#seriously i should not still remember this

[enwoso]

love is weird | alessia russo x child!reader

-> based on this request🏝️

grumpy masterlist

the lionesses' prep camp was supposed to be about strategy meetings, recovery sessions, and keeping distractions to a minimum ahead of the euros.

but when ella too e rolled into the lounge carrying a family-sized bag of popcorn and shouted, "girls, it's lovie island o'clock!", all that discipline quietly went out the window.

alessia had hoped the team wouldn't clock the new cast announcement. she even dared to think just for a second that giorgio might not make the final cut. but when the first boy showing the preview for tonight walked across the screen and introduced himself as:

"i’m giorgio, i’m 30, and i’m from kent..."

the room exploded, everyone talking over one another.

"OH MY GOD, IT IS HIM—"

“NO WAY, YOUR BROTHER- LESS?!”

"LESS, YOU DIDN'T TELL US HE WAS ACTUALLY GONNA—"

"no, god no, not the shirt unbutton. he's already undone three!" alessia dropped her head into her hands as groans and laughter filled the room.

"i told him not to do it," alessia muttered, shaking her head. "i told him he'd embarrass himself. and me."

you, curled on your mummy’s chest in your pyjamas, your little blanket draped over you as your esme the elephant was tucked up near your cheek.

you had been teetering on the edge of sleep for the past hour. your curls were a warm halo across alessia’s hoodie, fingers still absentmindedly twisting a loose thread. but the moment you heard that familiar sound of your uncle's voice on tv, you stirred.

your head popped up groggily, squinting at the screen. "...is that uncle gio?" you asked, frowning as you were still in a sleep haze.

the team tried and failed, miserably, to suppress their giggles as alessia braced herself taking a deep breath before opening her mouth. "yes, baby," alessia said gently, brushing a curl off her daughter's forehead. "that is your uncle gio."

you blinked slowly. "why’s he on the telly?"

before alessia could reply, you sat up properly in your mummy’s lap, eyes wide with innocent confusion. "wait... what show is this?"

the room collectively held its breath, waiting for alessia to answer.

"it’s called love island," alessia said, keeping her voice light, nonchalant. "it’s, uh... a show for grown-ups. about people trying to... meet someone special."

your brow furrowed, you didn’t get it. "like... to play with?"

a snort came from the direction of ella, who had buried her face in a cushion trying her best to hide her giggles.

"erm, no not really, lovie," alessia said, stifling a laugh. "more like... finding someone to love."

you twisted around to face your mummy properly, visibly baffled. "but that's silly. he has people to love. he has me. and you. and nonna and nonno. and teddy, remember? from christmas?"

leah, sitting to alessia’s left, let out a soft wheeze of laughter and whispered, "she’s got a point."

alessia nodded seriously. "she really does."

you turned back to the tv. a new girl in a bright bikini was walking toward your uncle, slow-motion hair flip and all. you frowned. "so... do they play games? or is it just talking about kisses?"

this time georgia actually choked on her popcorn.

"it’s um... mostly talking," alessia said vaguely. "and some... hugging. sometimes."

you didn't look convinced as your brows were still furrowed. "they should play hide and seek. or play in the big pool. that’s way more fun."

"i agree," alessia said quickly. "but i don't think that's what this show is about."

just then, your uncle threw out a cheeky wink on screen. the woman next to him giggled. you gasped dramatically catching the action. "is he gonna kiss someone?!"

alessia sat up immediately, her hands going around her daughter's waist. "right. that’s enough. it’s time for bed."

"noooooo!" you flailed, kicking your feet against the sofa. "mummy, please! i wanna watch the love show! i need to see if uncle gio gets a special friend!"

"no, no you don't need to see that," alessia said, standing and hoisting your wriggling little body onto her hip.

"but i don't even understand it yet!" you cried. "do they kiss everyone? what if uncle gio gets the wrong girl? what if he doesn't get one at all?!"

leah was wheezing now, doubled over not moving to help the situation as alessia gave her a death glare.

"you’re being unfair!" you cried, arms flopping in theatrical distress. "i’m five and three-quarters, i can watch!"

"and i’m your mummy and it’s not up for debate," alessia said, heading toward the hallway. "say goodnight to mama and your aunties."

you leaned from your mummy’s arms to hug, leah as she planted a kiss to you cheek mumbling for you to have sweet dreams as you then looked back towards the rest of the team waving a good night.

"goodnight, tiny!" the team chorused through fits of laughter.

"you lot are the worst," alessia called back, cradling you just that little tighter as she disappeared from the room.

the team lounge had fallen behind them, but the echoes of laughter still rang in alessia’s ears as she padded softly down the hallway with you in her arms.

alessia could feel your limbs going heavy again, your head resting lazily on alessia’s shoulder, but she knew better than to assume the battle was over.

back in the hotel room, alessia wondered over to your bed. the corner one where you’d made it your own. flippping on the dim fairy lights that you insisted came with you to every camp, casting a warm golden glow over your bed and stuffed animals that had taken over half of the floor.

gently, alessia settled you down onto her mattress, pulled up the lionesses duvet, and knelt beside the bed. "time for sleeps, my lovie."

you stared up at your mummy with those wide, curious and alert eyes. "mummy?"

here it comes, alessia thought.

"is uncle gio trying to get married on the show?"

alessia blinked. "what? no. he’s erm... he's just meeting people."

"but you said it's a love show. you always say people get married when they're in love." you asked, moving slightly so you were a little on your side as your mummy brushed a strand of hair from your face.

alessia took a breath and mentally begged for strength. "okay, yes, sometimes that happens. but not on that show. it’s more about... dating. grown-up stuff."

you looked unimpressed. "sounds boring. they should just play football and eat ice cream. that would be a better show."

"it would wouldn’t it," alessia said a small laugh slipping from her lips as she kissed your forehead. "now close your eyes."

you didn't. instead, you sighed dramatically and looked up at the ceiling. "what if uncle gio kisses the wrong person? what if he picks a girl and then she's mean and makes him cry?"

alessia leant her head back against the headboard, rubbing her face. "if that happens, i will personally fly out there and get him. but i think your uncle can handle himself."

you narrowed her eyes. "he’s not very clever, though. remember when he put salt in the cake he made?”

alessia couldn't help it, she laughed. "yeah, i remember. but let’s hope the producers took away all the cake baking things."

silence for half a second and for that half a second alessia thought she had succeeded in getting you asleep but then..

"mummy?"

alessia tilted her head. "mm?"

you leaned close and whispered seriously, "do you have to kiss people to love them?"

alessia blinked at the tiny philosopher in front of her. "no, baby. you can love someone a whole lot without kissing them."

"so you love me more than anyone?"

"more than anyone," alessia said without hesitation rubbing small circles on your back. "forever and ever."

you smiled, finally letting your eyes close. "even more than mama?"

alessia paused, grinning. "you’re tied. very tightly. in a bow."

"mmmkay." your voice husky as you were already drifting off to sleep. "'cause mama gives me the last red starburst. that’s real love."

alessia shuffled slightly from your bed, one foot on the floor as she tucked you back under your blanket, waiting for another beat to pass to be able to swing her other leg around

just as the moment came, your tiny voice piped up again: "mummy?"

alessia leaned the back of her head against the wall. "yes, lovie?"

"can i go on the love show when i’m big?"

"absolutely not."

[theorphicangel]

tuning in for sukuna sunday :p would love to see possibly an argument with kuna that ends in him sleeping on the couch. can be angst fluff or anything rly 🙂‍↔️🫶

hiiiiiii!! thank you so much for submitting a sukuna sunday thought!! arghhh i loved writing this, i missed writing for grumpy kuna <3333

hope u enjoy!!

it's been back and forth since this morning.

sukuna doesn't know if you woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning or if his dream self must have pissed you off but you really have it out for him.

you nitpick at his clothes strewn across the apartment, the way he leaves his breakfast dish in the sink all day, how he always asks you where he's left his keys before he leaves for work which leads to a whole rummage. every. single. day.

you snap and your agitation (which is rare) makes him equally as angry causing the two of you to throw words at each other like knives. you both end up showing late to work which pisses you both off even more.

after a couple of hours sukuna makes the grave mistake of thinking that the argument was behind him. it was stupid. petty even. and it was way too early in the morning to even discuss or take seriously. hell, he can't even remember how it started in the first place.

it's stupid and by the time he returns home you'll have forgotten about it and go back to normal.

right?

wrong. now that mistake leaves sukuna staring at the living room ceiling feeling like a dickhead. upon reflection he realises that he should have taken your words much more seriously. the last words that you said to him before leaving for work this morning.

'oh. and you're sleeping on the couch tonight.'

'like hell i am, woman' he had replied with but by then you were already half way out of the door.

but you were smart enough to return home before him and lock yourself in the bedroom so he had no choice but to resort to the couch. he was tired. sweaty. and angry. the worst three combinations to experience.

he had waited until midnight thinking that you would at least come out for something. food. water. shout at him. but alas you never emerged. he watched the beige door and it's golden knob waiting for a twist or the sound of a lock but it never came.

sure he heard you shuffling around or coughing and occasionally laughing at something stupid on your phone. from this he concludes that you're still alive locked in with your favourite snacks and whatnot.

you're living the life of luxury in your king-sized bed and sukuna resorts to...

whatever the hell this is.

his calves hang over on the armrest, the blanket barely covers his chest, there's something digging in his back, the pillows aren't comfortable enough for his head and if he even shifts a limb he knows he's tipping off entirely.

and of course the last thing that sets him off is not being able to find the remote for the tv so he can't even distract himself with his favourite show and finding multiple popcorn kernels instead.

that gives sukuna enough rage to rise up and head to the bedroom door. he gives three loud knocks, uncaring if you've already drifting off to sleep.

'oi. i'm sick of this shit. whatever you want i'll do it.... just let me back in to sleep.'

no response.

sukuna pauses to see if he can make out your light snores but he hears nothing. so you're definitely awake.

he knocks again with a heavy fist. he's tired and he knows you are too. 'i know you're trying to be petty but i don't even remember what we were arguing about it was stupid.'

still no response.

maybe he's saying the wrong thing. if anything you're the type to want sukuna to do the impossible (which is to take responsibility for his actions) and with a sigh sukuna muses over his words and runs a hand over his forehead.

' okay, i do remember. i was stupid and i was wrong and bla bla bla okay? whatever you want i'll do. you win. you hearing me or what?'

he hears a slight shuffle behind the door.

so he is getting somewhere.

'i'll do anything, baby, just let me in and sleep with you.'

sukuna perks up at the sound of another shuffle. before too long he hears the sound of your voice. 'so you'll do anything?'

it takes sukuna a couple swallows before he replies. fuck, he knows he's basically making a deal with the devil. 'yes i'll do anything.'

anything to not have his back ache and his pillows propped up properly and the sheets covering him properly and of course...the comfort of being next to you.

there's a long pause as you ponder over his words and it takes all of Sukuna's patience to not to break the damn door down himself.

'so you'll buy me food?'

'brat i do that shit anyways.'

'oh okay, so what i'm hearing is that you don't want to come back in?'

'i'll do that.' he replies.

'and you'll clean the house by yourself for a month.'

sukuna groans.

'two months.' you add on and sukuna learns to shut up.

'whatever.'

and finally sukuna hears sweet victory. the sound of a door unlocking. as he expected you were standing there all fluffed up in your comfy clothes and blankets while he was shivering out in the cold ass living room.

he moves to enter but you block his path. sukuna holds in another groan before you change your mind about letting him in.

with beaming eyes and a sweet smile as if you hadn't terrorised his entire day today you ask for a favour.

'can i have a kiss first?'

'you and your greedy ass.' he mutters but he leans down and peppers your lips with a kiss anyways.

[buckysdingus]

jealousy

rhett abbott x f!reader

word count: 4.3k

summary: you meet a cowboy at a rodeo in a town you just moved to end up against his truck with him against you.

warnings: lower case writing. smut MDNI 18+ hand riding, lil bit of dirty talking.

a/n: based off this request! first time writing smut 🤠 lmk if you wanna see more!

send me more requests!

masterlist

your friend was the one who dragged you to the rodeo. the day before she dragged you to a boot shop and got you your first pair of boots along with a dark green hat.

you were new to town and have never experienced the towns rodeo. why you moved to wabang, wyoming? no one understood and honestly they questioned your sanity. you didn't grow up on a ranch or farm but you also didn't grow up in the city. you were more drawn to the large landscape of nothing but hills and trees.

you weren't uncomfortable but you definitely felt out of place. your eyes were darting around trying to take everything. your eyes were lit up with curiosity and wonder.

"oh there's some open seats," your friend, sarah, exclaims pointing and then pulling a little too hard towards them. you're sat front row.

now you're sat near the bulls entrance to the arena. your eyes were glued to the men getting ready to hop on one of the animals.

one of the bulls jerks in the rails and your body tenses.

"easy girl," sarah pats your knee, "you're so tense. ease up."

you eyes still haven't left the rails.

one man climbs the rails and sits atop the bull. his blue jeans melting nicely with the chaps he wears. you could see his belt buckle from here. his long sleeve plaid button down with a brown vest over it looked good on him. his dark brown hat tried to hide long curls but you saw them poking out from under the hat.

"who's that?" you ask nodding to the man.

sarah smiles, "why? you like what you see?" she asks.

you roll your eyes with a smile and nudge her with your shoulder, "oh hush, seriously who is that?"

the rail opens and the bull rushes out already trying to buck the cowboy off. his hand is tight on the reins with his other lifted high in the air. he reaches up to his hat and pulls it off holding it.

one powerful buck from the animal and his hat is tossed in the air along with his body. his hand releases the hat and it flies towards you. you reach forward grabbing it as his body hits the dirt ground.

you grip the rim of the hat as you wince, watching him hit the ground. he's quick to stand, though, dusting his jeans off and rubbing his jaw.

he begins to look around for his hat and a surge of confidence flows through you.

"hey cowboy!" you shout to the man.

he turns towards you and you lift his hat, "looking for something?"

he chuckles and places his hands on his hips, walking towards you. he stops a few feet from you, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

"well i haven't seen you around before," he tilts his head with a cocky grin.

you toss the hat towards him like a frisbee.

"why? you would've remembered if you had?" you ask mirroring his crossed arms, you pop out a hip.

"damn straight." his deep, raspy accent does something for you, "thank you darlin," he winks.

he places his hat back on his head and turns walking back to the rails and climbing over them.

"what the fuck was that?" sarah asks.

"i have no idea," you turn to her with a grimace, "did i just embarrass myself?"

"judging from how he's still looking at you, i doubt it." she says and nods behind.

you turn your head and the man is starting back at you, he smiles with a nod. you smile and give a small wave turning back to sarah.

"you've just flirted with rhett abbott," she tells you with a big smile, "impossible to settle down with him."

you nod taking your seat again, "anything else i should know,"

"him and this girl maria have been off and on for a couple years but i wouldn't worry about her," sarah explains.

you look over to rhett again and he's talking to a girl, long dark hair and a tight long sleeve, "her?" you ask with a curious tone.

sarah looks over and nods, "yeah, that's her."

rhett smiles at something maria says and you conclude right then and there you will not be getting in the middle of whatever that is.

you will not be someone who breaks people up for their own gain. you don't that be flirted right back at you, if he's got someone you will not be causing anything.

you miss the next rodeo because of your new job. everyone seems to be hungry after a rodeo.

you clean tables until they shine or try to at least. the tables are so old and have a weird film on them, it's almost impossible to get whatever that stickiness is off.

nearing midnight, a couple of guys come in and sit in a booth in the corner. you get their order started and ring up a few others.

when the last couple steps away you look up through the diner window and see a familiar bull rider smoking a cigarette. the girl next to him, who you remember to be maria, looks angry.

she gestures towards the diner and stomps off with a huff. you hoped she was okay, and hoped you weren't the cause of whatever argument they just had.

rhett flicks the cigarette to the ground and stomps is out under his boot and pulls the door open. he sniffs and wipes his nose, a frown evident on his face. his eyes are trained to the ground while he weaves through tables.

he makes it to the bar, taking a seat with a sigh. then he finally lifts his head and he silently kicks himself for not looking up earlier. his frustrated sigh melts into a high and wide smile.

"hey sweetheart," he tries a new nickname, "didn't know you worked here," he tilts his head.

"i did just move here, remember?" you ask placing a hand on your hip.

"right," he nods, "thought i missed you tonight,"

"rhett abbott were you looking for little ole me?" you ask faking a gasp with hand over your chest.

he shrugs and leans back in his chair, "was just checking to see if you caught my hat again,"

"mhmm. well a girls gotta make some money so here i am," you tell him, "with that being said, what can i get ya?" you ask for his order.

you can see the shimmer in his eye as he thinks about asking for a date or a drinks some time but he reluctantly leaves that option.

"just a water, please," he decides.

you nod, "comin up," you turn grabbing a glass and filling it with water and placing it in front of him, "you want somethin to eat?"

he shakes his head, "no, no i'm alright." he avoids your eyes, taking a sip of the water.

you tilt your head slightly with squinted eyes, "you sure you're alright?"

you may not know him fully but you can tell something's up and you got nothing but time. the four guys in the corner have already scarfed down their food and left the money on the table.

he looks up to you, holding the glass by the top and letting it dangle from his fingertips. he sets the glass down, "you're observant aren't you?" you think for a split second that he was mocking you but his face is showing genuine interest.

you shrug, "i'm good at readin people,"

he gives a small smile and rubs his eyes, "i didn't do too hot tonight. so guess i wa glad you weren't there," he mutters the last part with the glass already close to his lips. he takes more sips from the glass and sets it down again, "not my best night. can i get a whiskey on the rocks,"

you nod, turning to grab the whiskey bottle, "well you don't put the pressure on yourself that you're going to be the best every time, right?" you ask turning back around and pouring the dark liquor in the glass before him.

"of course i do. my dad more so,"

"your dad?"

he nods, "royal abbott," he smacks his lips and throws the whiskey back.

"another?" you ask, he nods.

you pour the liquor again, "i'm sorry," you tell him, "you did good the night i was there. it was just an off night," you encourage him.

"thanks darlin," he smiles and throws back the whiskey again.

he leans forward and pulls out his wallet and lays down a bill.

"have good night, thanks for listening," he says standing to his feet.

"any time," you match his smile.

he starts walking through the table and reaches to the back of his jean pocket and pulls out some marlboro reds and a lighter.

you pick up the bill and your brows furrow, "rhett!" you call after him, he turns with his brows raised. his eyes go from yours to the bills in your hands to your eyes again.

"keep the change," he winks with a smirk and walks out, lighting a cigarette.

you look down at the fifty in your hands and roll your eyes. you break it and spill the extra thirty dollars into your back pocket.

♡︎✰ ✰ ✰✰ ✰ ✰♡︎

sarah meets you near a food stand inside and already has a drink ready for you the next week at the rodeo.

"watermelon mint margaritas!" she exclaims.

you shrug, why not, and take the drink. one sip and you groan at how good it truly is. you never thought watermelon and mint would be good together.

"we have to get you on the mechanical bull tonight," sarah grins with her eyebrows raised.

you shake your head swallowing a sip of your drink, "what? no, there's no way,"

"oh come on everyone does it at least once," she pleads.

"get me another drink and i'll think about," you tell her with a chuckle.

"what're you drinking?" the deep, raspy voice asks behind you.

you turn, "it's watermelon mint marg..." your words trail off as rhett stands before you.

his eyes look darker in this light, or lack thereof. the shadows that dance across his face highlight certain bones, like his cheekbones. they protrude out and you can make out some stubble on them.

his jaw is pronounced and sharp, set in a hard line though he's smiling. his lips look soft. you didn't need to touch them to know that, the warm pink color glossy from licking them all night.

his brown curls still peek out from under his hat, they look slightly wet from sweat but you'd still run your hands through them, twirl the curls around your finger.

you want him wrapped around your finger.

"hey cowboy," you say, forcing a not-nervous smile. you can't have the cocky bastard knowing he makes you even slightly nervous.

"darlin," he nods, he looks to sarah, "ma'am," sarah just smiles.

"as if we didn't go to school together all our lives," sarah laughs.

rhett shrugs, "manners. my ma would kill me if i didn't show em," he replies.

"oh i know," sarah tells him, "i'm going to the bathroom, have fun," her voice slips into a sing song tone at the last part as she floats away.

you force yourself to not roll your eyes at the obvious gesture of getting you and rhett alone.

"so another drink then the bull?" he asks, his grin spreading across his face.

"bet i'll stay on longer than you," you bet him.

he raises his eyebrows, "really? we'll see,"

he walks you over to the bar and pays for another drink for you. you go to protest but he's already handing cash over the bartender. she thanks him and makes your drink.

he hands it to you, "thank you," you thank him. he merely nods.

you take a sip and roll your eyes back, "here, you have to try this,"

he shakes his head, "can't drink darlin, i'm a rider,"

"so am i," you murmur and you think he misses it but he doesn't. he tries to hide his smirk with a rub of his jaw though it doesn't do much.

once you finish your drink he stands in line with you for the mechanical bull. once you're at the front he walks up there with you.

his touch is light but yo still feel his hand son your hips as he helps you up and over.

"take this," he hands you the rope, "and grip it as hard as you can," he taps your thigh with the back of his fingers, "grip your thighs just as tight. if the bull goes forward so do your hips,"

"you're gonna regret helping me," you tell him, "might even steal your career,"

"uh huh," he nods, grinning like an idiot. he takes his hat off placing it on yours and walking off. he hops off the inflatable ground and jumps over the fence that encases the inflatable ground.

he stands back, arms crossed.

there's a bell and the bull starts to move. it spins for a moment then jerks forward.

"whoa," you say as you move forward. you remember what rhett said, mov your hips with it.

you roll your hips forward, looking down at the bull, one hand grip the the reins and the other high in the air. there's a whistle and you just know it's coming from rhett's mouth.

you smile at the sound and thought.

rhett watches you with a careful eye. he was focused on your smile as you rode but then it's like he saw your brain start thinking of what he said to you. his eyes went from your smile to your hips.

with each roll it became impossible for him to not watch. you move seamlessly with the bull and he could see your thighs tighten at certain spots, those jeans looked good on you.

when you rolled your hips while looking down and when the bull jerked forward your hand splayed on the body of it in front of you.

then he had to look away or he'd rip you off that bull.

you're jerked to the side and and the mechanical bull bucks up, pushing your body back, your hips follow back. after about four seconds it speeds up. you rock your hips and squeeze your thighs as much as you can.

the bull does a combo as spinning you, bucky up then jerking you to the side and you fall off. your back hits the inflatable ground.

rhett is above you a second later, he clears his throat, "well you lasted eight seconds which is a qualified ride but my longest is eleven seconds," he tells you offering his hand to you.

you take it, your soft skin against his calloused one sends a shiver down your spine. he pulls you up with ease, the veins in his arm protruding out and his bicep muscles on full display.

when rhett felt your hand on his something in him shifted. why is someone as soft and playful as you giving him the light of day or in this case a star in the middle of a dark sky. he didn't understand why you were giving him any attention at all.

"so, better luck next time,"

you roll your eyes, "you have to admit i rode it pretty well,"

"really well," you replies back.

this time the flirty tone hit you like a brick to the head.

"are you and maria a thing?" you ask, stopping the rhythm the two of you had, taking your hand away from his.

his hand felt empty, was empty. the sudden change in temperature threw him off. the softness gone. he always loses the softness, your softness so quickly. it irritates him.

"what?" he blinks at you.

"the girl? from the night we met and the night at the diner? i don't- i don't want to intrude on anything," you explain.

realization hits him, "oh no, she's a friend. we had a weird thing in high school but there's nothing behind it," the genuineness in his voice convinces you. he reaches out for your hand but you pull back and press just a little harder.

"i'm serious rhett, i don't want to ruin anything," you tell him. you didn't want there to be anything going on. you want to through caution to the wind and fall for or with him but you had to make sure.

"i'm serious too," he says taking your hand and you let him, "there's nothing. that night at the diner, we were talking about family shit and how shitty that tournament was that night. you're not a problem," he tells you, "and i'd let you ruin me over and over again,"

you smile, "you're trouble,"

he shrugs. he looks down at a watch on his wrist, "i'll see you in the stands yeah?"

you nod, "yeah," you go on your toes and kiss his cheek, "good luck,"

you see the blush move across his cheeks even in the dark of the night. he starts to walk away but you grab his wrist, "your hat-"

"keep it on, looks better on you," he winks.

if this boy keeps winking his eye's gonna get stuck.

you let his wrist loose and he jogs away towards the arena.

sarah finds you and complains about having to watch from a distance. she pulls you to the front row seats that were reserved for you two. you smile like an idiot knowing it was rhett.

your eyes never stray from the bull rider rails. finally, rhett climbs up the rails and settles onto the bull.

you watch the arena lights dance across his face. his show stopping, beautiful face. his stubble shines in the lights with his brown curls on full display.

rhett slips his hand under the reins and grips them tightly. he pats the side of the bull and takes a deep breath.

he can't help it. his head moves to the side, to you. he looks over and you're already looking at him, watching him. he smiles at the attention, he never wants to see you without that smile.

he nods to you, you tip your- his hat at him with a wink. if he can do it you can too.

he looks forward now, taking a couple more deep breaths before nodding at the men. a buzzer goes off, the gate opens and the bull bucks out.

the bull jerks and spins but rhett is still holding on. his free hand is high in the air and watches his other hand that grips the reins. his thighs tighten and his hips roll and now you u destined why he was all flustered after watching you.

at the thirteen second mark the bull bucks and jerks and rhett falls off to the side. the bulls back legs go up and look like they'll come down on rhett.

"rhett!" you yell standing to your feet, leaning over the railing then suck in breath as the bulls legs go down.

rhett's fast. he rolls to the side and stands quickly moving away and climbing up a railing. he looks over to the score board.

thirteen seconds. holy shit.

"yeah baby! come on!" he shouts jumping down the railing and looking around. his eyes spot you once more and he rushes over, climbing your railing.

you take his hat off and put it back on his head. he tips it up as he leans up, you follow his lead. your lips touch in excitement and you end up melting into him. your hands on his jaw, pulling him closer.

you pull back, "you're trouble rhett abbott," you repeat.

“so are you,” he says breathlessly, stealing another kiss.

♡︎✰ ✰ ✰✰ ✰ ✰♡︎

as the months go by you and rhett become inseparable. you're at every rodeo? every tournament, right there front row.

he settles onto the bull, looks over to you with a nod and you return one then he's off. you never get bored of it.

you were getting a bit… jealous.

you lean against rhett’s truck, waiting for him to come to you. he had sponsors to talk to and there’s no telling what his dad had to say about his performance tonight.

you’ve opened the back door and are leaned against the back seats. your arms crossed over your chest.

the parking lot is empty by time you see rhett walking towards you.

“hey darlin,” he smiles, “sorry to keep you waiting,”

you shrug, “i don’t mind,” his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to his body, his lips attaching to your neck. your hands rake through his curls poking from under his hat.

“you know,” you begin, a smirk floating onto your face, “you do a good job at making me jealous,” this stops him.

rhett knows for a fact you’re not the type to get jealous easily, you never have. even when the whole thing maria happened when you first met, you weren’t jealous just didn’t want to intrude.

“what’s that now?” he pulls away from your neck, hands moving to your waist.

“you always get to ride this bull,” you start, a finger tracing his jaw, “i never get to ride you,” you tilt your head with a faux frown.

he chuckles or scoffs your brain can’t tell difference before his hands squeeze your waist and he’s pushing you back into his truck. his mouth going to yours in an animalistic way.

he’s acting like a thirsty man and you’re his oasis. you are the very thing keeping him alive and going, in more ways than one.

his knee nudges your thigh from underneath, his foot resting on the foot step. there’s the tiniest bit of friction from his own thigh on you and you moan, your mouth opening and head tilting back.

“mm mm,” he hums shaking his head, “come here,” his hand pulls your head back down. his mouth reconnects with your sand he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

he loves the taste of you. once again, he’s starved. he gets one taste of you and it’s like he hasn’t eaten in years.

you lick across his bottom lip and tug at it. he opens his eyes to look at you do it and jesus christ he could fall out right now.

his hands move down your neck with a feather like touch down your chest, stomach and finally

ending at your jeans.

he says your name softly, gently.

“can i?” he asks.

“please touch me,” you nod. you lean back, hands grasping the the back seats on the side.

you watch as his hands undo the button and he slowly pulls down your zipper.

you roll your hips forward trying to create some friction, but he stops your hips with his hands. you groan tilting your head back.

“rhett please,”

“now you got me all worked up and you tryin to rush what i want to give you, huh?” he asks breathlessly, “you wanna ride?”

you nod desperately.

he opens your jeans and slides a hand down the front of you. inside your jeans, inside your parties until he hits it.

one ghost like swipe across your clit and your legs are already shaking.

“rhett..” you breathe. he pushes his knee behind your thigh again and you open wider.

“hold on,” he voice rasps. two of his fingers running along your folds, coating you with your wetness.

“damn baby, you been waitin for this huh?”

you nod, you lean forward, you forehead laying on his shoulder.

“you get all dolled up, come to my tournament, tell me how jealous i make you when i ride them bulls. you thinking of me when i do?”

you nod.

“come on use your words pretty girl,” he says, slipping a finger into you.

you gasp, “fuck. yes, yeah,”

“good girl,” his voice seems to float to your ears and run through your veins all the way to your clit.

“rolling my hips, squeezing my thighs,” when he says it you do it. you roll forward on his hand and try to squeeze your thighs.

“come on, ride my hand darlin,”

you follow his instruction, rocking back a forth on his hand. his thumb presses against your clit a couple of times before he starts to circle it. he slips another finger in for you.

“oh shit-“ you moan, “rhett,” you rock fast and harder, “r-rub. faster,” you’re out of breath.

he smiles at you. he watches the way your

brows pinch together, the way you eyes squeeze shut, the way your mouth hangs slightly open.

you grab onto his shoulders, your nails sinking into his skin. he hisses slightly enjoying the small amount of pain.

his smile widens as he thinks about you marking him. he’s all yours and he palms to keep it that way.

“rhett… i’m gonna-“

before you can finish his mouth is on yours and he picks up his pace. you match him and a few seconds later you’re unraveling.

you moan against his lips, your body going numb. you slump against him and then move back slowly to lean against the truck. his leg keeps you in place.

he pulls his hand out, immediately tasting you. he groans at the taste.

“sweetest thing i’ve ever tasted,” he says. you watch him lick his fingers clean, “no bull can do that,” he tells you.

he leans forward kissing you again.

he smiles into the kiss and pulls back only slightly, “now, you still jealous?”

“i’ll say it every night it means you do that,” you tell him. you raise your hands and hook his jaw, pulling him in again to kiss you.

when done, he buttons and zips you back up. he walks you to the passenger side and helps you climb in. he buckles you seat belt and kisses your knuckles, then he shuts your door.

he gets into the truck and revs it. he takes you home.

[date-em-all]

notes: dorian + reader (reader is Not home owner), alcohol/heavy drinking, vomit mention, post-realization spoilers. no romance in this because reader is Very Drunk and dorian is doing his job. i just like the idea of him looking out for others during work hours, as he should :)

dorian can't remember you coming into the club with your friends. there are so many faces passing by on a given night, after all. it's impossible to remember. it's only a good thing that he has no clue who you are; he only remembers the troublesome ones. just another clubgoer who didn't try to push their way ahead in line or, god forbid, tried to commit identity fraud with some fake or borrowed id.

but he certainly remembers you leaving. you'd been stumbling on your legs without any sense of direction, slumped against the nearest wall and sank to the floor. only to promptly stop moving. dorian's seen it all before. there are countless reasons for someone to get as sloshed as you are right now, but none of those matter more than actually getting you the help you need.

(maybe you're not usually a drinker, and had overindulged in one too many mixes or cocktails, the alcohol content of which are always hard to gauge. or you've been going through a tough time and had one too many. or meds that mess with the way alcohol affects your functioning. endless reasons, really.

but you'd stumbled into the bathroom, sat down to pee, only to have the world swirling and dancing around you as soon as you'd gotten up again, discordant giggles bursting from your mouth. fuck, i've had way too much, you'd thought before pushing through crowds and heading to the door. you'd seemed fine before.)

dorian exchanges a glance with the other fellow at the door and inclines his head in your direction. "i'll get that one." the night is coming to a close and leaving one person at the door is fine.

if someone rings the alarm at the bar, he's close enough to be able to come running over regardless. dorian squats down in front of you, keeping his hands to himself. your eyes are just barely cracked open.

"hello. are you alright?" he asks. the shake of your head you give him, lilting up and down as your skull moves side to side, says more than enough. "you've had one too many, yeah? who are you with?"

your shoulders hunch up, close to your ears, face scrunching up. "i lost them. my friends. they... they left... i think? i dunno- there's a lot of people inside, and..." you simply trail off, eyes hazy, sentence left unfinished.

"if they really left, they're an awful lot. those are not friends." he tells you firmly. you're clearly left in no state to be on your own, much less in the middle of town around this time of night, when the streets will soon crowd with hordes of drunk folk heading on home.

"i think i'm going to throw up." is all you say in response, chest heaving as if to support your words.

"alright, alright. none of that just now. you think you can stand?" rather than wait for a coherent answer, he's putting his hands under your armpits and tugging you in a standing position with ease. you practically collapse against him, though it doesn't make him flinch whatsoever. all it does is make him let out a soft grunt, before he's supporting you further, looping an arm around you to steady you.

(a lesser doorman would've sent you on their way, told you that you're too drunk to get back in, and secretly thought to himself: as long as they're out of the club and not my problem, they can fall over and throw up in a ditch, for all i care. but dorian takes his job incredibly seriously and always goes the extra mile, always insistent on protecting any unfortunate clubgoer.

...among customers and colleagues, he's also infamous for completely refusing bribes and getting upset with anyone who does accept them. a trait dorian rather prides himself on, but no on else.)

"we've got some chairs in the back. a bucket, too." dorian stands still for a few moments to allow you to catch your breath. "there we go. it's not all that far."

"why do you have... a bunch of, of doors on your arms...?" you slur as he takes you through a hallway in the club, off-limits to visitors.

"i like doors," he responds simply, a response so dry and utterly confounding, especially to your alcohol-addled mind, that it has you laughing so hard that tears are streaming down your face and dorian has to practically drag you over the floor.

he huffs out a breath through his nose, but smiles. he's always glad to see his untapped comedy potential being appreciated.

in the end, he orders you a taxi home or, if all else fails due to the busy nature of closing hours, he'll drive and stop by your place at the tailend of his shift himself. ...you probably won't remember much of the gesture the next morning, given the state you're in. but dorian feels like he's done a fine job.

[arachnidseyes]

Prev

Now, Jason likes to think he knows a thing or two about women.

Like how to flirt without being intimidating, or how to look mysterious in a cool way and not a cringe, tryhard way, or maybe how you're not supposed to insult their heroes right to their face,

Jason curses, jiggling his keys into the keyhole of his front door, the lock is jammed again. He jiggles it a little more, and honestly, he should feel embarrassed at how accomplished he feels when he hears the little “click” of the door unlocking.

Only for all that elation to be nuked the moment he spots you walking down the hallway towards your apartment, right next to his.

You've got 3 new Batman keychains jingling off your bag, 2 Batman patches sewn into the fabric and 3 little Batman pins. You've turned your work bag into a black and yellow abomination. Jason’s sure that if it was considered professional enough, you'd wear Batman printed shirts and pants to work everyday.

You glance up at him for only a moment before look down at your phone again. He wants to scream when he notices the new Batman phone case. He considers jumping off the apartment roof for a moment.

When you finally walk past him to your door, right next to his, he tries to nonchalantly clear his throat.

“Uh, hey look-”

Before he can finish he hears a familiar click and looks up at your closed front door. He sighs and pushes open his door with more force than necessary.

Roy lounges on the sofa playing some game. Noticing the state of his buddy, he asks.

“The neighbour still pissed at you?”

Jason lack of reply as he scavenges the kitchen is answer enough apparently.

“Why do you even care, man?”

Jason doesn't answer, this time because he doesn't know what he would say.

“Ah.”

Roy says in understanding though Jason seriously doubts he has any understanding at all of his predicament.

“Well, you know what you have to do.”

Jay arrives at your door the next day his hands held behind him, hiding his gift.

You open the door very slightly, and pause when you realise it's him, the very hot but very rude neighbour.

He tries a little smile,

“Uh, Sorry to bother you on a Sunday but-”

“Wait here.”

You close the door and then open it again.

“Don't move.”

Jayson doesn't move a muscle for maybe 2 minutes until you open the door again.

This time you open it all the way, and there you stand, clad in a Batman printed pajama set (with socks) and a fluffy Batman blanket pulled hastily over your shoulders.

“Continue.”

Jason huffs a laugh, his irritation about the whole Batman thing has mostly simmered down, being replaced with plain bewilderment at your commitment to the bit.

“I’m sorry…for being a dickhead.”

He brings his hands in front of him, showing you the novelty Batman mug he got off some fan site. He cringes remembering the humiliating ordeal of scrolling through pages and pages of Batman merch with Roy snickering over his shoulder.

“I already have one.”

You deadpan, Jay blinks, looks down at the mug, then back up at you. Of fucking course you do.

Before he can say anything, you take the mug gently and inspect it thoroughly as if it’ll magically turn into a Superman mug if you don’t check it first.

You then look back up at him,

“Is that all?”

He hesitates before nodding. You look like you’re seriously thinking something over for a long moment before you eventually nod.

“I’ll accept your apology, if you take me out to dinner.”

You say this quite seriously, it takes Jason a minute to even register what you said. You raise an eyebrow and Jason blinks.

“Uh, yeah, okay.”

Real fucking smooth, Jay. You let a little smile peak through and state a time and place before saying a quick “Okay, bye.” And clicking the door shut.

He stands there, not really understanding what just happened or what he's going to do next.

Maybe Jason doesn't understand woman as much as he thought he did.

[gh0stvi0lets]

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘓𝘪𝘴𝘵,

──────── ♱ ─────────

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 1 𝘰𝘧: 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘚𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘔𝘪𝘥𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘙𝘢𝘪𝘯

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨. teenage dirtbag dean winchester x high school sweetheart reader

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵. 1.3k

-> PART TWO (coming soon)

The first time you end up in detention, it’s not because you did anything wrong—not really.

You forgot to bring your English assignment, something about The Catcher in the Rye, which wouldn’t be a big deal for most people. But for Mr. Sandler, the washed-up football coach turned English teacher who never quite forgave you for dropping cheerleading junior year, it was a cardinal sin. He slammed your name down on the list like it was a death sentence and sneered at you like you were wasting everyone’s time.

So now here you are, Friday afternoon, slouched in a desk that’s chewing gum-stuck and creaks every time you shift. The classroom smells like old coffee and mildew. It’s hot—too hot for late October—and the air conditioning unit in the corner rattles like it’s gasping its final breath.

And then Dean Winchester walks in, five minutes late, with a lazy smirk on his face and a fresh bruise on his cheek.

He doesn’t acknowledge Mr. Sandler. Doesn’t even look in his direction. Just strolls in like he owns the place, flopping into the desk across from yours with all the grace of a rock star and none of the respect.

He kicks his feet up on the table, crosses his arms behind his head, and glances sideways at you.

You look away immediately.

Dean Winchester is... something else. Everyone knows that. He’s the kind of guy people whisper about in the hallways. Not just because he’s always in trouble, but because he doesn’t care. About anything. About school. About his future. About the fact that he’s probably going to end up dropping out just like everyone expects.

And yet, somehow, he still gets under your skin. Like a song you can’t stop humming. Like the smell of gasoline and leather in the hallway after he’s walked by.

“Wow,” Dean says after a beat, his voice low, a little amused. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Princess.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“What, ‘Princess’? You don’t like nicknames?”

“I don’t like yours.”

He grins. “You wound me.”

Mr. Sandler groans, muttering something about “goddamn delinquents,” then disappears into the teacher's lounge next door, leaving the two of you unattended. Classic Sandler.

You pretend to focus on your homework. You don’t want to talk to Dean. You shouldn’t want to talk to Dean.

You’re dating Chad Branson, remember? Quarterback. Homecoming King. The kind of boy your parents do approve of.

Dean, meanwhile, is everything they hate. Worn-out jeans, metal band tees, and too many bruises that never get explained.

“Seriously though,” Dean says after a few minutes of silence. “What’s a girl like you doing in detention? Did you steal someone’s lunch money?”

“I forgot an assignment.”

He whistles. “Damn. You are hardcore.”

You snort before you can stop yourself.

His grin widens.

“I thought you didn’t talk to girls like me,” you say, trying to keep your voice neutral. “Too preppy. Too... what’s the word?”

“Boring?” he offers helpfully.

You give him a look.

He shrugs, unbothered. “Nah, I don’t think you’re boring.”

“Wow. A compliment. Mark the calendar.”

Dean shifts in his chair, finally sitting up straight and pulling a crumpled piece of notebook paper from his jacket pocket. He smooths it out and starts sketching something with a pencil he probably stole.

“You’re dating Branson, right?” he asks, like he’s talking about the weather.

You stiffen. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” He doesn’t look up. “Just curious what a guy like that does for fun. Besides flex in the mirror.”

You bite back a smile. “He... plays football. Lifts weights. Tells me I should smile more.”

Dean snorts. “Sounds like a real prince.”

“He’s not that bad.”

Dean looks up, one eyebrow raised. “If you have to say that out loud...”

You narrow your eyes. “And what about you? You’re in detention every week. What’s yourexcuse?”

Dean leans back again, smile gone now, replaced by something distant. “People like me don’t need excuses. The school just expects it.”

You study him. There’s something under the surface—something tired. Not just the usual bad boy act. Real weight. Real shadows.

You don’t say anything. You’re not sure what you’d say even if you wanted to.

The silence stretches. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly, but it’s heavy. Like the air just before a thunderstorm.

Finally, Dean slides his sketch across the desk.

It’s a drawing. A pretty damn good one, too. A caricature of Mr. Sandler with devil horns, holding a Shakespeare book like it’s on fire. You laugh before you can stop yourself.

“That’s—okay, that’s actually really good.”

Dean smirks, proud. “You can keep it. I’ve got a whole collection.”

You glance at him. “I didn’t know you could draw.”

He shrugs. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

And that’s true. You’ve gone to school with Dean Winchester for years, but you don’t knowhim. Not really. You know the rumors. The whispers. The way teachers sigh when they see his name on the roster. The way girls look at him like they want to fix him.

But now, sitting here, you’re realizing there’s more. There’s a person behind the leather jacket and smartass attitude. Someone funny. Someone talented. Someone lonely.

The door creaks open, and Mr. Sandler comes back in with a half-eaten donut and a fresh coffee. He doesn’t say anything—just sits behind his desk and resumes grading.

You glance at the clock. Twenty more minutes.

Dean catches your eye. “So... you want a ride home?”

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs. “Figured you might not want to deal with Branson picking you up. I’ve seen that guy drive—he treats his Jeep like it’s a tank.”

You hesitate. It’s not a good idea. Everything about Dean Winchester is a bad idea.

But when you think about the look Chad gives you when you say the wrong thing, or the way he never really listens, or how he calls you “babe” like it’s your actual name—

“Yeah,” you say before you can talk yourself out of it. “Okay.”

You sit in silence in the passenger seat of his Impala, the engine purring beneath you like a contented beast. The car smells like oil and mint gum, and the dashboard is covered in cassette tapes. Led Zeppelin. AC/DC. Black Sabbath.

Dean throws a tape in without asking, and the music starts—something slow and aching, with a gravelly voice that fits the mood of the sunset-stained road.

He doesn’t ask for directions. He knows where you live.

You roll the window down and let the wind tangle your hair.

“Your car’s cooler than Chad’s,” you say casually.

Dean smirks. “Damn right it is.”

A beat of silence.

“You ever think about getting out of here?” you ask, surprising yourself.

Dean’s jaw tightens slightly. “Every day.”

You nod. “Yeah. Me too.”

The car slows as he pulls up in front of your house. Porch lights are already on. Your mom’s probably watching from the window.

Dean doesn’t turn off the engine.

You linger for a second, hand on the door handle.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say.

He looks at you. Really looks at you.

“Anytime, Princess.”

This time, you don’t tell him not to call you that.

That night, when you check your letterbox before heading home, there’s a folded piece of paper inside. It smells faintly like motor oil and cheap cologne.

It’s a mixtape. A real one. Labeled in sharpie: "For when detention sucks." No name. No note. Just a playlist of songs that scream late nights, loud hearts, and the ache of wanting something you’re not supposed to want.

You press play when you get home.

The first song is “Teenage Dirtbag.”

And you smile.

୨ৎ tags: @iloveyou2mia @britt217 @rosemichael12 @aylacavebear @angellust333 @suckitands33

୨ৎ usual tags: @bowbowrry @mostlymarvelgirl

if you'd like to be added to the series’, don't hesitate to let me know!

[astrae4]

MOM, HOOK ME UP WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND’S SON! | Lee Sanghyeok

pairings — Boynextdoor’s Riwoo x reader (non-idol au)

genre — romance, slice of life, comedy

warnings — (wc. 2k) there’s a dirty joke in here, mild swearing

note — this honestly took me a while (it was supposed to be done end of June..) because i had to google jokes… um. i’m not proud of it but i’m lowkey not funny… so anyways!!! i hope you enjoy a bold reader because i love the reader in this fic!

more works: navigation | bnd!masterlist

THE WEEKEND HAD started with you lazily scrolling your phone on the couch.

Your A/C blasts loudly like a buzzing bee, and despite the wonderful sun outside you’re spending the summer lounging on your sofa with the same tanktop and short you’ve had on since yesterday.

Your mom’s cooking lunch in the kitchen, having just got back from her morning run with her friends. She’s complained about your inactivity since a week ago, but you’re determined to get your sleep’s worth this summer.

She’s recounting her story of what happened this morning while you listen half heartedly, multitasking chats with your friends and listening to her.

Bored out of your mind, you decide to open facebook for once.

( Yes, I know. But by this point you’ve already opened every other app. )

You follow four accounts. Your mom, your grandparents, and some coffee shop account that you forgot to unfollow after you did so to get their discount.

Out of the four, only the coffee shop and your mom posted in their story. Classic.

You open your mom’s post as she drones about how you should join her next time to get some exercise in and—

Holy shit.

A boy stands beside your mom and her best friend, posing awkwardly with a thumbs up like every child does. His hair was messy and choppy, cut short and dyed silver. He wore black glasses that suited him so well, and his fit was sleeveless, showing his toned biceps well.

Oh—and one more thing you forgot to add:

He’s totally your type.

“[reader], are you listening to me?” Your mom asks from the open kitchen, tone slightly annoyed.

You don’t answer that question.

“Mom, who’s this?” You asked, popping your head up from the sofa and showing her the photo in your phone screen.

She leans over to look, casually wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Oh! That’s Hyejin’s son. Remember her? My college bestie? They just got back in town.”

You zoom in the screen dramatically. “This guy? This is Riwoo?!”

“Mhm,” she hums, already turning back to stir something in the pan. “Why?”

You blink. Pause. And then blurt out:

“You should hook me up with him.”

Sizzle. That might’ve been the pan. Might’ve also been—you know, your mother’s neurons short-circuiting.?

She turns slowly, eyebrows raised, eyes narrowing like she’s not sure if she should laugh or call a therapist. “I’m sorry—what?”

“I’m serious!” you say, phone still in hand, voice picking up steam. “You always say you want me to meet someone nice. He’s your best friend’s son. This is perfect. We’re basically already destined.”

“Destined?” she repeats, half-laughing.

“Don’t act like this isn’t literally the dream,” you insist, leaping to your feet now, as if ready to go on a one-person campaign. “He’s cute. I’m cute. This is what happens in tv dramas, Mom. This is fate. Just put us in the same room and let God do the rest.”

“Oh, dear,” she mutters, rubbing her temples. “You really haven’t been outside in days.”

“That’s irrelevant,” you say seriously. “Hook. Me. Up.”

She gives you a long look. Then shrugs.

“Alright. I’ll invite Hyejin and Riwoo over for lunch tomorrow.”

You blink. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Why not? You’re the one asking.” She smirks. “Just don’t wear that pitiful tank top again. And maybe brush your hair this time.”

You clutch your chest dramatically. “Wow. Attacked and saved in the same breath.”

She snorts. “Good luck, drama queen.”

You look back at the photo on your phone. Riwoo, messy-haired and awkwardly smiling with a thumbs-up, suddenly feels like tomorrow’s entire main character.

Oh, you were so gonna bag this introvert.

The doorbell rings exactly at noon.

You’re already at the front door before your mom can even yell for you to get it. You smooth down your outfit one last time—cute but casual, like oh—this old thing? I didn’t spend forty minutes picking it out just to look—you know, effortless.

You open the door, and there he is.

Riwoo stands beside his mom, hands in his pockets, silver-dyed hair messily flopping over his forehead. He’s wearing a black shirt tucked into cargo pants, and glasses that sit slightly crooked on his nose. His smile is small and polite—almost shy. But he looks up, meets your eyes, and the smile turns real. Wide, a little awkward.

Oh, you are so done for.

“Hi,” he says, and then immediately adds, “Wow, um. Your house has…walls.”

You blink. “Huh?”

His mom elbows him.

He clears his throat. “Sorry. That was supposed to be a joke. It sounded better in my head.”

You laugh. Loudly. “No, it was hilarious. I love walls.”

He stares at you like he can’t tell if you’re serious or making fun of him. You grin wider. He flushes.

Behind you, your mom pokes her head out. “You two gonna stand there flirting on the porch, or should I let them in?”

“Mom!” you hiss.

“I’m just saying,” she sings as she turns back into the kitchen.

You step aside and wave Riwoo and his mom in. Your mom and Auntie Hyejin are already deep in conversation before they even make it to the living room.

Riwoo sits carefully on the couch, hands folded like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself. You flop down next to him with all the confidence of someone who’s decided to flirt aggressively until something sticks.

“So,” you start, turning toward him. “How’s life with walls?”

He looks at you, then bites back a laugh. “It’s going great. I’m hoping for a roof next.”

“Oh wow,” you say. “Really moving up in the world.”

He nods, deadpan. “I know. One day I might even get doors.”

You’re both laughing now—his quiet and snorty, yours loud and full. He’s definitely shy, but he’s also surprisingly quick. Dry humor. Dad joke energy.

You already want to know what he’d be like if you got him to relax.

“Anyway,” you say, leaning closer like it’s nothing. “Just so you know, I asked my mom to hook me up with you.”

He goes still. “Wait—what?”

“I saw your Facebook photo,” you confess, totally unbothered. “And I was like, yup. That’s my type. So here we are.”

His ears turn bright red. He stares at you, blinking fast, like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or hide behind a pillow.

“Wow,” he says. “I think you might be the scariest person I’ve ever met.”

You smirk. “You’re welcome.”

Lunch smells like heaven—your mom’s cooking always slaps—but today you barely taste the food. You’re too busy watching Riwoo across the table: how he chews a little too carefully, how he nods politely every time the moms ask him a question, how he nearly chokes on a piece of tofu when your foot accidentally bumps his under the table.

( You pretend it’s accidental. It’s not. )

The meal is mostly filled with chatter—mostly from your mom and Auntie Hyejin, who are seated across from you, gabbing away like they’re still twenty. Meanwhile, Riwoo’s doing his best to quietly chew through a piece of radish without choking, clearly out of his element.

You, on the other hand, are thriving.

“You want more rice?” you ask Riwoo sweetly, holding out the rice scoop.

“I’m okay,” he says quickly, shaking his head.

You scoop some into his bowl anyway. “Eat more. You’ll need strength to survive me later.”

He blinks. “W-what?”

“In Mario Kart,” you clarify with a wink. “What did you think I meant?”

He nearly drops his chopsticks.

Auntie Hyejin turns briefly. “Isn’t it cute? You two used to take baths together when you were toddlers!”

“Mom,” Riwoo groans instantly, face already pink.

You lean your chin into your palm, beaming at him. “Wow. So I’ve already seen you naked and still like you? That’s rare.”

The chopsticks hit his tray this time.

Your mom chokes on her soup and breaks into a fit of laughter, waving her hand in front of her face. “I raised a menace,” she wheezes.

You grin, shameless. Riwoo is beet red and clutching his water like it’s a lifeline.

By the time the moms finally excuse themselves to gossip in the kitchen and leave you two alone in the dining room, Riwoo exhales like he’s just finished a boss battle.

“You really don’t hold back, huh?” he mutters, fiddling with his napkin.

“Why would I?” you say, stretching your arms with a yawn that you may have exaggerated to show off your cute tee. “I’m just giving you the authentic experience. No filters.”

He huffs out a small laugh. “I noticed.”

Ten minutes later, you’re both in your room.

He sits cross-legged on the floor, eyes wide at your game setup. “This is legit.”

“Of course,” you say, tossing him a controller. “If you beat me, I might let you pick the next game. Might.”

“Is there a reward if I win?” he asks, voice teasing but cautious.

You lean closer. “What do you want it to be?”

He chokes again. You love this game.

Character select. You pick your main—unbothered, cocky, grinning. Riwoo’s brow furrows in focus, but he still glances sideways at you every few seconds like you’re more dangerous than the match.

And maybe you are.

“Ready?” you ask.

“No, but let’s do it anyway.”

You dominate the first round, cackling when he accidentally jumps off the stage and screams.

“Wow,” you laugh. “Is this your strategy? Let me win to gain my trust and crush me emotionally later?”

He smiles shyly. “No, this is just me being terrible.”

“Shame. I was into it.”

“Into what? Me losing?!”

“Into you being evil. It’s hot.”

He fumbles the next round so hard he drops the controller off his lap and has to scramble to pick it up.

You fake concern. “Aw, Riwoo. Do I make you nervous?”

He side-eyes you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s this close to saying something back. But he doesn’t. Not yet.

So you keep going. “It’s okay. You can admit it. You think I’m hot and terrifying.”

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “…not wrong.”

You pretend not to hear it—just to let him sweat.

Another round begins. You nudge him gently with your foot. “Don’t hold back on me just ‘cause you like me.”

He finally turns to look at you, really look at you—eyes wide, mouth parted slightly. Then his gaze flicks down to your lips for just a second.

Just a second.

And that’s when he strikes back.

“But if I beat you,” he says suddenly, voice much quieter, “can I ask you for something?”

You pause. “Like what?”

He shrugs, eyes back on the screen. “I don’t know. A second date?”

Your heart jumps clean out of your chest.

He glances over with the tiniest smirk, completely smug at your response.

You gape at him. “Wait—was that flirting? Did you just flirt with me?”

He blinks innocently. “You said I should fight back.”

He laughs. Then adds, voice lower, like he’s not sure he should be saying it but does anyway:

“But it’s also because you’re cute. The way you flirt as well. It’s… cute.”

And that is when your brain stops functioning.

You gape at him. “What?”

He tilts his head. “What?”

“You just—you just called me cute?”

“I mean… yeah?”

You stare. Speechless. Beet red. Like you hadn’t just spent all morning shamelessly hitting on him. Like you weren’t the one who asked your mom to hook you up. Like your entire goal today hadn’t been this exact moment.

He grins, watching your silence. “You okay?”

You clear your throat. “I’m fine. Totally fine. So fine. Shut up.”

He leans back with that same quiet laugh, triumphant.

Suddenly, he’s the flirty one. And you? You’re so flustered, you lose the next round in under forty seconds.

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @uncasings

NETWORKS: @k-films @k-labels @onedoornet

© astrae4 2025 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[mytragedyperson]

Did I ever talk about the horrific body horror type shit I found in a BNHA x OC fanfic? Like I wasn't prepared for it but it was really cool but also just horrific to think about? Well allow me to discuss than now. If body horror type things disgust you, maybe skip this post. Like I'm not going into too much detail but, you know, it's fairly gross so if that's not for you, maybe skip this one. If you've ever read Freeze Frame by good old Strawhat_Pirate, who I've mentioned before because I love their BNHA fics, you may know where this is going. Hint: Monoma. Congratulations, you now have a memory that you may not have thought about since reading it, unless that didn't help at all. Again I may have discussed this before but, well, its time to discuss it again.

So let me paint a picture for those who haven't read Freeze Frame or did reas it but need their memory refreshed. Freeze Frame is a BNHA x Female OC fanfiction. There's a lot that happens in this fic, a lot of it traumatising for the characters and its fairly angsty. At first, it seems like the OC is going to get with Shinsou but she ends up getting with Bakugou instead. The friend group is the OC, AKA Lillian Faust, shinsou Hitoshi, Neito Monoma. Todoroki, Bakugou, Deku and denki later join the friend group. There are also adults involved, but most of them are OCs or would spoil other things, and I really want there to still be surprises for those who choose to read it.

So it's time for the apprenticeships. And Monoma, in this fic, likes boys and likes Hitoshi. When he first starts exploring this, the apprentice ships are coming up, he applies to join Jay (I believe his hero name is Songbird or something), an openly gay hero. At first, things seem to be going well for Monoma, he seems to be learning about his sexuality and having fun, he even goes to a pride parade with Jay and meets his husband. I'm sure the husband is named but I can't remember his name.

Then, for a few chapters, nothing. No Monoma POV. The only mentions of him come from his friends who haven't heard from him. Other than that, he's just gone, until he drags himself into a hospital. Now he is dead, or at least he should be, bit then it turns out he's not. Turns out Jay, and everyone in his agency, were killed, including Monoma, who I'm pretty sure was decapitated. "Well, mytragedyperson, what happened? How is he still alive?"

Let's turn our attention for a moment to Jay's husband, shall we? Jay's husband has a very interesting quirk. He can essentially make people immortal, as long as he's in contact with them. And he's been missing since the attack on the agency. "So what? Was Jay in contact with Monoma when he was decapitated or after?"

Technically, yes. See, Jay's husband, along with about four or five others, have been turned into nomus. Now, let's recall, Monoma's quirk, shall we? He can temporarily copy the quirk of anyone he touches.

What does this have to do with body horror? Well it turns out, someone had a little fun with Monoma's organs, as each of the people turned into a nomu has had one of their organs put in Monoma, and I think, recieved one of Monoma's in return. Including Monoma now having Jay's husband's heart. So Jay's husband's heart is, technically, always in contact with Monoma, who is constantly copying his quirk and, in turn, keeping the nomu alive. And he can hear Jay's husband and possibly the others in his head. So the nomu are immortal and also Monoma is functionally immortal but also kinda technically a zombie. This, right here, is a horrifying thought. And the thing is, with a shitty writer, it would sound dumb. But because it's revealed piece by piece and treated seriously, it becomes yet another traumatic event.

Also it's a really cool idea even if the idea does give me some sort of crisis. And it's stupidly smart in the villains' part.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Historians having takes on frev women that make me go 😐 compilation

Sexually frustrated in her marriage to a pompous civil servant much older than herself, [Madame Roland] may have found Danton’s celebrated masculinity rather uncomfortable. Danton (1978) by Norman Hampson, page 77.

The Robespierres sent their sister to Arras because that was their hometown, the family home, where they had relatives, uncles, aunts and friends, like Buissart who they didn’t cease to remain in correspondence with, even in the middle of the Terror. There, among them, Charlotte would not be alone; she would find advice, rest, the peace necessary to heal her nervousness and animosity. Away from Mme Ricard, who she hated, away from Mme Duplay, who she detested, she would enjoy auspicious calmness. It is Le Bon that the Robespierres will charge with escorting their sister to this neccessary and soothing exile. […] If there is a damning piece in Charlotte Robespierre's case, it is this one (her interrogation, held July 31 1794). She seems to be caught in the act of accusing this Maximilien whom she rehabilitates in her Memoirs. She is therefore indeed a hypocrite, unworthy of the great name she bears, and which she dishonors the very day after the holocaust of 10 Thermidor. Charlotte Robespierre et Guffroy (1910) in Annales Révolutionnaires, volume 3 (1910) page 322, and Charlotte Robespierre et ses mémoires (1909) page 93-94, both by Hector Fleishmann.

Elisabeth, as she was popularly called, was barely past her twelfth birthday, younger even by three years than Barere’s own mother when she was given in marriage. On the following day the guests assembled again in the little church of Saint-Martin at midnight to attend the wedding ceremony of the handsome charmer and the bewildered child. Dressed in white, clasping in her arms a yellow, satin-clad  doll that Bertrand had given her — so runs the tradition — she marched timidly to the altar, looking more like a maiden making her first communion than a woman celebrating a binding sacrament. Perhaps the  doll, if doll there was, filled her eye, but certainly she could not fail to note how handsome her husband was. Bertrand Barere; a reluctant terrorist (1962) by Leo Gershoy, page 32.

The young nun who bore the name of Hébert did not hide her fate. She did not wish to prolong a life stifled from her childhood in the cloister, branded in the world by the name she bore, fighting between horror and love for the memory of her husband, unhappy everywhere. Histoire des Girondins (1848) by Alphonse de Lamartine, volume 8, page 60.

Lucile in prison showed more calmness than Camille. Before the tribunal, she seemed to possess neither fear nor hope, she denied having taken an active role in the prison conspiracy. What did it matter to her the answer they were trying to extract from her? They said they wanted her guilty? Very well! She would be condemned and join Camille. This was what she said again when she was told that she would suffer the same fate as her husband: ”Oh, what joy, in a few hours I’m going to see Camille again!” Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un couple dans la tourmente (1986) by Jean Paul Bertaud, page 293.

What did it matter to Lucile whether she was accused or defended? She had no longer any pretext for living in this world. She was one of those heroines of conjugal love who are more wife than mother. Besides, Horace lived, and Camille was dead. It was of the absent only that she thought. As for the child, would not Madame Duplessis act a mother's part to him? The grandmother would watch over the orphan. If Lucile had lived, she could have done nothing but weep over the cradle, thinking of Camille. Camille Desmoulins and his wife; passages from the history of the Dantonists founded upon new and hitherto unpublished documents (1876) by Jules Claretie.

Having been widowed at the age of 23 [sic] years, Élisabeth Duplay remarried a few years later to the adjutant general Le Bas, brother of her first husband, and kept the name which was her glory. She lived with dignity, and all those who have known her, still beautiful under her crown of white hair, have testified to the greatness of her sentiments and austerity of her character. She died at an old age, always loyal to the memory of the great dead she had loved and whose memory she, all the way to her final day, didn’t cease to honor and cherish. As for the lady of Thermidor, Thérézia Cabarrus, ex-marquise of Fontenay, citoyenne Tallien, then princess of Chimay, one knows the story of her three marriages, without counting the interludes. She had, as one knows, three husbands living at the same time. Now compare these two existances, these two women, and tell me which one merits more the respect and the sympathy of good men. Histoire de Robespierre et du coup d’état du 9 thermidor (1865) by Louis Ernest Hamel, volume 3, page 402.

Fel free to comment which one was your favorite! 😀

[screwpinecaprice]

Would connverse kid(s) be given any sword training or self-defense (despite era-3 being more peaceful)?

Sorry in advance, I could not English right now. Hope I'm understandable at least. 😅

With my connverse kids, Ebony would be very interested in Gem stuff and going around different places and planets. Apart from hostile environments, there are still rouge and corrupted gems out there though. Best to know combat.

Rohini really likes swordfighting, but she mainly have used it to compete athletically. Sometimes it's useful when she tags along Ebony.

/Sakura/* saw her older siblings their swords, and she just thinks fencing is fancy. 🤷‍♀️ Whether she'll get over it or not, I don't know yet. Haha

/Zachary/* would not be interested with swordfighting at all.

*Sorry, STILL don't know what to officially name the twins. 😅

Also, can I use Steven's healing ability as an excuse for him and Connie still looking younger than their age and hide my inability to depict age? 🥺

[tacagen]

one of the things that fascinate me about thawne: yes, he CAN be normal with kids! surprisingly normal!

((not at all times, though. his mental illness still spills through and as usual he, in trying to manipulate or hurt others, spits out at them the exact stuff that would hurt him (or have in his childhood/barry's rejection interpretation) the most in the first place lmao))

but at the same time. his like second instinct when doing his bullshit is FUCK THEM (as) KIDS

(and, well. whatever this classifies as)

[squintsintwink]

ea continuously refusing to add bands into their game upon every release that would be perfect for a bands feature makes me clinically insane

[srebrnastal]

“Archaeologists don't care what you identify as, they will define you by your biological sex.”

My honest reaction to archaeologists misgendering my bones 2500 years after my death:

[mephistosfaust]

My fingers twitch slightly when she speaks again, Frieda stirring for a moment on my chest. I know the shape of neglect, the quiet echo of abandonment in the human heart. And still, I’ve always liked to pretend it’s different for us nations. That we’re somehow beyond such sentiments. That we don’t need love, only admiration. But Romanticism proved me wrong. Aren’t we nations the most emotional beings ever conceived? Didn’t the 19th century make that clear? A crown means nothing without the people’s devotion. Love so fervent it demands sacrifice. And Prussia… he expected nothing less. He gave no love in return. He was the state, governed by bureaucrats and an officer corps, no room for poetry and tenderness.

“I think taking nearly two decades is a decent record when it comes to gaining a German’s trust and friendship,” I say, a dry chuckle escaping before it twists into a wince. Moving still hurts. Everything hurts. Especially memory. We nations—aren’t we all just lost children, clutched like trophies in the hands of those who lead us? At best, a symbol of grace. At worst, an unwanted burden—discarded, forgotten, buried under centuries. And still, we crave that toxic symbiosis with those we call ours.

We are shaped by them—by their fears, their hopes, their contradictions. We live lifespans over and over, always remembering, always forgetting, our values shifting with each new wave of ideas. And Lily, by comparison, is still so young. She crawled out of the ruins of nationalism, and yet in moments like this, she sings louder to me than Loreley ever could. Does she know she was born with a death sentence—never meant to last? Or did they feed her lies? Did her father truly believe his own charade?"

“My brother always said—still says: adapt, move, think.” I glance her way, lean to the side, and pick up the glass at my feet. “You adapted. You moved. You used your mind to carve out a space for yourself. That should count for something.” I lift the glass slightly in her direction—my version of a toast—and finish the last drop of whiskey. Maybe that’s the closest I get to a pep talk. Our version of nothing to complain about.

“I know you want me to say something that will let you walk away from all this with peace of mind,” I continue. “But there’s no simple answer. To anything. ‘Go get a therapist’ might be the most honest advice I can give.” I shrug faintly, then old my breath, muscles tensing beneath the welts. Though what do I know? Gilbert still fucks me because it’s easier than holding the fractured boy inside and convincing him he’s enough. That he’s always been enough.

I shift, gritting my teeth as I rise from the chair. A groan slips out. Frieda’s warm body is held tightly in one arm; the glass, loosely cradled between my fingers. “Thank you,” I say finally. “For being honest.” No but. For once, just that. I give her shoulder a light squeeze, careful not to knock her with the glass. “I need a shower.”

I leave the glass behind on the dining table, walk over to Frieda’s bed, and gently lower her into it, brushing her ears once in goodnight.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more to take your pain away,” I add as I return to put back the chair. “Some paths we have to walk on our own. But I’ll listen. I’ll help, if I can.” A brief pause, my voice softens with a wry twist. “I hear that’s what friends do.”

Then, more seriously, “But when you’ve untangled the Gordian knot, tell me. I’d like to hear how the story ends.”

No strike came. Nor did any yelling. He didn't even get up from his chair and leave her. He...stayed. And he was calm. And he was open. She was relieved, but also afraid to believe it was real. It wasn't the first time they had been honest with each other like this, but it was still something to get used to. Almost every instinct in her said to stop and shut up. This was a trick. He was lying to make her vulnerable. He couldn't really care about her that much.

She turned her head back towards him just in time to see him smile though, and that cut through her thoughts like a perfectly sharpened blade. She swallowed and looked down. Then, she put her face against her knees.

She was silent for a few minutes. When she finally felt ready to speak again, she pulled her head up to look forward at the sky. "I feel like I've spent my whole life trying to belong somewhere, or to someone. My own mother didn't want me. My father's love, if you can call it that, is conditional. Most of the world thought I was a mistake since birth, and was ready for me to die in the 90s. I've always had to prove that I deserve to live. And I'm just...tired. I'm tired of it all. Isn't it enough that I'm Berlin? Shouldn't that have been enough for them?"

She finally looked at him again. "And then there's you. We had a rough start, but now...I mean, look at us. And what we've come through together. You've gone and made me care about you, and it runs deeper than any bond between city and nation, especially since we're from different worlds. If you had asked me two decades ago if I would ever take a sword for you, I would have said I'd rather be the one stabbing you. And now I'm taking blades and bullets for you like some kind of crazed love interest."

She huffed and, for a second, it seemed like she would smile. But then it was gone again, and her face was turned away to the other side. "I wouldn't ask anything of you that you wouldn't want to or couldn't do. But I just...want to..." She stopped talking and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I want to belong. I want to be wanted, truly, for myself, and not just for what I can be used for. I...fuck, I don't know anymore."

"You keep saying you can't hold me, because you can't hold yourself. But I keep thinking you're the safest place I know. And now you'll probably tell me that I shouldn't think that, and maybe you're right. But I can't stop feeling it now. I love you. And it's not the kind you'd find in a romance novel. It's deeper than that, I think. The kind where I would die for you...again."

She closed her eyes and sighed loudly. "I'm sorry. This probably isn't what you wanted to hear. But I said I would be honest with you. Aside from stripping down to my naked self, this is as honest and vulnerable as I can be. All I can do now is...hope you don't hate me for it, because I don't know where else I would go."

[deus-ex-mona]

sometimes, i think about how ☝︎this rando☝︎ from the [redacted] anime inspired me to tl idol sengen out of spite for her butchered characterisation

[quadrantadvisor]

Normally I'm more into human -> mutant rat Splinter than rat -> mutant rat Splinter, because it makes more sense to me for this stoic Ninja master to have been human around some point than some rat who knew ninjitsu. The direction Mutant Mayhem took with him was so good, though. Like, he actually felt like a rat who became a single father. Them taking up martial arts to protect themselves (from training videos) works PERFECTLY in the cartoon logic of the world. Nothing takes itself too seriously but nothing is so weird as to break immersion. Wow this movie is good.