gaze burning into yours, you couldn’t bring yourself to resist.

“It’s only you,” you moaned, your voice shaking as you repeated the words he wanted to hear. “Only you, Trevor.”

A flash of satisfaction crossed his face, and his lips were on yours again, more possessive this time, like he needed to claim you, to prove that what you said was true. His hands moved from your face to your waist, pulling you closer as he fucked you into the mattress, holding you tight as if he was afraid you might disappear.

You moaned again, your head falling back into the mattress. The desperation in his touch was overwhelming, consuming, and all you could do was surrender to it. To him.

But you couldn't help but crave it, in some twisted way.

But even as your body responded to him, your heart was heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. Because yes, he made you feel things no one else did. Yes, he ignited something in you that was impossible to ignore. But it wasn’t enough. You knew that. You both knew that.

Trevor pulled back, his breath ragged as he stared down at you, his thumb brushing over your lips. “You belong to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with conviction, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “Don’t you?”

And in that moment, you couldn’t say no.

Even though the rational part of you wanted to scream that you didn’t belong to anyone, that you needed more than this, more than the highs and lows, you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away. Not when he was looking at you like that. Not when he was giving you everything he could in this moment, even if it wasn’t enough.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you nodded, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I belong to you, Trevor.”

His eyes darkened with satisfaction, his hips moving even faster as his lips kissed you roughly. And you let him. You let him because in that moment, it was easier to give in, to pretend that what you had was enough. Easier than facing the truth that no matter how much you wanted him, no matter how much you tried to make it work, Trevor would never be the guy you needed him to be.

But for now, you let yourself forget all that. You let yourself get lost in the way he touched you, the way he made you feel alive, even if it was only temporary.

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head, and suddenly all of the doubts in your headed muted. “O-oh, fuck!” You cried out as you gripped the sheets underneath you, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your orgasm crashed into you like a train, strings of curses and cries of pleasure leaving both of your lips. His forehead fell against yours, breathless as he kissed you again.

His hands found your face again, pulling you up to meet his hooded gaze. “That's my beautiful girl,” he mumbled before letting go and pulling out of you.

My beautiful girl.

The words echoed in your head, sending a rush of warmth through your chest, but there was an ache that followed just as quickly. Your heart flipped, clinging to the way it sounded, the way it felt like he meant it. You barely noticed Trevor pulling up his pants, getting off the bed, as you lay there, still trying to process the whirlwind of emotions running through you.

For a moment, you just watched him—watched the way his fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, the way he ran a hand through his tousled hair like he was already back in his own world, already a step removed from you. He was there, but somehow, not really.

You sat up slowly, the sheets slipping from your shoulders as reality settled over you like a cold blanket. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been here before, in this exact position, watching him get dressed, waiting for the inevitable distance that would follow. But this time, something felt heavier, like the weight of your heart had finally caught up with you.

Trevor didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance back at you as he grabbed his phone off the nightstand, his attention already elsewhere. It was like a switch had flipped, like whatever moment you’d just shared wasn’t as significant to him as it was to you.

You pulled your knees to your chest, biting your lip as you searched for the right words to say, something that might bring him back into the moment with you, something that might make him stay just a little longer. But the silence stretched between you, heavy and thick, and it made you feel small, like maybe you were holding onto something that was already slipping away.

Trevor glanced over his shoulder at you, his face unreadable. “I should probably head out,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just turned your world upside down, like leaving now was the most normal thing in the world.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile even though your chest tightened. “Yeah… sure.”

He leaned down, planting a quick kiss on your forehead, too quick, too brief, and you felt the familiar emptiness creeping in. “I’ll text you,” he added, his voice already distant.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to say anything else, not trusting your voice to stay steady. You wanted to ask him to stay. Wanted to tell him that you needed more than this, more than stolen moments and whispered promises that never seemed to last. But you didn’t. You just watched him walk out the door, the sound of it closing behind him echoing in the quiet room.

And just like that, he was gone.

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of the empty space beside you heavier than it had ever been. You sat there for a long time, staring at the door, waiting for the ache in your chest to subside. But it didn’t. It never did.

My beautiful girl.

The words lingered in your mind, and as much as you wanted to hold onto them, to believe that they meant something, deep down, you knew better. Because being his “beautiful girl” wasn’t enough. It had never been enough.

And the worst part? You weren’t sure you knew how to let go.

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[scoobysnakz]

1950's greaser Miguel 😭 that's that

a/n: i had something like this in my drafts i was so happy omg 😭 also im so sorry this took so long i ended up falling down several rabbit holes around 50’s culture for no reason whatsoever. idk how to feel abt this it’s rushed and not proof read at all!!! so sorry for any dumb mistakes

warnings: none really except maybe threats of violence and very poorly written angst bc i just cant handle it.

everyone had warned you to watch out for guys like Miguel- the loud, cocky ones that only think with their dick. but you’ve never been one to listen, not to overbearing second cousins and patronising aunts, anyway.

your ignorance to their advice doesn’t do much, though, because as much as you pretend, they’re right. he knows he could have any girl he wants, all he’d have to do is flash her that signature smirk, maybe wrap one of his toned arms around her waist, and they’re putty in his hands.

so why would he give you- the gut-wrenchingly awkward waitress at the diner him and his friends flood after work- the time of day ?

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

It's a peacefully slow day at the diner, booths just as empty as the tip jar and the counter bell unrung.

This would be the perfect opportunity to relax, count the cars passing by and try to work out if you can afford takeout for tea, but you are stuck talking to some random guy.

He's sweet enough, fairly attractive, and a large tipper. Hopefully, things don't get too difficult.

"So then I said to my buddy, Clarence. Y’know Clarence, sweetheart? Comes here twice a week with his wife on Tuesdays and then comes on Saturdays with his… lady friend?"

You internally grimace at his words. Your smile falters slightly but you fight to keep that forced, hospitality smile plastered on your face.

If working at this grimy diner has taught you anything it's that people like him don't want to see a strand of emotion other than flattery at their crude compliments.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question, darling.”

Your gaze snaps back to him, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

“Do. You. Know. Clarence?" he sounds much gruffer now, more stern.

Panicked, you shake your head a quick no.

You do know Clarence and he is even more pushy than this guy, always taking a not-so-conspicuous glance at your chest, 'accidentally' groping your ass.

Somehow, he knows you're lying and his expression hardens. "Don't lie to me, m'kay? I asked you a simple question and all you have to do is answer it for me."

The way his words are so slow to pass through his thin, leathery lips makes your stomach form knots.

You glance around the diner but there's no one else there, the very few people who had been there left the moment he came in.

Is there something you don't know? You've been working here for just over a month and you thought you knew all the inside secrets, the customers to flirt with to get the big tip, who to give extra sugar too because they're too nervous to ask for it themselves, which families will clean up after themselves. Obviously not.

The sticky brown tables are lined with half-eaten meals and a few bills that people left behind before running off.

You can hear the stove humming lowly in the kitchen and the man's heavy breathing accompanying it.

"I don't know who Clarence is, sir." your tone matches his, harsh and unwilling. It's nine forty-five on a Saturday and all you want is five minutes of sleep. "So either order something or leave. It's company policy.” you pick up a creased piece of laminated paper that says pretty much what you did but in a much more formal narrative.

His face contorts into a snarl as he glares at you, lips curling and nostrils flaring in a way that immediately makes you regret your sudden surge of confidence.

"You're lucky I don't hit women," he mutters under his breath.

Those words alone are enough to make your skin crawl. It's a threat, a cleverly disguised one, but a threat all the same.

"I'll ask one more time, sweetie. Do you know Clarence?" his voice is painfully condescending. Under different circumstances you would have chewed his ear off.

Before you get a chance to snap back at him the bell chimes as someone else enters the diner. You thank God, and whoever else is up there with him, that you are no longer alone.

It's a regular- Peter. You flash an uneasy smile, willing him to get the hint.

His mousy brown hair hangs flat on his head, a few strands wrapped around his daughter's pudgy fingers. Lazily, he turns to face you, eyes narrowing as he takes in your nervous expression.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

The man scoffs and rolls his eyes. “We're fine, get your coffee and go.”

It takes him a second, round brown eyes darting between the two of you before he sucks in a sharp breath and nods his head.

Peter knows he isn't intimidating, painfully the opposite. It’s almost impossible for him to come across as anything other than naïvely friendly… perhaps a little agitating, though. There's never a moment where a charismatic grin isn't etched into his thin, rosy lips or an awkward joke said to ease the tension. According to him, it’s his Achilles heel.

Hurriedly, he excuses himself and Mayday and pushes his chair away from the counter before stumbling out the door. Your eye twitches with slight irritation but you push past it; there’s no point staying angry with Peter when he didn't have any obligation to ‘save’ you.

Smirking, the man looks at you. It’s just the two of you now.

You know you shouldn't have begged to take the closing shift alone. You had assumed you’d keep all the tips, get to clean up with whatever music you like playing and have some downtime before trudging through the busy New York streets. And now you know how idiotic it was to think that.

“Hey, bebita.” the shrill sound of the bell doesn't do anything to dampen obnoxiously loud entrance.

You drag your gaze over to the source of the tall shadow that’s blanketing the top of the sticky, wooden counter. It takes you no time at all to recognise that sturdy build and dark heap of slicked-back curls.

Your eyes scrunch as your lips utter a silent thank you to God for freeing you from the burden of this creep and a little less grateful plea to get rid of Miguel as soon as possible.

Don't get it wrong, you couldn't be happier someone has come to rescue you from whoever this balding weirdo is but you might be a little more giddy with glee if it wasn't Miguel. It’s not that he's a bad guy or anything but things can get a little tense between people when one of them stands the other one up.

Miguel slides onto one of the stools next to the man, who is now looking considerably less confident now that there's a 6’9 man sitting next to him.

“Can I get a coffee, please,” he orders with an awkward curve of his lips that doesn't quite form a smile.

“She’s busy right now, might want to go someplace else, lad,” the stranger says with a nod towards the door, almost trying to act pally with Miguel. But he knows better than that- surely.

You can see Miguel’s jaw tensing from the corner of your eye but you brush past it, finding amusement in his irritation.

“You know how I like it, black, no sugar,” he says before turning his attention back to the man.

You make your way down to the other end of the counter where the coffee pot sits, encompassed by splodgy brown rings stained into the wood. You wonder how long you can stay down here, how many excuses you can come up with before one of them grows weary and snaps.

The wash cloth is still damp, you know it is because you wiped everywhere down at least fifty times whilst waiting for your unwanted visitor to leave. You begin to scrub the battered wood again, trying in vain to remove the surplus of coffee stains that you know won’t budge.

It’s not even late and you’re exhausted. Just the thought of getting on the train has your eyes growing heavy and shoulders sagging. And now, you have to deal with two of the most irritating people to exist.

“Hurry up with his coffee, we have things to talk about!”

You whip your head around, eyes narrowed with spite and lips parted to spew whatever crude insult spills out first but Miguel beats you to it.

“What?” he scoffs.

“She’s taking forever, acting like we have all the time in the fucking world!”

Without any hesitation, Miguel is up, towering over the balding reprobate. His expression is calm, surprisingly, but the slight clench of his jaw can't hide from your watchful gaze. You’re tempted to intervene, cautious of the mess Miguel’s infamous outbursts leave behind, but this loathsome man getting put in his place is more than worth it.

“Apologise.”

The man swallows, yellowing eyes widened with panic. On his own, the man is intimidating. He’s taller than you and it’s easy to tell he works out but he's no Miguel. Side by side, he looks like an influenza-ridden Victorian child whilst Miguel continues to stand proud, attracting all attention like a pompous black hole.

His chapped lips move but no intelligible words come out, just a serious of worthless splutters and squeaks.

Miguel rolls his eyes. “Apologise to the lady. Now.”

Only silence follows. Silence so soft and crisp you swear you can hear the snowflakes falling on the dirtied pavements outside before they instantly melt away. That’ll be fun walking home in.

“Por dios,” Miguel groans, “You have one last chance, tell her you’re sorry or I’m dragging you out and telling everyone how much of an uneducados, baboso bastardo you are!”

“I-i only understood bastardo,” the man stammers and you just about manage to muffle the chuckle that bubbles in your chest.

“Getting kicked out it is,” Miguel sighs.

You watch through amused eyes as Miguel grabs him by his tattered collar and drags him towards the door. The man continues to protest this, blabbering about how he's more than happy to apologise and that he has friends in high-up places who won't be pleased to hear about this, but Miguel doesn't care.

He chucks him out into the street and you don't even have to see his face to know he’s smirking as the idiot lands flat on his ass because you are too.

The bell chimes his entrance once again, a proud grin on his face as he saunters towards you.

“So?” he questions expectantly.

Pushing past your amusement, you shrug your shoulders.

“I just kicked out some dick head for you and you’re not gonna say anything?”

“He didn't get a chance to pay, so you’re gonna have to cover it.” you flash him a sarcastic smile before picking up the tip jar and pushing it towards him, “and tip.”

His eyes narrow before he pulls out his wallet and behind to leaf through a series of wrinkled tens and twenties before pulling out a fifty. “Treat yourself.”

Again, you offer a forced smile before taking the jar away and opening the register to change the fifty for five tens. Your ears perk at the sound of his exasperated sigh, the corner of your mouth twitching into a grin at his irritation.

“You are so petty you know that, hermosa?”

You slam the register shut, mettle blooming in your chest at the dumbfounded expression on Miguel’s face.

You remain unblinking as you glare at him, not a slither of emotion is present on your face other than pure unbridled spite. You’ve never been able to wrap your head around his confidence. Sure, he's conventionally attractive and can tell you how the reason you never see stars at night isn't because of all the light pollution but because they know they’ll never compare to the grace of your smile or the dazzling beauty of your eyes all in Spanish. But is he really that amazing?

He pulls out a small metal tube from his pocket and pops it open. “Toothpick?” he offers, sliding one between his lips, “cherry flavoured.”

You keep staring disdainfully at him, expression unmoving.

“I’m starting to understand why he was in such a grump,” he mutters to himself, although his eyes are still carefully trained on you, “with service like this, any man would end up in a funk like that.”

That does it. You slam your fists on the tacky counter with a furious groan. You’re so fucking tired, not one single person in this entire rat-filled city has manners, the last thing you need is some self-obsessed playboy messing with your emotions.

Palms stinging , you look back up at him. His eyes are slightly widened but he stays silent, slightly baffled by whatever just happened.

“Get out, Miguel.”

He scoffs and stays where he is, clearly not oblivious to how infuriating he is.

“I’m not joking. Get out.”

His expression falters slightly but again, he simply refuses to move.

“I am so tired of people walking all over me, not an ounce of courtesy or anything. I'm not letting you, of all people, treat me the same.”

Slowly, he stands up, pushing his toothpick holder into his inside pocket.

“Please,” your voice cracks as tears sting the corners of your eyes, “just get out.”

You don't wait to hear the door close before allowing yourself to crumple, head falling onto your folded arms on the counter while unwanted tears trail down your cheeks.

You can’t believe you just broke down that, completely unprovoked. Miguel didn't help but whatever just happened was… it was more than unnecessary it was just plain childishness. How could you have allowed yourself to get so worked up? Normally you’re so collected, and always know how to act, yet the second that cocky idiot is around your emotions run havoc.

Then, your nose breathes in that familiar cedar and menthol smell. Internally, you groan.

“Look, I’m sorry that was out of order,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes. It's all well and good being able to apologize for being a dick one time but when you're continuously being a douche the effect tends to wear off.

“How did you even get behind here?” you mumble into your arms.

Ignoring your question, he slowly wraps an arm around your waist. You jump, at first, but allow yourself to relax. It’s nice being held, even if it's awkwardly and by someone you detest.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

What a gentleman.

Sniffling, you lift your head and turn to face him. “I don't have a car, Miguel!” you croak out.

What could pass as either a pout or a thoughtful frown forms on his lips as he stares at you. Whatever it is, it reeks of sympathy that you didn't ask for.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve said that.”

“No. I’m sorry about before.”

You scoff. It’s like he refuses to listen to you on purpose.

He runs his fingers through his hair, a sigh pushing past his lips. “I’m sorry about not showing up.”

It takes a second or two before you get what he means. You raise your brow, taken aback by his sudden ability to take just enough responsibility to apologize but not enough to actually say what he did. It’s funny, in a way, that it took you having to yell at him and break down crying before it even clicked that he should apologize.

“It’s fine, you were a dick and I got over it.” you lie.

He scowls, clearly unimpressed by the lack of enthusiasm his apology earned him. He steps a little closer, fingers grazing against your middle. Instinctively, your stomach clenches at the contact but you don't move away.

“That’s… that’s fair.”

You hum in agreement but remain silent.

“Forgot how to speak?” his voice is smooth like velvet but you don't take the bait. You’ve been in this position before, Miguel holding you close, a sudden softness to his demeanour whilst he comforts you. And last time it ended with you crying into your pillow until you fell asleep.

His hand turns your face towards him, thumb tracing the outline of your lower lip. “Que niña tan linda,” he utters.

Your upper lip curls up in disgust and you push him away. You might be exhausted and emotionally distraught but that doesn't mean you don't have common sense.

Something, you’re not quite sure what, flickers across his expression as he bites down on his bottom lip.

Defensively, he holds his hands up and takes a dramatic step away. “Misread the room.”

You laugh. Again, it's not even a proper apology, just something to clear his conscious until he does something equally as idiotic. It would take a miracle for him to give a heartfelt, meaningful apology and you sincerely doubt any miracles are coming his way.

Another awkward silence fills the room. It's not like the one before, though, there’s no fear of death or ill-mannered slobs taking up all thinking space. Just you and Miguel, stood dangerously close while you cumbersomely sniffle away your tears.

You can feel it, Miguel’s intense gaze burning holes into the side of your face. He doesn't look away, just keeps staring at you, unblinking and unmoving.

“Bebita.” you allow yourself to look at him. The harsh, flickering yellow lights hang close to his head and burn the corners of your eyes. “I think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“If you thought so, I wouldn't have been left standing outside the movies for an hour in the rain waiting for you,” you mutter snidely.

Ditching his previous tactics for forgiveness, he groans. “I told you already, I was busy.”

Everyone had warned you to watch out for guys like Miguel- the loud, cocky ones that only think with their dick. But you’ve never been one to listen, not to overbearing second cousins and patronising aunts, anyway.

Your ignorance of their advice hadn’t done much, though, because as much as you’d pretended, they were right. He knows he could have any girl he wants, all he’d have to do is flash her that signature smirk, maybe wrap one of his toned arms around her waist, and they’re putty in his hands.

And you'd fallen for his flirtatious trap once before. Hook, line and sinker.

You force your gaze away, deciding eye contact with him isn't worth the optical damage that will surely present itself sooner or later.

“You have a house phone, could have called me or the diner, hell- Peter would have been happy to be your little messenger pigeon!” it all comes out at once, a toxic blur of anger and regret that has been burning in your chest since the moment he walked in tumbling out your mouth before you could get a chance to stop yourself. “You are the scum of the earth, Miguel. I hope you know that.”

He lets your words settle in the air, arm slowly retracting from your waist and coming to rest on the countertop. His lips are pursed into a tight line that hides all emotion but the remnants of a frown tug his brown eyes downwards.

“Peter had come out, before, telling me that some creep was in there bothering you.” he glances back down at you, waiting for something other than fury to be represented on your face only to realise his optimism was all in vain and continuing on. “And I thought… maybe if I sort this out for her, she’ll forgive me.”

“You trying to be a good person now doesn't make standing me up okay.” you pause, angling yourself to face him, a sudden wave of sympathy crashing over you at the sight of his shiny eyes. “I forgive you, for now.”

This time, he doesn't even try to hide the pleased smirk on his face. His obnoxiously sharp canines poke proudly over his bottom lip and that ridiculous cocky twinkle is back in his eyes. If he was a dog, his tail would be wagging to no end.

“Does this mean we’re friends now?”

You scrunch your nose and shake your head. “I can't be friends with someone who tips with a fifty, it’s too ironic and tacky.”

He clutches his chest in feigned offence before a low chuckle rumbles from deep within his chest.

You aren't too sure what you are, in all honesty. The two of you had started off as acquaintances, which led to a strange friendship which had snowballed into him kissing you in the kitchen after closing hours before he stood you up on your first proper date. And now you’re both here, laughing even though you’re certain you wanted him dead almost a minute ago.

“Can I try again, then? I want to get it right.”

You shrug, you only live once.

[causeilikelix]

hii im the anon who sent the hard dom lixie post ,, and i totally think ur right !! i also feel after that event..hes a lil bit more touchy with u !! just to help get the point across

also idk if u take anons but just would love to be 🐹 anon if you do !! if not thats totally ok , im literally just eating up everything u post

omg hi!!! Yes, you can totally be 🐹 anon! I've never had one before tbh so welcome!!! The support means so much to me! tbh I wish I posted more lol but writers block exists.

Except for right now cause WOW

Part 2 to this ask, but it doesn't necessarily have to be read to understand this

MINORS DNI!!!! Smut under the cut! I............................ got carried away. Warnings under the cut

YES totally. Lix is already a pretty touchy-feely person so like you showing interest in him being a little more dominant and, dare I saw, possessive would really turn on the Clingy.

(banner credit @cafekitsune)

(Warnings: established relationship, dom!Felix?, dirty talk, semi public sex, unprotected sex (it's only fun in fiction), creampie, afab!reader)

This man needs all of his friends (and your friends) to know that you're his. Unless you ask him not to for whatever reason, Felix would mark you up every. time. I mean, first of all it feels amazing to have his lips on you. So pillowy and soft and the way he sucks on your neck is just heavenly!

Any time you hang out with his friends this man has his hands on you in one way or another. He's constantly back hugging you, holding your hand, cuddling with on the couch, whatever. Sometimes, he'd lean over and whisper the filthiest shit into your ear just to make you blush.

"You look so hot in this dress, baby. Who'd you wear it for?"

"I bet you'd love for me to bend you over the couch and take you right here, huh? Want the guys to see how well you take me."

"Sweet girl, I bet your soaked right now. I can practically smell you."

It doesn't take him long to convince you to either leave the gathering or sneak off to the bathroom with him. All of his dirty talk is, in fact, soaking through your underwear. That deep voice of his gets you every fucking time.

The other boys roll their eyes and turn up the music when Felix drags you back to the bathroom. The bass helps drown out the yelp that falls from your mouth the second Felix flips up the skirt of your dress to run his fingertips along the gusset of your panties. He moans into your mouth when he feels how wet you are.

"Filthy girl, I knew you were wet." He growls.

"You always make me wet." You grin at him

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath as he slips his fingers into your panties to touch you properly. You moan instantly at the contact. "Babe, you've gotta let me fuck you. I'm so hard I don't think I'll make it home."

"But the guys-'

"Don't pretend like you didn't love them listening in last time. I remember how tight your cunt clamped on to me when you heard them turn the TV off. C'mon baby, please. I need you so bad." Felix rocks his hips into yours a little and sure enough you can feel his hardness poking at your stomach. It makes your mouth water and your pussy clench at the thought of fucking him here.

"One condition." You whisper as he starts to press hot kisses into your neck. His fingers slide into your heat with no resistance and you choke back a moan.

"Anything."

"Don't pull out this time."

At this, he pulls away from you to look you in the eye. At first, you worry that he's going to pull away completely. The motions of his fingers inside you slow to a stop but he doesn't take them out. His eyebrows furrow.

"Are you serious?"

You'd talked about the risks before, and it wasn't like he hadn't done it before but it wasn't something super common in your relationship.

"Deadly serious." You gripped the back of his neck and pulled him in, "Don't you want us to go back out there to your friends, your cum dripping down my legs to show them once and for all that you're not as soft as they think you are?"

Felix's eyes darkened immediately.

"Ask and you shall receive, baby." He growled.

He grabbed your waist and roughly spun you around and bent you over the bathroom sink. Your panties are discarded around one ankle before he's nudging your legs apart. Excitement sparks through your bloodstream when you hear Felix messing with the button and zipper on his jeans.

A few moments later, something hot swipes through your folds. You moan as the head of his dick nudges against your clit a few times. He teases you by nudging your clit then moving up to press against your hole before taking it away to nudge your clit again.

You swear you've never been so empty in your life.

"Felix, I swear, if you don't fuck me right no- ah!" You let out a sudden moan when Felix finally pressed his cock into you. He suck in slowly, letting you feel every single inch. When his hips meet your ass, you moan again.

"Good girl, let them hear you. I knew you wanted to act like a little slut. You wanted me to fuck you where they could hear you, huh? Let everyone know how well you take cock" Felix moans, the noise going straight to your clit.

He always feels so good inside of you. It's like his cock was made to stretch you open. His thrusts are slow at first, getting you used to him despite how many times you've taken him. He pants against your neck and you rock back onto him.

"Fuck you feel so good, baby, your little cunt always takes me so well." Felix compliments, his hands kneading your ass and thighs. One hand circles up to brush through your folds. Your cunt clenches the second he finds your clit. "You're so tight! How is any of my cum going to fit inside you?"

You open your mouth to answer him but all that comes out is a moan. He rocks into you steadily and he circles your clit with two fingers. It isn't long before your thighs begin to tremble and the knot in your stomach pulls taut.

"Aw," he chides, "Are you gonna cum on my cock, beautiful? Come on, baby, cream for me, yeah?"

It doesn't take much else. It never does. Felix plays your body like an instrument. He always knows just where to touch, just what to say, just where to angle the head of his cock to get you to fall apart for him. You cum, squeezing him tightly. He moans through your orgasm, holding onto his own so he can ride yours out.

"Good girl," he praises, "Make a mess on my cock. When we get home I'll have you clean me up. Fuck! Pussy gets so tight when she cums."

If there's one thing Felix loves, it's feeling every single moment of your orgasm. The way your legs shake, the way your pussy quivers and tightens, the way your wetness leaves a shimmering sheen on his cock. He swears he can never get enough of you.

As your orgasm wanes, his thrusts speed up. He moans into your ear and every sound makes you clench. You wonder if you could cum again. His thrusts are quick and deep. Your pussy aches and throbs but in the best way possible. Overstimulation sparks through your veins, but part of you wonders if it's just another orgasm creeping up on you.

"Fuck, baby, I'm not gonna last. Tell me where you want me to cum. Now!" He threads a hand into your hair so he can tilt your head to see your fucked-out face. The drool seeping from your lips and your hooded eyes make his orgasm threaten to spill without warning.

"In-" A particularly harsh thrust makes you moan, "Inside. Please! Please cum inside. "

"So tight! Fuck, fuck, cumming!"

And he does. He pushes himself into you as deep as he possibly can and releases his orgasm right against your cervix. The warmth makes your cunt pulse and you reach down to rub your clit. A circle or two later, you fall into another orgasm that squeezes him to coax more of him into you.

Felix rocks his hips into you a few more times to unload every generous spurt of cum inside you before finally pulling out.

He puts his hands on your ass cheeks and spreads you open. You blush when you feel his eyes on your spent hole. You wait for the telltale feeling of some of the warmth in your cunt to slip out, but nothing does. After a minute, Felix lands a soft smack on your ass before pulling your panties back up your legs.

"Come on, I've got you." Felix coaxes you to stand up and turn back around. Your legs quiver and you hold onto him. "You held it all in, baby. Nothing's leaking out."

"Guess you'll have to give me some more to make sure it slides down my legs." You quip, even though you know you probably couldn't take more right now.

"Maybe next time, angel. This time I want you to make sure you keep every drop in there. I'll check later and if you've let a single drop go to waste, I'll give you refill after refill until you can't hold it anymore. " Felix's voice sent a shiver down your spine, "Think you can handle that?"

You're nodding and clenching your thighs before he's even done talking.

"Good girl."

[straycalamities]

xposting from twitter but

kinda related to my other post, but guys can we please be more considerate about camp entre fanworks? i’ve seen people be unhappy with this or that being focused on (swagtre. it’s swagtre.) and wanting this or that but like

1. there’s /plenty/ of old art (and some new! i’ve drawn some!) where they’re solo

2. be the change you wish to see in the world

i don’t wanna be a dick but like i can see what you guys say pretty easily. im not some huge media producer who doesn’t pay attention. im a small creator who draws his oc kissing another oc 😭 (im not even indie!!! i’m even smaller than that!!! i don’t make ANY money from truffula flu or anything like that!! to some of you guys i might feel like a big deal but im just some guy in a niche fandom of a niche fandom of a niche fandom. i’m an absolute nobody outside this teeny tiny corner of the internet!!)

be polite, please

ever since camp entre picked back up last year i’ve seen ppl get more and more uh…bold i guess..with what they say and i just want to nip that behavior right there in the bud bc camp entre (or any truffula flu story for that matter) is not Big Media

none of us get or have gotten royalties or whatever from it. camp entre was a former-friend group’s public rp. keep that in mind when you say stuff in tumblr tags or use searchable words/phrases please. any one of us could be looking at any time

if you want more solo entre stuff, you can find it in my #entre tag (it’s all entres but there’s that truffula flu guy is in there) or #swag for that guy

yes there’s still a lot of ship art in there but it’s how i tag so…my bad

OR you can head to this old blog where the whole point was to be a place for me to reblog ALL the stuff that had entre in it and i even avoided reblogging most swagtre (because, go figure, there were ppl complaining about the amount of swagtre back then too) so it’s entre-focused stuff, check it out if you haven’t:

also if anyone dislikes swagtre so much i got bad news for them abt what was canon & continues to be canon 😭)

but either way let’s kinda…lay off the people creating things for fun and for love because we aren’t seeing what we, personally, want to see

and i especially won’t let anyone make ME feel bad for drawing something that brings me joy. i got enough misery in my life as it is

i got reasons and such for why i only draw/reshare/talk abt what i do but it’s nobody’s business tbqh. like i know it’s rough when im basically the only one of the original group that’s available because most (if not all) of the rest want to lay it to rest (as is their right) and so im the only one making “canon” stuff for camp entre anymore and i have a very loud muse for swagtre

but like idk i just want ppl to have fun so like

if you aren’t seeing your fav/ship enough then draw, write, or commission it! more stuff is always good stuff!! do macaroni art, edits, cosplay! whatever u want! it’s all cool!

[crazysodomite]

being an artist and lonely and mentally ill is interesting. i think. yes. art is a part of me and my self expression. but sometimes i think. would anyone even give a single fuck about me if i wasn't doing art, or chose to stop doing it, or lost the ability or will to do it, or whatever. what am i then to other people if no one ever truly valued or appreciated anything about me other than the things i produce. i think in part this is also influenced by the extremely toxic trend in art communities where you're not seen as a person if your art isn't "good enough" or you don't have social status or popularity to leverage. you amount to nothing in the eyes of others when you're not producing something enjoyable to others. i don't take offense to people talking about how they like me because they like my art bc. 1. im sure they mean well and considering i mostly only talk about art stuff and pretty much nothing else its pretty obvious most people wouldn't comment on anything else. which is a me issue. 2. my self or my personality is probably not noteworthy in any way so its hard to talk about it lol. this honestly wouldn't be a problem if you have the reassurance of friends/family/etc. who love you regardless of what you can do for them. but i dont. and i never had that. so yeah. idk. and thats not even to say that being an artist makes you a unique/separate type of person to everybody else. what this boils down to is feeling like people appreciate you for what you can do for them instead of what/who you are.

[ganondoodle]

this isnt a call out for anyone; i keep getting asked why i even post my opinions on the internet if i dont want to argue whenever i mention how tired i am of people trying to argue with me or proof me wrong

and i just ... for one its bc there are people that have told me they like hearing my opinions bc it makes them feel less alone, its validating to hear that i am not alone and i make them feel less alone (this is a big reason)

then theres the thing .. do you feel good never saying your opinion on anything and just keeping everything to yourself? be it big or small, i tried to do that for years, just trying to crawl deeper and deeper into a hole bc clearly i am the problem and should be able to deal with everything on my own, never say anything, i could be annoying, i could be a burden, and it nearly killed me; i have very few friends and i already spam them enough to feel constantly guilty

and if i did that on some private account ... what use is that, thats the same thing as not saying anything, whats the use of saying anything when no one listens, even to select few, whats the point if others cant find it, there might be people i dont know at all that would find solace in hearing my stupid ramblings about games

its true i lack self control and just tend to talk about stuff when i feel the need of talking, but is that really so bad?

correct me if im wrong but i was never of the impression that posting something on the internet automatically means wanting to debate and argue unless you specifically say or initiate it on someone elses post? like thats why i pretty much always make my own post to complain and dont go on other peoples posts of opposing views, id view the latter as an invitation to argue moreso than the former

when i post some stupid opinion (im talking about harmless personal video game opinions mind you) on my own account who am i bothering, if people agree thats great! if they dont they can just move on- i know people love to discuss and share different opinions but the the ones i most often encounter are ones where its a basically trying to start a fight over whos more right (like theres always one correct opinion to have) or just telling me i am not allowed to feel like i feel-

im aware i cant expect everyone to be able to see a differeing opinion and move on without saying anything, but when i say something, unless its specifically a question, i just do it to vent, to let my thoughts out so they dont slowly gnaw at me, maybe find validation in others also thinking like that (i know i cant also expect everyone to think that way .. i just see it as a form of politeness? sorta?); in all honesty, i dont do it to get told opposing opinions (i know thats maybe a little ... idk, selfish i guess?) bc i usually have seen or heard those already and am saying mine bc i havent seen it before or very very little- what i think is often very much not the majority so the need to say something gets greater the more i see somethign i dont agree with, like an urge to balance it? a call to see if i am alone or not? and much less so to argue or debate over something like that, im tired and exhausted at all times, and have often trouble even getting myself to draw, i dont enjoy fights of any kind, and especialyl so when its about something so completely ignorable like a game opinion i only said bc i wanted it out of my head and bc i have seen that the majority seems to be of a different one

like a sticky note on a wall, not an invitation to a political meeting?

maybe this is something i need to work on and get better at, i havent found a way that lets me get rid of my thoughts in a way that doesnt leave me feeling guilty (like spamming my friends) or to gnaw at me (not saying anything, or somewhere no ones gonna hear it)

i know im incapable of shutting up ever (though at least i got a better control over my emotions by now) and i risk accidentally seeming like im inviting people to a fight but i dont know what else to do

maybe its something i horribly missunderstood about the internet, but its my only outlet for that, i dont have anyone IRL to talk to about my interests, maybe its a flaw that needs work, maybe its just a flaw, i dont know :/

[t00thpasteface]

i very deeply respect your mashposting and even though im not as enthusiastic about hawkahy as you are i think the content you make for them us delightful and some of the best mashposting on this godforsaken website. that being said, i wanted to know ur takes on the hawkeye & trapper dynamic, and the hawkeye & bj dynamic. Not in a shippy way, just in the World of Hawkahy what role do trapper and bj play in their relationships with hawkeye :3 this because i love that one comic u did where hawkeye is spunchbop and bj is Patrick its one of my fave pieces of mash fanart lol

(⁠๑˘❥⁠⁠ ˘๑⁠) first off, THANK YOU!! i'm soooo crazy about hawkahy and i really enjoy contributing to my fellow shippers, but i'm glad my art can also still appeal to people who are less interested the ship itself.

second, VERY fun question!! i wish i had definitive answers for yall, but you know me... i love to go "well idk it could go either way" ^_^;; really, it depends on what kind of tone and theme i'm looking for. i don't really write heavier stuff (because i have so much fun writing funny fic) so that kind of narrows my options, but there's a lot of potential i'd love to explore— or see someone else explore, if they're so inclined!

TRAP:

generally the trapper reading i typically default to is that he and hawkeye have a pretty casual FWB thing going on. trapper considers hawkeye a very close friend and hooks up with him at an intersection of bicuriosity and deep platonic affection, but hawkeye catches baddddd feelings and ends up genuinely heartbroken to find out their thing was lopsided. in this case, hawkahy would happen only after trapper leaves— mulcahy has a tough time trying to get noticed before that point :( but at the same time, i don't think mulcahy would pounce at the first opportunity, because i don't think an immediate rebound would be good for hawkeye nor mulcahy... but it could happen for dramaaaaa...

another version of the hawkeye-trapper rapport that i love playing with in my fics is trapper being generally very supportive but nonetheless slightly grossed out. i think there's a lotttt of comedy potential with hawkeye thinking it's okay to fuck a priest but NOT a married woman, and meanwhile trapper is pro-infidelity but anti-priestfucking (for whatever reason), and they squabble and tease each other about it the whole time.

it's also funny to think about is trapper trying to figure out whether mulcahy now gets the "one of the bros" back-slapping beer-chugging dude treatment, or if instead he's now slotted into the "go easy on 'em trap" category that protects hawkeye's ladyfriends from hearing trapper's bawdiest jokes and comments when hawkeye brings them along as a plus-one to the swamp.

trapper seems like he's pretty likely to sniff out that hawkeye and mulcahy are seeing each other even if they try their damnedest to keep it secret. i like to think hawkeye trusts trapper enough that he would go ahead and divulge it it up front pretty soon after it's official. trapper could probably even pick up hawkeye's crush beforehand... maybe even before hawkeye knows about it!

i don't see trapper as being too jealous of hawkeye spending a lot of time with mulcahy, even if it means hawkeye is now exclusive and not sleeping with trapper anymore. if anything i think he'd be pretty stoked that he's got one less guy to compete with for the nurses' attention. pretty sweet deal as far as he's concerned.

i do think there'd be some tricky navigating between how hawkeye acts with trapper and the STARK difference with how he acts around mulcahy, which you can see clear as day in the s1 finale, where hawkeye gets soooo soft and careful while talking to mulcahy. i don't think either one is disingenuous; i think hawkeye contains multitudes. hawkeye's not the type to fake sincerity. and to that end, i really don't think hawkahy should hinge on hawkeye totally giving up all the cruder parts of his personality (especially since mulcahy is really no saint either), so it could be pretty interesting to see that manifest in whether/how he's still maintaining a close friendship with trapper now that he's been seeing mulcahy regularly and trying to make a good impression.

BEEJ:

the direction bj goes in depends on whether hawkahy are already an item before he gets there. he does form that almost instantaneous trauma-bond with hawkeye on his first day, but i think if hawkeye admitted "yeah by the way the chaplain is my boyfriend" as soon it seemed safe, bj would be able to take it in stride as another weird little quirk of the mash he has to get used to. he's too hung up on dealing with all the gore to worry about who's banging who.

by contrast, i think he could potentially get pretty upset/jealous if hawkeye and mulcahy paired up a little while later. i can see him feeling really betrayed, like, "what do you normally do when i'm gone?" "wait for you to get back!!"

if bj still doesn't feel like he's really enmeshed himself into the unit— which i think on some level, he never wants to, because he's banking on dropping everything like a hot potato the second he can— then i can totally picture him just feeling completely lost and isolated when hawkeye is suddenly forgoing their boys-nite boozathons in favor of getting some priest pipe. like, at least trapper could always go find his own cuddle buddy to pass the time and had nurses lining up to volunteer; bj has basically nobody and doesn't seem inclined nor equipped to fix that. hawkeye is his liason to the rest of the camp, and bj isn't so great with people without having hawkeye there to help as both teleprompter and safety net.

basically i think bj wants to keep hawkeye within a very specific arm's-length radius— not too close, but not too far either, and hawkeye having so much private time with someone else could really get under his skin.

you could also have bj think the priestfucking is gross/bad on sheer principle like trapper did, even without the jealousy angle, and it'd probably hold a little more water coming from bj than trapper. however, it'd be funny if he's insisting it's definitely not a jealousy thing and he's being fully objective about it, but you can totally tell he's just jealous. x)

i admit i kinda love seeing bj get tormented, because he's got such obvious buttons to press and yet sternly insists that they don't even exist, similar to houlihan and frank. like, you can't just set that up and not expect me to rub my hands together and SLAM those buttons as hard as i can. ergo, bj getting jealous about hawkahy is supremely funny to me. i'm not too proud to admit that!