#sorry i got all sappy towards the end Tumblr posts

[charleezard]

Wishing everyone a very happy Pride month!!! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

Also wishing every Jewish person a double happy Pride month. I know we're going through a hard time, and many of us won't be able to attend Pride events irl, especially the people who look visibly Jewish.

Personally, it breaks my heart that I haven't been able to go to Pride events that I've been going to for years. But either I go as fully myself, or I don't go at all.

Lastly, it's been an amazing experience and an honor helping organize our own Queer Jewish Pride month. I hope I can make it as positive and memorable as possible. Any moment I'm helping the Jewish community find joy is a moment I am truly proud of. You have all given me so much, and I hope to be able to do the same for the rest of my life.

I love you all, happy Pride month and Shabbat Shalom 💜

[mrs-weasley-reid]

JULY REC FICS

Hello, my sweets!! I wanted to try something out to provide my full and utter support to all the amazing writers I've come across in the form of monthly rec fics (starting this month). Join me in giving them love through comments and reblogs. It really is a joy to hear how you're doing as a writer. It makes up for all the angst we write lol

I will be going based on what I've read recently and not by the date the fic was posted. And the number of fics will depend on how much I've read the entire month. Also, please respect these writers. Some contents are 18+, so MINORS should not be interacting in any way, especially when the authors themselves specify it.

— ✿ — ✿ ✿ — ✿ ✿ ✿

Spencer Reid

✿ a question unasked by @easy-there-leftovers ↳ SOOOO ADORABLE. I'm a workaholic craze gal, so it speaks to me on a silly level.

✿ missing the happy hormone by @lavenderspence ↳ I'm a sucker for Spencer fluff this month, what can I say? This fic Tina made had my waterworks going on for about a minute because it's so sweet

✿ desk duty by @reiderwriter ↳ All you have to know is the amount of evil laugh I made while reading this

✿ the theory of love by @ophelia-is-complex ↳ Genuine intimacy is quite a challenge to write, but THIS ONE, this one had me in a sappy mood

✿ like nothing matters by @cerisereids ↳ gagged and had to pause the reading so many times because HELLO— had me spiraling at work

✿ the devils disguise by @qlossytbh ↳ I said I sobbed a little bit, but I actually cried so much I ended up taking a nap and felt better afterward. It's all fluff, though, don't get me wrong. I'm just very dramatic when the red devil's on the clock

✿ not so funny by @reidmania ↳ Angsty, that made me wanna start a fight with some random twiggy tall guy. Sooooo good!

✿ cloaked in passions touch by @raekensluver ↳ If you don't like Spencer's hands, you're fucking lying to yourself!!!!!

✿ language of devotion by @gghostwriter ↳ I'm in love with reid, and this fic just had me stumbling back onto his lap like a good gal

✿ this req response by @mandarinmoons ↳ Sorry, I'm not sure what the title is, but it's so adorable and got me to go to work, so kind of a lifesaver tbh

✿ hallucinate by @gghostwriter ↳ Oooo, this one was so cute, hehe. Honestly, I lean towards Spencer fluff lately just because I've been too overstimulated with work this past month, so READ THIS ONE ITS CUTE

✿ it's golden, like daylight by @dudeitiskarev ↳ I actually felt like I was reader the entire time I read this. It's well-written and so adorable and something that should be framed in a museum

✿ much ado about nothing series by @incognit0slut ↳ binged it all morning, and I was whipped !!! It's ongoing, so if I have to wait, so does everybody else

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

Aaron Hotchner

✦ choiceless hope series by @hotchfiles ↳ This series had me rolling over my bed on a Saturday. A lot of feelings getting played (mostly mine)

✦ beanstalk by @solardrop ↳ I kid you not; I was giggling like a weirdo when I read it. And that itself deserves the recommendation.

✦ too busy being yours by @hotchfiles ↳ Lari knows how to get a sick gal to giggle. I love bau!rossi!reader. I love Rossi as reader's dad, so I enjoyed it more than I thought I would

✦ ignorance by infatuation by @boneblushed ↳ Oh, this one was a nice snack while on my break at work. LOVED IT SO MUCH

✦ hungover by @basketonthedoorstepofthefbi ↳ Mmmm, such a good read! Plus Jemily is there sooooo

✦ from across the bar by @hotchscoffeecup ↳ Evil laugh ensues. A nice cuppa of some good ole kinky stuff

✦ doomed by @hotchfiles ↳ guys, I stopped my car in the middle of driving home just to read it, so it's THAT good. Honestly, I strongly encourage everyone to read all of Lari's works! She's my writer crush, if none of you realized it by now

✦ a bunch of cuties in love by @lavenderspence ↳ hehehehehehe this definitely did not remind me of that one older guy I used to flirt with who had an adorable younger brother that I babysat🤭

✦ schrodinger's cat by @none-of-your-bullshit ↳ angst on a Saturday morning is like taking a shot of soju before 11 am, and this one felt like it <3

how about you also comment your top 3 fave fics for this month to spread more love to our great writers?

[alastorss]

Could you maybe write something with Alastor and reader,

and reader gets hurt in the extermination and he cares for her? And maybe like she takes a nap on his lap and he just sorta falls asleep right next to her?

a/n: hello!! i sort of got carried away with this one and made it more sappy than i originally intended, but i hope you still like it! for context: the reader stepped into battle when alastor was hurt by adam and this is the aftermath :) hurt/comfort and fluff!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Alastor has been eerily quiet since returning to the newly-rebuilt hotel, sutures and bandages in hand.

All his belongings, including his beloved cane, have been cast aside in lieu of medical supplies to be split between you. One measly box worth of gauze and sanitizing wipes. Definitely nothing to gawk at, but good enough.

He's stripped his shirt without any exchange of words. You know his silent request, too prideful to ask for your help verbally but desperation clear in his expression.

"Is this the only spot?" You ask, slowly stringing a suture through his skin. He hisses in pain—his only response. The demon doesn't even gratify you with his eyes anymore, opting to stare off into space as if his mind has taken a vacation elsewhere.

You frown but continue delicately stitching him, piecing him together until he's whole again. His back hits the dresser as he leans on it, body instinctively trying to crawl away from the stinging of the needle. Finally, you knot the end of the sutures and sigh in relief, reaching over to get something to clean the area.

"I'm glad this whole fiasco is over," you comment softly, knowing it won't make him look at you. "With their leader gone, maybe the angels will finally—"

"You disobeyed me," he suddenly snaps. "Why?"

You pause in your movements, blinking up at Alastor while he glowers at you. His eyes narrow into slits, half out of anger and half in a grimace.

"You were cornered. I couldn't just sit by and—"

"I told you to stay out of it," he interrupts again, slapping away your hand. You gasp, alcohol wipe hitting the floor beside you. Defiantly, you challenge him with a glare of your own.

"I'm trying to help, asshole!"

"I know, I know!" He explodes, obviously frustrated. "And look where it got you!"

He pinches your chin to tilt your head up toward him, rotating your face around so he can observe your wounds. A cut lip, a bruising eye—horrible reminders that sinners could be hurt. And you were no more of a sinner than he, much less an Overlord who knew the shape of a soul.

"You risked your life by intervening! What if you had been struck down, you fool?"

Alastor's voice is all panic and no composure, missing any semblance of that accent which is so beloved to him. You know he's telling you exactly what he feels, true emotions unburdened by the character he built for himself in the afterlife.

"So be it! It's no less a fate than what would have happened to you!" You emphasize by jabbing your finger just above his wounded abdomen, careful not to agitate his fresh stitches.

Wincing, he goes silent. It's unnerving how quiet it is again. You've gotten so used to the ambient buzz of his static, but with it missing, you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck pricking up in unease.

He still hasn't released your face, clawed fingers pinching your chin and holding you in place. It isn't until he feels the wetness of your tears pooling at the pads of his fingers that he recoils in surprise.

Sighing, he twists over to open new packs of wipes. You stay still while he carefully cleans your face, ignoring your little whelps of pain the best he can.

Once the blood is gone, he pauses. Then, his fingers gingerly wipe under your eyes, swiping away the globs of tears spilling down your cheeks.

You are pitiful right now, he thinks. Though he probably looks no better.

"I'm sorry," you hiccup. "I don't mean to make you worry."

His expression softens, though his viscous smile remains. You can see it in his eyes—something genuine buried beneath his act.

"I don't want you to die," you admit quietly.

"I wouldn't dream of it, my dear."

You laugh dryly, wiping up your tears on your own with your bloodied sleeves.

"But you almost did. What would I do without you?"

The question is rhetorical, but something vile still swirls violently in your stomach at the idea. As if knowing what's going through your mind, he grabs you by the cheeks and forces you to meet his stare again.

"Not another word out of you," he demands.

His gaze flicks to the bruising under your eye, flesh already discoloured and swelling. "Got a remedy?" You grumble.

Alastor shakes his head but leans in anyway, pressing a chaste kiss just below the swelling. His lips linger on your skin for a moment before he pulls away, amused by your stunned expression.

He invades your space again, this time kissing the crown of your head. Speaking into your hair, he whispers, "I will be more careful. I promise."

"And I'll think before charging into battle after you," you chuckle softly, overwhelmed by his warmth.

Slowly, he tugs you along and sits you on the sofa. He brushes the hair from your eye and takes the opportunity to look at it under better lighting. Just like that, he vanishes, melting into the shadows. When he reappears in front of you, he has cold packs. In a place so warm, they are of little use. But they are better than nothing, he supposes.

Groaning in pain, he seats himself beside you and allows you to slot under his arm. Two demons seeking comfort and companionship curled up together—any other Overlord would laugh.

But Alastor knows what it means to be loved, to have someone who would stand in front of a lethal blow for him, to be stitched back together by your hands.

In the safety of each others' presence, you both fall asleep with the faint hum of static filling the air.

~

taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc @th3-st4r-gur1 @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it @dilemmaiscool @concentratedconcrete (send an ask to be added!)

[astralnymphh]

The Sweeter the Wheat

# pair: post-seattle!jackson!ellie x reader

## summary: There is no better birthday gift than loving her.

### reader discretion is advised: romance angst, fluff, bit suggestive towards the end, alcohol consumption, jesse is alive (he thought ahead this time), loser!ellie, sometimes!awkward!ellie, sometimes!cheekyandflirty!ellie, reader is sickenly envious and a bit nosy, but aware, ravenous and tipsy makeouts, sappy shit. #### a/n; listened to "to all of you" by syd matters + "cardigan" by taylor swift while writing parts of it.. got a love/hate relationship with this fic but it slaps i guess

WC: 7.7k+ | DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MASTERPOST | MASTERLIST | ART BY @trackinglessons | DISCORD SERVER

SPRING SUN

 

 “At least we got back before her birthday. Psh—‘magine that sweet tooth havin’ to commemorate her twentieth with nuts and jerky.”

Jackson tholes the bright spring against countless heavy hearts, numb from the death groans of winter. Under the melted snow, came old meadows, but nobody returned to comb through them. Only to pluck them bare of flora for a sole reason—a sole person—and not in the name of beauty. 

Some meadows were stabbed through. Pierced into, made into a final home for the dearly departed he.

Time slipped slowly.

“Huh?”

Jesse sits at the tail of the bar, mumbling somethings that fly right past your ears. The diner is packed and the jukebox softly plays, but that of joy and conversation rules, so all nearby speech that is spat has become hodgepodge, herding your brain to run where the world is quiet. Given that, and the subtle significance in the day around you, you feel less than yourself. Immaterial.

There's a rightful wager that you didn't hear Jesse at all. Something about birthdays, maybe.

You pull yourself from the stars with a head-shake, having to retire the tiny notepad in your clutch. “Sorry, I completely tripped out just then. Why are we talking about birthdays—whose birthday are we.. talking about?”

Jesse appeared to be in doubt that your star-scaping moments were over; his features contorting more and more into disbelief as you gave him that barely curious squint. Poor him for having to be offended for somebody else.

A special somebody else at that!

His drawl comes in handy, “Come on, man. Four years strong and now you wanna forget that girl's birthday?” a voice so versed in pettiness, you could smack it right from his clever, grinning lips.

At whim, you almost do. But then his words fall into perfect place; that subtle signifigance makes all the more sense.

Spring: dappled in sunlight and vigorous in the trees, seems lovelier than it would in March or May. Seas of crimson and clovers thrive in the middle of April, and so does the red in her hair—soft, auburn tines—and the meadows in her earnest and shiny eyes. Recently dim, bruised and disheartened. But there, and unplucked at least, above the freckles you least regret missing when vengeance and a clue drove her out of this large, timber sanctuary. Home.

Every year on this day, the sun is relentlessly beautiful. No wonder, you think, now that you remember.

It's Ellie's birthday.

“Shit,” you curse, chewing at your guilty lip. “Is Ellie hiding out today as well? Haven't noticed her walking the thoroughfare at all.” Through the idle-talk, your hands find stray porcelain to retrieve and pile in the sink, scoffing at the liters of coffee that inevitably go cold in forgotten mugs.

“Do you notice anything working behind that counter?”

“Duh, dipshit,” you spout, back-talking him shamelessly, “I noticed you ambling towards the window earlier and knew my ears were in for a grating punishment.” Minding your eyes on nothing but the various plates you grab, the clutter clears fast. Like a damn robot.

He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, not my fault patrol’s been on cruise control this week.” With a part of the counter graciously tidied by your speedy work, he reclines in the barstool and claims that space with his lower legs, off to the side. Blissfully permission-less. “Can't say the same for here, though.” 

You draw in a prefacing breath, tilting a cup at him. “You could if you hel—”

“No chance.”

“Fuck you, Jess,” you reply wielding a nickname given for occasions of defeat, little knives glaring from your eyes. “Thought this friendship had a no-questions-asked sort of thing. You've disgraced me.” Cueing that age-old love for drama, you gild the lily; mock a drama-queen. Hand to your heart and a pout to your mouth.

Hating Jesse is out of the picture, and hate is an easy pill to swallow. Sure, you two bark blank insults from time to time, but it's all in good humor. You just get each other too well. A hitch fated to click. A shoulder to violently sob into.

Jesse tuts at you, rolling a smug pair of eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Diners just aren't my thing, as infected aren't yours.” He reaches and grasps his mug of coffee that'd been basking there ever since you whipped up his usual, content in keeping his gob flat for the ‘noon.

And you're content in the casual peace and company. Always are. It coerces you to fulfill orders quicker, you would say. Here you stand, in perfect function, machine of the cogs.

That's how all days streak by here. A warm sun arises, and the hustle and bustle of human nature crowds every faded red booth in here, as your kin would have you sustain, and you sustain it fine enough. Even with the latching, mostly silent presence of your best bud Jesse to keep boredom a stranger and insanity a myth. Peckish lips, thirsty throats; everybody. All famished faces of Jackson, satisfied in the wake of your work. All, save one. 

Ding!

At the entrance, you hear the jingle of the tiny, golden bell topping the door, and it doesn't intrigue you to investigate. Everyone is a frequenter, and you're basically omnipresent; sensing who it is and where they're routed to before they even sit. Call that perfect function.

Abruptly, the vintage magazine Jesse blankly browsed through is smacked back in place, and his throat clears. “First customer to break the hour-long streak. Let's see who—” he trails, and a dramatic pause thickens the air. Surprise loudly ensues. “Oh, ain't that funny. Look what fate dragged in.”

“Is it not a regular?” you ask, and at last perk your chin up. Intrigue clasps you now, as Jesse thought it atypical enough to point out. 

Turns out, it isn't a regular at all.

Fate was a scary portrayal, as fate—and unfinished threads—would have you snuck into a corner and stranded for her to find. Plaid and blue, stood Ellie, lost as a doe in tangled woods, yet tall with purpose in front of that swinging glass door. From here, you notice her right arm supported in a white sling and twisted into her chest, right off the bat, as you did the night of return. Changes were made, obviously, sprigs of marker detailing the canvas-color of it, no doubt produced by those pesky kids in-town. Her tattoo is sorely invisible behind the bandages too; you've always liked that thing. 

She's a bona-fide crush. A red-headed angel.

There and then, you recall why your heart reawoke into a prance that night she returned head to toe in dry, aged blood. You felt the revival of an inner-warmth, tracing fingers over the stitches in her back as she hunched in repressive quietude. Felt the moon evaporate off your skin, felt her wrist tensen in your palm as you dressed the wounds in hers. Felt the elusive moment staying became going, as it wasn't right.

You went straight home and threw right up, that very night. Her cold, marred skin was as deathly-like as the skin of a corpse. And you trailed your fingertips, all over it. 

Strange. In a week, her flesh has been suppled of life. Hale, blushing and glowing as in younger days.

In your heart: a tremor. It reaches up every time you swallow, and blooms its beat, pounding at the pit of your throat. You don't feel real, you feel light, you feel fright. You feel the past, waking from a slumber in you, emerging breathless beyond the surface. So many things.

You feel fourteen again.

“Guess her ears were burning,” mumbled Jesse, polite enough to not transform your shared scrutiny into a scene, only so he could leave it in your hands. His head carefully turns, speaking softly, “You spoke to her at all, recently?” 

“No,” a weighted breath departs you, and your shoulders repose. “Only the night she returned, while I tended to some of her travel wounds. Conversation wasn't easy to digest.” Shunning her very blatant presence, you pick your wash rag and begin again, foraging distraction.

“Bet not. Shit got hectic on the route Tommy picked,” he hums, and his eyes pursue once more to secretly follow her walking the opposite direction. Eyes you expectantly the second she slips into a booth. “Gonna take her order?”

You glower at his smug stare, knowing full well he intends to badger you into jumping the gun. Well, you're employed to do that, but, fuck fate! “Uh, duh? Di—”

“—Ipshit. Stop stalling.” He aims his hand, escorting you. “Birthday girl awaits.” 

“Yeah, hold that smile. See what happens later.”

“Mhm.”

EXTRA SYRUP

 Spectral hands suffocate your heart, and now your chest is tightened. Gut nervously sickened. There, she sits, seemingly absorbed by the air, and the sun that ripens with it. Thumbing at her nails, but not anxiously. Blowing at her lip, but not boredly. Hair dark ochre as the earth, yet fiery as the flaxen ray that pours into it. Tucked into a neat bun, as it was in December, January, and every paving year before. You like her hair that way.

She halved it up when Joel passed, and Seattle howled her name. 

A lot about Ellie changed, really, but that is the perennial nature of water. Ellie is Neptune; a late-teenage girl experiencing a crucial shift into a new, individual season. Ones so seldom—they're cataclysmic, but temporary. 

So much of her is eclipsed to the naked eye. Buried to make burrowing space for others. Just not you, it seems.

Every now and then, she glances as you intricately work your way over, a fist cupped to itself as if it alone safekeeps her deep and untold intentions; the warrant for sitting there. And you too, glance when her eyes smoothly retreat, dedicating pockets of this single, cherished minute to drink in little glimpses of her face. Trying to read her, read the shapes on her face if they indicate trouble, or truce. Last time you talked, you declared your resentment for being left worried and sleepless in Jackson.

Was it out of love?

Through the fair-haired light, that scar-heavy look on her features has noticeably abated, recapturing the tender warmth that gave her face the kind, puppy-browed ambiance you hesitated the world for. Gently laid brows, scarred the same as ever.

Those fucking freckles, too; a constellated map. Hidden miles and miles away for one sun and moon too many. 

Not a mile bridges you both apart now, not anymore.

“Hey, Ellie,” you chime in, frail in respect of the one-mind conversation her idle stare partakes. Just her, and the spring sun. Sweet wheat skin is taken from its aerial shine as her head heeds your voice, a loose twine of auburn falling from place.

Your somber greeting fine-tuned the focus in her eyes, softening into a shape less spacious, more devoted.

And though away from underneath the boughs of sunlight, her eyes found a disembodied source. Dried moss, gleams into a violent sea glass, pupils taking in how you hold that notepad firm in thumbs and pointers.

For the first time in an age, you too, have changed.

The corners of her lips crease into her cheek. “Hey,” her reply mirrors the breathiness of yours, and her left arm low-arcs up to rest on the booth seat, body facing you head-on. Totally relaxed. “How come you didn't mention the job switch? Was lookin’ for you,” she asks curiously, a tinge of that sweet-talk peeking through her wide grin. 

Now that you've stepped closer and garnered her attention, you can see and feel every notched nicety of her face on yours. You can only imagine how a swollen, sliced lip feels, and the continual migraines a fractured nose brings. Weeks of healing have swept by, but her afflictions in particular weren't petty.

“Guess it felt irrelevant to bring up when you got back. But you're here now, and you found me. So?” your tone edges on.

“Well, yeah,” she chuckles. “Did you not miss me?” She feigns offense; brows quirking and her tone pitching slightly.

You did. 

A sigh starts in you, “Hard to not miss and worry for somebody when you picked up their slack in every patrol dating way back.” Barely nipping what you really felt with a snarky tease. “Oh shit, that rhymes,” you glance off and whisper to yourself, still loud enough to inspire mirth.

And it does; her forehead pinches and her voice rises in mirth, laughing casually and shifting in her seat to lean one elbow upon the table. “Ha— yeah,” she admits defeat. Ellie is undeniably cute when she does, always shrinks into herself and sinks into thoughtful conference, thinking of something—anything smart to knock you back into that corner. “Guess you're right. Hm, always were on my ass about that, huh?” 

You tut, “Mhm. Missed my scolding in Seattle?” crossing a leg and bearing weight upon it.

“Nah,” she confesses briefly, and you barely believe it. Wringing in doubt at that sly smile she tries to conceal from you. “I learned my lesson this time.” Ellie glances up, a prayer written on her face asking you to hold your scolds. “Trust me.”

“Hurt enough this time?”

“Fuck you!” She punts you playfully in the ankle and begins a laugh again. “You’re not allowed to point that out!”

That was the way of things; Ellie would charge into a fight wearing her life on her chest, slackening the rules, and you had to reel her in. Tug the leash. It had you suspecting her to have a foolproof reason as her backbone, like she was daring the devil with eyes fearlessly open. Steadfast intent. She would lure runners to her, grapple them from you, or push you away beyond safety. Leave you to watch an animalistic vigor fill every bind in her body until you're convinced she’s either coming out bitten or scathingly torn.

You wish she saw how worrying she truly looked; a sweet face splattered hair to chin in the blood of infected, catching her breath and shaking the arm of the croaking infected she just slaughtered off her ankle. Being way too blithe-hearted for the sacred sake of everyone involved.

“Don't worry about me.”

One day, when she asked you with her solemn eyes to be afraid, you thought she finally trusted you to handle yourself past her overprotective nature. Then, one clicker got too close for comfort, and she retracted the pact of fighting equally. Losing more than what her blade owes the earth would prove her fears to be a product of her unsacrifice.

Ellie figured it was half the reason you quit patrol duty, but not that it was fully the reason you anguished over her leaving for Seattle later on; her appetite for violence.

She accepts it so easily. But even when you had sworn she had place in something as simple as retiring from patrol and nothing else, she smelt the sugary scent of a white lie. Joel did it before. She never accepted it under a gentle radar. Instead, it had her wondering if she had upset you, if you would forgive the crimson melodrama and still take her up on breakfasts at ten when she returned. Regardless if you painted the full picture in the end, apologies spilled alike to winded waters out of this girl; sorry that she still could not stomach you tagging along for vengeance. Never-ending sorries, and you lapped each one up. Brought gaping arms around her and absorbed all the ugly and hopeless sounds. You wanted to prove her fears wrong, but perhaps it was time fear let you be the lamb. Live and let live.

Then, Dina would step in, and Ellie would be wrapped around her finger in sudden laughter. Happy and unhurt. Couldn't even remember what occurred before her sun entered the room, and dried those tears.

Crimson melodrama is all you preserved when abandoned, and is all you could look at her with when in longing.

The winter dance had your guts up to your throat.

Seattle, inexplainable.

You don’t hate Dina; your envy lies with the disconnection of it all.

“What do you recommend?” she questions, and her eyes anticipate you to be the ultimate apocalyptic-dining expert. Locked and attentive. She then begins to shake her head in gesture, planting the menu down. "I don't— I don't usually go to these kinds of places, so.. What do you think?" she awkwardly giggles, tapping the menu's plastic sleeve.

Tension presses a smile onto your lips at her inelegance. "Nobody does, not even people who went to these places before the outbreak," you opine, swapping the notepad to one hand and sliding into the booth. "It's okay. I mean.. hmm, what do you prefer? Sweet or salty?"

Her eyelids flick down, fingers coming to lace together as her eyes traverse the options. "Uh, I guess I— wait, wait," she interrupts herself. A swift finger draws you to look down at the menu, "You guys make pancakes here?" green eyes gaping at you with pupils more voracious than her stomach—or her sweet tooth.

"Yeah."

"I'll have that then."

It was a steadfast verdict. The sweet honey pancakes, she shall have, at the cost of a couple minutes and a couple ingredients. But it isn't traditional for birthdays, so you weigh in. “Just pancakes? I mean.. Faye is back there if you want something a little more celebrator—”

“—I'm not really a blow-the-candles-out and make-a-wish type of person,” she corrects you, brows cinched in as she rambles. Then, her free hand scoots the menu forward. “But you already knew that, you just insist otherwise,” she chuckles, unable to meet eye and eye.

True. Your soft insistence dawns from wanting nothing less than heaven inside everything for her, and maybe a dash of that sweet-sweet crush on her. But, Ellie is so staunch in being the humble girl that doesn't glorify every recorded happening with string lights and a wish hurled into the uncaring universe bent upon nurturing demised, late lights young girls reach for. She kept everything low-key: a small garage get-together on her last birthday, the one before that, and the one predating those two. Alcohol in your palms and movies playing back to back. Budding distorted laughs and tumbles into each other. Birthday things.

The remnants of her fifteen-year-old mind hangs aimlessly inside that museum. Dangled and stretched into archaic bones. On the day of return, she arrived happier than a sunflower drunk on the sun. Broad smiles and whatever else.

Wasn't for long.

“Forget you're so down-to-earth and reserved about all the fun things,” you snarkily deliver, retiring that still empty notepad behind your back. Memory shall serve. “Will that be it then?”

“Are you saying I'm not fun?” 

“I'm saying you need more of it.” You emphasize with a tiny bounce-up on your calves, tilting your head north. Though, nothing she uttered was wrong and so your voice silkily drones on, “And that.” You act the lack of a ruder way to insinuate. “But yeah, okay. One order of pancakes coming up.”

“Cool, I'll uh—have a 'celebratory' drink in the meantime?” She nudges the menu towards you once again, irises pulled thin on themselves. Thoroughly staring; your reflection in a bead of black.

You have to laugh, kindly laugh. “No alcohol here, dumbass.”

“Oh. Right.” Her doe-stare only crescendoed from there, shying away at the result of her asking. Something reluctant is lodged in her pale throat, stumbling out only when it feels imminent as you turn away. “D-Do you wanna chat, afterwards? There's so much bullshit surrounding Seattle I have to catch you up on and I-I didn't before, so.."

Swinging your head back, you gauge that mercurial girl there. Tripping up her request like it couldn't escape hibernation from her head any quicker than insult does.

Faye shouldn't mind. “'Course, I was left to wonder about everything since that night anyway.” Your boss might even encourage it; knowing that your long-standing crush for her—heartbreaking to fathom, beautiful to feel—never swept you from rambling Ellie into some fairytale, so she would use it to psych you into asking her out. Jesse, too. Damn the nosy ones!

But it's the one thing that keeps you worried now.

“Cool, cool. Oh, hey, add extra syrup will you?”

What does Ellie think of you?

“Mhm,” syrup is nowhere as sweet as your hum. “Got it.”

Does she think of you at all?

MOUTHS ALL-CONSUMING AND DEPRIVING

  Minutes in, minutes out, wallowing at that ruby-red booth fed the realization to Ellie that the nerves feeding off her anxious chest could not combat conversation alone. She needed an aid. Liquid courage. Velvety smooth and robust.

Fortunately for betting gods and heaven-watching anyones, leftover whiskey from the last bonfire made stock in her cloistered, chaotic cabinets. So it founded no surprise that it whirled to mind after the celebratory-drink fact; leading you here, in her bedroom, on her bed. She pours whiskey into stubby glasses, One for her, one for you, and a lucky extra two for further along this unexplored line. Nothing overflowing limits.

But, oh boy, did it make you all lovey-dovey.

Her lips move and they dance over words, but all you hear is your own enamoration of how heart-shaped they are. You see, but fail to hear and comprehend. Floating aimlessly into those freckles, again. Something a fourteen-aged, sanguine mind would do.

Ellie was relaying Seattle to you, she prefaced. Prefacing didn’t aid you in paying attention, though. Today is not your sharpest, it dates to be your most absentminded. Not your usual, at all.

Nods are swayed to every shock-value word that you manage to understand, but the star-crossed rest, you miss, and replace with whatever story her pupils trace. They flit to read your face after each end of her sentences, so it has you thinking too much of her time has slipped without the company of a listener, and now that her time slips into you, she can use it to stretch your expression with whatever witty remark she makes. 

She did one day blurt that your laugh compliments your smile—or however that fucking flirt threw it over the crackle of that bonfire.

In fact, when you begin to let parts of her body neck-down from her face distract you, only then do you decipher how much she has grown in a month.

She pitches her drink to sip, and your eyes are hot on that glassy trail, artistically concerned with the way she swills down whiskey: fluently gulped, throat bobbing, the scar on her lip licked clean. Her brows too, have thickened, much so as her leathered skin, her callouses. She traces her thigh in circles repeatedly—a fidgety habit—and her lips purse and tug and wrinkles hug and press said lips when they are prettily wide. 

Every high noon or low point of her body was different, and you have missed a great many things you care too much about to not appreciate every brink and midst. You don't want her to be lost to otherworld winds without studying her presence harshly. She is in your scrutiny, now more than ever.

“So, do I get to see my pancakes yet, or?”

“Oh, oops.” You snap out of your woolgathering, wagging your head left to right. Then briskly as you assented her invitation, you slide your knees under you, reorganizing your seating. “Can't blame me for being so invested in your epic tales. Could totally be a comic narrator for the school in town.”

Ellie had already been sat skyward. Sprawled at one leg and tucked at the other, arm in her lap, where her whiskey is nestled. “Oh, sure,” she says with a sarcastic edge. “Those kids are a bunch of little shits. They would probably interrupt me with fart jokes or make actual fart sounds than sit still and pay attention for thirty minutes.”

“Hmm,” you hum, short and atonal, peeling the corner of the plastic lid back. “And who do you think taught them those terrible jokes, huh?”

Soft lids narrow together to sharpen her gaze; glaring at your clever comment, lips propped slightly open. “Terrible?” An offended, toothy smile pulls on her lips. All sentences she could possibly muster up come crashing into each other; an agglomeration, “I—They aren't bad jokes—and they're puns, really, so they're actually pretty fuckin' smart,” she boasts with brows raised. “And It isn't my fault that every annoying kid picked them up and started repeating them.”

It most certainly is her fault. Hell, even you catch yourself reciting them at the crest of nightfall, giggling into your palm. Although, why she's trying so rigorously to plead her pun-enjoying case to you, might just be funnier. “Are you seriously trying to explain puns to me?”

“God,” she surrenders in a chuckle, and bows her head to introduce another quick sip to her parched lips. Ellie then eyes you for a blank second thereafter, tugging the plump of her lower lip through her teeth. Like contemplation has her hindered.

Around you, the lungs of the garage’s foundation inhale, and exhale; creaking and settling.

She dashes a huff. “You basically asked,” Ellie reminds you, her tone and eye-roll implying obviousness. “Can I eat my pancakes now? M'hungry.” Her face sutures into a pseudo-frown and encloses herself to a crisscross, impatiently behaving.

Now, as for the pancakes. Fluffy, biscuit brown, star-shaped, bountifully rivered in unrestricted syrup, topped off by a definitely-melted, humbled ingot of butter. Needless to say, you're pleased by what boredom and intact cooking-books taught you, and she hasn't even seen them yet.

The ask for a carryout-container was already in order the moment you set pace for her table, because you wound up in a near-catastrophe as she sought you out around the kitchens like a lost pup and maundered right into you. Thank patrol for instincts; it's the one thing you held an undying clutch to. And the sweet pancakes you proudly plated, making refuge on the counters as you cross-examined Ellie in case you injured her arm more.

Lucky girl was all fine and peachy, of course.

She only knocked you two right into that near-injury mess to invite you here. Persuasion sat readily in her throat incase you questioned her motives—most of her ideas turning out to be a little friend-group antic, never anything serious or singular—but you agreed to it in double-time. 

“Think you might just be one of those kids at this point.” You gingerly tweak the rim of the plate you kept the pancakes on and lift it outside the container, planting it between all four knees.

“Eh, you're not so innocent yourself,” Ellie contends before she even casts her first peek at the hillock of starry sweetness, totally taken aback when she does. “Holy shit,” she awes, just as if she were a young teen again, “Are you kidding me?”

Labor-intended nights never slip soft through the gaps of your fastened fingers, not even days where your work period is abridged, but hey, strange, space-brain girls are far beyond ordinary exception. Hell, Ellie is vital! Commemorating the red angel you worship in the patterned and soapy act of cooping up on her bed, toasting to the moonlight and letting her talk your ear off for old times' sake is your approach to telling her you love her.

“Know I'm not a pancake-connoisseur, but I gave it a unique whirl. Just for you.” You held a fork out, gracing her with first honors. “Don't blame me if it gives you a stomachache,” your forewarn is a doubtful one; in your mind, morningtime will arise with an extra punch to her gut.

Ellie, however, stares right into the baying eyes of a challenge, snatching the fork from you. "Hey, if it's good enough for my tongue, then it's good enough for ma' gut!" and promptly after exclaim, gashes and tears her fork into the sweet, airy texture of the pancake, popping it past her sweet, berried lips. “Mhh—and I will blame you. So you end up feeling sorry n'take care of me.”

God, whatever souls you would sell to spend paradisal afterlife with this fool. Talking with a gob flush of the birthday project you're humiliated to be proud of. You scoff, “Asshole,” lightheartedly scornful as can be, and it snaps something to mind. Head tilting eye-to-eye, “Dina wouldn't be the one to?” you ask, right after she swallows.

That particular question seemingly struck a chord as her brows cinched together, eyes dropping with allusion. “No,” she says meekly, soft in the sound, but you can tell it came up heavy. Shadowed by a sigh, and an untimely chuckle. “Do you want to know?” She throws on a shrug that ripples through her head, sending it to hang lopsidedly. As the stout willow grows.

“Guess so,” you agree temperately, not wanting to seem too eager—even though with this topic, you just might be. Camouflage those old, foul feelings of envy. “Did Seattle have you kicking more ass than just Wolves and infected? Couldn't have been a very romantic tr—”

“Dina's pregnant.”

Silence carves it's way after that. Thick, tense and unyielding. You had words lined up but like a shot in stark night they've just—vanished, sunk back into the chamber. Nothing prepared you to hear that, “Pregnant?” lowering a hand to your belly where you swear your heart has pummeled to.

Ellie glances up, once at your widened face and once at your hand. A bite of humor works it's way above her chin; smugly smirking. “God, don't tell me you're pregnant now too.”

“What? No!”

Damn idiot. Should punch her right in the—nevermind.

Ellie is way too quick to make serious things unserious. “You're a damn menace,” you unapprovingly giggle.

“Am I?” Amusement raises her brows, tearing into the pancake with her fork for another bite. “Cause you seem to like menace.”

You adjust onto propped elbows, “Do I?” playing all nonchalant. “I mean, what do you mean by that?” your voice dims, expending for the small space that separates you and her.

“Mhh,” she contemplates with a purring sound, and shrugs. “Dunno.” Ellie retreats those eyes downward where you won't compel her to smile. You can tell she battles the letch to look up again, which—as proven in her case—doesn't fucking work. She shoots up carefully, and it's a conflicted gaze this time. “Not with Dina anymore, though. That’s the other thing.”

And we're back.

Having reconciled the chance, you retrace. Look at her with somber concern. “Did something between the two of you happen?” It's a gentle question, reinforced by the bulletproof stare you offer her to unwind in.

The air in her voice softens, “Sort of,” and the meridians of your body then become easier to look at as she continues, wrinkles in her brows. “Said some things I shouldn't have, and we.. figured it best to leave it at that. For now.” her explanation sounds desolate and attemptless, like she has sat in shadow and vigil accepting this fact and has given up on hope. Crestfallen and quieter; this isn't like her. Bent at her wrist, dangling that glass above her crisscrossed lap like a sad child pokes at the food on their plate.

“For now?” You hate that you pry, but that sick greed in your gut from times before haunts with a hunger for knowledge. Your envy that is enlightenment. Still, you hesitate to seem nosy, wanting nothing than to possibly just console your friend in need. “What's holding you back from.. calling it quits? The pregnancy?” You crane your body upright slowly.

“Just still feelin' bad.” Her fingers begin a tap-dance at the glass' rim. “I'm an asshole.”

You duck at the neck, searching for her downcast eyes. “Come on, El. I've only ever seen you rant and rave at middle-aged grumpy men and infected, no way it was that bad.”

“You weren’t there,” she insists otherwise with an earnest voice, inciting a refreshed sigh as she swigs her whiskey.

“Well, what did you say?” You are relentless. No, normally you would not condone it, but tonight, tongues are loose and boundaries are blurry. You miss your happy girl. “I could talk to Dina, if it helps.”

“Wouldn’t change shit.”

“If you love her, you would try.” Even if it sickens you.

Ellie slots her drink in her lap, and grouches. “Dude.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and stifles a groan, frustrated. It draws out in words without proper footing, “It's weird. We just don't know what to say to each other—I don't know what to say to her, it.. it's just how it is—it was a mutual agreement. None of your business, really.” 

Her own tongue is a very obvious byproduct of nerves, whiskey, stress, by and large a lot of things. Being goaded, definitely.

How it is, is how it will be.

“She broke up with me.”

You didn't mean to goad her, but curiosity—and a kiss of alcohol and envy—ate your refrain. The lack of any eye contact or movements to stray from you thereafter her word is telling enough. That it aches her head, and a cold, guilty sweat crosses over your skin. It was a stupid thing to blurt. You feel fucking stupid for even saying that.

Fuck. 

Her dry sniffle is noisy on your shortcoming, and has you scrambling to think. “Sorry, just been worried for weeks.” But you shrink into a ball of abraded arms and legs, conserving yourself into a shy, spotted egg of curiosity that clads no hatching cracks to be convicted of. “Thought you two finally getting together would be the dream to end all dreams.” What the fuck do you know anyway?

Her eyes watch through you, into you like water; she notices, and the pancakes are slid to the side. Shuffles of fabric clamber closer as she eats the inches between you two, her breath brushing your forehead. “Hey, hey. I didn't mean anything by it. It's fuckin' great that I got somebody I can drink with and mope to. Really. Just been shitty all around—Tommy? Fuck, he's been the worst lately.” 

Everything ascends in temperature once her hand plants on the side of your neck, every nerve petrifies; unheard-of touch. She can feel the gasped tension in your throat, thumbing the muscles down. 

“Don't worry about it,” she says, and her saying that amuses you.

A moth-eaten phrase in particular is what was said. You scoff at it, plopping your legs back out. “Dude.” You bite a smile into your lips. Sucks that such a hackneyed thread of words does so; you're really chewing back the urge to call her any byname of dumbass, per usual. But damn that sincere face on her face that sweetens the teasing deal for you. You settle for low-hanging fruit. “You always say that, Ellie.”

“Ugh,” she seconded a scoff back at you, grimacing coyly. “Don't you start.” Ellie drags her hand off, not intending for it to land smack-dab on your thigh. It takes her a second to register the sound, the texture, slinking her hand behind her when you say nothing.

“Start what?” you stutter a laugh, bringing your thighs together.

“Nothin,”

“Don’t bullshit me, WIlliams.” To educe her, you dig your foot into her side, poking her. “Does it have anything to do with only me being here and not anybody else?” You lean into her.

Ellie does too, an exact mirror of you. “No..” The only thing that contrasted you, was her hand again, seeking what was left behind on your thigh. “Just wanted to see you first,” her lips barely move besides a slick smirk. Voice tiptoeing through the air, the noise-level two clandestine lovers live at, in secret song.

“You fuckin liar. No hang-outs for weeks before you left and suddenly you want to see me?” You call bull when she relucts to raise her hung head, witnessing the corners of her lip curl. Her head twists away more, and you spearhead the first, little move: tuck that irkful strand of auburn with a single finger. “C'mon.. what is it?”

“Stupid,” she blatantly spits, and at last confronts your face with her puckish one—glimpsing down, and up, and down. Watching her grip flex into your leg intermittently, chewing her lip. “Mhh, maybe 'm starting it.”

Ellie is heart-poundingly close; her breath is now yours to breathe. You whisper, “Maybe you are,” perking yourself right up to her cheek, unnoticing of the ardor her eyes spin over your face. Unsure where to stare. You pretend the pressure on your thigh flies under the radar, too, and that your heart isn't in the middle of a love-logged swell, and your cheeks aren't tender from smirking at the feeling of it perched there. Love-struck death befalls, if else confessed, so you tease, tease, and tease to stomach your excitement. “Maybe, you're stalling on those pancakes because they actually gave you a stomachache. You feeling good?”

Her bitten lips part, and the next sensations you feel—are transcendental.

Wisping whispers so hot, and intoxicating on your skin, you fail to catch her hand coming up from your thigh to clasp your face, or that hers has shifted in front of yours. She breathes out, “Won't you shut up already?” through lips pulled into a smirk, and rushes to press it fondly against your mouth.

You wince—somewhere between an electrified gasp and a reaction of delight—into the kiss she stole, and it only beckons her to starve more for you. The heat of her whiskey breath pours into your mouth, and you drape your eyes closed. Scoring these seconds by, she spends them concentratedly rolling the skin together, others pushing and shying from the kiss, until she stills and bleeds out the pressure in a slow, wet smack. Hazily eyeing you for a response.

Once you feel her no more, your eyes blurrily creak open, and the corners of her lips at soft upturn greet you. Single creases at either side, the few freckles above them outspread.

Judgement renounces you, leaving you with pathetic pickings for reply. You aren't sure what she wants—or needs you to say. “Ellie?” daintily, a mumble flows onto her lips, and is far from a frail sound of concern. Intrigue encapsulates you.

What does this mean?

You think you know, but self-reason has always proven itself to be naive and too eager to trust.

By cruel emotion, she misunderstands you. “Sorry,” she pants out breathlessly, blowing the shape of it into your cleft lips and hovering right upon. Her fingers gouge the fabric clothing your chest, mangling it into her fist—an attempting grasp. This proximity is all she could ever dream of. “Is this okay?” Yet, dreams always sever at the apotheosis. So when she comes in for the second kiss, she wants no more for dreaming; the reality she yawns with hunger into, is insurmountable.

A dewdrop of something cold dribbles between you. Tears.

In turn, you misunderstand her. Using your own stubbornness to create an enigma. To think, that out of the blue, all of this would transpire? After endless wishes unanswered? You doubt it.

You love her, but you refuse the reality of it happening upon you.

Separating from the plush, licked skin of her lips fleetingly, you speak. “Is this you being drunk?” Only to be drawn back in without her processing your words right away, and then drawn back out. Intricate intimacy.

“Please,” Ellie begs, “Answer me, before I feel like an asshole again,” and chuckles sobbingly before her teeth feel rapaciously empty, and cannot tolerate it any longer. Instinct, and teeth nip your bottom, vulnerable lip.

Neither of you could be totally drunk, having only drank a modest portion.

So this is raw.

Thinly pulled, she slowly stretches it across the air between, and watches it spring back beneath eyelids sunken low. The action entails nothing else for her to feed satisfaction from, already panting right in your mouth in search of more as soon as your tongue descries the answer. “More than okay,” you heave in a passioned breath along that all-consuming, deprived mouth. Your hand squeezes her fist confirmingly.

It quenches her lust to know, a hot-blooded, moaned and voiceless curse snapping into your mouth. “I fuckin' love you.” Her rage softens in meeker kisses, peppering them up to the corners of your lips until she pauses, and pulls herself away. Her eyes turn troubled and adrenaline-rushed. Stains of tears shimmer beneath, along new ones that begin to plunge, and for the first time ever, you know they're yours. But then the flesh between frowns, the mood shifting, and she croaks, “Am I.. an asshole?”

It breaks you to hear that.

You glare, and stammer, “W-What? You aren't.” Hooking dearly onto her wrist when her hand glides up to rest against your cheek. “Why?”

“Cause I sprung this on you, 'nd I don't wanna force you to..” Ellie cranks to a halt, mouth screwing shut like her thoughts were too much to bear hearing aloud. “Fuck,” she quietly spews, cowering her face near your neck.

“Said it was okay,” you coo, clarifyingly coo, raking your fingertips up and through the tied loops of her hair. “The only asshole thing you'd ever done was not let me come with you.”

“I know.” Her eyes search for uncomplicated plains. The sheets, her lap, your neck. A kiss is planted as she tips her head, the gust thereafter a warm reminder of her sorries.

“Thought you were going to die.” You awoken in violent patterns, cold nights restless in bed, tossing and turning. Waking and falling into daydreams of how Jackson would feel missing a cardinal component. A girl to rave against dying lights. Thorns scale your throat at the thought. “You're reckless, y'know?” you mean it as a gentle insult, chuckling as it leaves your lips, and sealing it into her scarred palm. Kissing reckless consequences.

Her lips loiter on the pulse of your throat. They drag, and they drag.. sloppily limping over your jaw as she makes her way to observe you in her palm, mumbling low, and gravelly, “How many times am I gonna have to say it?” Ellie deems it redundant to tell you that she knows again, resorting to her own little gentle insult, “Such a fuckin' sap.”

“Says you.”

Her hand is comfortingly warm; you aren't fain to break away. But her fingers are curious, thumb nearly making it into your mouth before she second-guesses herself, easing it at the verge of your lips instead.

A longing moment of Ellie staring at the way her thumb looks—a decoration to your mouth—passes, and she responds, “Still alive, aren't I?” to that loose thread of a plea you forgot you even said. It calls you right over, bidding you to look into her eyes again as space finds itself thinning again, her scratchy, band-aided nose caressing yours. “Dumbass.”

She chuckles into your mouth as you chuckle into hers, cutting yourself off with a kiss that ebbs, and flows. Suckles, and smacks, snaking her tongue in for a change. That sweet, sweet wheat. Saccharinity you can't explore anywhere else other than the outline of her mouth. And you—of grunted volitions in her chest—take exploration further, replacing the grasp of her shoulder with the coursing of fabric, sliding under the hem of her shirt and palming the skin there.

You feel her skin breathe, her belly breathe into your hand, and a content wrinkle pinch between her brows. Her skin, is as soft as nothingness.

“You're a dumbass.”

Air clings to your cheek as her hand reaches around you, pressing fingerprints into the base of your head as to prop you for her delightments. Ellie is no amateur, enjoying you as if she knew you were hers without explicit pledge.

“Sure, babe,” she scoffingly counters, and pulls her tongue out of you, lips messiy shining. She scouts you out; lays eyes on your expression with undertones of satisfaction and presses an appetent bite right back into your damp skin, grunting into the filthy kiss.

Your mind is one-pathed right now; in the most maddened form, you crave the story further down her throat. In that warm space, is air thinned and balmy with the scent of alcohol and syrup. In those whimpers, is the sincere confession she held tight in throatly gloaming, all those intimate times before. In all of your yearnings, your lips never parted for more.  

Two holes that want to consume each other.

Weeping, wailing, tormenting in an empty forever.

“Fuck you, Ellie,” you cathartically sob into the humid cavern of her, a hint of wanton—and other repressed things, taking form. That hand under her shirt wanders from her navel and tweaks the button of her jeans, pressing your body against all of her like it hurt to be inside your own, singular body. Overcame by a need you could not chew out.

Ellie cuts the kiss, quick to soothe the movement with her hand pressing down and collecting yours. “Hey, hey, too fast,” she laughs, distancing herself and giving you those eyes that could see you were overstrung, hectic to go somewhere you aren't prepared for.

She loves you, but that means appreciating you enough to wait until time is perfect.

Her head cocks, “Let's take shit slow, huh?” fingers weaving into the pliant gaps of yours and pulling your fist dear to her chin, kissing it.

You speak over the repeated sounds of her smooches, “Yeah, sorry,” cringing slightly at how fucking cheesy the scene became. But, when is Ellie not? Wonder clasps you now; intent to know what this makes out of the two of you, having held your feelings for forever. “Well, what does all this mean, then?”

“It means..” Ellie slants her body even more, stealing your wrist along with her. Planning something, no doubt. “You and me, breakfast tomorrow at ten, Tipsy Bison?” Her mouth stuck to the side of your hand like syrup, so firm in not letting you go.

It makes your ears simmer hearing her shamelessly set up a date, of all things she could have said. God. You errantly laugh, totally not giddy when her mouth starts sprinkling up your arm at an alarming pace. “Sounds more than good—hey! You slow down!” 

Happy birthday, asshole.

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[gay-dorito-dust]

Jason with an Author!S/O and he worships the ground they walk on. he’s almost always begging to read drafts and small pieces, regardless of the content. he treats his copies of his partner’s publications like just the smallest trouble will destroy them. and if his partner writes about him? sappy love poetry about HIM?? he might as well die again, this time happily.

(the creative writing major brain is going bonkers.)

I’ve left this on the back burner for far too long, sorry about that and I just wanted to add on the stuff you’ve already said with things of my own cuz I like this idea so much!

Jason w/ an author!s/o who must add a character of his likeness and personality into almost every book they’ve ever made but changes his name to keep people from catching on. Jason however noticed this and gets a little flustered at the fact that he has been inserted into everything you had ever written, but he’s flattered too as he’s teasing you about how great this character you made up sounded from time to time.

Jason w/ an author!s/o who asks him for advice on how the story should continue and where certain characters should be by the end of it. Jason is more than happy to help you with the new novel however he could, which often leads into you both stayed up late brainstorming ideas until you got the one that suited your story just right.

Jason w/ an author!s/o who leaves heartfelt and personal messages inside of Jason’s own copies of your published works just to see him smile and smother your face in kisses out of pure happiness. He loves them dearly but refuses to touch them now in fear of bending and or ripping the cover by accident.

Jason w/ an author!s/o who often writes about him in your spare time and in the most romantic of settings too that it was enough to have Jason blushing up to the tips of his ears. He keeps them tucked in a box somewhere to read to himself later on while you slept peacefully against his chest. He loves these mini stories you’ve created for him more than anything and felt blessed that you even went out of your way to do something as sweet as this.

Jason w/ an author!s/o where you always have him in either your acknowledgments or dedications of each of your books, siting him as your inspiration and your motivation to keep writing when you felt like giving up because you punctuated a sentence wrong. Jason has never felt more appreciated in his entire life when you do this for him as he felt as though he had died (again) and went to heaven.

Jason w/ an author!s/o who thinks that your writing style can’t compare to the authors that Jason has read before and feels a little insecure about your own writing, thinking that it’s bad, but Jason will always pick you back up by saying he loves your method of writing stories as it allows him to escape reality for a while and that’s all he needs for a story to be good. That and he had an unhealthy bias towards you and Jane Austen. He won’t read anything else unless it’s by your hand. He vows this but you think he’s being dramatic. (He’s not, he’s very much not.)

[superblysubpar]

modern!husband!steve harrington x wife!you

2,603 words

warnings: so like, technically, you don't have to read "We'll Call It Love" , my modern steve series, BUT you're missing soooooo much that got these two idiots here, so I really encourage you to do so. This scene is so so so much more fun if you know all that led up to it, I promise. anyways: | alcohol mentions, slight descriptions of use by reader | smut (public - you get caught *kind of* / fingering / piv unprotected intercourse - creampie / wife,mom,breeding, all the kinks from one Mr. Harrington) - 18+ as always

a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event - don't forget to vote for tomorrow at the bottom of the fic!

A/N: I just wanted to say again, thanks for loving We'll Call It Love so much. I actually got to go see the band COIN last night, the music that inspired the fic, the screenplay, and just...wow. I don't have other words for it. Idk, feeling very sappy for all of you today and this story that means so much to me. Thanks for being here, it was fun to revisit these two 💛 and *now* I'm done with them.

Probably.

The day hadn’t been without its issues, but he’d expect nothing less, when it comes to the two of you.

First, there was Eddie’s girlfriend showing up in fake blood, late, covered in swatches of dark and gory fake gashes and goo all down her arms as she frantically rushed past him and shouted something about busy season and don’t worry, his bride was gonna look beautiful and not in a tragically haunting poetic way but in a romantic sunset kissed glowing kind of way.

Which, you did.

But then, there was an issue with the cake, which, wasn’t supposed to be a cake, but a bunch of peach pies. Robin and Nancy were whispering loud enough to bring him into the kitchen, both of their mouths snapped shut as Steve blinked at the largest solitary pie he’d ever seen. It was massive, comically so, and Robin was waving her hands at him, it’s going be fine spilling out of her lips that had just been freshly glossed for photos. Nancy was on the phone with a bakery and then Eddie was stumbling through the door shouting about canceling the order. He smiled at Steve and told him that you started crying which made him frown and start towards the direction Eddie had just come from, but his groomsman and your best man stopped him, assured him that then you started laughing, that you said your parents would have loved it.

Which, ultimately led to issue number three.

Robin had approached him slowly, fixing his tie, before she whispered that they couldn’t find you, but that there was a note, with his name on it. He had grabbed it with trembling fingers, only to find it didn’t say anything like sorry or I can’t do this, but a quote:

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

He rushed past Robin, shouted about being right back.

Steve found you on a balcony, which took a little bit of work, asking the front desk if anyone booked a room under Buttercup, or Allie, Kate, and ultimately Sally Albright. Then they wouldn’t give him the room number till he confirmed his name was Harry Albright, not Harry Burns. His breath caught in his chest when you turned to look at him, chin quivering and a quiet greeting for him before you started crying. It all ended alright, after you talked about your parents and him and all of it and he kissed you and made a joke about wedding curses. If seeing you in your dress before the ceremony already happened, where was the harm in a sunset balcony quickie?

You didn’t go for it that time, only grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the room with you, asking if he was ready to get married.

Which he really fucking was.

The floor to ceiling windows overlooking the skyline had been good in theory, letting in the beautiful, breathtaking sunset as you said your vows. But they also let in the warmth, the room an oven, leading you to laughing during the ceremony and swiping at his temple with your handkerchief and Eddie fanning Robin while she officiated. And cried.

There was so much crying.

But it was perfect.

You were perfect.

“Sir?”

Steve blinked away from where he was watching you take pictures in the vintage photobooth, you, Robin, Nancy, and Eddie’s girlfriend were all crammed in, sitting on each other’s laps, to the attendant in front of him.

Perfect, but distracting.

“So sorry, what did you ask?”

The venue employee smiled, like he knew the look on Steve’s face well, and then he shook his head. “Nothing to apologize for, sir. I was just letting you know that all the gifts are put away and locked in the car downstairs as instructed by your wife. Anything else I can do for you?”

His wife.

Steve looked over at you again, sighing as you tilted your head back in a laugh at the images in Robin’s hand.

He smiled at the man in front of him and shook his hand, “No, thank you.”

You felt him before you saw him, or rather, smelt him.

Your body spun to find the source of the salty and fried scent to see Steve holding a container of fresh french fries and a smile and eyes that seemed to be perfectly made, and only for you.

“Hey Mrs. Harrington,” he kissed your cheek, lips lingered against your skin as he asked, “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you groaned, your body crumpled against his as you exchanged your glass of champagne for the fries you knew would end up being a great late night snack offered. Warmth filled your stomach at the sound of your new last name, like a lovesick idiot you swore you’d never be.

Steve lifted a fry to your mouth, eyes a deep burnt amber in the low reception lighting as he watched your lips part and steal the fry from between his fingers, his tongue with a mind of it’s own, swiping out over his bottom lip as yours brushed the pad of his thumb.

You snorted.

“You’re so easy, Harrington.”

Steve lifted the fries away from you, eyes glinting as you pouted and reached for them half-heartedly, content to just lean against his body instead as he joked, “Hey. We’re married. You have to be nice to me now.”

Warm breath hit his jaw as you huffed, “Well, if I knew that was the rule, I never would have said I do a few hours ago.”

A kiss was pressed to his neck despite your words, right against his two freckles, then a smile ghosted against his skin when you heard the low rumble in his chest.

Steve’s lips brushed your ear as he bent down, speaking softly, lowly, and sending the warmth between your stomach directly between your legs.

“Don’t start something you can’t handle, honey.”

Your head lifted, stares at one another challenging and hopelessly and sickeningly in love to anyone who was watching.

“Oh,” you laughed, quietly, leaned in to whisper against his lips, “I think I can handle you just fine, Mr. Harrington.”

He had you in the bathroom not even a minute later, one hand locking the door behind him and the other pressing over your mouth as you giggled.

Steve’s mouth was all over your neck as his hands found your hips, guiding you to the counter.

“You’re so beautiful,” words warm and sticky and sweet against your skin as your head fell back against his shoulder in a gasp when his lips found a new spot behind your ear. “Can’t believe I’m married to you. Can’t believe you said yes. Can’t believe you’re all-“

His hand smacked at your ass as he grabbed a fistful of it, scrunching up the fabric of your dress you could care less about now as he growled in your ear the word, “Mine.”

“Steve,” you hated how breathless you sounded, hated how he’d barely touched or kissed you and you were wrecked already, “Hurry.”

He whined into the crook of your neck, spun you and let his nose trace along the straps of your dress, across the lace covering your chest as his mouth followed, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Steve knelt, regretfully removing his lips from your skin so he could carefully lift your dress, handing it to you with a quiet, “Hold this, honey.”

He pressed a kiss to your check as you did what you were told, but then he got a proper look at you and your lip was captured between your teeth at his groan, from the way his hands ran through his hair.

“Fuck,” he sighed, as his finger trailed up your thigh and found custom, cream colored straps and shiny buckles and pretty lace you’d ordered just for him. “Look at you.”

“You like it?” The question answered by Steve’s own lip bitten raw, his fingers still roaming higher, up the sides of your cunt, already soaked.

“Baby,” Steve laughed, eyes cast down between your bodies, watching carefully as his fingers slipped beneath the wet lace. “Do I like it? I love it.”

“That’s,” your head fell back, exposing your neck his mouth was grateful for. Distracted by the way he dragged his fingers through you, swirled around your clit, the same way his tongue was against your throat. “Go-good.”

Steve pressed against your clit harder, humming against your skin where his mouth was still latched to when your body shook underneath him. Your thighs clamped around his hand, yours clutched at his shoulders with fistfuls of your dress still between your fingers.

He removed his fingers from you, quick to make work of his buckle and pants, aligning himself with you but hesitating just as his tip brushed against your entrance.

Steve looked up at you, under his lashes that cast shadows against pink cheeks dotted with freckles. He gazed at you with the kind of look that you imagined you gave a sunset. Admiring, awed, like you were taking in its beauty the first time every time. Like you knew your time with it might be fleeting, so you had to watch it every second so you didn't miss a single second of it.

He leaned in and let his lips brush over yours tenderly, deciding to take his time and forget the frantic pace you both had started with.

He murmured into your lips as they parted in a sigh beneath his kiss.

“I love you. So much. I think I’ve loved you since I saw you in that bar, I texted Robin about soul mates before I talked to you, I-“

You caught his top lip between yours, an over too quick kiss, but then you were speaking into the corner of his mouth, against his jaw.

“I love you too.”

Steve’s forehead knocked yours, your hips wiggled, making his dick twitch as you stared into each other’s eyes.

“Ready, Mrs. Harrington?”

The tip of your nose brushed his as your laugh bubbled out of you, voice all sarcastic and fond, “Ready? I’ve been ready, Steve. You’re the one taking his tim-ohmygod.”

Steve’s smug smirk twitched in front of you as he thrust into you while fake grumbling, “Me? How about you miss I’m gonna wait over a year to say I love-fuckyoufeelsogood…”

He rolled his hips, only getting deeper, and your thighs tightened on the outside of his, head thrown back against the mirror from the feeling of him inside you, which he followed. His lips skated over your cheek, your jaw, as he slowly pulled out of you and thrust back in.

Your mouth fell open with each drag against your walls that cling to him, that want him to stay there. A noise catches in the back of your throat every time he pushes into you, each time only harder and deeper as he babbled.

“Sorry, I wanted,” he grunted, mouth finding yours only to kiss you once and keep talking, “The first time I have sex with my wife to last, to linger, to-“

Your mouth captured his in a kiss this time, tugging on his bottom lip and gasping into his open mouth when he thrust faster, shallower, your name a begged breath between the two of you.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to wait anymore,” you whimpered, your dress left your fingers so you could grip the back of his head, card your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and tug, “To finally have sex with my husband.”

Steve moaned at the word husband, twitching inside of you, which made you grin at the way his hips stuttered, at the way his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

“Yeah?” You gripped at the back of his head a little harder, knowing what each other liked now. He frantically pushed under the fallen dress to find your clit again with ease, trying to get the upper hand once more as you asked, “You like me calling you my husband, Steve?”

Your mouth brushed the apple of his cheek, it kissed his temple as he fell forward, thrusting faster and making quick figure eights against your nerves, gasping at your teasing.

“Wanna tell everyone I’m your wife? Tell ‘em I’m a Harrington?” Your stomach clenched at the thought too, at the pace which Steve slammed into you even harder, hips meeting in a filthy grind as your head knocked against the mirror. The thumps mingling with the sound of how you were coating him, all a little louder in the bathroom and only making you both a little more turned on.

His forehead pressed to yours as he nodded, lips of parted mouths catching every time he thrust. He moaned, he begged, “Yeah, yeah. Wanna tell them. Wanna…want…pregnant. Mine.”

Your back arched, hand searching until it found his, lacing your fingers together. His others grew sloppy against your clit, slipping over it as you nodded. Chest aching from his admission, from the way you sort of wanted it too, how it didn’t scare you as much anymore, not when it was him.

“Yeah?”

“Ye-yeah, fuck, honey, I can’t-“ Steve kissed you. Passionate and breath stealing as he held your lips to his like he’d wanted to all day. Your clasped hands hit the counter, the click of your rings together made you whine into his lips when they parted. You let him go, his name loud in the bathroom, echoing against tile and sure to be heard even on the moon as his hips stuttered when you clenched around him. Your stomach burned and your eyes blinked rapidly, sure you weren’t on the planet anymore from the amount of stars you could see as his warmth spilled into you.

It takes a second for you both to come back down to earth, for Steve to laugh, for you to press your hands to your cheeks as you looked down at the mess you’d made of yourselves.

Steve kissed at sweat kissed skin, tenderly cleaning you up as you joked with each other, sleepy eyelids and content smiles. Slow kisses that left you both sighing in between lingering touches that weren’t out of necessity, but just because you wanted to be touching.

Completely in love.

He helped you off of the counter and winced at the way your dress fell down all crinkled and obviously mussed. You shrugged before running a hand though his hair, messing it up even more than you already had, then you untied his tie and let it hang from around his neck saying something about it only being fair.

He grabbed your hand, fingers curled into yours as he kissed your knuckles and led you out of the bathroom.

Robin was the first to slow clap.

Your nose pressed to his shoulder, a groaned god dammit on your lips against his suit jacket.

Then Rocketman was blasted on the speakers, a loud “Annnnnnnd Buckley owes me one hundred dollars!” comes from Eddie at the bar, earning a smack to his chest from his girlfriend, which was nice, until she said “I get fifty of that and you know it.”

And it’s all fine, Steve doesn’t really care, because most of the guests are gone and you’re laughing and heading over to grab pie, flicking Eddie’s ear as you went.

Robin slid up next to Steve, shaking her head. “Wow. I really had faith in you Harrington. A bathroom? On your wedding night? I know you two are animals, but you couldn’t wait to have your wife in, oh, I don’t know, a private bedroom?”

Steve only smiled at the way Nancy handed you a water as you caught peach filling from your lip, while you played with the little ‘S’ dangling between your collarbones with your left hand, the large blue sapphire stone sparkling next to glittering diamonds in the light.

His wife.

For those of you who don't know, Leather and Lace was an Eddie series I started when I first started writing for the fandom. I only posted two chapters, and I just fell out of writing it. It was something I was holding close to me, and I wanted to really tell it right. I've been poking at it a lot lately, and the story has changed so much, and I'd love to share it again soon. But for now, have a little blurb from it tomorrow, and I'd really love to hear what you think. This Eddie is a childhood best friend, an enemy, a stranger, and hopefully, one day, a lover. Okay, anyways, happy voting!

*voting will close at 10am CST tomorrow, 10/3

[carto0ncritter]

I'm sorry but I genuinely can't understand how people can look at Stolitz and Catradora and think these ships are healthy in any way, shape or form.

Stolas r*ped Blitzø. No, consent given in a life-or-death situation doesn't count

Stolas is racist towards imps, and this didn't change even when he "fell in love" with Blitzø

Stolas doesn't appreciate or respect Moxxie and Millie in the slightest (and was disappointed that his "Prince Charming" wasn't the one to rescue him)

He looks down on Blitzø and calls him things like "impish little plaything" and "his big dicked Blitzy" and doesn't stop treating him like shit even when Blitzø says loud and clear that he hates being talked down on like this (DUH)

The only thing Stolas knows about Blitzø is that he hates books and the only thing Blitzø knows about Stolas is that he's a boring bookworm. Keep in mind, the two figured this out about each other while they were kids, 25 YEARS AGO, after Blitzø was bought so that he could be Stolas' "friend" for ONE DAY

Stolas doesn't love Blitzø for Blitzø. Stolas loves the *idea* of Blitzø. The bird man wants to live a romance that is just like the romances in his cheesy novels. He wants to ride into the sunset with his one true love. He wants grand romantic gestures. He wants his "Prince Charming". Except, Blitzø isn't the type of guy for such sappy displays of affection, he never was. Especially combined with his trauma. And as soon as that other imp guy asked him to dance, Stolas not only accepted the offer, but Blitzø was no longer on his mind. And no, I don't think being drunk is proof that Stolas didn't mean what he had told Blitzø. Drunk people find it easier to say what's really on their mind after all

Blitzø fell in love with his abuser. This makes sense, actually. The guy always pushed everyone away and never got to experience true love, and now that he has the chance to be "wanted," even if the "relationship" is toxic, he finds it hard to let it go

As for Catradora, the things I wanna say about this ship have already been said throughout the years, but it all boils down to these things:

Catra mentally, emotionally and physically abused Adora

Catra had no problem ending the whole entire universe if it meant she'd finally be better than Adora

Catra was a war criminal and a fascist

Catra was responsible for what happened to Glimmer's mom and never apologized, let alone faced consequences

Their relationship was toxic even when they were kids

They were both raised by Shadow Weaver and were the only ones in the Horde who saw her as a mother figure, thus making the ship straight up incest, with even the official source material calling them sisters (adoptive siblings ARE REAL SIBLINGS!!!)

Catra got exactly what she wanted in the end (the girl she's always been obsessed with and dependent on) and, once again, faced 0 consequences for her actions

The show (and C//A stans) fetishizes abuse. As a SA survivor, I felt physically sick during the final episode, where the abuser ends up with her victim/sister and they kiss

In short, these ships are disgusting and the lgbt community deserves better representation

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 6.

Summary: Felix learns about what happened between you and Oliver at the club, and some jackass makes assumptions about you and Felix and your intentions towards Oliver. The interaction gets you worked up enough that you feel the need to repay Felix as when he'd defended you. With sex.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT; AFAB!reader, d/s dynamics, felix being a chatty brat, assume the reader is on birth control, unprotected sex.

A/N: 4782 words. cannot go two chapters without having a felix/reader moment it seems. bare with me i swear we get more oliver as it goes on, but he's just watching through the blinds right now and collecting information. also forgive me, not only is this unedited, it's also the first actual, explicit smut scene i've written in years, and even longer since i've been intimate with someone with a dick. i also dont read smut so this might be weird pacing wise at the end. honestly the smut is just a backdrop for character development. have at ye, and please lemme know what you think!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Summer creeps in almost insidiously, days getting longer and warmer, humidity forcing it's way into every single facet of your lives. Afternoons outside of classes are spent doing not much of anything, hoping that when night falls, the temperature will fall with it.

This afternoon is the coolest you've had in several weeks, laying on Felix's floor, listening to him play the guitar while Oliver was draped over the foot of his bed, gazing at Felix's bookshelf. There's a sweet breeze through the open window and you hum along to the tune you recognise your best friend playing, letting yourself soak in the moment.

The quiet spell breaks as Oliver moves, reaches out for something on Felix's bookshelf.

"That's cute," he muses, "baby Felix." It must be the photo of Felix and his childhood dog, the you'd only met once or twice as a kid before he'd passed, before you'd been properly friends. But Oliver puts the photo back almost as fast as he'd picked it up, "there aren't any pictures of me as a kid," he muses.

"You and Y/N have that in common," Felix says idly, surprising both you and Oliver, though for different reasons; you hadn't even realised he'd remembered that about you. Your vapid, jet-setting, philanthropist parents had always been incredibly image conscious, and a child was never part of that image. Born out of obligation to their own parents to produce a grandchild to make eventual inheritance easier, they longed to distance themselves from the very idea of you unless they desperately needed to.

And they hadn't for as long as you've been alive.

"If there were baby photos of me, that'd prove that my parents had a child," you laughed, but there was no real humour in it, "and none of us wants that."

The invisible heir.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Oliver says faintly, an unfamiliar, unreadable look in his eyes as he gazes over at you. You give a blithe shrug.

"It means I got to find a home in Felix," you say easily, the wording sappy enough to make Felix himself laugh.

"You're such a sap, that's so much nicer than what I was going to say."

"Go on then, out with it," you prompted him, despite his faint, playful protest.

"I was going to call you another ward of the Saltburn Estate," Felix grins at you, "for better or worse."

"At least you had a family who loved you," Oliver turns away again, pressing his cheek to the duvet as his gaze focused back on the photo of Felix and his dog, "even if they weren't yours." There's a distinct discomfort in the air now, a reminder of how vastly Oliver's life differs from your own.

"I was lucky in a lot of ways," is all you can think to say. Felix starts playing guitar again.

These long days turn into long nights, parties, girls and boys and everyone in between, hazy chats and drinking games and hands on you - holding you, dancing with you, brushing past, tapping with excitement, always hands on you. The quiet way Oliver goes through these strange situations may be read as awkward to everyone else, but you're no longer under any such illusions.

"You're desperate to feel needed."

There was no hesitation in his voice the other night, his hands on you, his mouth on you.

"Then need me, want me."

How easily he'd made you flustered in the club, you didn't realise he had it in him. Honestly if you hadn't experienced it yourself, you wouldn't believe it if someone else had told you. There's been a change, however, a subtle, unnoticeable one to anyone looking in from the outside. Every so often, on nights out, you'll catch him watching you with that same hungry look in his eyes, but will never act on it, however much you wish he would.

"I do, but not like this, not now."

What the fuck was he playing at? You never knew how to bring it up, even when you were alone together. But he never stopped reached out for you, he never shied away from your touch. Apart from this one thing, it was the exact same as before.

If only that one thing didn't have the potential to change everything.

"Has Ollie seemed any different to you lately?" You go to the only person you know you can trust with this. Felix frowns at his hand of cards for a long moment before looking back up at you.

"Sorry, what was the question?"

"Ollie," you go a little slower, rearranging your own hand of cards, "does he seem... I don't know, different to you?" Then, as Felix was considering, "got any fives?"

"Go fish." You should both be studying for an upcoming exam.

"What do you mean? Has anyone said anything to you?" Felix momentarily put down his cards to relight his cigarette, fixing you with an intense gaze, "did something happen?"

"Did someone say something to you?" You pivot for the moment, still looking at your cards.

"Annabel."

"Annabel?"

"About her birthday thing."

"Are you taking your turn or what?"

"Oh, right," he's still frowning, picking up his cards with his free hand, "threes?" You swear as you hand over two threes, as he quietly cheers.

"Anyways, what about Annabel's birthday thing? Does she has a problem with Ollie?" At your question, Felix ums and ahs, and avoids eye contact, "yes then?"

"No-one else in the group is a huge fan of him," he even sounds guilty admitting it out loud, "everyone else can kind of feel how out of place he is and it makes things awkward. I know we think he's lovely," Felix tried to quickly placate you, or perhaps his own conscience, "but the man's got zero chat." This does, however, make you snort.

"Ollie's got chat," you smirk down at your cards, only realising what you'd said when you're met with a shocked silence. Looking up, Felix is staring at you with utter surprise.

"Does he now?" He sounds downright scandalised. You can feel yourself growing flustered, both under Felix's delighted, intrigued gaze, and at your own memories from the club, "so something did happen?"

"Nothing happened!"

"Something definitely happened!"

"I didn't fuck him."

"Between nothing and fucking there's a whole lot of somethings that could have happened," card game completely forgotten, Felix is enraptured as you begin to briefly explain the interaction at the club -

"- and well then, he starts calling me out while aggressively making out with me," you take a deep, final breath, finally looking Felix in the eyes, "and I desperately wanted to fuck him because of it." You sigh, and give Felix plenty of time to process the story and recover.

"But you didn't?" Finally, he speaks, and you groaned, throwing your head back to look at the stars.

"No," you sulked, "he disappeared into the crowd and I had to get myself off twice before I could sleep that night. Fucking tease," but you're heart's not really mad at Oliver.

"Always fascinated to learn what turns you on," Felix is desperately trying to hold in his laughter. It's not working, "many of them baffle me."

"That's not the point here, Fi," you rolled your eyes, leaning back against the gravel roof finally, laying back. You hear the pebbles shifting, and moments later Felix joins you, hands behind his head, "I don't know how to talk about it with him," you say softly. Then, tone much lighter, "and it doesn't surprise me that Annabel thinks he has no chat, he just doesn't want to fuck her, and she can't fathom a world where anyone doesn't want her."

Felix laughs, but unfortunately isn't able to offer any real advice to you about your Oliver situation.

Oliver Quick was an anomaly in your life, you should maybe have suspected his friendship to bring on further anomalous occurrences.

"Leave Oliver Quick alone," like the voice in the library that greets you harshly whilst you're hunting down a textbook. Spinning to see who it is, you lay eyes on a blonde man in dreadfully practical clothes; he's glaring at you like you've done him some personal offense.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he says sharply, gaze as unwavering as his tone, "you vapid -" he stops himself for a moment, face turning red with anger, "pricks," he settles on, "leave Oliver Quick alone, for his sake."

"Is this a joke?"

"Oh I'm not one for jokes, especially not with the likes of you; I know how you and Mister Catton operate. Selfish," he hissed.

"Do I know you?" Its genuine confusion, and for a moment the man's expression turned annoyed, his righteous indignation turning to faint disappointment as you refused to take him and his request seriously.

"Michael," like it should mean something to you, "Michael Gavey;" still nothing, "I was in the year below you at high school for four years."

"Well, Michael," you start slowly, bordering on condescending, "Ollie's a big boy -"

"I know you; you'll get bored, you two always do," Michael cuts you off with a sneer, some of that anger from just earlier returning, "he deserves more than to be a footnote in your frivolous little lives."

"Fuck off, Mikey." You say it as a warning.

"Michael," he corrects through gritted teeth, "Felix is a slag, which makes you the sensible one, so I thought you'd actually listen -" but the realisation hits you, right as you start to see red.

"You've already tried talking to Ollie," immediately, your tone ices over, humourless, cruel little smile twisting the edges of your lips. Noticing your change in demeanour, the fight seems to drain out of Michael before your very eyes, "and he ignored you, didn't he?" You asked, already knowing the answer from the way he was trying to stammer through an answer.

"Now, Michael," you tell him with a poisonous smile, taking even, measured steps towards him, as you turn his name over on your tongue with as much malice as you can manage, "Michael Gavey, I think I do know you," you're playing with your food, drawing out his discomfort with every slow word; you weren't cruel by nature, not unless someone found which button to press, "first year," you drop your voice low as you get into his space. He starts to shrink backwards, but you're practically on his toes until you're crowding him against the bookshelf, "math genius, shouts in the dining hall -"

"I didn't- just once-"

"If you ever," there's a furious look in your eyes behind your sinister smile as you stand toe-to-toe with Michael, "and I mean fucking ever, breathe the word slag in Felix's direction, or any other insult for that matter," you wet your lips, "I promise the only job you will ever get for the rest of your life will be that of a high school English tutor," you pet his cheek condescendingly, "for students with dyscalculia."

Michael actually shudders.

"You know I can do it too, don't you?" You press, and he nods, looking both furious and ashamed where he can't look you in the eyes, "we went to high school together, Mikey, I know where you came from, I can dictate where you will go." Stepping back, you clear your throat. Nodding to him, you turn on your heel to head further into the library, to continue searching for your book.

Trying to move past it doesn't work, it still irks you, you still can't stop thinking about his weaselly little face, the bitter sneer he wore, and the cruelty with which he spoke about you and Felix. It haunts you. The audacity.

Textbook in hand, you immediately head for the patch of greenery and trees near Oliver's dorm, where you know Felix and the rest of your friends will all be spending their afternoon.

"Ooh~ Y/N coming in hot," Farleigh called, spotting the metaphorical cloud of thunder above you before anyone else.

"What are you doing now?" Ignoring everyone else, you only have eyes for Felix. He grins up at you from where he was using Farleigh's thigh as a pillow.

"I assume whatever it is you're about to ask of me," he says blithely, while the others watch the interaction with amusement.

"I need to rant," was all you said, and Felix held out his hand for you to help him up.

"You're so sexy when you're angry," he says teasingly for the whole group to hear, "has anyone ever told you that?"

"I'm not kidding," you scowl, and his grin widens.

"I know, that's the best part, I could listen to you yell for hours, I usually never get to hear it." The banter continues on the way back to your dorm. The others know it's probably a cover, though none of them, apart from Farleigh of course, know the truth. Most assume you're moments from a breakdown and would like to have your best friend there for support.

The minute you're back in your room, you slam the door shut and toss the textbook to the side. Felix asks you what's wrong, tone still light, and you can feel that protective anger flaring up in you.

Slag.

"If you don't hold me back I might start getting into scraps," you tells him with seriousness, stalking up to him with intent, planting an almost bruising kiss on his lips as you fumble with the buttons of your shirt. It's not often that you're the one getting riled up; Felix is more than enthusiastic.

"Don't fight on my behalf," he laughs, frantically pulling off his sweater. Pausing for a moment to help him with the pullover, the minute it's off and tossed to the side, you're unbuttoning his shirt with one hand as best your able, as he's trying to tug your shirt off in the chaos. The two of you are moving to the bed, and he actually gasps when the back of his legs hit, when you take a beat to raise your eyebrows at him, silently asking permission.

He's already letting himself fall back with a wicked, delighted grin as your hand finds his bare chest.

Then he's breathless, with you braced over him, gazing down at him with a furious determination that you don't usually allow yourself to build up. Felix looks up at you with pure extasy in his eyes, like you hang the stars in the sky. His hands on your ass, his grip is firm and secure, but he doesn't move; he's letting you lead.

"Felix Catton, I ruin lives for you," you practically snarl; a breathy laugh escapes him, caught up in the moment, in the mood that's been building within you, "doesn't feel like enough sometimes -"

"You're so fucking hot," he groans like he can't even help himself, can't hold himself back, can't help but close the gap to your lips, kissing you with that same intensity you're giving him.

"If I hear-" you punctuate your words with rough kisses, "another word-" biting at his lips, "against you, I'm -" fumbling with his belt, "I'm gonna start cutting people -"

"Yeah?" Felix prompts breathlessly with a sharp grin, not even waiting to get your fly all the way down before his hand is in your pants, fingers at an awkward angle in your jeans but still finding your clit. It's like you're feeling everything tenfold with the earlier outrage still burning in your veins -

Vapid pricks. The likes of you. Slag. Watching Felix's hands on the girl in the club. The venom in his voice and fury in his eyes when he'd pinned Farleigh to the wall to defend you - Our Felix; Oliver's voice like honey in your ears, tempting that jealous creature in your chest that you'd gone for years ignoring -

"My Felix," you'd purred as your hand found his cock. For a moment, his breath came out as a stutter, eyes going wide as they meets yours. He looks almost incredulous, then, after a moment, hungry, wanting. It's captivating; he's captivating, like he's desperate to devour every part of this moment and you in it, barely holding himself back.

"One more time for me?" He requests, voice low and pleased, before he changes tactics, indicating for both of you to actually take off your pants.

"Everyone's fucking wrong about you," you tell him, kicking your jeans to the side, watching for a moment as he shimmies with his jeans, looking like he's made of ninety percent limbs. Still, your intensity holds.

"Even the people that like me?" Felix laughs, finally getting himself free of the jeans. Before he can remove his boxers, however, you're on him once more, thumbs hooking into the waistband and pulling them down slowly as you speak.

"Everyone else has these versions of you in their head," you begin to plant kisses along his inner thigh as you work your way up, looking up at him through your lashes, "where you're either an angel who can do no wrong," Felix is already hard when you begin to slowly work your hand up and down the shaft of his cock, "or the absolute devil who's a scourge on the female population," your lip curls for a moment, a derisive kind of amusement at their imagined expense.

"I can't look at you right now," he half chokes out, head falling back against your duvet, "fuck," he gasps. It's enough to bring you back to the moment, and you apologise -

"No, fuck, don't stop anything; the ranting, the -" he gestures to where your movements had slowed briefly, "any of it, I just literally," he laughs a little awkwardly, almost a little self-deprecatingly, "will not last more than a minute if I look at you right now."

Oh.

Oh! This is good!

"What's so different," he prompts through shaky breathes - you can't quite believe how much he's effected by you in this moment, how enthusiastically, how desperately he responds to your dominant intensity - "about the version of me in your head?"

After a beat, you climb off of him, already reaching for your drawer.

"Everything okay?" He asks, eyes opening as he tilts his head to look at you. Pulling out a tube of lube, you focus on opening it up, rather than Felix himself. You should be using protection, you know you should be using protection, but you want to feel all of him, only him.

"I can't talk with my mouth full," you told him, still maintaining that steely intensity, "so we're skipping foreplay." Felix, immediately understanding where you were going with all this, looks back up at the ceiling with a wide smile.

"Fine by me; right now I'm inclined to say that you can do whatever you want forever, honestly - cold!" He announced with shock, jerking up a little as you glided a generous amount of lubricant over his cock. There's a faint look of betray in his eyes, but you just gave him a thin, mean smile.

"Felix, stop talking."

The commanding tone is enough to get him back on board, groaning, arching into your touch as you once again were working his shaft, now so slick your hand glided easily up and down the impressive length.

"My Felix," voice once again low, you use some of the excess lubricant on yourself. Since leaving the library, however, your anger had known it's outlet; just the idea of fucking Felix in a righteous fury had gotten you going, and you were already wet, wanting, desperate for him.

"Don't make me beg," he all but whimpered as you finally straddled his thighs, "fuck, I'll do it for you, but -"

"Shut. Up. Felix." You leaned down, chest pressed to his lips inches from his, whispering, "I won't make you beg," as you sink down onto his cock, swallowing his moan with a kiss.

"I am under no illusions about you, Felix," you begin to murmur, hips rolling at a deep, consistent rhythm, "I don't have a version of you in my head, I just have you; I just want you, as you are."

Pace picking up, you sit, rake your nails lightly down his chest, watch as he pants and groans beneath you. When he holds your hips, your thighs, you can feels his nails digging in, burying himself deep inside of you with each rhythmic thrust. There's something primal and triumphant roaring in your chest, pushing you to sink your nails into him, your teeth -

"I don't care who you fuck," you tell him through gritted teeth, picking up your pace, thighs burning.

"You're a fucking liar," tumbles from Felix's lips as he looks up at you with a smirk.

"I don't, I'd be a hypocrite -" very suddenly, Felix sits up, and you go still with him still inside of you, adjusting to the change, wrapping your legs around him.

"Then you're a hypocrite," he smirks, gaze hazy, heady, euphoric in this moment, "and a liar," and he wraps his arms around you as he kisses you, pulling you back with him as he lays back down on the bed.

"I'm not jealous," you start again, softer this time, but still aiming for stern.

"I'll say I believe you," there's mischief in Felix's eyes as his hand snakes between the two of you, fingers rubbing circles against your clit as you pick your rhythm back up again, slower this time.

"Fi," for the first time all afternoon, your voice softens, and you let your stern demeanour break, instead looking over him, glowing with sweat and endorphins, in your bed, in you, looking up at you with nothing but love in his eyes, "I don't care if nobody knows it's me, but -" you wet your lips, wicked little smile on your lips, "I want everyone else you ever fuck to be jealous of the way you let me fuck you."

Something about your words, your request, perhaps your tone, sets him off again; you rake your nails lightly down his chest again and he arches up, swearing, almost breathless.

"Yes, fuck, yes," comes out alongside a breathless moan, "my Y/N, anything you want - please."

You paint him blue and purple and the deepest, prettiest red with hickeys, leaving him looking absolutely scandalous. Of course he returns the favour in the form of scratch marks up your back and his teeth almost drawing blood from your shoulder. When he comes it's with your mouth on his neck and his cock deep inside of you, holding you close, holding you steady, whispering incoherent praise into your ear. Always diligent, he doesn't move, doesn't pull out or away from you before his focus is on you, making sure you get off, delighting in watching you unravel on top of him.

In the afterglow, amid the sharing of a cigarette and catching of your breath, you apologise softly.

"What are you apologising for?" He immediately cracks a grin, "in fact, any time you ever start to get all worked up and mean like that, have me on speed dial -"

"I - no, Fi," you sighed, amused at his suggestion, though it was fading fast, "I just... try not to be jealous," there's faint notes of guilt now that you've come down from the adrenaline and endorphins of it all. Sitting against the headboard, you draw your knees up to your chest.

"I know," Felix says easily, sitting up beside you, resting his head against your shoulder, his hand on your knee, "I try too... I don't think I'm always that great at hiding it." Then, after a moment, his tone lightens, "I think this is why I don't want to tell people about us, I don't think I could begin to explain it in a way that makes sense." It gets you to laugh, leaning into him, tension and guilt easing.

"I thought it was the rush of sneaking around and lying to people."

"There's that too," he agreed with a chuckle. The two of you fall into easy silence as he takes a drag on the cigarette and hands it over. The afternoon is sticky-hot, especially in your room, curtains still half open but window shut. As you go to open it, not caring about potential onlookers in the twilight, past the sliver of your curtain, Felix speaks up.

"There's no version of me in your head? Not even a little bit rose-coloured-glasses tinted?" He grins at you, and you lay out on the bed, looking up at him through your lashes. After a moment of simply taking the moment in, you shake your head with a soft smile.

"I told you, I'm under no illusions about you, Fi."

"I think you're too good to me for that to be true."

"I want you as you are, dude," you shrug, as if it's the easiest truth in the world.

"As I am?" He wants to be sceptical but his tone and the look in his eyes betrays him. You've never heard him quite so soft you think, eyes wide and glassy and full of conflict and love; everyone wants him, everyone loves him, everyone wants to be him or be with him, he's reckoned with his reality a long time ago, even if he wasn't entirely conscious of it. Felix's life had been picked apart by everyone around him at the surface level for as long as he could remember, perhaps he'd thought that no-one would ever care to look deeper. Perhaps he'd gotten so used to it that he'd forgotten there was anything deeper.

"I want the Felix who can't keep a girlfriend for more than two months, and who's cheated on every single one of them with me," you start, wearing a grin despite his sudden frown, "I want the Felix who hugs and kisses strangers after just meeting them because he's bursting at the seams with affection, I want the Felix who won't admit that he sleeps better with someone next to him at night, and the Felix who recaps the books he's been reading to me like they're gossip. The Felix who uses people, and breaks hearts, who says he doesn't know he's doing it but I know you do," you laugh, sitting up on your knees and letting the blankets slide down your back as Felix looks up at you now with a fond kind of reverence, "I want the Felix that lights up every room he's in without even trying, who makes everyone around him feel like they're the only person in the world, and that same Felix who still shifts over, mid conversation with someone else, for me to sit down beside him without having to even ask, because you know we'll always come back to each other," you lean down, lips inches from his, burning intensity in your gaze as you take in the reverence in his eyes, "the Fi who fights for me, the Fi who loves that I'd ruin lives for him, my Felix -" You see the moment he can no longer hold himself back, arcing forward, moving from the headboard to be by you, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. For a long moment it's your mouth fitting perfectly against his, faint, desperate groan being pulled from the back of his throat as he takes your face in his hands, firm, warm, wanting, deepening the kiss.

"Some of those things were pretty shit," he laughed a little self consciously after the kiss breaks, both of you breathing heavy. In his eyes you can see the barest hint of conflict.

"People have said worse."

"And you got them expelled," he reminded with a faint smile, but again there's that conflict, "and they aren't you."

"You're my best mate," you laugh easily, "that shit, the good and the less good, makes you my Felix. Be pretty shit of me to want to chop and change who you are, you know?"

For a very long moment, you watch the way he slowly begins to smile, to take all your saying in drinking in this sun-drenched moment. Reaching out, he carefully touches your cheek.

"Say it again then," he prompts, sounding almost giddy, feather-light touches as if mapping your delicate features in this moment. For a brief second you're confused, barely angling your head to indicate as such before you can see his faint blush beneath his golden skin, creeping up his cheeks. When he laughs, almost self conscious, you realise, and grin back.

"You're a sap."

"Don't make me beg."

"My Felix."

[stormsplurge]

if they woke you up, somebody better be dying

warnings: none!

pairing(s): seth jarvis x fem! reader

inspired by the interview he just did for spittin chiclets where he talks about how he usually wont fall asleep until 3am (and the title is from one of my favorite phoebe bridgers songs, halloween)

760 words

the clock on the bedside table blinks “1:00” as you slowly open your eyes. the only light in the room is coming from the moon shining between the blinds, casting a cool glow on the noticeably empty bed next to where you were lying.

seth wasnt in bed; same as last night, and almost every night before. 

you can hear the faint sounds of a seinfeld episode coming from the living room, letting you know immediately where your boyfriend was. sitting on the couch in front of the tv instead of in bed next to you. so you begrudgingly pulled on the first sweatshirt you could find, trying to beat the cold winter chill that had invaded the apartment, and tiptoed out of your bedroom.

“seth” you grumbled. “its one in the morning”

“i know, i just” he replied, pressing pause on the tv and turning to face you. “i couldnt sleep and i didnt want to bother you.”

“you should also know that if you cant fall asleep i want to help. you arent being a bother, im your girlfriend. this is the shit im supposed to be able to help you with” you said as you sat down at the far end of the couch. pulling one of the spare blankets you had all over the apartment over your lap.

“im sorry” seth returned, scooting closer to you and interlacing your hands with his. “can i get a do-over?”

“i guess” you giggled, amused by the sight of seth doing his sad puppy eyes in front of you.

“i cant sleep, can you help me?”

“of course i can, give me five minutes.” you said as you rose from the couch, gliding over to the kitchen and pulling out two coffee mugs. running your fingers over the design adorning the box holding the tea bags, you turned your attention back towards seth. “the sleepytime bear reminds me of petya.”

“the what?”

“you know, the bear on the boxes for all those non-caffinated teas. with the red hat and the nightgown.”

seth slipped into the kitchen behind you, pulling out his phone and snapping a quick picture of the bear before sending it off to the group chat and spinning you around so your back was pushing against the counter.

“thank you” he said before pressing a long kiss to the top of your head.

“you dont need to thank me.” you replied, snaking your hands under his shirt and hugging his waist.

“i know, i just wanted too.”

“youre so sappy.” you mumbled into his shirt, letting the sweet, woody, smell engulf you.

“yeah but you love it.” he mumbled back before pulling the kettle off the stove and pouring its contents into the mugs you set out. 

you released each other from the hug and grabbed your respective mugs before hobbling back into your bedroom. you pulled up the episode of seinfeld seth had paused before sliding in bed. 

making tea might have been a waste of time, seeing as seth was more interested in holding you than holding the mug. as soon as you got under the covers he’d wrapped his arms around you.

“youre wearing my hoodie.” he whispered as he traced circles along your thighs, letting the callouses on his palms graze the goosebumps on your skin.

“am i?” you murmured. “i just picked it up off the floor, it was the first one i found”

“my old blue bombers one.” he replied. “it looks good on you”

“you say that about everything i wear.”

“i wouldnt say it if it wasnt true.” he says before turning your chin towards him and pulling you into a kiss. 

the stubble growing in as a result of his budding playoff beard scratched at your face as you pulled him in deeper, and as you turned your attention back towards the sitcom on the tv you felt your eyes grow heavier. 

you fell asleep with the moonlight glazing over you and seth, and seinfeld playing on the tv. on a cool carolina night, with no care in the world. 

seth wasn’t far behind, wrapping his body around you before finally succumbing to his fatigue.

maybe it was having his girlfriend care for him that slowed his brain down enough to let him finally catch a semi-decent night of rest, maybe it was the reminder of unconditional love that put him at ease. regardless of the cause, you woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows, and a clingy, but well rested, boyfriend attached to your hip. 

[tarjapearce]

soccer family wife meeting Miguel’s family for the first time?

👀 Miguel has a potty mouth.

(This is before meeting her family btw)

"So... when you're gonna introduce your girl?"

"A Pitufina?"

Gabriel didn't hold back the ugly snort at the nickname

"God, that's such a terrible pet name."

Gabriel poured the coffee for the both as Miguel prepared breakfast. A bit of Huevos rancheros and fried red beans to pair it with.

"She might come later, she's been busy."

"Right."

Gabriel put two of sugar to his mug as he handed Miguel his. The proceeded to heat up some day old tortillas.

"You're gonna tell mom about her?"

"No."

Miguel's voice monotone, but firm. Gabriel sighed and slanted over the counter, eyes on the tortillas as he crossed his arms in his chest.

"Look, I don't wanna be that guy, but... don't you think it's been years?"

"Yeah. Keep them coming."

"Just do it out of politeness. She'll find out one way or another And you know how mom gets."

He flipped the tortilla and Miguel served.

"I couldn't care less what she thinks. Pásame el chile. Besides that's precisely why I don't want them to meet." (Hand me the chili sauce)

"I just wanna know why you won't talk to her about this. Like... You've gotten a girlfriend!"

"Por Dios, you're so annoying at times. Get over it. Yeah, I'm dating. So?"

"I was worried, Miggy." Gabriel gave a dramatic sigh as he put the other tortilla to heat up, "Thought you'd end up as a true hermit living off caffeine and stress. "

"Cabrón"

"Tú el doble." (You're it double)

"En fín. Cállate y come." (Anyways, shut up and eat)

"I'm just happy for you. I... I know you don't believe me when I say stuff like this. But Im glad that... Pitufina or however bizarre pet name you wanna call her, is with you."

Gabriel sipped his coffee and sighed.

"You've been less of an asshole lately. You have fun even, so I'm glad. Happy you can finally get some peace with yourself and she seems a good woman too. So... Congrats. "

"Thanks." 

"What if she asks to met mom?

Miguel shook his head.

"Doubt it. Mom is troublesome. Nothing is fucking good enough for her. Just like Pitufina's mother."

"Kinda understand why you got together now"

Miguel snapped his head towards him with a glare.

"Ya no te cuento ni vergas." (I'm telling you shit.)

"Okay, okay, terrible joke. Sorry. Just... How bad is it?"

"Bad. Strangers practically. Won't expose her to meet mom and throw at her face her own troubles. Mi niña has had enough as it is."

Gabriel's eyes widened upon his older brother's words.

"I think I might get used to this sappy version of you."

"Make fun all you want but even I know there are limits when it comes to being a dick. So don't mention this to mom." Miguel's eyes fixed him with a staid face as he waved his index finger as a warning to him, "And I mean it, Gabri. Don't want her to also ruin this for me."

"I won't, relax. Is not like we're really close or something."

------

Your knuckles held the wheel tighter as you approached Miguel's apartment. He wanted to introduce you to his family.

So you put yourself in an outfit appropriate for the occasion. A little blazer with a tank top underneath, some jeans and matching low platform espadrilles.

Miguel rarely to never mentioned his family to you, and the sparse times he did, only mentioned his brother.

You had seen Gabriel a couple of times but never interacted with him beyond a couple of words or pleasantries if the situation demanded for it.

You parked and let Miguel know that you were outside. He lived in the second floor of an apartment complex.

He came out after a couple of minutes dressed in his stay at home clothes. A stark contrast on your outfit. You bear hugged him and he kissed your temple.

"Uh... why are you wearing that?"

"What?

You gestured

"I feel so overdressed now"

"You're fine. You're meeting Gabriel."

His arm wrapped around your waist as you made your way towards his apartment.

"Just him?"

"You sound disappointed"

Shaking your head with a smile as you climbed up the stairs. He chuckled.

"I'm not. I was nervous at the thought of meeting your parents but... knowing it's only Gabriel is less nerve wrecking."

He sighed and stopped you as his apartment came in view.

"Long story short, I don't get along either with my mom and the sperm donnor is out of the picture. Gabriel is the only constant one in my life. "

You kissed his cheek and held his hand tightly as you held a little gift on the other one.

"Thanks for telling me. I was thinking in escaping while you distracted them. But glad it won't be necessary. "

He chuckled at your attempt of lightening the mood. His keys tinkered as they turned and opened the door.

"Gabriel?"

The younger O'Hara looked up from his seat in the living room with a smile, turning the tv off

"Hey" He stood and approached you both. You gave him the little bottle of a collectible mezcal bottles.

"Miguel told me you liked this brand."

"You didn't have to, but highly appreciated." The nickname kind of made sense for Gabriel now that he saw you next to Miguel.

You introduced himself as you shook Gabriel's hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, thanks for tolerating my brother enough to date him."

You snorted as Miguel glared holes his way.

"He's not bad. Except when he runs out of coffee"

One of your arms wrapped around Miguel's waist as he held and entwined your fingers with his on the other.

"Ah you tell me. I'm the one that's sent to the store to replenish. Older brother privilege and stuff."

You couldn't help but giggle.

"Didn't know you bullied your brother like that."

"Can't believe you're in his side."

"Hey, I'm the youngest too. Totally relate on that"

"Anyways, a pleasure to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Gabriel.."

"Don't wanna sound rude but I gotta go meet a client. See you guys later."

"Ve con cuidado." (Careful out there)

"Have a nice day, Gabriel."

"You both too."

Gabriel retreated to his room to then leave the apartment with his laptop.

"You can breath now, Pitufina"

"Stop calling me that? Please?"

He shook his head and kissed you.

"Then it wouldn't be fun to do that"

"Ya pues. Dame otro." He kissed you again with a smile and you giggled. (Enough. Gimme another one)

"Wanna watch a movie or you want me to cook for you?"

"Both? Please?"

"Sure"

[zomb-rabbit]

I'm jumping (hopping) at the opportunity! Begging for some Habit action either xFem or xNB, whatever you feel comfortable doing. Nsfw or sfw is fine. Happy Easter!

u got it anon !! happy late easter :)

[NSFT]🐇 HABIT x afab!reader sft and nsft headcanons :)

· · ·

[ SFT ]

Habit isn't often the sappy type (as far as he likes to show), but if you catch him in just the right mood late at night when you're getting a midnight snack, doing something quiet around the house, etc., he'll come up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist and silently sway with you while you do whatever it is you're doing

he loves it when you lean back towards him when it happens, tip your head back to lay on his chest for a seemingly never ending stream of kisses across your cheek and neck

when you guys do have more energy, though, he likes to lay down on the couch with you and do dramatic retellings of whatever he's been doing that day

he'll splay out across the cushions on his back with you laying on top of him, and you can see and feel him talking overzealously with his hands and the loud, deep rumble when he laughs

says stuff like "aw, rabbit ya should've been there," no matter how gruesome the topic was 😭

he has a tendency to stare at you, he's not necessarily trying to be creepy about it; he's just very very interested

he does find it absolutely hilarious though when you lightheartedly tell him to knock it off when it freaks you out a bit

[ NSFT ]

he wants to make you feel so much at once you can hardly speak

especially when he's eating you out

if you're okay with it, he would have a knife slowly tracing along your inner thigh while he does to keep you still

loves hearing you beg for him to slow down, telling him it's too much- he loves hearing what he can do to you

firm believer that his favorite position to have you in is a mating press, leaving deep hickies and bites in between praises to you

"such a pretty bunny- ffuck, such a good girl, all mine, aren't'ya, rabbit? all mine."

his words get more erratic and possessive the closer he gets

he can't help it, you just feel so good squeezing around him and the way you can't stop moaning out his name gets him almost territorial over you

thank you sm anon, i hope these were okay!! i'm sorry it was shorter, lmk if there's anything you want me to change :)

[nichoswag]

cigarettes and moonlight . wang yixiang (nicholas)

pairing: best friend!nicholas x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of cigarettes (duh), nicho smokes, reader yells at nicho, members and reader all live together, implied minor age gap (both are still adults), cursing, kissing, fluff, ending is really sappy 🙃

song rec: moonlight - chase atlantic

synopsis: even though you're mad at nicholas because he just won't stop smoking, he looks really good under the moonlight

it feels like hours you've been trying to fall asleep on the bottom bunk. you can hear your bunkmate taki snoring loudly from above, and maki and harua are also fast asleep in the other bunk bed.

you get up as quietly as you can and make your way through the dark house. as you slide open the glass side door and step out into the night, you notice a silhouette sitting at the edge of the porch.

"hey stranger," you grin at him as he turns around until the smell and sight of what you're witnessing hits you and your lungs fill with rage.

there, sitting on the edge of the porch dangling his legs off the side, is your best friend nicholas, and in his hand is a lit cigarette.

"oh, you bitch," you mutter, half playfully and half out of anger. "how many goddamn times do i have to tell you not to smoke?! that shit kills you!"

his face shows the expression of a deer caught in headlights. he smiles sheepishly and runs his free hand through his hair.

you take a second to get a good look at him. his hair looks messy as if he'd also been trying to fall asleep, and the top two buttons of his satin night shirt are undone. his face seems to glow in the moonlight and his chocolate orbs almost sparkle. his lips look puffy, almost kissable-

you shake your head roughly and focus on the lecture you're about to give him. snatching the cigarette from him and putting it out on the floor of the porch, you take a seat next to him.

you decide against lecturing him, mainly because you can't look him in the eyes without them wandering towards his unbuttoned shirt. "if this happens again, i won't show mercy. i'll be going straight to kei."

"i'm sorry," he says, just like every other time you've caught him. "i really won't do it again this time. just... i couldn't sleep, and euijoo and fuma hyung were knocked out so i didn't wanna bother them but i got bored and-"

you take his hand in yours and he stops talking, his mouth agape. "it's okay. i'm not really mad. i just wish you'd stop doing it before you get addicted. i really would hate to see you suffer."

he looks at you, and you swear you see something flicker in his eyes briefly, before he faces forward again, pulling your head down to rest on his shoulder.

you both just stay there for a while before you realize something. "hey," you back off his shoulder snd scowl at him. "give me the box."

"box?" he asks, feigning innocence.

you glare harder. "the box of cigarettes," you grumble through gritted teeth.

he chuckles and pulls it out of his pocket. "oh, this? you're gonna have to pay a small price if you want it."

you sigh. "nicho, i'm not playing games with you. hand it over!" you grasp at it, but he pulls it out of your reach.

"come on, it's just a small price." he grins at you in a way that makes you wanna punch him in the face (lovingly ofc).

you groan. "fine."

he turns his head so you get a perfect view of his side profile. then, he taps his cheek.

"oh hell no," you growl.

"come on! just once." he pleads with his eyes.

you sigh. "you're such a big baby." you lean in to peck his cheek, but he turns his face towards you right as you do.

your lips land directly on his. you back off him with a gasp. "hey!"

he smiles widely, placing the box down next to you. "there you go."

he's still staring at you as you look back up. "fuck it," you mutter, leaning in to kiss him again.

he smells like cigarettes but his mouth tastes like mint gum. one of his hands slides up to hold your face as the other snakes around your waist. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in closer.

as you pull away, you realize you've stained his lips with the strawberry lip gloss you forgot to take off before bed.

you giggle as you wipe it off his mouth with the sleeve of your (his) stolen hoodie.

"i like you," he confesses, "like, a lot."

you smile and lean into his shoulder again. "me too, yixi. i like you a lot too."

you hear shuffling and giggling behind you. "finally!" someone squeals.

you launch the pack of cigarettes at them.

[lempeeartz]

Tell me - BKDK oneshot

(spoilers for recent manga stuff btw)

~

Izuku let out a weary sigh as the last of his students left the classroom, leaving him alone with his thoughts. It was finally the end of the day.

He stood behind the lectern, head now in his hands as he recalled a conversation from three days before.

—

“It hurts to stay and I'm sorry I couldn't be the one you wanted.”

“I'm really sorry—“

“Bye, Izuku.”

—

Izuku still felt so terrible for what happened. It was such a messy situation, and he felt so guilty. His partner had broken up with him and he hadn't been able to not think about it.

He hadn't really been sleeping either, and being a teacher now on top of everything was so stressful. He was always busy. Being tired wasn't an option, but he didn't have much of a choice.

Izuku was a horrible person.

What kind of guy gets into a relationship when he has feelings for someone else?

He's so stupid. Of course things would've ended up this way. And the thing keeping him up at night wasn't even the breakup. He didn't really care that his partner was gone. He just felt bad for being a dick, but he didn't miss them. Not really anyway.

Izuku stared around the empty classroom.

Ugh, he needed to focus on other things. He should probably be on his way home.

“You okay, nerd?”

“Kacchan!”

The sudden voice made Izuku jump out of his skin. He caught some papers that almost hit the floor and gently placed them back on the lectern. “I hadn't, um, expected you!”

Katsuki raised his eyebrow, clearly now suspecting something. “I was in the neighborhood, figured I'd stop by.”

“Of course! Right..” Izuku watched the other in the doorway. Katsuki was in his hero costume, presumably because his shift was soon. Why was he here again??

Katsuki strolled into the room “What's got your panties in a twist? You're so skittish and weird. Or, you know what, that definitely sounds normal, nevermind.”

“Yes, how original, Kacchan.” Izuku deadpanned.

Rolling his eyes, Katsuki leaned against the lectern. “Spit it out. Something is obviously up with you.”

Katsuki waited for a few moments before Izuku reluctantly sighed.

“I kind of got.. broken up with.”

The blonde’s expression faded into a softer concern. “Oh.. Damn. Sorry to hear that.”

Izuku waved his hands around, “No, no, I'm fine. Really! Don't get all sappy on me, haha.”

“I ain't being sappy, I'm just saying that sucks. Being dumped and all. Been there.”

Katsuki had said it so nonchalantly but Izuku’s ears perked up instantly.

“Wait what?? YOU were dumped???”

“Shit, wait–”

“I didn't know you were dumped! How did it happen? When did it happen? Why didn't you tell me? Kacchan–”

“If you shut your trap, maybe I'll tell you.”

Izuku's voice immediately cut off as his eyes widened in suspense.

Sighing heavily, Katsuki gruffly said, “I had a small thing in our last year of UA. It was brief. That's why you didn't know about it. It was really nothing.” He crossed his arms, not really making eye contact.

“But it sounds like you got broken up with– did it hurt?”

“Nah, it wasn't really serious. I'm fine, though. It's been a while.”

Izuku didn't want to pry more, because it felt so insensitive but.. it was a while ago. “Um, who was it?”

“Nosy little fuck, aren't you?”

“It's been a few years! I figured it was fine to ask!”

Katsuki smiled amusingly, “Fine. It was mind freak.”

“SHINSO???”

“JESUS– WHY DON'T YOU SCREAM IT LOUDER?”

Izuku clasped a hand over his mouth, muffling his apology before whispering, “Shinso?? That's random, isn't it?”

“Eh,” Shrugging his shoulders, Katsuki added, “I kinda just wanted to see what it was like dating a guy. I guess I kinda used him. Not for anything physical, though, I ain't a fucking asshole.”

“I see..”

Izuku was surprised by who Katsuki picked. Shinso’s, like, the furthest thing from who he could've imagined. Maybe it kind of makes sense though.. huh. Wait–

“You're into guys?”

Tilting his head towards Izuku, Katsuki observed him carefully before responding. “Yeah. I am.”

Izuku looked away from Katsuki’s intense gaze, “Oh. Um, same.”

There were a few quiet moments before Katsuki broke the silence.

“Yeah, you look gay.”

“Alright, that's enough of that.” Izuku rolled his eyes and got his belongings together. “Shouldn't you be going on your shift now?”

“I have some time left.”

Izuku glanced up at Katsuki’s teasing smirk and felt his heart speed up. He quickly averted his gaze. “Uh, I should probably be on my way, though. Gotta catch the train, right?”

Making his way around Katsuki, Izuku began to walk towards the doorway, turning slightly to wave goodbye at him.

Before he could make it down the corridor, though, Izuku heard Katsuki call him from a few ways behind.

“Hold up!”

Pausing, Izuku turned, “Hm? Kacchan, what's up?”

Coming to a stop, Katsuki scratched the back of his neck, “I just wanted to ask if you've been eating. You know, since the break up and all that.”

“Oh! Uh, occasionally? I've been a bit too busy to really cook or anything..”

“Geez, why do you suck at even taking care of yourself? You're a mess.”

“Wow, thanks? Sorry we're not all perfect like you, Kacchan.”

“Seriously, don't skip meals. I get that you're ‘fine’ but that's insane.”

“Did you just come down here to lecture me? Honestly, when you act like this it makes me wonder why I even like–” Izuku stumbled over his words when he realized what he was about to say, “Um like, you know?”

Wow, nice save.

“Like what?”

Izuku could feel his face reddening with every second that passed. “Like? I didn't say like, I said… Mike.”

Narrowing his eyes, Katsuki clicked his tongue. “Mike. Really?”

Izuku scoffed, “Yes, really.”

Katsuki moved closer, closing the gap between them. “Bullshit. You're a terrible liar, Izuku.”

“K-Kacchan..” He gulped lamely, “You're a bit close.” Izuku could feel Katsuki’s breath against his face, he was way too close..

“Am I? Guess you'll have to tell me what you were really gonna say to get me to back off.”

Izuku’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates at this point. Holy shit was this really happening??

“I… might've said that I can't believe I like.. you. Like, like you. Like, I really, really like you. Like, I like like you. I should probably stop saying like now–”

Before Izuku knew it, he felt Katsuki’s lips pressed against his own, soft but firm. But just as quick as it happened, it was over.

“That was sort of to shut you up, not gonna lie.”

Izuku snorted, “Yeah I probably needed that..”

Katsuki smiled genuinely as he put his hand on Izuku’s face, feeling the flustered warmth, and then wiping at Izuku’s watery eyes, “Christ, I think I almost killed you.”

The two chuckled as Izuku sniffled, tears now streaming down his face. He'd been going through so many emotions recently that now it was just pouring out of him. His heart throbbed in guilt.

“I just feel so regretful that I didn't tell you sooner. If I had, I wouldn’t have gotten with my partner— ex— in the first place! Maybe I wouldn’t have hurt their feelings.” Izuku hiccuped tearfully.

“Hey, it's gonna be okay.” Katsuki kissed Izuku’s freckled nose. “It would’ve been worse if they stayed with you. They saved their own ass from even more pain. And yeah, you were kinda stupid. But you told me your feelings now, and that's really all that matters, right?.. Then again, I probably should've said something too. Maybe we're both stupid.”

Hugging Katsuki tightly, Izuku let out a watery laugh. He began to feel like maybe things would finally be okay now.

(Little did Izuku know, the next day Katsuki surprised him with his new hero suit and Izuku sobbed up an entire ocean once again)

[harrywavycurly]

How would Niall bring us up in an interview?😍

Hiii babes!!! Oh love this question, so I’m gonna go off of the bf Niall series I have going on to answer this! I did it as a conversation between Niall and an interviewer! I hope you enjoy💖

-find all thing Boyfriend Niall Horan here✨

A/N: Niall gets asked about a certain instagram post of yours that takes him on a spiral of how long has he actually been in love with you?✨

“So Niall before we let you go there’s just one thing that’s been eating at me…” “Oh? What’s that?” “Well…I noticed a certain caption of a photo of you on your…bestfriend’s instagram-” “why’d ya do the finger quotes when you said bestfriend? You don’t think she’s my bestfriend?” “I’m sure she is but..have you seen this photo?” “Let me see here…oh would you look at that?..she always gets the best shots of me doesn’t she? Now you’re saying the caption is what’s bothering you?” “Well read it to us and you tell us what it means.” “It says…oh god…it uh well it says…yup that’s my man right there…” “and that means?” “That means…I’m her man and…I’m right there with three beers in my hand and a smile on my face for those of you tuning in at home who can’t see this absolutely beautiful photo of me that my wonderful girlfriend posted…on the internet.” “So she is your girlfriend then?” “Yeah…has been for a few months now.” “But you two have known each other for a few years right?” “Uh yeah? I think like two years now…hit it off right away and pretty sure I fell in love with her the moment she called me an asshole like five minutes after we met…but that’s a story for another time.” “Wait wait wait…you’ve loved her since you met her but you’re only just now dating?” “I mean…I don’t mean I was really in love with her I just mean she kinda knocked me on my ass and turned my world upside down and like…yeah.” “It’s giving you’ve loved her this whole time Niall…” “god she’s gonna proper kick my ass now thanks to you…I mean yeah I guess I have always loved her? But I wasn’t ready to fall in love with her until recently because I just..I had shit to deal with and didn’t want to put her through that.” “So just being besties was fine for two years?” “Yeah because I just needed her in my life and I took what I could get.” “Did you two date other people during this time or no?” “Uh..well uhm-” “uh oh…did you date other people and she didn’t?” “She dated and I didn’t….her dating other people is what made me get my head outta my ass and tell her how I was feeling.” “We know that obviously went well.” “It ended up going well but like…I knew she felt the same way about me in the beginning when we first met…we had a conversation about it and that’s when I told her I’m not ready for anything close to a serious relationship and that’s why we decided to be friends…so I was terrified to tell her my feelings for her never went away they actually just got stronger because what if she didn’t feel anything for me anymore? I was proper panicking and then she just told me she felt the same way and that once again…I’m an asshole for making her wait so long but that she would’ve waited as long as I needed because she knows I’m it for her.” “Oh god…damn it Niall not you making me cry…that’s so sweet oh my god…” “sorry…I just..I could talk about her for ages and ages if I’m being honest���but yeah she’s my girlfriend and I uh I just love her even though she is the worst photographer in the world…and yes lover of mine since I know you’re listening…I mean it… the absolute worst.” “Thank you so much for jointing us today Niall! And thanks for telling us your love story…friends to lovers is my favorite trope.” “Thanks for having me…kinda felt like a therapy session towards the end there…gotta get all that sappy stuff off my chest…oh I’m an enemies to lovers kinda guy…I love good banter…but yeah thanks for having me and talk to you lovely lot later!”

Instagram Post Mentioned:

[lovverletters]

Ok so I did send a request idea but im also still thinking about the serial killer guy and im just.

Im so love him so so much and just

Sobbing crying and holding his face gently.

Im so gay. Im such a gay lil man for big scary dude

And I just wanna.... dote on him.

Like ok I mean yes he HAS killed people and all and is kinda super scary

But god my dumb ass with a big heart just seeing him covered in blood and maybe hurt somehow and going like "hey... hey uh... let's get you cleaned up and patched up ok?"

And just being so gentle with him, wiping the blood off and maybe even learning to stitch wounds closed just for him.

Ok so what if maybe he has kidnapped me. He means well I think! Hasn't done anything to hurt me so I mean come on maybe he is lonely and needs some kindness ya know? (Totally not delusional ♡♡♡)

I mean sure it was scary at first and all but like he's a person too right? He's got a heart. He needs some gentle care and love.

Making him a flower crown, putting stickers on his mask and arms, holding his hand gently and just feeling his big palms with my smaller lil hands and treating him with such gentle care.

I am so sappy and gay im sorry

I just love him-

♡Bunny (whos a gay lil idiot♡♡♡)

Yandere! Serial Killer part 2

A/N : this was supposed to come out on Halloween but um things happens💟 hope you like it! Sorry for the ending heh🐰

T/W : blood, mentioned of murder, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome(?), the reader lowkey kinda insane too, yandere themes.

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[Name] stared at the screen of the television showcasing a random horror movie absentmindedly, not paying much attention to it as their thoughts were occupied.

It was well past midnight and they were still wide awake.

They were unable to sleep due to the loud thundering sounds of the storm outside and decided to watch a movie instead and hopefully fall asleep to it.

It didn't work obviously as they were currently staring blankly at the scene of a man being brutally murdered by an axe-wielding killer in the movie. It was concerning how they barely reacted to the grotesque scene.

They've seen real horrors before.

[Name] has essentially been desensitised of seeing blood and gore. The sight being far too common nowadays after they met him.

Their ears perked up at the sound of a jingling keys and the doorknob twisting open. He's home. [Name] turned their gaze from the movie to the man who's currently standing at their front door.

"You're back and.. bloodied as usual" They greeted him, eyes trailing over his current state.

Lorn was covered in blood from head to toe, both his and his victim's they presumed. Cuts and scratches littered his muscled arms, some look fairly deep ones as it bled. The killer stood still as a statue all the while [Name] inspected him, he knew [Name] will be angry at him for walking around bathed in blood so he remained glued to his spot.

"Found a tough one. Scratched and sliced me once with a knife. That's why m'so bloodied, had to cut their limbs off f'touching me" He explained, staring at [Name] who were grabbing the items they had kept in the supply closet.

If they had not known better, they would've thought he was innocent, incapable of harm as he stared at them through his red horned mask with those adoring eyes. Who would've thought that the infamous Lovelorn killer was a small puppy towards his object of affection.

"Come here, let's get you cleaned and patched up. Wouldn't want you to bleed everywhere, blood is hard to get out of carpet okay?" They motioned him to strip his clothes off and dump it in the basin of clothes to be washed separately.

As they wiped the blood off of Lorn, stitched and wrapped him up in bandages they were overcome by a realisation. Something feels off about themselves. A normal person would've screamed bloody murder and ran to the police but here they are pampering a serial killer who they are living with.

'I might be insane myself' they thought to themselves, chuckling humourlessly.

It had been months since they were locked inside this house with only Lorn as a company. They were protesting at first, demanding to be freed but even then deep down they didn't really care. [Name] only did it because it's what they thought a sane person would do.

Maybe they and Lorn aren't that different.

[Name] snapped out of their thoughts when a rough hand were placed on their jaw, the touch so gentle they barely feel it.

"What's wrong?" Lorn was looking at them with those eyes again.

They shook their head and smiled, continuing their work of stitching up closed a cut on his arm. After they were done, Lorn stood up and englufed them in a hug, their sizes difference were apparent as he towers over them with his muscular built.

"Thank you. I love you so much, [Name]" He said, burying his face on their hair.

They pat his back and suddenly a thought crept up in their mind. They bit their lip as they contemplate on wether to ask him or not.

Fuck it.

"Hey, Lorn?" He hummed in reply, too busy mooching off their warmth.

"Why don't I join you the next time you went out for a kill?"

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[potchi-fics]

One look

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ one look is all it takes. one look and you don't know how to function, your brain stops working, your palms start getting sweaty, and all those cliché things you read in a story where a character starts falling in love. but you don't believe those. you don't believe that someone could make you experience such sappy things, i mean--this is real life, no?

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

you look at the clock hanging on the wall, its hands saying that it's thirty minutes before you start closing your cafe.

you saw that right, your cafe--your very own. it always has been your dream to work on one, to manage one, and to own one. your business bloomed the moment you opened it. of course, you're thankful for your customers, but every once in a while, you enjoy the peaceful of the place when it doesn't have many people in it.

on rare days, your cafe would be completely empty, and it's one of those days.

you were so lost in the ambience of the place that you didn't notice the soft creaking made by the entrance door being opened. hearing a gentle voice call out to you makes you snap out of your trance.

"excuse me?" the person called out, "are you still taking orders?"

quickly straightening yourself up, you finally see their face. it was a woman, a beautiful woman, you think inside your mind. your eyes meet hers.

one look.

one look is all it takes just for you to be proven wrong.. so so wrong. you feel the world around you two goes into blur, the time seems to slow down. are you losing your mind?

the woman's oreo themed hair suits her so much, her oversized and baggy clothes make her more appealing, and her height.. makes your palms sweaty, your brain stop working, and your knees weak.

"i'd like a caramel macchiato and a glazed donut, please."

jesus, her voice trances you like some hypnotized human. hastily ringing up her order, you thank her and informed her that you'll just call her name.

"i'm gonna need a name." you're surprised when your voice comes out stable.

she smiles, her eyes seem to disappear when she does, "bada."

and with that, your interaction ends. before you start working on her coffee, you take a moment to calm your beating heart. what's happening to you?

all the while making her coffee, you keep stealing glances at Bada. her aura makes you nervous and excited.

should you ask her her number? or is it too soon..

shaking your head, you finish her order and say out her name.

"for Bada?"

you see her figure stand up and walk towards you, it makes you more nervous.

she reaches for the coffee from your hand and her fingers comes into contact with yours; you feel electricity running throughout your body, your chest feels so tight like your heart is about to burst out of your body.

Bada smiles again, "thank you."

after she walks away, you lean back on the counter, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

this is real life. you don't experience those things, and yet.. you're standing there like a high school girl who just got her first crush.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

over the course of a few weeks, Bada continued to go to your cafe nightly. your impending crush weighing on your very soul, and you swore that you're gonna talk to her tonight.

as usual, Bada comes in and makes her order.

you look at her, and you just can't bring yourself to talk to her. her stare roots you on your spot, she makes the words you want to say get stuck in your throat. but before you could say anything, she beats you to it.

"do you want to come and sit with me?"

your cheeks flush red, "i.. yeah, i would love to."

Bada smiles triumphantly, like she just won a contest.

and just like that, you're in your own movie.

✮⋆˙♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧🦭✧˖°

thats it for my very first fanfic here on tumlr, i really hope you guys enjoyed reading even though its so short huhu. also, english is not my first language guys so sorry for the mistakes..

૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა