#this game is ten years old now. heres to ten years of being completely and totally normal about this guy!!!

[rwshfordgirl]

CHRISTMAS DINNER

all images were taken from pinterest.

where reader and jude bellingham are used to spending christmas together, but this year's christmas could change their relationship forever.

a/n: hope you like it;)

requests are open | check here my masterlist.

"my God, you started getting ready for dinner at two in the afternoon, it's almost seven at night and you haven't finished?" my brother appeared at the bathroom door, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and completely incredulous. "i'm almost done." i replied. "you're already very pretty little sister, you don't need all this." he said making me smile "but i'm sure jude bellingham will notice all this effort." in response, he received a middle finger and the door closing in his face.

james knows me like no one else, unfortunately. not that i'm trying to get jude's attention with excessive makeup and flashy clothes, on the contrary, i want to be as natural as possible. and now, i have to say that thinking like this, i look like a 15 year old teenager trying to win over the boy she has a crush on school.

and my brother is exaggerated, i started getting ready almost now.

from my room i could hear the voices downstairs in the house, i could hear the voices of all the bellinghams but not jude, he didn't arrive.

my family and his family are friends, our mothers grew up together, he and i grew up together. and it's a christmas tradition to have dinner together, there wasn't a year when we weren't together. 

i think i was ten when i realized i had a crush on jude. he seemed like my superhero defending me from the bullying i used to suffer.  and he always showed concern for me, always sending me messages wanting to know if everything is okay with college, wanting to know if i'm in good health.

i can say that i love everything about jude, especially his worried way, but i also love his polite way of being. the smile he gives when he sees me, the photos he sends me after games, the way he touches my hair.

i don't know if jude is interested in me in the same way that i am interested in him, sometimes i believe that it is just his way of showing affection, even if it makes me fall more and more in love with him.

i was putting away what i had used when two knocks on the door made me jump back. i was distant, caught up in my thoughts."hey, are you ready yet?" it was jude. i was caught off guard again. "oh, hi jude! i'm done now." i said as i opened the bedroom door to see him. i looked bellingham up and down, he was as handsome as ever. "i loved your dress, it looks good on you" jude ran his hand over the back of his neck "thank you! you also chose your clothes well today." he chuckled.

"i bet my mom asked you to come get me." i said, turning off the light in the room and then leaving. bellingham moved a little more to the side. "you got it right." i nodded. "i thought you hadn't arrived, i heard everyone's voice but yours." he smiled. "i'm less talkative today." he commented as he directed his gaze to the floor. "lucky we have time to tell each other our problems today."

i signaled for bellingham to follow me downstairs and he promptly came. "green is definitely your color." his mother said as she hugged me. "you look stunning, jude will be even more in love." my cheeks flushed as i heard my mother's laughter and saw jude rolling his eyes. i was so embarrassed that my thank you came out almost silent. i greeted jobe and his father, then i sat between the youngest bellingham and jude.

jobe and i spent exactly fifteen minutes watching videos on tiktok, jude even laughed at some things but he's acting completely weird today. "what's going on in your head?" i turned my face towards the player who smiled shyly, without showing his teeth "a lot of stuff." i laid my head on his shoulder "do you want to talk about it?" he nodded and i got up from the couch, extending my hand to help him up.

i wanted to take him out to the backyard so we could have privacy, even though no one in the room would be able to hear our conversation due to the noise of the voices. jude sat across from me on the wooden table seat. we stared at each other for a few minutes, i raised my eyebrows when i noticed his eyes analyzing every detail of my face and bellingham laughed. 

"first laugh of the night, we're already moving forward." he chuckled before clasping his hands together and resting them on the table in front of him. "my mom is right, green is definitely your color." bellinghams love to make my cheeks blush "thank you mr jude! you don't look bad in black and white either." i complimented him "and you know you don't look bad wearing any color, that impresses me." i rolled my eyes. he has no idea that his playful flirting makes my heart race.

"i think this is a great time for you to tell me what's bothering you so much." he bit his lower lip "never mind, i don't know how to explain it." he said "oh please, draw a picture with twigs in the snow then." he smiled "does it have anything to do with madrid?" He denied "let's forget about it, i already feel much better." he smiled "ugh, it's okay! if you want to talk about it, i'll be willing to listen."

"let's go back inside, i'm going to freeze." i said, pretending my jaw was shaking. my coat isn't doing me much good. jude got up, I thought he was going to wait for me so we could go back inside my house together, but he sat down next to me. "let's stay here, i'll warm you up if anything! but i just want to stay here with you." i pouted "are you needy or do you miss me?" i turned my face towards him. "both of them." he rested his face on his hand. again i was rolling my eyes, again i was getting nervous.

"didn't you find anyone in madrid?" i questioned as i stood in the same position as the player. "my heart is set on birmingham." i laughed. "i bet it's that girl who used to go to school with us, but i must say she's engaged to a friend of yours." i said as i played with jude's hand "i don't even remember her anymore. unfortunately, only girls in green occupy my mind for a long time." 10 seconds to process what he had said. i laughed awkwardly and licked my lips. "you went from downcast to flirty really fast."

jude turned my face to him again. i looked at him confused. "i'm starting to think you're drunk." he threw his head back laughing. "but seriously..." he ran his hand over the back of his neck before continuing. "seriously what?" i asked. "do you think you and i wouldn't work as a couple?" i was speechless. jude bellingham is out of his mind. 

"are you kidding me?" i laughed nervously "what? you don't think so? if you knew how much i think about you every day you wouldn't say that." jude was serious. i was sure of it after analyzing his body posture. i can't believe what i'm hearing. "of course you think, we are bests." i said and then turned my head to the other side.  

jude put his hands on his face and then shook his head "you know i don't think of you as just a friend." my heart could jump out of my chest at any moment "i know?" i scoffed. jude turned my head towards him once more, his hand promptly brushing a strand of hair that was falling over my face behind my ear.

i could hear his breathing getting louder as he got closer. his mouth was just inches from mine. i want them to stick together.

"was that what was eating at your mind?" i questioned. bellingham's eyes flickered between my mouth and my eyes "maybe." he replied.

"my mom is looking for you, she wants everyone in the room now." james appeared in the backyard, making bellingham and I jump back. "okay, we'll go." i stood up first and saw james looking at me with an arched eyebrow, but he laughed and continued toward the house. "think about what i told you, please." jude held my hand, he was still sitting down. "if you knew everything that goes on in my head, you wouldn't say that." he stood up and again we were close enough to hear each other's heartbeats "and you hid this from me?" he questioned before giving me a kiss on the corner of my mouth. "we'll work, i promise." he continued.

[octakiseron]

pondering the orb

[dj-of-the-coven]

trigun 1998 episode simulator

[3 minutes of guitar solo]

Vash the Stampede: hi my name is Vash the Stampede. I am a hunter of Peace chasing the elusive mayfly of Love. all I really want to do is have a sandwich and a morning coffee without getting chased by bandits

some bandit: (gunshot) absolutely not. square up faggot

Vash: rats.

[gunfight]

Vash the Stampede: my name is Vash the stampede. I am a hunter of Peace chasing the elusive mayfly of Love.could I please have a sandwich

Meryl from the Bernardelli Insurace Society: how long are you going to sit on your ass doing nothing but playing games with children and doing chores for the elderly and disabled and looking after lonely youths and cooking dinner for the homeless

Vash: I've been here for like 2 days

Milly Thompson: Hi Vash!

Vash: Hi Milly

[exit left pursued by bounty hunters]

Vash the Stampede: (panting, entering a bar) my name is Vash the stampede.... I am a hunter of Peace chasing the elusive mayfly of Good L*rd what is going on in here

Hostage: mphdsfhapff!!!! mffmpphhf!!!!

Villain of the week: well if it isn't the elusive Vash the Stampede! you see it all started when I was 4 days old and you kicked me like a football and then exploded my parents to death with a laser canon and killed every puppy in a ten ile (translator's note: this is the No Man's Land equivalent of the American Mile) radius

Vash: I don't remember doing that but well I suppose you can shoot me if it'll make you feel better

Side character of the week: Are you insane? Just shoot him instead???

Vash: but my mom told me not to be mean to people

Villain of the week: (still going) And as I am now 47 years old I have finally decided to get my revenge. Say your prayers, Vash the Pisshead

[Wall explodes and reveals a motorcycle with a sexy priest on it]

[sfx: guitar with a hint of electric distortion]

Vash: is that..... Wolfwood?

Meryl who was in the background this whole time: the priest?

Nicholas Dickolas Wolfwood: (brings his fingers up to a pair of luscious lips to grab the cigarette from right between them, taking one more slow inhale before crushing the cherry red underneath his heel)(sensually cocks one of his 8 guns) Are you just gonna let this guy talk down to you like that needle noggin?

Vash: I g-

[guitar riff bumper]

[guitar riff bumper]

Vash: -uess not, since you're here to help now... (slow, warm smile) Wolfwood

Nicholas D. ranged Wolfwood: Vash

Milly who was also in the background this whole time: Hi mr priest man! isn't this lovely, I haven't seen you since the last time you spoke with mr Vash yesterday evening when you were helping him buckle all those silly belts on his pants after he had lost them somehow

Vash: On a cactus

Milly: On a cactus! Oh it must've hurt so terribly; how fortunate that Mr Priest man was there to help you

Wolfwood: Hi Milly

[gunfight]

Villain of the week: ohhhhh curses!!! CURSES!!!! I have spent my whole existence getting ready to fight Vash the Stampede but he's just too good at swallowing all my bullets!!!!!!

Vash the Stampede: my tragic dead mother would be sad if I didn't swallow everyone's bullets so I've trained diligently every morning at digesting gunpowder without dying immediately

Wolfwood: [internally: I can't believe it. All this time I've spent walking the path of darkness, reaching to a pure light that I could never grasp, and yet here is a man who's dedicated his life and his body to the pursuit of Peace. I wish he were a woman so I could fuck him romantic style. I've got a whole plan for it and everything. Whiskey, sunset, a bed with no sand in it, 6 hours. This would be fully and completely possible if only he were a woman. Unfortunately he's not, but I can still think about the what-ifs. platonically of course. Maybe if he got some good dick he'd stop being so annoying. And maybe he'd stop making me rethink my morals. I wonder if the seven drunken handies meant anything to him. Platonically]

Wolfwood: Well anyway it looks like my job is done here

Vash: (teary) Will I see you again?

Wolfwood: I don't know. And besides, whenever I look at you, I'm reminded of everything I hate about myself. You know, it hurts.

[exit Nicholas D. Wolfwood pursued by repressed homosexual desires and immense catholic guilt]

Vash the Stanned Peat: (looking out the window like a widow whose husband was killed in action) Nicholas... D... Wolfwood.......

Meryl who was in the background that entire time, yes, the whole time: shut the fuck up already

Vash: when will it be my turn Meryl. When

[roll credits]

[irishmammonagenda]

You pout, arms crossed up against your chest, staring at your boyfriend who currently has his eyes fixated on the game on his PC, mouse and keys being clicked rapidly while the otaku sits cross legged on his desk chair, tongue sticking out in anticipation as he progresses with the battle.

You shift in the bean bag that you made yourself at home on, having long set you DDD down, finding that it had completely lost its entertainment value. Call you a spoilt brat, more millte than the ten year old's in makeup aisles at supermarkets, but you wanted your boyfriend's attention God Dammit! And you wanted it now!

The Avatar of Envy pays you no mind as he continues playing his game, having probably forgotten you were in the room. Well you had been here for hours quietly on your DDD. It was fair, you supposed, though as he starts singing the praises of a certain Ruri-chan, the only thing you could feel was your boyfriend's sin.

That seemed to remind Leviathan of your existence. You huff. He reaches a checkpoint and turns around, jumping when he sees you. "O-oh! S-sorry! M-MC...I-i forgot you were there!" He says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head as his face turns a red that brings out the purple of his hair.

"You should be sorry...." You sulk, sinking further into your seat, Levi flatlines, eyes widening as he nearly falls off his own chair.

"I-I am! I just got so into the game! And you were so quiet...and I-" He rambles apology upon apology as he stumbles clumsily closer to you, finally reaching within inches of you but hesitating. Something along the lines of 'How could they want a pathetic otaku like me anywhere near them right now?!' no doubt going through his head.

You scrunch your nose up, quickly closing the distance with a soft, chaste kiss on the lips. Simple. Leviathan still flatlines, if he was an android he would've stopped working. You grin, giving him another kiss, just as soft but a little less chaste, he blubbers something in his flustered blushy state, demon form popping out. While your pretty boyfriend was normally shy, his instincts were not, while he hid his face and sparkling eyes from you in his awe, his tail wrapped around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer to you, something you gladly accepted as you took Levi's hands away from his face and gave him another kiss, he might as well have been the Avatar of Greed with how greedily he was kissing you back.

Holy fuck, you love your boyfriend.

[ihfmseatsoch]

He didn't know he'd have this much fun 🚀

Jimmy Zare x Curly's daughter!reader

she/her pronouns used, reader is described as female.

genre: smut, dark fic !!

warnings/content: dead dove, age gap, (reader is 18 and jimmy is pushing 40) intox, coercion, virgin!reader, manipulation, underage drinking, dubcon turned noncon, implication that jimmy was attracted to reader when they were a minor, rough sex, hair pulling, jimmys a terrible friend what else is new -_- sorry curly

—

Jimmy spending the night at Curly's wasn't uncommon. In fact, he's been a constant presence in your life from the moment you first opened your eyes.

He's been through bouts of homelessness, seeking refuge at you and your dad's house for a month or two until he got back on his feet. And during that time, Curly would ask Jim to babysit if he would be home late or couldn't pick you up from school- whatever the reason, it's a wonder why he entrusted his daughters safety with Jimmy of all people.

He swore around you. Smoked right next to your fragile eight year old lungs. Made completely age inappropriate jokes that went over your head whenever you somehow convinced him to play Barbies with you. Let you chew a piece of nicotine gum when you were ten, which you immediately spat out on the living room carpet.

Jimmy saw you as a surrogate niece. Plus, it was amusing to him to teach you swear words and snicker when you cluelessly say the word "cunt" around your poor father, who'd done his best to protect you from bad influences.

But Jimmy was always an exception because, well, Curly could never say no to welcoming his best friend into his home. And it's not like Jimmy would ever hurt you, his precious daughter. He'd never stoop so low as to put you in any danger.

Right?

Tonight, Jimmy's not here because he's homeless. He'd just gotten back from a long haul– five months to be exact, and he tagged along with Curly back to his place. Figured he didn't feel like immediately going back to his shithole of an apartment and would use Curly's picturesque, clean home as a place to crash. It always had a distinct sense of... family. Belonging. His own home didn't have that.

Maybe he was jealous of you and your privileged life; a father who adored you and spoiled you damn near rotten, academic excellence, and a clean-cut lifestyle. It was like you were immune to the scars and vices that had marked him. Your untainted nature irked him to no end.

Still, the thought of corrupting you, making your stray from that perfect little life of yours, had some sort of twisted appeal to it. One thing about you is that you love your Uncle Jimmy. You've looked up to him since you were in diapers, seeing him as the stereotypical "cool" uncle figure. The loud music he blasted on his beat up truck radio and the way he always reeked of a pack of Marlboros represented a world of rebellion and freedom you'd never experienced.

He's not sure exactly when he habitually started sneaking quick glances at your chest to see how big your tits were growing, or when the sight of you lapping at a melting popsicle in the summer made his dick twitch in his pants.

He did well at holding himself back. The sole reason for that being he didn't want to catch a case anytime soon. But the day came when you were finally legal, his chest immediately felt lighter as the weight of his deep seated guilt that he felt for even wanting to fuck you at all left his body. You were fair game now, and you had the type of beauty he wouldn't let go to waste.

So when you an up to him and hugged him, your supple young tits squishing against his as you squealed about how much you missed him during his time away from Earth, he'd already made up his mind.

He'll have you one way or another.

That night, after Curly went to bed early after the exhaustion from five months of work hit him like a cement truck, Jimmy was left alone on the couch, beer can in hand as he mindlessly watched two wrestlers he didn't know a thing about senselessly beat eachother up as some form of entertainment as he slipped into a slightly tipsy state.

And when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching, too light to be Curly's, he knew you had stepped out of your room. He turned his head, looking up at you from his position on the couch. His eyes ran over your form, taking in your pajamas. A tank top and shorts that hugged your figure in all the right places. Not exactly made for modesty.

"Hey..." You greeted him, waving sheepishly as you tried to keep your voice down as to not wake your father. "You're not asleep either." You state the obvious.

Jimmy shakes head, swallowing down the remaining liquor on his tongue before replying, "Nah. Can't sleep." As curt as always. He pats the spot on the couch beside him, gesturing for you to come sit with him.

"You're up pretty late. Thought you'd still be givin' yourself a bedtime."

He refers to– well, more like mocks, your disciplined and clean-cut lifestyle. He assumed you'd still be going to bed at 9:30 sharp. You laugh lightly at his jest, not picking up on the sardonic tone of his words.

"Not tonight. Don't have school tomorrow 'cause of... some holiday. I forget."

You plop yourself right down on the seat beside him, blindly trusting and naive as always, never once suspecting he'd have any ill intentions with you, so completely at ease in his presence. It'd make him feel guilty if he was a better person, or less drunk. Unfortunately for you, he's neither.

"Lucky you." He drawls, taking another sip of his drink. Once when you were little, maybe five or so, you'd curiously asked what beer tasted like. 'Bitter horse piss', he replied back to you. It made you laugh uncontrollably, but he wasn't lying. It still tastes like shit.

He doesn't miss the way your eyes fixate on the can with that same curiosity she had all those years ago. Your liver is most likely untainted, never tasted a drop of liquor in your idealistic life, he thinks. He can't help but want to exploit your inexperience, break down that golden child persona of yours.

So, without a second of apprehension, he holds the can out in front of you, almost tantalizing, and asks, "Hey, kid. You still curious about what beer tastes like?"

Your eyes widen in surprise at the unexpected inquiry. "Huh? Oh, um... No, not really." You shake your head, nervous smile plastered on your perfect face. Of course you were a terrible liar. In fact, you've never had to lie before, never had a reason to.

"I know bullshit when I hear it. You can be honest with me, I'm not gonna snitch to Curly or nothin'."

"...I guess." You cave in laughably quick, toying with a stand of your hair to ease your guilty conscience, as if having a single sip of alcohol would turn you into a delinquent. As if your precious reputation would be forever tarnished if someone found out.

He can't hold back a hoarse chuckle. "There we go." He says, before holding it out to you once again, this time more insistent. "C'mon, kid. Just a taste. It won't kill ya."

You trepidly reach out to grab the beer from him, the metal now warm from being held in his palm. You swirl it around and watch the brief whirlpool that forms, torn between your ingrained knowledge of the dangers of alcohol and the desire to try it, the substance you've been told was a deadly poison closer than it's ever been to your stomach.

"...I dunno..." You hesitate, looking up at your dear, reliable Uncle Jimmy for reassurance that this is okay. It's almost amusing for him to see you conflicted about such a simple task. Your obedient nature, that need for approval, is exactly why he's able to pull this off without a hitch.

"Oh, come on. It's just one taste. It won't hurt. I wouldn't let you do somethin' dangerous, you know that." He coaxes further, a gentle tone softening his usual blunt demeanor. You trust him.

"Well... Okay. If you say so." You brush your nerves aside and bring the can to your lips, a rush of bitter liquid coating your taste buds. You make a face at the unfamiliar flavor, but choke it down to impress your uncle, who's engrossed by the way your lips look as they close around the rim of the can, where his own mouth was moments ago. Something warm twists around inside his gut as he watches you swallow the bitter beer, the way your nose wrinkles as you grimace in distaste. Oddly satisfying.

"Yeah, it's an acquired taste," He remarks, ogling you with a focused intensity. "You've gotta take a few more swigs to get used to it."

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, expression twisted into one of disgust. "Are you sure? It's really gross." You attempt to hand the beer back to him, but he pushes it right back towards you.

"C'mon. Don't chicken out now. You'll get used to the taste after a while, I promise." He persists, committed to his goal of getting you to lose your inhibitions. If anything gets to a young girls head, it's peer pressure.

You're always to quick to give in to him, and that gives him a power trip like no other. He's got a pretty young thing wrapped around his finger and you can't untangle yourself. "Eugh... Fine..." You show clear disinterest in continuing, but anything for your Uncle Jimmy, right?

You take another gulp, this one bigger than the last. Then another, and another...

With every swig, he watches the flush on your cheeks deepen, the resistance fade. The effects of the alcohol are already starting to show.

"That's it. Attagirl. You're doin' so good." Jimmy reaches up to run his calloused fingers through your hair, petting you like a stray animal he's trying to get to warm up to him. Your vision grows hazy, your usually sharp and intelligent mind disoriented by the alcohol in your system.

"M' kinda dizzy..." You groan, not enjoying the way the foreign drink is making you feel so far. You barely even register the hand he's placed on the exposed skin of your thigh, too inebriated to think too much into it.

"You okay there, kid? You feel nauseous or anything?" He feigns concern, playing up the caring older uncle role, pulling your body closer to his so you can rest your head on his shoulder to stop the room from spinning.

"Mmm." You close your eyes, leaning into Jimmy's body, your entire body warm and fuzzy. Having your body so pliant in his hands is only making this easier to go through with. He continues stroking your hair to make you feel a sense of safety. To get you let let your guard down completely. "Feels so weird... is this normal?" Your words slur together.

"Yeah, it's normal. Don't worry. I'm right here for you. You trust me, yeah? I'm gonna make sure nothin' bad happens to ya."

"Thanks Uncle Jimmy... You're the best..." You snuggle up closer to him, your soft young body pressed to his scarred, jagged one. He's such a good uncle, isn't he? Taking care of his favorite girl while she's drunk.

"I know, I know. I'm the best uncle a girl could have. Always lookin' out for you, right?" He mutters, his tone becoming a tad more gravelly as he begins to drop his act. He slowly pulls your tank top straps down, your judgement and perception too clouded for you to question his actions.

"Y'know..." The beginning of your sentence is interrupted by drunken giggles before you can continue, "I used to have a crush on you when I was little." You confess like it's the most casual thing in the world. But to him, it only fuels the fire in his gut.

He pretends to be surprised at your admission, when it was always painfully obvious how much you adored him. You always looked up to him, asked your dad if you could spend every moment of your free time with him. Every time he turned around, you'd come running up to him, eager to show him some cool rock you found, or show off a drawing you made in class.

“Oh yeah? You had a thing for your old uncle, huh?” He teases, unable to hide his satisfaction. You finally register his hands on you when he pulls the front of your top down, revealing your bare tits to him, not covered by a bra. Your nipples pique at the sudden rush of cold air against them.

"Jimmy...?" You become confused. Why is he doing this all of a sudden? Surely he would never have those kinds of thoughts about you. He wouldn't hurt you. "What are you... doing?"

He looks down at you with faux innocence. "What do you mean? I'm just making you a little more comfy. It's gettin' warm in here, don'tcha think?" You feel him grope the fat of your breasts roughly, causing you to wince and let out a soft whine. You've never been touched like this before. Never been touched at all, in fact. Curly did his best to keep you safe from any boys and men that'd want to selfishly take advantage of you. He never expected Jimmy to be that kind of man.

Neither did you.

"Fuck, kid. Can't believe you've been hiding these from me this whole time. Prettiest fuckin' tits I've seen in a while." He grunts, the atmosphere in the room suddenly shifting to something more sinister. It scares you, seeing your uncle act like this. Squeezing and prodding and pinching you like you're nothing more than an unfeeling object.

Yet you still feel arousal twisting deep inside you, making your cunt gush with fresh slick as his thumbs rub in teasing circles along your nipples. You let out a moan, unsure of where the sound even came from, because if you were more in control of your body and reactions you'd never allow yourself to enjoy this.

"Shh... quiet, kid. Don't want daddy to hear you, yeah? Wouldn't want him to know how much of a little tease you've been." His accusation is completely false, you've done nothing to tempt him. Not intentionally, at least. But it's easier for him to convince himself that this is all your fault. You asked for this when you decided to be so fuckin' cute and pretty around him.

He moves your body, handling your limbs like you're a doll, so you're sitting in his lap, your legs straddling him. You can feel his dick under you, hard and straining against his jeans, prodding at your clothed clit. The stimulation causes you to jolt, attempting to lift yourself away from it, but he roughly forced you back down into his lap, purposefully grinding your hips into his.

"Don't do that. Don't try to run from me. Just relax, kid. Uncle Jimmy's gotcha. You know I won't hurt you, right?" His breathing grows heavy, his voice low in a way you've never heard him speak before. You can't focus on your discomfort and fear when he's forcing you to rut your aching pussy against his cock, and with your brain being under the influence, his blatant lie makes sense to you. So you nod cooperatively. Jimmy wouldn't hurt you. Of course he wouldn't. That's the silliest thing you've ever heard.

In the span of a few minutes you went from naive to downright stupid.

"I– I know. M' sorry..." You're not even sure what you're apologizing for. Are you apologetic for thinking he'd do something as vile as rape you? Maybe. This doesn't even count as assault, does it? Not when you're sitting on his lap so willingly, allowing him to maneuver you in whatever way he pleases.

"It's okay." He seems to accept your ambiguous apology, and you feel him move onto groping your ass, kneading the ample flesh. He breathes out a nearly inaudible swear. "Just sit right there, nice and still. I'll take good care of you, kiddo. I promise you that."

You never had any reason to doubt him before. Now, you're too drunk to think clearly. All you want is to make him happy. Make him proud. After all, you've always looked up to him. Who are you to question why he's pulling down your shorts, stripping you completely bare?

Who are you to question why his fingers are gliding along your slick folds, brushing against your sensitive clit just to watch you squirm at the feeling.

"Jimmy..." You whine, "I've never... done anything like this..." You decide to at least warn him of your inexperience, not like he's unaware. Everything about you screams 'virgin'. That's part of why he wants you so bad. You're so much more... pure, than the women he usually hooks up with.

"Mhm, I know." His response is almost condescending, but it's a turn-on for him to hear it out loud, for you to admit you'd never been this close to a man in your life.

Before you know it, he's guiding your hand to something hard and thick, something you can't even wrap two fingers around. Your vision is blurry and your dizziness is making it difficult to focus on what's in front of you, or what's even going on around you. But you can hear him speak, instructing you.

"Fuck, that's it. Can you feel that? Feel how fuckin' hard you're makin' me?" He grunts. Your eyes widen as you realize what he's got you holding. His cock throbs in your clammy palm, and now that you're getting a good look at it, you can see just how huge it is. Your thighs clamp together like your body is subconsciously trying to protect you from him shoving himself inside you when you can barely take one finger.

"Jim, it's not gonna fit..." You speak timidly, genuinely afraid he'll tear you right open. "I– I can't..."

"You'll be fine." He says firmly, like he's reprimanding you for your apprehension. That alone gets you to shut up, which he's grateful for. He's not patient enough to deal with your whining the whole time.

Everything else beyond that is a blur, so you're not exactly sure how you ended up with your face in the couch pillow, ass in the air, the thick head of Jimmy's dick prodding against the entrance to your virgin cunt. "Be gentle." You plead, mentally and physically bracing yourself. There's no escaping this.

"Yeah, yeah." Jimmy huffs, clearly no longer in the mood to pretend that he's gonna be careful with you. "Just keep it down."

Before you can even respond or meekly protest, he pushes himself about halfway in with one sharp thrust, ripping a loud yelp from your throat. He immediately takes a fistful of your hair, shoving your face down into the pillow as he slides the rest of himself inside of you, your walls pulsing around him.

"I said keep it the fuck down. You're supposed to be smart, aren't you?" He leans down to whisper to you through gritted teeth. "Do you want your dad to come out here and see how much of a fucking slut you are?"

You tremble under him, body stiffened from fear and pain, your pussy sore from the harsh intrusion. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, both at his aggression, and the ache between your legs. He sighs deeply, like you're the problem here.

"This is what you wanted. Don't try and tell me it isn't." He pulls out, before roughly slamming back in all the way to the hilt, causing you to cry out in agony, the sound muffled by the suffocating cushion you're forcefully smushed into. "Here's a life lesson, kid. Don't dress like a whore, and you won't get fucked like one."

You weep softly. He's never been so mean towards you, never spoke to you with such deep seated vitriol. "J– Jim, please, you're h– hurting me–" You lift your head up to look back at him, hoping that when he sees the tears streaming down your reddened eyes, he'll feel some sort of sympathy for you. Go back to being the Uncle Jimmy you know.

Instead, what you're met with is another sharp tug at you hair, irritating your scalp. "God, just shut your fuckin' mouth for once. This is what pretty girls like you are good for." His cock jackhammers into you so rapidly, you physically feel him repeatedly ram into your cervix, making your insides feel tender and bruised all over.

You accept that there's no getting through to him, so you allow him to violate you with what feels like every ounce of strength in his body, tears silently flowing down your cheeks as you pray for all of this to be a nightmare. Just a bad dream you'll wake up from and be back in reality, where your Uncle Jimmy is still just as amazing as he's always been. He's taken care of you so many times in the past. Made you laugh until your ribs hurt when he cracked a crude joke.

The man with your blood streaking around his cock can't be the same person. No, this is a monster. An evil monster that Jimmy would protect you from.

He grunts animalistically when he finally pulls out and spills his hot, thick spurts of cum all over your ass. Your legs shake, barely able to hold yourself up. Your eyes are wide, shell shocked. Jimmy takes a moment to catch his breath, wiping the sweat from his furrowed brow before giving your ass a light smack, making you wince as he inflicts even more pain onto your poor body.

"Don't worry, kid. You won't remember shit in the morning. Thank the alcohol for that." You're not sure if he's trying to be reassuring. Regardless, it's not.

But he didn't lie. You wake up the next morning in your own bed with a pounding migraine, clothes still on your body. You feel disoriented as you rub the sleep from your eyes, nausea churning in your stomach, along with a sharp, throbbing pain between your legs.

All you remember from last night is sitting next to Jimmy, and then... everything else is fuzzy. Thanks to your headache, you can't find the strength to dig deeper into your memory. You inexplicably feel like you've been hit by seven trucks at once from every angle, and it's only 7:30 in the morning.

If any memories do resurface, you'll assume you're recalling a nightmare. Uncle Jimmy wouldn't do that to you.

He loves you.

—

(i havent written smut in a hot minute sorry for being rusty >_< also not proofread thoroughly im eepy)

[bradshawsvinyl]

Begin Again

Part two.

As a first grade teacher, you couldn’t help but fall for your sweet student and her very attractive Navy fighter pilot father.

based off an ask! (screenshot at the bottom.)

You woke up on September 6th joyful and excited. It was your first day as a first grade teacher in San Diego. You had wanted to be an elementary school teacher for as long as you could remember and after six years of schooling, you were finally ready.

Your first day teaching went well. You and your students played games and got to know each other. By three thirty all of your students were picked up except one.

Tara Bradshaw was a little girl with brown curly hair and big brown eyes. No one had come to pick her up yet so you decided to stay behind with her for a while and try to get in contact with her parents.

“Hey Tara,” you said while kneeling down to her level in the pick up area. “Let’s go back inside okay? I’ll call your parents and remind them to come get you.”

“Okay.” Tara replied hesitantly while grabbing your hand. “Can you call my daddy?”

“Of course I can, sweetheart.” You replied “Let’s go.”

The walk back to your classroom was short. While Tara made herself comfortable at her desk, you picked up her file and phoned the number.

“Hello,” A deep voice answered after the third ring.

“Hi. I’m Tara’s first grade teacher at school and I was just calling to ask if there was someone available to pick her up? School ended at three o'clock and she’s still here with me.” You said politely.

“Shit,” The deep voice replied. “I’m so sorry. I’m at work right now. I completely forgot. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“No worries,” you replied kindly. “Bye.” You said quickly before hanging up.

Bradley hung up his phone and quickly made his way to the school. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten to pick up Tara. He felt like the worst father in the world.

Tara’s mom left Bradley when Tara was only two years old and he hasn’t heard from her since. Being a single father was hard for him. He was the only one in charge of taking Tara to school, bringing her home, feeding her and more.

Bradley got to the school within ten minutes and quickly made his way inside. After visiting the main office, he found your classroom. He knocked on the door. “Thank you so much for staying with her. I can’t believe I forgot.” He said as Tara started running towards him.

“It happens,” you replied sweetly. “No worries I promise!”

Bradley knelt down to Tara and said, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Tara hugged him and said, “It’s ok daddy.”

You watched the heartwarming scene. Feeling a sense of fulfillment that you had seemingly helped a stressed out Bradley. As Bradley stood to leave with Tara, he glanced at you and couldn’t help but notice your warm eyes and polite smile.

“You know,” he said sheepishly, “Tara’s lucky to have such a caring and uh…cute teacher like you.”

You chuckled softly, feeling flustered. “Thank you Bradley. I’m just happy I got to spend some extra time with Tara today.”

“Yeah well thanks,” He replied “Tara say bye to your teacher.”

“Bye bye!” She said as Bradley gathered Tara’s belongings and smiled at you, leaving a bright blush and flutter in your stomach.

“Jesus Christ Bradshaw,” Bradley said as he buckled Tara into her car seat. “Get it together.”

Bradley couldn’t believe he had been stupid enough to call you cute. You were his daughter's teacher and here he was hitting on you. He couldn’t believe what he had done.

As Tara napped on the short drive to their house. Bradley called his best friend, Phoenix.

“I’m so stupid,” he said into the phone as soon as she picked up.

“No hi Bradshaw?” She replied, the hint of a smile in her voice. “What did you do this time?”

“I picked Tara up from school late and then I called her teacher cute.” He said, sounding slightly frustrated with himself.

On the other side of the phone, Phoenix burst out laughing. “Oh my god Rooster.” She said, still laughing. “Well was she pretty.”

“Of course she was pretty, Nat. She might be the most beautiful woman I've seen in a long time” Bradley said as he recalled your sweet face. “Look, I just got home and I have to bring Tara inside. I’ll call you later.”

“If she really is that cute, don't worry about it, Rooster.” Phoenix said before hanging up.

To Bradley’s surprise, Tara was awake in the backseat. As they both went inside their home, Bradley couldn’t help but worry about how he was going to face you tomorrow. Embarrassed couldn't even describe how he felt.

The next school day went by quickly. You again woke up early and made the drive to work. Your students seemed excited about the lessons today, and you felt proud that you were able to get them to like you. You were trying to distract yourself from the voice in your head that was seemingly screaming BRADLEY CALLED YOU HOT.

Bradley Bradshaw was attractive. You couldn’t deny that. He had loose, curly brown hair and big puppy dog eyes. But it was probably wildly inappropriate to have a crush on your student's father. For all you knew, Bradley was married.

But you hadn’t seen a ring. And for some reason, that excited you.

At dismissal today, Tara was the last student to get picked up. But at least Bradley wasn’t extremely late today.

When Tara caught sight of her dad, she began jumping up and down. Once her father was in earshot, she turned to you and proudly said, “My daddy thinks you’re pretty!”

Here’s the ask!

I’ll make a part two if people are interested!

[artsninspo]

FORGIVELESS - EPILOGUE - IT'S ALL LOVE 🩵

« previous part

➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Reader

Word Count: ~1.1K

Dedications: To all of you who commented and made this story feel like an active community. This happily ever after is dedicated to you 🩵

9 YEARS LATER

Leaning into your vanity you squint your eyes to assess your makeup blending skills. You’re completely out of practice these days. Your music stops playing and you see Tias name flash across the phone’s screen.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. I hope you’re ready!” She shouts over her blaring car stereo.

“Almost!” You respond, blending out your concealer.

“Alright see you soon” she shouts and you shake your head as your first born enters your bedroom. Time has blown by and it amazes you everytime you look at him how much your baby has grown. Taking all of the best parts from you and his father.

“You look pretty,” he smiles, charming as ever.

“Thank you baby” you smile, kissing his cheek and leaving a lipstick mark. He leaves it there when you go to wipe it off before laying one on you.

“But you’re gonna be back in the morning to see my soccer game right?” He asks for the third time tonight.

“Wouldn’t miss it” you promise.

“Okay, I’m going to bed now.” he nods, giving you a warm hug, nuzzling into your neck like the spoiled overgrown baby he is when his dad isnt looking.

“Sleep tight, champ” you smile, squeezing your eight year old tight.

“Love you” he says first.

“Love you too” you smile blowing him a kiss. Setting your face you remove your robe to reveal your outfit for girls night. The one you didn’t ask for but were roped into. Apparently your friends and family were tired of nights in and wanted to be outside again with you. For the sake of peace you’ve agreed. Dressed and ready you head downstairs where you find your husband with your newest edition awake in his arms and your twins out cold on the couch. His eyes drink you in the same as always, the eternal flame of desire in your relationship is too hot to burn out.

“Dont look at me like that, I have to leave soon” you warn, making him smile.

“You made mama even more gorgeous” Rio says standing with your youngest daughter, a nine month old chunk with a deep attachment to her daddy. You’re grateful for how RIo’s taken to the baby weight and your ever evolving body after 3 pregnancies and 4 children. Your babygirl coos making you smile.

“Thanks baby, I’ll call you if anything comes up. Tia should be here any minute.” You tell Rio before kissing him goodbye. He rids his lips of the lipstick, unlike his eldest son and you smile.

“When will you be home?” he probes.

“One - ish, I don’t want to be too tired during the game and I might be full” you explain touching your breasts to signify the ever present rounds of milk being produced to satisfy the baby.

“Alright” Rio nods, kissing the top of your head.

“Ugh, Christopher get off of her. Four kids is enough!” Tia says looking in from the screen door. Laughing, you unlock the door and she heads straight to the baby.

“Mommy you’re gonna be with me tomorrow” Tia coos, making your youngest smile. “Hello Christopher” she says acknowledging who’s holding the baby.

“You don’t start no fights or get too drunk. My wife isn’t rowdy like you” Rio warns getting to business.

“If she can handle your ass, she’ll be fine” Tis says fanning him off with her quick wit.

“Love you, night” you wave before leaving. Your marriage turned out to be even more than you knew you wanted. Rio hadn’t tied you down. Marrying him felt like being set free. Although, lately your girls begged to differ. You were knee deep in mom-life. Eight, four and nine months. Four kids are no joke and they occupy your weekdays and weekends. You’re always ready to cut out of adult only functions to spend time with them. Rio’s an incredible father too. Patient with perseverance. There’s nothing he won’t do for them, nothing too lowly to his attention. He’s a hands-on father that’s present for his family. Looking down he finds his daughter pouting.

“I know I don’t like it either” he tells her, looking at the sleeping twins.

At the club you feel the bass and smile watching the girls dance around you. You move along to the rhythm with them having a great time. You can’t remember the last time you were in a club without Rio. It had to be before you met him. Tia dances, putting on a show and summoning more male attention than you’re comfortable with. You laugh watching your friends try to settle the men down and check your watch to see you’ve lost track of time. It’s 12:30. Looking at Tia there’s no way she’s letting up anytime soon. 

“Want to dance” a man with a muscular physique says, reminding you of James.

“No” you tell him plainly causing him to walk away.

“You got your husbands I’ll kill you face down pat” Marisol jokes.

“He’s rubbed off on me.” You admit as the song changes. Marisol is something off the clock, she gets the rowdiest of all the girls. You guess listening to people’s problems all day will do that to you. Stepping out of the thick of it you head to the bar to get a virgin cocktail of your choosing.

“Virgin?” You hear after telling the bartender your order. You turn to see your husband seated beside you. He pays as the bartender slides you your drink. You have a million questions. But you relax.

“Mhm?” You nod sipping the drink with your eyes fixed on him.

“Are you sober or something?” He asks pretending to be a stranger. It reminds you of your first ever conversation all those years ago.

“Mother, I need to be clear headed” you correct over the music.

“Baby daddy let you out looking that good?” Rio says checking you out.

“Husband” you flash your rings. Rio pretends to be surprised at the size of the rings he put on your finger.

“Making money like that he’s probably a stiff fuck” Rio says, still the kind of spontaneity.

Shrugging you play along. “Can’t complain.”

“Well I think you’re sexy and with rings like that I know you have good pussy. Let me take you to a hotel huh. We can have a little fun and you can go play mom in the morning?” Rio says making you smile.

“You’re unbelievable,” you laugh.

“You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving you alone looking like that” he responds shamelessly.

“Why not?” You relent, unfolding your arms. “But you better not catch feelings, my husband is crazy” you agree continuing the charade.

“Can’t blame him” Rio says following suit.

“Ughhh” you hear behind you and find Tia hating.

“Don’t be like that!” You laugh heading out with your man. Hand in hand with Rio you head to your car. The G-Wagon is now an Escalade, because of the kids. When Rio takes the exit towards your favourite hotel you settle in your seat grateful for your life now. Thankful your first husband didn't keep you from the man of your dreams.

FIN

Author's Note: How's that for happily ever after my loves? I kept my promise and spoiled you like Rio. Shoutout to all the commenters and reblogers - you’re the real MVP’s and the story’s muses. If you enjoyed the Happy ending let me know. Sad to be finishing up with this story, but happy it's completed and something you all have enjoyed. You can also read the story on WATTPAD

TAGS: @meadows5 @wnbweasley @becauseimher @ariiaeltheedonn @woahthatshitfat @miniaturehideoutmentality @kokobells @ffenthusiastt @sowhatariyana @1xtral1983 @theegoddessofmelanin @fictionalreads @roxytheimmortal

[my-castles-crumbling]

OMG Clandestine is done!

I am so so so excited to say I just posted the epilogue to Clandestine! Featuring a beautiful commission from @itslotuseater!

Ships: Jegulus, background wolfstar, dorlene, pandalily, rosekiller Rating: M Length: 142k (FINISHED! COMPLETED! AHH!)

Summary:

He was crying. “You can do that?” He repeated, feeling like he was in some sort of dream. And then, Sirius seemed to realize. Because for a twelve-year-old, he was decently smart, and knew him better than anyone. “D’you…d’you want to do that, Reggie? I thought…I thought it was just a game?” But he could only shake his head. Because it wasn't a game. He was a boy. And he could tell from Sirius's nervously resigned expression that Sirius knew it, too. "It's...not a game." --- There's not enough Trans Regulus Black, so here's a fic to help fix the problem. Rated mature for lots of references to transphobia and Walburga Black being a piece of shit. COMPLETED (I'm not crying, you are)

Ahhh, my long-winded thank-you note:

First and foremost, thank you to Arson, my amazing Alpha Reader who brainrotted with me throughout almost the entire process. I literally could not have finished this without you, and I am so thankful to have you in my life. You've helped me through so many cases of horrible Writer's Block, encouraged me whenever I needed it, and you're an amazing friend. I hope you love your "Barty and Evan's Bitch" shirt :D

Second, to my wife, who literally dealt with me talking about this fic for TEN MONTHS. You're literally the most amazing and supportive person in my life, and I love you more than words. Thank you for being the James to my Regulus.

Third, to my Beta Reader, Kat, who is still wading through the trenches of this fic finding all my mistakes. I am so glad to have you and thank you for dealing with all of my errors and answering my messages at odd hours of the night.

Fourth, to all of the people who have encouraged me: Abby, Danielle, Kelz, everyone on the discord servers who has seen me struggle, you guys are amazing and I am so thankful to you.

Fifth, to the lovely people who created fanart for this fic. You all are amazing and you brought this to life. I bow down to you, truly, you are so incredibly talented.

Sixth, to the people who I interviewed about dysphoria and being on T, so I could have a more well-rounded understanding about Regulus's experience. Though I identify as trans, I am so thankful that other trans people were willing to give their experiences in areas I wanted to describe as accurately as possible.

And last, to all of you, who read and kudosed and inboxed and recommended and commented and kept me going. You all are amazing, and you've made this such a positive experience. This fic really was for me, to work through my own gender an discover about myself, and I am so thankful you have been here along this journey.

I want to reiterate that this is one trans person's journey, but I think it's so important to have representation in all forms of media. I'm hoping that my version of Reggie has helped with that a little bit! He's my baby, and he deserves all the good things.

Keep an eye out for the B-sides of this fic! I'll add a chapter to this work linking to it, so if you're subscribed to this, you'll get an e-mail. I'll also be editing this work to fix all the errors, and I'll be doing the B-sides as I go. It probably won't be for a couple of weeks, since I am now working, and I won't have any strict posting schedule, but I'm excited for those as well!

I love you all. Thanks for being a part of this journey.

[its-time-to-write]

Omg I would love a Jamie Tartt x reader where the readers ex boyfriend was a footballer maybe a goalie and Jamie has to play against him in a match. I know it’s very vague but I’d love to see what you’d do! No pressure!! :))

I loved this request! Hope I did it justice

would hit him in a heartbeat now

You do not have a thing for footballers you swear. It just happens. You’ve been in exactly three and a half relationships, and only one of them was not a footballer.

He was a coach.

Anyway.

You would describe your type as lovable asshole, but your friends would leave out the lovable. Because of that, none of your splits have been exactly… amicable. Well, that’s not true. Your situationship had been sweet but wrong timing, and though it hurt, there were no hard feelings. 

Really, you were both in your late teens and he was scouted early on, so it was never going to work out. You always keep up with his career though, a part of you secretly cheering him on even if he plays against your boyfriend’s team. From time to time, you think about texting him to see if he has the same number, but the next day you see him splashed in a tabloid, making out with Keeley Jones, so you leave it. 

Six months later, you’re in a relationship with a West Ham goalie named Aleksander.

Seven months after that, he’s broken your heart by telling you you weren’t the right material for a footballer’s girlfriend.

Over text.

While you are at an away game.

Against AFC Richmond.

Eight minutes later you turn off the part of your brain that cares, dig out Jamie Tartt’s old number, and write, hey! not sure if this is still your number, but I’ll be at your game today and wanted to wish you luck. - the original number 9.

Your house number had been 9 when you first met Jamie. He’d write you notes addressed to 9. For example:

9 -

Meet me at our spot at 8?

10 <3

(He called himself a 10/10).

Ten hours later, you are sitting across from Jamie in a pub, laughing about growing up and whatever, all thoughts of Aleksander firmly gone from your head. 

He asks you out after flirting for eleven days.

—

You and Jamie have a certain level of comfortability that comes with knowing someone for so long. Neither of you feel like you have to pretend. You just live with each other, and it is the best. 

You’re on your fifth date, and second one at his house when, as you get up to go, he catches your hand and says, “Stay,” in a voice made gravelly by kisses.

You let him pull you back on the couch, and you do.

You end up staying a lot.

You’re together for a year, when, sitting on that same couch, Jamie says, “Playin’ West Ham next week.”

The marker in your hand slips from where you were coloring his tattoo. “What?”

“We go against West Ham next week. Wanna come?” Jamie asks, oblivious.

You trace the design on his right forearm. “I do, it’s just- Aleksander’s gonna be there. As their goalie. And I’d rather not be there to hear what he has to say to me.” You look up at Jamie. “It’s not because I don’t want to be there for you. It’s that- well, he, he always has things to say about his exes. And it’s not kind. I don’t really think I can handle it right now, you know?”

Jamie looks at you thoughtfully and nods, slipping his hand into yours. 

“D’you want to stay here while I’m gone? ’Stead of hanging around your flatmate. Might be nice to have a break.”

You smile, squeeze his hand and reply, “Sure!” grateful that he’s not pushing it.

Jamie grins back. “Good, I hate coming home to an empty house. Always hearing sounds like there’s ghosts or some shit.”

You laugh and shove his arm playfully. “And here I thought you were being completely selfless.”

—

It’s the day of the West Ham game. You’ve stolen one of Jamie’s jerseys from his closet and are on the couch with the largest bowl of popcorn known to mankind. You’re a little nervous to see Aleksander on the screen, but it’s overshadowed by your excitement to see Jamie play.

A quarter into the game, Jamie starts making his move. The team gets the ball near the goal, he shoots and-

He’s blocked by Aleksander.

Aleksander goes up to Jamie, and from your screen you see him ask a question and then make a lewd gesture.

Jamie’s face goes bright red and in an instant, Colin is holding him back from hitting Aleksander.

You see Jamie be pulled away, then watch him jog over to the coaches. Here’s what you don’t see:

“Permission to be a prick, coach,” Jamie says, still seeing red. How dare that dickhead say something so disgusting about you.

“Fuck no,” Roy says in a tone that says no arguing. 

“Coach,” Jamie says, because he’s never been one for self-preservation, “if you don’t tell me to be a prick, I’m going to be one all by meself, so I really think it’s better if you just give me permission.”

Ted, Beard, and Roy look at each other. Ted nods. “Alright Jamie, if you think that’s best then I guess, uh,” he holds up his middle finger behind his jacket. Roy and Beard follow suit, and Jamie smiles.

The game’s back on and you watch Jamie get going again. He kicks the ball and it hits Aleksander in the worst possible spot.

“Ooh!” You cover your mouth with your hands. That looks like an accident, but you know it’s not. There was a closeup of Jamie, and you can see that glint in his eye. He’s being a little prick.

He goes up to Aleksander to “check on him,” and whispers something in his ear. Aleksander, still doubled over in pain, nods. Jamie slaps him on the back a little too forcefully, then swaggers away, tongue out. 

You’re going to ask him about it when he gets home.

—

Richmond loses, and when Jamie walks into his house you’re on him in a moment. His hands are tangled in your hair and you’re tugging on his shirt and it’s not till three hours later, as you’re laying in bed playing with his hair, that he says, “I don’t regret it.”

It takes you a moment. “What?”

Jamie’s laying on top of you so he pushes himself up a bit to meet your eyes. “I don’t regret kicking that ball into that dickhead’s dick. I just wish I could have kicked him harder.”

“What happened out there, Jaim? You were mad-mad.”

He shakes his head slightly. “What do you think? That fuckin prick asked me a dirty question about you, and I lost it. Didn’t care about the game anymore. Didn’t want him to think he could fuckin get away with it.”

He looks so distraught and sincere that you can’t help it, you have to kiss that look off his face.

“I love you, Jamie Tartt,” you whisper. His face turns devilish.

“Mind showing me just how much?” he asks and you dissolve in a fit of giggles as he begins to pepper kisses along your neck.

[larkingame]

hello all! been a moment since we last discussed some things, so I'm coming online to discuss the progress of Larkin's development and make a few announcements :)

over the last ten months, larkin has gone through a lot of changes, some of which I've documented here--but most of it I've kept pretty private. I realized that over the few short years I've been developing the game, I sort of grew an unhealthy dependence on my presence within the 'interactive fiction' community that I really, really needed to take a step back from and break, all in order to ensure that I could enjoy working on what originally started out as a passion project for me.

since july of last year, I've completely reshaped and rewritten how larkin exists as a project, shifted it's genre and started collaborating with a few others to ensure it can be of the highest quality it can possibly be. uptop, i'd like to mention @tapeworrmart who's taken on the immense task of putting together most of the game art for me, @khiita and @ann1a-1 who have both taken on the roles of my editors (and also sounding boards for when I am being absolutely insane) and my production manager phillip, who without his assistance, larkin would barely exist. with that, let's do a progress report. the intended demo of larkin, or what i've taken to calling 'episode one' (yes, i said, 'episode,' more on that in a minute) has stretched to just over 200k words worth of content. it stretches all the way from the earliest versions of larkin's original prologue, to the end of the original chapter two. so far, we've completed 3 out of the intended 20 character portraits, as well as some more art that's slowly been in development.

now, on to the announcements. probably the biggest, and the one I am most ashamed of is--due to the fact that I've been slammed with graduate school work and some other external factors, Larkin as it currently exists is not the best that I think it can be. I'm deeply sorry for this, but I want to ensure that you all are getting the highest quality game you could get from me--and right now, I know it's just not that. Which is why I am unfortunately, pushing the release of the demo back until Friday, June 14th, 2024. Patrons will be granted access to the most recent edit of the demo two weeks earlier on Friday, May 31st 2024. In the meantime, I will be working day and night (quite literally) to get what I'm dropping on you up to par and something that I'm happy with.

To make up for this disappointment, I'm planning on repopulating the blog with a lot of content over the coming months, rewriting new versions of old asks, posting art and short stories.

Next on the agenda and also an equally important announcement. I'm changing the rating of Larkin to Mature or 18+ As I've been writing these past few months, working through a lot of themes and figuring out the story I want to tell, I've found that I think the change in rating is entirely necessary. While I don't think I've ever had that big of a minor fanbase--I think that this is just what I am most comfortable doing. There has consistently grown a little bit more of gore, and trauma exploration, which is the main reason for this change in rating, but, this does allow for the inclusion of something that I've been toying with since the intial release of the game. There is going to be explicit sex scenes in this new version of Larkin--all of which, you the player are able to opt out of, or completely avoid if that's something you want--but I just thought a little announcement would be warranted. This does not mean however, I am comfortable with answering thoroughly explicit asks or getting unsolicited sexual messages. The goal is to keep this game blog mainly tame.

Please respect this boundary of mine.

Third thing to be announced. I've also changed the format in which Larkin will be released. Rather than around the twenty-five chapters in one of a series of 'Books'/'Games', Larkin will be released episodically over four 'seasons' with eight-ten episodes of around 200k-250k words each (though, this is just an early estimate--they could grow longer, as I'm basing this purely off the demo/Episode One)

Finally and a little bit of a fun note: there are now twelve romance options throughout larkin, five male, three female, one non-binary and three gender-selectable. With those upcoming asks, you'll hear more about each in the coming days :)

With all that being said, I wanted to lastly thank all of you for supporting me over the years and putting faith and your interest in this project. truly, the support of all of you means the world to me and I can't wait to share more of larkin with you all.

thank you 💖

[xuchiya]

"3 points for the pretty lady!" || choi jongho || one-shot

| genre: non!idol ateez. fluff. slice of life | mentions: teasing. fainting. jewelry gift. ankle injury | This is literally my high school delusions. My old school is literally an 'old school' school like no phones and computers, being in a relationship is not allowed, and big ass windows as our source of fans--- i mean we do have electric fans and ceiling fans but with the weather and a very old, close to dying, e-fans? We really have to depend on the wind from our windows. Anyways, this list is basically a true experience. My personal favorite? Song Mingi's.

The electric atmosphere in school finally found its release. The annual intramural games finally arrived, and the whole high school was abuzz with excitement. Students from every section swarmed to the courts to contest each other in volleyball, basketball, and badminton. This is the kind of energy you thrive on-except this year, you can't be a part of it.

Two weeks back, a lousy ankle injury had taken you out of the volleyball team. It wasn't just sprained at that angle; it was a complete break. And the doctor had said to lay off for a few weeks, absolutely none of the heavy duties. To begin with, the break had kept you at home—away from the school and the exhilaration of intramurals. But at the end of the week of inactivity—with tedium climbing, siren call after snowy-carolled siren call intercepting your fantasies—you decided, no, you certainly would not have intramurals slip by just because you had a broken leg. If you weren't able to be on the court, then at least you'd be cheering from the sidelines.

You had made it to school in a wheelchair, courtesy of a thoughtful classmate, and were determined to watch your section compete. They wheeled you out of the classroom and into the hallway that led out onto an outdoor balcony that overlooked the massive quadrangle; a sight of the two basketball courts set up in the middle of wide-open space sent a wave of nostalgia. You might not have been able to play, but being there felt right.

Some of your classmates had staked out spots on the floor, legs swinging out over the edge of the balcony as they leaned over the railing to cheer for your section. Not wanting to take up too much room, you sat sideways in the wheelchair, torso twisted slightly, arms on the railing. From here, you could see everything:.

Your section's basketball team was in the middle of an intense game. Though the score was tight, the opponent was leading with a wide margin of ten points. Not knowing the sport precisely, you knew by then the stakes of a basketball game. The tension in the air was thick, as your classmates cheered and groaned at every gained or lost point.

Curious about the lineup, you leaned over to tap Chaewon. "Hey Chae, who's in the lineup?"

"Oh, I think it's Hongjoong, Minho, and Changbin. Oh! Keeho and Soul.and Jongho." You thanked her and returned your gaze to the game. Then, your eyes found him—Choi Jongho. The light chestnut hair that was his head caught the sun as he ran effortlessly across the court. Even though his team was behind, Jongho didn't appear fazed. If anything, he looked more determined than ever. You watched as he skillfully weaved through defenders, driving toward the hoop, his focus unbreakable. He made a layup, cutting the other team's lead down to eight points. The crowd roared in approval.

Your heart felt like it was ready to pop from your chest. Jongho had been everywhere-snatching the ball now, passing it off quickly and taking shots that didn't seem possible. Never to give up, he had slowly chipped away at the lead the other team had. And just when you thought he couldn't do more, a foul would be called on the opposing team.

And it would be Jongho's chance to make a free throw.

You watched, breathless, as he stepped up to the line. The entire court seemed to go silent while he prepared for his shot. Your fingers curled tightly around the armrests of your wheelchair, and your stomach was knotting with tension. You didn't even realize that you were squirming in your seat, nervous for him.

Jongho's first shot flew through the air and swished smoothly through the net. The relief coursed through your body, and your classmates erupted into cheers. But it wasn't over yet-he still had one more free throw to make.

As Jongho got ready for his second shot, the unexpected happened. He turned his head, his gaze slicing over to your direction until it landed on you. The second dragged itself away when, out of the blue, he winked, and your heart fluttered in surprise at the action.

Then, in one smooth, flowing motion, Jongho released the shot. It arced through the air with a beautiful, poised grace, and again, it went down. The crowd erupted, and you couldn't help but smile as pride and excitement rushed in to take the place of the nerves you'd felt only a moment before.

The game wasn't over yet. Literally only with seconds to go, the opposing team rushes down the court desperately seeking a final shot. They missed and your team gained possession again. Jongho had the ball again; the crowd was standing on their feet, waiting for his next move.

He jogged up to the three-point line, turned towards the court, and called out in a loud, clear voice, "To the girl in the wheelchair, this three-pointer is for you."

Your classmates all turned to you, making you blush deep in your seat, using your hair to hide the burning of your cheeks. Chaewon teased, "Looks like someone's gonna shoot their shot."

You playfully threw your handkerchief at her, cheeks still burning. "Yah, stop!

You hold your breath as Jongho steps onto the semicircle of the three-point line. In one swift, smooth motion, the shot releases with his fingers curled. His middle, ring, and pinky fingers stay extended in the air as he turns around, not even looking as the ball is arced through the air beautifully, spinning in perfect form. It seemed to take an eternity, almost in slow motion, as one watched it approach the basket. The court was silent but for every pair of eyes that were on the ball. And then-swish. The ball passed cleanly through the hoop, right as the buzzer blared, signaling the end of the game.

The crowd exploded into cheers that resonated throughout the quadrangle, Jongho's eyes meeting yours once again, a satisfied grin spreading over his features. You can't help the smile breaking on your face, clapping and cheering for him and your team.

Jongho's shot had sealed the win for your section, and though you weren't on the court, you felt like a part of this victory. He had dedicated that last shot to you, and the feeling of camaraderie and connection was strong as ever between you and your classmates. It was their victory, and excitement just seemed contagious. His teammates stormed to Jongho, congratulating him for a great performance. But just as he could leap into the revelry, Jongho raised his eyes to the balcony, and for a moment, he let his eyes lock onto yours once again.

You cupped your hands around your mouth and yelled, "To number 12, shoot your shot already!" Jongho snorted in amusement as his team and coach went on him, teasing him. You threw him a wink this time.

[supernovafics]

𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐍𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 5.9k words

summary: in which it’s been six months since a random night in a bar brought together two pairs of best friends, and two couples were formed. in those months that came and went, almost in a lovestruck blur, they entailed a countless amount of formal double dates, late night hangouts in someone’s apartment, and more moments in bars that led to lazy days in bed the next morning due to the hangovers. at times things felt way too good to be true. but, in a good way, a great way. you loved steve, and anyone with two eyes could easily see how much he was in love with you

warnings: explicit language, smut (mdni!), lots of fluff, a lil angst, soft!steve/steve being so adorably in love with reader 

author’s note: read part one here! for once i’ve written something that is not drowning in angst! lmao i almost went in a completely different direction with this but i wanted to keep it lighthearted and fun and cute so anyway enjoy!<33

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was hard not to admire Steve while he was asleep in your bed.

He always looked so peaceful; head against the pillow that quickly became “his,” hair mildly disheveled and going every which way, and mouth pulled into a straight line that looked soft instead of hard and sweet instead of firm.

You wanted to kiss him. But, you couldn’t do so right then, so instead, you took another sip of your morning coffee and simply watched him as you leaned against your dresser.

“You’re staring,” He mumbled, one side of his mouth quirking upward in a small smile.

“Your eyes are closed right now, so I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” You responded, making your tone sound completely confused.

Steve opened his eyes then and you immediately pulled your eyes away from him and became fixated on a random spot on your wall. You took another sip of your coffee to mask your growing smile.

Steve’s smirk deepened as he maneuvered in the bed and sat up to lean against the headboard. The now lack of comforter covering his body revealed his chest that was bare, because you were wearing his shirt, and revealed the top of the navy plaid boxers he had on.

“I could feel your pretty little eyes on me, honey.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him because he knew exactly how affected you were by any term of endearment he’d use on you; they always made you slightly cringe while simultaneously folding into a giant ball of mush.  

“I hope you know that I do in fact hate you anytime you do that.”

Steve ignored your statement, which was pretty much a blatant lie, and only smiled at you some more. “C’mere.”

You wanted to play with him a bit longer, pretend that he couldn’t make you fold so easily; even though he absolutely, completely always could and did. But at that point, you knew you couldn’t resist, and you honestly didn’t want to.

Placing your mug down on the dresser, the next few moments passed by in a knowing blur that felt like second nature to you because of how frequent the events would happen. You settled yourself in Steve’s lap, knees on either side of his waist. His hands snaked under your, his, shirt to find your hips and give the skin a light squeeze.

“You should still be sleeping right now,” You said, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. “You were up a lot later than me last night.”

His new job wasn’t that demanding, but because of how much Steve loved it, he made it much more intense than it actually was, and he was completely happy with that.

It had all happened about a month and a half ago. Marissa had convinced you all to go to her ten-year-old cousin’s middle school basketball game. It was almost a two-hour drive to where they lived in Indiana which was close to the border of Indiana and Illinois, and actually kind of close to where you and she had grown up in Illinois.

When the four of you walked into the slightly empty gym and saw that the team was losing pretty badly, you found out quickly from Marissa’s aunt that it was because their coach quit last second, so the kids were pretty much fending for themselves along with a parent acting as coach who had no athletic experience so he was just telling them to do whatever they wanted.

Robin was the one that jokingly mentioned that Steve had been the star of their high school’s basketball team and would probably be a great coach, and Marissa’s aunt perked up at hearing that and successfully convinced the other parents in the crowd to have him do it. He was initially reluctant because he didn’t think he’d be good, but there was nothing scarier than adamant parents who wanted to see their kids win, so, of course, he ultimately said yes.

In a way, it seemed almost perfect how easily Steve was able to fall into that role, and when the team won that night, for the second time out of the eleven games they’d played so far that season, the school offered him a permanent coaching position right then.

He was slightly hesitant and didn’t accept the job at first. Because he knew the pay wouldn’t be the best and the commute every day would be brutal. But, even as he told you those cons, you could already see how happy the idea of the job itself made him, and how second nature it seemed.

“It’s the random opportunity that has fallen into your lap.” You had told him that night in his bed, fingers running through his hair and a small smile on your face. “You have to take it.”

And he did.  

And he loved it and put his whole heart into coaching those little middle schoolers; coming up with new plays and ideas for practice almost every night. You found it both adorable and endearing how seriously he took it.

“I’m okay,” He responded with a small shrug, and then he looked up at you as he smiled, leaning closer to you. “Besides, your staring problem makes it really hard to sleep.”

You almost playfully shoved him, but your eyes instead slipped shut when his lips found your neck. You were still able to respond somewhat coherently, though. “Hm, I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve mumbled something against your neck that you couldn’t make out but the soft hum of his lips against your skin made you want to combust. Before he left any marks on your neck, because he knew how much of a hassle it was for you to cover them, he moved up to trailing soft kisses along your jaw before finally reaching your mouth.  

“Mm, coffee,” He whispered against your lips, tasting the slight remnants of what you had been drinking before he woke up and what was still sitting on your dresser.

You slowly started moving yourself against him and it made you smile how quickly a soft groan fell from his lips at your action. “There’s a fresh pot in the kitchen if you wanna get that right now instead of doing this.”

Steve groaned again at a particularly rough stir of your hips. “I think coffee can wait.”

“Great answer,” You said and kissed his nose.

His hands went to the hem of the t-shirt and you almost helped him pull it off of you, but a knock on your door halted your next movements.

“Hey, lovebirds, wake up if you’re still sleeping.” It was Marissa’s slightly muffled voice coming through the door. “Or if you’re fucking, please stop. Also, it’s barely nine in the morning so if you are fucking, you two are insane.”

You refrained from laughing at her statement as you softly swatted Steve’s hand away that was still trying to push your shirt upward.

“What’s going on?” You asked, voice loud enough so your best friend could hear you.

“Important family meeting.”

“Once again, something about you calling all of us a family feels slightly incestual,” You said as you began maneuvering yourself off of Steve.

“I know you hate it, but we are kind of a little family,” You heard her say. “In a completely nonrelated, ‘we’re two couples who are also all best friends’ kind of way.”

In a way, Marissa was right, and you could fully see that. Six months ago the four of you were two separate little pairs of friends and now there were two couples and four pretty close friends.

You all were a tight-knit group that was forged together by one random Friday night in a bar, and sometimes this strong interconnectedness worried you. Because if something happened to either you and Steve or Marissa and Robin, you had no idea what that would mean for the rest of the group.

Anytime you’d have those moments of worry, something would always tell you that in the end, it would be you to mess everything up. It was an irrational thought, a part of you knew that, but it still felt way too true because of how almost “wrong” it felt for things to be this good.

How deeply you’d found yourself loving Steve in such a short period of time still scared you as much as it made you feel so fucking happy.

“You okay?” Steve asked, pulling you out of your thoughts as he came up and wrapped his arms around you from behind.

You instinctively leaned into his touch and let your previous thoughts fade away as you always did. You never verbalized these fears to him, or even Marissa, a part of it felt unnecessary and you also didn’t want to fully acknowledge your worries because of how much more real they’d feel if you did say them aloud.

Your next words came out in a soft mumble. “Yeah, I’m good. Just thinking about stupid stuff.”

Steve didn’t question you any further and simply nodded at your response before sneaking a quick kiss on your cheek and then moving to slip his jeans on.

You pulled his t-shirt off and tossed it to him as he headed toward your bathroom, and then you went to put on a random wrinkled hoodie of yours. Before opening your door to head into the living room, you grabbed your cooling coffee off of your dresser and took a sip, glad that it was still mostly warm.

“Morning,” You smiled at Robin who was leaning against the kitchen counter and eating a buttered piece of toast. You began refilling your coffee with what was left in the pot because you knew Steve would want some when he emerged from the bathroom.

“Morning,” She smiled back at you and took another bite of her toast. “Where’s the dingus?”

“Bathroom,” You answered and she nodded at that. “Do you know what this ‘family meeting’ is about?”

Robin quickly shook her head. “Nope. Marissa’s keeping me in the dark too.”

“That’s because I want you all to be surprised,” Marrisa said, from where she was sat cross-legged on the couch, textbook open in her lap because she had a huge test in a couple of days and had been religiously studying for it for the past week. Her nearly perfect time management skills still always managed to amaze you.

Steve came out of your room moments later and you held out the mug for him. He smiled at you as he took it and pressed a quick kiss against your lips. “Thank you. Love you.”

You leaned into him and his free arm circled around your shoulders. “Love you too.”

He took a quick sip of the coffee and let out a small sigh of contentment. “Did I miss the meeting?”

“No, and now that you’re here, I can share the great news,” Marrisa said before getting up from the couch and joining you all in the kitchen, standing next to Robin. “Okay, so remember how we all have been talking about how we need to take a couple’s trip soon?”

You all nodded along to her words, and you almost said that it was really only her that had been talking about doing a couples trip for the past few weeks, but you refrained from doing so because she looked so happy with what she was about to say.

“My aunt has a really nice cabin right by a lake and she said we can use it for a weekend. Next weekend, to be specific. So clear your calendars.”

“Ooh,” Robin said as she wrapped an arm around Marissa, pressing a soft kiss against her cheek. “Sounds fun.”

“Yes, and only slightly like the beginning of a horror movie,” Steve joked with a small laugh. His words startled you a bit because that was exactly what you were about to say.

You smiled up at him. “I think we share the same brain.”

He grinned widely at that and pecked your lips. “Can I keep it for the rest of the day?”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was actually very rare that you and Steve would have either apartment entirely to yourselves. Although it shouldn’t have been rare because the four of you could’ve easily come up with some sort of system to make sure that you and Steve, and Marissa and Robin were alone in one of your two shared places, but none of you really cared enough to do it.

But, on this night, it was just you and Steve in the apartment he had with Robin because she and Marissa were out seeing a movie that neither you nor Steve really wanted to see.

Things were quiet but the good kind, the comfortable kind. Steve was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch while also hunching over the coffee table as he brainstormed and wrote out some new plays that he wanted the kids to try out next week. And you were laying on the couch, a campaign that you had been working on for the past week in your hands as you stared at it for what felt like forever. Your boss had told you there was something wrong with it, but she didn’t tell you what that “wrong” thing was so you were left simply staring at the paper and having absolutely no idea what to change about it.

“Hey,” You said softly to grab Steve’s attention and when he turned his head to look up at you, you held up the paper in your hand for him to look at; maybe a fresh pair of eyes could tell you something that you couldn’t see. “What’s wrong with this?”

Steve stared at it for a few moments and then his eyebrows furrowed. “Is this a trick question? It looks really good to me.”

You let out a small sigh as you let your eyes focus on the paper again. “Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

Steve was about to say something else but before he could, the sound of the phone ringing in the kitchen stopped him and caught both of your attention.

He started moving to get up, but you stopped him and stood up instead. “I’ll get it. I need a break from looking at this.”

You headed over to the kitchen and picked the phone up off the hook, placing it at your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey– Wait, who is this? This is a girl’s voice, so you’re definitely not Steve. But, you’re not Robin, either.” It was clearly a guy’s voice on the other end, but it didn’t sound familiar to you.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Holy. Shit.” The sudden and pure excitement in his voice slightly startled you. “The Y/N?”

“Um, yeah, I guess?” You answered, pretty much answering his question with one of your own. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Dustin. Steve’s friend. Probably his best friend after Robin, even though I was technically here before Robin,” He said and it all kind of clicked into place for you from there because of how much you heard about him from Steve and Robin. “Anyway, it’s cool to finally meet you. Well, sorta meet you, I guess. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Your attention turned to Steve, who was back to being hunched over the coffee table, and a small smile took over your features. “All good things I hope.”

“Oh yeah, literally only good things. Steve’s obsessed with you.”

You let out a small laugh at that. “Oh, really? Do tell me more.”

Dustin didn’t waste a second to launch into a story. “He was rambling to me about you for a good two hours last week. He was just going on and on about how you guys went to some bar and were playing pool, and you were really good which he thought was so cool. And you were making fun of him for being bad, but still let him win a couple of games. He does absolutely suck at pool, I know that for certain.”

You remembered that night pretty vividly, mainly because it had happened barely a week ago but also because you’d never forget how bad Steve was at pool. You actually thought it was kind of cute. You also didn’t think it had been that obvious that you let him win a few times.

“He said he wouldn’t mind getting beat by you in pool for the rest of his life,” Dustin continued on. “He specifically even mentioned something about being old in wheelchairs. He’s so in love with you. You’re definitely his Suzie.”

“Suzie?” You questioned, and at that Steve finally pulled his attention away from what he was doing and looked at you.

“Who is it?” He asked you and you ignored him because your attention was solely trained on hearing Dustin’s answer.

“Suzie’s my girlfriend and she’s amazing and awesome and pretty much perfect,” The teen explained. “It’s awesome that Steve’s found you. From how he talks about you, you sound pretty perfect too.”

You smiled at his words.

It was then that you realized exactly how different things were with Steve. Because hearing about how much he loved you and how often he’d lovingly ramble about you didn’t scare you in the slightest. You knew that if this was any other relationship, any other guy, you’d want to immediately run in the other direction. But, you honestly didn’t want to run away and that realization made all of your previous worries and fears feel nonexistent.

Dustin started saying something else, but you couldn’t make it out before Steve took the phone from you.

“Henderson,” He said in an annoyed voice to the boy on the other end of the line and then looked at you. “What embarrassing stuff did he say to you?”

“Oh, nothing embarrassing at all,” You told him as you headed back to the couch, a sweet smile on your face. “Just how much you love me and my fantastic pool skills. Which actually aren’t that good, you’re just really bad. But, I still love you.”

He playfully flipped you off with a roll of his eyes and a small laugh as he continued talking to the teen on the other end.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was a soft kiss pressed against a certain sensitive part of your neck that pulled you from your sleep. Sleep that had been much needed after the first night at the lake house that ended at one in the morning after a heated game of charades against Marissa and Robin that happily resulted in you and Steve winning. 

You groaned at the feeling and rolled on your side to try and lull yourself back to sleep, but Steve pressing more kisses to your neck and then your face fully woke you up. 

“You told me to make sure you wake up early, remember?” He mumbled against your ear before pressing another kiss to the side of your head.

“Mhm,” You muttered as you turned on your side, letting your sleepy eyes meet his. “I sadly do remember saying that.”

“Come on, we have a sunrise to go watch,” Steve told you, a small smile on his face. As usual, his smile did something to you and made you smile back at him even though all you really wanted to do was go back to sleep. “Which was completely your idea, by the way.”

“Sometimes my ideas aren’t the best,” You responded but finally got up anyway. 

Steve was already in a hoodie and sweatpants since it was unsurprisingly cold outside, and the same small smile was still on his face as he watched you pull on your own pair of old sweatpants and a random hoodie in a half-asleep daze. After you slipped on your shoes, he leaned down a bit in front of you and turned around so his back was toward you. “Hop on.”

“God, you’re the best,” You said as you wrapped yourself around him, arms circling his neck and legs circling his waist, and he lifted you up and led you out of your shared room.  

You almost told him to go toward the room Marissa and Robin were sleeping in and force them to come watch the sunrise with you two, but you kind of just wanted to have this moment solely with Steve. 

He let you down once he made it to the wooden bench that perfectly overlooked the lake and would let you both have a good view of the sunrise. It was still fairly dark outside, but you could see the beginning remnants of sunlight starting to take over the dark sky. 

When the two of you sat down you immediately maneuvered yourself so that your head was in Steve’s lap, which made your legs dangle a bit off the edge of the bench. 

“Back in Hawkins, there’s this place called Lover’s Lake. Being here slightly reminds me of that,” Steve said as his fingers started mindlessly playing with the drawstrings of your hoodie. “I should take you there soon.”

You playfully smiled up at him. “Ooh, I finally get to see your hometown? This relationship is getting quite serious.” 

He let out a small laugh as his eyes met yours. “Yes, and I’m planning to go ring shopping next week, actually.”

“Make sure you take Marissa with you,” You said jokingly but attempting to make your voice sound as serious as possible. “She’ll know which one you should get for me.” 

“Don’t worry, I already asked her to come.”

“Good,” You said, nodding at him. “Now back to this Lover’s Lake place. It sounds exactly like the kind of place where someone would take a date for a late night making out in a car kind of vibe.”

He was quiet for a bit until he mumbled, “No comment.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his sudden shyness and you grabbed his hand to intertwine it with yours and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. “You can talk about old girlfriends and dates or whatever, y’know. I’m not gonna get jealous or anything. The past is in the past. And I’ve heard plenty of stories from Robin, anyway.” 

“Why would I wanna talk about past girlfriends when I can think about the future?”

“I don’t think I wanna hear about your future girlfriends,” You joked, a small smirk on your face. 

He lightly poked your side, causing you to laugh loudly. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do,” You said with a shake of your head. Even though you actually knew exactly what he meant, you wanted to hear him say it.

“My future with you,” He responded, eyes meeting yours. 

“Oh,” You said as if it all finally clicked into place for you. “Can I hear more about that future?”

Steve smiled at that, more than happy to talk about the thoughts that almost always circled his mind. Thoughts you already knew because conversations like these would usually happen in a post-sex, pillow talk haze where he would ramble and you would listen and almost always reciprocate, playing into the fantasies he was cooking up and adding your own. 

It always felt easy to imagine something more with Steve, sometimes way too easy. Especially after the conversation with Dustin, you felt like you could fall even deeper into Steve and everything would be completely okay. More than okay, actually. 

“Well, there’s our house, of course,” He started and your eyes slipped shut as you imagined the picture he was painting of your future together. “Which can’t be too big, like the house I grew up in. But, it does need to be big enough for all of our five or six kids since we’re both a little insane and think that having that many is a good idea.”

His hand was still intertwined with yours and you gave it a light squeeze. “We need to have enough for a basketball team so that you can coach them.” 

“Makes sense,” Steve nodded, smiling at you. “Also, a big house means a big backyard for the dog too, which is great. She’ll have lots of room to play.”

Your eyes opened at that. “I thought we agreed on a cat?”

“I’m still heavily advocating for the dog.” “Okay, we can do both,” You told him. “I’m thinking a golden retriever and an orange tabby.”

He looked at you in a certain soft and sweet way that made you feel a little nervous and caused your stomach to swarm with butterflies.

“What?” You asked shyly, pulling your eyes from his and looking up at the orange hues that took over the sky. 

“I just love how we can talk about this kind of stuff, even though it’s only been six months,” He said. “And probably from that first night we met, I’ve been thinking about us and you and this future with you that is technically far away but also feels so close. And if I said that to any other girl, they’d probably be running for the hills by now.”

The vulnerability of his words sat with you and when you looked at him again, you couldn’t help but smile at how sincerely happy he looked right then. Even though you were completely comfortable in the position you were in with your head in his lap, you let go of his hand and sat up so you could kiss him. It was your nonverbal way of letting him know that you wouldn’t run away, and he must’ve heard you loud and clear because he only kissed you harder and pulled you impossibly closer to him.

“Those girls would be idiots if they did that,” You told him when you pulled back from the kiss and the two of you were still only a breath away from each other. Your eyes were closed as you said your next words. “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to entertain the thought of having six fucking kids with. And it’s scary as hell but the good kind. Because, yes it hasn't even been a year yet, but I already know that I want that house with you and that backyard and that dog and cat. Because I love you. Like, a lot. Like, so much so that I feel like I wouldn’t be able to function properly for at least five years straight if I ever ruined things with us. And I’m kinda rambling a lot right now, but whatever.”

Steve’s lips found yours again and the abruptness of the action caused you to softly gasp into his mouth. He pulled you sideways into his lap and both of his hands cupped your face in such a tender way that you felt as if you could melt into him right then and there. Your fingers started lazily circling the drawstrings of his hoodie. 

“I think we’re definitely missing the sunrise,” You muttered against his lips but still didn’t fully pull away.

“It’ll happen again tomorrow,” Steve said simply and you completely agreed with that. 

His hands traveled downward to snake themselves underneath your hoodie and you sighed in contentment at the feeling of his fingers against the bare skin of your hips and then your waist. You wanted more, you needed more, but you couldn’t allow that “more” to happen on a wooden bench.

“We should go inside,” You told him, words more so coming out in a soft plea, and Steve nodded almost immediately at your request. You took one last look at the way the sun was reflecting so prettily off of the lake before he led you inside the house. 

With both of you fully clad in a hoodie and sweatpants, it felt as if there were a million layers separating you two from one another and you desperately needed that to change. Shoes came off first and were kicked somewhere by the door and then your hands grabbed at the ends of Steve’s hoodie, helping him pull it off and he did the same with yours. In between quick and chaste kisses, piece after piece of clothing item was littered on the floor of the living room and dining room until you made it to your shared room and you were only in your underwear and Steve was down to his boxers. 

His arms circled around you from behind when he closed and locked the door behind you both, and he started walking you toward the unmade bed before he turned you around and softly pushed you down against it.

He leaned over you, lips ghosting over yours before pulling back a bit and you couldn’t take the teasing so you pulled him roughly against you, his body weight crushing you in the best way possible and his warmth enveloping you completely. 

“I love you so much, baby,” He mumbled against your lips, and although that was something you knew, your heart still squeezed at hearing those words. 

“I love you too,” You told him as you started kissing all over his stubbly jaw. 

Your hips bucked upward at the feeling of his hardness pressed firmly between your thighs.

“I need you inside me. Please,” You told him as you moved your hips again and he groaned in your ear.  

He could only nod at your words as he maneuvered off of you a bit, pulling your underwear down and tossing it somewhere in the room and then spreading you for him. 

“So pretty,” He said, dragging a finger through your wetness, catching your clit for a brief moment before pulling away. 

“Steve…” Your moan came out in a soft sigh and your eyes fell shut. “Please.”

“Anything for you, baby.” His lips pecked yours before he finally slipped out of his boxers. 

When he finally entered you, filling you to the hilt in one slow motion, you both moaned in contentment. For a few moments, he stayed just like that, words getting lost in your hair as he said, “Just wanna feel you like this for a bit. You always take me so well, baby,” and you could only respond with a soft, barely coherent, “Mhm.”

You adored moments like these. The softness of it all, the slowness of it, how much love you could feel laced within every thrust when he started moving. Noses and lips brushed over each other haphazardly, panting breaths and moans not allowing your mouths to connect for more than a brief moment. Your eyes met his dark but loving gaze and you could feel your cunt flutter around his cock, which elicited a loud groan for him. 

One of his hands firmly found your hip, holding tightly so he could push into you harder. Your back arched and you nearly screamed at the new feeling of him hitting so deep inside of you. 

“Doing so well, baby,” Steve mumbled, lips finding your neck. He was still moving at his slow pace but hitting that perfect spot inside you with every harsh thrust. “Fuck. Taking everything I give you so fucking well.”

“Steve,” You breathed out, unable to say anything else. 

He kissed you roughly, tongue darting in to taste you for a brief moment before speaking. “I can tell you’re close. I can feel you fucking, ah, squeezing my cock.”

You nodded profusely, a small whimper falling from your lips. “Mm, so close, yeah.”

“Touch your clit for me, baby.”

You didn’t hesitate to listen to him and let one of your hands snake between your bodies and begin circling the small bundle of nerves. You immediately started seeing stars. 

He kissed you again, swallowing your loud moans. “Good girl.”

The soft praise made you clench around his cock again and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer as you continued the ministrations you were making on your clit. 

“‘M gonna come,” You muttered, moving your hand faster to match Steve’s quickening thrusts,  and you could feel the coil in your stomach tighten. 

“Do it, baby. Come all over my cock. I wanna feel it,” He told you, pulling back a bit so he could watch as you did so. Eyes screwed shut and legs shaking as your back arched and you let out a particularly loud moan. Steve continued fucking you through your orgasm. “So fucking pretty.”

Through your fucked out whimpers and soft pants, you reached out to pull him close to you again, and your mouth began sucking on a particularly sensitive spot under his jaw that you knew would send him tumbling over the edge with you. Which it did right as your tongue grazed over the skin. 

“Ah– ah, fuck,” Steve stuttered out as he came inside of you, and you moaned loudly at the feeling of his warm cum painting your walls. 

He lay on top of you for a few moments, both of you too spent and too lost in your post-orgasm hazes to do much more but let your shallow breaths take up the silence. When his breathing steadied, he slowly pulled out of you and pressed a quick kiss to your neck before padding to the bathroom that was connected to your bedroom to grab a damp washcloth to clean the mess between your thighs. 

He then got back in the bed, pulling the blanket over the two of you and circling his arm around your waist to bring you flush against him. 

You could feel yourself slowly falling asleep in his arms, and you were close to simply letting it happen, knowing that you both could probably use another hour or two, but then you were reminded of something.

“We need to get our clothes from out there or we’ll never hear the end of it from Marissa and Robin.”

“Mm, in five minutes. I just wanna lay here with you for a bit longer,” He told you, voice slightly muffled because his face was buried in your neck. 

“Okay,” You agreed since you felt way too comfortable to move anyway.

“You could never ruin things between us, by the way. You know that, right?”

You were slightly confused about where Steve’s words were coming from, but then you remembered that in the midst of your rambling outside on the bench, you had said that; that you had finally verbalized those worries that had plagued you but now felt so unimportant.

You nodded at his question. “I know.”

“Good,” He said as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “Because you could hit me with your car and I’d still be so fucking in love with you.” 

You softly laughed at that and shifted around so that you were facing him. “Am I allowed to test that out?”

“I’d rather not, but if that’s what it takes,” He answered, a smile on his face as one hand reached up to stroke your cheek.

“It’s okay, I believe you,” You said, turning your head a bit so that you could press a soft kiss to his palm. 

You both simply stared at each other for a bit, letting a silent conversation play out where you told him through your smile how grateful you were for him because you’d never known anyone like him; someone genuinely sweet and kind and effortlessly funny and who could always, always match your energy just right. And Steve acknowledged your silent honesty and showed how amazed he was to have you in his life as well by slotting his lips against yours. You two lazily kissed one another until you fell asleep with your limbs tangled up and the discarded clothes out in the living room long forgotten.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

[its-ironic-right]

Now how about the reverse?

Gideon dying before (maybe while protecting) Kremy.

Sometimes I get prompts that blow way past 500 words…

Where is the line drawn? Mathematically it’s between two points, but who determines those points? What gives them the right to define a beginning and an end?

Let’s simplify.

Life has a determined beginning and end. You’re born, you live, you die. (Well, if you’re lucky you die. Sometimes you just live and that’s so much worse.) The thread of your life held taut between two fingertips. That was a line drawn.

Death comes for us all. As a friend, an enemy, it comes without hesitation. In the smoldering ashes of a burnt out planet, death is the only constant. But death is known to play games. It loves a gamble.

Blasts of white hot magic fly through the air. It hits its mark with a sickening thud, knocking its victim to their knees.

“Shit.” A hissed curse, flesh hitting a wooden dock. Water laps under foot, breaks in the planks reveal white peaks. A heavy current, falling into the drink would mean certain death. Another bolt of magic, missing its target by a hair.

A roaring beast shoots out from thick woods, rending the magic users flesh from bone. Enemy neutralized for now, time to inspect the damage. The party wasn’t completely stupid. An attacker this strong wouldn’t come alone. Nothing to do but run.

“Sound off, who’s unconscious?” Kremy croaked. His ribs were broken, it took twice the effort to breathe or speak. He still needed to know who was left. A groan.

“I’m… okay. Very injured but alive.” Morning Frost was battered and broken, blood caked his fur and everything smelled awful. But conscious. Torbek looked up from his prey.

“Torbek is here. Torbek could definitely be doing better.” slashes oozed deep magenta from his side. That left Gricko and Gideon.

“Oh fuck, where’s our healer?” Kremy searched what was left of the dock. A green arm shot up from under some rubble.

“Here… I’ve got… banañas… one spell slot left.” Not ideal. Goodberries would get them through the night at least. One member left. Kremy’s heart dropped.

“Anyone see Gid?”

There was a peace that came with unconsciousness. A twilight state where nothing hurt, sinking into the bliss of oblivion. Gideon was no stranger to death. They crossed paths countless times, either by his hand or another. He wouldn’t say they were on friendly terms, more like work associates. For all his fire and bravado Gideon had a workman’s attention to detail when it came to destruction. Death was another detail.

He’s in an empty field. Rows of black dirt stretch in either direction. It looks familiar. He picks up a rock and chucks it. It flies in an arch, landing with a ‘thud’ yards away.

“Good arm.” Gideon whips around to see a towering figure of a man. He has a hand Up over his eyes like a visor, peering out to wherever the rock landed. The man looks down and smiles. Gideon is ten years old, his Pa ruffles his hair.

“…Pa?” Pa Coal winks.

“Who else?” He whistles. “Damn Gid, you really did a number on yourself. I thought it’d be another few years before I saw you again.” Gideon looks down. No longer a child but a man. A man with a hole burnt into his chest.

“Oh no, am I dead?”

“Almost dead. You’ve got a few hours before your organs shut down completely.” Pa leans down and picks up a rock. He throws it. It soars through a blue sky and lands farther than Gideons. The prairie didn’t have many ponds for skipping stones, but if you flicked your wrist in just the right way you could watch it skid across dirt. He remembers being a kid, throwing rocks into empty fields and challenging Pa to see how far they could throw them. Pa always had the better pitching arm.

“Almost dead, huh.” He threw another rock. Pa nodded.

“You took a bolt of lightning to the ticker Gid, you should be thankful it’s an ‘almost’ and not a ‘definitely’.” Uncomfortable silence passes between them. Funny how much “almost dead” didn’t bother him. Maybe it was the “almost” part. That meant hope.

“Kremy will figure it out, he always does.”

“You found a good husband, I’m glad.” Gideon blushes and stammers.

“Well, ironically my husband. More like a partner in crime, you know?” Pa slaps a hand on his back and he’s five years old.

A broken plate lays shattered on the floor of their shotgun shack. It was the prettiest thing they owned. Deep purple with scalloped edges trimmed in gold. The gold was flaking and you could barely see the vine motif in the center, but it was the only thing in the shack not meant for work. Gideon had wanted to look at it up close, to trace the lines and curves of snaking green vines. He’d attempted to climb up the shelf, it toppled under his weight. His face falls, what would Pa say when he found out? He can’t find out. Gideon pushes all the pieces into a pile. He’s placing them together like a puzzle, lining the image the best he can, trying like hell to make jagged edges match seamlessly. Tears stream down his face, he can’t let Pa see the plate is broken beyond repair. Tiny fingers coated in porcelain dust and microscopic cuts can’t put it together again. He’ll have to lie.

“The gods did not gift you a silver tongue, son.”

Gideon looks away from the broken plate. Shame crashing into his heart.

“I tried to fix it…”

“You tried to hide it. That’s not the same.”

He remembers being frustrated with the shards, making more and more mistakes until he gives up. He gathers the pieces into a bucket and sneaks out the front door. The plate is missing less than a day before Pa finds it in the tool shed.

Suddenly, pain. Deep, burning into his chest. He gasps and collapses, clutching the hole in his heart.

Its hot. So fucking hot. Is he in an oven? A forge? He opens his eyes again. The train. Of course. Metal stained black with soot, coals smoldering in the boiler, waiting for him to set them alight. He doesn’t have to look down to know what he looks like. The image is seared in his brain forever. A tear rolls down Pa Coal’s weathered cheek.

“The worst part about being dead: you can’t protect the living.” He feels the cuts and burns etched into his skin. This wasn’t right. He’d left the train, killed every mother fucker in the thing and jumped to freedom. This was a vision, it had to be. Gideon wouldn’t stay in hell unless he was dead. “Tell me the truth, son.”

“What the fuck is going on?!” He’s gasping, smoke filling every capillary in his lungs. Choking on every breath.

“You’re dying. Ever heard the phrase ‘life flashing before your eyes’?” Pa’s voice is low and sad. Steam escapes from a smoke stack, a shrill whistle piercing the air. And he can’t fucking breath. “Told you, your organs are failing.”

“Kremy will fix it. I know he will.”

“How do you know?”

“He always does.”

Everything goes dark. His stomach turns, he can breathe. Barely. Everything hurts. He’s discombobulated, soaked to the bone in rain and piss. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know where he is. An alleyway in Agwé, somewhere in the Crawdad Corner. The turning point in his life that made it worth living. He was bruised from some fight, passed out drunk in the rain. He didn’t remember how he got there, fate has a funny way of taking you places you never expect. Eyes still shut, he doesn’t want to see the look on Pa’s face. This is him at his lowest. But he knows what comes next. A whisper in the dark. Pattering rain against pavement nearly drowns it out, little words that create big waves. Eyes open to meet golden eyes. A smile, a handshake, a new life. So quick it almost didn’t happen.

“So that’s him? The man who will save you?” Gideon nods.

“Always does.” Pa Coal chuckles.

The alleyway fades into a tavern. Nondescript people bustle around, ordering drinks between lively conversation. A barmaid whistles a soft tune. Swatting wandering hands and passing mugs of ale. Gideon sips at a whiskey. Warmth fills his belly. Pa leans against the bar facing towards the door, opposite his son. Countless taverns litter his memory, but this one stuck out. A night that lived in his core. Kremy plays cards across the room. He’s winning, he always wins. Even when he loses he somehow comes out on top. It’s easy settling into this moment, nothing hurt. Yet.

“I’ve come close to death loads of times, why am I getting the full treatment this go around?”

“Never this close.” Gideon scoffed. He shot back the whiskey and turned around.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve died before. Or came close.”

“Gideon, you’re dead. Almost. I wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t your brain firing its last synapses.” Grief pangs at his heart. Of course.

“So you’re not really here. Just my brain trying to make sense of everything.” He lights a cigar with his finger. The tavern moves around them. Kremy wins another hand, Gideon can see the losers fist clench under the table. His cue. He crosses the room, The cigar leaving a trail of smoke in his wake. The loser rears his fist, Gideon catches it in his hand. A headbutt and two punches later they’re running out the door. Kremy laughs. /Gid I could kiss you!/ In the fleeting light of passing windows, Kremy shines. For a second, Gideon wishes he would. They duck into an alley, footsteps run past them. Gideon is intimately aware of how close they were. He could do it. Lean in and kiss Kremy, he could blame it on the adrenaline. He could lie.

“Do you love him?” Gideon almost jumps out of his skin. Pa smokes a cigar across the alley.

“Of course. I love him like a brother.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Something rams itself down his spine, searing every nerve. The scene dissipates. Oblivion engulfs him.

Three.

Two.

One.

His time is up. He can feel it. He wonders what happened. Did everyone die? Or just him?

It’s warm here. He always thought death would be cold. He could fall asleep like this. Although it wouldn’t be sleep. Sleep had an end.

Guess that’s why it was called eternal slumber.

One.

Two.

Three.

Gideon gasps awake. He was alive. The throbbing pain in his chest told him that. Golden eyes rimmed in red stare down at him.

“Gid!” Kremy pulled him close, forehead to snout. Gideons body sprawled out from under the alligator’s grasp. Tears spilled out in streams against scales. “Oh my gods I thought I lost you! Your heart stopped-“ Gideon’s lips met his. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, more weak and desperate than anything. When they broke, Gideon winked.

“I knew you could do it.”

Point A to Point B, but the interesting part was all the twists in between. Who knows who draws the line. So long as they had a sense of humor.

[obsessedtomone]

the fruits - pilot chapter

Pairing: Shigaraki x fem!Reader Word count: 1.8k Words Setting: High school AU - No quirks Tags: Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation , Angst, Resentment, No Smut CW for this chapter: None

The atmosphere in your classroom is grim. 

What was usually a place filled with chatter, now became a grieving space. Nobody gossips, nobody laughs, nobody is paying attention to what the teacher says. And why should they?

On the desk in front of yours sits a cheap vase the school bought however many years ago, filled with three-day-old water, where the stem of a lone white lily almost floats. The flower is wilting, as if it too feels like the world has lost all meaning.

It’s religion class that you’re sitting in right now, as ironic as that is. The teacher thought it would be a good idea to bring it up, to hold a moment of silence, but it only made everyone quieter. And you…

You’re angry. So angry. You stand up very suddenly, your chair screeching as you do, and you leave in the middle of class, tight fists at your sides. Nobody stops you. Nobody cares. The teacher yells something at you, but, just like them, you don’t care. 

So you walk and walk, passing by the infirmary, by the stairwell, by the cursed freaking student counseling office, one foot in front of the other.

There’s stairs, then your P.E teacher who tries to stop you, but you start running until you lose him. Until you’re outside and reach the back of the school, between the buildings, where all the delinquents and future-to-be criminals skip school and hang out to do drugs, or whatever those stupid rumors you heard say about them.

It’s dark in there, the narrow space mostly shielded from the sun, and unlike your classroom, you can hear the laughter, the chatter. Your fingernails dig into the palm of your hands, your knuckles turn white and you walk forward, swallowing your pride, swallowing your fear, and swallowing whatever was left of your former self.

A pair of yellow eyes spot you closing in first, the blonde girl with tied buns that you’ve seen harassing multiple students, having stopped applying nail-polish and now giving you her attention fully. You go on and are about to look away, but then she smiles, wide and toothy, and her canines are so sharp, you’d mistake her for a modern-day vampire.

“Are you lost?” she says, tone light, euphoric and creepy, getting the attention of ten other pairs of eyes, but not the ones you’re headed towards. Not the ones of your nightmares.

You don’t pay them any mind and you side-step her, but a strong arm stops you in your tracks.

“Hey, she asked you a question.” 

His piercings glitter from the little light that’s coming from behind you. You yank your arm away from him, ignore the foul smell of cigarettes, and continue walking.

“Oooh, she’s feisty!” you hear some other asshole say, but you can’t be bothered to figure out who. “I think she’s here for the boss.”

And there he is, too, sitting on top of a stolen classroom desk. His back is against the wall, both of his legs bent at the knees, while his elbows are resting on top, and said legs are spread apart nonchalantly. He seems completely immersed in whatever switch game he has the audacity to play right now, and the clothes you’ve always seen him wearing are black. Black, black, black. As if he too, is in mourning. As if he’d ever have the right to.

But he’s not. And that’s why you’re here.

The mop of white hair doesn’t pay you any mind, even as you’re standing in front of him. You extend a shaky arm over his switch, and that’s when his vermillion eyes snap at you.

“Give it back,” you say, balancing your weight on your feet, ignoring the pit in your stomach.

He doesn’t say anything, opting to look back down at his game, fully focused, as if you weren’t there to begin with. 

Unprocessed fury courses through every cell of your being, and you yank the console from his hands, smashing it against the wall next to his head, marking it the first time you’ve ever lashed out at anybody. Ever. 

He didn’t even flinch.

“Are you deaf?” you seethe, and he tilts his head downwards, lazy like a cat, as one of his hands goes up to his neck and starts scratching it.

“That’s gonna cost you.”

“I don’t give a damn!” you yell in his face, and he rolls his eyes, before suddenly sliding one foot in your direction, almost hitting you in the stomach if you hadn't stepped back. 

Panic takes over the adrenaline, goosebumps forming on every surface of your skin, as his menacing eyes stare at you and he rolls his shoulders. You don’t run like others would, however, fully ready to take him on.

He places five fingers against the desk, and your lungs lose the ability to fill with air. Instinct has you taking another step back, and you watch as he effortlessly shoves himself off of the damaged piece of furniture and onto the ground, feet landing with equal ease before he recalibrates his posture, his lanky figure now facing you fully. Towering over your form, like an unforgiving god would.

His arms move and you cower, but the pain doesn’t come. 

Instead, you hear the grit on the concrete being stepped on as he’s walking by you, both hands inside the pockets of his hoodie.

“Expect a bill,” he says so simply, as if it isn’t him you’d rather be lying, all six feet under.

Then he walks off, leaving you in the dust, and the group that’s been watching your stage play looks at you with amusement. With pity.

Because you’re not even worth his time. Not his time, not his efforts. 

They all get out of his way, and he’s about to step into the light, before you slide your foot backwards, lean in, put your arm in front of you and…

“Uh-oh!” someone shouts, but the world is too much of a flurry of movement to be able to tell who it was. “Shigs, watch out!”

Shigaraki doesn’t get to turn fully, before you tackle him down with all your might, the both of you hitting the concrete hard.

He groans, eyes scrunched closed, but you’re in his face, fists full of the material of his hoodie and you yell your heart out to him as you’re stretching out the fabric.

“It’s your fault! All o-of it!” you scream at him, and the rubies finally focus on the ugly of your crying face. “Why—Why did you do it? Why won’t you give it back! Just give it back!”

Droplets of your spit land on his cheek, and your head drops abruptly, as you sob into his chest. He’s lying under you unmoving, frozen, and you can’t tell what kind of expression he’s making. The sounds don’t make sense to you, the world doesn’t make sense to you, the pain in your chest is overwhelming, until it’s not. And you sit yourself up just barely, face full of tears, full of your snot, your grip feeling too weak to keep holding onto him.

He’s not paying attention to you still, and you feel something against one of your exposed knees, thighs covered by the skirt of your uniform, pressed against each side of his hips as you’re sitting on top of his stomach. It’s his finger you feel and he’s thumbing at the dripping blood of your scraped skin, when suddenly the stinging pain feels too real, making you jerk backwards.

“Get a room!” you hear the raven-haired guy say, and every other asshole starts laughing at that.

Shigaraki’s eyes widen, before his face scrunches up in utter revulsion and he violently shoves you off of him. Through the blur of the liquid helplessness in your eyes, you see him get up, before standing and looking down at you. Looking down on you. Then he’s spinning on his heel and turns to leave. Like you’re nothing.

His friends start snickering, and in the corner of your eyes, you see an offered hand from the girl with blonde space buns. You immediately smack it away and glare at her coldly, feeling the debris and other little pebbles digging into your wound, as you get up and leave as well. 

“She's so mean! I really like her!” the girl says behind you, but you’re tired, limping out of the narrow hideout for hooligans and in the direction of your home.

“Give it back.”

It’s the next day, and you’re standing in front of a desk. Just not your desk. 

You’re standing in front of a desk that looks so beat-up, the school probably couldn’t even reuse it, if these assholes even thought to bring it back. And on top of countless scribbles, scratches made with knives and various styles of graffiti, are the legs of two red converse shoes, stretched out and laying on top of each other.

“Tch.”

His fingers tap at the buttons of a brand-new console, and his brow is now furrowed, because once again, you’re here to disturb his peace.

“Touch it and you’re dead,” he grumbles when you step forward. “What do you want?”

He finally puts his console down and folds his hands on top of his slightly raised knee, fingers overlapping each other like he’s some well-established villain.

“It’s not yours. Give it back to me.”

“Give what back?” he asks, tilting his head, and you catch the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“The hairpin.”

He looks down, towards the still-scraped knees that you didn’t bother to bandage, and then back at you.

“No,” he says, decisively.

You grit your teeth. “Why?”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to…” you repeat, trying to contain the pure hatred and resentment that’s festered inside of you for over a year now. “Okay.”

“Uh-huh. Will you fuck off now?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself,” he says dismissively, grabbing his handheld again and resuming the game.

“Oh my god, can we keep her?” Space buns pops in and you step away from them both with a disgusted grimace.

“No,” he replies.

“I’ll do it.”

The girl tilts her head in sweet confusion, and Shigaraki lifts his half-lidded gaze to look at you again. 

“Do what?” he asks.

“Anything. Everything. I’ll do it.” You swallow thickly. “For the hairpin.”

And for the first time since you’d enrolled in this hellhole, Shigaraki looks genuinely taken aback. The girl seems to pick up on some situational cue, and leaves you both be, with an unsettling giggle.

“Anything?”

“Anything,” you repeat.

For if I’m going down, 

I guess I’ll take you with me.

[pekoehoneyncream]

Sergeant Kyle Gaz Garrick Headcanons

Part One

Words: 600~

TW: None (sfw)

Part Two

Y'all are powered by spite alone, istg. Gaz won the poll by one vote, ONE! I had soap's shit lined up and ready to go and y'all really said 'nah, no thank you'

Here's your prize,

Hope You Enjoy!

Gaz is slow to trust. He does not like strangers, and often feels on edge around new people. He isn't outright rude, in fact he's often downright friendly. He knows better than to alienate unknowns and make unneeded enemies for his team by acting hostile.

Ghost often validates Gaz's suspicious nature by asking him for breakdowns of potential weaknesses and if someone's likely to become a problem or a liability. 

Gaz shows a lot of love through acts of service, if there's anything that the 141 needs or needs done he'll make sure it happens, often before they even realise it's going to become a problem.

Gaz has a habit of referring to other people as NPCs. Particularly groups of people that ostensibly have a use, but only ostensibly.

Gaz cusses A Lot. He uses swearing, snark, and sarcasm as coping mechanisms, particularly in stressful situations. He doesn’t like directing his vitriol at his teammates, but situations, enemies, unknowns, strangers, acquaintances, and friends are all free game.

Cannot stand ticking or tapping noises, especially when he can't find where the sound is coming from. Rattling vents and unbalanced ticking ceiling fans are the banes of his existence. | At first he tried to be casual when he brought stuff up to Price, “So, have you noticed that the third light in the breakroom buzzes and flickers a bit when it's on?”, but now he just straight up tells Price what bothers him. (Price tells maintenance, but if they're being too slow Price has been known to just fix it himself.) | Soap, with his pathological need to bounce his legs, is on thin fucking ice. Gaz can usually ignore it if Soap keeps a consistent rhythm, but when Soap's fidgety he starts to drive Gaz up the wall.

Not great at sharing. Leaving the last piece of something, in case someone else might want it, is not something that would ever cross his mind. If someone doesn't directly ask for something, he's assuming they're not interested.

He's cannot do constructive criticism. He's got the criticism part down pat, but rarely cares enough to struggle with making it constructive. He embodies that video: Be Nice. ‘I'm finding it.’ It takes you that long? ‘It does, It does.’

He's an only child. His mom, Gemma, is a Biomedical Equipment Technician, and his dad, Arthur, is a Semi-Retired English Professor. He was mostly raised by his dad, as his mom's job kept her out of the house most days. His dad actually became Semi-Retired to be a Stay-At-Home-Dad and raise Gaz. Arthur Garrick has published a few textbooks and still goes in for the occasional guest lecture.

Gaz's bedtime stories were books like Le Morte de Artur, the Iliad, Lord of the Rings, the Robert Frost Compendium, and Narnia.  

When Gaz was learning to write his dad taught him cursive, leaning towards calligraphy. To this day Gaz's printing looks like a ten year-old's. Meanwhile, his writing is very pretty to look at, but nearly illegible. His signature is completely unreadable, it's just a very elaborate pile of loops and slashes.

Occasionally forgets the words for things. His brain does this thing that he likes to call Playing Wheel of Fortune, where it will let him remember the meaning of the word, and sometimes what the word rhymes with, or its first letter. | These moments all go something like this: “You can’t pin that on me! You've only got… fuck what’s the word, where its a person in a place and they're getting blamed for something. It’s like a lawyery thing.” A court? “No no, it's like they got caught, but they were in the wrong place and it’s only if you put it together a certain way it looks bad. Like a bad impression, but serious. It’s a long word. I think it starts with S… Circumference? No. Situation? Something like that.” Circumstantial? “Yes! Circumstantial! Circumstantial Evidence!” I saw you eating my crisps, that's not circumstantial evidence.

Thank You for Reading!

PekoeHoneynCream's Headcanons

[switch-witch-erin]

This post is about the very experience of loving tickling, the feeling of shame for it, the feeling of being somehow abnormal, which as far as I know actually haunts many.

This is gonna be a long read, featuring my journey to finding peace in liking tickles + how I managed to clarify for myself that liking platonic tickling is a thing, and is, in fact, okay. I’ll try to make it as short as I can :,)

❗️All of this is just a reflection of my experience, please be respectful

First of all, I have to say that tickling has always been a main form of showing affection in my family — here

For my parents and siblings, it was of utter importance to never show “weakness” in any way or form, no saying “I love you”, no hugs nor kisses, no words of validation, only stuff like “study hard so you can get a better job in the future”, “don’t forget to wear your scarf, it’s cold outside”, so basically they showed their love through doing anything they could for me to survive and thrive, but without any affection. And since affection wasn’t allowed, my siblings decided to start disguising it by messing with me, like tickling me silly, claiming that they’re just teasing and pestering me, while also making it fun and entertaining. They were gentle and careful, especially considering our big age difference (I’m 25, and my eldest brother is 48), and it made me feel so loved and cherished that I never wanted it to stop. Most tickle fights happened with my sister, seven years older than me, and she’d let me win just to cheer me up, which also gave me an extra boost of joy and love for her.

Therefore, by the time I went to school, I was 100% certain that everyone liked tickling, they just played the game of pretending, while actually having fun. I was called a local tickle monster among my classmates and some of the teachers as I kept tickling my friends all over the school, and I was a very social kid, so it might have been around 30 people on my “wanted” list x) Thinking about it now, I don’t remember a single kid actually getting uncomfortable or disliking the tickling. Maybe that’s because my tickles were gentle and didn’t last long as I was afraid of accidentally hurting peeps and made sure to keep it light. There also was a girl, around 15 years old, who really liked me and treated me like a younger sister because she thought I was a cute kid. She’d hang out with me and some of my classmates during breaks, put me on her lap, tell the stupidest jokes one could possibly come up with, and then tickle me silly, saying “See? I knew it was funny, you’re laughing!”. Unfortunately, I changed schools, and we never saw each other again, but it was fun while it lasted.

When I got older, like 12 or so, I remember there was a girl who kept initiating tickle fights with me on a daily basis, that was so much fun, basically my number 1 reason to go to school at the time x). I was a little overweight and insecure about my appearance, so her willingly touching me (as well as hugging me after the tickling) and saying that my giggles were cute made me feel so much better about myself, no words can possibly describe it. She was definitely a lot rougher than me when it came to tickling, but it was fine, maybe because I wasn’t that ticklish, so it didn’t bother me much. I even remember teachers watching us and smiling. Back then I didn’t feel embarrassed in the slightest, I treated it as any other form of fun activities, like playing hide and seek or drawing. Though it didn’t last long.

Next year, when I was 13, we got a new classmate, she was nice, but her mood kept changing every ten minutes, it was weird, probably a puberty thing, but still. We quickly became friends, and eventually, after about two weeks of getting to know each other, I started tickling her, and she became completely enraged. She yelled at me, slapped my hands away and started a whole ass rant about how people who tickle others are annoying and rude, while threatening to punch me if I tickle her again. To say that I was shocked would be an understatement. It’s like my entire world got turned inside out, and I felt so guilty and ashamed of myself that all I could do was apologise and leave. Of course, now, as an adult, I understand that her reaction was way too intense, and I should’ve at least clarified that I didn’t mean to upset her. But back then I got absolutely mortified. As a cherry on top she started avoiding me like I did something terrible, and only in about three weeks she came up to me out of the blue and started a conversation like nothing happened. It felt weird, but I was so glad she seemed to have forgiven me I didn’t bother to ask questions. But that’s when the shame all tickling community knows started forming. “What if other people whom I tickled actually didn’t enjoy it? I haven’t seen someone tickling others as often as I did, what if it’s not okay to act like I do? What if I’m some kind of creep to others? What if I have been a creep this whole time, but no one bothered to tell me? Bad people don’t know or don’t care if they’re bad, they just do whatever they please, just like I did with my friends before. What if I’m actually a bad person? A creep?” Yeah, well, that was just the tip of the iceberg. Among puberty-related things, that made me feel insecure as well and I stopped being as social as I was, I closed off, but the need to have tickles in my life persisted, and I started watching those silly tickling moments from cartoons and anime posted on YouTube. Watching them has always made me smile, and it felt like a void inside me started to fill up. I can only compare the feeling to hugging my boyfriend or receiving support from my friends - that fuzzy feeling that makes life worth living. I remember panicking when these videos started appearing on my feed even after I deleted them from my YouTube history, as it felt like I’m doing something perverted and unnatural. Once, the videos popped up on my main YouTube page while I was watching stuff with my friend, and I was mortified. She didn’t question it, not sure if she even noticed, but I wanted to die right there on the spot. When I was thinking all of it over as a teen, I used to compare myself to creepy fetishists, who pile up various disturbing stuff in their PC folder just to open when no one’s looking. The thought made me cry so many times I can’t even count, as I couldn’t share with anyone about it, and I assured myself that I am a creep, so if I want to stop being one I should get rid of that liking tickling thing and enjoy “normal” stuff. So I deleted all of the saved videos, art and other stuff, unfollowed the creators and went on with my life. It was a difficult decision, but I was determined.

Several months later my classmates (13-15 years old) started a massive tickle fight, among like ten or so people, and it all was happening right in front of me. I was staring at them with googly eyes, sitting there all tensed up and confused like ??? You’re all not supposed to do that??? How dare you??? And it was mostly among boys, so one of them approached me with a big grin on his face, and some sort of Tarantino dialogue happened

— Hey, why aren’t you participating? Are you not ticklish?

— N-No…

And he proceeded to start tickling me, but I didn’t react, either because I was still shocked or because I didn’t want to be a part of it, I’m not sure myself. And when he saw the lack of reaction, I swear to god, he was UPSET. He lowered his head and pouted a little, mumbling something like “damn, okay”. I can’t say for sure whether he was upset because of me (presumably) not being ticklish, or because he wanted to make me react, but something in my head clicked. Like… “oh, you want tickles? I’ll give you tickles!” And I started tickling him back furiously. Nothing painful or uncomfortable, just rather intense as I targeted almost all of his upper body at the same time. The guy’s laughter was silent, and he leaned over, shaking with inaudible giggles, but he didn’t try to get away. Not even once. When I realised what I was doing, I stopped, feeling mortified once again. It felt like I was using him for my “perverted” needs, like I just submerged this boy to something he doesn’t enjoy for my “sick” pleasure. You know that feeling when you’re about to explode with crying, but you hold yourself back as much as you can with what little power you still have? Yeah, that was how I felt. When suddenly he sat up with an even bigger grin on his face than before, looked at me with such a happy, excited expression, and then turned to the others, yelling out “Beware! She’s not ticklish, and she’s a master tickler!” Then he glanced back at me and said “Hey, it’s not fair you’re not ticklish, you’re imbalanced! (Russian slang for someone or something way mightier than their group) Come with us, you’d be an absolute winner!” [Love men’s urge to constantly compete lol]

A school bell, indicating that the next lesson is starting, saved my sorry ass. Imagine how hard it was to concentrate on studying after all of that x)

By the time I came home I was so confused I could barely talk to anyone, completely stuck in my own thoughts. It seemed like they all were enjoying the tickling, and they were participating in it willingly, having fun together. No one minded getting tickled, and even though no one said out loud that they enjoyed it, it was obvious. So my brain gears started rotating. If it’s okay for others to enjoy tickling, why can’t it be okay for me? Yes, maybe I like it more than they do, but what’s so bad about it? Some people like martial arts, some people like drawing, dragons, marine biology, sports, massages, and I like tickling! It’s a special interest, my special interest. I do it because it feels nice, and not only it makes me happy, other people enjoy it too! Not everyone, naturally, just like not everyone likes being touched in general. But to people, who enjoy tickling, it’s a nice way to unwind and have fun. It’s some kind of monkey brain thing like “me make other monkey happy with tickles, other monkey happy = I happy”. Apes together strong x)

And slowly but surely I began my research, checking what it’s like to enjoy tickling, how it works in biology and psychology, why some people like it and some don’t, why some are more ticklish than others and whatnot. It was fascinating. Humans are so fucking weird (affectionately), there’re so many details, nooks and crannies that take part in our existence…

But scientific part aside, I decided to switch on my critical thinking skills as well and actually look at my situation from someone else’s perspective. And eventually came up with a basic scheme. The questions I asked myself were:

1. Do I harm anyone, including myself, by liking/participating in tickling?

2. Does tickling bring me joy?

3. Do I violate people’s boundaries by tickling them?

4. Is it considered inappropriate to enjoy tickling?

As a result, I came up with several conclusions, which can be summed up in one statement

“If tickling is consensual and brings joy to both parties, there shouldn’t be any problems with it”

Maybe you noticed that some people who don’t have tickling as their special interest enjoy it too! It is a form of affection after all, so, since it brings me joy, why should I be embarrassed about it? Don’t get me wrong, even though all of my friends know I like tickling (they saw my art, we’ve talked about it a lot, I share the news of what’s up with the community and many other things), sometimes I get so fucking embarrassed I don’t have words to describe such strong emotions. Fortunately, my friends are good people, they remind me that it’s okay… it doesn’t stop them from poking and teasing me, but can’t say that I mind x) Even people like my brother’s wife know about that special interest of mine, and ALL of them, and I mean EVERY SINGLE PERSON think that it’s okay. Some said that it’s even cute. But it still wasn’t enough for me to let go and enjoy myself, so I decided to contact a specialist.

By the time I became an adult I decided to talk about my liking of tickling with my therapist, and mind you this woman was definitely overqualified when it comes to all the stuff I asked her. Looking back at it I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it might have looked to her.

“Hello, my name is Erin, I’m 22, I really like tickles, both tickling and being tickled, is there something wrong with me? 🥺”

I bow to her ability of keeping a poker face. True professional. I don’t want to go into the details, but overall she said that enjoying platonic tickles is actually very common, especially for people on autism spectrum and those with ADHD (aka me). [Not that everyone who likes tickles should immediately get tested] She told me that she had a patient with severe autism, he had trouble talking to people, and he didn’t enjoy being touched. So whenever he wanted to express affection for his family members, he’d gently tickle their side a little and smile at them. Tickling was his love language. And, in case anyone is still wondering about whether tickling can only be a kink, I really doubt that it was anything sexual for him. By the way, you can read a post made by an actual psychologist regarding tickling not necessarily being a kink.

And since tickling has always been the main form of affection I received, it’s only natural that I carried it into adulthood. I’m 25 years old, a whole grown ass woman with a degree, a job, my own apartment and goals to achieve. Why on Earth would I drop enjoying something as lighthearted and fun as tickling because someone considers it weird?

The actually weird thing is telling people what they are, and what they’re supposed or not supposed to enjoy.

If getting tickled silly by my man is what makes me happy, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.

Peace out, have fun, and stay true to yourself ✌🏻

Hope my post helps you feel at least a little better 🌸