#this might be the best shading/lighting I have ever done

[metal-lobster]

This was supposed to be a sketch… it may have gotten away from me a bit. Especially considering I designed a whole laptop for it (not literally).

[cherrybr4t]

DILF!SEUNGCHEOL (+18, mdni)

A/N: to the anon that requested for some dilf cheol, i love u i am u. i think about dilf cheol probably 20 times a day. wanted to write a hc but got carried away…as u can see… 2k words 💨💨💋

WARNINGS: smut, DILF CHEOLL, unprotected sex, oral (f rec), dom!cheol, sub!reader, f reader, it’s pretty mild…i think…

dilf!cheol whom you met while bringing your niece to her weekly soccer practice. you often helped to babysit her, and you loved seeing her in action — playing passionately every sundays, calling out to her aunt on the field with her adorable pigtails

dilf!cheol first noticed you on one fateful saturday practice at the stands, shades at the top of your head, pretty face with your ponytail dangling behind you

dilf!cheol comes up to you; telling you that you look younger than all the other parents here. you explain that you’re here for your niece, while he mentions his own daughter on the soccer field

dilf!cheol wastes no time, and asks you out on a date the second time yall meet during practice, as if you could say no to the most handsome man you’ve ever met in your 22 years of living…

dilf!cheol decided that a gem like you deserved the finest things in life — bringing you to his favourite restaurant, a private room he booked out specially for you, the best wine on the menu, with the most spectacular view (especially the man in front of you clad in a sleek button up, hair flawless as he combs it back every few minutes)

dilf!cheol who has his own successful company running, always mentions how his daughter is the light of his life, the one thing that kept him going after his ex-girlfriend up-ed and left after leaving pretty little sua on his doorstep. all he wants is to provide the best for his lil munchkin

dilf!cheol being a gentleman, drives you home and you invite him up for some tea, not wanting to end the night there. he agrees, though it probably wasn’t the best decision; considering how he told himself not to fuck you yet — not after a few more dates (he strongly believes he does not have the sex drive of a 20 year old) aaand he really did not trust himself to be in a room alone with you

dilf!cheol was right — feeling all his self-restraining effort go down the drain as he looks at you, sitting so damn near him on the couch, you might as well be on his lap.

you weren’t playing though. you wanted him, and you needed him immediately. your hands dancing dangerously on his thighs, leaning in closer to him whenever he made a witty comment.

fuck the water that was done boiling. you weren’t going to leave this couch to go make some tea, all you could think about was how cheol looked like he was about to lose it too.

he leans in. you lean in. “cheol…” the way you uttered his name in such a soft and slightly raspy manner made his breath hitch. he definitely caught on to the slight cry and need for him to make the move

that was all he needed, before he crashed his lips onto yours, kissing you so fucking deep, you could feel every crevice of his pretty cherry lips, drenched with the need to meet yours. his tongue — oh god his tongue, dancing with yours half way through the kiss, as if teasing you, showing you what that pink muscle of his was capable of.

dilf!cheol loved making demands. first, you were to strip out of your red dress slowly, standing in front of the couch where he sat, manspreading with his elbows propped up on the sofa. he stares, hungrily, eyes watching every movement you made to remove that article of clothing that was driving him crazy all night.

after which he demanded you to sit on his lap like a good girl — making sure you knew that he loves rewarding good girls. the dark spot on your lace panties made him chuckle. “you wanted this that bad princess? had to ask me if i wanted a cup of tea, when this was your true intention all along…” he traces his finger along your thigh as you settle down on his lap.

you let out a whine — embarrassed, but it was true. “why princess? admit it, you wanted me so bad you were willing to do anything to get us in this situation,” his fingers continued tracing to the back of your bra, unhooking it with one hand, letting the lace material fall to the ground.

“yes cheol, i wanted you so fucking bad i- , you looked so good, during dinner a-all i could think about was you fucking me right,” you moaned out, gripping on his hard shoulders, nails clutching on the fabric of his button up.

he let out a groan, “you thought about that during dinner? my dirty girl, so filthy — all for me, i made you like this didn’t I,” his hands travel to your tits, thumbs brushing on your hard nipples, before pinching both buds and pulling on them, eliciting a load shriek and moan from you.

“yes cheol, you did.. n-need you..” he latched his hot lips on your nipple, showing you once again the power of his pink muscle, licking and sucking like it was his favourite candy. it felt so fucking good you couldn’t help but cry out, grinding down on his crotch. feeling like any more attention towards your sensitive tits could make you cum sooner than expected.

“fuck princess you’re fucking soaking, i can already imagine how good that warm cunt will feel around my fingers, around my tongue..”

“and your cock cheol, need you to be inside me,”

“patience, i told you good girls get rewarded,” as if he himself could wait any longer.

he carries you to your room, laying you on your soft sheets. with no buffer time, you feel a pair of lips at your center, licking through the soaked material.

“o-oh my god, cheol,” he rips the material off you, leaving you exposed right in front of him, and he swears he’s never felt this hungry for pussy before. he licks, he inserts that tongue of his down your warm cunt, pushing the walls open, slurping every single drop of you he can. wrapping his thick lips around that sensitive nub of yours, sucking it hard enough that you cry out, arching your back as you laced your fingers through those locks of his, pushing him closer.

“so good.. so good cheol…more more..,” you were a broken record, all you could think about was chasing your high, and the man in front of you was more than happy to make that happen.

“yeah, princess? so good for me, so fucking delicious you deserve to be eaten out every day every fucking hour, goddd,” wanting to look at your pretty face as he makes you come, he rubs your sensitive engorged clit roughly in tight fast circles, while inserting two fingers without warning.

you screamed out, unable to control the unhinged moans slipping out of your lips. you felt otherwordly, as if you were ascending into a new realm with immense pleasure. “fuck, cheol oh my god oh my god,” your moans going higher in pitch when he curled his fingers, touching that textured gummy pad deep inside you, hitting it non stop.

“wanna cum princess? i know you want to, feels so fucking good doesn’t it? i know princess i know,” he spoke in an overly sweet tone, and it just made you clench around him even more. your knuckles turning white at how hard you were gripping those poor sheets.

“i wanna cum cheol, can i cum now? please please please,” your sweat blends with a drop of tear sliding down the side of your face, feeling your high literal seconds away.

cheol’s cock hurts, straining so bad against those dress pants of his. he needs to be inside you now, but he wants you to — no, needs you to come before that. “fuck, you can cum princess, let go for me,”

and you let go, spasming around his fingers, with the loudest cry of the night yet, body jerking up from the immense sensation of flood gates opening.

“yeah that’s right, princess, so good for me, so pretty when you cum, feels so good doesn’t it,” cheol swears he could cum in his pants at the sight of you coming undone, wrecked on his fingers. and he thinks to himself — it’s a sight he wants the privilege to have, every night, for the rest of his life possibly.

you came down from your high panting, looking up to see cheol in his boxers already, pulling them down, only to reveal the prettiest, girthiest cock you’ve ever seen, and all you want is for him to be in you, for him to make you his.

“i-i’m on the pill, you can go for it cheol,” you muttered out with whatever strength you had left in that moment, all you can think about was being pumped full of cheol’s cum. his heart thumps at your words. he lets out a groan, stroking his member as he gets back on top of you, and you admire how his muscle — his biceps and shoulders goes taut, god, he looked so fucking strong, you were about to cum the second time looking at him.

“ready princess? swear m’gonna fuck you til you’re full of my cum,” and he slowly inserts his full length inside of you, and you moan at the stretch his thick cock gives you.

“hnnng, so thick cheol, so big,” you moaned, nails gripping on his shoulders and he grabs both of your wrists, slamming it right above you on the pillow, holding you right there. you whined, while he spotted a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“look at you princess, so fucked out when i’ve just barely started, is my cock that good baby? hmm? you like it that much?” one hand pinning your wrists down, the other adjusting your leg above his shoulder. the angle making you feel him in places you didn’t know you could.

“this is what you wanted, right princess? fuuuck look at you, so fucking pretty all under me,” he falters; wanting to degrade and embarrass you to utter filth, but looking at you being so good under him, he can’t help but praise you, telling you how good you’re being for him.

your heart swells, pussy gripping onto him even tighter if that was even possible, “cheol…i wanna cum again, wanna cum around you,” you whine out, eliciting a deep growl from the man above you.

“i swear princess, you drive me fucking crazy,” he snaps his hips into you in an insane pace, feeling so lost in the feeling of you and your warm slippery cunt hugging his cock so good he thinks he went to heaven and back for a moment.

as he feels his release approaching, he’s in disbelief at how fast it comes, but he can’t hold it in any longer. “cum with me princess, fuck, can’t take it anymore, need to fill you up nice and full with my cum.” his moans get louder and you love how needy he sounds; not holding back, moaning your name with a crack in his voice.

with no warning, your orgasm crashes over you, arching your back, crying out cheol’s name as you spasm around him. “fuuuck baby i’m coming,” with slower thrusts, cheol leans down to give you a passionate kiss as he releases his hot load into you, it spills and shoots, so much fucking cum that it leaks out immediately and you moan at the feeling, at complete bliss being so full of his cum.

dilf!cheol giving you the best aftercare ever, you’re his and only his now, his princess and now he self declares that he’s going to take care of you like no other man could, or will!

dilf!cheol has a stamina of a teenager, going for multiple rounds throughout the night, leaving marks all over you, needing so bad to claim you as his.

yup…trust that i’m not done w dilf cheol and i’ll be back with MOREEE ✍️💋 anws i hope yall like it <33 if you did, like/comment/rb to lmk what u think abt it 😍 thanks for reading lovelies,, xoxo 😘💨💋

[kikyoupdates]

NSFW Alphabet | Bakugou Katsuki

NSFW Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Katsuki may not seem like the type, but he’s actually pretty attentive with his aftercare. He wants sex to be an enjoyable experience for you, as much as it is for him, and that extends to after the deed is done, too. He wants to make sure you’re not feeling any pain or discomfort. He’ll also wipe down the parts of you that he got dirty (which there’s always a lot of, because he loves to cum on you). If there’s anything you need, like a glass of water, or maybe for him to grab you some clean clothes to change into, he’ll do it. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Katsuki’s favorite part of himself would have to be his arms, and that also extends over to his hands. His hands are the source of his Quirk, his power, and he puts in a lot of effort into training and maintaining his physique. It proves how dedicated he is, and he can’t help but be proud of it.

His favorite part of you is your face. He just loves looking at you, to be honest. He firmly believes you’re the prettiest girl in the world. He also really loves your ass. Your face is still his favorite, but he’ll grab and slap your ass just about any chance he gets. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He tries to keep a good diet because it affects his health, and therefore, his performance as a hero. If his cum ever has a pretty distinct taste, it might be because he really likes spicy food. It’s normally nothing noticeable, though.

He loves to finish on you, and adores the sight of his cum dripping down your breasts, ass, face, etc. If you let him finish inside of you, and grace him with the sight of his seed spilling out of your pussy, he will be very, very happy.  

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’d like to start a family one day, so he often fantasizes about impregnating you. However, he would never willingly bring this up. At least, not until the two of you have had a proper discussion about whether or not you want kids. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He isn’t experienced. It depends on when you got together, but if you met him while you were at U.A, then that means you’re his first partner. Of course, he likes to act like he’s experienced, all confident and cocky, and since he’s such a quick learner, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. He picks up on what you like very fast. He’s Bakugou Katsuki, after all. Everyone knows that he won’t settle for anything other than being the best. Sex is no exception. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

His favorites are missionary, doggy style, and mating press. He’ll usually go for doggy style if it’s a quickie, or if he’s just in the mood for rougher, more fast-paced sex. He loves being able to grass your ass and watch as his cock disappears inside of you. He does also really enjoy seeing the expressions you make during sex, which is why he likes both mating press and missionary. He can face you in either of those. Although he’ll pick missionary if he wants the moment to be more intimate. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not usually goofy, but there are definitely moments where you might get him to crack up. He can actually be pretty playful in bed at times, so it’s not impossible that you might hear him let out a chuckle or two. If you’re acting super cute, or bratty, he’ll find it difficult to suppress his smile. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Not completely shaven, but definitely well-groomed. He doesn’t have a ton of hair growing down there to begin with, and it’s a fairly light shade of blond, similar to the hair on his head. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sex is one of the times when Katsuki allows himself to be more vulnerable, and while he definitely loves for it to be fast-paced and aggressive, there are also times where he’ll take it slow and be more gentle with you. Even if he’s fucking into you without abandon, he’ll still make sure to tell you how much he loves you, and he’ll praise you near endlessly. There’s never any doubt that you mean the world to him. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’ll jack off semi-regularly, but it’s mostly for stress relief, or in the moments that he isn’t able to be with you. He has a collection of nudes (and possibly videos, if you let him record you) of you on his phone, which he’ll jerk off to repeatedly. But he’d definitely much rather just have sex with you instead. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dirty talk, hair pulling, overstimulation, spanking, and he also has a praise kink. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere at home, where he knows the two of you are in private. This can be the bedroom, up against a wall, on the couch, with you flattened onto the kitchen table, it doesn’t matter. Just as long as he knows that no one else will see you. He hates the thought of anyone else seeing you naked, exposed, or making those gorgeous expressions that are supposed to be reserved only for him. Just the thought of it pisses him off. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Anytime you compliment him and make him feel good about himself. Even though he tries to hide it with his ego, there are moments where he feels really insecure. He’ll often initiate sex because he’s crazy about you, but there’s just something about you coming onto him and telling him how handsome he is, how he’s an amazing hero, and so on and so forth… it just really gets him going. 

Also, he loves it when you wear skimpy clothing. Not in public, because he’ll get jealous that other people are staring at you, but if you’re just walking around the house with half your ass out, it’s guaranteed to get his dick hard. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He’s okay with biting, scratching, hair pulling, and even tying you up if you ask, but he’ll never do anything extreme that involves serious pain. He’s also extremely possessive and hates the idea of anyone other than him seeing you naked, or being able to hear you moan. So, he will outright refuse any form of public sex. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Katsuki prefers receiving oral over giving. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy going down on you. He’ll gladly eat you out as if he’s starved for a meal, and he can never get enough of your sweet moans and the way you start shaking when you’re about to have an orgasm, but even so, watching you suck him off is probably one of the hottest things he’s ever seen. He doesn’t dare look away as you desperately try to stuff his cock in that cute little mouth of yours, and every time you strain to look up at him, with tears in your eyes, he has to resist the urge to finish right then and there. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Sex with Katsuki will usually be pretty fast-paced, and more than likely on the rougher side, too. He’s a very passionate guy, and sex is one of the ways that he conveys that. However, he’ll try to adjust his pace according to your preferences, and there are moments where he purposely slows down, because he wants it to be more intimate and sensual. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Katsuki doesn’t mind quickies, although he’d prefer to take his time with you. Still, being a pro hero is a busy job, and there’s bound to be moments where he’s in a rush, but you just look too damn good for him to keep his hands off you. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He doesn’t mind experimenting. As long as you don’t suggest anything that goes against what he strictly refuses (inflicting serious pain or having sex in public where others might see you), he’ll definitely keep an open mind. His goal is to make you feel good, after all. He can’t enjoy sex unless he knows you’re enjoying it too. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This guy has virtually unlimited stamina. He’s one the most powerful heroes ever, and his diligence and determination is second to none. Not to mention that sex is different from fighting. He’s enjoying himself too much to worry about getting tired. Sometimes it’s actually a bit of a problem, and you end up having to beg him to stop. Even if he has to get up early for work the next day, he’ll gladly stay up all night fucking you. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Katsuki doesn’t own toys, and he doesn’t particularly like them either. He will refuse to ever let you use toys on him. There’s virtually no chance. Still, if there’s something you really want to do, he’ll try them out on you. Again, he wants to make you happy. If you’re super into toys in the bedroom, then he’ll make an effort to accommodate you. He just doesn’t want you to prefer toys over him. His ego wouldn’t be able to handle that. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can definitely tease quite a lot. He likes dirty talk. Nothing too foul, but definitely some filthy words here and there. He won’t ever degrade you to the point that he feels disgusted by the words coming out of his own mouth, though. He’s often mistaken for a shitty person, and he doesn’t want you to think that of him. If you reassure him ahead of time that you’re okay with him saying some more extreme things, then he’ll probably do it. He just doesn’t want to take things too far and upset you. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He isn’t extremely loud, but he’s not that quiet either. You’ll hear him biting back moans and gasping between grunts. He’s also very vocal when it comes to dirty talk, praising you for how beautiful you are and how good you make him feel, etc. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

There are times when he goes out of his way to make the moment more romantic (like using scented candles, booking a fancy hotel room, preparing a nice meal for you afterwards, etc.) and he always gets a little embarrassed, worried that you’ll think it’s dumb. Which, of course, you never do. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s above 6.5 inches long, close to 7, and impressively thick, too. When he gets excited, he’ll drip a lot of pre-cum, and his cock is just slightly curved upwards, which helps to hit that sweet spot inside of you. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Very high sex drive. He’s the type of person who isn’t particularly sexually driven until he gets into a relationship and has someone he cares about. But since he loves you, he’ll want to fuck you every day. Multiple times, if possible. He won’t ever pressure you into having sex with him and he knows to back off when you’re not in the mood, though. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He tries to stay awake for as long as he can, but realistically, he’s pretty quick to fall asleep. Especially at nighttime. He has an absurdly early bedtime, after all. He loves cuddling with you afterwards, though, so even if he falls asleep before you, you’ll always have a place in his arms. 

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[frownyalfred]

Do you think new league members ever get surprised by the built-in nepotism? Like Bruce being who he is like codified rules of hero title succession (like Dick taking Bruce's place as Batman and with it, all his founder status) or the Flash being a titled with a long history of being passed down. I mean, Bruce is even planning on Dick inherenting the league to become it's leader.

Do you think new members look at the member handbook, in the students, apprenticeship, partnerships, and sidekicks, and go "huh. That seems kinda... rigged??". Because honestly? If you're great, sure you can gain a lot of respect and power in the league but you'll never gain more power (from admin power to social power to beyond) then the founding members and founding membership can be inherited.

It's an interesting question. I can't speak to the canon responses very much, but I imagine it has a lot to do with people respecting the hell out of Dick Grayson/Nightwing and knowing he truly is the best leader to inherit Bruce's role. Batman's motivations in assigning that role to Dick isn't for some personal benefit, or a continued stake he wants to maintain in the League. He's not giving the position to Dick, essentially, to benefit himself or Dick -- he's giving it to Dick because he truly believes Dick is the best person to pick up the cowl after him. If he wasn't, I don't think we'd see Bruce handing off the League and Batman to someone who wasn't ready or wouldn't ever be ready.

I will also note that this 180 on nepotism is a very very new gen z phenomenon. I'm not saying I agree one way or another, so don't reblog saying frownyalfred says nepotism is okay. But also, we need to take a step back and realize that for a very long time in this country's history, nepotism, especially in "family" businesses, was damn near expected. Parents gave their kids their businesses when they wanted to retire. Dads hired their sons in their offices, etc etc. There were shades of nepotism, too -- giving a random son a title he didn't earn, versus hiring your accomplished son who just graduated top of his law school. It's not as clear cut as people online would like you to believe, that all nepotism is horrible, that all positions are unearned if they are given by family/friends, and that the worst thing in the world you could do is commit an act of nepotism and not, like, anything else more horrible. That's a tumblr/tiktok thing, which I feel I'm allowed to call out as a fellow member of gen z.

The Justice League isn't a business per se, but it is still something Bruce built and funds. So while we might see some mutterings about nepotism, yeah, I don't imagine anyone is going to get in Bruce's face and give him grief for giving his 1) highly qualified son a 2) position he trained for, for years that 3) Dick is ready to take when Bruce is done 4) in Bruce's own damn house (satellite).

Looking at hero succession through the lens of nepotism does the characters a disservice, I believe. We're applying a 2020's phenomenon (which is shedding important light on irl inequality and inequity, don't get me wrong) and ideas of "fairness" when the subjects are vigilantes and heroes.

And, disregarding everything I just said, the League itself does things by vote -- voting in Dick Grayson and having those checks/balances to Bruce's own goals is important, which is why he built them into the League itself. He can lobby the League, propose Dick, indicate his own preferences as a voting member, but if the entire Founders' table disagrees with him? His hands are kind of tied.

[mountttmase]

If I Lost You

Note - this fic was such a struggle for me but we’re here and we made it 😂 I know I haven’t uploaded in a really long time by my standards so I’d love to know what you guys think and also thank you to my besties for your help on this one, I couldn’t have done it without you 🩷

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 7k

Warnings - angst and fluff

There was nothing Mason hated more than traffic. Traffic coupled with a later than usual training session was even worse

He’d been sat pretty much stationary for around 20 minutes now, slowly moving every couple of minutes but he hadn’t made it far. Eventually turning his playlist over to the radio so he could listen out for traffic updates but the flashing blue lights up ahead let him know what was happening.

He was right in the thick of it, no option to turn around and go another way, but not close enough to the front to be able to get around it yet and when a few more police cars came up to join the scene he realised it must have been a bad crash.

So he did the only thing he could do and waited. His mind wandering off to far away places that he tried not to visit too often and once he realised he was starting to spiral he quickly switched the radio back over to his playlist so he could distract himself.

It was only around 15 minutes later he’s made it to the front of the line, watching the traffic warden wave a few cars forward at a time to drive into the oncoming lane to get round and soon enough it was his turn.

He knew he shouldn’t have, but there was something making him want to look at the scene as he drove by. Head turning to the left of him to see how bad it was and the sight before him shocked him to the core.

The car was on its side, bonet crushed from hitting a lamppost and he could tell the windows had been broken to get whoever was inside free but after a few seconds the realisation that something was wrong slapped him in the face.

He knew that car. It was yours.

It was the colour that alerted him first. That specific shade of light blue he’d only ever known you to have but as he looked closer he could tell it was the same make and model as yours too. The panic rising up his chest until he thought he might have been sick but the sound of beeping horns shocked him out of his trance.

He couldn’t sit and wait and let himself process anything, the traffic officer waving him forward but it was like he was having an out of body experience. He wanted to get out and find you, the urge to scream your name was on the tip of his tongue but he did as he was told and drove forward, leaving the scene of the crime behind him but he felt too weird to carry on too much longer and pulled into a side street so he could park up and sort himself out.

There wasn’t much he could do, you hadn’t spoken in months and the only other person the pair of you had in common would no doubt tear him a new one if he called asking after you and he also didn’t want to worry everyone if it was nothing. He still needed to do something though and In the end he decided to text you in hopes you’d get back to him soon and settle his mind. You always had your phone in your hand so he knew this was the easiest way to grab your attention and hopefully speak to you.

The rest of the drive home, albeit short, was a nightmare. He couldn’t concentrate on anything and was constantly messing up but he made it back in one piece. Running inside so he could turn the news on immediately, hoping for any sign of what had happened whilst he sat and panicked. Not being able to think about anything other than knowing you were okay.

This was hell, and he hated it. But the way he was feeling for you right now was mostly his own doing.

You’d met Mason a few years ago at the after party for the final of their euros. Your best friend's brother was Rashy and she’d invited you along to watch the final, and although it had ended in heartbreak there was a certain brown eyed boy you and the rest of the world couldn't seem to tear their eyes away from.

You knew it was over for you when he came over to console Marcus, seeing how genuinely kind and concerned he was for his friend made your heart thump and when the pair of you were finally introduced you didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered over you.

He couldn’t stick around too long, needing to get back to his family but you caught eyes a few times throughout the night and when you were at the bar alone he used that as his in to come and speak to you properly.

It was his smile that caught you first, but it was hard not to notice his big brown eyes and musical laugh. In the end standing and chatting until the night was pretty much over and you had to go your separate ways but he gave you his number and made you promise to message him as soon as possible.

You didn’t know what you were expecting from Mason, but what you got was a blossoming friendship and you were more than thankful he was in your life. With you living in Manchester and him in London it was hard to see each other, Mason constantly referring to you as pen pals but you took what you could with him. Going to watch him play at Wembley sometimes and seeing him in the summer or whenever he has some free time for a few days gave you something to look forward to and you loved getting to know him on a deeper level.

It was very much a will they won’t they type of relationship. As much as you adored Mason, you didn’t want things to change and you knew long distance would be hard until just over a year had passed and you decided to take the plunge. The pair of you in Greece with a big group of the other boys and their girlfriends and Mason confessed he hated the thought of maybe seeing you with someone else and was willing to put the work in for you if that’s what you wanted.

And you really did.

Being Mason's girlfriend was everything you thought it could be and more. He was still his cute charming self but you felt free being able to be with him in the way you’d secretly always wanted. Your first kiss being a little awkward but he kept you relaxed and let you go at your own pace. Kissing all over your face until you were ready to try again and now it seemed as if you couldn't get enough of him.

It did come with its own set of challenges though. Being away from each other a lot of the time took its toll and even though when you were together you always made it count, the goodbyes were getting harder and Mason couldn’t stand to see you cry everytime he had to leave again. Or your sad face on FaceTime when you spoke in the evenings when you were apart, wishing he could reach out and touch you but he was never able to give you the comfort he so desperately wanted to.

It was around March of 2023 when it all came crashing down. Mason had a lot on his plate with an injury that wouldn’t go away and Chelsea’s new owners not treating him the way he should have been. You could tell he was more down than usual and planned a trip to go stay with him for a week so he’d have someone to come home to and someone to cuddle after a long day but at first you felt like he didn’t want you there at all.

You still remember the night before he ended it all. It’s like he was back to your Mason for a bit as you made dinner and spoke on the sofa until the early hours until you went up to bed. It was like he held you extra tight that night and whilst you figured it was just because he’d missed you and he’d had a nice night you now wondered if there was more behind it. Maybe thinking he should hold you properly if it was the last time and then out of the blue, he turned your world upside down the next morning.

He tried to give you the usual spiel of it’s not you it’s me and you were about to cuss him out for being so ridiculous but one look at him and you could see how much he was struggling. Telling you he hated that he couldn’t give you what you needed at that it broke him seeing you so down when he already had so much on his plate. You knew he needed to lighten his load, you just hated that it was you that would be cut off.

You didn’t argue with him, it being clear that he couldn’t take it but you spent the rest of your day packing up your stuff into the early evening where he made you stay for one more night so you weren’t driving home in the dark.

You felt stupid, making sure he was okay even though you felt like you were dying inside but you loved Mason and even though this was hurting you more than you could possibly imagine, you kept on a brave face for him. Telling him you’d still be there if he needed you and not to hesitate calling if he needed someone to talk to.

Sleeping in the guest room that night hurt more than anything he’d said to you over the last 24 hours but you remember him coming into your room at around two am as your cries had kept him awake. Holding you and shushing you in hopes you’d get some sleep but it didn’t work and all you wanted was to go back in time and undo everything he’d said but you couldn’t. So you stayed awake and tried to remember what it felt like to hold him, what he smelt like and how his skin felt pressed up against yours.

‘Can we make a deal?’ He whispered all of a sudden and you nodded into his neck in hopes he’d feel it, knowing your voice wouldn’t hold up if you tried to speak. ‘I want you to live your life and forget about me, yeah? Like if you meet someone new I want you to go for it. But in five years time, if we’re both single, do you think we could try again?’

‘I’ll see’ you whispered, knowing he wasn’t happy with that answer by the way he kissed your hairline softly but he let it go. Knowing he didn’t have a leg to stand on after what he was putting you through.

You left the next morning early, him giving you an emotional goodbye on his doorstep but you were ready to go home and be on your own now. Mason asking if you could still be friends and if he could text you and you stupidly agreed before getting away as fast as you could but you only made it one street away before you had to stop for a big cry. Wanting to get it all out before you began your drive home and after 15 minutes you set off again. Your phone going off every so often but you ignored it until you were back in the comfort of your flat and when you saw they were all from Mason you felt sadder than you expected to.

You were curious as to what he’d deleted but you didn’t have the energy to ask so you sent him a quick reply telling him you were fine and going to sleep before taking yourself straight to bed. Too tired to be upset or over think anything and when you woke up the next morning things still hurt but you’d resigned to your fate of being his friend again.

A friend.

So you spoke here and there for a while and even though you were broken it was a fairly easy split. You remained civil and on good terms and it broke you to see how unfairly he was being treated on the field and with his whole contract saga. He kept going though like the Mason you knew and loved but when the news hit he’d had surgery it felt like your world had tumbled upside down.

You felt useless, wanting to help him as much as you could but he was so far away and you’d already used up all your holiday so you did your usual and let him phone you when he needed a chat.

Not too long after his surgery everything seemed to fizzle out. Nothing happened as such but your texts and calls came few and far between until there was nothing and when the news broke he was moving to Manchester you felt too awkward to text him. Not wanting to give the wrong impression that you expected something from him now so you left it so he could come to you.

He never did though.

You weren’t sure why he didn’t, but Mason had his own reasons. Not wanting to drag you back into the mess of his life and the fact you’d stopped messaging him made him think you were done with him and he didn’t have the heart to face your rejection no matter how much you were on his mind.

So he moved to Manchester and didn’t reach out, even though he thought about it everyday, and tried to rebuild his life without you. He was doing well but you were always there in the back of his mind, even thinking he’d seen you a few times and his tummy jumped each time before he realised it wasn’t you. He’d wanted to message you more than anything but he didn’t have the guts, even though you’d both promised to stay friends the messages had become so few and far between and now there was nothing.

As soon as Mason was inside he ran to the living room to put the news on, pausing the TV as soon as it showed the aftermath of the accident so he could get a better look before playing again to where it was panning past what he thought was your car. He managed to stop it at a point to be able to examine it more carefully and he could feel the nerves rippling through him.

Same colour, same make and model, same sticker on the back window with where the car came from, different number plate…

Different number plate.

Mason let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t you. Someone was clearly hurt and that wasn’t good but he couldn’t deny he felt lighter at the fact it wasn’t you who was in harm's way. Falling back into the cushions of his sofa so he could take a few breaths to steady himself.

You were okay.

He felt a little silly now, panicking so much when you were clearly fine but as the minutes wore on he managed to talk himself back into a frazzled state.

He didn’t know what it was, not being able to settle and focus on anything but you. Now you were back on his mind, all he could see was your pretty eyes and perfect smile.

He knew nothing about you anymore. The only piece of information left being the address of your old flat and now he was getting to know the area he knew you weren’t too far away. But he didn’t know if you were there anymore and if he did turn up whatever the chances you would even want to see him?

What if you’d moved on? Surely Rashy would have told him but Mason couldn't stand the thought of turning up at your house and a random guy being there. No doubt he’d be taller than him and funnier and be able to make all the time in the world for you and the thought of seeing you with someone who’s everything Mason isn’t made him miserable.

It was like there was an itch in his brain that he couldn’t scratch, not able to settle as his mind came out with random questions to make him doubt what he already knew. He decided against messaging Rashy, presuming he wouldn’t have much of an idea either and he didn’t want to start worrying everyone unnecessarily if there really was nothing wrong.

Maybe he read it wrong and it was your number plate? Or maybe you’d changed your number plate and it was you all along? Why hadn’t you answered his texts yet either? Was there an innocent explanation or had he missed something and it really was you that was hurt?

The only thing he did know was that he couldn’t stay in and drive himself insane. Eventually coming to the conclusion that a run would clear his head so he quickly changed into some shorts and a hoodie before setting off. No particular place or destination in mind, just the need to let off some steam and clear his mind.

When the rain started to fall he cursed under his breath. Too far away from home to turn around and avoid it and also not done with his run as he was still feeling on edge so he grit his teeth and carried on. Weaving in and out of streets until he started to recognise where he was a bit more.

Maybe it was just a coincidence he ended up here, like in the back of his mind this is where he needed to end up to finally put his mind at rest but as he stopped to get his breath just outside of your building he only felt worse.

Your car which you always parked in the same spot was nowhere to be seen, and the flat he knew to be yours had all of the lights off but the curtains were open. Like you’d been out and not made it home yet to shut them and he felt sick to his stomach at the thought.

‘No no no no no’ he whispered under his breath, not understanding where your car was and it seemed like only the worst possible outcome was the right one.

He knew it was a bad decision to come here but he’d done it anyway and now his mind was spiralling more than he thought possible.

He thought about going home but the need to see that you were fine with his own two eyes outweighed everything else and before he knew it he was running up the path and standing outside your front door with his hand poised to knock.

What am I supposed to say? He thought. I thought you were dead so I came to check you were alright? No, he couldn’t but he knocked before he had a chance to think of anything else. Waiting anxiously as he heard a few noises from behind the door but if you were there then you were taking forever to answer.

As soon as you opened the door he felt his body flood with relief. Your hair was pointing up in all different directions and he could clearly see the pillow marks on your cheek. A shocked and confused expression painted your features as you realised who was standing in front of you but he just felt his heart swell before his face crumpled as he tried to hold the tears back.

‘Mase? Mase what’s wrong?’ You asked, reaching forward to touch him in some way but you second guessed yourself before you got there. Not knowing if he wanted you to touch him but he looked distraught so you pushed your thoughts to the side and pulled him into the doorway. ‘Mase, you’re soaked. Come inside, it’s okay’

‘I’m sorry’ he told you, his voice wobbling as you shut the door and the feeling of warmth engulfed him immediately. He felt self here.

This feels like home, he thought. The place was unchanged from when he was last here and he stood awkwardly in the hall as you shut the door before leading him into the living room just around the corner.

‘Sorry, you've caught me at a bit of a bad time’ you laughed as you tidied the blankets off of the sofa and reset the cushions so you both had a place to sit. Flustered that he’d turned up so randomly and in the back of your mind you wondered if it might have happened one day but you chalked it off as being a silly daydream in the end.

‘Danger nap?’ He asked and you felt your face flush at the way he’d caught on so quickly. ‘Don’t worry, I remember them well’

‘Well I’ve been having them a bit more frequently since I’ve got no one to tell me off anymore’ you joked but you saw his face drop ever so slightly. ‘Take a seat, you want a drink or anything?’

‘I’m fine, thanks’

‘You sure? I’ll get you a tea you look like you need warming up’ you told him softly before scurrying over to the kitchen and he felt his chest warm with how kind you were to him. Hearing the kettle flick down before you came back to close the curtains and then run over to the cupboard under the stairs. ‘Take your hoodie off Mase, you’ll catch a chill. I’ve got you a towel and I’ll turn the heating up’

‘Sorry, this is probably the last thing you needed tonight’ he sighed, grabbing the towel to run over his hair once he’d taken his hoodie off but the shoulders of his top were still wet and now he was sitting here waiting for you he felt silly.

‘No don’t worry about that, I know we haven’t spoken for a while but I always said I’m here if you need me’ you told him shyly. Sitting down next to him so you could place his tea on the table before sending him a reassuring smile

‘I know’ he huffed. ‘I just feel a bit dramatic now that’s all’ he told you, trying to laugh it off but you knew him and you knew something was on his mind.

‘What’s going on? Why are you here?’ You pushed gently, trying to get him to open up a little bit more and when his eyes fell to his lap you weren’t sure if he was about to tell you or not. Thankfully he did after a few moments but you weren’t prepared for the words that were about to tumble from his lips.

‘There’s um… well there’s been this big accident on the main road out of Manchester. It’s all over the news and I was stuck in traffic for like 45 minutes until I could get round it’ he told you but you were unsure as to why he was updating you on the traffic when you’d asked what he was so upset about.

‘Okay?’

‘The car that crashed… well I thought it was yours’ he told you, his voice wobbling at the end and you felt your heart shatter as you realised what was wrong now. ‘It’s the same colour and make and everything and I… well I was out of my mind worrying that… i don’t know that you were hurt or something-‘

‘Oh Mase’ you breathed, cutting him off as his voice got more and more emotional and all you wanted was to pull him into a hug but you weren’t sure if that was what he wanted. In the end you just reached for his hand and you were surprised at how tightly he gripped onto you.

‘Sorry I bet I sound insane’ he laughed, wiping his eyes with his free hand and you felt your heart break for him.

‘No no it’s okay’ you reassured him, placing your other around your already clasped ones. Hoping he’d keep on talking but you let him take his time as he was clearly overwhelmed and upset by everything that had happened tonight.

‘It was on the news and I saw it wasn’t your number plate so I thought you were fine but then i managed to talk myself out of thinking that and I tried to text you, but i didn’t hear anything back but I guess you were asleep’ he smiled, squeezing your hand gently and you smiled sadly back at him.

‘I never got a text from you, I don’t think I did anyway’ you told him. ‘I was only asleep for like ten minutes. I did see some texts but it was a number I didn’t recognise and I thought it was a scam thing so I didn’t bother looking properly cause the number wasn’t saved’

‘A scam?’

‘Yeah I keep getting those texts like Evri has your parcel but it’s damaged and the details are lost. Please send your address, bank details and blood type so we can attempt a redelivery’ you joked and you felt your tummy flip when he let out a little laugh.

‘No it’s my fault, my personal number got leaked a little while back and when I moved up here I thought it would be a good idea to get a new number. I texted most people but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me so I just kept your number in my contacts. I completely forgot you wouldn’t have it saved’

‘You know that makes a lot of sense actually’ you smiled, watching his eyebrows pinch together in confusion and you thought his expression was adorable. ‘I sort of texted you last week. You know, after your goal? I didn’t hear back from you’

‘Shit, I’m so sorry’ he sighed, his free hand dragging down his face and you could tell he was annoyed with himself as he rolled his eyes.

‘No it’s alright-‘

‘No cause you probably thought I was ignoring you and I wasn’t’ he told you, almost pleading with you to make you believe him but you already did and when you sent him a soft smile he let out a big sigh he’d been holding in. ‘Where’s your car? It's not parked out the front?’

‘Chrissy upstairs moved out and I was next on the list for a spot in the underground car park so I park it down there now’ you explained, releasing how shaken he must have been and still was to know you might have been hurt and when one of your hands let go to touch his shoulder, his eyes snapped up to yours. ‘Are you alright, mase?’

‘No’ he whispered quietly, his glossy eyes looking back down to his lap and as much as you wanted to push him you also didn’t want to scare him off so you sat waited for him to come clean and tell you what was going on in his head. ‘I know it’s stupid but like… I realised if I lost you then… well it felt like my world was ending in all honesty’ he confessed, laughing slightly but you could tell there was no humour in it l. ‘I know that’s dramatic but all I could think about was everything I’d never told you, all the things I’d never be able to say to you again, you know? Never be able to hold you or kiss you…’

‘Kiss me?’ You whispered. Unsure as to why he’d said that at the end as you’d been broken up for almost a year now but you couldn’t deny his confession made your heart jump. If truth be told it hurt more than you thought it would when he didn’t reply to you a week ago and seeing him so heartbroken on your doorsteps just now was a shock. But the words falling from his lips right now were even more of a shock.

‘Sorry’ he mumbled, his voice thick with tears as he shook his head but you didn’t want him to shut down on you now. You wanted him to keep talking, to see if he’d say the things you’d been waiting a year for him to admit so you carried on stroking his skin and letting him get himself together.

‘No no it’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting it’ you laughed, looking up at him to thankfully looking back at you with a small smile on his face. ‘Now’s your chance Mase, what do you wanna tell me’ you whispered, wondering if he’d say anything at all but ever the unexpected he said the last thing you thought he would.

‘I love you’ he whispered instantly. The words sending a tingle down your spine and you almost lost your breath. ‘I’m still so fucking in love with you and the though of you not being around anymore hurt more than I could tell you. Not that I’ve tried, but I can’t love anyone else like I loved you. Like I still love you, y/n’

‘Mase-‘

‘I know it’s been a while and you won’t feel the same but-‘

‘Mase stop’ you whispered, your eyes stinging at the thought of what he might be doing but the sincerity in his eyes kept a spark of hope alive. ‘Are you sure? I think you’re in shock a bit, you may want this now but what about in a month's time? Or two? I can’t go through feeling like that again’

‘I’m sure, i promise’ he nodded, dropping his eyes to his lap before taking a deep breath and you knew he had more to say. ‘I know we said if we were both single in five years we’d come back to each other but that’s too far away for me and I don’t wanna give anyone else the opportunity to have you. People like us, we’re meant to meet in a few years time when we both know who we are and what we want for ourselves but I don’t wanna do that. I want us to work through it all and grow together, you know?’

‘Mase-’

‘I pushed you away when I should have held onto you tighter. I think about you… all the fucking time and I can’t be without you’ he sniffled. ‘I know it’s incredibly selfish of me but I don’t want you to be just a chapter in my life when you’re the whole damn book baby’

You couldn’t help but laugh at his last line, your chuckles seeming to break the tension a little bit as he smiled at you and you could feel your heart in your throat at all the sweet words he’d spilled to you tonight.

‘Sorry I know it’s a lot but I just needed you to know’

‘Well thank you, and you know I care about you so much Mase-‘

‘Oh’ he sighed, trying to remove his hand from yours as you hadn’t told you him loved him back and he felt a bit embarrassed but that wasn’t your intention.

‘No Mase, wait I just… look it’s a lot to think about’ you laughed, squeezing his hand tighter so he couldn’t move away. ‘Just give me some time to take it in, yeah?’

‘Sorry’

‘No please don’t be sorry’ you told him before a quietness settled over you for a moment. Not really sure what you were wanting to say and knowing Mason had said enough for a lifetime tonight so you went back to what you thought you did best. Looking after him. ‘Listen, have you eaten? I’ve got a pasta bake to put in the oven and you know I always cook for about five people’

‘I haven’t eaten’ he laughed ‘Too busy worrying that you'd been flattened’ he joked, rolling his eyes and you couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh at his attempt at humour.

‘Well let me make us something to eat, And we can hang out a bit and catch up, yeah?’ You asked hopefully and thankfully he nodded in agreement.

So you made the pair of you some dinner before getting settled on the sofa. Keeping the tv volume on minimum so you could talk and it was like having the Mason you fell for back with you. But your heart broke even further when he explained to you how hard the last year had been for him, from being sold to the constant injuries and feeling pretty lonely up here some nights when it was just him and his family and friends had to go home.

Soon enough your plates had been discarded to the coffee table as it was your turn to open up. Not that you had as much to say but he was interested all the same in hearing about your life and getting up to date with all the people you used to talk about together. Updating him on your job and all the changes that had been made before he commented on how even with all the changes your flat was still the same and it made him feel happy.

‘Hey Mase?’ You asked quietly when you saw him try to suppress a yawn and you knew he’d realised you’d seen when the bridge of his nose turned red like you used to love.

‘Yeah?’

‘Do you wanna stay here tonight?’ You asked, his eyebrows shooting up in shock as he clearly hadn’t expected you to ask anything like that but now you had him back here you didn’t want to let him go.

‘W-what?’ He mumbled, scratching the back of his head like he did whenever he got nervous but you send him a reassuring smile in hopes that would help.

‘I mean you don’t have to, but it’s late now and I won’t be having you walking home or paying for an Uber. Unless you want me to drive you home-‘

‘No you can’t drive me, I don’t want you driving back on your own’ he argued back but you were both smiling so you let out a little laugh before being a bit firmer with him.

‘So you’ll stay then? And I’ll drop you home on my way to work?’

‘I think that could work’ he nodded but you knew he was shy about it even though he had no need to be.

‘Okay perfect’

‘Do you still keep that blanket in the cupboard?’ He asked and you felt a wave of disappointment flood you.

‘Oh I um…’ you trailed off, realising he’d got the wrong end of the stick and you knew you needed to set him straight no matter how awkward it might get.

‘What’s up?’

‘Well I thought you might want to sleep in my bed? You know like… with me?’ You explained, his face a mask of shock as the words left your lips but you knew you needed to put the idea out there.

‘Oh’

‘Sorry I’m being silly’

‘No I want to, I just didn’t wanna push it you know? I wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted’

‘I do’ you smiled. Holding your hand out for him to take and you felt your heart give a squeeze and he gently took it in his. ‘And I think it might be what you need’

‘I think so too,’ he laughed. A shy look on his face as you walked him through and into your bedroom and once you were inside you sent him a reassuring smile. ‘Get in, I’m just gonna use the bathroom and I’ll be with you’

You left him to sort himself out, quickly applying your skincare and trying to keep calm before returning to your room. Seeing Mason was already in bed and that he was still in his T-shirt but he’d stripped down to his boxers on the bottom half and you caught a cheeky flash of his thighs as you lifted the covers up.

You knew what you wanted, and what he probably wanted too so when you got yourself under the covers you turned away from him as you shuffled up close. Your back against his chest before taking his arm so you could wrap it around your body and you could tell from how stiff he was that he wasn’t expecting it but it only took a second for him to settle down and nuzzle into your neck.

‘I don’t think I need to wait until the morning’ you suddenly heard him whisper after a few moments and you felt your heart begin to pound. ‘I never ended things with you because I didn’t like you or I didn’t see us going anywhere. It was more that I didn't like myself. You’ve been the right person for me this whole time and I knew it long before we were friends, like it had always been my plan to make you mine and then when I finally got you I let you go’

‘Well you know what they say, Mase’ you whispered, holding him to you tighter and you felt him lightly kiss your shoulder. ‘If you love something you should set it free. And if it’s yours it’ll come back’

‘Will you come back to me then?’ He asked, his voice sounding more vulnerable than he intended it to. ‘Cause I’ll always come back to you’

‘I think we can work something out’ you whispered and you felt him stiffen before moving back so he could roll you over to face him. His eyes wide and glossy as he looked at you and you could tell you’d taken him by surprise.

‘Really? You’d wanna try again?’ He asked. Lip wobbling and it all became too much for him so you reached out to stroke his cheek and catch a few of the stray tears.

‘It just wasn’t our time back then, Mase. I get that now and yeah it sucked but if it’s really what you want then it’s what I’ve wanted since things ended’ you told him softly. Kissing the end of his nose as he shut his eyes softly. ‘I’ve been yours from the second you looked at me’

‘I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want this, or if you were seeing someone else’

‘Well lucky for you, you don’t have to worry about any of that’ you told him and you didn’t miss the look of relief on his face. ‘Things will be easier now we're closer okay? We can see each other more and all the things that drove us apart won’t be a problem’

‘You really think it’ll be that simple?’ He whispered, the hope in his eyes made you want to reassure him even further.

‘I think so, yeah. You said earlier you still loved me right?’

‘I did’ he laughed, not meeting your eyes as he blushed and you thought he was the most adorable thing you’d ever seen.

‘I still love you too’ you whispered, so quietly you thought he might now have heard you but from his reaction you knew he did. Letting out a shuddery breath before he hid his face. Giving you room to kiss all over his cheek until he had the courage to look at you again. ‘Shall we go to sleep?’ You offered, noticing how exhausted he was after a long evening and once he’d nodded you turned back onto your side and let him hold you close. Smiling at the way he was kissing your shoulder softly and nuzzled into your neck.

‘Hey Mase? Can I ask you something before we go to sleep?’

‘Anything’ he whispered, and the sound of his voice made your heart jump. Knowing he really would answer absolutely answer anything you asked him and this was something that had been plaguing your mind for a year.

‘That day I left to come home and you texted me the whole way, what did the message say that you deleted?’

You felt him let out a small chuckle, squeezing you a little before huffing and you knew it was something he probably never wanted to admit. You didn’t want to push him if that was the case but after a moment you felt his lips on your shoulder again as he began to speak.

‘It said, I think I’ve made a mistake. Can you come back and we’ll talk’ he told you quietly and you felt your heart pound at his confession. ‘I gave it ten minutes and said to myself if you hadn’t replied in that time then it wasn’t meant to be’

‘Mase’ you whispered, your eyes full of tears as a wave of regret from not checking your phone washed over you but he was quick to reassure you everything was fine.

‘It's okay, I’m glad you missed it’ he laughed. ‘It would have only made things worse probably. I needed that time to go through whatever was going on and realise how much I actually need you. Cause I really do’

‘I’m here’ you mumbled, turning you head to look at him and his whole face lit up as he looked down at you.

‘So am I. And I’m never going anywhere again okay?’

‘Me too’ you told him firmly before he finally lent down and placed the softest kiss to your lips. A feeling you’d waited almost a year for and when he pulled back to look at you, you almost felt disappointed but you could tell he was greedy for seconds. Diving right back in but with a bit more force this time and you let him do as he wished thankful the universe had brought him back to you.

[fatesundress]

⭑ life of the party. tom riddle x reader

summary. when one game is ruined, another begins.

tags. explicitly fem afab reader, smut with as minimal plot as i can physically allow myself, minors SCRAMMM, loosely implied hogwarts university au as always, flirting via mutually assured jealousy, impeccable communication skills, established relationship, the guy the reader is talking to gets annoyed she doesn’t want him but he doesn’t do anything, religious undertones that might have accidentally become overtones, party setting (background drinking & general degeneracy), probably the meanest tom i’ll ever write and i still tried making him nice because lots of heavy jealousy tropes are misogynistic icks fo me, fingering, piv, a little degradation but that's life, fawwwk the weeknd but the song this is based on is so sexy, etc

note. Me writing this: nightguard: ON, religious themes: RIFE, shame: ABOUNDING. i am so embarrassed by this. have i mentioned smut doesn’t come naturally to me? i don’t even know how i got here. i’m on heelys at the proverbial skatepark and everyone else apprenticed under tony hawk. Do you understand? ok.

word count. 4.5k

request. yes!

He is what he is. Stoic, sacred, silent and then verbose. You knew he had his fixations before you knew him at all — no one made top of every class without a shadow of obsession to contrast the glint of their excellence — but you could not anticipate how that obsession might translate when applied to a person. You’re not sure he had either.

He is what he is. The muggle world taught him religion and in it he learned only the tenor of devotion. When his fingers take your jaw, trace slow at the stripes of your thighs, steady your hips from under you and hold tight, there’s reverence in it. His kisses don’t wane with the months gone by; they soften with purpose. They rouse with hunger. His eyes don’t waver. Should a good man gaze upon his altar? Should he smile like sin when he gets on his knees? 

He does.

Tom Riddle is what he is and you solemnise in equal part.

You don’t come to these things often, taken aback by the sight of the Slytherin common room in ribbons and banners tattered within the first hour of the night. Bottles glow green in the lake-light on every available surface, scattered about the place and spilled in sticky puddles. 

You’re a wallflower tonight, though not for lack of options. You observe from a comfortable distance the drunken antics of new adults, free to carry their liquor in hand rather than hidden away in pockets and pillowcases. There’s something vaguely entertaining about it, intoxicating where someone else might mind their business and actually get intoxicated, but you see no harm done. Whispers fall on your ears before the rumours make their rounds, couples slink away in the darkness where someone in the crowd might not notice, and the night’s first instance of someone hurrying up the stairs in tears comes barrelling right past you. You invent a story for why to keep yourself busy. 

It’s all just buzz.

Now, if you don’t come often, he certainly doesn’t.

Tonight, he has, and for reasons explicable but few, you’ve found yourselves on opposite sides of the room.

It began on the green couch by the window with a chess set spilled across the velvet — a bet you made with him upon arrival; you find wizard’s chess trite, Tom finds it feckless, but it makes for a good challenge. 

What else could convince a man so perpetually controlled to pour himself a drink? And you imagine, from his perspective: what else could convince a woman so determined to outwit him?

It’s for no nefarious reason — to slight him or see him stumble — but because you love the fractions of relief that colour him, soften him, temper him. It’s because he loves you in every shade, in every pliancy, in each and every fervour. But mostly it’s because you love kindly to best him, and he loves mirthfully to best you.

So you play. The game is slow and teasing, hard to see in the ripples of the lake, and toppled over in the final moves (which you’ll insist you were winning) by the same swaying body that spills its drink down the front of your dress. And so you’re up, brushing your index finger over the corner of Tom’s sudden scowl. You whisper like a joke not to kill anyone but he’s so quick to look like he might that you consider repeating yourself with more conviction.

You poke at the spot where his jaw is tense. “I’ll be right back.”

Drying liquor from lace is a matter of precision even with magic, and this is half-gelatinous like someone raided the kitchen’s supply of jelly and steeped it in something offensively alcoholic. You utilise the clearer light of the Slytherin girl’s lavatory, wetting your dress before evaporating the water from it. There’s the matter then of transforming the stained fabric back to its original colour, and you huff in the mirror at having a game you thought you didn’t care much for ruined so close to its end.

You care about Tom, though. The omphalos of your issue resides there.

(It is fair to say most of your issues reside there.)

With only minutes gone by, the common room crowd looks doubled when you return, and though you wade through you’re pushed back like debris caught in a tide, the bodies more stubborn rubble than you. So you retreat, stand flush at the wall with your arms crossed, and wait for Tom’s eyes to land on yours. To, perhaps, open your mind and let him in, tell him exhaustedly from afar that the game is at rest and you’re ready to leave.

But even he’s hard to find in the bodies unified in breath, flux like a big set of lungs —  and nothing about Tom blurs into the background.

So you wait. You wallflower. You pour yourself a drink.

The moment stretches on longer than anticipated, and after many detached observations of the room, someone else finds you instead. He’s tall, blond to Tom's inkwell black, kissed by summer sun even as autumn soothes its blister. Your gaze wavers back to him a few times though his own is uncertain for all its focus. He seems to be waiting for you to stop, perhaps for the silhouette of someone else to slip by and prove you were looking at them instead. When no one else comes, he traverses the crowd with a straightened inch of pride, stepping through new colours until he’s close enough to you that the light settles emerald-black and you can see the great chasm of his beauty up close. 

His freckles are carefully dusted, his structure strong, all squarish, rugged lines and shades of August.

The chasm is not a lack of allure, per se, it’s just a lack of him. One man’s August to your adherent’s December, the intention of his warmth, a thing that does not come to him like everything else but that he makes and makes and mends when it lapses because he does not want to see you cold. The singular reward of a rarity like that.

“Hi," you say, glancing over a broad shoulder.

“Evening," he responds. He takes you in with a look of (unappreciated) appreciation. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, we haven’t.”

He extends a hand. “Oliver Belby.”

“Pleasure.”

You don't offer much in the way of conversation. He’ll vie for your attention regardless of how much of it you offer. So you lean against the wall where the buzz of sound prickles your hair, let him talk, let his hand come up to rest beside your head, and you find Tom.

He’s right where you left him, a new clearing in the crowd making space for your eyes to meet.

His are ice even at a distance. As if you proselytise — as if you could — kneel for another man or let one kneel before you, all of your trysts together faithless.

They aren’t. He must know they aren’t.

But you put yourself here and standing at the target of his gaze has never been marred by the severity of it.

You decide then; when one game is ruined, another begins.

In truth, you can’t deny the element of theatrics in the way Tom denies everyone but you: his soft, penitent smile, the apologetic cant of his head, how his eyes can find you in any crowd and whoever is clinging onto his every word that night will follow his gaze and deflate when they discover you at the end of it. Sometimes it’s harsh. Final. He lacks the patience of pretence. 

Sometimes, the week is dull. Sometimes, the whoever is undeterred. Sometimes you’ve pushed him here. 

No — You’ve never done that before. This is new.

So it’s one of those weeks, and one of those whoevers, on an anomaly you may as well have directed the encounter yourself, and Tom is half-indulgent as he forces his eyes away and you force yours to stay. 

You watch him from across the room as the woman drapes herself across the arm of his chair. There's a furious blush on her cheeks even in the dark, a pretty disarray to her shoulder-length hair, skirts pleated over knees she faces toward him. She smiles and offers him a glass of something, and you know for certain Tom understands this game because he accepts it, eyes flicking back to you as he swirls the glass in contest. 

To that you take an inappreciable sip of your own.

“ — Which is why no one has even attempted to kill one in decades. And capturing one is another thing entirely. My mother works with the Greeks on occasion, and the nearest she came to a den was in the twenties. If she had gone any nearer I wouldn’t be here.”

“Hm?” You look back at the man in front of you. His lips glisten with having licked them between every phrase.

“The manticores,” he says, undeterred.

“Right. Five-X beasts, aren’t they?”

“That’s what I said. I heard from one of my mother’s colleagues that — ”

The woman is whispering something in Tom’s ear, her hair on his cheek. He’s looking at you as if you had said the words. You don't shy away when Oliver leans in to whisper too. It's a strange, fractured language. Too intimate while too detached. Whispers from across the room, desire from another in the place of desire for each other. But the strangeness should not surprise you anymore. This is Tom: beautiful and wicked and the one you chose.

“ — And Nundus are worse. Deadliest creature there is — ”

She’s laughing about something, the woman. Half-reserved, she’s angled toward the party despite her leaning on his shoulder and the dissipating inches of distance.

“ — They stalk in silence. Think of the size of one, right? They’re apex predators… so commanding and still they could be in front of you one instant and gone the next.”

You engage with detached interest. “Really?”

And now Oliver barricades your view, his other hand coming to rest on your other shoulder.

“Do we have any classes together?”

You blink up at him. “No.”

“No, right,” he says, eyes darting to your lips. “I’d remember you.” 

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you wonder if for some men one-sided discussions of class five beasts qualify as foreplay.

You place a hand on his chest, eyebrows raised and half a startled smile curled. 

“You’re not going to kiss me," you inform him.

His face falls, but with it, at least, does his hand.

“Did you hear me?"

“It’s loud,” he decides suddenly. “Can we go somewhere else?”

You’re not sure you believe that. 

You duck under an arm and search the crowd again. The woman is on the arm of the chair looking thoroughly dismayed, and for good reason —

Tom is gone. 

Your breath is caught.

“This isn’t… You’re not going to…?”

You flash Oliver with a glare. “So you did hear me.”

He makes a pathetically sad face, and you think: it’s a wonder he made it this far when his courtship evidently hinges on the subject of his affection not listening to a word out of his mouth.

“Goodnight, Oliver,” you say tersely.

“What was that for, then?” he asks, and it comes out practically whined.

“That was talking.”

“But you’re —”

“Belby.”

He is what he is. It shouldn’t surprise you when he appears beside you all fatal rage on a quiet lead, narrowly fixed to you. 

Tom’s cold is his median temperature, yes, but in moments like this it’s as much for you as his handmade warmth. He’d pluck the fingers off a boy like Oliver. The digits would string eaves like icicles.

Oliver is looking between you and Tom like something terrible has dawned on him, hands urged to his pockets to soothe the flames your unveiled ties to a man seemingly singed him with.

“Riddle — Mate, I didn’t… I didn’t know she was…”

Tom’s voice is flat, edged with something that makes his monotony sound merciful. “Pity. If only you knew as much as you talked.”

Oliver’s mouth opens and closes and opens again, but wisely he settles on silence instead of excuses, and wastes no time fleeing slowly into the crowd. 

The instant he's stolen by the wave Tom's eyes are on yours and they’re molten. You move to say something but his patience was for show — he’s dragging you by the arm out of the common room and into one of the dungeon's empty classrooms without giving you the chance.

“Tom —" You start to protest, mouth twisted in a scowl. “Tom, you're being —"

He shuts the door behind you and locks it with such delicacy your breath catches at the question of how badly he's holding himself back right now.

“I'm being what?"

“You're…" It's hard to formulate an answer when he's like this. “It was a game. Don’t pretend you weren’t playing too."

Tom inches in, chest rising with angry breaths. “A game, was it? Did he know that?"

“Did she?” you hiss.

“It certainly became apparent when she was discarded so that I might retrieve you.”

“It was as apparent to Belby, judging by the way he was left gawking.”

“And with great restraint I let him. A mercy I didn’t take his eyes so he was left without the ability.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, now I understand; the problem wasn’t the game, it’s that I played it better than you.”

He looks at you for a long time before casting a silencing charm on the room.

Oh.

Oh — your heart barrels off somewhere. You’re without it for a moment, breathless in the wake of the implication of a spell like that.

“Tom," you say politically, “It was hardly a matter of rescuing.”

He nods imperceptibly. “No, it wasn’t.”

“So we’re in agreement.”

He hums a non-answer.

Each step he takes forward, you take back. It's a peculiar way to have a conversation, but part of the game, you suppose.

Interesting he’s still playing.

You still gasp when you inevitably hit the wall, hands going to the carved edge of a windowsill.

“You’re terrible when you win,” he whispers. His lips brush your ear.

You shudder, mouth dry as you press against his shoulder. “You’re worse when you lose.”

His mouth drags down your jaw but he refuses to kiss you, still withholding something, still holding back in some terrible, electrifying way. Instead one of his hands starts to dip down your side. You shiver as he grazes the skin of your breast, exposed by the cut of your dress, and continues down your waist. His mouth traces your bare shoulder as his tongue makes a slow pass, skin beneath leaping at his careful ministrations.

With long, slender fingers he's pulling your dress off button by button, torturously slow, and you feel mocked to have cleaned it earlier. You feel foolish to have left knowing the night would have ended like this regardless.

“Tom,” you say. His name is followed by staggered breaths. Your fingers are clutching the windowsill.

The air is thick as he watches you, flesh exposed by each undone catch. And still he will not kiss you, even as his lips trail along your collarbone and you start to tug instinctively at his belt. He makes the barest sound of disapproval and spins you to face the window, your hands urged on instinct to press against the glass.

“Tom...”

He hikes your dress up your thighs. It clings to your hips, a meagre two buttons left attached to keep it from falling.

Your wand clatters as his fingers work the clasp of your bra and his teeth skim your shoulder, leaving little bites he laves at softly with his tongue. You shudder, arching into him, searching for friction. His touch traverses the shape of you and stops feather-light between your legs.

“Tom —”

“Quiet," he admonishes, a little tut.

Your skin jumps at the caress of his fingers tracing deceptively timid up your thighs, like he hasn’t done this before, like it’s care and not punishment. His favourite oxymoron: the gentlest torture, the cruelest succour.

His index draws upon the lace of your underwear and tugs it aside with a tenderness that makes you gasp. Is there a way to press harder to the glass without breaking it? Is there ever enough to grab onto when he gets like this — so singularly focused on ruining you? 

One of your hands latches onto the arm half-disappeared in your skirts instead, clinging steadfast to the white of its sleeve, your body swaying as if at sea. He keeps you steady, but this is his crown achievement: that he is all there is that can do it when you’re so singularly focused on being ruined by him.

The sinews of his forearm work imperceptibly under your fingers as he appreciates the newly unfettered flesh, two digits sliding between your legs, and he makes a satisfied sound against your shoulder at the wetness he finds there. 

You’re swallowing air with a moan stuck in your throat; too dry, you realise, and feel like you’re choking when he starts to move, gripping his arm somehow tighter.

As a rule, you know how much he loves this, but it’s tenfold under his jealousy and you think deliriously, probably wrongly, that for how much he enjoys pushing you you enjoy pushing him to get here. You’re his and he’s yours, there’s no doubt in it — but what he can reduce you to — this desperate creature, writhing and panting, trying in vain to satiate herself with a simple finger — this is the translation; the fruition of his fixations put to a person rather than a subject. This is what it is to be his.

Tom’s mouth opens in a smile at your throat, and there it feels more like bared teeth, a smile that is as animal as it is pretty. 

And still he whispers with all the affection of a lover, your name peppered between kisses.

His fingers inch inside you and curl. You’re wedged in the perfect balance of his discrepancy; your disciple and your devil. He worships you in white. He ruins you in it too.

Now his name comes out in a babble, wet, half-drooled. A nip pinches the little space beneath your ear and you clutch impossibly harder to his wrist, your free hand squeaking down the window pane as you grind on his palm. He crooks his fingers against a spot that has you seeing stars, thumb pressed to your clit in a subtle motion, and you feel yourself tip off into an unknown he aquaints you with often. In a blurry, flickering moment, the light gleams somewhere beyond the stained hues of the window. And that should be it. The edge is at your heels and you should be falling. But the sinful press of him at your back commands you to lurch against him, and when you moan for more he pulls his fingers free.

You stumble weakly into his chest, startled.

“What… What?”

“Ask me for it,” he says, his voice hoarse, markedly wanton in spite of himself. But there is hunger and there is greed. There’s a sacrificial lamb and there’s a hunted one— there’s religion and there’s Tom. He invents something that demands greater devotion.

And the sound of leather rasping serge and metal clinking metal reels your conscience in. There are no stars. There’s just him. His belt is coming undone.

“Tom.” You swallow. “I told you —”

“And I want you to ask.” He cups your jaw in his hand, thumb tracing your lower lip. “Nicely.”

Your mouth opens for him and you shiver, pressing further back for contact he doesn’t allow. Instead another small tut is whispered at your neck, relinquished to a kiss.

His finger brushes your teeth when you speak. “I want you.”

You feel him shake his head and you all but whine.

“I want you inside, Tom — need you — please.”

“Please?” he echoes mockingly.

“Please,” you say in an uneven voice, and when your tongue grazes his thumb he eases it further into your mouth with an appeased hum.

And so his zipper comes down and you hold your breath with the weight of your dress at your hips.

He pushes inside you with minimal pause, slow still, to relish the way your little pants hitch, stop, and shudder out in a broken moan; the way your breath is guided by his rhythm, how you’re shaped by him, fitted around him. You careen forward and your palms flatten on the window, trembling at the first thrust. Your fingers quiver down the glass.

Tom pulls you into him on the second, patience abandoned. His lips chase your pulse. His grip on your jaw tightens as his thumb pops free with a string of spit. He nudges deeper at a new angle, your body forced as far as it can lean back, gasping heavenward when your head falls helplessly onto his shoulder.

It’s profane. Your ears almost dull to the sound of his hips snapping against yours, the obscenity of your skin on what he offers of his, but you waver between earth and something else, brought back to him by the torturous sight of the edge he stole you from. Always brought back to him. 

He’s gripping your jaw in one hand as he pushes deeper, and your fingers are lost for purchase on his forearms, trembling to hold onto something.

When he pulls out of you at your brink again, you practically cry out. But you understand when he spins you around again, hiking you up against the windowsill, your shoulders hitting the cool glass with a gasp you barely register in the fog of your desperation. His eyes are dilated to midnight rings. The weight of his desire is frightening. The insistence to claim you better yet.

He wastes no time before slamming into you again, pausing at the hilt to watch your eyebrows wrench together before resuming his pace. When your mouth falls open, he swallows the noise that tries to come out of it.

It doesn’t feel like a kiss. It feels like the prolusion to a bite.

His fervour is all the reminder of how you got here in the first place; the teeth, the force, the grip on your waist. There’s a rough sound he makes in your mouth that you taste more than you hear. The vibration of him is everywhere. You’re too hot and it only occurs to you because your fingers are clawing at fabric instead of skin that he’s fully dressed and your last button has finally snapped, lace pooled on the classroom floor as he fucks you. The thought is consigned to oblivion as quickly as it came. It doesn't matter.

You're clutching at his shoulders, the nape of his neck — trying to kiss him back, but you feel torn in two by the intensity of his ministrations, a low, immolating pressure building in your abdomen. He’s proving something with you, and his is a relentless, unending appetite. You don't really stand a chance. You think you've known that from the start.

Tom is all-consuming. Tom is a force of nature, a whirlwind that sweeps over you. He leaves you breathless and somehow needing more as he wraps his hand around the small of your back and seizes you in place.

Still you find yourself wanting to be held tighter.

“T-Tom —" you sob through the kiss but he doesn't give you enough air to do it. He pushes harder, a rasp at the back of his throat, some carnal thing. He’s not withholding your release now; he’s spurring you towards it.

When he withdraws his lips from yours, his brows are furrowed in concentration. There’s a fine lustre of sweat on his forehead, stray curls pulled across dark, wicked eyes. The sight of him alone is condemnable, but it isn’t for you.

He likes to watch you like this. When your moans dissolve to the torn syllable of his name, again and again. The veneration. Your choked litanies.

You give them to him.

Sleeves drawn up by your body’s baser instinct for skin, you’ve carved a canvas of praise into his arms, marked up to his elbows where your fingers had jerked upward to rake at his back. This time, when you find the cliffside, nothing stops you from teetering off its edge. Flames dance across your skin in an explosion, your collar damp and bitten, your waist in Tom’s vice-like grip. One hard thrust and you’re falling.

The stars are blinding. You decide then they were made by him.

Your head lulls back as shocks of pleasure course through your body, the coil snapped, the hard shape of him inside you demanding impossibly for more. You stumble through the light, vision blurred, praying and praying and praying. His grip comes to find your jaw again.

You keen, addled through the ecstasy, barely conscious of the way his panted breaths hitch at the sight of you in his hands, soft-eyed and puddy.

He always comes apart soon after you, but it happens rarely that your body is so taut on the wire of rapture that his twitching inside you takes you with him. 

This time it does.

You sink against him, thighs numb and wet, one hand slipping dumbly from his figure and swiping across condensation-foggy glass. The second orgasm is an aftershock of the first. It’s slow. It feels like being caught from the last fall. You land in Tom’s arms and they’re holding you through whitened knuckles. His eyelashes flutter, ink-dipped twines of quills, and he steals the shaky sigh from your mouth by pressing it to his.

You kiss lazily and softly. The room feels sheeted in static. The electricity lingers on both of you.

It’s hard not to fall against the window when he slides out of you. You slump on quivering legs into his chest instead, heaving, spend trickling down your legs.

Tom holds you close, adjusting his trousers before sinking down to settle you on his lap. He wipes the sweat from your face and presses his lips to the feverish skin it plastered. Forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, whispers of your name down your jaw like a prayer answered. Your eyelids flutter shut and he kisses you there, too. His lashes tickle.

You love him more than you worship him. You think he likes that more.

He grabs your forsaken dress from the floor and slips it over your bare shoulders, summoning the snapped button back in place before he begins to meticulously clasp the rest together again. His mouth leaves a path at the skin under each one before it closes, and you hum in dizzy gratitude.

“That was,” you say in a very worn voice, “a terrible way to reinforce not making you jealous.”

He glares at you from one of the lowermost buttons and you giggle sleepily, curling a hand into his hair. “Don’t look at me like that. You liked it too.”

He leans back up at that, tipping your chin with his fingers, gaze darting over the wrecked state of you with a pleased gleam in his eyes. “You liked it? What a modest interpretation.”

Now it’s your turn to glare.

He is what he is — pursuit of buttons forgotten as you’re laid down on the moonlit floor to be reminded just how much you liked it.

taglist. @lyis @indimoss @poddzi @esolean @d1anna @maripositanoctruna @mentally-in-northern-italy @ronniemaximoff1234 @moobell55 @jaerang @ramayantika @saltwaterbythesea @acube07 @togenabi @adazito @kitcat334 @blaurghhh @shutupfinn @jaymeeshayden @lilu842 @leaosee @garfunkelworld @definitely-not-captain-america @multiplefandomstan @mangoesareorange [ note: inexplicably, a bunch of my tags aren't working. i tried to fix it but if you didn’t get a notif i’m sorry! ]

[gaypleasantview]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☆ say my name. // Autumn Drop Day 2 ☆₊‧⁺˖⋆

⋆ TF-EF, necklace, binned as accessory (layerable) or BV jewelry

⋆ 512x256 textures on a 158 poly mesh

⋆ 26 simlish letters in two color options

⋆ compressed, tooltipped, come with thumbnails

Link, swatch, detailed credits and more info under the cut ♡

Hi all! Here comes my second creation this month. I love scrolling through older MTS downloads because it's full of absolute gems, and one day I stumbled upon these super cute necklaces from 2006 made by crosieramanda. I knew I needed to have them, but I also love using as much Simlish instead of English as possible in my game, so then I decided I might as well just use these as my base and go for it!

While the original necklaces have bold letters that make a statement, I felt like choosing something that would be a little more on the elegant side. I ended up using all the 26 English-to-Simlish capital letters of a font called Petal to the Metal by Franzilla. I don't know if I will ever understand which letters came from which Sims game but I'm just gonna assume these ones are something that makes sense in the TS2 universe because the first time I thought to question it was after I was halfway done with the textures. There was no going back at that point. They are labeled so you can check the tooltips in-game if you're not sure which letter is in front of you, and be careful because like a third of them just look like the letter F.

The necklaces use the well-known and well-loved mesh by Dr Pixel. Because of that, these are only available for TF to EF for now. Most of the stuff was just copied from the original files, so these pendants shine under lights just like the original ones. From the technical side of things, the files look neat but there's a couple of seemingly unused resources left in there that I first tried deleting to my best ability, which led to the necklaces not showing up in my game at all. I decided to leave those be because they are literally just a bunch of TXMT strings that barely affect the file size anyway.

Known issues: during one of my play tests I would get white seams showing up at the bottom of the mesh when zooming out. I could barely replicate that to double check so I still have no idea if it's a mesh issue or something with my recolors, and I don't really know how to fix it either, so let's hope it won't appear too much for anyone else :] Aside from that, I really should play test more because I noticed too late that on the silver necklaces, the chain and the pendants are slightly different shades. I think it happens irl too so I'm telling myself it's fine because modifying 52 files again would probably make me cry.

Credits: crosieramanda at MTS for the original English initial necklaces (check them out, they're great), Dr Pixel for the mesh, Franzilla for the Petal to the Metal font, and this source for the graphics in the post

♡ Download ♡

Mesh by Dr Pixel (MESH_DPXLalphaEaringsNecklace080405) is included. Please check if you have it in your game already before installing it.

⋆ Accessory/glasses bin: SFS | Mediafire ⋆ BV jewelry bin: SFS | Mediafire

♡ Swatch ♡

[nochukoo97]

boyfriend drabbles (pt.1)

pairing: Jungkook x reader

summary: fluff omg, jk being a cute bf, painting each others nails and its just basically cute stuff HAHA

word count: 600+

boyfriend drabbles masterlist!

Ever since you and Jungkook had started dating three years ago, he became a major part of your daily life, and even on days where he would not be able to see you in person, your boyfriend would always make the effort to give you a call and whisper sweet nothings into the phone.

One of your adopted habits was to include your boyfriend in every aspect of your life. Whether it was a casual get-together with your own circle of friends or any other social event, you had an inclination to bring Jungkook along with you, a gesture that he wholeheartedly embraced, never once expressing reluctance or complaint.

In this case, Jungkook finds himself trailing behind you and your best friend, Sohee, as the both of you enter the familiar shop. A subtle wince crosses his face as he observes the two of you quickening your pace, your excited squeals filling the air upon reaching closer to the rows of products displayed before you.

Jungkook watches as the both of you light up upon noticing a small booth, remembering you had mentioned once about that particular brand. A quiet hum leaves his mouth as he watches the both of you excitedly swatch the different shades of eyeshadow, but to him, they look exactly the same shade.

—

“___, I’m gonna go to the toilet, wait for me here okay? Don’t you dare to try other stuff without me,” Sohee raises a finger at you playfully as she walks off. Now it’s only you and Jungkook, and your boyfriend is more than content to finally get some of your attention.

“Jagi,” Jungkook whines as he leans down to peck you on the lips, you chuckle as you reach up to ruffle his hair in sympathy. Poor boy, you thought.

“If we stay here any longer I’m literally going to go insane,” He whines, eyes adverting to your hand filled with various makeup products smeared onto your skin.

“I promise we’ll be quick,” A laugh sounds out from your mouth at his exasperated state, as Jungkook sighs, mentally cursing at himself for not charging his phone the night before, now that it’s battery had gone flat.

You begin to test out more shades where you and Sohee had left off, not leaving anywhere else, but it seems as though your boyfriend had other plans.

“Hey!” You gasp as Jungkook gently tugs on your arm, forcing you to follow along behind him as he trudges towards another aisle.

“Baby, what are you doing?” You question his sudden actions when your boyfriend reaches for the nail polish tester and raises your hand to paint your index finger oh-so-gently, his brows furrowed as he tries his best to paint within the nail. You begin to laugh at Jungkook’s sudden actions, but he cuts you off, “Jagi, stop moving, you’re gonna make me mess up,”

After he’s done painting your fingernail, Jungkook looks contented at his little artwork on your nail, and then he proceeds to attempt to paint his own finger too, but it’s harder for him when he attempts to use his non-dominant hand to paint. A disgruntled sound emits from his mouth, eyebrows furrowing as you grab the nail polish from his hand to do it yourself.

“I should have known you would betray me for you man,” You hear Sohee dramatically sigh as she approaches the both of you, Jungkook sticking his tongue out at her as she rolls her eyes.

Even though you and Sohee had spent at least another good twenty minutes in that store, your boyfriend didn’t mind as he held your hand the whole time, sometimes hugging you from behind and leaning his head on your shoulder as your best friend clearly annoyed from the third-wheeling.

a/n: hello!! i kinda wrote this in a rush without really planning so it might not be the best but its really short anyways haha, i realised i havent been putting a note at the end of my fics recently 😭 and i want to talk with you guys more! i also def need more inspo to write more scenarios so if you guys have any pleasee send an ask to me ❤️

[meepmoopdraws2]

These are my rushed thoughts for the people who are anti-gay Eddie as someone who wholeheartedly believes that he is.

The main argument I see against supporting Eddie Diaz as a queer-coded character, and or that his arc isn’t right to evolve in the direction of making him canonically gay comes in several different shades of “we need to see more healthy platonic relationships between men represented in media.”

That sentiment holds value, and it holds weight because it’s accurate. There is no way to negate the need to see that kind of representation or to seek it out within the characters, or stories we love the most.

The root that leads the search for that kind of representation stems from the real societal pressure that in order for men to be man-enough they should throw their hands up in surrender to society’s void and walk its narrow path. The rusty warnings along the way deem that a fall is deadly, that in a blazing fire it is safest to breathe smoke; that should another man intervene and hold an extinguisher to those flames it works best at a distance. Walk alone, walk far, hold on but not too tight.

Stand at attention. A strong man does not weep. A strong man will provide. A strong man knows God’s name. A strong man shouldn’t feel too deeply. Won’t feel too deeply. Can’t feel too deeply. A strong man will do what’s right, and what needs to be done.

Eddie’s characterization is vast. The show explores the layers that make up each individual piece of his identity, and with each passing year it uncovers more of what he’s tried hardest to bury.

Eddie is a man who grew up navigating that path, walking it over and over until its direction was nothing but wishful thinking-hoping it’ll carry him far enough and muscle memory-that it will regardless. Such a rigid path would let him continue onward should he find his eyes shut. A walk might not find itself a tedious task until its direction is challenged, and Eddie is a man who walks forward. This is a man who’d crawl for miles before stopping to acknowledge his hands and knees were scraped raw.

It’s a ‘manmade’ path. A path carved through repetition. At any cost he was always going to walk forward in complete darkness.

Eddie wouldn’t stop until he finally had visual of the curves in his path-curves someone had created trailing by his side. What could slow his stride other than that which holds Eddie’s heart sane?

His son is perfect-his son will always be perfect. He’ll grow up to be a strong man. Shouldn’t feel too deeply. Can’t feel too deeply. Won’t feel too deeply.

What is it that holds Eddie’s heart sane?

What is it that makes a man strong?

The hardest moments on the show come when Eddie questions how he could ever call himself a man if he were let his son trail that narrow path behind him, and when he realizes how long he may have been.

This is a man who spent his entire life conforming to fit the wrong definition of strength and man whilst equating the two. Every step he takes to fit a certain narrative weighs him down and sends cracks up the walls he has relied on so heavily to stand tall. Though with every shockwave those walls are bound to cave in.

When Eddie moved away from home he finally found footing in a few different directions. Choosing love slowed his pace. Watching his chosen family in colour could stop him dead in his tracks.

There is beauty in vulnerability. To share love, light, and laughter; to cry, scream and hurt. To have someone, illuminate the best parts of life, and dim the worst. To watch the people he cares the most about exist freely and proudly. To change and regress and grow and change again. To find truth through the broken and mended shards of love that others hold still for him when he can’t find his grip.

Bobby and Michael; Chimney and Bobby; Bobby and Eddie; Eddie and Chimney, Buck and Chimney; Buck and Bobby; Albert and Buck; Chimney and Ravi; Eddie and Buck.

“We need to see more healthy platonic relationships between men represented in media.” Its found in a blended family, its found in chosen family, its found in brotherhood, and its found in partnership, its found in friendship.

To open and close and open again. To bury and uncover and bury, bury deep. To see clearly, find hope and take on change. To know love as unconditional. To realize what you know is no longer what you see. To know that the path you’re expected to walk is not what makes you who you are. That rather, the life you choose, the people you choose, the hearts you hold closest are inherently what carve out what makes up your own.

To see “healthy platonic relationships between men,” and know that it doesn’t change who they are. That the best relationships will only uncover deeper parts of yourself including the ones you didn’t know you were allowed to show. Because, what if being vulnerable doesn’t make you a certain way… what if it just shows you how to be true?

Using that kind of representation against the widely held head-canon that Eddie Diaz is queer-coded becomes homophonic rhetoric when it is found through dozens of men who love, and respect one another without any romantic undertone. To turn around, and actively put the continued search for that representation on the narrow path you fight against is where MY issue lies.

Eddie Diaz is a man who is still walking forward continuing to carve out a path that is bound to crumble.

To uncover the beauty in truth and error. To find connection with other men, and find closeness with another man. To watch the exploration and normalcy of love. To uncover that there is no set path. To know he gets to be who he is as he is, that trying to fit a certain narrative will only ever break his heart over and over and over again. Eddie can find his truth, but he’ll find it when he realizes it’s always been present.

What if uncovering the truest parts of himself doesn’t make him gay? What if he has a close vulnerable relationship with his best friend and it doesn’t make him gay? But what if after everything he’s shoved down and repressed and unmasked-what if he so happens to be gay? I would think that doesn’t mean he’s not man enough anymore? If Eddie were to realize he had fallen in love with his best friend does that mean that their vulnerability shared platonically in the past didn’t count? Does Eddie being gay mean his journey to find what it is to be a man is void? Does Eddie’s potential queerness eliminate the past elements of platonic vulnerability on the show? Did Buck’s?

There is beauty in vulnerability but the best man knows there is power in acceptance.

Accepting others. Accepting yourself. Accepting the truth as it comes.

If that truth is queer-coded to such a large demographic why is it so unsettling?

A man’s journey to find what it means to be strong despite the void of society’s narrow path is not devalued by his potential queerness.

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Pregnant Cod Men

Requested: Kinda? I did a poll if I should do this or not and the answer was yeah. I’m counting it as half a request.

Warnings: Pregnancy (duh), Pre-eclampsia (Price’s), pregnancy anxiety (König’s)

Price

Good. Fucking. Luck. Price is someone who has a very tough time with the whole pregnancy thing and unlike Simon, there is no point in his pregnancy that you won’t be fighting with him to sit down and just watch the telly for a bit. It’s also made worse by the fact that he has pre-eclampsia and is told that, in no uncertain terms, is he to be exterting or stressing himself under any circumstances. And he looks at that like a challenge, constantly waddling to his office to try and get some work done. It gets to the point that you have to lock his paperwork away only to come home with his favorite biscuits just to see him digging the papers out from where you hid them, brown furrowed said he grumbles to himself about muppets. At this point you might just have to chain him to the bed, for his own sake.

Gaz

HNGGGGG!!! I’m telling you right now that Gaz is the fucking cutest when he’s pregnant. He’s constantly carrying around the weirdest little supplies like one of those belly bands that plays music. Says he needs to teach the kid what proper music is before they come out. And he spends weeks agonizing over what color to paint the nursery, torn between two very similar shades of light purple that leave you confused on what the difference even is. Insists on driving around to TEN different toy stores to find the perfect plushie that is equal parts soft and durable. Will start tearing up when he finds what he thinks is the best one, holding it close to his chest as he looks at you and asks if he can buy 5 of them because he’s afraid that just one will get lonely until the baby gets here. You don’t have the heart to tell him no when he’s looking at you like that so you do, indeed, walk out of the store with 5 of the exact same plushie and a very happy crying Gaz.

Ghost

For the first two trimesters Ghost insists that he can still do everything he normally does. Go to the gym, go on missions, stay up for days on end, brew coffee and tea in the same pot then chug the mixture. It’s a fight to get him to actually settle down and sit for any length of time. In fact it’s almost worse then when he wasn’t pregnant, like he feels that he needs to prove he can still do everything that he’s used to doing. But as SOON as that third trimester hits he is lounging around the house in nothing but a loose Diamond Head T-Shirt and his headphones, eating strawberries out of the carton, his feet propped up on the sofa arm and his head nodding along to the beat of whatever he’s listening to. Always palming his belly, never telling you when the baby moves but you can tell by the way his eyes soften just the slightest bit.

Soap

R.I.P. to your sleep because Johnny is one of those pregnant people that gets the most random cravings in the middle of the night and cannot go back to sleep until he’s eaten whatever it is he wants. Will give you the biggest saddest puppy eyes while rubbing his belly. Tells you he can go get it himself but he doesn’t want to go alone. It’s an entirely frustrating experience to lose so much sleep but it’s worth it to hear his excited giggling and watch his proud penguin waddle as he makes his way back to the car with his food. Will try and make you have a bite of whatever concoction he’s come up with. His most frequently returned to craving is marmite spread on biscuits then dipped in coffee, which he insists is the best thing he’s ever had in his life and swears that he’ll keep eating even after the baby is out.

König

König has a rather…nonchalant pregnancy? For the most part. Half the times it seems to you like he’s forgotten that he’s even pregnant. Which is partially true, and it’s so incredibly easy for him to do so because he doesn’t experience any of the usual pregnancy symptoms at all. If anything, he seems to just be more energized and ready to take on the world. He doesn’t even start showing until month 6 and reality doesn’t slap him in the face until month 7 when you both go in for an ultrasound and see that it’s triplets, in which he’s silent for a good minute before asking if it’s possible for you both to trade places. The Doctor has to leave the room due to laughing and you have half a mind to follow her. Probably would have if not the truly panicked look on König’s face as he stares at the ultrasound pictures, calling his mom to ask how big his head was when he was born, looking like he’s gonna cry when he gets his answer. Pregnancy is a mess of anxiety for him for the following months, please be sure to comfort him with many blankets and his favorite comedy movies.

[peachyloveswriting]

How about vash n reader are in a relationship and vashs insecurity and fear gets the best of him so he tries to break it off to protect reader but reader aint fucking having it and is all like “if you truly mean it then look at me in the eyes and tell me you dont love me” and OBVIOUSLY he cant cause hes so in love and shit then they makeout makeup

I absolutely love the possibility of angst here, the hurt/comfort is calling my name right now. Thanks for the req anon. I know the Gif is from Trigun Stampede but this one will take place in the original, I just think it better fits the story.

YOU'RE A BAD LIAR --- Vash the Stampede

SUMMARY: A very short story about Vash finally admitting his insecurities. But how could he be so foolish, it's written all over him and you're not a fool.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

You stare at Vash, leaned up against the side of your house while he gazes off into the distance. He's wearing his shades again just to hide the look in his eyes, just so he doesn't have to look at you. He's so bad at hiding his emotions, even with the shades covering his eyes you can read the pain all over his face. His voice really gives it away.

"Why haven't you left yet?" Vash's voice rings out into the night, stirring the distilled silence floating around you. Even further he looks away from you.

"Because I love you." A simple answer for a simple question, but vash's instability isn't moved. He digs his hands deeper into his pockets and lowers his gaze to the wooden boards below his feet. "You shouldn't."

You frown, stepping forward to rest a hand on his arm. He shrugs you off. "Vash, don't be like this." From the moment you met him, he warned you time and time again about the dangers of crossing his path. You know well and good just what dangers he poses to you and yet you fight back against his word. "You know I won't leave you, it doesn't matter if it kills me-"

"it matters to me!" You jolt at his sudden shout. Surely it must have woke the neighbors. "I can't have you dead because of me. I won't let it happen. I'm done, I'm breaking this off now." He points to the ground and lightly stomps his foot.

Behind the shades, tears build in his eyes and threaten to spill. He can't stop his bottom lips from trembling with the urge to cry. He looked at you, damnit. He knows if he looked he would breakdown on the spot. How could he ever think of leaving you? He doesn't want too, but he's torn between keeping you close and cutting ties. Both burn the edges of his heart, daring to light his whole body ablaze.

"If you truly mean it, I want you to look at me in my eyes and tell me that you don't love me." You grasp his arm with a vice grip. His eyes meet you and the glint off his shades moves away. Eyes now fully in view, you can see right through his facade. He trembles in your touch.

"I can't." He sobs. "I can't say it. I won't." Every hard emotion he tried to portray crumbles in an instant. Longing for your comfort he pulls you close and wraps you tightly in his arms. His head is tucked away in the nape of your neck where you can feel his tears wet your skin and his breath tickle you. Smoothing your hands over his back you rub his through his coat while you shush his quiet crying.

He's given you his soul, the very gentle and kind soul that might break if you hold it the wrong way. Such a soft man melting right into your arms while he shudders and shakes. You're his world, he can't take the chance of getting you involved with him yet you're already in so deep. People will come after you soon enough, and the law will come for you too. Not a single person leaves his hold unharmed and it's sad.

Vash lifts his head. "Come with me. You can't stay here by yourself anymore." Despite the dangers he knows will find you out there with him, Vash knows he'll at least be there to keep you safe. As long as you're by his side nothing bad will happen. "I can't let you be here alone. If someone comes and I'm not here-"

You cup his face in your hands. "I'll be right by your side as long as you'll allow it." Your words are so kind and welcoming, it makes Vash's heart swell. Even knowing what fate might await you with him you always stick by his side, never daring to stray far from his grasp and keeping his insecurities away.

"I love you. I'm so sorry I even thought of breaking up with you." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "It'll never happen again, I swear."

With a kind smile you rub his cheek with your thumb. "It's ok. Just shut up and kiss me. That'll be your apology."

He nods and without question and presses his lips to yours. They meld perfectly together like pieces of a puzzle while you move in tandem. He is gentle and firm, not wanting to pull away in fear of it never happening again. Instead he nibbles at your bottom lip, his sharp canines poking a hole in your skin. Gasping for but a bright moment, you're stopped by his tongue intruding your mouth. You don't resist and close your eyes to let the feeling wash over you. The feeling of comfort and safety in his grasp. The one he offers to you anytime he's nearby. This is home.

[anachronismstellar]

Airplane vs The system has reached 20k words, and yay, I'm happy, but also, I'm not gonna lie, I struggle to finish things when they get too big.

So, today I had to stop and go over all of it to figure out the timelines and where the scenes should go ( @notsofrozt has been the best helping me with this insanity I swear)

What I have so far are 22 scenes/parts, and I'm gonna need at least 12 more to wrap it up in a way that makes me happy (Send your prayers because oh boy ahahaha ahahah... *cries*)

Thing is, there's this one scene that I've written that... I'm afraid is not gonna make the final cut. :(

Yea yea we have to kill our darlings when writing stuff, but I love it too much to not show to you guys.

This is NOT Airplane vs The System canon, but I hope you enjoy the pain with me.

---

He could barely stand up as he reached the final room, the bright cold lights bathing the place in a frost that he couldn't grasp. Around him, tall metal towers grew from the ground, their tops too high from him to see, covered in what seemed to be colored stones, their sparkle coming and going in a way that spoke of witchcraft.

He forced himself to keep going, stumbling forward, wide eyed as he tried to find any sign of yellow robes, the glimpse of brown hair. He had lost count on how many steps he had taken, the flimsy metal platform under his feet shaking and squeaking, as if threatening to swallow him down in one bite.

He only stopped when he reached the very end, the far back wall of the room covered in writings that he couldn't understand. In front of it, the most surprising sight of a table, higher than Mobei-Jun had ever seen, and sitting in front of it as if the entire world wasn't falling apart was Shang Qinghua.

The hair was shorter than he had expected, the clothing ill fitted on his shoulders, torn apart at the sleeves as if the owner had had a fit of rage and gotten rid of them.

But Mobei would recognize that shade of brown anywhere, those hands always moving, always plotting, now eerily quiet and slumped.

If he had any strength left he would have screamed. He might have done so anyway as he gave a final push, lurching towards the chair, catching Qinghua's body before it hit the ground.

“Qinghua-” he gasped, his claws poking holes into the worn-out fabric as Mobei touched his chest, pressing down the palm of his hand against chill skin.

Cold, cold, cold, why was he so cold?!

“Qinghua, answer to your king!” he shouted, flipping his torn cape to cover the body on his arms, as if he, the king of the Northern Desert, could bring anyone any heat.

He never hated his cold skin so much in his entire life.

“Qinghua, you can't-” He tried again, pressing his forehead against the Cultivator's, his demonic mark glowing, casting familiar shadows on Qinghua's face, a comfort in the middle of the explosion of light around them.

“Please,” he whispered, strong arms delicately moving the body around to give it comfort. Mobei-Jun was made of ice and stone, made to endure the North and its hardships, made to survive and thrive. But he would make himself soft for Qinghua, he would fold his sharp claws and sooth his harsh voice, he would do anything, anything, if it meant- if-

“Please,” he whispered again, feeling as if someone had grabbed his heart and were tearing it apart, pulling it up through his throat, making it hard to breathe. “Please, Qinghua.”

Pride was such a funny thing.

It held realms, but it also made them crumble.

It was expected, but abhorred.

It was Mobei-Jun's entire personality.

It meant nothing.

“Come back to me.”

----

Don't worry!!! Airplane fights the System and wins!!! I swear they'll have a happy ending!! Fjshskf

But yea, I hope you guys liked it and that you're enjoying this craziness that has taken over my brain

See you in the next part ❤️

[yaekiss]

Congratulations on the 400! If I'm not too late, may I send a #mailroom open letter to a yan!Albedo? Any gender neutral or feminine nickname would work and, if it so pleases you, a nsfw reply would be lovely.

__________________________

To my lovely Albedo,

How are you, love? Are you taking care of yourself while I'm away? As I sit here, working away in Inazuma City while I enjoy a sweet dessert, I cannot help but think of you... and your tendency to get swallowed up by your research when I'm not there to reel you back.

I was hoping that my business here would be done far faster than this. I suppose it isn't all bad, though. I can't say that I've ever been a social person, but people have been nothing but kind to me thus far. I may have even made a friend. But still, my heart belongs to you- and as such, no matter how I may enjoy my time, I can only eagerly await the moment I am able to return home.

I miss you dearly, my prince. I'll make sure to work even harder so that our time apart may be shortened by even a little bit. I can't to have you in my arms again, to feel the warmth of your embrace and know that everything is right with the world.

We both know that I could go on with the sweet words for pages and pages, so it's probably best that I stop here. Stay safe and take care of yourself, alright? I love you so, so much.

May my affections cross what feels like an eternity apart,

Your Wistful Lover

(Alongside the letter are various, shockingly well-preserved Inazuman sweets including Sakura Mochi and Dango milk, as well as a small pouch containing a handful of carefully-chosen Sakura Blooms. Lastly is an intricately designed silken blindfold, with its own little note attached that reads, "I had this custom made for you. I wanted to make one myself, but I couldn't find the time. Hopefully you like it anyway!")

꩜ Letter Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Albedo, no gendered terms for reader, Albedo calls you "my constant", mentions of blindfolds and a vibrator used on Albedo, unhealthy and obsessive relationship from Albedo, lmk if I missed anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: Albedo sure is a busy man to track down... I had to look for him all over Mondstadt since he was gathering quite a collection of alchemy ingredients. It was quite the staggering assortment too... I never understand what he's planning. ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

Placed at your hotel doorstep is an innocuous package. It's decently sized, the box a lovely shade of pale indigo and shifting it slightly under the light shows an underlying iridescence hidden in the pigment.

Undoing the sturdy rope securing the lid down, you gain access to the contents within the box. You first retrieve a wondrous blooming bouquet of cecilias, wrapped in a sheer gauzy yellow fabric and tied with a teal satin ribbon. The petals are soft under your caress and for a moment, you reminisce about the first cecilia Albedo gifted to you after showcasing his alchemy.

Next, you fish out a cloth drawstring pouch. Peering into it, there's an assortment of all your favourite Mondstadt candies, enough to last you weeks. A little tag is attached to one of the strings, it reads: “In case you miss your usual sweet treats and need a boost of energy. ♡”

Unwrapping one, you pop it into your mouth before you pull out an envelope. The paper is smooth under your fingers and an impressive sketch of Dragonspine decorates the front. Flipping the envelope over, there's a wax seal, a cursive letter “A”, with flecks of gold dotted in it.

Carefully, you open it and obtain the parchment inside. His handwriting is a sight you've missed, from days spent watching him jot down his hypothesis and findings in his laboratory. Albedo's response to you reads:

“Replying to: My beloved constant.

Thank you for writing to me, my constant, I was growing somewhat nervous with your prolonged silence and I feared something unsavoury might have happened to you. As such, I am writing back to you to assure you that I've been doing alright as well. Though, I'm sure I would do a lot better with you by my side.

Next, I must thank you for the gifts you sent me. I shared the sweets with Klee and she has been pleading nonstop with me for more. Also, the sakura blooms were of high quality and proved immensely useful in my research. If you're willing, I can share my findings with you when you return, my constant.

Now, I can't help but ask what went through your mind, gifting me such a sly gift as a blindfold. What scene did you picture in your head? Was I blindfolded and tied up on your bed while begging for you to please touch me? Or perhaps I'm laid on my laboratory table, my sight obscured with the silk, pliant and willing as you drag a vibrator across my skin in an attempt to find my erogenous zones? Did you fantasise about muffling my moans with a kiss as you toyed with me? You should reenact it with me as soon as you get back, my constant, I feel as if I'm about to burst with how much I long for your embrace.

Ahem, getting back on track, I too have been working hard. (Fret not, I have not been overworking myself. I do not wish to worry you after all.) And I've made discoveries of my own and uncovered intriguing new possibilities whilst ruminating alone in my laboratory. I heard of the Inazuman archon's dedication to eternity.

Eternity... goes against natural orders, but lately, I have been finding myself relating to her obsession with such a concept. You might think it strange, my constant. However, I can understand how fearing the loss of someone close to you can affect your decisions, despite the morality of said actions.

You are golden in my eyes, unforgettable, and the time I spend with you feels like I'm the closest to unravelling the truth and meaning of this world. Is it my greed talking when I say that I want more time to uncover all of you, to understand the very fibre of your being, to see what has irreversibly drawn me to you and what makes you stay by my side? Maybe it is, but that is a question best saved for another day, my constant.

I shall end my letter here. I sincerely hope that the rest of your stay in Inazuma goes smoothly and safely, and that your return will be swift. I cannot wait to have you by my side once more, my constant. I love you so, so much as well.

Ever and eternally yours,

- Albedo -”

You fold the parchment and place it back into the envelope. One last item rests in the box. It's a handpainted painting of you, framed in an intricate wooden frame. Albedo captures your smile in the sunlight, the background featuring one of the picnics the both of you went on recently before you left for Inazuma.

However, you notice that one of the corners is a little wrinkled. Removing the backing of the frame to fix it, you discover another layer of canvas material behind that first painting. Gingerly, you peel it back to reveal a haunting portrait of the both of you. 

In dim lighting, you're seated on his laboratory table whilst he's knelt at your feet, his head resting on your lap. You almost don't recognise yourself. You're familiar with his art style but in this, you're ethereal to an eldritch degree... almost devoid of humanity. It's unnerving, to say the least. 

Perhaps Albedo's research has veered into more forbidden territories, challenging the principals of nature, all in the name of love. You muster one more look at the portrait.

A matching star rests delicately on your neck. In the bottom corner, he titles it “New birth.”

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[delenygma]

FANFICTION | Eleutheromania (Part 1/3) | Edward Nashton/The Riddler x Reader (AO3)

Gotham is not the only thing in ruins.  Post-The Batman Edward Nashton x Reader.

Part 1/3.

• 

TW: implied/referenced sh, implied/referenced abuse (past), mention of bruising, smoking.

Originally published on AO3 in April 2022.

• 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

PART 1/3

“You have fifteen minutes.” The security guard pockets the wad of cash you hand her in a swift motion, making you believe that she has done this numerous times before. She hums tunelessly as she leads you down a labyrinth of corridors, further and further down into the depths of the hospital. You try your best to concentrate on her, instead of the shouts and whistles coming from the cells on either side of you. 

Finally, she halts and turns around to face you. 

“End of that corridor, then turn left.” The security guard pulls out a pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of the trousers and offers you one. “Go on, you might need it. He’s not… He’s not been taking it so well.” 

While you don’t usually smoke, you gratefully accept the cigarette with a nod and let her light it for you. You start walking down the corridor but stop abruptly, realising your potential blunder. 

“Wait-!” You turn around. The security guard is leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette herself. “It’s not like… Me and him are not…” 

Her eyebrows shoot up. 

“Yeah, right.” The security guard shrugs. “Look, I really don’t give a damn. You better go. The clock is ticking.” 

You turn back around, taking a shaky drag on the cigarette and noticing how heavy your heart is, and how dry your mouth has become. It’s been some time since the flood, and the city was not the only thing still in ruins. After GCPD seized the apartment, you had to quickly find somewhere new to live, which proved to be a catastrophe. Your new place was a bare-bones apartment in the worst part of Gotham. Always cold and desolate, you often found yourself too terrified to function. Whilst yours and Edward’s relationship (if you could call it that) remained secret to all, you knew that it wouldn’t be hard for the authorities to follow the trail of crumbs and find you. Alone.

Turning left, you unexpectedly hear him shout your name, and your heart jumps to your throat. His voice is hoarse, raw, but unmistakably his. You drop your cigarette onto the floor and dash towards the door of his cell. Breathless despite the shortness of distance, you find yourself facing Edward through the iron bars in the door. 

“Edward…” You whisper his name, over and over, your heart throbbing in your chest. 

You shakily open the hatch and push your hands through it (fuck the security cameras, nobody gives a damn, anyway). Suddenly speechless, he grabs hold of your hands and almost crushes your fingers. 

Your eyes meet his, and you feel as if you have been punched in the gut. You have never seen so much distress. Not even during his most destructive nights. When he first became The Riddler, when he clawed at his wrists and wailed with anguish and wrath, when the voices called out to him and would not stop… 

“Eddie, I…” You don’t know what to say. He is grabbing onto your hands with sheer desperation, the combination of panic and failure echoing in his eyes as they gradually fill up with tears. You notice how bloodshot they are, the dark circles under his eyes darker than you ever remember them being (he isn’t sleeping until they make him...). The right side of his face is bruised, a brilliant shade of purple spilling over his cheek (did he… Or did someone…?). 

“I’m here, Eddie.” You manage to say, taking a trembling breath before words start to spill from your mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this took me so fucking long. I had to find ways… To get here. But I did, and…” 

You stop for a second to compose yourself and notice just how violently his hands began to tremble. They are so much colder than usual, too. He was always so warm... 

“I haven’t got much time, but…” You start.

“I knew you would come.” He interrupts you. “They told me that I was alone in this, they said you were a delusion. But I knew better. I knew better. I knew that those liars were wrong.” 

“Don’t listen to them.” You say with assurance, although unsure of who ‘they’ could be. “Remember what I said… All that time ago? Only ever listen to your heart.” 

“My heart has shattered.” Edward’s voice, although unexpectedly venomous, quavers as he speaks. “I’m broken. I was so close, and I thought that even being in here, I could… But I was wrong. And it’s all getting worse, I’m getting worse. I feel like I am back at…” 

“Eddie, I have an idea.” You interrupt him. “I will get you out. I fucking promise you.” 

“P-please hurry. Please. I…” The rest of his sentence is quelled as he breaks down, pressing his delicate lips to your fingers. You haven’t felt him like this for such a long time, and the sudden intimacy awakens feral desperation inside you. 

“Eddie, you have to promise me something.” You whisper. “You can’t give up.” 

“You’ve got a minute left!” You hear the security guard yell from up the corridor. Edward sniffs and lets out a faint whimper as he pulls his face away from your hands. 

“Can’t you stay?” His voice turns delicate and innocent as he clutches your hands even harder than before. 

“I’m sorry.” You are stifling back tears. “But... I always keep my promises.”

[dandelion-blues]

I was Never the Gods’ Hero

Intro:

Percy Jackson just wanted a break. He didn't ask to be favored by ancient beings. He didn't want to be a hero, he needed to, but here he is expected to be a hero again! And in another universe already filled with heroes to boot!

Percy Jackson x DC crossover fanfic

Chapter 1

Gasping, clawing, trembling for air. He can't breathe! His hands are on his throat gasping desperately for oxygen. The all-encompassing pressure surrounds him from every inch of his body, suffocating and consuming him. It's a thick and oppressive void of blackness where there is no color, no light, and no hope. It's a parasyte waiting to consume, where it's solid in the freezing, crushing pressure that cracks his bones and liquid as it oozes into his skin and feasts itself in his blood and lungs and brain. It lets him feel everything all at once, all of his nerves alight with agony as they are targeted too slowly and individually, yet numbing his body in less than a second.

It is still too slow! It felt as neverending and unrelenting cycle of continual pain and torture. More torment than even Styx could give to her river.

Then, as the pressure finally grinds his bones and organs to sand, and freezes and suffocates him molecule by molecule, there is the blinding light, electrifying and raging. It renews his once frozen and distorted body instantly to energize him with a thousand suns, making his body a inferno of heat and agony. His numbness shocked back into awareness with a potency much greater than lightning that sears though his being. Only, for his eyes to see light before they burn away to husks of ashes along with his skin, blood, and bones.

Over and over again, this cycle of crushing darkness and searing light, all at once and yet separate at the same time. He feels as if he is dying and given life all at once. He is pulled apart then put back together again and again. His very atoms pulled apart and then back together.

If he were given even a second to breathe he might even notice how when he was torn apart and put back together he wasn’t put back the same… how he no longer bled red, and how his very senses and being enhanced; to be more than human. However, all he felt was the agony, shocking and suffocating and burning. Percy Jackson just wanted it to end!

Ichor

Red blood of mortality,

Tastes sweet with immortality.

Colors were in shades of gray,

Enhanced through his decay.

Gold was for the riches,

Now in his blood so much it itches.

A mother's son forever since,

Crowned a God's prince.

…………………………………………….

Percy woke up, tremors racking his body. A silent scream tore at his throat, his heart pounding in his chest.

What was that?!

He looked widely around the dark room, his body high on alert, but still he wasn't prepared for the being awaiting him the darkness behind him.

The being cradled Percy and forced him back to sleep, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“It's too soon,” the being whispered.

The ‘dream’ all but forgotten the next day as Percy awoke in the morning in his home in Manhattan, New York.

Still Percy’s nightmares weren't just in his dreams. They have been a part of his life ever since he was introduced, since he was born, as a half-blood.

……………………………………………

Percy Jackson was done with the Greco-Roman pantheon. He fought and won their wars, and watched so many people, kids - Hades he was still a kid - die around him and he almost died too many times to count while the Gods did the bare minimum to just save themselves, for him to deal with any of their shit again. Yet, here he was, packing up traveling bags to see his father in Atlantis. Oh, he might have forgotten to mention that his father is Poseidon the Earthshaker, Stormbringer, and Father of Horses (yeah, all horses are Percy’s thousand time removed nephews and nieces, but best not to think about that) and don’t forget the God of the Sea.

Percy was just celebrating his seventeenth birthday with his Mom and Paul in their apartment when his Dad just showed up! He’s pulled this before on Percy’s fifteenth birthday, but Percy thought that was a once in a life-time thing. Gods don’t just show up for their kids! Then, his Dad pulls him into his room and proceeds to invite Percy to Atlantis in a week in order to get to know his godly side of the family better and relax without having to deal with the stress of being a leader for both camps.

At first, Percy just wanted to tell him no and tell him to leave, because where was his Father when he needed him, but the little self preservation that Percy had told him that would be a terrible idea to anger one of the Gods that was on his side. Plus, Chiron sent him home to take a break and heal; that there was enough help at the camps to rebuild and he could tell Percy was not okay and needed a break from being a leader. Then, Percy also thought of Tyson, his little cyclops brother, and Percy caved. Thus, Percy told Poseidon that he’d love to come. Poseidon got a wide smile on his face, and hugged Percy and told him how excited he was for Percy to come. Then, Poseidon just transported away.

Percy remembered his Dad’s genuine excitement and warm hug, and that made him smile that maybe it would be worth it to go to Atlantis and be with his Dad. Percy was also excited to really see Atlantis, after all it’s been a while (a year) since the end of their war with Oceanus, and surely more would be rebuilt now. Restored to some of its former glory.

Some part of him, though, was incredibly worried about his step-mother Amphritrite’s, and his brother Triton's judgment even though they became closer after the second Titan war when he came to Atlantis on the weekends - it was only for three months a blink in the time of immortals. Not to mention Kym, she just tried to kill him! Then, Percy was angry, because what right did the Gods have to judge him and treat him like scum just because he was born and that he had to work extra hard just for them to treat him indifferently! However, Percy was raised by Sally Jackson and he would do his best to be nice and polite until they crossed a line, respect was earned after all.

(Also, Percy thought secretly, hopefully, that maybe he could have a big brother to look up to and train with, and a step-mother to confide in.)

Then, came the part of explaining the trip to Atlantis to his mother. Yeah, that was fun to explain to his mom, especially when this was the first time Percy has been able to see her in almost a year thanks to a certain Cow Queen (aka the Queen of Olympus, Hera). Luckily, Sally Jackson is a queen amongst women and understood that Percy needed a break, and that maybe this would turn out really good for him.

…………………………………………….

Sally saw how her baby came back littered with more scars, haunted eyes, and worn down from life that no one, especially a teenager, should feel. Gods, when Sally first saw her son at that door, she held onto him for dear life and they both ended up crying and falling asleep in each other's arms on the couch because they couldn’t let go of each other, at least until Paul came home and joined the hug pile. Sally quietly wiped a tear from her eye at letting Percy out of her sight so soon, but she knew a demigod’s life was never without chaos, and he deserved to get to know his father. Maybe he would confide in his father what was haunting him, that maybe Poseidon would understand and help. Sally heard Percy’s screams when he woke up in the middle of the night, and his flinches from sudden touches - flinches that were going away as reminders from that monster of ex-husband, Gabe Ugliano.

Gods, Sally Jackson wished she never married him. She thought that she protected her son by having Gabe’s horrendous smell protect Percy from monsters, then sending Percy away to boarding schools to be away from Gabe and his terrible influence, but no the real monster lived with them all along. Sally Jackson had to work two jobs just to make ends meet, and would often end up having to leave Percy alone in the house when Percy was home, and Gabe used that opportunity to abuse her son! She never saw the signs, she thought it was bullies or having to change schools every year, but no it was her ex-husband. She was too focused on protecting him from the divine world, that she wasn't able to protect him from Gabe! She could remember all clear as day when Percy, just having turned thirteen, and finished his first quest, flinched and curled in on himself when a loud drunk man walked by them when going home. She proceeded to question him when they got home, remembering all too well her own tells, and he told her how Gabe beat him, berated him, and humiliated him.

The next thing Percy says, Sally remembers word for word when she asks why he didn’t tell her, “I thought I was p-protecting you mom,” he sea-green eyes shined with tears, “G-gabe said that if I said anything to a-anyone he would b-beat y-you t-too,” he gasps and his breath hitches from crying and closes his eyes. Then, he looks up to Sally, and gives her a look that breaks her heart, “B-but I failed y-you, I saw you f-flinch, M-mom. I-I couldn’t protect you!” It was then that Sally knew that she failed as a mother, and proceeded to tell him that it was her job to protect him, and that she failed, that she loved him and there was nothing that he could do that could change that.

From then on, Percy and Sally began to confide in each other their traumas of Gabe, but Sally could still tell he was holding back, trying to protect her. He still barely told her anything of his quests, and Sally just wished that he didn’t inherit her stubbornness and selflessness, but Gods Percy made her so proud and heartbroken at the same time because he is so strong and so so good, and that is Sally's Jackson's son, dammit!

However, he is also Poseidon's son, and with that unfortunately comes monsters and tragedy that Sally can only understand the bare minimum of either through her own research or of Percy's own recounts, heck even when Sally sees the monsters they just ignore her.

'Hopefully, Poseidon can protect her baby. Afterall, hasn't he done more than enough, he deserves a break and to be with his father. I just hope this trip to Atlantis will be good for him,' thinks Sally as she watches Percy pack his things.

…………………………………………….

Percy finishes putting the last items in his bag and looks up to his mother. She has a few more gray hairs and wrinkles around her eyes and forehead, but she looks so full of life especially when Percy came back. He feels terrible for leaving her again even if she said that it was more than alright. Percy is just so tired of the divine world, but he still loves his father even when he's mad at him - he's just so tired of being scared and alone and wants to feel safe again! Safe like he felt in his father's cabin before Hera kidnapped him. Safe in his mother's arms from when he was young and she protected him from monsters and bullies.

Percy takes a breath, and says tentatively "Mom?" Sally's deep blue eyes look into Percy's and soften, "Yes, seastar?" Just with Percy's nickname he smiles, and states, "Mom, how… how do I learn to not be afraid?"

Sally blue eyes water, “Oh my baby!” Sally grasps Percy's hands, his eyes looking down at the floor.

“Sometimes that fear will always be with you,” Sally remembered Gabe's beer-filled breathe as he leered over her, but then she thought of her family, her son and smiled, “but then I remembered all the things, the people, that make me happy, and I know that they be there for me. That I am loved.” Sally gently squeezes her son’s hands, and he looks up at her, “And baby I love you, and I’ll be here for you no matter what. So will Paul, your friends, and your father. We are here for you Percy.”

Percy’s green eyes swim with tears and he runs into his mom’s gasp as she opens her arms. He hugs her, a few tears escaping his eyes, but he feels all so loved.

“Thanks mom,” Percy says wetly and smiles after it feels as if they hugged for hours.

“Of course seastar,” Sally smiles back, "I love you so much, and I'll be right here when you get back."

Just then, a knock on the front door is heard. ‘What timing?’ both think and smile once again to one another.

Sally goes to open the door, and Percy follows shortly behind with his bag strapped around his back, and Poseidon greets them both at the door.

“Hello my dear Sally, beautiful as ever I see,” Poseidon winks playfully at Sally. Percy is to say the least, mortified.

“Ah son I see you’re all packed and ready, then let's make haste, I have a celebration planned in Atlantis!” Poseidon exclaims.

“Celebration?!” Percy exclaims.

“Of course my son, the Prince, is visiting after so long, a celebration is due of course.” Poseidon states.

“Prince?!” Percy yells, what is happening right now?!

Luckily Sally intervenes before anything can escalate, “Now boys, I know you're excited,” she says pointedly to Poseidon, “but Percy would have appreciated being notified about what he is doing instead of just forcing him into the spotlight like that.”

“Also, what’s this about Percy being a prince?”

Poseidon looks sheepish, “I’m sorry my dear, well I was just really excited that Percy agreed to visit and well one thing led to another, and after all Percy’s done for us, we agreed Percy should officially be crowned a Prince of Atlantis.”

Percy looks faint, luckily Poseidon notices and says, “It’s just an official ceremony and announcing it to the kingdom officially, but afterwards we can keep the party small to just family and close friends.” Poseidon, despite seeming oblivious, did notice that his son was never comfortable with the crowds for Olympus’s parties.

Percy smiles relieved at his dad, “Alright, I think I can manage that.”

Poseidon claps, “Alright, it’s really time we should go.”

Percy nods and gives his mom one last hug, melting into her embrace reassured in her love, but for some reason he felt like this would be their last hug for a very long time. Percy shrugs this off, surely he’ll be fine in the heart of his father’s domain, especially with no war or anything worrying going on.

…………………………………………….

A chuckle escapes an ancient being, their laugh reverberating throughout the lives held so tightly by the Fates.

“My young dear always had a knack for his future, didn't he? So powerful, so pure.” Their laugh echoing through the stars and galaxies, all mortal’s hearts beating in tandem.

“He’ll forever be Destiny’s chosen, after all.” Another being wrys, her smile so much like a serpent, so wide it could eat the world whole, “Perseus, my destroyer of my fates. You never could be confined by their roles, and it’s almost time for you to break free, to grasp your destiny!” Her light fills the darkness, lighting her descendants precious tapestry golden.

“Indeed, it’s Time,” The other being states, their word ineffable as the universe, as the past, present, and future are all ruled by the passage of Time.

[thewolvesof1998]

Hiiii Wolf 💕💕💕

Buck and Christopher are baking Christmas cookies!

-how many are they making?

-what kinds are they making?

-what do they end up doing with them all?

And anything you can think of to describe the scene!

Have fun with it!! ☺️

Hi Saturn 🪐 !!!

I'm going to use this as my Tease Tidbit Tuesday!

Oh okay, so this sent me down a rabbit hole of sugar cookies and the types of frosting and now I'm going to have to bake some. So I had my first and only ever sugar cookie when I was in Ohio in March. It was sooooo fucking good and I'm pretty sure it was buttercream icing because it was so light and fluffy. I also love making white chocolate butter cream icing so I'm excited to make sugar cookies with it.

Anyways, your questions!

Buck and Chris are making Christmas cookies for Chris's class, maybe they're having a bake sale or maybe it's just to spread some holiday cheer, either way, they are making so many cookies, that the trays are spread out all over Eddie's kitchen. Here are Buck's inspiration photos (because of course he made a Pinterest board for it):

And just image him and Chris making all of these cookies:

And here's a snippet from Someone to be Gentle (which already had a cookie baking scene and I might have already posted most of this so if you've read this before no you haven't):

When Eddie walks in the front door of his house it's to the smell of freshly baked cookies and the sound of his kid cackling like he’s done something cheeky and he knows he’s going to get away with it because, as Buck says, ‘Look at that face, how could you be mad at him?’.  Eddie follows the sound, can hear the timber of Buck’s laugh join and harmonise until it’s a cacophony that feels like it’s rubbing aloe on his therapy raw soul. He rounds the corner into his living room and is standing in the door of his kitchen taking in the chaotic sense. There are trays, so many trays, of sugar cookies, half are iced in shades of green and white, the others laid bare. Chris still has his back to Eddie, head tilted back in laughter but Eddie can see Buck, can see the green icing smeared across his cheek and the fake look of outrage on his face that is betrayed by the laughter falling from his lips.  A far too familiar ache rips through his chest, his breath catches and eyes start to burn with tears that have become so common lately that he’s surprised they haven’t left permanent marks on his cheeks. He ducks away, not wanting his darkness to mar their happiness any more than it already has. He slumps down onto the couch, head already in his hands trying to push the tears back into his eyes as if that would erase the fact that they were ever there.  A hand lands on his shoulder, it stretches from scar to shoulder blade, “Eddie?” “I’m good, I’m fine,” He says without looking up, his voice all crackly with emotion. He senses more than sees Buck sit down opposite him, the coffee table creaking under his weight, Eddie always in tune with every movement Buck makes. His hand never breaks contact, the warmth and steadiness of his palm in sharp contrast to how Eddie’s shaking like a leaf.  “You know it’s okay if you're not fine,” Buck pauses as if he’s gathering his thoughts or courage, “You don’t always have to be strong with me, I’m not going to judge you or-or run away, Eddie.” Eddie shakes his head, “You don’t want this, it’s messy, I’m a mess,” as if to emphasise the point he wipes away snot with the edge of his sleeve.  “Of course I do, we’re partners,” Eddie’s eyes flicker up to Bucks, his edges are a blur because of the tears but his cheeks are flushed pink as they usually do when Buck’s on a passionate roll, “best friends, I-I want the bad as well as the good, I want to be there when you’re at your worst, let me have your back.” A sob tears out of his chest, it sounds an awful lot like Buck’s name. And he’s not sure if he’s folding forward or if Buck’s reeling him but his arms are around Eddie, holding him close to his chest and something snaps within him. His fingers twist into Buck’s shirt as he cries into his shoulder soaking the material with tears and snot in a way he hasn’t done since he was a little kid crying in his mother’s arms, before the ‘you have to be the man of the house’, before he learnt it was bad to show weakness. And he knows that's not true, been teaching his own son it’s not but it’s so much easier to be kind to others than it is yourself. 

The poem it's based on

first snippet second snippet

tagging people for Tease Tidbit Tuesday: @wikiangela @wildlife4life ​ @eddiebabygirldiaz @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33​ @bekkachaos @buddierights @spagheddiediaz @911-on-abc @hippolotamus @shitouttabuck @911onabc @exhuastedpigeon @malewifediaz @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @daffi-990 @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @theotherbuckley @hoodie-buck @eowon @rainbow-nerdss @nmcggg @pirrusstuff @evanbegins @giddyupbuck @sammysouffle @smilingbuckley @jamespearce9-1-1 @carrierofthepaperclips @jeeyuns @callmenewbie @thosetwofirefighters @monsterrae1 @princehattric @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove