#the thing is the treehouse is cool and you’re NOT cool?

[romulusfuckingroy]

(watching any episode of season 4) this shit sucks i miss too much birthday

[aurumalatus]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 (𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔)

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers (yes kinich literally invented this trope okay. sue me), mini-drabbles, childhood to university, modern!au, fluff and slight angst, lots of bantering but it's light-hearted i promise

summary.

you've always been a sore loser—kinich is just the only one brave enough to say it. or, you and kinich fall in love over the course of your lives, and one thing never changes—you're both idiots

author's note. credit to @/scythidol for the header images! a bit of a different fic format this time (who is she....). i'm sick over kinich, i have nothing clever to say or excuses to make. that's all, thank you for reading! i'm finishing this at 5am so i'll fix any errors later lol. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

I.

“You’re annoying.”

The old TV in your backyard treehouse buzzes with static and the constant thumps of Kinich’s fingers against the controller buttons.

It’s a summer evening—crickets chirp merrily in the grass and lightning bugs float lazily through the air, glowing among the stars. You’re sitting next to him, knees pulled to your chest and the straw of a Capri-Sun settled between your lips.

His reaction (or lack thereof) to your words leaves you less than entertained, a sour pout fixed on your lips as he sighs.

“You’re a sore loser. We said whoever got up here first got to play first.” Despite the intense game occurring on the screen in front of him, he diverts about half his attention to watching you out of the corner of his eye. “And I got up here first.”

“But you always win,” you whine. Kinich nudges at his own juice box with his knee, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and holding it to his lips—he drinks gratefully, still focused on his game. You’re not sure why you keep agreeing to this bet; you don’t think you’ve ever won.

“Then you need to get faster.”

Both of you know that such a feat would be impossible—Kinich has been the fastest kid in your grade since you started school. His athleticism affords him a bit of popularity, still at the age where winning a playground race is essentially the deciding factor between the cool kids and the lame ones. But he’s not interested in any of that, and he makes that quite clear in his actions.

After all, all the popular kids avoid him since he started a fight with them last year. 

“They were saying things about you,” he’d shrugged, like it was no big deal. The school seemed to think a bit differently, and his suspension felt like the longest week of your life.

The screen flashes then, a loud and colorful display that shows the words “you win”. Kinich leans back in his seat, a pleased half-smile spreading across his face. 

“Okay, now you can play.”

He tries to hand you the controller, but you huff, crossing your arms and turning away.

“I don’t even wanna play anymore.”

Kinich is far more mature than you at this age—even your own mother tells you as much—so he merely sighs, accepting of your tantrum.

“Okay, what do you wanna do then?”

You ponder that for a moment. There’s a lot of things you do often, but many of them are things that Kinich is much better at than you. Playing video games, climbing trees, riding bikes—he’s far more talented at them all. It’s one of the reasons you even became friends in the first place—you’d practically begged him to teach you to beat the final boss of Super Mario Galaxy, and the rest was history.

“I don’t know,” you mumble noncommittally, blowing your straw wrapper at him. It lands right on target, bouncing lightly off his forehead as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do it,” he says, poking at your cheek. “I’ll even play house.”

And you know Kinich hates playing house—he has boundless amounts of energy most days, and house isn’t “challenging” enough of a game for him to expend it. But he does it occasionally, just for you.

You brighten at the prospect. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, already descending the treehouse ladder, waving you along. “Let’s go inside first, though. I’m hungry.”

Scrambling to your feet, you jump down to meet Kinich, already standing in the grass.

“Last one inside is a rotten egg!”

II.

The rainstorm ends just as classes dismiss—when you walk out the school entrance, a slight drizzle is still letting up, fresh puddles lapping at your toes. Kinich’s gaze finds you instantly as he slinks out of the school gates, bag tossed loosely over his shoulder.

“My socks are wet now,” you whine, patting down the edges of your skirt to look down at your shoes. You’d only just bought them recently, and your mom likely wouldn’t be pleased with the prospect of you ruining them so soon.

Kinich chuckles at first, a snarky sound as thick as the gathering clouds, only to sigh when your pout persists.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, squatting to the ground and gesturing for you to get on his back. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

He’s a bit frail, still in his growing phase—his bones and muscles shift rhythmically under his skin as he walks—but he’s so distinctly warm. The heat makes you curl closer, nose brushing against his neck.

He walks you home most days like this, spending the day at your house until the sky grows dark with dusk. His home life is something he rarely discusses, but you know enough, and you’re happy to welcome him to yours.

“You’re slow,” you mumble into his shoulder. The steady thump of his steps is comforting, nearly putting you to sleep.

“You’re heavy,” Kinich replies teasingly, adjusting your weight atop his back. His words are biting, but he’s being careful with his steps nonetheless, taking each one lightly so as not to jostle you.

“You’re rude,” you scoff back. His nose scrunches in annoyance when you loop your arms tighter around his neck, pretending to choke him as punishment. “You’re not supposed to say that to a girl.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, peering up at the newly visible sun that starts to dip low in the sky. You watch a cat scurry through the bushes to your right, golden eyes peering through the foliage before disappearing into the darkness. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it to you.”

Kinich is always a bit wittier than you, a bit quicker to the punch, but you like that about him. You like a lot of things about him, and you’re sure he knows it, too. A weighty silence settles between the two of you, unnatural—it’s usually you who fills the silence, and Kinich who patiently listens.

But something bigger sits at the back of your mind, and the words are having trouble surmounting the obstacle of your tongue. 

You’re still floundering for something to say by the time your house appears in the distance. The sight lights a fire under you—you don’t want to discuss something like this with your mother in earshot. You force the words out, voice weak and small.

“I heard Mualani confessed to you yesterday.”

The rumor had flown through the school like wildfire. Mualani is popular with the boys after all, so there’s bound to be quite a bit of heartbreak if she ends up in a relationship. Someone had seen them together at that sakura tree behind the school, and it instantly became a hot topic—it’s all you’ve heard about all day.

And though you know it’s not really any of your business, you can’t help but be curious, and the thought fills you with dread.

You manage a glance at his expression, searching for any sort of unrest, but he doesn’t show any at all. In fact, he seems wholly uninterested in the topic.

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

You take a deep breath for courage—you’re not sure you want to hear his answer. 

“So? What did you tell her?”

And it’s nothing against Mualani, really—she’s kind and beautiful, and you wouldn’t blame Kinich for falling for her. She’s never done anything wrong to you at all. But a beat passes, and you’re already halfway through mourning the end of your long-time crush when he replies.

“I told her I was flattered, but I wasn’t interested.”

A sigh of relief escapes you then, but you reel it in quickly—he can probably feel you relax against his back at his response.

“Oh,” is all you say, as aloof as you can manage. Kinich latches onto your hesitation instantly.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” comes your hasty reply. “...Is there any reason you said no, though?”

He frowns. “I don’t know. She just isn’t my type.”

“...Then what is your type?”

You’re going too far, you know—even just speaking the words has your chest twisting painfully, and you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. If Kinich isn’t an idiot, he can surely tell why you’re practically breathing down his neck over the whole thing.

But maybe Kinich is a little bit of an idiot, at least about these things, because he merely shrugs.

“Not sure. Never really thought about it.”

A frost unfurls in your chest, bitter—of course Kinich wouldn’t know, he’s never thought about anyone that way. Including you.

“Right.” You attempt a laugh, teeth gritting. “It’s all stupid anyway.”

You drop your head into his shoulder, trying to hide the pained expression on your face, and only then does Kinich’s stare flicker to you, soft.

“Right,” he says, a quiet rumble from his chest. “It’s really, really stupid.”

III.

Walks turn to drives when Kinich turns sixteen and buys his own car.

He’d saved up for months, working part-time jobs on weekends and after school, until the day finally came when he pulled up into your driveway, keys in hand. Your mom had been overwhelmingly proud—bought a cake and everything—and you’d merely been grateful that you no longer had to beg her to drive you places. 

It’s nothing crazy, just a simple sedan, but it represents a freedom that the two of you have never experienced together before.

That’s how you end up parked underneath the flickering streetlight just outside your house, excitedly recounting a story to your best friend. He’d driven you home from your club after school, an errand that always ended in several other stops—today, it had been fast food and boba.

His eyes seem to glow in the fading daylight, a pretty jade and amber that you’ve always thought was beautiful. It feels a bit more intense with his stare trained on you—Kinich isn’t the talkative type, sure, but he always ensures that you know he’s listening.

“So then she was asking me about you.”

“Mhm.”

“And get this,” a nervous chuckle escapes you then, “she thought we were dating.”

Everything falls still.

It’s times like this that you really start to hate just how unreadable your best friend can be. Despite how much you tease him for it, you actually enjoy how difficult it can be to force an expression out of him—it’s a little challenge every day. But now, when you’re on the precipice of pouring your heart out, his impassive expression stings.

Nothing on his face changes, save for a slight tilt of his head—he’s considering your words. The silence feels endless; a lump starts to form in your throat, humiliation burning at your cheeks. 

“I know, it’s so ridiculous,” you assert hurriedly, trying to avoid the rush of shame. “I mean, we would never—”

“Tell her we are, then.”

You’re sure that in that moment, your heart stops. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned to get this far—you were planning on brushing over that part of the story and moving on, but something deep in your heart had forced it out of you. Now, you aren’t sure what you really want to happen.

It’s always been your underlying fear, that once Kinich finds out, everything will change. Or even if he does return your feelings, it’ll all go up in flames eventually and you’ll never be the same. It’s terrifying enough to have kept your mouth shut all these years.

A tense laugh erupts from your throat, cutting through the silence. “I—I mean, it’s not that simple—”

He arches a brow. “Do you not want to?”

That’s another difference between you and Kinich—he’s far more straightforward about getting things that he wants. It’s one of the reasons that people misinterpret him as cold, but he sees it as being logical.

You gnaw at your lip, fingers tracing over the car door. Do you?

If the countless daydreams and romantic notebook doodles are anything to go by, you do. You really do. You’re just not sure if you’re brave enough to take that step.

When you look at him again, he’s observing you carefully, a delicate fondness lying in his stare. You shrink under the weight of it.

“No, I do,” you admit quietly. 

The moment falls still, and your eyes are drawn to the only movement within your line of vision—the quick bob of Kinich’s throat. Then, his hand advances toward your face at a measured pace, giving you endless opportunities to retreat.

Of course, you don’t.

“Can I…?” he asks, barely a brush of a whisper. The tension runs thick in the air as his tongue peeks out, swiping over his bottom lip at a tantalizing pace. It’s nearly enough to drive you crazy, but you know he’s just as anxious.

“Yes,” you breathe, wincing at the sound of your own voice—it sounds almost too eager.

But Kinich presses his lips to yours all the same, soft and wanting, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like the fireworks-exploding-making-out-with-tongue types you’ve seen on TV, but it’s just right—it feels like him, and that’s all that matters. He pulls away slightly, lips still millimeters away from yours.

“I like you. If I’m not wrong, you like me too. I think it’s that simple.”

You almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Though you’d never admit it, you’ve practiced this scenario thousands of times in front of your bedroom mirror—what you would say to him, what he might say to you. Leave it to Kinich to not follow the script.

But he’s always done things his own way, so really, you should’ve expected this.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, fingers slotting through yours with ease. You sigh.

“I guess it is.”

IV.

“...that far, huh?”

Kinich stares at you upside down, head dangling off the edge of your bed as you sit at your desk, laptop keys clicking rapidly. He knows you’re serious about your future goals; you both are. He just never imagined it would bring the two of you so far apart.

You pause with one hand resting on the mouse, still staring at the screen. The map looks so daunting, too daunting, and you can’t imagine being that far away from him. 

An awkward, weighted silence hangs in the air, and by the time a few seconds pass, you’ve already foreseen eighty different bad endings for this situation. Clearing your throat once, you force yourself to speak.

“Kinich, I—”

“I get it.”

He doesn’t mean to interrupt you so suddenly, but he does. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Because while he does understand—he really does—he also can’t help the stinging sensation of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It feels pathetic. It feels selfish. Here you are, chasing your dreams and supporting his, and he’s caught on the fact that there will be a little space between the two of you. And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but maybe you’ll get tired of waiting and—

“You’ll come back to me, right?”

There’s an unmistakable thickness to your voice, evidence of the steadily growing lump in your weary throat. It grows larger with every passing second, an insurmountable mass dwarfed only by the impending distance between you and him.

That question catches Kinich off-guard, and he nearly wants to laugh then; not because he doubts you at all, but because he doesn’t, and he finds it ridiculous that you would ever think otherwise. Here you are, worrying about him.

Kinich doesn’t have any doubts or fears. He never does when he’s with you.

Maybe that’s why.

With a light laugh, he lets his eyes flutter closed, finally allowing an uneven breath to fill his lungs. The natural light outside is slowly dimming, the fluorescent lamps dotting your street flicking on one by one. He knows he should go home soon. His car is sitting outside, the same one the two of you have had endless adventures, fights, and make-ups in. It’s the same one he will use when he moves an unfathomable distance away from you. The same one he will use on the day you will cry, clinging to him like your life depends on it, before watching him disappear into nothing but a mere dot in the distance.

His fist clenches at his side. 

But you’re still here, the closest feeling he has to home, and you’re still in love with him, and he is still in love with you.

Maybe that’s why this is enough, for now. 

Turning onto his stomach, Kinich sees you right-side up this time, and it’s like nothing has changed.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” 

V.

A knock echoes on your apartment door in the middle of the night.

You raise a brow at the sound, a bit unnerved—a lone college girl answering the door in the dark isn’t the safest thing, you think as you peek one eye through the peephole. But there’s a familiar figure standing outside, and it has your hand turning the knob immediately and flinging the door open.

He’s here.

“Kinich,” you breathe, in disbelief. Last you’d heard, he was somewhere halfway across the country, and certainly nowhere near your front door. But he’s here, in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, looking like he’s just walked out of your dreams.

“Hey,” he says simply, as if his appearance hadn’t been totally shocking. He takes advantage of your shell-shocked state to invite himself inside, curiously looking through your apartment. “Nice place.”

You step aside in a daze. “Kinich—you—what are you doing here?”

He’s holding three flimsy bags in his fist, grocery store logos and restaurant labels stamped over the plastic, keys hanging off his pinky finger. He’d come prepared, clearly, but for what you’re not sure. 

He towers over you a bit more than he used to, hair a bit longer, and everything about him feels so grown up. It reminds you of all the moments the two of you have missed over the years, how much change has occurred beneath your nose, maybe without you realizing. 

He spreads the bags over your kitchen table—the mouth-watering smell of Chinese takeout filters through the air, and your stomach grumbles in reply. But it’s your tear ducts that react initially, a sting at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

Kinich doesn’t notice at first, absorbed in inspecting the photos displayed on your wall—photos of you, photos of him, photos of the two of you together. It makes his chest warm that you still think about those times. He does too���after all, it’s rare that you leave his mind.

But he turns back to you, tears running rivers down your cheeks, and his breath hitches.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully cupping your face. A lilt of panic laces his voice. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?”

“You’re here,” you sob, curling into his shoulder. None of it feels real. He’s warm and firm beneath your fingers, and you clutch at him tighter, half-expecting everything to disappear. It’s so much different than FaceTime or calling or anything else you do when he’s away. Because right now, he’s completely within your reach, and everything falls into place.

“Of course I am,” he murmurs. You cry into his hoodie, soaking the fabric with your tears, but he holds you close all the same. “Because you’re here.”

You spend a few minutes that way—you crying until your tears dry over your skin, and him comfortingly rubbing at your back. Air slowly returns to your lungs, and you sniffle, glassy eyes meeting his. 

“But why? I mean, it’s the middle of the semester, isn’t it?”

A rare half-smirk graces his lips.

“We made a promise. I came back to you first. So I do believe that means that I win,” he says. If you weren’t so emotional, you might have rolled your eyes—of course, all he ever focuses on is winning.

He drags you over to the couch, laying down and pulling you on top of him, safe. You draw closer to him, tangling your limbs together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, muffled into his chest.

Kinich shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re still a sore loser. Thought you’d grow out of that by now.”

You grumble a few choice words at him, and he smiles—a sight that only you and the stars can claim to have ever seen.

And he’s right; you are a sore loser, and he’s been right just about every time he told you so. But you find it doesn’t matter, not really.

You could never win against Kinich anyway.

(Maybe you never wanted to.)

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

500 Followers = 500 Words Event: Seonghwa

Cravings

-> Pairing: Husband!Park Seonghwa x Pregnant!Reader -> Requested by: @treehouse-mouse -> Prompt:  Prompt 17: pregnancy cravings -> Warnings: mentions of pregnancy. protective Seonghwa. a little teasing (not in the kinky way) -> Word Count: 516 -> Request: Closed.

500 followers = 500 words Masterlist | Main Masterlist

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead

Feeling restless and not wanting to disturb her husband’s sleep, Y/N quietly slips out of bed, making every effort to not wake Seonghwa up. Feeling the chill in the air, she finds one of Seonghwa’s oversized hoodies and pulls it on before she makes her way into the kitchen being pretty sure that it’s her light night pregnancy cravings keeping her awake. 

As she switches the light on, her stomach rumbles loudly. She searches the cupboards and fridge for something to eat but finds nothing that will satisfy the growing human inside her. Grabbing her phone, she browses through food delivery apps, but still, she can’t find anything she wants.  

Instead, she takes her handbag off the hook it’s on and checks inside making sure her wallet is in there before tossing her keys inside with it. She quickly pulls on her coat without changing out of her comfy pajama pants.  

Just as she reaches for the door, Seonghwa's voice startles her. “Where are you going?” 

“I’m hungry,” she replies, turning to look at him. “And your son is being really picky right now,” she adds, resting a hand on her baby bump, which is barely concealed by his oversized hoodie. 

“You shouldn’t be out this late, especially not alone,” he said, his voice softening as he moves to the entrance of their home and reaches for his coat. 

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” She tries to assure him that she’ll be okay. 

Putting his coat on, he shakes his head. “Write a list of what you feel like and I’ll go get it for you.” 

“But I don’t know what I feel like,” she pouts and rubs circles on her belly. “Like I said, he’s being picky.” 

“I’ll go with you then,” he says. There's no way he's allowing her to go out this late at night on her own, pregnant and craving or not.   

“Seonghwa, it’s really not necessary. I know you need the sleep,” she tells him.  

“I’d rather be there with you, making sure you’re safe. Plus, it’ll be fun! We can make a little adventure out of it,” he says, more awake now. 

She can’t help but smile at him as he helps her put her shoes on before putting his own on. "Alright, if you insist," she finally relented.  

He smiles in triumph and takes her hand bag, putting it over his shoulder before opening the front door. 

As they step outside, the cool night air hits them, causing them both to shiver and tighten their coats around them. As they begin their walk, the streetlights cast a soft glow, lighting their way to the 24-hour convenience store just up the road.  

"You really think a trip to the convenience store can be an adventure?" Y/N teases thinking back to what he said, her voice light and playful as she slips her hand inside his. 

“Why can’t it be?” he asks. “If you think about it, with your weird cravings who knows what will happen?” His eyes sparkle with mischief, and she can’t help but laugh, playfully hitting his arm. 

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@forever-atiny -

[formulafics]

VALENTINES DAY

Scenario: a peak into some of the grids Valentine’s Day with yn. <;3

Includes: charles leclerc, alex albon, lando norris, george russel, mick shumacher, yuki tsunoda, and logan sargeant.

A/N: this is another super short post, BUT AT LEAST ITS A POST 🙌🏻 as always, shoutout to my beloved @renarots for fueling ideas that go into these fics 🥰

charles_leclerc and ynln

liked by ynln, georgerussel63, alex_albon, landonorris, and 432,651 others

charles_leclerc Happy Valentines Day - Mr & Mrs. Leclerc ❤️💍

view all 5,631 comments

ynln obssesed with you for life 😚

⤷ formulaleclerc SOBBING I LOVE YN AND CHARLES

arthur_leclerc ❤️❤️

lovelyleclerc CHARLES AND YN ENGAGEMENT WAS NOT ON MY 2024 BINGO CARD WHAT THE FUCK

alex_albon and ynln

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alex_albon valen-time for a valentines dump

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ynln were literally so cool 😎

⤷ logansargeant the coolest 💯

⤷ formulaoneoneone logan is NEVER beating the yn and alex are his parents allegations

lando.jpg and ynln

liked by ynln, georgerussel63, oscarpiastri, danielricciardo and 653,762 others

lando.jpg 4 years down, forever to go. 😚

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ynln I love you forever my sweet boy

⤷ ynln and happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! 🥰

norriswrld their anniversary being on Valentine’s Day may just be the most devastating thing in the world

⤷ ln4nation LITERALLY.

ynln and georgerussel63

liked by landonorris, alex_albon, charles_leclerc, mercedesamgf1, and 234,563 others

ynln my forever valentine. ❤️

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georgerussel63 love you to the moon and back. 🌙❤️

⤷ amgr63 this is so sick and twisted george 😭

mickshumacher and ynln

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mickshumacher my favorite girls for life. happy valentines day ❤️

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ynln micky, the people want to know - do you love me or Angie more?

⤷ mickshumacher yes.

⤷ shumishumi THIS IS SUCH A CUTE RESPONSE IM ON THE FLOOR

yukitsunoda0511 and ynln

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yukitsunoda0511 happy valentines ❤️

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ynln you’re my favorite human 🥹

cryingoverf1 what do y’all know about yn and yuki being the best couple on the paddock? NOTHING.

yukisgirl these are my parents btw guys (yn and yuki adopt me challenge)

logansargeant and ynln

liked by alex_albon, mickshumacher, oscarpiastri, and 214,567 others

logansargeant happiest man in the world 🫶🏻

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ynln happiest girl in the world 🥰

⤷ formulasargeant GOD THEYRE SO CUTE

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thank you for reading! <3

[obsessed-with-fake-men]

looking at you

when your movie date with Jeremy doesn't go how he planned, he has you put on a private show...not that you know he's pulling the strings

Jeremy Frazier x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit 

Content warnings: nsfw, mdni, dubcon, stalking/peeping, mutal(?) masturbation, he calls you a slut

Author's note: This fic can be read as a follow up to forever or as a standalone. Jeremy is still a pervy creep and will continue to be one.

Word count: ~3300

Jeremy loves looking at you. Honestly, it might be his favorite thing to do. He’s slyly watching you now, carrying yet another box of belongings up to your room. God you’re beautiful. He loves the way you puff out air to get a piece of hair out of your face when your hands are full. And the way you put your hands on your hips when you’re lost in thought. And not to mention how cute you are when you think no one is watching. How you dance around in your panties, singing into your hair brush. A little strip tease just for him.

He sees you pause and look down, then pick up a paper airplane.The note he sent your way moments ago, unfurling in your hand. 

meet me at 7, bring popcorn - j

Your eyes dart to the window, searching. For him. But Jeremy is safe in the shadows, free from your gaze. He watches you shrug and draw the curtains. Not to worry, he’ll see you soon.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Jeremy is pacing next to his house. He’s waiting for you. It’s 6:58 and you’re not there. 

Fuck what if you don’t show?

With your curtains blocking his view, Jeremy can’t be sure whether you’re coming or not. He glances at his watch: 6:59. 

I’m such a delusional idiot of course y/n isn’t coming.

The chime of the bell tower begins, signaling the top of the hour. Jeremy runs a hand through his hair in exasperation.

What would you want with a pathetic, no good, murde-

The creak of a door startles him out of his thoughts. Head jerking toward the sound, he sees you.

The tightness in his chest evaporates instantly and he unclenches fists he hadn’t consciously made. 

You look divine in the light of the setting sun. Jeremy’s eyes roam your figure, he notices you changed from what you were wearing earlier. The tight sundress hugs your upper body and is absolutely inappropriate for the October evening. 

Jeremy feels a smug sort of satisfaction at the thought that you chose it just for him. 

You clear your throat. 

“Like what you see?” you tease with a giggle.

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and gesturing at your dress with the other.

“What can I say, you make me speechless.”

Warmth rises to your cheeks as you smile shyly. 

“Ummmm anyway,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I brought the goods.”

You produce a bag of pre-popped popcorn from behind your back.

“Skinny Pop?” Jeremy asks dubiously, quirking an eyebrow.

You shove his arm playfully. 

“My mom heard somewhere that the microwave stuff gives you cancer or something,” you shrug.

“We wouldn’t want that, now would we,” Jeremy jests.

You swear you see a dark gleam in his eyes, like a wolf staring down a doe before striking. But upon blinking you’re left looking into the warmth of his brown irises.

“Soooooo, are we heading inside?” you ask, moving to walk toward the house.

Abruptly, Jeremy grabs your hand and halts you in your tracks. 

You feel like you’ve touched a live wire as an initial cool jolt of electricity runs through your hand and arm, quickly fading to a warm tingle.

“Actually, I have a surprise for you,” he says with a grin, pulling you toward the backyard.

Turning the corner, you see a rustic treehouse glowing from within.

“Woah, a treehouse!” you exclaim. “I didn’t know this was back here.”

Jeremy watches you look up in awe. The lights of the house reflecting like stars in your eyes.

“Yeah, I come here to get away from everything,” he sighs. “It’s the only place I feel like I can really think, you know?”

Glancing up at him, you see a melancholic expression you know well and you give his hand a squeeze. “Yeah, I definitely get that.”

Jeremy lifts your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, he gives them a light kiss.

“Ladies first,” he murmurs, nodding toward the rungs leading up the tree. 

Reluctantly, you relinquish his hand and begin the climb. Leaning against the trunk, Jeremy looks up to enjoy the view. Your dress flicking up, tantalizes him with each rung you mount. Squinting, he can almost make out the color of your panties. Jeremy makes a silent vow that he’ll know the answer by the end of the night. 

When you reach the top you pause to gaze around the tree house. Its simple, worn wood was made enchanting - illuminated by fairy lights and the soft glow of a television. There was a nest of comforters and pillows on one side and an old CRT TV with a built-in VCR on the other. 

Arms snake around your waist, seeming to appear out of thin air. Jeremy pulls you into him, pressing your back to his body.

“What do you think?” he whispers into your ear. His cool breath feels like the autumn breeze, leaving a trail of goosebumps down your neck.

“It’s beautiful,” you sigh.

Jeremy spins you in his arms, hugging your waist tightly. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. Leaning down, he glances from your eyes to your lips and back.

You do the same, heart racing as you see his adam’s apple bob. Pushing up on your tiptoes, you almost close the gap between your mouths. 

“Is this the part where we kiss?” you ask breathily, looking up at Jeremy through fluttering lashes.

He answers with action - a palm flat on your back, pulling you together. His lips are soft, but you feel the need, the urgency behind the kiss. You grip the front of his soft flannel in one hand, attempting to pull him even closer to you.

Jeremy groans into you, he loves knowing that you’re just as desperate as he is. Testing your limits, he nips lightly at your bottom lip. You let out a soft moan and Jeremy quickly swallows it, heart soaring at the sound. Threading your fingers through his messy brown hair, you feel a dizzying weightlessness. 

Jeremy feels it too. Peeking his eyes open just a crack, he realizes the two of you are levitating.

Oh shit.

He pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours. Willing his rasping breath to come easier, he feels his feet settle back on the ground. In an attempt to keep your suspicions at bay, he pulls your body close in a tight hug before setting you down. You blink up at him, dazed. Leaning down, Jeremy kisses your forehead.

“At this rate we’ll never watch the movie,” he chuckles.

You settle into the blankets as Jeremy pops the VHS of Casablanca into the old television. As the tape slides into the machine, he sits next to you.

The title card appears in curly cursive script and the black and white film begins in earnest.

Leaning over you whisper, “I didn’t realize it was a classic!”

“I hope that’s alright,” he says, glancing over at you.

You nod vigorously and Jeremy chuckles, returning his attention to the screen.

“But the others wait in Casablanca,” the narrator’s mid atlantic voice bellows out. “And wait and wait and wait.”

Jeremy mouths along. He’s memorized all the movies in the house by now, and he’s always identified with that line. But now, he wonders if all this time he’s been waiting for you.

The two of you are sitting a respectable distance apart, as is you weren’t trying to swallow one another moments before. You both have one hand strategically placed in the space left unoccupied. Pretending to play with the blankets, a ruse to inch fingers closer and closer. Finally you touch, it’s a light, innocent brush. Over in a second. But the electricity is there again, sending a shiver down your spine.

Jeremy’s head snaps to you.

“Are you cold?” he asks. 

Before you can reply, his flannel is off and he’s helping you into it. The worn fabric smells earthy, like fallen leaves and wet dirt. It’s an odd but comforting smell, and you pull it tightly around yourself. 

“C’mere,” he says, opening his arms for you to snuggle into. And snuggle you do. Laying your head on his chest, you drape a leg across his hips. Jeremy wraps his strong arms around you, holding your body to his. 

The two of you stay like this for a while, unmoving. Relaxing into the steady rise and fall of Jeremy’s breathing, you notice how cold he must be in only his t-shirt. Just as you start to feel guilty about taking his flannel, Jeremy begins to trace light circles onto the exposed flesh of your thigh. His touch is maddeningly gentle and leaves a trail of burning desire. Two can play this game. 

You softly run your nails from his chest down across his stomach. Jeremy’s breath hitches as his muscles tense under your touch. He grips your soft flesh, squeezing your thigh tightly once before returning to those damn circles.

Biting back a moan, you turn your head to trail featherlight kisses along his collarbone, up his neck and to his adam’s apple. His cock twitches against your leg as Jeremy's wandering fingers trail up to cup your ass. You moan, playfully nipping at his jaw. 

“You’re not paying attention,” Jeremy groans. 

“I am paying attention, I promise,” you giggle. Shifting your weight to rub against his growing erection. 

“I'll show you paying attention,” he growls.

Pushing back to sit up against the wall, Jeremy pulls you onto his lap. 

You look so pretty perched there, with your hands resting on his chest, blinking those beautiful eyes at him. One hand finds its home on your hip, and he gently strokes your cheek with the other. He would do anything for you in that moment. If you said you wanted the moon, he’d spend eternity pulling it down from the heavens. 

“Here’s looking at you, kid,” Jeremy whispers, in perfect time with the movie. 

You giggle and your plush lips beckon his attention and grabbing the back of your neck, Jeremy pulls your mouth to his. 

His aggression takes you by surprise, causing you to gasp. Jeremy wastes no time delving his tongue into your open mouth. You freeze at the sudden intrusion. Jeremy softly rubs his thumb along your waist, coaxing you to relax into the kiss. He nips and sucks at your tongue, swallowing the moans you spill as he grinds his hips up into you. 

Jeremy snakes a hand up to your throat, squeezing gently and you practically melt for him. Arching your back, you break the kiss as you thrust your tits into his face. He releases your waist to take them gladly. Grabbing your soft flesh, he groans. You’re not wearing a bra. 

My little slut.

Pulling at your nipples through the fabric, you gasp and squeeze your legs around his thighs. Claiming your lips once again, Jeremy decides it’s time to find out what color your panties really are. Grabbing a handful of your ass, he slowly pulls your dress up and up and…you pull away, panting.

You’re so beautiful with your face flushed and eyes dark, he thinks this must be a preview of what you look like when you orgasm and he can’t wait to find out. As he starts to pull your dress up even farther, you put a hand on his chest, halting his action. Turning, you look over your shoulder to see that the credits are rolling. 

“Shit!” you laugh. “It’s over!”

Jeremy grabs the remote and dangles it from two fingers.

“It doesn’t have to be over if you don’t want it to…”

“Okay that’s true,” you giggle, “I'll actually watch it this time. I promise.” 

You hold out a pinky to him and Jeremy links his long finger with yours.

“I won’t hold you to it,” he winks

Laughing, you roll off of his lap. He groans at the loss of contact. 

“Is it okay if we don’t go any further tonight?” you ask, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

“Of course,” he sighs, cupping your face.

He gives you a light kiss on the forehead and you snuggle back up against him. Rewinding the movie, Jeremy finds the last part you remember. 

What a fucking tease. He’s going to make you pay for this later. 

You’re fully engrossed in the movie this time and Jeremy lightly plays with your hair. All the while he is dreaming up just what to do to get you back. 

When the movie finishes you reluctantly sit up. 

“I guess I should head home,” you yawn. “Unless you need help taking all this down?”

“Nah, I’ll take care of it later,” Jeremy replies. “Let’s get you home.”

Jeremy descends the treehouse steps first, something about being there to catch you if you slip. Hugging his flannel tight to your body, you carefully make your way down the rungs. When you near the ground, you feel Jeremy’s strong hands on your hips. He helps you hop down and you walk hand in hand back to the front of the house. When you near the edge of his yard, he pulls you into his body and presses his forehead to yours.

“See you tomorrow?” he murmurs hopefully. 

“You know where I’ll be,” you laugh.

Leaning up, you press a soft kiss to his lips. Jeremy’s greedy hands want more. They want to drag you up to his room so he can touch every inch of your flesh. To give you pleasure you haven’t even dreamed of. Instead, he simply squeezes your hands before releasing you into the night. 

He stands, unmoving as he watches you go. Once you’re safely inside, Jeremy slips up to his room. 

----------------------------------------------------------------

Turning on your lamp, you look out your window at Jeremy’s room. It’s still dark. 

He must be picking up the tree house.

Taking off Jeremy's flannel, you breathe in the scent of him when a sudden strange feeling comes over you. It’s like you’re moving on autopilot or something. Slipping your dress over your head, you saunter toward your full length mirror. You adjust it a bit, tilting and turning the mirror until the reflection is just right. Then you take a step back and get a good look at yourself. Almost naked, except for your red panties. 

I thought they were red, a smug thought echoes in your head. 

Your hand reaches for the flannel and you shrug it back on, thankful for its warmth. You must have forgotten to close the window earlier. Instead of shutting out the night air, your legs take you to the edge of your bed. Before you sit down, you slide your panties over your ass and down your legs, flicking them across the room at the mirror with your foot. 

You don’t even have time to question the action before you’re settling down on the edge of your bed, spreading your thighs wide. You take a moment to admire yourself in the mirror, naked except for Jeremy's open shirt. 

Such a perfect little slut, the smug voice taunts. 

You want to argue, but your hand begins to lightly trace up your body. From your knee, up your thigh, ghosting across your stomach and resting on your breast. You squeeze, and it feels eerily similar to how Jeremy touched you earlier. The thought evaporates when you roll your hard nipple between your fingers. You fall back onto the bed, as your other hand starts toying with your clit. 

----------------------------------------------------------------

He's done it. He never tried before, no one seemed worth the energy. But Jeremy has successfully possessed you. He isn’t sure the power really reaches that far, so maybe it’s more like influencing you. But that means you wouldn’t be doing the actions he’s implanting in your psyche if deep down you didn’t want to…right? 

The first thing he did was make sure he could watch you. He had you adjust your mirror so he can perfectly see you spayed out on your bed from the comfort of his desk. 

And splayed you are. 

Here’s looking at you, kid. 

Jeremy was teasing his cock before, lighting stroking it as you disrobed. But now that you have two fingers poised to enter your tight wet pussy, he can’t hold back any longer. 

He grips the base of his cock hard and groans, your cue to sink those fingers into your core. Jeremy’s hips stutter up into his fist as he hears a faint moan float through the window. He can see your hand moving faster and faster, hurriedly he speeds up his strokes. Desperate to match your pace. Your other hand snakes to circle your clit, causing your back to arch off the bed. Jeremy is hunched over his desk, eyes glued to your mirror. If he had an ounce of self respect, he may feel ashamed. Fisting his cock like a pervert to the little show he’s making you put on. But fuck, seeing you like this. His will being done so perfectly. It has to be right.

“Another finger baby,” he whispers. 

And instantly you respond. The resounding moan you release knocks the breath from his chest. So desperate. So hungry. A sound that says your fingers aren’t enough. His cock pulses in his fist. He’s dangerously close, but so are you.

“Cum for me,” he huffs, fucking up into his fist in earnest.

You whine, thighs trembling as your fingers pump in and out of your core.

Fuck you’re perfect.

As you orgasm, his name tumbles from those perfect lips. If it had just been once, Jeremy could’ve convinced himself he’ imagined it. But then you cry it over and over, chanting his name like a prayer. He can’t hold back any more. With one final buck of his hips, Jeremy cums with your name on his tongue.

It’s the most intense orgasm he can remember. Maybe it has something to do with the semi-possesion, maybe it’s just what you bring out in him, but Jeremy swears he’s seeing stars. 

When he finally comes down, he realizes he can’t sense you any longer. 

Fuck.

He must’ve lost the connection. His heart is beating so fast, he can’t hear a thing. But he stares intently at your mirror. At your frozen form, still spread perfectly for him to see. 

Then you stir.

----------------------------------------------------------------

You come to after what is maybe the hardest you’ve ever orgasmed. Definitely the best orgasm you’ve had with just your fingers. Why you didn’t grab your vibrator, you’re not sure. Groaning, you prop up on your elbow and look into the mirror. For a second you swear you see a pair of eyes shining back at you in the shadow of the reflection. Blinking, you sit up further. But the mirror is empty, reflecting only your open window. 

A cool breeze dances across your exposed skin and you shiver, pulling Jeremy’s soft flannel tight across your body. 

Jeremy…did I really just call his name when I…

You shake your head, dismissing the thought and get up to stretch out your tight muscles. Crossing the room, you go to close the window. Before you shut it, you lean out. The moonlight illuminates your form perfectly, naked save for that damn flannel. You can’t see him, but for some reason you think you can feel his gaze on you.

“Goodnight, Jeremy,” you giggle softly and you pull the window closed.

When the frame thuds shut, Jeremy finally breathes out a sigh. Shaking his head, he lets out a soft chuckle.

Playing with you is going to be so much fun.

[babyleostuff]

[ 💿 ] . . . TAPE 6

모두 함께 노래 부르자 / 힘찬 노랫소리 슬픔 가려지도록 / 괜찮을 거야 시계의 바늘처럼 / 다시 돌고 돌아 제자리로 오겠지

☁️ "circles" by seventeen

being loved by jeon wonwoo means having someone who will look at you as if you hung stars in the sky. he is rather shy and introverted, he doesn’t like grand and loud gestures when he wants to convey his love, he doesn’t see the appeal in buying expensive gifts for every date. that being said - they way he looks at you is something no words could ever describe. not only do his eyes hold the unconditional and utter love he has for you, but you can see how fucking proud he is of you, how you keep on fighting, even on your bad days. appreciation for how smart and beautiful you are. gratitude for appearing in his life. his eyes hold a palette of emotions, and you’d have to be blind not to notice how much you mean to wonwoo. the whole room could be filled with thousands of people, and he'd still be looking at you, as if his only thoughts were where are they where are they where are they.

being loved by jeon wonwoo means inner peace. maybe it's just his aura, maybe it's the fact that he is a (rather) calm person, but when you are around him you just feel peace. the paralysing pounding of your heart, the nagging thoughts that more often than not make you want to cry, the helplessness that you sometimes feel when coming home - all of that does not exist when wonwoo is next to you. maybe it's because you know that he will always be next to you when you fall to help you get up and keep going, maybe it's because you simply feel safe with him. but with him you just feel at peace. beautiful, blissful peace.

being loved by jeon wonwoo means that from now on you have a fan nr. 1. honestly, it’s kind of alarming how obsessed he is with you - others could try to argue that they know you better than he does, but no one can beat wonwoo, nah. oh, so you think you know them better than me? okay, cool, sure - and then he proceeds to take out a notebook with at least a hundred pages written down, explaining why you are the most talented, smart, brilliant and beautiful person in the world like it’s the most normal thing ever. moreover, no matter what your interests are, wonwoo always wants to be a part of them. he truly loves indulging in your hobbies, for him the greatest gift the universe could give him is watching you do something you love - how you radiate with happiness - that’s something wonwoo could watch for ages. he's the biggest loser when it comes to you, there's nothing he wouldn't do for you - he'd happily twirl if you asked him to.

being loved by jeon wonwoo feels like the smell of a new book, like the air after rain, like a hug when you’re too tired to say anything, like a single tear falling down your cheek, like a soft smile and gentle eyes, like a quiet promise of forever.

“we loved with a love that was more than love.” - edgar allan poe, annabel lee

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @chillseo @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @aaasia111 @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @haneulparadx @zozojella @hoichi02

[sanjisboyfie]

playlist : tender by blur

(pre-timeskip) monkey d. luffy x male reader

this was a special i wrote for my fanfic (thats not published here on tumblr) but i realized it could be a good standalone one shot so i wanted to post it hereeeee :) the relationship status is ambiguous, but its obvious luffy and reader have known each other since chidhood/foosha village and luffy really really really loves clinging to reader ! another thing, if u want this could be a soft yandere luffy as well cause hes definitelllyyy showing summ tendencies here lol

“tender is the night, lying by your side. tender is the touch of someone that you love too much. tender is my heart, i’m screwing up my life. lord, i need to find someone who can heal my mind.”

luffy’s first impression of [name] was that he was strong. he looked up to him, he wanted to be as cool as him and as capable as him. how many times [name] had saved luffy’s ass when they were children was uncountable. and all those memories live so vividly in the captain’s head.

and when he made [name] promise that he’d find him in the grand line - made him swear that he’d join his crew and not anyone else’s, it was all so serious. the most serious luffy had ever been in the face of [name].

because to luffy, there would be no reason sailing out to sea if [name] wasn’t by his side. it sounds childish, especially if luffy were to ever verbally say that, but overtime he had realized that it was another genuine sentiment. there was no way luffy could become the pirate king without [name] by his side.

"luffy, stop running over the mud, you’re gonna fall on your face!” [name] worriedly called out from the treehouse, seeing the rubber boy play in their yard. it had just recently rained and all the soil that was surrounding their treehouse was still sludgy.

of course, luffy wanted to play in the mud like the child he was. [name] wasn’t going to stop him, but he could at least warn the younger one of injury.

"come play with me, [name]! let’s make mud pies!”

“no! you’re just gonna get hungry and actually eat them! gross!”

“i won’t- i am hungry though!”

[name] didn’t reply, only leaning over the wooden railing of the treehouse and watching as luffy got himself all mucked up and dirty. somehow, his straw hat stayed clean the entire time. he sighed, fiddling with his own piece of shanks, the cloth on his wrist before smiling gently.

just as he was about to turn around and get some naps in, luffy’s shrill voice started screaming, “[name]! [name]! save me!!! save me!”

he whipped his head around in an instant, eyes widening when he saw that luffy was caught in a mud slide.

"i can't breathe!!"

his voice was getting farther away and [name] jumped out of the treehouse without hesitation.

“luffy! luffy!” he shouted desperately, grunting when his ankle got caught in the mud and he was being dragged into the disgusting substance as well. he jerked his body upwards, wanting to at least see where luffy could’ve possibly been.

and then he saw it — his tiny palm waving frantically around in the air. [name] grit his teeth, twisting his body every which way to break out of the sticky grasp the environment had on him.

"[name]-” the boy’s scream was cut off and the sound of coughing began to fill his ears.

”luffy!” he grabbed a vine that was on the side of a tree and ripped it off, unlocking a newfound strength in himself to save luffy. he threw it right into luffy’s palms and tugged as hard as he could.

he dug his heels into the ground, his jaw clenched as he put all of his strength in pulling luffy out. and when he finally did, the first thing he did was wrap his arms around the boy’s torso.

"can you breathe?! are you okay?!” he frantically asked, patting the boy’s back in case anything was lodged in his chest - hindering his breathing. but luffy just collapsed into his arms and began wailing.

“i thought i was going to die, [name]! thank you!!”

[name] protectively wrapped luffy up in his arms, hugging him as tight as possible as he tried to reassure himself that luffy was alright. and he steadied his breathing, allowing luffy to cry into his arms for however long he wanted.

“you stupid idiot, don’t ever play in mud again!” he scolded luffy, pushing away the black locks of hair out of luffy’s face. he grimaced when he felt how dirty his hair felt, reminding himself to bathe with luffy to ensure all the grime was washed out.

and despite luffy’s face almost being completely covered in mud, he still flashed that bright smile, “you saved me, [name]! thank you!”

[name] blinked a couple of times before laughing, “of course i’d save you! i’ll always be there! just scream like the little baby you are and i’ll come running!”

luffy frowned, hands balling into [name]’s mud ridden shirt, “i’m not a baby!”

“yeah, you are,” [name] corrected, “but it’s alright, i’ll take care of you no matter what! so you get the excuse of acting like a baby! but! only for a little while longer, you gotta start maturing soon, luffy!”

“don’t wanna, that sounds boring!”

“captain’s can’t be immature, y’know! i don’t want an immature captain!”

“i’m mature, the maturest captain out there!”

[name] laughed as loud as possible, finding luffy’s eagerness to please and obliviousness more heartfelt than anything he’s ever seen before.

and as [name] was sitting in the crow’s nest, watching luffy run around the deck whining for adventure, he realized how lucky he got that his captain was still an adventurous, reckless, and immature as he was. he fears that if luffy had lost any of those traits, he’d make for a boring captain.

as if knowing that [name] was watching from above, luffy looked up and grinned happily to see that his e/c eyes were looking at him. in a second, he stretched himself up to where [name] was and crashed into his chest.

“don’t you want to go on more adventures, [name]?” luffy asked, rubbing their cheeks against one another. the grin on his face could be felt along [name]’s skin. his rubbery, but soft, skin was already making [name] crack into a smile of his own.

“yes, i want to go on more adventures, but we need to find an island for that to be an option,” [name] reasoned logically, making luffy’s smile turn into a frown.

“but i wanna go now! can’t you take us to an island?!”

“it doesn’t work like that, luffy!”

“it so does, you liar!”

“you’re right it does, i was lying!” [name] grinned, laughing as luffy began play fighting with him. “but aren’t you on an adventure right now?”

luffy paused, stilling in his fake attacks as he mulled over the question. then his signature grin came back onto his face, “i guess i am!”

“what makes you say that?”

“if you’re here, i’m on the best adventure!” luffy sincerely, and unapologetically, shouted.

[name] was shocked at first before his expression melted into a loving stare, “i feel the same way,”

“good! it’d be wrong if you didn’t!”

luffy calmed down from when he was running around on the deck. he still had [name] wrapped up in his arms, but the man wasn’t fighting against his embrace. so he only tightened it further.

“i’m really, really, really, really, really happy you’re here, [name].”

luffy’s statement came out of nowhere, but [name] didn’t bother showing his surprise. he simply let luffy continue on.

“i don’t ever want to be seperated from you again,” luffy said, out of nowhere his voice was now trembling, “you’d leave and leave and leave and then i never knew when you’d be back — if you’d even come back! and i don’t want that ever again…don’t ever leave me again!”

[name] frowned, fists clenching at his sides as he heard luffy’s shaky voice.

“and then you left for three years and there was no way i could talk to you, you and ace left me by myself! but you promised me we’d find each other, so i knew you’d come back! and now that you’re back, you can’t ever leave again,” luffy tightened his hold on [name], nuzzling his now cold nose into his neck. it had turned cold due to the sudden rush of tears that were clouding his vision.

“no! no! don’t take him away! don’t take [name] away!” luffy shouted, fighting against the uniformed men. his fists were pathetically pounding into their legs, his cries filling the night air.

“[name]! don’t go! please, don’t go!!"

for [name], those cries that came from luffy lived in his mind on repeat. whenever he’d have to leave, against his will, luffy would wail and cry until he was too far that he wasn’t able to hear him. he’d never make luffy suffer like that again, he’d sworn it to himself.

he was supposed to be the one protecting him, not causing him pain. no more suffering would come to luffy, if [name] could help it. he’d never have to cry for him again.

“i won’t let you leave, i won’t let anyone take you away — never again!” luffy said stubbornly, his teeth grazing the flesh of [name]’s shoulder.

the captain never got sentimental like this — nearly coming to tears for apparently no reason. but, it was not a secret that he had an unseen side to himself when it came to [name].

it was a side that no one else on the crew had really witnessed for themselves (yet). a side of vulnerability that only [name] was capable of bringing out. it was like the way [name] could command luffy stop stealing food off of other people’s plates and the captain would listen (for a solid 5 minutes, then he’d have to cave in and steal more food for his stomach).

“i won’t leave, luffy.” [name] said in a determined tone, “no one is going to take me away. i belong here with you, so don’t worry about anyone coming for me.”

“if anyone tries taking you away, i’ll kill them. i’ll send them flying that they’ll never try coming back, ever again!” luffy shouted once more. a deep pit of anger lived in him, a secret that he kept hidden for the most part.

it was a sense of guilt, probably, that fueled it so wildly. the guilt of not being able to do anything when he was a child. so he feels the need to overcompensate now that he has become stronger. if [name]’s position in their crew was ever threatened, someone tried taking him away, luffy would have had years upon years of pent up anger to release.

no one really knew how angry he was. only himself. it was the type of anger he would showcase when one of his crewmates, his nakama, was threatened on a personal level. when he saw nami crying for help against arlong was the one instance he can remember the clearest.

but the thing is, if anything like that ever happened to [name], he doesn’t think he’d be able to control himself. if [name] was ever pushed to the point of begging and crying for help, luffy doesn’t know how sane he could act.

just thinking of how frail [name] was whenever he’d be taken away when they were younger made him feel blood thirsty.

and it was an odd feeling. he almost never feels this way. never so violent. but when it comes to [name], everything is a free for all in luffy’s mind.

ever since he was a child [name] has been nothing but kind, a protector for luffy. and the captain would rather die than fail in protecting the one person who was always there for him.

“ace, quit being so mean to luffy!” [name]’s voice shouted, scolding the freckled man. he ran over to the younger one’s side immediately, collecting him in his arms and creating a physical barrier around luffy and ace.

“you baby him too much! how is he supposed to get stronger-”

“he’s just a kid!!!” [name] would shout, as if the three year age gap between himself and luffy amounted to decades. “don’t be so mean to him, don’t hit him anymore! i won’t allow it!”

“there’s no way he’ll survive in the real world if you keep this up!”

[name] grit his teeth, standing up and socking ace right in the face, “you can’t decide that!!”

“i’m being realistic!”

“you’re bullying him, enough!” [name] spat out, once again gathering luffy into his arms, “i won’t allow you to hurt him any more! don’t ever think about laying your hands on luffy again!!”

luffy hid his face in [name]’s torso, a feeling blossoming in his chest. he didn’t know the name for it and in the coming years, it seems he’d never learn how to properly state this feeling.

but he did know that whenever [name] was nearby, luffy was protected. he felt protected. [name] was, as he is for so many people, a protector. natural instincts make him a self-sacrificial person. if taking a bullet in the place of someone else meant they’d live, he’d jump in front of the gun in an instant.

it was a trait of [name]’s that luffy genuinely hated. not how protective [name] was, but how involved he was in making judgement calls without regards to his own health.

that self-sacrificial mindset that made [name] think more irrationally than he’d ever notice. luffy hated that.

only tiny instances has ever been seen by luffy when they were growing up. taking scoldings and beatings from garp in order to save luffy the pain, shadowing luffy’s body with his own if there was a sudden danger directed towards him, things along those lines that would leave [name] with some injuries or scars.

but to think that this attitude of [name]’s could lead to more serious injuries, or even death, was what made luffy uncomfortable. made him want to punch a hole in the wall. it really, really infuriated him.

because in his eyes, [name]’s life was something more important than anything else. he didn’t understand how [name] could be so careless with something so important to luffy.

the idea that one day, someone may be in a life threatening situation, and [name] would take their place makes luffy’s heart start beating at impossible speeds and his breathing quicken. his mind would get cloudy in dark thoughts. and then he’d have to snap himself out of it to remind himself that he was day dreaming and nothing of those sorts was going to happen any time soon.

he’d make sure of it, as captain he was determined to.

”is he going to be okay, dadan?” luffy sniffled, tiny hands curled into fists as he stared at [name]’s bandaged form.

recklessly, [name] had jumped in front of an animal attacking luffy and took the attack for himself instead. it was a tiger slashing out to draw blood from luffy. [name] had caught the sight from the corner of his eye and ran as fast as he could, hoping to god he had made it in time.

and when he looked down and saw luffy unscratched, he weakly smiled in victory. three slashes were bearing into his skin and making him bleed profusely, but to see luffy unharmed in front of him was enough for him to pass out without a worry in his mind.

imagine luffy’s fear as he had to carry [name] on his back, on his own, not knowing if the ragged breathing coming down on his ears would suddenly stop. the fear and dread he’d feel if he took him all the way back to dadan and it was already determined to be “too late” to save [name].

and the way it would have all been his fault.

now, in reality, the damage wasn’t as bad as luffy had thought it out to be. but he was still only a child. the fact he had seen that much blood was enoug reason for why he thought [name] was really going to die. it was a relatively valid fear.

“he’s going to be alright, this brother of yours is the toughest one of the whole pack of you rabbid animals,” dadan grunted, taking her seat across from luffy by [name]’s side.

“not my brother,” luffy grumpily corrected, tired of people getting the wrong idea. how many times has he had to tell people [name] wasn’t his brother. to luffy he was so much more than that.

as rude as it sounded to his two other brothers, [name] was so much more than a simple title of “brother.”

“apologies,” dadan sarcastically said, “but really, he’s going to be fine luffy, he’ll be better if you just leave him alone, though.”

she stood up, going to walk out of the room and held the door open for luffy. she waited for him to join her side, but he was glued to being by [name]. seeing his resolve in staying by [name], she gently closed the door behind her.

luffy already promised himself he wouldn’t move until [name] opened his eyes.

he wouldn’t sleep until [name] opened his eyes. he wouldn’t eat until [name] drank water — since luffy knew that would be the first thing the boy would need when waking up.

he wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of things [name] was missing out on. especially when it was luffy’s fault he was in this state in the first place.

in the crow’s nest of merry, [name] could only rub up and down luffy’s arm in hopes of calming him down. he felt guilty for being the reason of luffy’s tears, but realized that there was nothing he could have done to prevent them.

the two were too familiar with why he was crying in the first place. they knew that combatting it before the tears would start was useless. luffy had broken down to [name] many times before, especially when they were younger. it would end in sleepless nights and sweet nothings being echoed in the air for luffy’s ears and luffy’s ears only.

and the best way to take care of it was to let it happen. whispered nothings weren't really effective to luffy. he didn’t want to be fed empty promises, he could tell when things couldn’t be guaranteed. but, he thinks, if [name] is the one saying them he wouldn't mind at least hearing them. that didn’t necessarily mean he was listening though.

there was something else he would never pass up on hearing over and over and over again from [name]. it was four simple words. it could be false hope being put into luffy’s head, but he’d believe it for as long as he could.

“i’m not going anywhere,” [name] whispered into luffy’s arms, twisting his body around so now he was properly hugging luffy as well. before luffy had simply suffocated him in his arms, chest to back. but now that they were in a proper embrace, luffy could really hide himself in [name]’s arms.

it was like they were in the treehouse again. in their own world.

“i’m not going anywhere,” [name] repeated more slowly, raking his hands through luffy’s hair and gripping him tight. to emphasize the fact that this was a promise that he’d try his best in keeping.

to luffy, [name] was not a brother.

“i won’t let you,” luffy said in a stubborn voice, the syllables shaking as they left his lips. “you belong here, only here! you belong with me!”

[name] weakly laughed at luffy’s childish exclamation, nodding his head to ease his worries.

luffy never really got to vent these emotions out, so when did they come to surface, they were almost like a tsunami. they’d drown him in saying things he might’ve not even understood, but felt right to say.

and he’d blabber on about things he might not understand because he knew keeping them suppressed wasn't an option.

luffy didn’t know how to talk about the emotions he felt regarding [name], not in a way that would do them justice at least. he didn’t know how to articulate how protective he felt of [name], so instead as a compromise he’d attach himself to him whenever he could.

if someone tried sweeping [name] off of his feet, he wouldn’t know how to tell other people [name] was only his, so instead he’d yell about how annoying that person was to him and [name].

he didn’t know how to properly say how much he loved [name] so he’d boil it down to thinking [name] was heaven on earth.

[name] smiled gently when he felt luffy bury his head into his neck, tears pouring out of his eyes. he wondered what spurred luffy into being so open at the moment, but he wasn’t going to ask. it wasn’t appropriate and it didn’t matter.

he didn’t care why luffy was suddenly so worried on him no longer being there, he’d only focus on assuring him that he really wasn’t going anywhere. because someone would have to pry his cold, dead hands off of luffy if they wanted to separate the two. there’s no way he’d ever leave luffy again, especially after hearing his worries so vividly spoken now.

sure, luffy would say things relatively similar things to this when they were young. but there was always a sense of uncertainty in [name] when he would comfort luffy back then. he wasn’t sure if he was really going to be able to stay with him. the circumstances were so confusing back then.

but now it’s a clear picture. he knows that there is no way anyone could come between the two. after being pulled apart so sporadically in their youth and then being separated for three years due to [name] setting sail earlier, there was no room for argument in this matter.

[name] and luffy wouldn’t ever be separated for long ever again. [name] would do everything in his power to ensure that didn’t happen. anything to keep luffy happy. anything to keep luffy safe and protected.

“will you always leave like this when we are older, [name]?” luffy innocently asked one night. the two were awake due to the younger one having vivid nightmares regarding [name].

a nightmare that was reoccuring nowadays. [name] would be taken away and then he’d never come back, leaving his status unknown to luffy. and he’d wake up screaming and crying and [name] would be at his side in an instant.

”i’m working on it, lu, i really am,” [name] consoled him, holding him as they bathed in the moonlight. “i hate being away from you too, but there’s nothing we can do abuot it — for now.”

“i’ll get stronger and then i’ll beat all those stupid guys up!” luffy said in pure determination, his eyebrows furrowed together in anger and frustration, “i’ll fight them next time,”

[name] chuckled, shaking his head, “don’t fight them. just promise to me you’ll always be waiting for me when i leave and i’ll always, always come back,”

luffy blinked owlishly before settling on that compromise. he wiggled his pinky finger in the air, right in front of [name]’s face, “i’ll promise to always be here waiting if you promise to always come back,”

[name] paused, thinking of he really should make empty promises. but then he shook his head, refusing to think so negatively and in a pessimistic way when luffy’s smile was bringing nothing but optimism to their conversation.

so he interlocked their pinkies together, shaking slightly as he nodded, “i promise.”

[name] was tender.

in his earliest memories of [name], luffy has known him to only be tender. the tender care [name] would show him, the love that was delivered to him so tenderly. the touch that would ghost over his skin, not because he was scared of holding him, but so he wouldn’t startle him.

no matter what, [name] would always be tender to luffy.

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

Hi Alex!

I don’t think it’s stupid or cheesy to miss someone, I miss you too! Going back to normal after being on holiday is always horrible, especially after this one, and especially having to go back to school, I’m not a big fan! Do you go to school too? I wanted to ask if you did but I couldn’t… it’s nothing personal, by the way, sometimes I just can’t speak to people and I don’t really know why. I thought it was my decision if I did or didn’t before I met you but maybe not. My parents n’ the teachers at school call it selective mutism but I won’t bore you with all that crap.

I can’t see your new teeth but they grow fast so maybe next time! If they don’t maybe you could get some gold one’s like your dad has, unless you don’t wanna look like a pirate lol.. my littlest sister has four teeth now, and I have all my big teeth! I haven’t counted the twins though cos they’d probably bite me if I tried haha!!

Ava is the tiny one with the blonde pigtails! She’s cute but she still sleeps and poops a lot haha, she’s sorta chill though and definitely doesn’t cry as much as Wren and Byrd used to (have you noticed we’re all named after birds yet? I guess my parents thought it was cute since our last name is Finch) Wren’s the ginger one with plaits! She’s pretty funny but she’s super grumpy sometimes and likes to bite and kick (not me though, she loves me) I think it’s cos she’s tired a lot cos she never sleeps at night, kinda like dad.. they’re twins but Byrd is way different, I couldn’t get a picture of him cos he kept running off, he’s crazy like that but he’s super snuggly and loves playing doctor! He likes to pretend to break my legs so I can’t go anywhere then fix them for me haha. Brothers and sisters are fun but they can be a pain in the butt sometimes! We have a cat called Lou too, his full name is Toulouse and he likes to bring us leaves from the garden and scream about ‘em, and he loves stealing food when you’re not looking.

Dad’s been teaching mom how to cook cos she sucks at it (don’t tell her I said that though cos I always pretend it’s not THAT bad) she’s sorta getting better though so I suppose the whole practice makes perfect thing pays off eventually. I got a school project to make a lame volcano that I didn’t wanna do as well, but my parents made me do it anyway.. we all know that real volcanoes aren’t full of baking powder and vinegar though so I dunno if there was much point to it but they seemed to think it was important so I did it anyway, at least I got a picture of it “going off” I guess. No one likes homework, even if it’s supposed to be fun, right?!

It’s cool you set Amber free!! I’m sure she’s happier wherever she is now so I guess you could just think of that when you miss her? The rocks are way cooler anyway! My aunt Aspen has loads of crystals too, sometimes she even charges them in the sun or the full moon.. I keep forgetting to ask her why but I’ll try and remember so I can tell you next time!

Hahaa your poor dad with those birds! I’ll definitely keep the picture cos it’s hilarious, Wren found it the funniest but don’t worry, I’ll keep the picture safe from her sticky hands! I have a hiding spot in the attic for all the stuff I don’t want them touching. I guess birdwatching is sorta fun sometimes but you’ve gotta be quiet (easy for me I guess.. hah!) I’m not sure there’s any other birds round here other than seagulls since we live right next to the sea, those are the ones you can hear the most anyway cos they never shut up! My dad jokes that he used to be a seagull in a past life cos he’s loud and greedy like they are lol.. he’s been building me a treehouse too, I bet that’d be good for birdwatching!! It’ll be super cool once he’s finished but it’s taking ages cos he mostly does it all by himself, I try n’ help sometimes but I’m still too small to carry or lift most things.. I wanna be as strong as him one day, he can build and fix almost anything (he swears a lot during it though haha!) Do you ever think about what you wanna be when you grow up? I don’t really think about that sorta stuff cos working sounds boring, especially if it’s as lame as school!!

I’m ten, by the way! How old are you and when’s your birthday? Mine’s February 22nd. I don’t think I have a favourite food, anything my dad makes is amazing cos he’s a good cook and my mom makes the BEST pancakes! We’re always stuffed after dinner but dad says (lies) that pudding goes in a different part of your stomach so there’s always room for cake haha.. I think I like it best when he makes spicy food but Wren and Byrd hate it so he doesn’t make stuff like that too often. It’s fun to see how much you can eat before your mouth feels like it’s on fire and I’ve decided I’m gonna beat him one day so he better watch out!!!

I didn’t know what to write at first but I guess I sorta ended up writing quite a lot since I had some catching up to do! Are you and your dad on holiday in the tower or are you living there for now? It sorta sounded like you’ve been there a long time, where do you usually live? What kinda stuff does your dad dig up for work? It’d be cool if he dug up dinosaur bones!! I watched something like that recently and they were HUGE!

It’s hard to think of questions on the spot but you can talk about anything you want too! I probably owe you a million answers as well so you can ask anything you want too! I had fun reading your letter and I’m glad we can be pen-pals even if we don’t get to see each other! Maybe next time we meet in person I’ll be able to say something, but writing would still be fun too so I guess it doesn’t really matter, right?

Love Robin c:

ps. I’m keeping the funny photo of you yelling at your dad and there’s nothing you can do about it!!

pps!! I don’t have a way to print out photos yet otherwise I’d have sent some new ones. Dad gave me an old polaroid ages ago but it’s still broken, his friend said he might be able to fix it though so hopefully I can use that next time. Mom said you can have some of our old ones and the ones from her disposable camera whilst we were on holiday for now though so I’ll send those to you as soon as they come back!

[berzahoes]

you and me | izzy stradlin

summary: no matter what axl told him, izzy could never stop loving you.

an: it’s about time i wrote something for my man izzy <3 not an exact timeline of how things actually went but hey, that’s fanfiction for ya!

warnings: axl rose that should always be a warning

the moment izzy saw you, he swore he was in love. at the time, you were both in high school. he had long hair and beat up shoes that were years old. on the other hand, you were the nicest clothes and shoes while your hair was perfectly cut and brushed. he noticed that you always wore a locket, maybe a family member had given it to you as a present.

you were known as the nicest girl in school. nobody had anything bad to say about you until a certain lead singer saw how in love his friend was with you.

“she’s a prude. why waste your time on her?”

izzy would immediately defend you. “you don’t know her. stop saying shit if you don’t know her.”

it was after your high school graduation that you and izzy began to talk. your family had thrown you a party. as you were helping your mom bring in decorations from her car, izzy just so happened to walk by since your houses were close to each other. you noticed him and waved for him to come over. he couldn’t believe that the most popular girl from high school was about to talk to him.

“hi, jeffrey.” you said in your sweet voice that izzy loved.

“you know my name?” he asked.

“well, yeah. we went to the same elementary school. remember mrs. smith? she wore those big glasses?” you said.

“i remember now and i remember you doing a project about the ocean and you said your favorite animal was a betta fish and some kid made fun of you for liking a fish.” he realized how much information he remembered. was it normal to remember all that? he probably looked like a creep—

“it still is. it’s a pretty fish.”

izzy only nodded.

“do you want to come over later? i’m having a graduation party and i would love for you to come.”

“yeah, thanks. maybe i’ll drop by. i’ve been busy with my band.”

“you’re in a band? that’s cool! what kind of music do you play?”

izzy wished he didn’t even the band, but at the same time, he wanted to share what he loved with you. “it’s just a . . band. you know, rock, we play that.”

“cool, maybe i can come see you guys perform?” you questioned.

“if you don’t mind sitting on a old couch in a garage.” he joked.

“every band starts somewhere, jeff.”

“izzy, i go by izzy.” he was nervous about what you thought about his name. did you like it? did you hate it so much that it made you not want to talk to him ever again?

“well, izzy, i still mean what i said.”

during the party, you introduced izzy to your parents. izzy thought it was a bad idea since most parents took one look at him and instantly thought he looked like trouble. but your parents weren’t that type.

“mom, dad, this is izzy. we went to the same elementary school. he graduated too.” you said as izzy shook hands with your parents.

“nice to meet you, izzy. congratulations on your graduation. any plans for your future?” your mom immediately asked.

“honey, the boy just got out of school. the last thing he wants to do is think about college,” your dad said. “our daughter says she wants to travel for a bit before she goes to college. we told her that as long as she has the money and she’s with someone we trust, she can travel as much as she can.”

then you whisper something into izzy’s ear that had both of your parents wondering. when you finished, izzy chuckled and nodded.

“he let me say this, izzy is actually in a band.” you blurted out.

“a band? that’s great. you know, i was almost in a band once. . .” your dad spoke.

and that was your cue to take izzy someplace else so you ended up in your old treehouse that your dad built. the party was still going on as you and izzy layed on the wooden floor.

“do you want to go to college?” izzy asked.

you sighed. both your parents went to college so they expected you to go as well. but all of you wanted to do was travel. you were born and raised in lafayette, the only time you went out of state was for your cousin’s wedding in georgia that you didn’t remember because you were five years old.

“I don’t know. you know how our teachers always say you have to go to college to get a good job and good money? i don’t think that. i want to go anywhere, everywhere. i don’t need a math degree or read shakespeare,” you explained. “i want to go to los angeles, i want to experience it so bad.”

“then let’s go.” izzy said casually.

“what?” you turned to him.

“let’s go to los angeles, you and me.” he repeated.

“but what about your band?” you asked.

“we were never going to make it out of the garage anyways. maybe los angeles has something for me.”

so after a few weeks, it was decided. you and izzy were going to the city of angels. when you told your parents, they were hesitant, but you reminded them of your dad’s words. they helped you pack and even gave you extra money so you wouldn’t worry.

back at izzy’s house, axl was trying to talk him out of leaving, especially with ‘the prude’ as he nicknamed you. but izzy wasn’t listening to him. he continued packing as axl listed all the reasons why it was a bad idea.

“she’s not going to survive the streets of los angeles, izzy. look at her! she’s going to break and then she’ll come back crying to mommy and daddy.” axl stated.

“she won’t because she’ll have me.” izzy replied.

“then you’re both dead.”

soon, you and izzy were on your way to los angeles. your parents had payed for your plane tickets. when the plane touched down in lax, you smiled at the feeling of being out of indiana.

“you ready?” izzy asked, grabbing your hand.

you nodded. “ready.”

1982

you and izzy now called los angeles your home. it took months of working and saving up money, but you and izzy found a nice small house in a good neighborhood. your parents often called to make sure you were okay. you would sometimes find izzy on the phone with your dad.

when you and izzy arrived to the city of angels, you immediately started looking for a job. a record store owner hired you since the store had just opened and the way only had two employees. it was definitely a dream job for you.

it was a spring break when izzy’s friend, axl, decided to join you and permanently move to los angeles.

“you’re still here?” axl asked you when he saw you walk through the door of your house. he was sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. he definitely took the phrase ‘make yourself at home’ too literally.

“yes, axl, i’m still here. this is my home.” you clarified as you walked towards your and izzy’s shared room. you dropped your purse on the floor then threw yourself on the bed. you were exhausted from work and all you wanted to do was sleep, but of course when axl rose is in your house, sleep is not an option.

“hey, you hungry?” you heard izzy ask from the doorway.

you could smell mac and cheese. “not right now, izzy. my feet hurt, i have a headache and i have the opening shift tomorrow.” you groaned.

“you have to eat something.” izzy encouraged.

“she doesn’t want to eat, let her starve i guess.” axl took the pot of mac and cheese from izzy’s hands so he could eat it.

“what is he still doing here?” you had enough and got up from your bed.

“don’t even start with me, bitch!” you heard axl yell as izzy closed the door to your bedroom.

“i’ll make him leave. he’s only here because we were rehearsing. we got a few gigs coming up. i promise he’ll be gone soon.” izzy assured you.

“he just gets in my nerves.” you sighed.

“i know. but he’ll be gone soon and you and i can continue where we left off this morning.” he started kissing you. then axl happened.

“you guys fucking in there?” he pounded his fists on the door.

“i’m going to fucking kill him.”

[tickletastic]

Drink or Dare

Fandom: The Inheritance Games

Ship: N/A

Summary: Takes place during the game of Drink or Dare played in the treehouse in The Brothers Hawthorne. My take on how they managed to get a smiley face on Grayson's tummy during the game.

“No,” Grayson grits through clenched teeth, but his brothers can see the glint in his eyes, he's nervous.  “Absolutely not.”

Drink or Dare had always been a bit embarrassing, a bit vulnerable and silly. It’s an even playing ground for the Hawthorne boys, a way for them to get some semblance of real vulnerability from each other. So far, the dares hadn’t been too bad, at least not on Grayson’s end, but he figured his brothers were working their way up, there’s no way they’d go easy on him the entire time. 

After Xander was made to create a Rube Goldberg machine just to slap his own ass, and Nash chose to eat a piece of his cowboy hat instead of drinking the toxic slurry the brothers had made as the alternative option, Grayson figured the embarrassment and silliness would soon target him. His brothers were here to take his mind off of things after all, and Hawthornes have always been partial to believing that embarrassment could be a great distractor. 

“You know the game, little brother,” Nash says in his smooth, Texan timbre. How he’s the only Hawthorne brother with the signature Southern drawl is beyond Grayson, but the authority in his voice still sends a shiver down his spine, and the way his laid back demeanor lends itself to teasing his brothers.

“This is juvenile,” Grayson shirks, avoiding eye contact with all of his brothers, glancing shiftily around the treehouse. 

“I’d expect nothing more from a Hawthorne Drink or Dare,” Jameson remarks, signature lazy smirk on his face. He keeps capping and uncapping the Sharpie, the click-click-click working up Grayson’s nerves.

“Okay Mr. Broody McBrooderson, we’ve known that you’re crazy ticklish since, like, birth, basically. So why don’t you just let us draw you a new face? That, or my newest Hawthorne patented concoction is all yours to savour.” Xander buzzes, reaching out to poke Grayson in the side, to which he recoils so violently that he practically ends up in Nash’s lap. Nash offers Grayson no favours, and he digs into his younger brother’s ribs with two clawed hands. 

“Nash! No! Nahahash, stop it!” Grayson yells, trying to keep his normal edge of authority in his voice, his cool demeanor cracks with every knowing wiggle to his sensitive ribs. He starts to squirm away, nearly a mess already from Nash’s short row, and Xander, adding his teasing fingers to the mix, gets him begging embarrassingly quick. “Fuhuck! Okay! Ohohokay!”

“Begging for mercy already, little brother?” Nash teases, withdrawing his fingers from Grayson’s ribs and ruffling his brother's hair. Grayson huffs out of his nose and shakes his head out of Nash’s grip, batting away Xander’s lingering fingers.

“What will it be, Gray?” Jameson asks, grinning from across their makeshift circle. 

Grayson glares in Jameson’s direction, and sneaks a look at the grotesque mixture he can choose to drink as an alternative to his brothers’ silly dare. The “liquid” is a strange, mildewy colour, a terrible concoction of ketchup, A1 sauce, hot sauce, milk, and lemonade. It bubbles and curdles at the top, unendingly since Xander added the final ingredients to it more than an hour prior, and it’s enough to convince Grayson that maybe, just maybe, the dare would be more bearable. 

“Fine, but this is still a childish dare,” Grayson gripes while he begins unbuttoning his silky white dress shirt, revealing the white tank top beneath it. He grimaces at the feeling of cold air over his torso as he strips the tank top too. 

“Lay down,” Jameson demands, smirking at his brother, reaching out to grab the Sharpie he had placed on the floor. He’s on his knees quick, approaching the other side of the circle to kneel above Grayson. 

“Am I gonna have to hold ya down, Gray?” Nash asks, looming over Grayson with a far too pleased look on his face.

“I’m not five, Nash, I can stay still for a stupid dare.” 

“Something tells me that you’re going to regret that attitude,” Nash teases, kneeling at his brother’s side in case Jameson needs some help finishing the job.

“Alright, Gray,” Xander starts with a smile, a face of pure glee at the possibility of seeing his brother laugh for once, “this might tickle.”

Jameson uncaps the Sharpie, and brings it down slowly to Grayson’s skin, the anticipation making his older brother squirm. When the tip finally touches down on Grayson’s belly, he gasps, and curls completely into a ball, pushing the Sharpie away.

“Grayson, bud, I know you can do better than that sorry excuse for staying still.”

Grayson blushes bright red, and he hates that the embarrassment of it makes him blush even more. Its mortifying. He brings his hands up to cover his face, groaning in a rare display of vocal frustration.

Jameson takes this as the opportunity that it is and brings the marker down again to work on the eye of the smiley face he’s drawing. 

Grayson screeches, hands thrown down to protect him from the tickly, wet ink of the permanent marker, and Jameson levels him with a bored look. The reversed roles, Grayson acting out and Jameson responding with a bored indignation, flusters Grayson even more. He’s trying to get ahold of his expressions again when Nash grabs both of Grayson’s wrists in one of his hands, hauling them above his head.

“I warned ya, Gray,” Nash teases, nodding at Jameson to continue. 

Jameson tries to finish the first straight line he had started for the smiley face’s eye, dragging the Sharpie from under Grayson’s pec to the bottom of his ribs, but his older brother’s squirming, and the huffy, aborted giggles he’s letting out, distract from the attempted masterpiece. Grayson even starts bringing his legs up in an attempt to block his brother from continuing. 

“Xan, some help, please?” Jameson asks with a mischievous wink. Xander nods like an excited puppy before climbing on top of their brother’s legs, effectively pinning him so Jameson can have unrestricted access. 

“Wait! I’ll drink,” Grayson tries to reason, while Xander makes finger wiggling motions in his direction, making him dizzy with restrained laughter and anticipation. 

“No can do, Gray,” Jameson snorts, “you already chose your fate.”

“Them’s the rules!” Xander exclaims. 

This time, when Jameson’s marker makes its inevitable descent, there’s nothing Grayson can do but accept the giggles that are pouring out of him, the thought of the tickly feeling making him giddy even before the marker can touch down. When it finally does, Grayson snorts, throwing his head back into Nash’s knees, a smile creeping up that threatens to split his face.

Jameson is able to finish the first eye this time, despite Grayson’s wigglyness, and he gets halfway through the second when Grayson squeals, the Sharpie hitting a sensitive spot on his ribs. Jameson, always the troublemaker, presses down with the marker, wiggling it around in the same spot, going over the first half of the second eye again and again. 

“Ja-Jahahamie! Mercy, plehehease!” Grayson screeches, pulling desperately at his arms in hopes that Nash will show him some mercy. He’s been tickled absolutely silly by his brothers many times before, but something about this time is so flustering. Maybe it’s because it isn’t really supposed to tickle, or because he’s trained himself to be completely serious all of the time, or maybe even the stress with Gigi and Savannah. Whatever it is, it makes the Sharpie tickle a hundred times more.

“It’s a wonder you’re this ticklish and alive, Gray,” Nash teases, but he can’t help his own smile at his normally serious brother giggling himself silly. 

Grayson’s blush sits high on his cheeks, creeping up his ears, but there’s nothing he can do but take the silly torture. His giggles are high-pitched and bubbly, forcing out a playfulness he hasn’t experienced in ages. 

“JAMEHESON!” Grayson shouts, snorting through his laughter when Jameson begins to use the canvas of Grayson’s tummy as the location of the smiley face’s mouth. The repeated back and forth motion sends Grayson into a flurry of snorts and squeals, only egged on by Jameson deciding that the face should have a tongue exactly where Grayson’s belly button is. 

While Jameson fills in the tongue he drew with the marker, Grayson screams so shrill and panicked that it shocks him into stopping. When Grayson keeps squealing and shrieking, tears of mirth in the corners of his eyes, Jameson grins down at him, lopsided. “Gray, I’m not even doing anything.”

“Oh,” Xander says, and Nash and Jameson both look his way, “that might be my bad.” Xander’s fingers are going to town on Grayson’s socked feet, and Grayson is laughing so hard that it’s coming out in wheezes, hiccuping for breath.

“Pl-p-puhuhlehehease! Cahahan’t! Gohohonna die!” Grayson begs, too weak to wiggle or pull for escape.

Just before Jameson can bring the marker back down to Grayson’s tummy, Nash’s voice, in his designated Big Brother Tone, cuts through the air, “alright, alright, kid’s had enough.” 

Jameson snickers, and Xander makes a vaguely disappointed noise before backing off of Grayson. Once he’s free, he curls up into a ball, stray giggles and wheezes leaving him breathless still. Nash can’t help but reach out to ruffle his little brother’s hair again.

“Thahat was hehell,” Grayson sputters, but the smile on his face has yet to go away.

“Could’ve been worse,” Xander says, “it could’ve been a Rube Goldberg machine to slap your own ass.”

[thevampiremarie]

treehouse chapter 34 (tumblr version)

🔞 Dream of the Endless I Lord Morpheus x reader 🔞

Unplanned pregnancy, SMUT

In the Waking World, Morpheus finds the cure to your recent ailment. Read on AO3 here.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, MALIGAYANG PASKO, HAPPY HOLIDAYS, AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU ALL! THANKS FOR READING I LOVE YALL SO MUCH! One of my fav things about fanfiction is that oftentimes it can be a more ethical way to consume certain media, especially when the original creator is exposed for doing fuck shit. So consider this guilt free, cruelty free, organic Sandman! This chapter takes place canonically at a made up lake in the Philippines, which I modeled after Lake Sebu. Lake Sebu is notable for its significance to the local indigenous T'boli tribe, who are known as the Dreamweavers. Traditionally T'boli women weave t'nalak, a sacred textile made up of patterns that come to the T'boli weavers at night in their dreams. Thus Lake Sebu is known as the cradle of the Dreamweavers. Additional note: I had to change my usernames everywhere because I was being cyberstalked. As a result I accidentally broke all of my masterlist links, I fixed them

Reader POV:

Shortly after you lose yourself in the pale ivory maze of halls and doorways that capture you the second you step beyond the confines of your chamber, Morpheus finds you.

These halls are a labyrinth without a single splash of color to relieve the oppressive, endless uniformity. White tiles and black tiles forming a checkerboard pattern, then you turn down a path constructed of ivory and ivory alone, another of deep black granite without a shade of light or a window to relieve the deep shadows drowning you.

You hold your hand to your temple to stop the pressure building in your skull, pain churning through your nerves like white-capped waves. Your fingers come back damp with sweat.

It feels as though you’ve been swept away. Carried around the Dreaming by forces you can hardly comprehend, much less control.

Are you still asleep in your feather bed?

“Wake up,” You whisper to yourself. “Wake up.”

“You’re awake,” A deep voice says. The sound distorts between the skewed, unnaturally-placed walls.

You turn on your heel and find yourself face to face with the source of that displeased, rather put out voice.

Morpheus crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against a pillar with pursed lips. “I’ve been looking for you, darling. I had an interesting conversation with Johanna Constantine.” The blush drains out of your face.

Before you can respond, your stomach contracts and twists into itself. Before you even realize it you’re bent over in two, watching the apple cider splatter out of your mouth and onto the floor.

His cool hands pull your loose hair away from your face and back behind your head. “Hardly my best look,” You mumble as you bat away his helping hands and try to stand on your own. You should know better at this point. Morpheus isn’t easily deterred, especially when it comes to you.

He helps you stand anyway, shrugging off your rejection like water rolling off a duck’s back. “Unfortunately, no. But I’ve seen worse.” In your head, you translate that from Endless to English to mean ‘yeah, you do look like shit.’

Tactful as always. “It’s all your fault,” You mutter. When he offers an arm for you to slide under, you do so gladly, clinging to him like a lifeline. It even feels like one, like a lifesaver for two idiots stuck in deep water of their own making.

Your head hurts so much less when your eyes are closed to the Lovecraftian chaos in your surroundings. It’s second nature to bury your face into his shirt and let the soothing rhythm of Morpheus’s heartbeat distract you. “Come along,” He urges you, taking a few steps to some unknown destination without deigning to inform you where.

Despite the kindness in his voice and the softness of his shirt against your cheek, more comforting than any blanket on your great bed, you push back. “No.” Your feet stay where they are. Morpheus would not drag you somewhere. It would be undignified.

After a few seconds pass, Morpheus seems to come to the conclusion you had already decided; that you will not go. “Wait- stop-“ His arms sweep you up off your feet as if you’re nothing more than a flower to be plucked out of the ground.

You open your eyes to see his stupid smirk oozing with victory. “It’s for your own good, little darling. Or would you prefer I put you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes?” It would be even less dignified for you to be treated so and Dream knows you’d refuse it.

He continues on with no further resistance. You haven’t lost all your pride just yet. His lengthy stride carries the two of you farther in a minute than your legs could in an hour and your surroundings fade into a blur, like paint dripped into a bowl of water.

Morpheus doesn’t have to say anything for you to feel the stymied laughter moving his chest. “Stop gloating.” You poke him once, twice, three times. No reaction.

“I’m not doing anything.” 

“Yes, you are.” Your legs kick gently in the air to make your point.

Morpheus sighs under his breath and mumbles something that sounds like he’s calling you ‘impossible’. And as you’re very mature, perhaps the most mature person here, you decline to respond. It feels like you’ve won after all.

He pauses for a moment to glance at your surroundings. For all you know, you could be anywhere in the world. But you’re with him and that’s enough to keep you calm. For now. “What you have is called sleepy sickness,” Dream says. When he notices you staring, doe eyed and blushing from being carried in his arms like the queen he calls you, his mouth places the faintest kiss upon your forehead.

A humid breeze brushes your cheeks, warm as a hug and carrying the scent of dew-covered grass and clear running water. “It’s not that bad,” You mutter. You’re lying of course, just to be contrarian. It’s only fair to cause him half the headache he’s caused you.

Morpheus sets you down on a fallen tree trunk covered in soft, jade green moss. His hand lingers on your wrist, as smooth as polished marble, and then he takes a gentle, yet firm hold of your jaw. His fingertips barely skim your cheeks, close enough that you could kiss his hand if you wanted. 

Morpheus kneels in the dirt without a care, peering into your eyes for a long moment.

“I do expect an explanation on why it took that… exorcist for me to know you were suffering,” He tells you in a low timbre. “I cannot take care of my love, my queen, my heart itself, and the beloved child you carry without you… talking to me.” Silver moonlight highlights the deep, shadowed worry lines on his face. 

Morpheus has called you his heart. He’s wrong. You can see his heart still in him, cracked open for you to observe, not quite on his sleeves but beating through his chest.

Even you have to admit his admonishment is more than fair. No complaints. You duck your head. Anything to get away from his gaze. “…I’m sorry.” You are, truly. He stops your chin from dipping with the same soft touch used between lovers, between those who share knowledge of each other’s souls.

Morpheus hums softly. “Don’t apologize, and don’t do it again.” He calls you out as if he’s approaching a frightened deer, coaxing you towards him with sweet words, the hand cradling your face like petting the raised spine of that startled animal. “Now come - we will remedy your illness now. I’ll not have you spend another second in such a state.” His outstretched hand helps you to your feet.

A canopy of branches stretches above both your heads. The long, friendly finger-like branches of old growth trees dance and wave hello in the wind you felt earlier. Between the gaps in the large leaves, stars wink at you. Some of them even move, and you realize those unique flecks of light aren’t stars. They’re planes flying in the night and satellites spinning through space, chattering back and forth with each other and the rest of humanity.

You recognize the faint red glow of Mars and the pale yellow fleck of Venus in the dark firmament. “Where are we?”

It feels… real. It feels right. What binds your feet to the grassy earth, covered in scattered fallen leaves and the new buds of wildflowers is gravity, not magic mimicking it.

Morpheus leads you through the old growth trees without hesitation. “Ordinary mortals cannot spend unnaturally long periods of time in the Dreaming. It happens but rarely, most recently when I was imprisoned and unable to uphold the laws of the universe that separate the Waking World and the Dreaming,” He says without looking at you. His skin gleams like mother-of-pearl under the silvery moonlight. “The soul wants to stay as much as the body yearns to go. They grow sicker and sicker as the connection that keeps their dreaming souls attached to their waking bodies weakens. Eventually that connection snaps, leaving behind a comatose body and a wandering spirit in my kingdom with no name or face.” Such respectful words for a nightmarish fate.

Through the trees, the moonlight finds something else to reflect off of. The shine beckons you closer and closer, until you see a large, tranquil lake. The water is the clearest you’ve ever seen, tinged a naturally bright turquoise. Through the glass pane surface, you see the sandy surface of the lake bed dotted with small, smooth pebbles, at most a few feet deep. Vibrant pink water lilies spread open their great green pads at the lake’s edge and birds sing songs to each other in the trees. A white heron picks its way through the lake with meticulous, stilted elegance. It stops to consider the pair Morpheus and you make, then magnanimously decides to give you your privacy and fly away

Something stirs at your side, breaking the spell. You turn to watch, still dazed from the sweet, clean air, as Dream gathers your fingers and kisses them. “The only cure is to take you back to the Waking and allow your soul and body to rest as one, as they were meant to,” He apologizes. His lips are so pink, and his eyes are so wide.

“I can breathe again,” You murmur as your lungs fill with the scent of fragrant banana leaves and papaya trees brought out by the humidity.

It’s all real. You tell yourself that over and over. You sink to the ground and bury your fingers into the earth. When you rub your fingers together, you can feel the grains of dust separate and stick to the grooves of your fingerprints.

You want to touch everything. The rough bark on the trees, the ribbed surface of the lily pads. You want to smell the blossoms and feel the cool water of the lake wash away the clinging, disorienting remnants of the Dreaming from your mind.

Dream joins you on the banks of the lake. “I know,” He coos, dabbing away the sweat shining on your cheeks. “That’s it, darling. Feel better?”

Your dirt-marked hands meet his, seeking reassurance that he’s just as real as you. That he won’t slip out of your grasp and flee into the night like a stranger, now that he has delivered you home.

His palms only have a few lines compared to the meandering map of creases on yours and Morpheus patiently lets you explore them until you’re satisfied with what you find. You leave smudges on the backs of his hands. You go to wipe them off, about to mumble an apology, but Dream stops you. He wraps his fingers around yours even tighter, even as you protest that you’ll get him dirty.

“Now listen carefully,” He begins. His grip trembles, a single, uncontrolled movement in the edifice of composure. Chaos, barely leashed. “I want you well. I want you to smile and forget any time you were unhappy because of the Dreaming. But if you run, I’ll come after you. You know I will. Decide for yourself if you’ll take the relief and pleasure I’m offering, or if you want another chase and the tears that come with it.”

A dream is nothing without a dreamer. Morpheus has long since decided that you are his dreamer, so like all dreams, he fears your eventual abandonment. He fears you might decide that he adds nothing to your life and discard him, leaving him purposeless, a book abandoned on the shelf unread watching as you move on and never look back. Pick me up, his eyes beg. Read me, need me, keep me by your side. Find me a home in your home.

Later, you’ll blame it on the sweltering tropical heat. You’ll blame it on the silver tongue of the god of dreams, slithering its way into your head.

“Is the water swimmable?” You ask instead of answering. In the periphery of your vision, he nods.

So you rise.

What need is there for running? You’re home. The wind has danced through your hair before. The trees have whispered secrets to you since you were old enough to look up at their leaves and make up fairytales. You can empathize with how Morpheus and the Dreaming are bound together. You’re bound to here, birthed and raised here.

The sand grows damper the closer you walk to the edge of the water. It sticks to your toes in clumps. You shed your clothes as a snake sheds its skin. You leave them behind you, a trail of breadcrumbs followed by the sight of your back, bared to him.

You hear a sharp inhale. “Are you sure you want-“ Morpheus’s voice is strangled as if he’s fighting his own dark urges, extinguishing them so that the flames won’t singe you.

The water is much warmer than you thought it would be. It ripples gently across your skin and you walk further into the lake’s embrace.

Once the water envelopes your hips, barely brushing where your belly naturally folds over your hips, you turn to look at the god watching you on his knees from the shore.

You’re aware of everything- your nipples hardening, his narrowed dragon-like eyes feasting on your breasts, your soft arms and plush thighs, and a warmth stirring in your core that only Dream can awaken.

But there in your thoughts is the cold reminder of Johanna’s warning. There is no doubt that Morpheus has been cruel and capricious, carelessly tearing apart anything in his path like a tornado ripping trees and telephone poles from the ground.

But he’s yours. He’s pursued you, chosen you, fought for you. He loves you enough that he’s risking letting you go, where before he locked you in his realm like a songbird in a cage.

You hold out your hand. “Join me.”

Morpheus doesn’t make you wait a second longer. “As you wish, Basileia.” He practically rips his shirt off, losing a button or two in the sand in his haste to reach you.

The hard, muscled planes of his chest beckon to you. You could never get tired of Dream, of looking at him, of wanting him. He’s already half hard against his thigh and he walks into the lake with the smooth, prowling gait of a leopard stalking some helpless prey.

His arms catch your waist and pull you closer. You melt into Morpheus’s familiar touch, impossibly strong yet cradling you as if you were as fragile as spun glass. It’s not until you’ve tucked your head into the crook of his neck, his salty skin so close to your lips that you can almost taste him in the air, that Dream finally relaxes. The water wraps the both of you in a warm cocoon, heightening your senses. Every move he makes ripples against your skin and you’re so painfully, acutely aware of his hips, his legs, how close they are to your own…

Droplets of water trickle between your breasts. Dream follows their path with reverent, covetous eyes. Those beads of water are more precious than diamonds to him because they have the privilege of touching you.

Your skin is painfully sensitive. His grip tightens, shifts, he palms your ass and his other hand cradles the back of your neck, warm and possessive. The pregnancy hormones are no joke; you’re starved, desperate to take him apart with your teeth and hands, and to be taken apart in return until all you know is his taste.

You trace his arched cheekbones with damp fingertips and run your thumb over his plump, flushed lower lip. Dream’s white teeth glint as they sink into your thumb. Not deep enough to cut, but just enough to sting .

Your fingers slide through his dark hair. You graze his scalp with your nails, you pause to take a fist full and tighten your grip. You tug. Morpheus gasps, then curves his mouth into a lazy, listless smirk.

When he kisses you, you kiss him back furiously, your mouth dancing with his and one arm slung around his neck to draw him into you. You moan into the kiss and he hums at the back of his throat in response. Dream’s lips leave yours, much to your displeasure, only to settle on the top of your nose, then your eyelids, the corner of your mouth…

Water streams around your thighs as Morpheus practically drags you up, easily holding most of your weight with one of his arms. The heat in this place is such that sweating does nothing to cool your body, and the muggy air makes stitching yourself as close as possible to his body even sweeter. You bare your neck to Dream’s kiss-swollen lips and the hickies he sucks into your skin.

Your thighs quiver, each sensation so much stronger and brighter than they were the last time he knew you like this. A sweet, drawn out sigh tears itself from your chest as he bites down like a wolf marking his mate. Morpheus groans in return, mouthing against your skin like he’s starved. He mutters and growls as he makes his way past your collarbones and his hands shake where they cling on to you.

And when his nimble, clever fingers drift from your back to find your nipples, thumbing them firmly, you shriek and pull on his hair so hard his head snaps back. He stares back at you with eyes of inhuman obsidian and a furious snarl on his face at being denied your body. “Gentle, please, Morpheus. Please,” You whimper, trembling in his arms from the too-intense pain and pleasure echoing through your sensitive tits.

Your chest heaves. The air is so heavy that it feels like you can’t get enough of it into your lungs. Dream makes a wordless noise of an apology before lavishing you with kisses, his lips moving with the most careful pressure across your flushed breasts. “The shore,” You plead with him. “Take me to the shore, my love.” The endearment steals out of your mouth like a thief. It’s the only thing that cuts through Dream’s lust-filled haze.

His beautiful eyes lighten from black to deep sapphire and the silvery fangs you felt earlier at your vulnerable throat retract ever so slightly.

Before you can blink, Morpheus deposits you on the shore with your back to the sand. The stars above bear witness as he kneels between your legs spread open to invite him, joy and love practically fucking radiating off of him. What he told you in the aftermath of his forced unmasking was true. He loves you. No matter what you do or say, if you cry or flee, his love only grows.

His luminous beauty is so overwhelming that it eclipses the world around you. All you see is him. You reach up to make his perfect hair messier, to bring his perfect mouth close enough for you to kiss until he’s ruined.

You push on his shoulders until he rolls over. His strong arms take you with him and help you drape yourself in his lap, grinding your dripping folds into the thick, heavy weight of his cock.

Morpheus tries to reach for your hips first but you bat his straying hands away. “My tigress,” He moans as you show him what your teeth and nails feel like digging into his alabaster skin, running over his abs, returning in abundance the bite marks and hickies he left on you. Your tongue lathes over the red and blue bruises scattered down his chest, warm and wet, and Morpheus’s heart beats so furiously that you can taste his pulse.

“Stay,” You pant as you plant one hand into his sweat-covered chest. Your lips move lower and lower, leaving kisses along the deliciously-firm ridges of muscle that jump whenever you touch them.

You give into every possible intrusive desire. Your fingers trace his hip bones, the long, elongated lines of his thighs tensing as you wander closer to his flushed, veiny dick, and up again to that muscled v at the bottom of his stomach…

“It’s yours,” Dream says hoarsely, his eyes glowing in the night. “I’m yours.”

This is your world. Your home. And your Endless. Saliva gathers under your tongue and Morpheus beckons. He’s somehow even more desperate for you to carve yourself into his body and soul than you are to wield the knife.

You hover over him, about to take him in your hand. You’ve done horrible things for Morpheus with your hands. You ended a person’s life and you’d do it again if you had to.

The tenderness in his voice makes you weep. “I love you.” He knows. You don’t have to say anything in response. You just have to be here with him and be loved.

His cock is warm in your palm, so long and thick that you have trouble understanding how Dream makes it all fit inside of you. Your tongue darts out to lick the salty precum dotted on his shaft and your cunt flexes with need. Soon, soon, you promise yourself, you’ll let him fuck you into the ground until you’ve forgotten your name.

You watch him as you start at the base, kissing your way up his cock until you reach the fat, rounded tip. Morpheus inhales sharply and a brilliant red flush colors his cheeks. You slowly envelope the head of his cock between your lips and his fingers dig into the ground, trying anything to keep him anchored.

His eyes roll back in his skull like you’re quite literally sucking the soul out of him. You briefly flirt with the idea of pulling away, of depriving Morpheus of the sweet torture that has rendered him speechless.

But since you’re his queen, you can be benevolent if you wish. You’ll make him come so hard that no other woman or goddess will ever compare. You’ve never wanted to do this with a partner as badly as you want to do it for him.

Your hand works the part of his shaft you can’t shove into your throat. You build a strong rhythm, alternating between sucking his dick and running your tongue along the underside where the taut skin is most sensitive. His cock jumps in your mouth when you flick your tongue over one particular spot. “Fuck,” He hisses. “You’re so good to me, beloved…” His needle-thin fangs erupt again, only to dig into his bottom lip. Dream grinds his hips up, forcing another inch of his cock into your sloppy mouth dripping with saliva.

Your surprised moan is completely stifled by his thick, painfully erect flesh. He laughs wickedly and finally reaches for your hair. “I know your game,” Morpheus taunts. A faint tingle of pain flashes through your scalp when he wraps your tangled tresses in his fist and takes control. Saliva runs from the corners of your stretched, bruised lips with each thrust.

His salty, musky taste is addictive and you want more, more than what he’s giving you right now. You won’t be satisfied until he’s spilling his seed down your throat.

Your nails run down his thighs, leaving angry red furrows, and you bob your head, relaxing your throat so you can take him even deeper. This god, this great and powerful creature, full of magic and fury, groans and shakes underneath you.

“Wicked creature,” Morpheus accuses between gasps for breath. You smile up at him with your mouth full before returning to your feast.

You turn your spare hand to another task. You’ve never done this before, but Morpheus inspires a boldness in you, a mindless lust for moremoremore. He grits his teeth, holding back guttural moans. You reach out to cradle his heavy balls in your palm and carefully massage them while you redouble your mouth’s efforts on his cock. Your jaw aches something fierce and you gag once, and then again.

He cries out. You can read the thoughts painted across his face. You’re his confessor and his executioner. Only you have this power over him - to bring him to the highest ecstasy or to brutally cast him out of Heaven.

Your reward is so sudden that it surprises you. All it takes to send Morpheus over the edge, into the most beautiful orgasm you’ve dragged out of him yet, is that gentle caress. His eyes widen, glistening with tears, his pupils dilate. His silver tongue has fallen silent. His face contorts in exquisite agony.

He drags you forward until your lips touch the base of his cock and comes with a low, pained groan. Salty cum floods your tongue and you pull back in surprise. His cum drips down the column of your throat and between your tits. You cough, smearing more of the mess on your cheeks.

Morpheus doesn’t give you even a moment to recover. It must be unbearable for him to be separated from you, like breathing with only one lung instead of both. You carry half his soul. His heart beats in your chest. He kisses you and clutches your shoulders, your face. He licks his cum off your cheeks and drags his fingers through the remnants on your breasts. He brings his fingers to your swollen lips. You open your mouth even as your jaw protests and let him feed you his cum. Not a single drop is wasted.

You suck his fingers one last time before he withdraws them. Your doe eyes stare into his lidded, pleasure-drunk gaze. Finally, you answer him. “Perhaps I’ll keep you… if you make yourself useful.” A smile blooms on his angular face, more heavenly than an archangel.

Or perhaps he’s an incubus here to enslave you. “I’ll be gentle,” He promises. Moonlight flashes off his sharp teeth. Your nerves prickle at the contrast of his sweet words against the sheer primordial force that emanates off of him. Your animal hind brain wants to flee, but the rest of you wants to give in, to reach for the bright flame of his love and let it burn you.

His palm caresses your cheek, sliding over your skin as if you’re made of the most precious silk. But you’re not silk and this is not a dream. You’re real. Flesh and bone.

You look at him through your lashes as you sink your teeth into his wrist.

Dream responds as you want him to. His pale hand, white as a sword, around your throat, squeezing just enough to restrict blood flow into your brain. Your dark angel looming over you, the Endless simply taking your submission, not just demanding it.

When he guides you to lay on your back once more, you go gladly.

The stars in his irises glow as he takes in the sight of your breasts moving everytime you take a breath and your thighs slowly, slowly parting. “My poor darling, have you been this needy the whole time?” Morpheus asks in that low, raspy voice that makes your stomach twist with desire. His finger trails from your bent knee and down, down towards your inner thighs.

It feels like everything is too hot, too much. You’ve been wet since you took your clothes off, and after making him come so furiously, your pussy is practically crying for him to touch your folds, to fuck you, to remind you who you belong to.

He traces the arousal coating your cunt, playing with the slick but carefully avoiding your pussy. “Morpheus…” You moan, your nipples so hard that every gust of wind feels like the press of his mouth. Playing is a good word for it. Morpheus plays you and your body, teasing you with his hand as he wanders away from your hips and over your chubby belly, always touching, feeling. 

Your back arches in the sand. He’s the only one who can do this to you, you think. The only one you’d let have you in such an open, vulnerable way.

Just when Morpheus reaches the curve of your breast, he leans over you and holds your face with both hands. “You come first.” One of his thumbs hook into your mouth and pull your jaw open. You can feel the pad of the thumb wedged against your teeth.

You feel so delicate and fragile underneath him. So helpless, like a flower he plucked from the ground. Your cunt pulses in time with your rapid heartbeats. “Heed my words. You always come first. For next time,” Morpheus commands softly. He’s dead fucking serious.

Rushing sounds fill your ears. “But-“ You murmur around his fingers. You’re dizzy, drunk on the love painted so boldly on his expression. It’s like a solar eclipse. You can’t look away. You come first. That is what would please Dream more than coming himself. You find yourself nodding along.

When he bends down to kiss your forehead, it feels like a brand. You lean into the warmth and let it soothe you. “Obey me, beloved, and you will be rewarded with anything and everything you desire.” You surge forward to kiss him square on the mouth. His spit-covered thumb rests in the hollow of your throat.

Morpheus’s fangs prick your bottom lip and you whimper. It’s so easy to surrender to him and it feels so good. “Do you… enjoy that? Obeying?” He pulls away to ask with an uncharacteristic frown marring his smooth forehead.

You murmur something wordless and begging, then loop your hands around his neck, urging him to return to you. He raises a single eyebrow until finally, you turn your attention to the question instead of pouting over his reluctance to kiss you. “I do. I really- I think I do,” You whisper.

It’s the truth. It feels right. And for the most part- if you’re honest with yourself, for the most part, Dream has never failed you.

How do you reconcile these puzzle pieces together that just don’t fit? With each day, your rage and feelings of betrayal fade. Something new has been growing inside to replace it. A strange longing to throw your principles away and give in.

Morpheus nods soberly. “If you decide to keep me, Basileia, we should discuss this later, at length. I know that the relationship you expect might be different from what I can give you.”

It’s far too easy to read between the lines. “What can you give me?” You are critically, keenly aware of the implications of you asking. Why else would you want to know the conditions of a long term, most likely life-long relationship if Dream has his way, if not to seriously consider them?

Well. You’re seriously considering it.

He spreads his fingers out slightly off-center from your sternum, right over your heart. “What I’ve always given you.” He kisses the tip of your nose. Can you trust him with your heart?

Dream is trying to tell you with his actions that you can. That he wants to cradle your heart so gently and hide away where no one else can hurt it. He’d breathe fire on anyone who tried, even himself.

“Care, above all else,” He murmurs in your ear. His breath tickles your hair and you gasp. He kisses your soft, delicate skin covered in goosebumps as an apology.

There are spikes of white in his irises like the points of a star. A single black eyelash rests on his cheekbone. You wipe it away with your fingers, utterly fascinated by this strange new intimacy.

It’s so lovely to feel his radiant smile with your fingertips at the same time as seeing it.

You’ve missed it.

“Tending to.” Another kiss, this one on the edge of your jaw. You blush from your scalp all the way down to your toes.

“Possession. Belonging.” His voice drops to a growl and the fingers over your heart curl into claws. Morpheus buries his face into your throat. Some of his hair gets in your mouth and you giggle as you try to pluck it out. He growls again, this time properly, when you try to dislodge him.

His torso presses yours into the sand. He’s like a tall weighted blanket hiding you from the sight of the celestial bodies above.

One of his claws moves to your waist. They open and close rhythmically. Morpheus is kneading you like a cat. “Let me be your compass so you’ll never feel lost again, let me tend to your every scraped knee and anxiety. Trust me to give you commands for your well-being and to fix things when you make mistakes.”

How long have you waited for someone to say these exact words to you? How many years have you spent dreaming about this very moment, where someone grants you your truest wish; to never have to face the world alone? Not just at your side. In front of you, leading you into the future so you have someone to follow.

Finally, he kisses your lips. A chaste, almost innocent kiss, like between a husband and wife on their wedding day. “All I need is your submission to my authority. It’s too much to ask of you at this moment, but you should know these things about me so you can make your decision in the future,” Morpheus says softly.

All he ever had to do was ask.

“We can talk about it later.” You kiss him back firmly, dragging a low moan out of him.

“You’re not opposed?” He says between kisses, between your fingers threading through his hair and his knee nudging between your legs, giving you something to grind against.

Morpheus freezes when you smile at him, as if he’s been hit by lightning. “I’m not,” You promise, your eyes shining more than they ever have before.

He exhales an amused huff. He’s laughing at himself, you realize. “Later then, my queen.” He’s been so silly and wasted so much time. You laugh too, until the two of you are just giggling helplessly in the sand.

He strokes your belly for a moment, then bends and places his cheek over the curve where your baby is growing. Crickets sing and fireflies chase each other through the night sky. Something moist touches your belly. When he lifts his head, he tries to wipe away tears before you notice. You reach for him and dab them away yourself.

“I hope the baby has your eyes,” You whisper.

Morpheus’s hands are as warm as his smile, like a little candle flame in the dark flickering on its own. “I hope the baby looks like you, so the world can see how much I love its mother.”

Maybe his smile will light your way back to each other.

His face is the first thing to shift. His gaze narrows, his mouth flattens into a severe, imperious expression. “Now, where were we?” His muscles coil and tense as he rears up on his knees. His marble skin stretches taught over his prominent bones.

You suddenly remember watching him disintegrate the nightmare that haunted you so, how Morpheus took pleasure when it screamed in pain. This is the god-king, the careless devil, the eater of worlds.

He kisses your knee while massaging the strained muscles in your calf. “You- you were… ah… Morpheus, I can’t focus when you do that.” Your voice is hushed in prayer to the only god you care for. He kisses your thigh again, slightly above your kneecap.

You spread your legs wider, wordlessly begging for more of his attention. “I was instructing you on the importance of obedience, I believe.” He blows a soft puff of air across your heated cunt, and you squirm in the sand. The cold only heightens how sensitive you are.

Morpheus leans in to lick the trail of arousal that has been steadily dripping down your thigh all evening. He laps at your skin over and over in tiny kitten licks.

He waits until you’re looking at him to moan into your skin, his eyes wild with hunger. Another, longer lap of his tongue, still holding eye contact. He can’t get enough of your juices. He wants you to know how much he wants you. Morpheus wants you to witness his devotion. Not want- he commands it.

And still, he won’t touch your pussy. “That feels so good,” You whimper. You draw your legs towards you to try and urge him towards your core. Morpheus teases his fangs along your flesh. You can feel how sharp they are, how easy it would be for him to bite and puncture your skin. He would never, but the suggestion is enough to get your blood running hot.

Morpheus rises up between your legs to grab the long column of your throat. “As much as I love your voice, right now I’d like to hear it only when you’re screaming my name. Understood? Nod for me.” Your mouth waters as you nod. “Good girl.”

You almost feel like crying. This evening has been such a fucking rollercoaster and here you are, getting dicked down for the whole world to see. And Morpheus adores you so much that he wants to possess every part of you, to make you completely beholden to his will.

He releases your throat before grasping one of your heavy tits, palming it greedily. “Your body was made to be adored by me, to be loved and worshiped,” Dream hisses. He swats at your breast, catching your painfully sensitive nipple with the tips of his fingers.

You jerk upright and moan in surprise, making an embarrassing, slutty, needy sound. Pain and pleasure radiate from your swollen nipple and as much as you want to cower away, you want Dream to do it again…

He slaps your neglected other breast and you gasp, tears finally beading in the corner of your eyes. Your cunt drips all the way down to the sand under your ass. You pant, your tits bouncing with the moment. The motion draws an equal groan out of Morpheus and the desire burning in his blue eyes frightens you.

Morpheus leans forward to capture one of your nipples between his lips. He sucks gently, flicking his tongue over the hard, pebbled bud, and you arch your back. He switches to your untouched nipple, sucking and kissing over and over as you shiver and whine beneath him. Maybe he wants to make you come like this, untouched except for the sweet torture he’s subjecting your tits to. You try to grind your hips against his leg, to give your pulsing clit some relief, but he hisses and pushes your hips down with more force than you expect. Message received, though it turns you on even more.

You’re pinned down and there’s nothing you can do but submit. “I am utterly enamored by your breasts, your rich and luscious thighs, and the feel of your soft belly under my fingertips,” Morpheus tells you when he lifts his head. His hand makes good upon his word. His fingers caress your stomach, not just the roundness of your growing baby, but the folds of skin and fat that come with a body like yours, that the rest of the world often finds unattractive.

But he is Endless. The god of dreams himself. Humanity’s mirror cut out of black glass. And your body is so desirable to him that he knocked you up the first time and fucks you like he can somehow get you more pregnant each time. Morpheus kisses the skin below your belly button and you have a feeling that tonight, the whole universe is dreaming of you.

He raises his head and reaches out his fingers to tap against your kiss-swollen lips. “Dampen these for me,” Dream orders. They’re glistening with your saliva by the time he pulls them out of your mouth.

You prop your torso up on your elbows and watch Morpheus inhale quietly as he brushes the pad of his thumb over your clit. You bite back a combined moan of relief and surprise. He does it again, waiting for your hips to jolt and your eyes to flutter. His fingers caress your slick folds, luxuriating in the volume of shiny, sticky arousal that has dripped out of you. He kneels there for a long moment, just playing with you, and your lungs seize when he lingers too long rubbing your clit.

Then Morpheus very unceremoniously shoves one of his palms under your ass, tilting your pelvis up so he can eat you out better. His tongue wanders over your clit and between the folds he was so fascinated by earlier.

You cry out into the night, looking up at the stars while Dream makes you see stars. You moan again and desperately clutch for his hair so you can grind your clit into his mouth. He mutters something to himself, completely lost under your whimpers, before slipping two long fingers into your tight cunt. He sets a fast though gentle rhythm immediately, carefully curling his fingers inside you to stroke your walls as he fucks you with them. Each one of your cries is rewarded with the hot, wet pressure of his tongue or his fingers brushing the sensitive spot deep inside you. It’s almost like Morpheus is trying to make you come faster than you ever have before-

For a single, blindingly bright moment, your lungs stop. You can’t breathe. Your stomach wrenches violently and your walls squeeze his fingers so tight they start to slip out. “Come,” Morpheus demands, his gaze furious and fixated on your slack, pleasure-drunk face. Your pussy opens for his fingers and this time his grip on your thighs is too firm to wriggle out of, forcing you headfirst into the riptide of your orgasm.

Your high-pitched scream rings in your ears and you slump into the ground, boneless and exhausted. Morpheus withdraws his fingers and licks your folds clean, shushing you when you whine from the jolts of overstimulation moving through you. You’re so tired, but it feels so good.

He leans in for one more taste. This time, you tense and push his head away. Your clit is still humming with faint, delicious aftershocks, and even his breath puffing across your swollen folds is painful. Morpheus apologetically kisses your hip. “I could spend eons buried between your legs. Tasting you, touching you, inside of you. Perhaps I should relinquish the Dreaming to some other god so I can spend the rest of eternity serving you, hm? Would my queen enjoy that?”

Pebbles and sand dig into your back but you barely notice. You’re too busy blushing the darkest shade of red possible at the vivid imagery and his unrepentant lust. His smile is wicked. You’re both thinking the exact same thing - you perched on the throne next time, and Morpheus making you come on his fingers and tongue as many times as you can. Knowing him, probably until you black out.

You open your mouth to say something, but his command from earlier holds fast. You want to obey.

Then he nods, releasing you from it.

“Holy shit, I’ve never come that quickly before,” You sigh.

Morpheus straightens up and squares his shoulders. “I know,” He fires back with a lewd smirk, his lips still damp with your juices. Morpheus moans softly as you kiss him. You sweep the rest of your arousal off of his lips with your tongue, your own salty taste filling your senses.

You understand all those little offhand quips now, all the various odd remarks under Dream’s breath about your life and dreams. He knows. Literally. He has stood there in the back of your dreams and watched.

His cock is angrily hard against his pale thigh, flushed red with blood. Morpheus likes to watch. A shiver runs through you. Not a bad one. An eager one. “Fuck you,” You bite back. He’s never looked more beautiful to you, all messy dark hair and your crimson love bites dotting his pale skin.

After too many drawn-out whines and your hands eagerly tugging at his hips, much too far away from yours, Morpheus holds your thighs down. If you were more flexible, you’d have your knees pushed up to your tits.

Starlight shines between strands of his hair, surrounding his face like a dark halo.

Your lips part, wordlessly begging for a kiss. His broad shoulders press you further into the soft sand and he kisses you with fervor. “Be good,” Dream murmurs into your ear.

He eases his cock inside of you slowly. You gasp, your eyelids flutter. He rests his head against your temple, panting as your muscles flutter around his length. His hips cant forward again, nudging your clit. You clutch his shoulders to drag him deeper into your embrace. Your whole world narrows to just Morpheus; the weight of him against your ribs, the whole night sky contained in his eyes, the scent of his skin, his thick cock sinking as deep into your cunt as it can go.

You make a choked, keening noise when he shifts and inadvertently brushes against your g-spot. Maybe not so inadvertently. Morpheus does it again, languidly rolling his hips in a drawn out rhythm. Your stretched cunt milks him, trying to keep him with you, inside of you.

He buries his face in your hair spread out under your head. You feel his moans rumble in the crook of your neck, deep and desperate. It’s too much, too good, like blue flame burning in your veins, and you can practically feel him in your belly.

“Morpheus,” you sob, raking your fingernails down his back, anything to ground you, to keep you from losing your mind as he fucks you, forcing you to feel every inch sliding in and out.

Dream growls, gripping your hips so tightly he’ll leave faint bruises. He rests his forehead on your own and his eyes are screwed shut with pleasure. They shoot open when you scream, your whole body trembling. “Tight, fuck, so tight, feels good- that’s it, darling…” You hear him murmur, voice so low that he’s talking more to himself than to you. It’s like he’s praying to you, worshiping you at the altar of your body.

You spread your legs wider and meet each thrust, moaning in unison with him. The words “Love you-“ steal from your mouth like a thief, fleeing before you register they’re gone.

One of his hands slips between your hips to play with your needy clit. He circles the pads of his fingers over and over across your bundle of nerves, sending shockwaves through your whole body. The full length of his dick thrusts into you at the same exact time and you forget how to breathe; you can feel how tight the fit is, almost painful but not quite, riding that razor-thin edge of pleasure. A rush of slick gushes from your core and smears onto his skin.

Your head lolls back as your vision starts to go hazy around the edges. “Look at me,” Morpheus’s voice orders. You blink once, twice, too overstimulated to focus.

“Morpheus-“ You sigh breathily. “Ah-“ He switches how he plays with your clit, now teasing you with light, gentle touches so you can listen to him instead of being too cockdrunk to think.

Your lips parts, your tongue tastes the hot, tropical air filled with moans and lust. “Look at me.” You do. His eyes are so blue and bright that they almost blind you. His thrusts grow rougher, faster, and you shake in his embrace and wrap one of your legs around his hips to get closer.

The great, deep blue of the night sky, scattered with stars, is pinning you down and kissing your mouth. The wine-dark ocean lies between your thighs and fucks you mindless, pushing and pulling inside you like the tide.

High, keening noises fall from your open mouth. Your cunt sucks him in, pulsing around his length. Pleasure wracks your body, rushing through your nerves like white lightning. And still you stare up at him and the love for you that he wears so raw and undisguised on his godlike, unfathomably beautiful face.

You’re so close that you can almost taste it, you feel your stomach wrench and your thighs tighten around his hips. “Fuck, that’s it, make yourself feel good. Take what you need.” The sound of his low, raspy voice in your ear guiding you, talking you through it, tips you over the delicious, overwhelming edge.

Every muscle in your body holds itself taut as your orgasm shakes you like an earthquake. You bite into his shoulder hard enough to fill your mouth with golden blood. Your lungs fucking ache from screaming into his skin. He holds your hips down, never pausing the furious pace of his thrusts, and your cunt convulses once, twice. Your mind goes foggy and finally, finally, you can breathe again.

Morpheus comes as your body unlocks, the feeling of your pleasure around his cock too much for his self-control. He clutches onto you desperately, even tilts his head to the side to welcome your bite. Sticky warmth floods your body, once more marking you as his. Hardly a single drop of cum trickles from where he’s buried deep inside of you.

You whine as he suddenly pulls away from you, only to arrange himself on the beach next to you so he doesn’t squish your bump further. You rest your head on Morpheus’s arm and the two of you lie there for a while with intertwined hands as his index finger traces the veins on the back of your hand. The breeze feels cool on your skin - the feverish tropical heat has broken its grasp on your mind and your thoughts are no longer clouded and instinct-driven.

Dream speaks softly, almost fearfully quiet. “You said you loved me.” His fingertip stills where it is on your hand, and you keenly feel the loss of that simple affectionate gesture.

“I…” You begin before stopping just as suddenly. White noise echoes in your ears, a strange buzzing that grows and grows and keeps you from turning to see his face. You’re afraid, you realize.

“If you do not truly feel that way, don’t say it. Ever again. Please. I can’t-“ His voice breaks, breaking the static holding your tongue prisoner with it.

What are you afraid of? The truth?

No, you are not.

You pull your hand away from his. “Morpheus.” When you meet his eyes, he looks away.

He’s rambling now, panicked, rushing to get the words out before it’s too late. “I couldn’t bear it. Anything else. Tell me anything else.”

It’s not too late.

Your hand cradles his angular cheek. Pale blue veins stretch under his skin from his eye to his temple. You are the only person he will let close enough to see them, you realize. “I love you,” You say, waiting long enough to see Morpheus actually register it before leaning in to kiss him. You mean it, cross your heart.

YAAAY WE'RE IN THE KISS AND MAKE UP ERA NOW!!! Thanks everyone so much for reading, we're finally making progress. I'm really excited for what's coming next. See y'all next year!

[pankowcrumbs]

Faint X Rudy Pankow (Requested)

Interviews with the Outer Banks cast were always a whirlwind of energy, laughter, and camaraderie. Today was no different. The studio was buzzing with activity as cameras were set up, microphones adjusted, and producers scurried around ensuring everything was perfect. I sat with Rudy and the rest of the cast—Chase, Madelyn, Madison, Jonathan, Drew, and Carlacia—on a long couch in front of a brightly lit backdrop. The lights were intense, casting a soft glow on everyone, but also radiating a heat that was already starting to make me uncomfortable.

I shifted in my seat, tugging at the collar of my shirt discreetly as the interviewer launched into her first question.

"So, let’s start with something fun! If you were stranded on an island—which isn’t much of a stretch considering the show—which cast member would you bring and why?"

The question sparked a cacophony of laughter and teasing as everyone chimed in with their answers.

"I’d take Chase," Jonathan said. "He’d probably build a five-star treehouse or something."

"That’s true," Madelyn added, grinning. "He’d also be the one to figure out how to make gourmet meals from coconuts."

"I’d take Rudy," Madison declared, pointing at him. "He’d keep me entertained the whole time… even if we never got rescued."

Rudy flashed a proud grin and nudged me. "What about you, Y/N? Who would you take?"

I tried to smile, but the heat from the lights felt like it was doubling, making my head spin. "Uh…" I started, but my voice came out weaker than I intended. I swallowed hard and attempted to focus on the conversation.

"She’d take me," Rudy said confidently, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "Right, babe?"

The cast laughed, and I managed a small nod, though my vision was starting to blur slightly.

As the questions continued, I became more aware of the oppressive heat. My hands felt clammy, and a wave of nausea rolled over me. I tried to focus on my breathing, hoping it would pass.

“Y/N?” the interviewer asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. “What’s been your favorite scene to film this season?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. Instead, the edges of my vision darkened, and I felt myself slipping. The last thing I heard was Rudy’s voice, tinged with alarm.

"Y/N!"

When I came to, I was lying on a couch in a quieter corner of the studio. The harsh lights were gone, replaced by the soft glow of a nearby lamp. Rudy’s face was the first thing I saw, his brow furrowed in concern as he held a cool cloth to my forehead.

“Hey,” he said softly, relief flooding his features when he saw my eyes open. “You’re awake.”

“What happened?” I mumbled, my voice hoarse.

“You fainted,” he said, his tone gentle but still laced with worry. “The lights were too much, and I think you overheated. You scared the hell out of me.”

I winced, guilt creeping in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a scene.”

“Don’t apologise,” he said firmly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

The rest of the cast soon appeared, their faces a mix of concern and relief. Madison was the first to speak.

“Y/N, don’t ever do that again. You scared us all!”

“She’s fine now,” Rudy reassured them, his hand never leaving mine. “But let’s give her some space, yeah?”

Chase nodded. “We’ll be right outside. Let us know if you need anything.”

As they filed out, Rudy turned his attention back to me. He brushed a strand of hair from my face and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“You know you’re stuck with me now, right?” he teased, his voice softer than usual. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

I managed a weak smile, squeezing his hand. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Later, when I felt strong enough to sit up, Rudy helped me back to the main room. The cast cheered when they saw me, and Madison immediately handed me a bottle of water.

“Next time, we’re bringing fans,” she declared, earning laughs from everyone.

Through it all, Rudy stayed close, his protective presence a constant comfort. And though the day hadn’t gone as planned, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the way he’d been there for me. It was moments like this that reminded me just how lucky I was to have him by my side.

[ameagrice]

The Wanderer

jeremy frazier x fem oc.

chapter one: hey, sadie, it’s 1999.

From Jeremy’s window, you get a good view of the town. The trees all turning brown and gold, the leaves which fall from them in varying shades of reds and yellows. Some are dead, with only branches to spare. Then there is the winding road, of course, and the small stores that tunnel it.

From Jeremy’s window, people are putting together Christmas decorations on their houses, string lights in multicolours, and Santa Claus signs in the yards.

From Jeremy’s window, she stares down into his backyard. Her backyard. Their backyard, as it has been for so long. There’s the stolen bike propped up on the inside fence, waiting for the cops. There is the eyesore pile of leaves laying crisp in wait for the kids from next door to come and dive into when they’re feeling daring. There is Jeremy’s childhood treehouse, its paint red and faded but standing strong. And sitting at its edge, strumming a guitar, is Jeremy himself. His long fingers dance along the guitar strings, long legs hanging over the edge of the doorway he sits in. Today, Jeremy’s dressed in her favourite teal sweater of his, and black jeans. His head is bent over the guitar ever so slightly, ebony curls brushing his eyes. It’s strange, how she gets the urge to grab his curls and slam his face into the treehouse wall. Strange indeed.

As if he can sense her watching, Jeremy raises his head and tilts back, lifting a knee up to his chest under the guitar. Milky skin is unchanged in the cool weather, darling pink lips turning up to a smile. A set of dark brown eyes meet her’s, and they set there. He’s calm today, apparently. He’s kind.

Sadie isn’t.

Today she feels…angry. They’re always conflicting emotions, the two of them. A match strikes inside her, and she raises a confident hand to her neck, swiftly moving it across in a slicing motion.

Jeremy’s mouth only tugs upward, perfect white teeth on display. He tears his eyes away and down to the guitar strings, and begins to play again. The song is familiar, but she’s never learned its name. He won’t tell her. She can’t help but latch her eyes on his hand, strumming the strings like they’re the most delicate things in the world. Memories cast phantom fingertips along her wrists, searching somewhat softly for a pulse. She’d had one, then, at that particular moment in time.

Which was why he’d swung the bat again.

“You should come down!” His voice calling pulls her from the past. It’s like honey, not at all uncaring, and it does the trick. “The fresh air’ll do you some good!”

Sadie scoffs harshly. Fresh air…Is he trying to be funny?

“Move away from the window, Sadie,” he chastises, he advises, he urges.

She folds her arms and waits heavily on one hip, tapping her fingers along her arms, and steps backward until she’s definitely out of his vision. The street is busy, today, but the treehouse is just behind the fence and out of sight. She could really annoy him and open the window, throw herself out—that usually gives him a bit of a shiver, at least. Or maybe—

“I know what you’re thinking, Sadie! Stop plotting and come down!”

He knows her too well. Being house-bound for twenty years will do that to a person.

Tilting her head, she allows herself to consider the options:

One—leaving their room today would be a nice change of scenery. She hasn’t left it in exactly a week, rotting in desperation and depression. Eyeing the movie posters on the walls, Sadie thinks of all of the things that could go wrong by going outside. Absolutely nothing, to be real. She just risks blowing up on Jeremy for the third time this week.

Two—Jeremy would try to serenade her with a sweet word and deescalation techniques, and she couldn’t promise that she wouldn’t try to throw herself and him out of the treehouse.

“What do you think, Prisoner Panda?”

Sadie turns to their bed. There are Jeremy’s old plushies of course, only an alien from the movies in Montana, and a blanket. But there is also her panda, a small and ragged thing left here by chance many moons ago. He’s cartoonish and limp, now the stuffing has moved so much. But he’s still smiling, and he smells like home. Prisoner Panda is Prisoner Sadie’s only best friend.

The other one killed her.

Prisoner Panda does not answer her.

“I should go out, right?” Sadie nods to the inanimate object. “A change of scenery will make me feel better, huh? Yeah. I think so, too.”

She takes a jacket from the back of Jeremy’s desk chair and pulls it on over her outfit of red dress and tights. The next step is getting out of the bedroom. Jeremy’s music is still playing away from the yard, as Sadie slips through the hallway. The yellow patterned wallpaper smells faintly of cigarette smoke and baking, the smell of which only becomes stronger the closer she gets to the ground floor and the kitchen.

The staircase is somewhat creaky, the banister painted dark brown, like old varnished mud, and the steps are the same. She can’t count the times she fell on these stairs, all the times Jeremy’s mom would help her with an ice pack to the knee, or the head.

As if she can sense Sadie thinking about her, Jeremy’s mother comes hurrying by the staircase just when Sadie reaches the bottom. Her long blonde hair is tied up today in a pretty bun, and stuck through with green sparkling pins. She has a rag and a bottle of cleaning detergent in her hand, peering at Sadie with her one good eye. She bursts into a bright smile exactly like her son’s.

“Morning, Sade.” Her pale hands wipe down every inch of the walls. Always cleaning, is Sara. Obsessively so.

You’d deduced together, you and Jeremy, that his parents were completely unaware that they were dead. To them, it was just another day. The kitchen utensil sticking through Jeremy’s mother’s eye was nothing to her, and the same for the one in his father’s head. The weapons their son had used didn’t phase them in the slightest, because to them it never happened. Life went on as normal. Was it a coping method, she wondered? Or hadn’t they reached the level of self-awareness in the afterlife of which she and their son had?

Passing by the living room, Sadie clears her throat. “Morning, Ted.”

Ted Frazier is by all means, a couch potato. While Sara cleans, Ted hogs the television. “Mornin’. Think Jeremy’s outside…”

Through the homely hallway, decked in frames of she and Jeremy in Montana, the last one at their graduation, and snapshots of Ted and Sara’s life together, including small images of baby Jeremy, and other family members Sadie only met the once. It smells strongly of lavender and lemon cleaning products, like a little trail of Sara.

Through the dining room, past Sara stress-polishing the table, Sadie strolls to the open back door, and out into the world.

There’s the plain garden fence, encasing the small bench on one side (where Jeremy can’t reach), the red treehouse, and down to the open driveway.

The wind blows firmly today, but not enough to put her off coming outside. It kisses her skin like she’s still alive, and the grass is cool under her feet, bare beside the material of her tights. Jeremy’s coat blows, forcing her to wrap it tighter with her arms crossed around the front. Sadie raises her gaze to the sound of strumming, the high notes blending softly together.

“Hey, Sade,” his voice comes down, gentle, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. “It’s a nice morning.”

Across the damp ground she approaches him, staring from the bottom of the ladder at first. She wishes to scare him, get her own back. Not that she hasn’t done so in the past twenty years, but it’s long overdue since the last time. Two weeks, exactly, since she’d tried to throw him down the stairs. Jeremy had the upper hand, and pushed her over the banister instead.

“If you came here to stare at me and say nothing I’d say just go back inside,” he drawls. “You’re being boring.”

“You’re an asshole.” She spits, full of spite.

“You said that last week. And then you couldn’t get enough—”

Quickly, she raises her hands and claps them around his thin ankle, feeling the bones grind beneath her fingers. And she yanks, hard on his weight. He shifts only once, enough to be startled, the guitar falling hard to the wood beneath, and then she pulls again, unforgiving this time. Jeremy yells in surprise and pain, body landing with a thump on the thick tree roots at the base. Groaning on his back, a hand stronger than it looks takes a fistful of her hair and twists, as her own balls up and pounds into the junction at his neck—right where he broke it.

“Get off!” He’s angry, now. And good, she thinks, he deserves to feel what she is feeling, and slaps her palm across his face. It’s only eleven in the morning, but they’re about to have many, many fights today. “You little psycho, go back inside!”

Sadie laughs, and then cries out. Jeremy slides his fingers through her hair to her temple, digging firmly into the place of injury.

“Ow! Ow, fuck!” She lets go of his collar. Jeremy wrenches himself from her grip.

They’ve had this particular back-forth situation happen a million times. She knows how to hurt him—digging into his broken neck—and he does her—by pushing on the spot of impact.

“You told me to come out!” She manages to yell, pushing a hand free between them both to take a dig at his bruised neck. “You—told—me!”

“I thought you were feeling angry, not murderous! I can deal with angry.”

“Shame I had to deal with murderous!”

She bites at his wrist, grazing it, and Jeremy laughs like he can’t believe it, taking a handful of her hair to pull her away. They’ve done this a million times, and he still acts shocked.

It makes her think of his twentieth birthday back in 2001, play-fighting in the front room. They’d just watched a rerun of some army movie and tried to replicate their moves. Surprisingly, she’d had him on his back, watching in glee as he wrestled her over, hovering carefully between her knees and complaining about a girl being stronger than him.

Such a shame things went the way they did back then.

She doesn’t stop fighting him because she wants to; they stop because of his mom. She yells from the doorway.

Sara sighs heavily. “Jeremy! Not again, guys! Back To The Future is playing in five, don’t you want to watch it?”

The two of them are quiet, just breathing hard, adrenaline running. Jeremy moves away slightly, giving her space. He lightens the hold on her hair, brushing the bloodied dip of her skull from the incident so long ago. His thumb brushes over it, a loving touch and a tender warning all the same.

“Yeah!” He calls, stumbling back to his feet. “We’re coming now.”

“Well, don’t be late for it! You know what your dad’s like.” Sara laughs nervously, tittering in place. “I’m going to get started on lunch!”

Lying on her back watching the clouds float by, Sadie waits to catch her non-needed breath. After a few seconds, she sits upright, and uses the tree to get to her feet. Jeremy stands a little way off with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, observing her.

“Feel better, psychopath?”

She nods her head, and hums. “A little.”

Jabbing his thumb to the house, he lets that smirk appear. “Can we go watch a movie now? You’re not gonna smash the television over my head are you?”

Sadie pushes him aside, passing. “Don’t push your luck.”

They settle on the couch for the movie, and stay there until it’s nearly time for dinner. There’s no benefit of eating in the afterlife—the food is nice, but pointless. It has no nutritional value whatsoever, but Sadie does it to appease Sara, who has never known she’s dead.

That night, in the dark coziness of their bedroom, tucked under covers and blankets galore, Jeremy presses a mirage of kisses along the impact zone on her skull, raining love along the violence. He noses at her neck, and breathes in the flat of her collar.

“I’m tired,” mutters Sadie, laying a warm hand against his bruised neck. She feels the blood pooled under his skin, tiny fragments of bones dancing around under there.

“So sleep,” he says.

For the first time in weeks, she does.

—

“We really should put out the Christmas decorations. I’ll ask Ted and Jeremy to go get them down from the attic later…”

It’s raining hard this morning of December seventh. The sky cries, presenting itself in dark blue. The stand mixer whirs, and so does Sara, spinning back and forth around the kitchen for the things she needs to make cupcakes. Sadie’s supposed to be helping her, but the Vogue magazine from 1999 that she has read a million times is just so damn interesting…

Rain cracks down on the windows. Lifting her eyes, she watches the droplets slide down the glass, and pool at the dip in the window ledge.

“What do you think, Sade?”

She looks to Sara, now. The cooking utensil sticking out of her face used to bother Sadie greatly, but now it’s like looking at a friend—the abnormalities don’t bother her much anymore.

“What?”

Sara smiles but rolls her good eye. She waves the bowl of batter. “I said, vanilla or strawberry flavoring?”

“Strawberry,” she decides, looking back to page four. “We had vanilla last week didn’t we?”

“Right we did, Sade. Right we did…”

It’s boring, being dead. Trying to find ways to pass the time when you’re aware that you’re no longer living is difficult. At first, they tried everything, she and Jeremy. Football games in the yard (once they got past the initial hatred stage); moving household furniture around; and other things. But there’s only so much time that being intimate and pushing furniture pieces around can fill.

They started to get creative.

By trying to kill each other again.

“Bet this isn’t what you thought came after death,” she told him once upon a time, trying to gather a bit of broken skull off of the floor.

“Not. One. Bit.” Jeremy seethed, trying to crack his neck back in place.

It’s been twenty-two years since this Vogue magazine came out, but when she looks out of the window, the style is coming back around. The two-thousands never dies, it seems. She’s seen it come back about five times, now.

The chair shrieks across the tiles when she stands up. Sara grimaces and casts a look to the hallway, where Ted’s programme can be heard. It hasn’t gone amiss that there’s been a lack of arguing on Ted’s part this past week—he’s bound to blow up anytime now. Every little noise Sadie makes is like pulling on the tense wire that is Sara’s nerves.

She leans down to the windowsill, her head down on her arms, watching the world go by. School kids wait for the yellow busses, a couple of teens bike on by, laughter high on the rain. The headlights on the newer cars shine down the street, whizzing past at a speed waaaaay over the limit. Longing pulls at her heart.

A shuffle somewhere behind her draws her eyes up, refocusing on the reflection of the lit kitchen in the glass.

“Morning,” Jeremy sighs, pulling a chair from underneath the table and sitting heavily. He’s in black pyjama pants and a loose-fitting red sweater, and he takes the bowl of cereal his mom offers him, digging in straight away.

Ugh. Sadie looks away, out of the window again. This time, she swears a kid looks right at her. Probably not—Jeremy’s always said living people can’t see them one bit. Unless they’re Lydia Deetz, but she’s a bit of a folk story in their world. A could-be, whom people want to believe can give them a way out. There are whispers, and shouts, but nobody has proven her to be the real deal yet.

“Did you get a good sleep?” Sara lays a gentle hand in her son’s curls, shifting them. “Your father and I didn’t keep you awake yelling did we? I tried to tell him to quieten down; that he’d wake the two of you. But…well, you know how he is.”

As a matter of fact, yes, Ted did keep them awake. Something about slipping on the stairs because they’d been polished too much. Unable to sleep, Sadie had turned on some alternative rock from Jeremy’s player, and watched the world go by all night at his desk chair, contemplating life and the afterlife. Nearly twenty-three years of the same posters on the walls, nearly twenty-three years of Ted and Sara, twenty-three years of Jeremy sleeping with his back to her, tossing and turning, like he can’t face the consequences of his actions.

In the middle of the night, governed by moonlight, she had even dug out Jeremy’s copy of the Handbook for the Recently Deceased and had a good old flick through. Hers had been thrown under the bed when she missed her target of Jeremy the week prior, and she couldn’t be bothered to go crawl under there and grab it.

Seven-hundred pages of illustrated explanations, incantations in different languages of all kinds. Nothing particularly helpful, besides the whole ‘draw a door!’ thing it offered, for those who wanted to talk to a case worker.

They’d done that in the early days, when the desperate need to escape became too much for even him. See, Jeremy’s death had been an accident. Hers, an unfortunate consequence. Wrong place, wrong time. In another life, she might have stayed home. Jeremy wouldn’t have come out to the garden to find her. The cops would have found him in the house and arrested him before taking him to prison, and her life would have continued in a decent deal of shock, but at least it would have continued.

Jeremy had drawn a messily-etched door on the wall, tearing down his precious posters, and knocked three times. It materialised and opened up into winding hallways passing grotesque endings and frightful things. It was a whole city—dry cleaners and police forces in terrible hues of reds and greens, dirty and depressing; a waiting room, and an immigration centre, for those wanting to reach the Pearly Gates, the Fires of Damnation, Elysium or the Great Beyond, governed by the dead. Their case worker, Juno, in her last year working, sat them down and explained the basics.

They were dead. This was the afterlife. No, Sadie, there hadn’t been a mistake. No, Jeremy, he couldn’t go back. But the good news was that they weren’t stuck forever! Sadie blew her nose noisily at this on a tissue Juno handed over the desk as Jeremy side-eyed her, clenching his fists. This was not what he’d hoped for.

“One-hundred-seventy years for you!” Juno slapped a stamp down on a business-like card, a bit of slip with Jeremy’s name in blood-red ink looped along the top line. “For soul redemption, and per the guidelines.” She slapped it down in front of him. “Don’t lose that, young man!”

She turned to Sadie next, human-looking with permed blonde hair and kind eyes. “Sadie, darling, I know this is hard to comprehend.” She touched Sadie’s hand, before offering a glance to Jeremy, as if willing him to understand. “Murder victims are often the hardest to console—the shock.” She picked up her pen with the other hand and began to write out another card.

“Only fifty years for you, my dear. Your life review deemed it unfair to have you repent for his sins. But, per the guidelines, you also have a lot of reviewing to do.”

“What happens after the time is up?” Snapped Jeremy at her side. His foot tapped anxiously at the ground. “What does it mean?”

“You’ll come back here and head on over to immigration! Show them your passports—they’ll arrive in a few days, so not to worry about that. You’ll have a choice: reunion at the Pearly Gates with other family members. Damnation if the council decides you have more repentance to continue. Or the Great Beyond, if you would like another shot at life. We give significant wait times between your death and your departures overall to allow those who have passed into our current side the opportunity to really think through their choices.”

Jeremy shifts, leaning forward. When Sadie shifts her gaze away from Juno to her boyfriend, there’s this look on his face. Anger, shock, mixed with a bit of terror that this is what the afterlife is.

“So this happens to everyone?” He asks.

Leaning back, Juno shakes her frizzy hair. “Not everybody, no. Some people become ghosts, others don’t. Luck of the draw. We aren’t completely sure why only certain people end up in our state, but it happens more often than you think. The live people think it’s down to unfinished business. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, both? You’re very new here. And oh, so young! Twenty…what an age! Not to worry—we have some pamphlets I can give to you. We run acceptance classes on a Thursday night, all about accepting you’re dead. It helps some dead to make peace with their circumstances. And of course if you ever have any queries or complaints, we’re always here to help!”

Thunder cracked, and the book in Sadie’s hands slid from them, falling to the floor with a heavy thud. It fell open, face-up. She leaned down to it and examined its pages contents. The book only displayed the contents when it deemed the reader ready for them. The pages her book showed would not necessarily be the same ones as in Jeremy’s.

SO YOU WANT TO EXCHANGE YOUR AFTERLIFE FOR ONE OF THE LIVING? READ ON NOW, WE CAN HELP!

The bed sheets ruffled, Jeremy rolling over in his sleep. Ted screamed at his wife two floors below, and Sara’s words came through among the sobs.

Creeping across the room on light feet, she sat down at her boyfriend’s side. “Hey, Jeremy…you’ve got to get up.”

He opened his eyes, seriously unimpressed, rubbing them.

Sadie leaned down, smugly smiling. “I’ve got an idea.”

The following afternoon, residing in the same chair after a fight with Jeremy and an aching heart, Sadie thought back on her whole twenty-two years in this house. Her parents were somewhere out there in the big wide world, in their sixties. Her sister would be grown with a family of her own, having been to college, or travelled. Maybe she became a sad reminder in a photo frame on the mantelpiece somewhere, or a candle lit in memory every anniversary of her death, or her birthday. She might be a story shared at Christmas, replayed every few years on the news. She missed them terribly.

She thought long and hard about the lead up to her death, and spiralled. For the rest of the afternoon and well into the night, curled up beside him, she thought over first encounter with Jeremy in the town, and a long drive into what became her new home.

She thought way back when, to 1999.

CHAPTER 2 -> to be published.

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Hiking.

-> Pairing: Lee Know x Reader (You)

-> Request: This is a repost from my old account

-> Synopsis: You regret agreeing to go on a hike with your boyfriend.

-> Warnings: None. No use of pronouns

-> Word Count: 439

-> Requests: Closed. I will make a post when they are open again.

Lee Know Masterlist

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. Likes, comments & reblogs are welcomed and appreciated, thank you. 

“Are we almost there yet?” You ask well into your hike with Minho. 30 minutes into the walk you started to regret agreeing to his offer of going on a hike with him.  

Despite being in the shade, it’s hotter than hell, the bugs seem to be immune to the cheap bug spray you used, and your feet are aching, hot and sweaty and your pretty sure you have blisters that are beginning to form. Minho’s always been the more active one out of the two of you, unless it involves water. But you agreed to go with him because it's been a while since you got to do something, just the two of you.    

“Another 10 minutes, Jagiya,” he assures you.    

“You said that 10 minutes again," you pant as you stop walking. "Next time could we go see a movie? Go out for dinner? Maybe do something that doesn’t involve a 40-minute hike?” you suggest.    

“We can do whatever you want,” he says turning around when he realizes your no longer right behind him. He moves his backpack to his front and crouches down a little in front of you. “Jump on.”   

“Are you sure?” you ask a little uncertain. You’ve always admired his strength, but he would be carrying you as well as the backpack filled with supplies and food. "We still have another 10 minutes." 

“If it’ll stop you complaining, I don’t mind,” he assures her. 

“I wasn’t complaining,” you pout but jump onto to his back.  

"Yes, you were," he teases with a little smirk. 

Carrying you the rest of the way, you reach your destination in less than 10 minutes. In front of you is a beautiful river. The water is shallow and crystal clear. You didn’t doubt it would be freezing cold but nice and refreshing.  

Minho lets you off his back. The first thing you do is kick off your shoes and dip your feet in the nice cool water. You turn back to Minho, seeing him crouched down and pulling food and water out of his backpack.   

“I’m sorry I complained and that you had to carry me,” You apologize feeling slightly guilty.  

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, looking at you. You can see the mischievous look in his eyes, “But I won’t be carrying you back to the car.” 

“The walk back always seems to go quicker,” You smile. “I think I’ll be fine but you’re cooking dinner tonight.” 

“I’m fine with that,” he agrees. “Your cooking is terrible anyway.” 

Pretending to be offended even though you know he’s right, you kick water in his direction, splashing him. 

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[merxcywritesthings]

𝑆𝑎𝑙 𝐹𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑅𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠

Characters: Sal Fisher

TW: None, this is all fluff :)

a/n: My first ever written piece for Tumblr! I’m very excited to publish this for you all to read. The rest of the gang will be coming soon, don’t worry! With that being said, enjoy!

𝐒𝐚𝐥 𝐅𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫:

♡ My favorite baby blue boy 💙

𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩:

♡ You two met when you moved into Addison Apartments!

♡ You and your family had moved in the apartment that was beside Todd. Your family had encouraged you to go around a meet your neighbors since you had already finished unpacking, and lucky for you, you just happened to run into the blue haired boy with pigtails talking to a kid with glasses, who you presumed to be his friend.

♡ Not wanting to interrupt their conversation, you figured you would introduce yourself to them later. Little did you know you caught the attention of the pigtailed boy as you walked past them, kind of had the look he gave towards Ashley in the second chapter!

♡ Asks Larry or Chug if they had met you and asks a million questions about you also.

♡ He goes out of his way to find more information about you, that cool book you just read about? He will finish the entire book or series that night. Just saw this cool movie? He’s watching it as soon as he gets home from school. This band you recently got into? He’s buying all their albums. He wants to learn everything about you.

♡ Finally, he goes up to apartment door—thankfully you answer and not one of your parents—and introduces himself and soon he finds himself enthralled by you.

♡ Now you two are officially attached at the hip, going where the other goes.

♡ Larry can see Sal growing more and more fond of you each day that passes. Even poking at Sal to make a move already.

♡ Sal finally works up the courage to ask you out that night and asks you at school if you wanted to hang out at his apartment later, and of course you agree.

♡ Freaks out. Tremendously. Is running around the apartment like crazy making sure everything is tidy and neat before you arrive. Even has Larry come up to help him.

♡ Larry tries to calm down Sal, telling Sal that he just needs to breathe and stop worrying because she likes you for who you are and isn’t going to judge you.

♡ That isn’t to say you aren’t freaking out about this too, you have only ever hung out with Sal at school, the treehouse, Larry’s room or Todd’s room.

♡ Panicking, you call Ashley and she tells you the same thing Larry said to Sal.

“Just breathe, Reader; Sal cares for you in his own quiet way, I’ve seen the look in his eyes whenever you’re near. The way he remembers the things that matter to you, it’s obvious that he loves you. You just need to tell him.”

♡ Those words brought you comfort, and little did Sal know you planned on doing the same thing he was doing.

♡ Soon, the time arrives for you to head over to Sal’s place to hang out.

♡ You two are having so much fun, playing with his Gearboy, Messing with Gizmo, watching horror movies, etc.

♡ You even got to meet Sal’s dad, who tells you to call him Henry instead of Mr. Fisher—he jokingly told you that Mr. Fisher is name you would use to call an old person and he isn’t ready for that title yet.

♡ Then the time comes where he feels confident enough to ask you to be his.

♡ When he does ask you out, I picture you guys having a Luz and Amity moment from the Owl House—when Luz tries to ask out Amity but she’s beat Luz to it first.

𝐃𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩:

♡ He 100 percent trusts you—after all you did ask him to date you—but it takes him a while to take his prosthetic off around you, like months.

♡ Once he feels more comfortable with you, the mask is always off.

Side note: Sal loves it when you take in consideration of his skincare, I headcanon that Sal has very sensitive skin after the incident and can only use certain brands of soap to wash his face with. One time you found a brand that wouldn’t aggravate his skin and offered to help him wash his face with it, he started to cry.

♡ Sal would try and be the best boyfriend he could be: never forgetting anniversaries, reminding you of your schedule, helping you with homework, etc.

♡ Would absolutely teach you how to play guitar in your guys spare time.

♡ Writes little songs for you on and sometimes plays them for you.

♡ I feel like Sal’s type of love is physical touch—since he was deprived of it at a young age—quality time, acts of service and words of affirmation.

♡ Sal will go out of his way to get you little gifts or trinkets (whether bought or found somewhere random), he always makes sure to take mental notes whenever you mention you want something from a certain store.

“Hey I found this flower, and it reminded me of us.”

♡ Loves prolonged hugs and cuddle sessions with you, like I said earlier, I picture Sal being touched deprived so any chance he could take you to either his room or the nearest sofa with Gizmo laying near you guys, it is like heaven for him.

♡ Would let you paint his nails, do his hair, or even put makeup on him. He loves being your personal model, it makes him feel pretty.

♡ Sal is not really big on looks—for obvious reasons—he just wants someone who will accept for who he is.

♡ Sal is obsessed with wearing your clothes. Sal is a short king and if you and him are the exact same size or your taller than him, you best BELIEVE he will be walking around Addison Apartments with some form of your clothing on.

♡ If you were something of his though? Game over.

♡ One time you went into Sal’s room thinking he was in there, only to find him gone and his sweater lying neatly on his bed. Surely he wouldn’t get mad over you wearing his black sweater for a little bit, right? Once Sal returned back to his room after trying to find ghosts around the building, he found you sprawled out on his bed , wearing his sweater, with Gizmo in your lap, purring. This boy’s face became completely flushed under his mask and couldn’t even bring himself to look at you for the remainder of the day.

♡ Dates are more lowkey between you two. Staying home and playing video games or movie nights are two of his favorites.

♡ Please kiss him all over, prosthetic or not. He adores it. 💙

♡ Calls you Bluebell, Love, Princess/Prince, Sunshine, Sweetheart, Dear, Beloved.

♡ Would absolutely cook for you if you ask him too. For me, I feel Sal’s mom used to be the main cook of the household, reading recipes she would find from cookbooks. After her passing, Sal secretly took one of her cookbooks and stashed it away in his room in New Jersey and still has it even as an adult.

♡ Whenever you guys are public, he makes it known you are taken—not in a jealous kind of way, more like showing public affection.

♡ Locks pinkies with you.

♡ Loves just wrapping his arms around you and laying his head on your shoulder. It brings him comfort.

♡ Reads you like a book, even though he’s not great with his emotions, he can tell whenever yours have changed.

♡ Has matching bracelets with you, that he never takes off, unless he’s showering.

♡ Absolutely sees a future with you.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑠! <3

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑦: 𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑠-𝑛-𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒

[loveislandthegame]

thoughts on todays volume ! well…i can’t say it was uneventful

i enjoyed the podium challenge! i wouldn’t say it was “fun to play” because the entire thing was on rails, but it gave us some reasonable drama. plus MC actually got some wins for once, rather than automatically losing for the sake of a diamond option

next up is some random date, it was mostly just eavesdropping on other couples, and then we have a dance off ??😭 anyways, i danced with lisbeth, it was very cute

then we have spin the bottle! jesse chose to kiss MC and obviously i went all in

for the diamond option, you actually can pick tristan (and interestingly enough, he has hearts. i'm starting to think he really is the enemies to lovers route 💀💀💀) i just couldn’t resist the mess

but then i was considering a replay, because choosing him means i probably won't be able to kiss lisbeth—

sike ! she points the bottle right at MC and we kiss her too. anyways, this was the most fun i’ve had in the villa by far (with that being said, after the results of this volume i might actually replay to choose lisbeth for the diamond scene 😭)

i was dreading whatever gesture hayden had planned for MC, but at the very last second lisbeth swoops in 🎉 unfortunately that means i have to read dialogue about "the LI i'm forced to be with being sad about being turned down" for the one millionth time. i wish female LIs (or slowburns in general) could be a choice early on instead of forcing us into these awkward situations (even if we can't be coupled up for storyline reasons, FB could have one of the girls talk to MC about romantic gestures, give us some "if someone here did a gesture for me, i'd love if it was..." type of dialogue, and then have every LI to choose from. it's not that hard luv)

anyways, lisbeth also has some dialogue about how i also chose her for the hot tub date and the hideaway, i thought that was a cool detail! (and it’s nice to not get treated like you’re automatically on a hoe route as a wlw player, that was one of my biggest complaints with the 2 previous seasons)

we go to the treehouse and catch franki kissing tristan, i would say “clap if you care” but it’s all gonna go downhill from here, so…👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽

we go back to the rest of lisbeth’s gesture: looking at the constellations, and it was so adorable ! however, i should’ve known that the line about the pleiades was foreshadowing what happens next

side note before it all kicks off, the new outfits in this volume were giving me life ! putting "goth PLEASEEEEE" in every FB survey question about clothes finally paid off

next up, we got some season 5 energy with everyone dogpiling MC. common sense and critical thinking completely out the window. mind you, everybody that was in the dressing room saw franki steal MC’s perfume. mind you, my MC doesn’t even wear lipstick. mind you, our own LI defends us and somehow we still get dumped (UPDATE: i said tristan didn’t vote for MC but he actually did when i replayed. maybe it’s a glitch, maybe i’m illiterate, maybe it's maybelline) before we go, lisbeth tells MC that she'll wait for her. then we got some season 6 energy with “dumped MC actually being sent to casa” …or coming back to the main villa as a casa girl 🤷🏽

but more importantly, we got dumped for two whole weeks ??? that’s pretty much years in love island terms, im sure our LIs managed to stay loyal but i have no idea how they’d do that without getting dumped (i could see lisbeth and jesse staying together in a friend couple, but idk about hayden/ethan/milo) can't wait for all the "pay gems to learn about what happened" scenes 🙄

speaking of gem scenes, the way i thought the option to open the door was gonna be for one of our LIs 😭 i already said this in my last post, but i have unlimited gems and i still feel robbed. in the game i ended up forgiving franki, just because there wasn’t an option to throw hands (and i do agree with the option that ideally, tristan would’ve been dumped instead lol) but i definitely do not forgive her, choosing to walk after letting MC take the fall is some of the most pathetic bullshit i've ever seen (so what was the point of throwing MC under the bus, you bozo !!!)

overall... what on earth !? i'm gagged, mainly because i cannot believe my prediction of MC getting dumped was correct. granted, we’re gonna be returning, but this is so unserious 😭 i'm sure the game won’t let us be more than mildly upset with the islanders who got us dumped, but trust and believe my MC will be burning that villa down when she returns.

(in case you're wondering, i'm still gonna romance tristan...because i live for the drama and his route will probably be "uncharted territory." in other words, i don't think a single person is gonna be romancing him after this shit, & i'm curious to see what it's like. he's 100% not my endgame tho 💀 i prefer sweetie pie LIs . jesse and lisbeth all the way)