#that sounded a lot more concerning than I wanted it to

[peppermintquartz]

"Kinard," Tommy says as he answers his phone on autopilot, still drowsy after an exhausting shift.

"Oh! Uh, hey. It's Evan. I didn't know if you'd answer since it's me calling," Evan rambles nervously.

Tommy becomes slightly more alert. "Evan? What's wrong?" Ah, I should've said Buck. It's a hard habit to break, especially since it's still Evan 💕 in Tommy's phone, his head and his heart.

"Nothing! I just wanted to... Well. I shouldn't be the one calling, but the others are horrible people and I am concerned about you, so. Um. How are you doing?"

Thoroughly confused, Tommy decides the only way through this conversation is honesty. "I'm kinda drained? It was a tiring shift."

"Oh shoot. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your rest. I just wanted to check up on you since we, uh. Since we broke up," says Evan, sounding a little embarrassed. "And I just found out none of them called or texted you even as they stopped me from reaching out, and I swear I will yell at all of them again until they're better at being friends, I'm sorry that they kept asking you for favors while not really keeping in touch with you, I can't even defend them, they're the actual worst."

It's a lot of words. Tommy yawns despite himself. "Ev- Buck, I mean. I'm doing as best as I can. I have friends of my own too, you don't have to worry about me. Don't yell at your friends."

"They're terrible to you."

"Well, I'm not exactly part of the family, am I?" Tommy doesn't bother filtering himself. "They're yours. Obviously they'd stick by you."

"Chim and Hen and Bobby have known you for longer than I've even worked here! Tommy, don't make excuses for them." The indignation in his tone is charming. Despite his fatigue, Tommy smiles. A protective Evan is very adorable. "Anyway, go back to sleep, I'm glad you're not alone in all this, and I'm sorry my friends are shitty people. Don't forgive them. Alright, bye. Call me whenever, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Evan."

Tommy wants to say he doesn't blame them, but he does, a little, and the validation from his ex is comforting in a strange way. Maybe he and Evan can still be friends, despite everything. It will hurt when Evan finds his forever, but that's okay. Tommy doesn't want this sweet, funny man to disappear from his life.

[chrisbesitos]

⌗ warnings: alcohol; cursing; fluff.

"my brothers have a party this weekend." chris says. he's sitting on the table, watching you work. you look at him for a couple seconds before stare at the laptop screen again.

"and you want to go, hun?" you hum. chris' lips lean into a pout, shaking his shoulders.

"don't know, 'm not a big fan of parties." he says, now walking around, he's clearly bored. you close your laptop huffing, resting your back in the chair, you cross your arms and stare at chris. "you think i should go?"

"i think you should do what you want, chris." you say. "i'm not your mother."

"but the other day in your room–" he murmurs playful, you give him a deadpan and he stops, giving you an embarrassed smile. "i might wanna go, think i need to do something fun."

"you don't need my permission, if it is what you want to hear."

"it's okay for you?" he asks, sounding a bit insecure. you roll your eyes grinning, you call chris with your finger. chris walks towards you, he grabs the hand you extend to him and shyly sits on your thighs.

"honey, i'm not your girlfriend. you're free to do anything you want." you say, offering a soft smile. chris nods, resting his one hand in your chest and the other in your cheek, you put your hand above his. "go to this party, have some fun, maybe drink a bit. you deserve this, hun."

"fine, but y'know what's so much fun than this party?" he says, lips curling into a soft smile. you shake your head, grinning at him. "you. please, can we do something fun now?" he asks, embracing your shoulders. you nod, rolling your eyes.

"fine, angel boy."

you blink your eyes staring at the laptop screen, rubbing your temple tiredly. stuck in the office, you huff feeling the exhaustion from working the whole day nonstop, but since you're the boss, you have to take care of everything. you rem your glasses, resting them in the table when you hear your phone, your lips lean into a weak smile when you saw chris' face in the screen. he's at the party he said a couple days, you're happy that he's having fun with people same age as him. chris' always shy and introvert, is good for him socialize.

"hi, hun." you say, after answering the call.

"angel! hey, angel!" he says, sounding excited, more than usual. 'he probably had a drink', you think. you giggle over his excitement, chris babble something you can't understand, even more because of the loud music.

"guess you're having fun, kid. glad you're happy." you say, you hear him humming, you smile softly.

"i had some colorful drinks, they're good! don't taste like alcohol."

"hun, be careful. this drinks makes you get drunk easily." you explain, feeling a bit concerned about chris. he doesn't drink alcohol usually, of course he'll be drunk easily. "you're alone, kid?"

"hmm, no? i guess, i don't see my brothers anywhere." he babbles, laughing at something you don't know. you huff angrily, chris' drunk for the first time and his brothers can't even look for him. "angel? i feel a bit weird." he hums.

"oh, chris. can you send me your location?" you ask, holding the phone between the ear and the shoulder, pushing the office chair and looking for the purse quickly. of course you worry about chris, even more when he's alone and drunk. "kid, need your location." you say impatiently.

"are you coming to see me?"

"yes, honey. just send me your location, right?" you sigh, leaving your office. chris sends you his location, your groan just by the thought of being in a frat house. you want to hit and slap his brothers, idiots who left chris alone.

you drive to the frat house, chris keeps sending you pics of him, the ceiling, his feet and the ground, you sigh feeling the relief of knowing his not passed out. you park the car and jump out the vehicle, you stop in front of the house, seeing a lot of drunk university students, you huff and walk until the front door. once you enter the house, you feel eyes staring at you, clearly noticing that you're not one of them, you ignore the stares and keep looking for chris. by the pictures he sent, he's in a couch, you sigh when your eyes finally catch the boy in the corner of the couch. you quickly walk towards him, kneeling down to slap his face gently.

"chris? hun, wake up." you say, biting the inside of your cheek when chris didn't respond. you slap his face again, putting a hit of strength this time. chris slowly opens his eyes, blinking a couple times before realizing you're here. "thank god." you groan.

"am i dead and seeing an angel?" chris says, trying to touch your face to know if you're real. you laugh rolling eyes, holding chris' hands and helping him to sit, holding chris by the arm when he almost loses the balance. "hi, angel."

"hi, hun. 'm gonna take you home, alright?" you say softly, caressing his cheek. chris looks zoned out, but nods his head slowly, you hold him by the arm and help to stand. holding him by the waist now, you walk with him in the way the door. "move." you say to a random kid, standing in your way.

with chris in your car, you buckle the belt and drive back home. he babbles random words you don't care to understand, your eyes changing from the highway to chris to certify the boy is okay. when you get home, park and help chris to get out of the car, you think about check if his brothers are home, but they left chris alone and deserve a bit of concern and guilty. you change the way to your home, holding chris by the waist while you open the door. you put your finger in front of chris' mouth, asking for silence since miles' babysitter are home.

you check if moon is around, probably in the living room watching tv after putting your son in bed. you take chris to your room, almost falling with him in the stairs because chris' losing his balance. you push the door, stepping in and gently laying the boy in the mattress, rubbing his hair with your nails. chris opens a lazy smile, still feeling the drunkenness running on his blood.

"i'll be right back, alright? be quiet." you murmur, giving chris a kiss in the forehead. "if you feel sick, use the bathroom. 'm not kidding, kid."

stepping out of the room, you close the door and walk downstairs, you know the sound of the high heels denounce you're home. moon is laying on the couch, eyes glued on her phone, she realizes you're coming and shifts on the couch and sits properly.

"i'm late today, 'm so sorry, moon!" you say entering the living room, the blue haired girl shakes her hair lifting from the couch. "i'll pay you an extra, right? is everything okay with miles?" you ask, guiding the girl to the door.

"yes, he's fine! he made a draw for you, is in the fridge." she says softly, you smile proudly. miles' such a lovely boy, you're gonna check his draw later. "have a good night, miss y/l/n!"

"thank you, sweetie. see you on monday!" you say, waving at the girl, closing the door then. you walk towards the kitchen, your lips curling into a smile when you see miles' draw, you grab a glass of water and walk upstairs again.

you push the door, hearing chris soft snores, you rest the glass in the nightstand, stepping to the closet and looking for a chris yellow hoodie. you tug the high heels out, rolling up the shirt sleeves, you throw the hoodie on the bed and touch chris' chin. you shake his face a bit, watching he opens his sleepy eyes.

"sorry for waking you, hun. take off this clothes, right?" you say softly, chris blinks before nods his head slowly, he sits on the mattress with your help. you tug his polo shirt, handing the yellow hoodie, chris wears it. you tug his shoes out, throwing on the ground, the boy unbuckles his jeans and tugs out.

"you look pretty tonight, angel." chris says, giggling a bit. he tries to touch your face, but you shake your head, stepping to the nightstand and grabbing the water glass. "i have fun at the party tonight."

"really, kid? that's good." you offer a gentle smile, handing him the glass. "drink a bit of water, honey. careful, you're gonna gag." you say concerned, your hand resting on his thigh. you grab the glass, resting it on the nightstand, chris covers his mouth when he feels his stomach churn. you glance at him. "you sure you're fine, kid?"

"i guess i am." he murmurs, you nod slowly, obviously concerned about him.

"lay down, 'kay?" you offer a gentle smile, helping chris to lay down on the mattress, you cover his body with the blanket and give him a kiss on the forehead. "i'll be right back, alright?" you whisper, chris nods closing his sleepy eyes, the alcohol making him fall asleep faster. you give him a last look, just to certify he's okay, knowing the real problem is gonna be when he wakes up in the morning.

chris groans when the sunlight hits his face, he can't open his eyes properly and has a pounding headache. when he finally blinks his eyes, he asks himself where he's and how he ended up there, he relaxes when realize he's in your room. chris shifts on the mattress, looking for you in the bed, but he's alone, he groans frustrated. he supports his body on the elbows, hearing the door open, he tries to smile at you, but looks more like a grimace.

"fuckin' headache." he groans, voice sounding deep and rasp from sleeping. you raise your eyebrows and grin at him, stepping towards the bed, you sit on the corner, reaching for his cheek to give a gentle rub.

"your first hangover, how's it feeling?" you ask, giggling at him. he groans in response, laying his head back in the pillow and covering his eyes with the forearm.

"like horse shit." he murmurs, you raise your eyebrows giggling, chris don't curse normally, so you're surprised. you move your hand to his hair, scratching his scalp the way he likes. "why didn't you tell me how bad the hangovers are?"

"because the funny way to find out is having one." you hums playful, chris gives you a deadpan, your lips lean into a smile. "sorry, hun. i know you feel like horse shit."

"can i have a tylenol? my head hurts so bad." he asks, looking at you with his blue eyes. you give him a head movement, denying it with a playful smile. "why not? angel, i really need it now."

"you need to eat first, 'm gonna make breakfast and then you can have one." you explain, his face contorts in a grimace, shaking his head vehemently.

"god, no. if i eat, i might throw up." he groans.

"no, you're not. you'll feel better once you eat, trust me, hun."

you left chris sleep more while you make breakfast, miles are not awake yet, so you can cook without looking for him. order food is way easier than cook, but you always think homemade food is better for hangovers, this and a lot of cuddles. chris just need to rest more, he'll be okay after his first terrible hangover. you return to the room, grabbing a plate and a glass in your hands, opening the door with your elbow, you ask chris to sits up and put the plate on his lap and the glass on the nightstand.

"i'm still not hungry." he says.

"you're still gonna eat." you respond. "i'm being serious, kid, eat that food."

"fine, mommy." he mockes.

"be careful with your words, kid." you point your finger at him, sounding more serious, narrowing your eyes and tilting your head. chris sighs and just nods, deciding to not argue with you. after a while, you wake miles and give him breakfast, letting him watch cartoons in the living room. you go to your room to check on chris.

"you were right, i feel better now." he murmurs, making you smile.

"of course i was right, kid." you say, giving him a kiss on the cheek. you walk towards the bathroom and return with the tylenol, you give it to chris and he swallows with the juice. "can't stay with you here, hun, but you can join us in the living room." chris' face turn into a grimace, he's still feeling the pounding headache, but agrees just to be by your side.

you give him the jeans he was wearing last night, you two go downstairs to be in the living room with miles. your toddler knows chris and knows you're friends, so it is not a problem.

"hi, chris!" miles says, hugging chris' legs. he smiles softly, patting the toddler's head.

"hi, bud."

you and chris sit on the couch, miles playing with his toys on the rug. you grab chris' shoulders and lay his head on your lap, massaging his hair with your nails to help with his headache, chris snuggles on your thighs. he's almost falling asleep again when he widens his eyes remembering his brothers have no idea where he's.

"my brothers are probably looking for me, i didn't talk with them." he says, trying to sit up, but you shake your head and lay him down on your legs again. "y/n, they probably worried."

"don't worry about them, hun." you say, smiling softly. chris frowns his eyebrows, but eventually lets go. if you say everything is fine, then you're right. you always are.

"you look like shit, y'know?" moon says to matt, resting her chin on the boy's shoulder. matt groans and shakes his shoulders, making the blue haired girl move giggling.

"thank you, moon. i really appreciate it." he says ironically.

"don't have to thank me, i know i'm the best girlfriend." she says, now hugging matt's back. "saw your brother last night."

"i thought you were babysitting last night." he responds grumpy.

"yes, silly. i saw chris and he was waaasted"

"wait, really? where? we missed him and nate said he left with a girl."

"a girl? love, she's a woman. 'm pretty sure i saw him at her house last night, she tried to hide, but didn't work." moon says, matt frowns his eyebrows and tilts his head, he's genuinely not understanding. "i thought you know her, i mean, she's your neighbor."

"y/n?!"

⌗ author's note: guess chris' brothers know about milf!reader now 🤭🤭🤭 and chris 'n milf!reader relationship is so cute.

⌗ taglist; @lizzymacdonald06 @lushjunkie @watercolorskyy @ivysturnss @brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @gabri3la-sturns @stvrnzcherries @pvssychicken @all4l0vee @i4longhairchris @sophand4n4 @sturniololetstrip2 @sturnsmia @sofieeeeex @ifwdominicfike @jetaimevous @leclecwifey16 @mattswifeyx @voqueflms @pepsicola-pussy @sturnobsessedwh0re @chrissturnioloswifeee @sturniolossss @imonlyhereformattfluff @sturniolosluttt @st4rsturns @sturn777

[earthsparkwriting]

FOR ANOTHER TIME

Optimus Prime x F! Reader

Warnings: +18!, female masturbation, inappropriate way of vehicle using, drunk reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Author Note: English isn't my first language. (This is my first fic, please be gentle x( )

That year was meant to be welcoming. That was particularly so given that you believed you were succeeding at your new work until you were abruptly fired a few minutes ago. Didn't you work hard and be kind enough? It occurred to you. Even though you didn't need that work for the rest of your life, you did need it for buying a new car. It's possible that you should have started thinking about moving to a nicer, less warm place or that you shouldn't have sold your vehicle so quickly, assuming you'd buy a new one in the first month of the year. Realizing that the new year was already being a pain in your ass, you groaned in frustration and headed home.

Perhaps all you needed to do was take some time to calm down and think about what to do next, rather than bombarding your head with questions and worries. After all, you were a well-educated woman. Right now, all you wanted was a peaceful weekend, some time to yourself, plus a drink tonight, of course. Everything was going to be okay.

How he ended up driving in the town and when those Decepticons began to follow him were unanswered questions to Optimus. They were still following even though they knew Optimus wouldn't transform there. He requested that Ratched open a portal, but the answer was no. Nobody knew exactly when Ratched would be able to fix the portal, which had been broken for a while.

It would be simpler to play hide-and-seek with those Decepticons if Optimus Prime were a tiny sports car, but given his size and alt form, he was not very good at hiding. Being a small motorcycle would be better in these situations, particularly in a community such as this one. He was adamant about not transforming, though. Everyone was under strict orders to do it, including himself.

But decepticons weren't the most smart.

Optimus eventually discovered a really nice place to enter after some hide-and-seek, and he entered the enormous garage that was open. When he entered the garage, he stopped, checked to make sure no one was inside, transformed, and shut the garage off entirely. He had made a small sound while doing so, but he transformed again in an instant and waited in the dark, hoping no one would notice. He was curious about what the Decepticons were up to, but he would give it some more thought. There was a lot to do.

“Optimus?” Ratchet inquired, worried. “Where are you?”

“In a garage for now,” Optimus answered calmly. “I have no idea what they are doing at the moment. But it's best if I stay inside until you fix the portal or they depart. We must not make ourselves noticed.”

“Alright,” Ratched responded. “But I'm not sure if I'll be able to solve it easily. Are you going to be okay?”

Optimus responded hastily, “Yes, Ratchet” as he heard footsteps approaching. “Just concentrate on fixing it. A human is approaching.”

As soon as you opened the door in a tone that sounded almost drowsy, Optimus fell silent. Without a doubt, you shouldn't have consumed that much alcohol. You had tremendous pain in your head. You pulled a knife out of concern that someone was coming to rob your house, even though you weren't sure if you were hallucinating or not. Although you were somewhat intoxicated, you were not so drunk as to fail to notice the sounds emerging from your garage.

Bravely, you switched on the lights and checked to see if anything was out of the ordinary. Even if you didn't see anything, you groaned in agony because the lights were so painful for your eyes. Perhaps you had consumed a little too much. You noticed a large red and blue truck when you went back into your garage. You forgot that you owned a truck. You were a car enthusiast, but... Right now, you were unaware of whether you were having hallucinations.

You whispered, “Okay,” closed your eyes, inhaled deeply, and then opened them again, attempting to think clearly and persuade yourself that you weren't under the influence.

As your fingertips brushed its flaming symbols and door, you recognized that wasn't something you had made up. You whispered, “Hello, big baby,” and after that you added, “Well, I don't remember buying you. Where did you come from?”

When you realized that you had forgotten to lock your garage door, you rolled your eyes. Perhaps it was one of your neighbor's vehicles. Nobody would abandon their truck on someone else's land. When you remembered that you had sold your car yesterday, you were overcome with sadness and remorse. You shouldn't have sold it so quickly. Not even a nicer automobile or anything was necessary for you, but... You entered the truck with a sigh before you were upset over your ten-year-old vehicle.

You certainly enjoyed big cars, but you found it difficult to drive trucks like this.

Your thumb lightly caressed the interesting symbol on the steering wheel once your hands located it. “Well, your tattoo is cool.”

Although it was dark outside and Optimus assumed you would depart soon enough, he waited calmly, paying attention to the surroundings, aware that Decepticons could pop up at any time while that curiosity-driven female human was inside of him. He chuckled internally when you referred to the Autobot emblem as a tattoo. It was somewhat interesting that there existed a synonym for everything in human language.

You felt worried out, and the amount of alcohol in your veins didn't help at all as you thought about your vehicle, your job, which you lost hours ago, and everything else. You had to deal with much too much tension throughout. You put your head back on the seat and sighed in a tone that was almost melancholic. The softness and comfort of the seat felt good. Your despair state and the amount of liquor you had consumed were keeping you in the mysterious vehicle longer.

Your skirt was slightly raised on your thighs, exposing your legs, so you pushed the seat back a bit more to find a comfortable posture while your mind began to race with nasty ideas. If you had a little fun, nobody would be hurt. Touching yourself would also make it easier for you to go to sleep and, for a little while at least, let you forget about the things that were stressing you out. After all, it's been a while since you took care of yourself.

After taking a deep breath, you lowered your underwear and put your feet on each side of the steering wheel.

Optimus was perplexed by your behavior. He nearly rushed to frighten you away and force you to go, but he didn't want to draw attention since he couldn't foresee how you would respond at that moment. It can be seen as sexual the way you removed your underpants. Not that Optimus had only been on Earth for a week; he was aware of a few things. He was aware that if you realized he wasn't a regular robot form like one of your technologies in your world, you wouldn't act in such a way, but the circumstances were complicated. Optimus thought about what he could do. But he reasoned that the wisest course of action was to remain quiet.

The complex structure of human nature was phenomenal. Optimus didn't know your species that well, but he did know a few female and male humans from high authority. In some specific situations, your kind's responses to emotions were simply distinctive.

You put your underwear on the gearshift after removing them. “Ups,” you muttered in your own drunk and humorous way. When you wake up, you would take it back.

There was nothing Optimus could do now, but he wanted to reach Ratchet again. When you moved your legs back on each side of the driving wheel and put one hand between your thighs, where your sexual organs are supposed to be, he nearly felt himself worrying a bit. Now, that was definitely going to be a sexual moment.

You moaned with relief as soon as your fingers contacted your heated clit, knowing that you were at last doing something right to feel some peace of mind. Though touching yourself wasn't that horrible, at least you had no idea who owned the truck. A massive truck, full of mystery…

When you felt yourself growing wetter, you closed your eyes and fully surrendered to the sensation rising between your legs, with your head arched back and your feet around the steering wheel. Your other hand pushed your panties aside, and you grasped the gearshift without even understanding what you were doing because you wanted anything you could hold onto.

Optimus was about to expose himself and transform when your little flesh hands caught hold of him. Although it wasn't his spike, it was a sensitive enough region of his body to make his pressurized spike shake in response. Optimus ignored his spike's sudden desire for attention and waited and waited as you massaged your valve and kept groaning loudly within him while caressing the gearshift as if you understood what you were doing to him.

Not now, he thought. Not now.

Despite your little size, you exerted a tremendous amount of pressure on the gearshift. You didn't react when Optimus slightly shifted part of him to distract your attention; instead, you continued to take care of yourself, and your lustful, rising voice didn't make matters better.

Since there was too much happening, and the continuous fight had filled his mind and spark with nothing but aggression and a straightforward purpose, it had been cycles—many, long cycles—since Optimus had taken care of his spike. In fact, there weren't many female bots around these days.

Your hands tightened over the gear shift as you felt yourself approaching, and you began to caress it wildly, as if it were flesh. Even though you should have freaked out, the tension and alcohol in your system prevented you from feeling ashamed or interfering with your brief pleasure time. You needed this; thus, you didn't care.

Optimus could not reach for his pressurized spike without a full transformation. Your small hands were determined to shatter his control over his spike, even if he didn't want to do it, give himself over to the circumstance, or get carried away. If only he could massage a bit... Optimus let out an internal grumble. It became harder for him to remain composed and simply wait for you to finish while your moans got louder and more desperate.

Your legs started to tremble as you gasped and massaged your clit, signaling to you that you were almost there. Your body was writhing on the seat as if you were in heat or something, and you whispered, “Fuck, yes,” as your head arched back again.

At last, your back arched when your orgasm hit, and your hand, which was securely wrapped around the gear shift, ceased moving. During the intense climax, your other hand moved and nailed the seat underneath you while your pussy clenched around nothingness.

Optimus' spike was battling, trying to get free as you were experiencing your tiny sexual release without really comprehending what was going on. He finally relaxed a little as he opened up and allowed some of the blue transfluid at the head of his spike to fall on the ground. If only he had the ability to grasp.... It was nearly embarrassing, but Optimus knew that he had neglected his own desires for too long, and regardless of whether you were a Cybertronian or just a human, his spike responded to your sexual activity, and he was powerless to deny it. Simply put, it had been too long.

When you closed your eyes and began to breathe heavily, exhausted, and your jelly legs were motionless on the steering wheel, Optimus quickly—and to his own surprise—placed your underpants within his chest plate. He moved so lightly and quickly that you were unaware of it. He felt he earned a small prize, even if it was not particularly respectable ethical behavior. Since he gave you complete relaxation, Optimus reasoned that stealing a small piece of your cloth wouldn't harm anyone.

A little more of his transfluid fell to the ground as his spike throbbed excitedly. There was just too much to do. He thought to himself, Another time. He would take care of things... another time, as he always did.

Author Note: Please let me know what you think. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ^^love uuu

[artdcnaldson]

hey <3 so i have been thinking about patrick’s sister au a lot and reread it and if by any chance its on your mind i just think it would be like crazy if mr.art is around for the holidays with your fam and being extra careful with the sneaking around even tho like seeing you like dressed up and enjoying the holiday season makes him like so down bad 🙏🏻🙏🏻 she gets him a present and he actually has a nice one for her too 🕯️🕯️ (i’ve been talking to this guy irl for sometime and im a little impatient so im trying to distract by rereading challengers stuff)

pat's SISTER 💜

this is still my absolute favorite au of all time i just feel like rahhhhh like i want to write it but i always want it to be perfect yk??

Anyways, yeah <3 <3 <3 <3

With Art's grandma in the retirement home, he doesn't really have a big reason to go home for Holiday break from Stanford. He goes home with you to your big, pretty house in the North East, and says it's bc he wants to see Patrick and make sure that you don't run your big mouth and tell him everything.

But you know he's really just eager to spend the holidays with you... because he loves you... you're his sweet girl, his pretty little plaything. He can't go a few weeks without slipping inside that perfect slice of heaven between your legs <3 And he loves you, obviously. <3

That's why he tries to ignore you at first <3 He loves you so much he doesn't want Patrick to get mad at you for fucking his best friend!

But it's hard to stay away when your mom has decided that this is the year you'll all go out and celebrate the holidays (which has nothing to do with your father's upcoming election, of course). You're out ice skating, and Art and Patrick can barely manage more than a wobble on their skates, but you're skating circles around them, doing little spins and trick because you took a figure skating class when you were twelve. And, god, he hates how cute you look. He hates that he even thought of you as cute and not something more degrading and in line with how he wants to think about you.

You go to the nearest botanical gardens to look at the decorations, sipping at hot chocolate, breath puffing out in front of your face. He wants to kiss you so badly, or maybe he wants to pull you in the nearest bathroom and fuck you over the sink. Both? It's all so confusing.

It's that night that Art finally goes to your room, and you're awake like you knew that he was going to be there. Not like you had been staying up until the middle of the night since your first night there, or anything. He pins you against your sheets, murmurs in your ear about how goddamn crazy you're driving him. And it all sounds like a confession of love in your ears.

But then his tongue is in your mouth and his fingers are rubbing over your clit and he's spitting into his hand so he can fuck you in your childhood bed. It's all so perfect, it's all so right. His hand clapped over your mouth, his hot breath panting into your neck.

You feel weird, when you knock on the door to his guest room for once. His hair is shaggy and messy from his shower, and he's wearing a stanford tennis crewneck. He looks so cozy, if not a little concerned that you're there.

"Are you insane? Patrick's gonna see y—" His gaze drops to your hands, to the carefully wrapped box in them. "Oh."

You sit on his bed, eyes frustratingly hopeful as you look up at him. He unwraps it carefully his brows knitting as he opens the box. Jesus fucking Christ.

"It's a watch!" You say, like it's that simple. Like it's not a really fucking nice one. "You're always wearing your digital one that beeps for no reason at 3am, and I know you'll never fix it, so I thought a future famous tennis player needs a big, fancy watch."

Big fancy watch indeed. He sighs, runs his hands through his hair. He thought he'd make it through the trip without having to be sappy, but, unfortunately, he was. He goes into the closet and grabs a little gift bag he'd brought. Just in case.

When he hands it to you, you look at him like he'd just proposed marriage or something. You open it to find something a little simpler than an expensive watch. It's a crewneck, just like the one he'd been wearing. Actually... it's a little more worn, not brand new at all. And when you pull it from the bag, you can smell his cologne on it.

"You're always stealing it anyway, so I just thought... y'know. I upgraded mine, so I figured you can just have it." He says. "It's not a big deal. And just don't wear it around Pat."

You don't say anything for a while. You just tug him to sit on the bed, then shift to your knees in front of him. "Can you stay quiet?" You whisper, lips brushing the hem of his boxers.

He nods, brushing your hair back with a surprisingly tender touch. You kiss the soft skin of his thighs, and he nearly shivers. You're quick to undress him, desperate to have access to the part of him that you love so much. You mouth at his balls as he steadily hardens above you, getting lost in the pulse of him on your tongue, the way he moans softly, just for you to hear.

When you finally take him into your mouth, he thinks he could probably love you, if he let himself. But wouldn't that be kind of cruel? To give you everything you want, when he knows that you love him so much more than he can love you? It almost makes him feel guilty when he cums down your throat, when you swallow his spend like it's a gift in and of itself.

You kiss his thigh twice, practically nuzzling against him before you get up and go back to bed.

[blessedbyahuntress]

i saw your post asking for requests so i have one! odysseus x chubby!reader who is insecure about being his queen due to their weight?

Alright! *Excited clapping of hands* Thanks for the request!

Too Good

Pairing: Odysseus x Chubby!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Nah, just insecurity on Reader's part

Word count: 690

You stared at your reflection.

Your handmaiden swayed slightly from holding the mirror for so long, snapping you out of your daze. You waved your hand to dismiss her.

As she left the room, you stood, running your hands down your dress. You tried to ignore how large it was; nothing was just your size exactly. The only time you could find anything that wasn’t too small or wasn’t too large, was around your day of birth, when you always asked Odysseus if you could get fitted for a dress.

You looked at the mirror across from you. Gods, this room had too many mirrors. You ducked your head to avoid the searing eyes of your reflection as you shuffled toward your bed.

“What am I going to do with myself?” You asked no one in particular, flopping down on the perfectly made sheets.

~

You stayed there all day, the only one allowed to come into your room being your handmaiden. 

As she brushed your silky hair- you couldn’t see what more to be brushed; it was the only part of your body that you were proud of- she began speaking. “Queen Y/N, are you going to appear at the feast tonight?”

“No,” you mumbled into your pillow.

She sighed, removing the brush from your hair. “Shall I tell King Odysseus?”

“No.”

That earned you another sigh. “He won’t be pleased,” she warned.

“I know.”

~

Odysseus was more worried than furious. He knew you didn’t like going to the feasts he arranged, yes, but he thought you’d want to be at this one.

“Y/N,” he said, marching into your room. He took one glance at your figure, and concern flashed in his eyes.

You scowled, shifting slightly so that your eyes met his. “You didn’t knock,” you said stiffly.

Odysseus raised his eyebrows. 

You groaned as he came closer. “Go away.” You threw an arm over your head.

“Love,” he started. “What’s all this about?”

“Ody,” you whined as he sat down beside you. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Odysseus snorted. “I wasn’t going to press,” he said, gently stroking your hair. 

“That sounds like such a ‘you’ thing to do, though.”

Odysseus made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat before breaking into a smile. “I- yes. That sounds a lot like me,” he admitted.

You returned his grin triumphantly. “Ha, ha, ha!” You cried, imitating how he always acted when he managed to fool you. “I was right!”

Odysseus’s smile turned into more of a smirk. “Oh?” He asked. “And who says?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, though it didn’t have much effect, as seeing you were still laying down. “I do, that’s who.”

“Well, maybe I was just trying to get you to laugh.”

You blinked.

“Ody-” You were rudely interrupted by Odysseus, who put a finger to your lips.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolded. “I think I know what this is all about. You’re feeling insecure about your body again, aren’t you?”

You huffed indignantly, which was answer enough for Odysseus.

“Ithaca couldn’t have survived with me being away for so long without you,” he began. “You kept the suitors at bay- and yes, I’ll remind you that you had a hundred and eight suitors lined up to marry you-”

You flicked your wrist. “We both know that they were only here for the title of ‘king’.” 

Odysseus shot you a glare. “Shush,” he ordered. “I wouldn't care if you were the skinniest woman in the world, nor the prettiest.” He leaned over to tap a finger on your forehead. You went cross eyed to glare at it, causing Odysseus to laugh. “All I care for is your smarts and your intellect- very impressive way you fooled the suitors for that long, by the way.”

You groaned and looked away, swatting at his hand. “Why are you so good at this?”

Odysseus blinked, false innocence written all over his expression. “Good at what?”

“You’re too good at making me feel loved,” you complained. 

Odysseus let out a low chuckle. “Well, that was always the point, wasn’t it?”

[nahoney22]

Congratulations on the followers! Please can I request some angsty fluff with Fox and a female reader with this prompt - 24: “Who hurt you?”

Maybe reader got attacked and he found her and tends to her wounds which leads to some feelings being shared? Thanks if you do 😊 I love your work

Medical Feelings

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female!Reader

word count: 1.8k

prompts:

• “Who hurt you?”

Plot: After a risky mission that left you injured, Commander Fox helps nurse you back to health.

Warnings: Safe for work, hurt whump, idiots in love, Reader scared of droids momentarily, needle mention, slightly injured reader, minor blood mention.

Authors note: Sorry for the wait 🩵

“How are you holding up?”

You blink, trying to focus as the voice cuts through the haze in your head. But your vision blurs and swims, the light above stabbing behind your eyes like a viroblade.

“Like someone who’s been hit in the head,” you groan, wincing as you sit up on the medbay cot. The room tilts for a moment and you feel like you may be sick but luckily it settles, and your eyes finally set on the figure perched nearby. Thire.

The mission hadn’t gone as planned. What should have been a straightforward retrieval of intel left you caught in the crossfire. You weren’t a soldier so when the fighting started, you’d been forced to rely on pure luck and very minimal training. Clearly, neither had been enough.

Your memory of the incident was weak as all you could recall was a sharp pain to your head followed by the sight of clankers looming over you before everything went dark.

“You took quite a hit,” Thire says, his voice lighter than the situation warrants as he pulls up a stool to sit beside you.

“I noticed,” you mutter, rubbing gingerly at your temple that felt sticky and as you pull your hand back, a splodge of blood painted your fingertips. A dull ache radiates from where the blow landed, and your entire body feels stiff and battered.

Recovery is going to take a while.

“You know the Commander’s going to want to see you.”

The comment makes you freeze for a beat before you force a painful shrug, hoping to look unaffected. “He’s busy. I doubt he even noticed.”

Thire snickers. “Not too busy for his favourite girl.”

You roll your eyes, already regretting letting him sit down. “Oh don’t start with all that.”

But Thire doesn’t let up, grinning like a loth-cat who’s cornered its prey. “Come on. You’ve seen the way he looks at you. If Fox stares any harder, his visor’s going to fog up.”

“Shut up, Thire,” you grumble, though a reluctant chuckle escapes before you can stop it. The movement makes your ribs ache, and you hiss softly in pain. “And no, I haven’t seen the way he looks at me. It's you lot putting that notion in my head.”

Instantly, Thire’s grin fades, replaced by concern as he notices your pain. “Should I call a med droid?”

“No!” you blurt, a little too quickly. Thire raises a brow, clearly catching on.

“Not a fan of droids, huh?”

You cross your arms, or at least try to; the motion is stiff and awkward. “I’m fine. Really. I don’t need—”

“Who hurt you?”

The sudden voice freezes you mid-sentence. Both you and Thire turn toward the door at the same time, and your heart stops.

Commander Fox. The visor of his helmet glints under the overhead lights as he strides toward you, exuding that no-nonsense authority he’s known for.

Thire shoots you a smug, told-you-so glance before rising to his feet. “This one took a blow to the head, sir. She has a possible concussion.”

Fox’s attention shifts to the datapad in Thire’s hand. “Why wasn’t this reported to me immediately?”

“I figured you had more pressing matters,” Thire replies smoothly, clearly unfazed by the irritation in Fox’s tone.

Fox huffs, the sound sharp and metallic through his helmet’s vocoder. His gaze snaps back to the datapad, scanning the details. “And why hasn’t a med droid been dispatched?”

You groan, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “I’m right here, you know. Maybe someone could ask me what I want instead of talking like I’m invisible.”

Both men turn toward you at the same time. Thire’s expression is sheepish, though it doesn’t quite mask the amusement in his eyes. Fox, however, is unreadable as always, his emotions hidden behind the stoic facade of his helmet.

Thire clears his throat, stepping back. “I’ll, uh, leave you with the Commander.” He’s gone before you can protest, disappearing through the door with a suspiciously quick pace.

The silence that follows is thick enough to cut with a vibroblade. Fox stands rigidly near the cot, his arms folded across his chest. You can hear the faint tap of his boot against the durasteel floor as he shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug, regretting it immediately when the movement sends another sharp ache down your spine. “I’ve been better.”

His head tilts slightly, a gesture that might be concern. “You should’ve reported your injuries sooner.”

“You think I wanted to end up in here?” you counter, the bite in your voice softened by exhaustion.

Fox doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he steps closer, his broad frame almost casting a shadow over you. For a moment, you think he might argue. But his next words surprise you.

“You’re lucky,” he says almost quietly. “It could’ve been worse.”

There’s something in his tone—a rare softness that catches you off guard, even if it is for a moment. You both seem to snap out of whatever the hold that ensnared you both and you close your eyes, leaning back with a soft agreement of his words.

Fox pauses for a moment, then steps away. You crack one eye open, expecting him to be halfway out the door, but to your surprise, he returns moments later with a medical droid trailing behind.

You suddenly sit up straighter, tension rippling through you as the AZI droid glides closer, a stim injector held in one of its arms.

“I’m fine. I don’t need a droid to see me,” you declare quickly, glancing between the droid and Fox with what you hope is a convincing look of confidence. But Fox is already standing there, arms crossed, and his helmet tilts slightly in a way that screams ‘you’re not fine’.

“The patient requires an injection to reduce inflammation and prevent complications,” the droid announces, already grating on your nerves.

Your heart skips as the droid raises the injector, the gleam of the stim making your stomach twist. You instinctively lean back, trying to put more space between you and the advancing machine.

“No. I don’t want it,” you snap, panic slipping into your voice despite your best efforts.

Fox’s gaze shifts to you, then to the droid. He holds up a hand, “Stop.”

The droid halts mid-motion. “Commander, the patient requires—”

“I’ll handle it,” Fox says firmly.

Before you can process what’s happening, he steps forward and plucks the stim from the droid’s arm.

“What are you doing?” you ask apprehensively.

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead inspecting the stim injector with almost practiced ease. “You need this,” he says finally, his tone calm but resolute under the modulator. “If you don’t want the droid to do it, I will.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, words failing you as he pulls a stool closer and sits beside the cot. He’s quiet, efficient, and unbothered by your flustered state as he rolls up the sleeve of your tunic. His gloved fingers brush against your skin, sending a jolt through you that has nothing to do with the injection.

“This will only take a second,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost soothing. “Just relax.”

You nod stiffly, your pulse racing as he steadies your arm. The sharp pinch of the needle is over in a heartbeat, but the warmth of his proximity lingers far longer.

“There. All done.”

You exhale, tension slowly bleeding out of your shoulders. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intended.

But Fox doesn’t get up. Instead, his gaze shifts to your temple, where the bruising from the blow to your head.

“Let me take a look at that,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

You look at him, eyes wide. “It’s fine—”

“Sit up,” he interrupts, standing and motioning for you to move to the edge of the cot.

Reluctantly, you scoot forward, your legs dangling over the side as he steps closer.

Much closer.

He stands between your knees, his hands are surprisingly gentle as they cradle your face, tilting it slightly so he can get a better look at your wound.

The proximity makes your breath hitch, your heart pounding so loudly you’re begging he can’t hear it. His touch is careful, his thumbs brushing along your jaw as he examines the cut near your temple.

“This should’ve been cleaned properly,” he mutters under his breath “You clones are always too stubborn for your own good.”

“But i’m not a clone,” you mumble, your voice embarrassingly shaky even though his comment amused you.

“No,” he replies, glancing down at you for a moment. “But you’re just as stubborn.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die in your throat when he dips his head slightly, focusing on your injury with laser precision behind his visor. His presence is overwhelming, the sharp, clean scent of his armour mixing with something distinctly him.

“This might sting,” he warns, holding up a sterilising wipe.

You barely register the faint sting as he cleans the wound, too distracted by the way his hands move so deliberately, so gently. His thumbs brush against your skin again, steadying your head as he works, and you find yourself leaning into his touch without meaning to.

“There,” he says after a moment, stepping back just enough to toss the used wipe onto the nearby tray. His hands linger on your jaw for a second longer before he finally lets go. “That should help.”

You glance up at him, your cheeks warm, and manage a small, “Thanks.”

He straightens, his imposing frame still far too close. “You need rest,” he says firmly, though his voice is softer than before. “No arguments.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Got it. Rest. Sure.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the charged silence stretching between you.

For a moment, you don’t think about your actions. Perhaps it was the blow to your head that made you act in a certain way. As he was about to turn and leave, you reach out and grasp his wrist.

He looks back, his helmet adorably titling to the side as you gesture him to come back by pulling his arm. And he does.

“Thank you, Commander. You’ve… you have always been kind to me.”

Then, you lean up and rest your forehead to his, eyes closed. His visor made it a little difficult but you heard his shallow gasp pop through his modulator.

But, he doesn’t move back. He lets it happen and only moves when you finally break away, a soft and nervous smile on your lips.

“Thank you.”

“G-Get some rest.” Then, with a curt nod, Fox finally steps back, his presence still lingering long after he’s gone.

And as you lie back on the cot, staring at the ceiling, you can’t decide what’s more distracting: the ache in your head or the memory of his hands on your skin.

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[musette22]

I don't know why, but I keep seeing fans who say they're stucky fans but they seem to like one guy and hate the other. Like some Bucky fans complain about how Steve abandoned Bucky and wasn't nice to him, and some Steve fans complain every time you talk about Bucky and his trauma, going 'What about Steve!?' It feels like you have to pick one or the other. It feels almost weird that I love about care about both of them. Why is that so difficult? Why can't you just enjoy the characters and how much they love each other?

Oh no, I'm so sorry to hear you'be been struggling with this! That sounds very tiring and a bit upsetting. First of all, I have to admit that I don't really share your experience, which might have something to do with the people I follow and the fandom bubble I'm in, in which most people share my own mindset and preferences. I almost exclusively know and follow people on here who, like me, love both Steve AND Bucky equally, and who either ship Stucky or at least care a lot about their relationship. So in my experience, everyone is just enjoying the characters and how much they love each other! I'm not saying this to be like "what are you talking about", by the way, but more to show you that it is possible to enjoy both characters and how much they love each other, without people coming at you from all sides <3

Having said that though, I am of course aware of the widespread Steve criticism (if not to say hate) that got a lottt of traction after Endgame (which, fuck Endgame), but I am personally of the opinion that if someone really thinks Steve would abandon Bucky like he did in Endgame, and you blame the character for that decision rather than the writers etc, then you don't know Steve at all, ergo your opinion on him is void, as far as I'm concerned. If I see people saying nonsense like that on here, I will either roll my eyes or just block them outright, to protect my peace. And that works really well, generally speaking.

As for Steve fans going "What about Steve!?" when you want to talk about Bucky - Although I'm sure there are some Steve fans who prefer Steve over Bucky or even don't really care about Bucky (which is wiiiiiiild to me, because how can you say you care about a character but not care about what that character cares about most at all??), generally speaking, I don't know that I see people asking "But what about Steve" as an inherent dismissal of Bucky, or people expecting others to choose sides? It may well be the case sometimes, but I doubt that's always what it means, you know? Perhaps that helps?

I think that in the fandom spaces we're in, Bucky is a lot more popular and loved as a character (especially these days, post EG) than Steve is, which makes sense considering Bucky's kind of the perfect blorbo, and there is still new Bucky content coming out, and, of course, he is just really fucking amazing and loveable. But yeah, there is no shortage of Bucky love or discussion in this fandom, which I am personally delighted about and will always do my best to contribute to as well because he is my forever blorbo too. But I guess I can see why people would sometimes feel like Steve is not quite getting the love he deserves, you know? Still though, if someone goes "But what about Steve!?" on a post that is about Bucky, that is just very annoying and unnecessary, I totally agree. If people feel that way, they should make their own post about it, not hinder others in their Bucky loving!

I do get hate sometimes from people who say I don't appreciate the characters enough on their own because I always discuss them as a package deal, but frankly, I don't really give a damn about that. I am a Stucky shipper first and foremost, and for me, these characters ARE just inextricably connected. A Steve without Bucky by his side, or a Bucky without Steve by his side, just doesn't feel right to me, which is one of the reasons why I choose not to watch any post-Endgame content. And if others have an issue with that, well, then that's their issue, not mine.

So perhaps you could try and apply that kind of mindset to your situation as well, anon? Focus on loving our boys, equally, and together, and don't let anyone get in your way! The block button and tag filters are your best friends, and following the right people - people who are kind and reasonable and who share your mindset - is essential. I don't know if this helps at all, and do let me know if you want to talk about this some more, but I hope this is useful in some way! Sending love and hugs, and ALLLLL of the love for both our beautiful boys ❤️

[sunny374940]

Let me show you how beautiful you are

Hello again, long time no smut. Emmrich is a bit insecure about his body and Rook shows him just how beautiful he finds him. Get loved, old man.

Cw: anal sex

Here on ao3

And here is the rest of my stories.

Rook woke up, blinking muzzily in the darkness of their bedroom. The greyish light of pre-dawn was barely penetrating the curtains, suggesting that it was too damn early to be awake.

He stretched an arm to Emmrich's side of the bed but he was, like most mornings, already up and about, probably getting breakfast ready. As Rook was rolling over to get more comfortable, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head towards it, curious.

Emmrich wasn't getting breakfast. In fact, he was standing on the rug next to their bed, his back to Rook, and he was wearing nothing at all.

Well, not a bad sight to wake up to.

And then Emmrich was stretching himself up, raising his arms to the ceiling and the view of the muscles of his back moving under the skin had Rook transfixed. He looked on as Emmrich bent all the way down, touching the floor with his palms and presenting Rook with a rather nice view of his ass.

So he really did exercise in the mornings. Rook still didn't understand why anyone would choose to do that willingly, but decided not to complain, since he was enjoying himself quite a lot.

But he wanted more than just to look at Emmrich, so he sat up and started making his way to the edge of the bed.

“Morning, handsome,” he said as he reached Emmrich, who was now absorbed in stretching his wrists. Emmrich startled at the sound of his voice, turning around.

“Darling, did I wake you?” He sounded so apologetic that Rook almost felt sorry for him.

“Nope, I didn't even notice you at first when I woke up. But I'm glad I got to enjoy the show.”

Emmrich sputtered a bit at that and a blush began creeping upon his cheeks. Ha. He could be the one blushing for a change. Rook got out of bed, standing on his toes to kiss him.

“You're beautiful, you know?” he whispered between kisses. And Emmrich was blushing even more, he noted with a certain degree of satisfaction.

“This body has passed its prime some time ago, my dear, but thank you for the sentiment,” Emmrich said quietly, and he was looking down now, wouldn't meet Rook's eyes and was he… ashamed of himself?

What the fuck?

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Emmrich should have accepted the compliment, then said something terribly suave to make him blush in turn and then he should have kissed him again, maybe even done more than just kiss him. He wasn't supposed to go all quiet and sad, and Rook had to do something about that. He grasped Emmrich's chin gently with his fingers, making him face him again.

“Hey, I like the way you look. I think I've told you many times already, no?”

“Compared to you, I leave much to be desired, where matters of physicality are concerned,” came the cheerless reply and his were still downcast and Rook wouldn't stand for it. If Emmrich wouldn't believe his words, he would have to believe his actions. Rook caught Emmrich by the hand and dragged him down onto the bed.

“Lie back for me?” he asked and Emmrich obliged with the barest raise of an eyebrow. Rook sat himself on Emmrich's thighs and ran his hands over the skin of his stomach, relishing at the softness he found there. There wasn't a thing he didn't love about him and Emmrich would know that by the time he was done with him.

“You, Emmrich Volkarin, are a beautiful man, and I am going to show you.”

And Emmrich didn't seem to have anything to say for once. The blush was spreading down to his chest and Rook couldn't stop himself from leaning down to kiss him on the flushed skin. He licked at a nipple as he went, earning himself a breathy moan. Rook raised his head to look him in the face and found Emmrich staring at him, enraptured, the lovely hazel of his eyes a thin ring around dilated pupils. He could start there, then.

“I love the color of your eyes, you know? They remind me of summers in the forest where I grew up, the trees glowing in the sunlight. And your crows feet are so adorable, I want to kiss you right there every time you smile.”

And Emmrich did give him a small smile at that and allowed himself to be kissed. They were getting somewhere at last, but still there was a shade of doubt on his face.

Emmrich reached out to link their hands, as if he needed the reassurance, and Rook took the opportunity to raise Emmrich's hand up to his lips, kissing his knuckles. He didn't let go after he was done, instead using his free hand to stroke at Emmrich's fingers, examining them as if he hadn't already committed every line of them to memory.

“Your hands are so strong but you have such delicate fingers it always surprises me. I love how elegant they are when you weave magic… and how they can take me apart.”

He could hear Emmrich’s breath hitch a little and there was a hunger in his eyes, making Rook want to do all manner of delicious things to him.

His cheeks hadn't lost any of the adorable blush and his lips were parted, just begging Rook to kiss him some more. But that would have to wait for a bit longer, as Rook was on a mission now. Emmrich’s free hand came to hold onto Rook's thigh, fingers digging into his skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to tell him just how much he desired him.

Rook's felt his cock grow hard at the sight and Emmrich seemed to be very interested in this development, eyeing him hungrily.

“See what you do to me? Just seeing you like this makes me want to take you,” Rook said, letting his voice lower into a rumble. “Can I?”

“Yes, please,” Emmrich replied, breathless, cock hardening at Rook’s words.

Rook got off of Emmrich's legs, and reached for the vial of oil that stood on the bedside table and set about getting Emmrich ready for him.

He nudged Emmrich's legs apart and stroked oiled fingers against his asshole, applying just the slightest pressure. The way Emmrich moaned at the touch had Rook grinning and he wasted no time, pushing a finger inside, then a second, opening him up, and the sounds Emmrich made were amazing, little breathy moans and sighs of pleasure.

“Are you ready for me, love?” Rook asked, though there was very little doubt about Emmrich's readiness, as he had taken to fucking himself on Rook's fingers, moaning constantly.

“Y-yes darling, very much so.”Rook entered him then, slow and careful, relishing in the groan that Emmrich made when he started fucking him. His head was thrown back, his eyes closed and Rook would be repeating himsef, but he just had to say it.

“You're so beautiful, love.”

And Emmrich whimpered at the praise, a delightful sound that made Rook want more. He hooked Emmrich's legs over his shoulders, grabbing his ass with his hands, giving it a squeeze for good measure.

“You've got an amazing ass. It's just right for me to hold onto when I kiss you. Or fuck you just. Like. This.”

He punctuated every word with a snap of his hips and Emmrich was lost in his arousal, holding onto Rook's forearms as he was thrusting into him.

Rook took pity on him then, taking his cock in hand, stroking it in the way he knew he liked and he could see that Emmrich was getting close to the edge. Although Rook wasn't far behind, as it was taking all his willpower to not cum right away at the way Emmrich was falling apart under him. But he wanted to see him cum first, see the blissful expression on his face, and he wanted it now.

“I love the way you look when you cum. Can you do that for me?”

And Emmrich was nodding, words seemingly lost to him.

“Let me see you, love.”

Those words were all it took and Emmrich's hips seized as he came all over Rook's hand. His mouth opened in a silent cry, his eyes went wide at the force of it and he looked so beautiful that Rook couldn't hold on anymore and followed with his own orgasm, hips stuttering against Emmrich's ass. He slumped over Emmrich, breathing heavily.

“Do you believe me now?” Rook asked, searching Emmrich's face, hoping that there would be none of the self-doubt from earlier.

“I… am beginning to see the truth of your words. Thank you, darling.”

There was only quiet contentment in his eyes, but it wouldn't hurt to ram the point home some more.

“You are the kindest, smartest, most amazing person I have ever met. And you are also very beautiful,” Rook said, leaning down to kiss him.

“You, my dear, are a wonder and I am honored that you think so highly of me,” Emmrich said after their lips parted. “When we met I had no idea that I would gain such a caring lover, yet here you are, giving me such love I never even thought possible.”

“Wow. Um. Thanks.” And now Rook was blushing. All was right in the world again.

[genderqueerdykes]

Oh my god, the music thing is so relatable. I also have misophonia and the music I can stand is very limited. People always say I have no soul and call me a sociopath (i am, but that's hardly relevant here) when I'm simply being honest that I don't like the same music as them. Oh, and they also make fun of the few things that don't make my ears bleed. It's incredibly infuriating.

?????? how the hell would not liking music make someone a sociopath what the hell does that mean. not that being a sociopath is a bad thing, it's just another way someone's brain can be formatted. you're not in control of whether or not you are one. we really haven't gotten past using mental health conditions as insults and slurs, huh?

i'm sorry that you relate, but it makes me feel better to know someone else understands. that's so shitty that people make fun of the things that you actually enjoy/can listen to. i really don't think it's healthy how personally people take media. like you could go the rest of your life not listening to music and it wouldn't hurt you as a person. it's not a requirement to be alive

my neighbors all play really loud music at almost all hours of the day. i wouldn't mind it if it were rap because i can handle most and enjoy some rap. but it's never that. it's very loud and i've had to walk over to my neighbors' homes to tell them to turn down their music because it was so loud it was rattling my windows. unfortunately a lot of my neighbors don't speak english, so the language barrier makes it even harder. a lot of the time i have to stay inside with noise cancelling earbuds because otherwise the sound will literally drive me insane

i actually really hate the fact that music HAS to be playing in public places and stores. if there's no music, there's a TV (with the sound on). it's all capitalist nonsense. you don't literally *need* a store to have music in it. we're just being taught to consume 24/7. like honestly when i come across people who literally can't do anything without listening to music it concerns me deeply because... we used to not. have. recorded music as a species. like. for most of our lives up until this point. people even 200 years ago didn't have music they could just turn on whenever they want to. this is a privilege we're taking for granted

i also really wish that personal speakers weren't a thing, or at least, that people wouldn't use them in public. i can't describe the amount of people who walk past me on a given day when i'm outside who are just blasting music over a speaker while walking down a sidewalk next to an extremely busy road. like as if the traffic weren't enough noise pollution, somehow, we needed more. like i really wish people understood that this is a form of noise pollution. we have had headphones for a lot longer than we've had bluetooth speakers.

as a disabled person: please wear headphones in public or wait until you return to somewhere private to play music or videos. this is so disrespectful to the people around you. going to the store is getting increasingly more difficult because of the amount of kids who are playing videos on their iPads and phones. it's just getting to be too much. we're getting to be too dependent on media

[littlemisssilly]

Hey!! This is just a little something I wrote to be purely self indulgent,, anyway enjoy some Vox x Situationship!Reader :>

Warnings: a lot of angst (fluffy ending though!), mentions of Valentino being violent/abusive

[Note: I am aware this may be slightly OOC but! I don’t care this is for fun lol]

Replacements and Repairs

— When Vox gets his screen smashed, he can’t replace it alone. Unconveniently for him, the only person around to help is you.

Vox cringed as he fumbled his way up to his penthouse, so uncomfortably uncoordinated it would have had his head spinning if it wasn’t currently smashed to thousands of shards. He was completely blind in one eye and partially in the other, making the simple action of getting into an elevator, pressing the button, and getting access to his own damn house much more difficult than he would’ve liked.

Damnnit, Valentino, he cursed in his mind; which was already a glitching mess considering the damage made to his hardware had also affected his software. He’d have to change his screen, most definitely, which was impossible because Velvette was out of town and his new assistant had just been murdered in the latest extermination. So there was no one. No one, except for one person.

You.

He groaned inwardly, dreading the concept of having to phone up his - were you a friend? - sure, he’d call you a friend, because it actually physically hurt him to think any harder than he already was doing. Clawed fingers fumbled blindly at the elevator buttons until he found what he only hoped was the top floor. Vulnerability was not his thing, and the concept of you seeing him like this? He wasn’t feeling fantastic. In fact, he was beginning to feel ill.

But he knew without a doubt that you would come. It was that genuine care he constantly felt radiating off of you that proved to him that you weren’t going anywhere. He couldn’t figure out why.

For whatever reason, you never wavered. You were electric, with a witty tongue that he just thrived off of. And now you’d have to see him like this.

No, maybe he could wait until the morning. He could wait until Velvette came home again. Vox recalled the last time he did that, then recalled the excruciating pain he woke up in, and frustratedly decided against it.

Fuck it. He’d just have to call and hypnotise you after.

His screen no longer functioned as a phone, so he reached for the handheld one in his pocket and eventually found your contact. Hesitantly he dialed the number, stumbling through the door of his penthouse and onto a nearby couch. His head really hurt now.

You were in bed, tired eyes blinking through a yawn when your phone buzzed, moving slightly across the chipped wood of your bedside table from the vibrations. Lazily you picked it up, only to find the exhaustion leave your body when your eyes met the screen and saw that it was Vox calling. What did he want past midnight? It wasn’t the first time he had called so late, but you had thought for sure he told you he was staying in tonight, so he wasn’t out getting shitfaced. Was he at home getting shitfaced? No, Vox was much too busy to spare a night he hadn’t specifically scheduled. You sighed - the man was so unpredictable - and nervously answered the call.

“Vox, hey,” your soft voice crackled through the phone speaker, and the overlord winced, his head sensitive to volume.

“Doll, I need you to come to the penthouse right now.” he replied, cursing the way his voice glitched with each word.

You frowned from your side of the line, sitting up in bed. You were half dressed, coat discarded lazily on the corner of a chair, your hair unruly and shirt wrinkled. Yes, it wasn’t anything new to get a call from the TV demon this late at night - but this sounded different. A sickening feeling bloomed in your stomach as you began to ramble a string of concerned words.

“Of course, are- are you okay? What’s going on? I’ll be right there.” Things like that tumbled past your lips as you pulled your shoes on. Vox never asked for help - you paled at the thought that something bad had happened to him.

Vox cringed at your words, knowing that there was no going back at this point. He leaned back in his chair in a desperate attempt to accommodate his discomfort, slipping his jacket off his shoulders and to the side. Satan, he was an idiot. A complete and utter idiot. If only he had kept his mouth shut in the middle of one of Valentino’s episodes - Vox knew better, yet he screamed at him anyway. The moth was never one to hold back in the midst of an outburst. And Valentino was stronger than he seemed.

Minutes passed. Vox waited. You arrived, pushing windswept hair out of your face as you closed the door gently behind yourself. You stifled a horrified gasp, practically running up to him as you took in the damage. Vox would’ve been embarrassed, only for the pain he was currently in.

“Tell me what I need to do,” you whispered, fingers reaching out to steady his twitching hands. Vox tensed at the unprompted touch, hands jerking away and up towards the back of his head. He grit his teeth hard, clawed fingers searching for discreet buttons near the base of his neck.

“There’s a replacement screen in my bedroom, it’s with all the tech, you’ll know where it is,” Vox said, struggling against his failing machinery. “All you have to do is hold this button here for twenty seconds, then this screen will turn off and you can screw it off. Got it?” Shaking hands pointed at the button he was instructing you to, and you nodded anxiously.

“Yes, of course. Yes, okay, I can do this,” you mumble, reassuring yourself that you weren’t going to somehow kill the overlord in the process of doing some replacement work. This would be fine, right? You swallowed. Your fingers reached for the button tentatively, pressing down on the sleek ridge in the screen for twenty seconds. Vox went limp in your arms, his body completely switched off.

Shit, don’t panic! you thought, trembling as you readjusted him to be more upright. You could almost pretend he was sleeping as you hastily went to retrieve the replacement. You knew exactly where it was. You had been in this room plenty of times, after all, and yet it had been a total shock when Vox had called for this purpose. Maybe he was beginning to trust you? You quickly shoved the thought aside, internally berating yourself for thinking about the complexity of your relationship instead of getting to his side faster.

The changing of the screen itself was particularly easy, despite how unnerving it was to see him headless. You decided you never wanted to do that again - and pressed the same button at the base of his neck once more when the new screen was fully screwed on.

A minute passed where a blank blue screen was the only light source in the room, his system clearly rebooting after needing an entire replacement. You stayed dutifully by his side, careful to stay far enough away that you wouldn’t startle him upon waking up.

When his systems started up again and his face was displayed back on the screen, he initially gasped for air and blinked hard, wildly searching the room around him. Piercing red eyes quickly met your gentle ones and he instinctively relaxed, looking up at you from where he sat slumped at an angle.

You smiled earnestly, feeling out of place in such an open moment with Vox - you almost felt like you should’ve left. But you didn’t.

“You okay? Did I do that right?” you asked, careful to be quiet in fear of overstimulating him after a full reboot. It felt right to be quiet anyway, given that the penthouse was so dark currently. There were no lights on, only the dim blue hue emanating from Vox’s screen and the streetlamps that glowed through large glass windows. It felt easier to be encased in the dark, alone with him; like the two of you could say or do whatever you liked and it was okay because you wouldn’t feel exposed.

He broke your eye contact, eyes searching his palms, small cuts littering here and there from the broken glass. Vox looked up at you again, sitting there so loyally, and he would’ve groaned in humiliation if it weren’t for the sweet look on your face.

“You did it just fine,” Vox was quiet for a moment. “And thank you.” he added after quick consideration, ready to hypnotise you into forgetting.

But he couldn’t do it. The second he met your eyes again he couldn’t do it, because you were good, maybe the only good thing in his life. You cared about him without him needing to manipulate you into it. And that was rare, and he didn’t know if he would ever get that again; so he sat up instead, beckoning you over to his side on the couch.

You obliged, sitting close to him, placing a kiss on the side of his new screen before allowing him to wrap an arm around your shoulder as you cuddled into his side. His fans kicked on at the action, whirring gently in the background. You didn’t say anything, just merely concealed giggles as he huffed, sliding a defeated hand down his screen.

“I hate you,” he muttered, and you rolled your eyes.

“I like you too, idiot.” you chirped, grinning to yourself in the darkness.

Neither of you knew what the morning would bring. But you’d stay in the dark for a while, and that would be okay.

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

The Neighbour Down The Hall

Chapter 12

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: A lot can change in just 24 hours

Word count: 1.5k

“Will you talk to me about what’s going on now?” Bucky asked, though it sounded more like a demand than a request, especially coupled with the way he tried to step into your apartment.

You pushed the door shut slightly. “Me and Justin had a disagree-”

“Cut the bullshit, I heard every word.”

You didn’t think you were that loud… You bit your lip, then closed your eyes and sighed at the same time, before pulling the door open, allowing Bucky inside. As he walked past you took a peak out into the hallway to see if anyone else was looking, but the place was empty, then you locked the door behind you. Bucky was already in your kitchen by the sound of it, you heard the kettle being filled. You walked into the room, there was one mug and the box of your chamomile tea sitting on the counter. Along with a Bucky, leaning against it, looking sort of out of place. The overhead lights were harsh to your sleep deprived eyes, and and you grimaced a little as you yawned.

“Sit down,” he instructed quietly, nodding towards your dining table.

You did as he asked, for a moment the only sound being the slow boiling of the kettle until you spoke up. “Was that you I heard talking to him out there?”

Bucky nodded, not elaborating further as he made you a cup of tea. He set the beverage down in front of you, and pulled up a chair opposite, his blue eyes piercing yours. You couldn’t maintain eye contact.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, wrapping your hands around the hot mug.

“Are you okay?” he asked surprisingly softly.

You couldn’t help the humourless snort, nor the immediate guilt as you looked up at the obvious concern on his face. “No. I just kicked my boyfriend- correction, ex - out of my apartment.”

Bucky nodded gently. “He doesn’t deserve you,” he said quietly.

“Please I don’t want to hear any of that sort of crap right now.”

Bucky raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright… You don’t want that ‘crap’. What drug was it?”

You felt the confused expression on your face. Had he truly heard every word?

“Marijuana,” you stated, then took a sip of your tea. You started to wonder if you had overreacted, the substance was literally legal in some countries, but it wasn’t just about the drugs. “He was arrested for possession of a Class B drug, and the police came here and they must have found some… and now he's waiting to be summoned to court I think.” 

Bucky nodded slowly. “You smoke it?”

“God no,” you answered quickly. “That would be illegal.”

A flicker of a smirk passed across his face, which rubbed you up the wrong way for some reason. But before you could say anything his expression sombered. “Are you safe from him?”

“Safe? Why would you ask that?”

“He was pretty angry before I stepped in.”

“What did you even say to him?” you asked, then took another sip of the tea.

“Just gave him an idea about what might happen if he didn’t leave and ever dared to come back,” he said nonchalantly, though there was a steely glint in his eyes. 

“And what might happen?” you asked apprehensively, clutching onto your mug tighter.

He shrugged. “That depends on you. So I ask again, do you feel like you're safe from him?”

You nodded. “I think so. I mean… if- if he came back and caused any trouble I could tell the police how he grabbed-”

Bucky suddenly leaned forward. “Wait what? He laid his hands on you?” 

“Sort of, he like, well he dragged me towards…” you trailed off as the dark look on Bucky’s face was making you more scared than you wanted to admit to yourself.

“Finish that sentence,” he demanded quietly.

“He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and dragged me towards him,” you mumbled.

Bucky let out a hiss of anger, looking off to the side for a moment before looking back at you, his eyes roaming down the parts of your body he could see above the table. “Did he hurt you?” you started to shake your head but he continued, “don’t lie if he did. You don’t need to protect him.”

“He didn’t,” you insisted. “I stumbled a bit but that’s all.”

“Has he ever done anything like that before?”

“No, that was the only time he uh, ‘manhandled’ me,” you said, grimacing a bit at the phrase.

“If I see that bastard again,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head gently. You took another few gulps of your tea, the temperature now more tolerable. You tried to avoid Bucky’s gaze, until he asked a direct question. “Are you gonna be okay? On your own?”

You nodded. “Yeah I pay most of the bills apart from rent, but I can get that changed from him to me. It's only just been the first, but he can suck a dick if he tries asking me to cover his half.”

“That’s good… but not quite what I meant.”

Oh…  “Yeah no I’ll, I’ll be fine,” you said, shrugging and putting on a little fake smile.

“You’re welcome to uh… come over if you ever need…” he trailed off. You weren’t 100% sure where he was going with that, but you appreciated it.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, looking down at the mug. The grating sound of your phone alarm went off, and you quickly fished the device to turn it off. “I have to get ready…” you said awkwardly.

“You’re still going to work?” he asked incredulously.

“I can’t just-”

“Are they not letting you have time off for something like this?”

“I haven’t told them,” you admitted. Bucky gave you an even more incredulous look. “They don’t need to know,” you said defensively.

“Jess, you need to take care of yourself, not work yourself to the bone even more and pretend everything is fine.”

You frowned. “My job provides stability and it’s good to get out of the apartment.”

“You need rest. But if you need to get out of the apartment, go for a walk, or take yourself shopping or something else stereotypically… ‘self caring’,” he air quoted. You pushed down the snigger threatening to escape your lips.

“I’d rather just go to work.”

He sighed loudly. “And I’d rather you took time to look after yourself.”

“Can we agree to disagree?”

“No,” he said bluntly, frustrating you. 

“Bucky I don’t need to baby myself,” you scoffed.

“It’s not babying yourself, it’s being responsible for your own well being,” he rebuffed. “I’ll make you a deal. If you spend today actually getting some sleep or at least resting, I’ll make you dinner tonight.” 

That caught you off guard and you practically choked on your own spit. “Dinner?” He nodded. “With you?”

“With me.”

“Dinner?” you repeated.

“Yes. You eat it, right?” he asked a little slowly.

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously but I didn’t think- you want to cook me dinner?”

“Yes…” he said even more slowly.

You narrowed your eyes. “It wouldn't be a date.”

He rolled his eyes. “I never suggested it was.”

“Where?”

“My place.”

You briefly wondered if his sparse apartment even had the utensils to handle that, but you eventually nodded. “What time?”

“8pm.”

"How would you know I actually rest and don’t just pretend?”

“Either the bags under your eyes will look less noticeable... or you can tell me all about whatever adventures you get up to, but you won't be getting any dessert.”

A minuscule smile formed on your face. “Okay… deal.” 

Bucky smiled back gently, nodding, then stood up. “You sure you’ll be okay for the day?”

“Yeah, I’ll ‘rest’,” you air quoted, standing up too. “Are you going off to work?”

Bucky took a few steps towards your front door before he eventually replied "Yeah." Then he hesitated. “If anything happens…” he began, glancing around then picking up the notepad and pen you kept on the little side table by your front door. “Here’s my number," he said, handing you the piece of paper. He had surprisingly cursive handwriting.

"Thank you," you said quietly as you took it, your attention once again being drawn to the gloves he always wore.

Bucky opened the door, walking back to his apartment. "Make sure you keep your doors locked," he turned to instruct you before entering his own apartment. 

You bit your lip, shutting your door gently.

A lot can change in 24 hours, hell a lot can change in just one hour.

Justin had possessed drugs.

You kicked the twat out of your home.

And tonight you were going to have dinner with Bucky with the beautiful blue eyes.

[hotchshands]

Trophy (sang-woo x gn!reader au) Part 1/2

Masterlist | Taglist

Summary: Sang-woo wins the games, and you become his young new trophy wife. Not to worry though, Gi-hun is alive thanks to the frontman.

Word Count: 1.9k

Contains: lots of plot, dark!sang-woo featuring ptsd, gn!reader, no use of y/n, unspecified age gap, depictions of violence i.e., sang-woo killing gi-hun?

A/N: S2 made me miss him, so I decided to write something. Had to break this up into two parts cause it’s a lot, but I’m happy to add more if y’all want.

Sang-woo wakes up in the new penthouse he bought far away from home and looks over at you, sleeping soundly on the bed beside him. He wasn’t sure why he married you, but then he remembered the games and how they turned him into a murderer. Some might even say a total psychopath. Having been through hell, he knew he couldn’t just marry anyone. He had to be extremely careful with his choice.

You were his best option if he wanted someone to stay with him and overlook the things he did for 45.6 billion won. You were young, poor, desperate, and, best of all, completely bendable. Sang-woo took advantage of that and shaped you into his ideal partner. You made it easy. He knew you were perfect from the moment he met you in the train station all those years ago.

“Excuse me. Do you know if this train is going uptown?” Sang-woo asks a young-looking stranger on the platform.

The stranger turns to look at him, blushing upon seeing him standing there, towering over them in a grey suit. “Yes, this is the uptown train,” you reply.

Sang-woo noticed your flushed complexion. You looked scared and nervous. He decided then and there that he liked that look on you—the way your cheeks were red, the way your eyes never met his, instead focusing on his statue rather than his face, and the way your body stirred upon seeing him. For a moment, he thought you had seen right through his facade, seeing him for the madman he truly is rather than the genius everyone else saw him as.

Were you scared or intrigued? Sang-woo couldn't decide.

The train pulls up to the platform with a stretch. The sound reminds him of the games, making him zone out. Your voice brings him back to reality: “Are you alright?” Sang-woo snaps out of it and looks over at you. You look genuinely concerned.

He smiled slightly, pushing his glasses up before answering, “I'm alright. So? Shall we?” Sang-woo motions for you to board the train. You board the train without a second thought. Sang-woo follows you inside the train car. Once inside, he tells you to sit down while he stands in front of your seated form, holding onto the railing. You didn't question him or try to protest, foolishly trusting a stranger. Pathetic. Just like Gi-hun, Sang-woo thought to himself.

He wondered about Gi-hun from time to time. A part of him thought he might have survived the final game, but there could only be one winner.

“It's over. I won't let you leave here with that money,” Gi-hun said, holding the steak knife, determined to win, to beat Sang-woo. He was always stubborn, so much so that it clouded his judgment. He never knew when to admit defeat.

Sang-woo wasn't going to let him quit. They were too far into the game to just walk away without the prize money. Not only did quitting mean no money, but it also meant that those 454 people died for nothing. It meant that he killed people for nothing.

Gi-hun walks towards Sang-woo, knife in hand, and attacks. Sang-woo dodges the attack and manages to grab hold of Gi-hun. He holds him tightly, bringing the knife closer to his face, but Gi-hun cuts his wrist and escapes Sang-woo's hold, causing Sang-woo to drop his knife. Gi-hun wastes no time and attacks, cutting Sang-woo's cheek before kicking his knife across the field. Frustrated, Sang-woo takes off his suit jacket, using it to force Gi-hun to drop his knife. Both, now unarmed, rush toward each other, pushing and fighting in a fiery of agony as the rain falls down upon them and the court.

After a few punches, Sang-woo gets Gi-hun in a chokehold, which Gi-hun escapes from, only to have his suit jacket torn off his back. This is it, Sang-woo thought to himself before towering over Gi-hun's exhausted body, bringing the suit jacket up around his neck. “Die!” Sang-woo says as he chokes Gi-hun with the jacket. “Die!” he says once more, but Gi-hun is stubborn.

“Get up! Get up!” Sang-woo yells, trying his hardest to end this once and for all. As soon as the two stand up, they fall backward on the sand. Sang-woo grows exhausted, and Gi-hun grows confident as he moves away from Sang-woo's chokehold.

The rain continues to fall as the two return to fighting it out, both determined to end the final game. Sang-woo grabs a knife off the wet sand and stabs Gi-hun in the leg, then again in the stomach. Gi-hun groans in pain.

Sang-woo kicks him in the face, causing Gi-hun to fall onto the sand in the middle of the squid-shaped court. “You remember this place?”Sang-woo begins. “This is where they made us play Red Light, Green Light. Everyone who was standing here is dead now. Everyone... except for us, Gi-hun.” He kicks him in the face again before continuing, “We've gone too far to go back now.” With that, Sang-woo stabs Gi-hun. The knife is met with Gi-hun's hand in protest.

“Clause Three of the agreement. The players are able to end the game when the majority agrees. So, if we both give up now, we can end it,” Gi-hun cries through the pain of the knife in his hand.

“When we were kids, you and I would play like this, and our moms would call us to dinner. No one's calling anymore,” Sang-woo sighs as tears form in his eyes. He pulls the knife out of Gi-hun's hand with force before stabbing him a final time. Gi-hun bleeds out slowly. “Sang-woo... my daughter, Ga-yeong... please, look after her and Cheol. I promised her I would look after Cheol,” Gi-hun sobs before finally admitting defeat.

“Gi-hun... I'm sorry,” Sang-woo sobs as the speaker announces player 456 has been eliminated.

You get up from your seat on the train before saying goodbye to the strange man in front of you. “Well, this is me.” The train comes to a stop, and the doors open. As you turn to leave, Sang-woo snaps out of his daydream and grabs hold of your wrist before placing a card in your pocket. “Thank you,” he says.

You weren't sure why the man was thanking you. All you did was confirm he had the right train. You nod anyway, to be polite, before exiting the train car. As the train doors close, you turn to see the man is already looking at you. Strange, you thought as you watched him leave the station.

When you get home and take off your coat, you notice something fell out of your pocket. You bend down to pick up a card. You stare at the number on it, wondering how it got there. Remembering the strange man on the train, you decide to call the number. After three rings, someone picks up.

“Hello?” The voice says.

“Hello. I uh think you might've given me this number. Who is this?” you reply.

The voice lets out a chuckle, “Yes, I remember. You're the one from the train. My apologies for not introducing myself. I'm Sang-woo.”

So it was that strange man from earlier, you thought before speaking into the phone and introducing yourself to the man known as Sang-woo. The man repeats your name back as if trying to memorize it.

“I have a proposition for you. If you're curious, I'd like you to meet me tomorrow night. Before you come to a decision, check your other pocket. Should you agree, there's a lot more where that came from,” with that Sang-woo hangs up.

My other pocket? You grab your jacket and look in the other pocket to find $1,000 cash. Huh?! You count the money to be sure before holding it up toward the ceiling light. It was real. Before you can debate the money further, you hear your phone ping. You pick it up to see a text from an unknown number that reads a location and a time. That had to be him. Sang-woo...

The next day, you rush around your apartment looking for something to wear to meet Sang-woo. The location he sent you looked to be that of a park so you didn’t need to dress fancy, but you wanted to leave a good impression. The man could be a psycho planning to kidnap you for all you know, yet he gave you $1,000 which made you think he could be trusted. You still couldn’t understand why give a stranger that much money. The man was clearly rich. especially given that suit he was wearing yesterday, but why not donate it or give it to someone who needed it more? You weren’t exactly well off financially, but you had a roof over your head and a paying job so you couldn’t complain.

After making a mess of your closet, you pull an outfit that pleases you. Hopefully, this pleases him. You grab your belongings, including the money he gave you, and leave to meet Sang-woo at the park. Once you arrive, you check the time on your phone: 10:02 PM. Where is he? Just as you start to think about heading back home, you see a shadow walking toward you in the distance.

“Sorry, I'm late. Please have a seat,” Sang-woo motions to the park bench. You sit down beside him and take in his appearance. He looks polished in his white button-up and thick black coat, but his eyes tell a different story. Behind the glasses, he looks emotionless, almost evil. He pulls out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lights one before continuing, “I'm glad you showed up. I'm sure you're wondering why I brought you here, so I'll cut to the chase.”

“Wait,” you interrupt him, handing him the money he gave you. “Here. This is yours.”

He stared at the money, taking another drag from his cigarette without daring to take it. “Keep it. I gave it to you, so please keep it.”

You make a motion for him to take it, refusing to take his money when you don't need or want it. “No, really, I can't take it. It's too much.”

He stares at you with those piercing eyes, “Keep it.”

You return the money to your pocket, refusing to argue with the strange man and focus on the ground because those eyes terrify you. Perhaps he really was here to kidnap you.

Sang-woo takes one last drag before throwing the cigarette on the ground and stomping it with his foot. He then reaches into his pocket to pull out a black box and a wad of cash before facing you, holding out the two things in front of you. “You can walk away with more money or marry me. You can only pick one. One makes you richer. The other makes you even more rich. Pick one,” he says, opening the black box to reveal a diamond engagement ring.

You blink in confusion at the options being presented to you. Without even thinking, you feel your hand move toward the ring. It was a beautiful ring, one everyone dreamed about. Your hand touches the top of the black box, pinky meeting the skin of the man holding it. You're not sure what made you pick the ring. Perhaps it was the excitement of a new life or the idea of never worrying about money again.

Sang-woo smiles, putting the wad of cash back in his pocket before placing the ring on your finger. He slides it on slowly, gently brushing the metal further down your finger until it reaches the end. “Good choice.”

[jenanigans1207]

1/2/25: Echo

The walls of the cave are cold and distinctly wet as they press against Dean’s back, the moisture seeping between his shoulder blades. He’d care a whole hell of a lot more if he wasn’t struggling to breathe, a hand pressed firmly to his side. In the distance there’s the smoldering embers from a monster that didn’t stand a chance, and in between there’s Castiel, his blue eyes bright as he crosses the distance between them swiftly. 

“You’re hurt.” Cas said as he reached Dean’s side. It wasn’t a question, not really even a statement, more of an observation and a plan for what came next. 

Without another word, his hand reached for Dean, pressing gently above the wound in his side. It wasn’t even the length of a heartbeat before Dean felt the cool wash of familiar and comforting grace flow through him, relieving his pain and giving him back his breath. 

Which lasted for all of two seconds before he glanced up, meeting Cas’s gaze and feeling the breath leave his lungs again before he can even get out a proper thanks. Dean would like to blame it on the gentle glow from the fire making Cas look every bit as ethereal as he actually was, but he knew better than that, The truth was that Cas was beautiful all the time and it was getting harder and harder for Dean to face it without blurting out something incredibly stupid and completely damning. And in this moment, he was in just enough pain to think that he might not actually give a damn about the consequences or the echo of a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like John Winchester.

“You need to be more careful,” Cas says as the feeling of grace recedes, but the warmth of his hand remains as a steady brand on Dean’s side. It takes Dean a moment to notice that Cas’s thumb is tracing a gentle pattern just above his hip bone. “Dean, your life is incredibly precious so please don’t risk it so easily.”

Dean clears his throat as the pain disappears with the grace and his common sense comes back, swelling in the back of his throat and trying to kick him in the teeth. “Right.” He says, glancing over Cas’s shoulder. “Righteous Man and all that.”

“Dean.” Cas says, and Dean had started to notice that Cas said his name in a way that was almost reverent. It was somewhere around the time Cas rebelled that he stopped saying Dean’s name like Dean was his charge and started saying it like he was his friend, like he was— Dean feels a lump forming in his throat. “While it is true that you are the Righteous Man and have completed many incredible things, that is not where my concern comes from. Your life is incredibly precious to me, and I will not have you risking it.”

Cas’s hand is still on Dean’s side, Dean’s head is swimming, and Cas’s words sound just one step to the left of the words that Dean finds himself spending damn near every waking moment trying to swallow down nowadays. He tries to quell the hope in his heart as he looks back up again. But Cas’s gaze is as unwavering as ever, blue burning straight through to his core and pinning Dean into place.

And he doesn’t ask what Cas means— not because he doesn’t want to know, not because he’s afraid to find out, but because he can see it right there in Cas’s eyes. He can see every feeling he tries to tamp down reflected back at him, can see every unspoken word swirling just under the surface. And he’s left with the same two choices he’s been left with since the day he met Cas: confront whatever the hell this is head on, or make some gruff dismissal and extricate himself from the situation. Cas won’t push, he never does. He will let Dean pretend that he didn’t see the red string tying the two of them together, he will never speak of it again if Dean doesn’t.

Dean hears that echo of John Winchester in the back of his mind again.

But all John Winchester ever taught Dean was how to fight, not how to live. And goddamn is Dean sick of fighting. 

He takes in a breath, holds it for the count of three, and then he’s reaching across the space between them and grabbing fistfuls of that godawful trench coat that damned him the day it swept into his life in some barn in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. There’s a split second where Cas— Angel of the Lord, all powerful being— looks surprised and caught off guard, And Dean can’t move Cas if he doesn’t want to be moved, he knows that— he has experienced it more than one time— but Cas comes easily and willingly, yielding under Dean’s hands and putting up no resistance as Dean tugs him in until their chests are flush. 

“Dean…?” Cas asks quietly into the nearly nonexistent space between them when Dean hesitates. There’s no pressure, no assumption. 

Dean closes the gap between them and kisses Cas for all that he’s worth and then some. 

The hand on his hip turns into more of a solid grip as Cas responds easily, kissing Dean back in a way that should probably be surprising given his assumed lack of experience but Dean’s immediately far too distracted to put much thought into anything other than the feel of Cas’s hands and lips against him. It’s not some we-almost-died kiss, which Dean had honestly thought might be the only way he ever got up the guts to kiss Cas at all, but it’s something much better than that. 

And as Cas continues to kiss him, there’s only one thing that echoes in his brain, replacing the vile words of his father and reminding him that everything can be okay.

Good things do happen, Dean.

[thatstoomanysausages]

Still have the image of Secret Life Grian fighting desperately for his life in the 1v3.

Sword getting kicked away and him using whatever he could to tick away damage point after damage point.

Knowing that the hits he made would count. That every hit counted towards the end, and every hit made victory a step further away for them.

Knowing that Cleo had gone down during the fight. The lightning had registered vaguely in the back of his mind and he had felt something deep and gravelly in his chest.

Scratching with broken and muddied nails into Scott’s neck, gripping at rocks around and throwing them, dragging them down Gem’s skin. Sinking his teeth into Impulse’s arm when he grips him in an attempt to trap him, probably breaking skin.

Every movement frantic, like a wild animal in a cage, knowing that he was only being released because it was his end.

Fighting violently and leaving them with injuries that would’ve evolved into infections if they hadn’t of died mere hours later.

[morningmask27]

Honestly I'm also not fully happy with what they did with Whis this book

[bitegore]

getting mental healthcare is really cool, its like asking someone to take a sledgehammer to your self-interest and then saying thank you after because it makes your life moderately easier even though you have to deal with this shit now