#trashy-scribbles

[ss-trashboat]

*kicks door down* I PLUGGED MY TABLET IN AND AM ACTUALLY DRAWING A THING ARE YOU PROUD OF ME

[scribbyizhere]

[paxtito]

and they were roommates

pairings: tara x reader (g!p)

word count: 2717

warnings: smut 18+, masturbating, oral (r receiving), p in v, swearing

summary: tara is out running errands, she’d be gone for hours- or so you thought

a/n: i’m working on multiple request atm— wenclair x reader one and the radiohead song (i’m just listening and reading the song to get an idea atm) also thank you to the anon for requesting this and their kind words!

The dorm is quiet, unusually so, and it’s kind of nice. Tara had mentioned heading out for the day—something about running errands and meeting up with Sam—and while you’re used to the hum of her presence, the silence isn’t unwelcome.

You glance around the shared space. It’s small but cozy, a mix of her personality and yours crammed into every corner. Her side of the room is meticulously organized—her books stacked neatly, her bed made with precision. In contrast, your side looks… well, lived-in. A pile of clothes rests precariously on your desk chair, and your bed is a haphazard mess of blankets and pillows.

You plop onto your bed, phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly through social media. Without Tara around, you’re left to your own devices—literally. You snort at a meme, sending it to her out of habit.

“That’s stupid,” she’d probably reply, but there’d be a hint of fondness in it.

After a while, you glance at the clock. Noon. The day stretches ahead, and you find yourself feeling restless. You could clean up your side of the room, but… nah. Instead, you wander over to Tara’s desk.

Her books catch your eye first—old classics mixed with crime thrillers and a few surprisingly heartfelt poetry collections. You pick one up, flipping through the pages idly. A note scribbled in the margin catches your attention, her handwriting sharp and deliberate: “This makes no sense. Why didn’t he just leave?”

You chuckle softly. Even in her annotations, Tara’s blunt honesty shines through.

Your gaze drifts to her bulletin board. It’s a mix of pinned photos, ticket stubs, and little reminders. One of the pictures is of the two of you, taken on move-in day. You’re grinning like an idiot, throwing up a peace sign, while she’s glaring at the camera, her arms crossed—but there’s a subtle upturn to her lips that gives her away.

You flop onto your bed, the old springs creaking under your weight. The small TV in the corner flickers to life as you jab at the remote, the sound of canned laughter filling the room. It's some trashy reality show, but it's mindless and distracting—just what you need right now.

As you settle in, your gaze drifts around the room. Tara's side is always so pristine, everything in its place. It's annoying how tidy she is. You, on the other hand... well, your side looks like a bomb went off in a thrift store.

You reach for the bag of chips on your nightstand, tearing it open with a loud rip. The salty scent mingles with the faint smell of Tara's lavender body spray, creating a strange but not unpleasant odor.

You munch away, eyes glued to the screen, as snippets of conversation from the show drift through your thoughts.

"I think I'm going to kill her," one of the contestants is saying, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

You snort. Yeah, right. They're all too busy primping and preening to actually do anything. Unlike the Ghostface killers, they've got no balls.

You check the time again, just to be sure. Tara won't be back for at least a couple of hours. With the coast clear, a mischievous grin spreads across your face. Time to take advantage of the privacy.

You reach over to your bedside table, fishing around in the drawer until your fingers close around the cool, smooth bottle of lotion. You pop the cap open with practiced ease, squirting a generous amount into your palm. The slick, slightly cold sensation sends a shiver down your spine as you rub your hands together, warming the lotion.

With your other hand, you unlock your phone and pull up your favorite porn site. Your fingers fly over the screen as you type in your search, already feeling the familiar stirrings of arousal. A few taps later, and a video starts playing, the sounds of moaning and grunting filling the now-silent room.

You settle back against your pillow, one hand already slipping beneath the waistband of your sweatpants. Your cock is already half-hard, twitching in anticipation. You wrap your fingers around it, giving it a slow stroke as you watch the scene unfold on your screen.

You stroke your cock slowly, teasingly, savoring the building pleasure. Your other hand roams over your chest, pinching and tweaking a nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. The dual sensations send sparks of electricity shooting through your body, making your hips buck up into your touch.

On screen, the actress lets out a particularly loud moan, and you match it with a groan of your own. Fuck, that's hot.

Just as you're getting into a rhythm, the door to your dorm swings open without warning. You freeze, your hand still wrapped around your throbbing cock, as Tara steps inside.

"Shit!" she exclaims, her eyes widening as she takes in the scene before her. You're sprawled on your bed, pants pulled down, phone in hand, and a sticky puddle of lube on your stomach.

Mortification floods through you, and you frantically try to cover yourself, grabbing a pillow and pressing it over your lap. Your face burns with embarrassment, and you can't meet Tara's gaze.

"I-I thought you said you'd be gone for hours!" you stammer, trying to come up with some excuse. But there's no hiding what you were doing.

Tara stands in the doorway, frozen in shock. Her eyes dart between your flushed face and the pillow. After a moment, she seems to shake herself out of her stupor.

Tara's eyes flick down to the pillow, then back up to your face. Her expression is unreadable, but there's a glint in her eye that makes your stomach flutter with nerves and excitement.

She steps further into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The sound seems to echo in the tense silence.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," she says, her voice low and teasing. She saunters over to your bed, the mattress dipping under her weight as she sits on the edge.

Your breath hitches as she reaches out, her fingers brushing against the pillow in your lap. Slowly, she pulls it away, revealing your straining erection. You whimper at the sudden exposure, the cool air hitting your overheated skin.

Tara's gaze rakes over your cock, and you feel yourself grow even harder under her scrutiny. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, and your hips twitch involuntarily.

"Looks like you were in the middle of something," she purrs, her hand resting lightly on your thigh. Her touch is electric, sending shivers racing up your spine.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd be back so soon," you manage to say, your voice coming out breathier than you intended.

Tara leans in closer, her breath ghosting over your ear. "Don't apologize," she whispers, her lips brushing against your skin. "I think I can help with that."

And then, before you can process what's happening, she's sliding down your body, her hands pushing your legs apart. You gasp as her mouth hovers over your cock, her hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin.

"Fuck, Tara," you groan, your fingers tangling in her hair as she takes you into her mouth. The wet heat of her tongue is almost too much to bear, and you buck your hips, desperate for more.

Tara hums around you, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through your body. She bobs her head, taking you deeper each time, her hand wrapping around the base of your cock.

Your head falls back against the pillows as Tara works her magic. Her mouth is a wonder, hot and wet and so damn perfect. You can feel every ridge and valley of her tongue as it glides along your shaft, tracing the veins and swirling around the head.

"Fuck, your mouth feels so good," you groan, your hips rocking up to meet her movements. Your fingers tighten in her hair, gently guiding her pace.

Tara hums in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. She takes you deeper, her nose brushing against your pubic bone as she swallows around you.

The sight of her, head bobbing in your lap, lips stretched obscenely around your cock, is almost too much to handle. You feel yourself getting close, your balls tightening and your stomach muscles clenching.

"Tara, I'm gonna..." you warn, your voice strained and breathless.

But she doesn't pull away. Instead, she doubles down, her head moving faster, her hand pumping in tandem. She looks up at you through her lashes, her eyes dark with lust and something else, something intense and hungry.

It's too much. With a guttural groan, you explode in her mouth, your cock pulsing as you spill your seed down her throat. She swallows it all, not spilling a single drop, and continues to suck and lick until you're spent.

Finally, she releases you with a lewd pop, sitting back on her heels and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looks immensely pleased with herself, a satisfied smirk on her kiss-swollen lips.

You collapse back onto the bed, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Your whole body feels like jelly, boneless and sated.

"Holy shit," you breathe, running a hand through your sweat-dampened hair. "That was... wow."

Tara giggles, the sound low and sultry. She crawls up your body, straddling your hips and leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

You roll over, pinning Tara beneath you on the bed. She looks up at you, her eyes dark and hooded with desire. You capture her lips in another heated kiss, your tongue delving into her mouth to taste yourself on her tongue.

Your hands roam her body, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to caress the smooth skin of her stomach. She arches into your touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Breaking the kiss, you sit up and pull her shirt over her head, tossing it carelessly aside. Your eyes drink in the sight of her, clad only in a lacy bra. You lean down, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the swell of her cleavage.

Tara's fingers thread through your hair, tugging gently as she holds you to her. "More," she breathes, her voice husky with need.

You oblige, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. It falls away, freeing her breasts to your hungry gaze. You take a moment to admire them, full and perfect, before lowering your head to take one pebbled nipple into your mouth.

Tara gasps, her back arching off the bed. You lavish attention on her breast, sucking and nibbling until she's writhing beneath you. Your hand slides down her stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans.

"These need to go," you murmur against her skin, hooking your fingers in the denim and pulling it down her legs. She lifts her hips to help, kicking the jeans off and leaving her in just a pair of matching lace panties.

You sit back on your heels, taking in the sight of her laid out before you, flushed and wanting. Your cock twitches, already hardening again. You reach down to push your own pants fully off, kicking them away.

Tara's eyes widen as she takes in your naked form, her gaze zeroing in on your erection. "Fuck, you're so hot," she breathes, her hand reaching out to wrap around you.

You grind your cock against her, feeling the heat of her through the thin lace. Tara gasps, her hips lifting to meet yours, seeking more friction. The rough drag of your hard length against her clothed clit sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you both.

"Please," she whimpers, her fingers digging into your shoulders. "I need you inside me."

You don't make her wait any longer. Hooking your fingers in her panties, you yank them down her legs, tossing them aside carelessly. Tara spreads her legs wider, inviting you in.

You position yourself at her entrance, the head of your cock nudging against her slick folds. Tara's breath hitches, her eyes fluttering closed as you press forward.

You sink into her inch by delicious inch, groaning at the tight, wet heat enveloping you. Tara is so fucking perfect, her walls gripping you like a vice. You bottom out, your hips flush against hers, buried to the hilt inside her.

"Fuck, you feel so good," you pant, fighting the urge to just start pounding into her. Instead, you hold still, letting her adjust to the stretch.

Tara rolls her hips, urging you on. "Move," she demands, her nails raking down your back.

You don't need to be told twice. You start to thrust, setting a steady rhythm that has you both gasping and moaning. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and the creaking of the bed.

Tara wraps her legs around your waist, using the leverage to meet your thrusts. Her tits bounce with every snap of your hips, and you lean down to capture a nipple in your mouth, sucking hard.

"Yes, just like that," Tara hisses, her head thrashing on the pillow. "Don't stop."

You have no intention of stopping. You fuck her hard and fast, chasing your pleasure and hers. The coil of heat in your belly winds tighter and tighter, signaling your impending release.

You can feel your orgasm building, your balls tightening and your thrusts becoming erratic. But you force yourself to slow down, to focus on Tara's pleasure instead of your own.

Tara's nails dig into your shoulders, her teeth sinking into your neck as she holds on for dear life. Her walls flutter around you, tightening and releasing in a rhythm that tells you she's close.

You redouble your efforts, angling your hips to hit that spot inside her that makes her see stars. Tara keens, her body tensing beneath you.

You reach between your bodies, finding her clit with your fingers. Tara bucks against your hand, her hips moving in frantic circles as you rub tight circles over the sensitive nub. You can feel her getting closer, her inner walls starting to flutter around your cock.

"Come on, baby," you urge, your voice low and rough. "Come for me."

Tara's body goes rigid, her back arching off the bed as her orgasm crashes over her. She cries out, her pussy clamping down on you like a vice as she comes undone.

The feeling of her coming around your cock is too much. With a guttural groan, you pull out, your hand flying over your shaft as you stroke yourself to completion. Your cum spurts out, painting Tara's stomach in thick, white ropes.

You collapse beside her, both of you panting and sweaty. Tara turns her head to look at you, a lazy, satisfied smile on her face.

"That was intense," she murmurs, reaching out to brush a sweat-dampened lock of hair from your forehead.

You grab some tissues from the box on your nightstand, quickly wiping the cum from Tara's stomach. She sighs contentedly as you clean her, her body still tingling from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

As you toss the used tissues aside, you can't help but let your gaze wander over her naked form. Tara is a vision, her skin flushed and glowing, her hair splayed out on the pillow like a halo. She looks thoroughly debauched, and the sight sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

But then reality starts to set in. You just had sex with your roommate. Your best friend. What does this mean for your relationship? Will things be awkward now?

Tara seems to sense your thoughts. She sits up, pulling the sheet around her naked body. "Hey," she says softly, reaching out to cup your cheek. "We okay?"

You nod, not quite trusting yourself to speak. Tara smiles, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

"Good," she murmurs against your mouth. "Because I want to do that again. Soon."

With that, she hops off the bed, completely unselfconscious in her nudity. She pads over to her closet, rummaging around for something to wear.

You watch her, your mind still reeling. What have you gotten yourself into?

—

request: where reader and Tara are roommates and reader thinks Tara is out so reader starts to masturbate but Tara comes home early and walks in on reader so she gives a helping hand (a blow job) then they do it yk?

[aniharas]

𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥!𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘹 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘩.𝘤.'𝘴 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦)

pairing: obsessed!down bad!felix catton x fem!reader

summary: felix's lack of control over his deep feelings for you, his revisions partner, begins to spiral him into a sick and twisted sense of keeping you as his.

warnings: explicit language, sexual tension & content, themes of purity and corruption, use of cigarettes and alcohol

wc: 2.1k+

Maybe Felix Catton wasn’t the mindless pretty boy at Oxford like everyone had chalked him up to be. Maybe he was, at least until he saw you.

At first, he wasn’t exactly the most excited when he found out his revisions partner was you, a scholarship girl. A first-class student. Always buried in textbooks nonstop, always holed up with nerdy little books doing your nerdy little homework. He never found people like you any fun, so he braced himself for a snoozefest as you plopped down into the armchair beside him.

But Felix couldn’t have ever been more wrong about the pureness that was you. Sickly sweet, serene you. Skin tantalizingly covered by whatever shoddy arrangements Oxfam provided. Black-rimmed glasses with a prescription so high, it made your bambi-like eyes bulge out of your head. Voice so sugary, he could taste it on the tip of his tongue. You were a prude by all means, but you made it look so damn good. God forbid the tutor asked him anything about your essay, it was fuck all in his brain. And god forbid anyone asked him to make sense of what he felt for you.

And so he eagerly showed up to each revision. It started with the simplest of gestures. Holding the door open for you, carrying your books. He noticed you always walked home alone after each session at night, so he took it upon himself to escort you back to your dorm safely. 

And then it was gifts. Things that he could nonchalantly pass off as having extra of. Packaged sweets from the dining hall, an extra No. 2 pencil. He even tried to offer you a cigarette as the two of you strolled across campus. Of course, being the modest girl you were, you refused. He was glad that you did. You were responsible, you were good. He loved that about you.

But it wasn’t enough. Those brief, one-hour sessions were far from enough. Being the workaholic you were, you were hard to find around campus; that bit irked him. The whole “girl” thing was second-nature to him. They came to him in swarms, in fact. Why were you never there? That was fine with him, he liked the chase. He’d find a way.

“Tutor you? Felix, I think you’re doing fine–” “Codswallop, and you know it. You, on the other hand…you’re exceptional.” “I don’t think I’m exactly qualified enough-” “I do.”

And these newfound tutoring sessions were far better than what he had been getting. He never thought he’d look forward to being in a tutorial for hours in a stiff library chair, but the very thought consumed his waking days. Because it was you, dressed in your hand-me-down school jumper, brows adorably furrowed as you hastily scribbled notes across the margins of his essays. He wasn’t exactly the best at writing, but he occasionally found himself misspelling words just to see you get irritated with him. 

“Sometimes it slips my mind that you’re a rich kid. Until I remember we’re at Oxford and this is what you wrote,” you had said one time. Had it been from anyone else, he would’ve blown a fuse. But it was you, who always snuck in bites of your Crunchie between each sentence. You were so genuine, so oblivious to the world around you. He could never be upset with you.

Which is why he felt responsible for you. But how could he protect you when you were so elusive? He considered himself blessed if he found you at King’s Arms on the weekends, or anywhere at all. And blessed he was, on a Friday night, just before Oxford let out for the holidays.

It was you, accompanied by your trashy roommates. “Come on, just once before you go home,” they had whined as they pushed you through the doors. Upon this rare sighting, Felix decided that the story he was entertaining his table with was pointless, ceasing his conversation. It was like he was in a trance, the way he stood from his seat and gravitated toward you. Wordlessly, he plucked you away from your roommates. He figured you were better off with him.

It was clear that you weren’t used to any sort of bar culture, and while he found that endearing, he made sure to look over you. He booted a girl from his group just so he could seat you next to him, all while making sure you didn’t see the nasty glare she gave you. 

Assigning himself as your drink-sitter, he carefully scrutinized whatever you ended up drinking. Any strong liquors that came your way were quickly confiscated, much to Farleigh’s disdain (although he was placated once the extra shots were passed along to him). All you had to your name was a modest mug of beer, which you sipped at tentatively as you tried to make sense of the conversation around you.

You had gotten through one beer, though you were struggling about halfway through your refill. Despite that, Felix was in awe of you. The whining as he took the cup away, the mindlessly giggling at a joke one of the girls told, the fidgeting with the hem of your jumper. How could someone make drinking look so innocent? 

“My face is hot.” “You’ve got a buzz going. It’s quite a look.” “A good one or a bad one?” “A bit of a naughty one.” He quickly earned a punch in the arm from you.

And this was far better than the revisions or the tutoring. To finally discuss something other than academics with you was refreshing. He found himself recounting all of his stories, even the ones he had already told that night, just so he could hear you laugh at everything he said. It was a melody in his ears, a tiny bell jingling beside him.

Once the company began to fall out, Felix took you to get a breath of fresh air just beside the entrance of the pub. “D’you need anyone to take you home?” “Nooo, my roommates are heading back anyways.” “You sure? I can–” “Oh, you’re too kind. Why don’t you have a lover yet?”

The question was so forward and sudden, he couldn’t help but be surprised. You were definitely tipsy.  “Huh…haven’t given much thought to it.” “Well, you should.” “And that means?” “They’d be lucky.”

Felix couldn’t help it; he was out of control, cradling your face into his hands as his heart threatened to leap out of his chest. They were indeed hot, you weren’t lying about that. There was silence, anticipation with a bated breath, and then your lips were all that he felt. If anyone was watching, and they most likely were, it was like he was holding himself back. Jaw tensed, muscles taut, brows scrunched. It almost looked like he was in pain.

And he was in pain, his restraint being tested every second he kissed you. Trying so desperately to not have his way with you, to take you home and screw you into his dorm mattress. That’s not the type of person you were.

But boy, did you make it difficult. The mere act of placing your hands against his chest, pressing your body against his. Again, painfully obvious this wasn’t something you did often, but that made it all the more perfect to him. He intended to keep you that way, which is why he let go.

The confusion that overtook your features made him regret his decision more and more, twisting his insides with guilt for leaving you hanging. Your lips, donning a soft shine, mouthed his name, but any sound went fuzzy in his ears. The more he stared at them, the more that forbidden feeling stirred inside of him.

Mumbling an apology, he abruptly stepped back, not even sure of what he was even doing. He had to get away, head home. It was ironic, to long for you so deeply but to hold himself back from indulging in you. He was never one to shy away from what he desired; it was his very nature, his reputation. But he couldn’t just use a girl like you to scratch one of his sexual itches, how could he bring himself to?

And so, Felix turned his back on you, not uttering another word. He pushed through the crowded walkway in a blind frenzy, ignoring the people who tried to strike up conversation. Never once looking back. 

Soon enough, he heaved the grand doors open to his hall, ready to sleep off the feeling until a sultry voice called to him from his right. Annabel. Apparently she had been waiting for him.

It wasn’t long before she was straddled across his lap, basically eating away at the lower half of his face as she eagerly fumbled with his belt buckle. That’s what turned him off about her. Too eager, too annoying. It played a part as to why he had kept his distance from her, but for that night, she was better than nothing.

As she slipped off his lap to kneel on the messy floor of his dorm, his mind drifted elsewhere. The desperate girl in front of him disappeared, then you were there, just as he left you. Staring up at him behind your obnoxious glasses, your bottom lip trembling. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Would you even know how to do this sort of thing? 

If he allowed himself, he’d guide you, gripping a part of your hair. Not tight enough to hurt you, of course, just enough to get leverage. He’d watch as your pretty lips parted to take him in, taking your sweet time. Your mouth would be soft and hot, your tongue shifting about awkwardly underneath him. He bet that you’d have it down quickly; you were good at most things, being a quick learner. Perhaps there would be a few scrapes from your canines as you bobbed up and down, if he were to be realistic. But the sting was more than alright with him.

Felix always prided in himself for his ability to give a girl a good, long time. Why else would they flock to him by the dozens? So what was so different about you that made him feel like he was already about to burst the seams?

Because it was still you, sickly sweet and serene you, lips wrapped around him and devouring him like the candy you always loved. Your eyes would water, but he’d gladly wipe away each drop that managed to escape. It left him a whiny mess. Sweat prickling at his forehead, ragged breaths heaving his shoulders up and down, white-knuckling your hair.

And when he’d come close, he’d let you know. You didn’t like being caught off-guard. Your heavy disdain for pop-quizzes or his endless pranks of sneaking up behind you made that apparent. But he prided himself in knowing these things about you, that he was able to gather it all from your little ramblings. 

You liked American reality TV. Disliked gel pens. Loved your chips overdone. A ridiculous query crossed his mind. Would you like spitting or swallowing? Or would you rather it all over you? From how your lips were glued to him, it seemed like swallowing. But that made him hesitate. You would never like such a thing. You were squeamish around anything sticky or slimy. Cough syrup, oily or tacky lotions…you hated them. As much as it dismayed him, why would this be any different?

Because it wasn’t you. And as soon as the girl he had taken back to his dorm reappeared, he knew that she could never be you. Nobody could. He was disgusted with himself for dirtying that memory of you. He had turned something so innocent into something so grossly erotic, and he knew he had crossed a line. How could he ever see you the same way again?

He was also disgusted with how Annabel seemed to not care despite his disillusion. She might have been the only girl he had seen that got off on merely sucking someone off. It was genuinely pathetic. Her head was swiftly yanked up, her lips making a “pop” sound.

“Alright, get out.” “What? But we’ve barely done anything, Fe–” “I don’t fuckin’ care. Piss the fuck off!”

Felix thought he would feel bad about kicking Annabel out, especially after she left in tears with her clothes haphazardly buttoned. But he could genuinely not have cared in the slightest; he was already preoccupied, mind filled with guilt after what he had done to you. But did he feel regret? No. That’s what ate at him the most. Someone like him shouldn’t have gone for someone like you. 

Perhaps it was better to try and forget that he kissed you. Kissing you meant opening the floodgates of his feelings, his debauchery. He had to keep that closed so that you could stay as pure as you always were. His perfect girl.

And he would do anything to keep you that way.

to be continued!

a/n: dutifully fulfilling this request by my lovely anon. i wanted to delve more into the selfish, savior complex that he was and i DEFINITELY intend to take it deeper for the next part. again, thank you for the ask! co-written by @hellb4ts! leon, thank you for the many wonderful ideas. and you're welcome for introducing you to saltburn <3 inbox is open for any asks or reqs !

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[aestherin]

seatmates | scaramouche x gn! reader

a random drabble i thought of at school bc of course my mind is floating :D

i was scrolling thru my drafts when i found this i totally did not forget about this i swear </3 also not proofread bc i don't have any braincells left :DD

wc: 589

You have always hated two-person desks.

Especially those that are too narrow you and your seatmate practically have to be squished against each other in order for both of you to fully utilize the desk.

"Fucking move," Scaramouche hissed.

"No, you," you pushed against his arm which had bumped into yours earlier.

He sent death glares your way, all of which you paid no attention to. After almost a year of sitting next to each other, it was second nature to build a system that's immune to the silent and furious side-eyes of an angry cat. How long has it been? Ah.

It all started when you made the grave mistake of being late for the first day of classes. No one else wanted to sit next to the menace that is currently sending daggers your way, and so you ended up sitting on the remaining available spot — the one beside Scaramouche.

The experience wasn't all that bad, though.

Sure, sitting beside him felt like being together with a grumpy old man, but even he had some soft moments. Like when he'd let you peek at his notes when you don't understand what the lecturer was babbling about (this comes with some mockery from him, but you shrug them all off).

Or like that one time you were shivering from the AC and he let you borrow his hoodie (this came with him uttering lighthearted remarks about how you should always be prepared because what if he wasn't there to lend his hoodie? Just what are you going to do without him?)

You returned it immediately after getting it washed but he told you to keep it. It's now your favorite hoodie.

Sitting next to Scaramouche was a give-and-take situation. He would begrudgingly lend you a hand, and you would do the same. He used to disturb you from whatever you were doing just to borrow your correction tape so many times that at one point, you just laid it out on your desk, free for him to use. Luckily, he got the message and just started using it whenever he needed to. Was it just your imagination or did he really start needing the correction tape less when you just laid the thing out on the desk?

He also once left his earphones at home and kept bugging you to let him listen to whatever was playing through yours because he swears even your trashy music taste is much more bearable than listening to whatever your classmates were chattering about.

That's what he said but he now listens religiously to the playlist you've been playing on repeat.

As an attempt to get back at you for what you did earlier, he bumped his arm against yours — which was writing notes, at the moment.

Across the organized scribbling of letters and words on a page of your notebook was now a long, thick line of black ballpoint pen ink. You gasped, mouth ajar at the painful sight of a mess.

"Dude! What the fuck?" You sharply turned your head towards him, only to find that he'd already looked away from you.

"Scara, you bit—"

He only sighed.

Your attention was swayed by him slowly and gently intertwining both of your hands above the desk.

"Don't worry about it. I'll rewrite your notes for you later."

He finally gazed back at you. Blood rushed up your face as he used his hand to guide yours to his lips, pressing a light kiss.

"At least after we eat out for dinner."

[councilofcastamere]

THE PARTY AND THE AFTERPARTY | KIM TAEHYUNG X ACTRESS!READER

a b r i d g e m e n t : Y/N Y/L/N, South Korea’s rising starlet, is glamour itself. Everything in her might shines, and outside of it isn’t her problem.

She knows that if the nation were to know about her affair with Kim Taehyung, South Korea’s notorious blues singer, and most sought after bachelor, all of that will overshadow all that she did. All that she accomplished.

So, this love affair only happens at night. Swift kisses and gone by the morning.

A / N : just a quick scribble,, enjoy it though

You sat at the small hotel room, long legs outstretched by the small coffee table. Your gentle hands fiddled with the small telephone cord, the ring prevalent to your ears.

You considered picking up to him. To hear his gentle words, his conniving suggestions.

After all, the reason you were in this cramped hotel room was him. Only him.

You both couldn’t have afforded to let your house be the house where these rendezvous took place. The paparazzi and press were nothing but mosquitoes, flying around all over the hills and all over the neighbourhood.

So you settled on this small motel. It was cheap, but not too cheap. Too cheap is where all the trashy stars went who didn’t care if they got caught or not.

It was clean, but it wasn’t exactly five star service.

You signed under the name ‘Miss Kennedy.” You loved that name. You loved the Kennedy’s. An American dynasty.

“Miss Kennedy…” you mumbled into the phone, close to your lips. “That’s what I’m signed as.”

“I’ll come to you.” his quiet words promised, as you could hear the sound of a running car. “I miss you like hell. I swear, it’s eating at me the more I think about it.”

A small smile graced your lips.

“I missed you too.” you mumbled, already managing to sneak a cuban cigar into your mouth. “I miss that little frown you do.”

“I miss that little pose you do.” he counters, smiling. “The way you always push your knees to your chest when you sit. It’s like you curl up into a ball.”

You only chuckled into the phone.

“Come here quick, before I change my mind.” you whispered, smiling fondly.

You glanced at the black dress thrown over the mirror, a grin on your lips.

“And trust me.” you smiled, your thumb stroking the black phone. “You do not want that.”

“…stay the fuck there.” he answers, his voice firm. “Trust. I’m at your door in five.”

[abiiors]

queen of hearts // matty healy x reader

valentine's week - day 6: queen of hearts

a/n: this is. Not Good. the burnout is hitting me now lol this is okayish now after the major edit wc: breakups i think but that's it cw: 4.1 k

“i can be your date to the awards.”

matty’s words freeze you in your tracks and you whip your head to him, almost dropping your coffee in the process. he’s half-leaning half-sitting on the table, flicking through a trashy tabloid of all things that you wish would set on fire right about now. but it doesn’t. and so matty continues to flick through it without even looking up at you while he’s just dropped this bomb on you. 

you know what’s caught his fancy… you know there’s going to be some iteration of “the queen of hearts suffers heartbreak” in there. (because let’s face it, the tabloids are never creative enough to think of other headlines and they’ve used this one almost every time you’ve had a public break up before) 

you suppose you should count your lucky stars they didn’t find out right away, that you at least got three months to yourself before the news first broke. 

“what makes you think i need a date?”

he thumbs over to another page, still looking just as insufferably cool as ever. “your ex is going. ooohh, ouch! he’s going with someone you’re up against in almost every category, babe.”

“i don’t care,” you turn your nose up at him, “and don’t call me babe.”

matty puts the magazine down and finally looks at you. 

from the corner of your eye you catch the headline—the queen of heartbreak—along with a photo of you and jack, a dramatic slash going between the two of you. you remember that night, you remember going to a charity gala with him and sneaking out to make out in one of the forgotten hallways. you remember feeling invisible in the best of ways for the first time in your life. 

a pang goes through your chest and you bring your attention back to matty. 

“in fact, i might not even go.”

“really?” he raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms in front of him. your eyes betray you by flicking to his biceps that strain against the sleeve of the flannel he’s wearing, but you quickly look back at him and blink the thoughts away. 

you sigh, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “no, that’s– yeah, no. skipping's not an option. my publicist would kill me. plus, they already have a dress for me and it’s too gorgeous to be wasted like this.”

“and you think going solo is a good idea,” his eyes flick to the tabloid and you can already see the headlines that would be written about you. all the staged and well-timed photos of you sneaking even a single glance at jack and his date, all the speculation of jealousy and cheating. just think about it makes your temples ache. 

“no… i guess not.”

matty grins, “so take me as your date then.”

you take a moment to assess him. he’s certainly hot, (objectively speaking, of course) and going with him would create a…splash to say the least. and if you were being honest with yourself, you kinda dig the anti hero persona he’s got going at the moment. 

on the other hand, your publicist might blow a blood vessel trying to clean up your image. 

you look at the tabloid again, at the “queen of heartbreak” printed in big bold ugly letters all across the front page. it’s fucking tiring being so synonymous with love songs. it’s tiring singing about romance and yearning and love while your happily ever after comes crumbling all around you. 

“okay,” you say and matty smiles wide. you smile back. 

and for the first time in three months, it’s a real genuine smile. 

you see him around the studio a few more times after that—sometimes with his band, sometimes alone. mostly he’s running around, busy with his own thing and not really playing much attention to anyone around him. you on the other hand, sit in the twin of his studio space.

on most days your head feels empty, not a single song lyric or even a catchy riff in there. not a single thing scribbled in your notebook for months. you know what’s expected of you—another romance pop album to sweep everyone off their feet. your management has been very clear about that—it’s what gets the numbers and it’s what they want from you. 

it doesn’t matter what you want. it’s never mattered. 

you try everything—walking around the property with your notebook in your hands, hoping to find some inspiration. you listen to your old songs, cringing at how empty they sound, how soulless and exactly like the one before. happy to the point of feeling cognitive dissonance. 

as a last resort, you even look up photos of you and jack, just to see if it would spark…anything. 

all it does is annoy you more. he’s already got a new girlfriend, the same girl who’s supposed to be his date. you imagine the buzz around their red carpet debut and then think back to your own—how much the tabloid had gushed over you, calling you the perfect couple. a couple that just “made sense”

the perfect king to their queen of hearts.

you close your eyes and lean your head back against the bark of a tree. it’s nice here at least, it’s calm. the place is so far away from the city, you could just disappear for a few months and just not do anything. 

but peace has never come to you without a price. 

not even five minutes later, a loud guitar riff splits the air followed by raucous laughter. (it’s surprising to you that you already recognise matty’s laugh) standing up, you dust off your jeans and follow the sounds. the guitar only gets louder the more you walk, until you see a group of people around a little barbecue. 

matty’s holding his guitar like a classic douchebag rockstar, sunglasses dangling over his nose and arm muscles flexed and veins taut against his forearms as he strums the bright red guitar. it’s so much different from what their music usually sounds like. the notes aren’t very loud or angry but they’re certainly powerful. stronger than anything you’ve ever played before.  

it makes you stop in your tracks and watch him. 

you just stand there—captivated by the music, captivated by him. it only takes matty a couple more seconds to notice you, and you look away, flustered. 

“enjoying the show?” he asks, a sly grin playing on his lips. warmth creeps up your cheeks. 

“no, sorry. i was just round the corner and heard you. sorry didn’t mean to intrude—”

“relax,” he laughs and sets the guitar aside. you recognise the others behind him—his band, for one. you’ve seen the other three men with him in countless photos and award shows but the others are unfamiliar. 

“that was… really good,” you laugh and tuck a strand of hair behind your ears. matty’s eyes follow the movement. “something new?”

“something old actually. very old. it’s called 28, from when we used to perform under drive like i do.”

that’s news to you so you just nod your head, unsure what to say. “it sounded really good. powerful.”

matty’s eyes flick over your face for a moment, taking you in with such intensity that you feel utterly shy for a moment, almost like a part of you is laid bare—there’s no creative makeup to conceal imperfections on your face, no team of stylists to dress you and style your hair. in front of matty, in just jeans and a t-shirt and your hair in a braid, you’re just…a person. as ordinary as it gets. 

“didn’t think it would be your kind of music,” he says after a second and you look down, toeing the grass. 

“i didn’t either…” the words are so soft, they’re barely audible. matty opens his mouth to say something but panic shoots through you like a spear. you know he’s going to ask you to join, and music is the last thing on your mind. 

“i gotta go,” you mumble, already backing away. matty’s face shifts from a smile to a confused frown. he lifts his hand, almost wraps his fingers around your wrist but matty thinks better of it at the last moment and drops it. 

you don’t stay long enough to hear what he says, you just run back to the studio and try to forget this ever happened. 

the days leading up to the awards are a whirlwind of preparations—from dress fittings to speech preparation to meeting with stylists, it’s exhausting. at least it keeps your mind off, well, everything else. but mostly it keeps you too busy to interact with any more journalists or paps. the most they get are photos of you going to a couple dress fittings and back to your car. 

none of it distracts you from matty though. even though you haven’t since him the weeks that you’ve been back in the city (he’s still back in the studio), you find yourself lingering on thoughts of him throughout the day. even though you haven’t talked to him since then, you find yourself wishing you’d exchanged phone numbers. 

but most surprisingly, you don’t think about jack at all. not even once (unless his face just so happens to be on some magazine cover or the other). he simply exists in the periphery, mostly out of sight and out of mind. 

your publicist, emma, does blow a blood vessel when you first tell her about bringing matty as your plus one. she’s older than most other people on your team, has been in this industry far longer than you have, so her disapproval stings a bit. 

“matty? healy? are you sure about that?” she side-eyes you when you first break the news to her, taking you aback just a bit. 

“why, what’s wrong with him?”

she chews on her bottom lip for a second and you hold your breath, waiting for her to flat-out say that this is a bad idea. “he’s not the most…popular right now.”

you roll your eyes. “well if that’s the only thing that’s wrong with him then i’d still like to take him.” and then as an afterthought, you add a “please”. 

“fine,” she shrugs and that is the end of that. she asks no more questions, makes none of her personal feelings known. and while on some days you appreciate that degree of professionalism, on others you just need…a friend. 

but emma goes back on her phone, already making a call to someone and you swallow all the words that are on the tip of your tongue. 

your heart’s in your throat from the moment you step inside the limousine. it’s standard for you—get inside the car, stare outside from the heavily tinted windows until it’s time to compose yourself for the cameras. somehow, tonight feels different, and definitely not because you have more nominations than you’ve had ever before. 

“where’s matty?” you ask emma who’s texting on her phone. 

“oh, we’re picking him up from his hotel. ten more minutes.”

with trembling fingers you unlock your phone, getting the pin wrong twice before searching him up on instagram. without his number that’s the only way you have to contact him and you wonder if he’s even going to check his instagram dms. but you send out a quick prayer and type out a message anyway. 

ready for tonight?

i guess i should say sorry in advance for all the dating rumours we’re about to fuel

then you cringe and stare out the window again, wondering if that was too forward of you to say. it has been weeks since you talked to him afterall. who knows if he’s even excited about this anymore or if he’s simply doing it as an obligation. 

your phone buzzes with an incoming dm. 

ready and waiting :)

and being linked to you doesn’t sound so bad

in spite of the rumours, that makes you smile, and the car takes a turn towards the driveway of a swanky hotel. almost reflexively, you fix your hair (they’re perfectly done) and smooth any folds in your dress (it fits you like a glove). it’s only the lack of a mirror that stops you from obsessively checking your makeup but you still take a quick glance at your phone’s screen and make sure everything’s in place.

it shouldn’t be this nerve-wracking. it’s just an award show, you’ve done this a hundred times in the past but then the car rolls to a stop and suddenly someone’s opening the door. 

you smell him before you see him—expensive perfume and cigarettes, like it’s his signature scent. and then you see him. 

matty’s in a sleek black tux, curls tamed for the night with some hair gel and even then some of them manage to escape, falling on his forehead and into his eyes. his eyes look darker somehow, more intense, and they widen when his gaze lands on you. 

against your better judgment, you feel a sense of satisfaction when his gaze trails down to the low, low neckline of your dress and back up to your red-painted lips. then back to your eyes before matty clears his throat and gets inside the car. you take advantage of his distraction to steal another look at him. and yep, he’s just as hot as always. 

if anything, the tux makes him almost irresistible. 

“hi,” he smiles, right next to you now and you try not to lean into his warmth. 

“hi” you smile back, uncharacteristically shy. “ready for tonight?”

“you already asked me that.”

colour blooms on your cheeks and you look away for a second, mortified that you have nothing else to say but a second later matty snickers making you roll your eyes at him. 

“relax, sweetheart. we’ll be great.” his eyes slide up your face again, dipping to your mouth just for half a second, quick enough that you would have missed it if you blinked. “why are you nervous anyway. thought you’d be a pro by now.”

“‘s not that, i just– the vultures,” you surprise yourself with how intense you sound then, how angry. “sorry, the press. they’d probably leave no chance to find links between me and jack and i’m just… fed up. i’ve had enough now.”

“the vultures,” he says pointedly, “can suck my dick—”

“matty!”

“no i’m serious.” 

you look at him properly then, at how earnest he looks. then matty places his hand right next to yours, palm up and open. “we’ll do it together.”

you can only manage a nod, and then you place your hand in his, mentally preparing yourself for the chaos. 

as the car pulls up to the red carpet, everything suddenly feels charged as a livewire. the flashing lights, the screams of fans, and the swarm of photographers are all part of the routine. still, it never gets old. 

still, you never fully get used to it. 

matty’s first to step out, extending his hand out to you—the absolute portrait of a gentleman—and so you take it, stepping out of the limousine. the moment your feet touch the carpet, the cameras go wild.

matty’s hand around yours is warm, comforting. it astonishes you how familiar it feels despite holding his hand for the first time. and even though you can barely hear anything over the camera shutters and the shouts of “look over here”, you can make out him mouthing “i’ve got you.”

right as you walk up to the centre of it all and stop for photos, matty turns towards you and leans in. you freeze, trying hard to hold the camera-ready smile on your phone but his face is so close to yours, his hand so big around yours. 

“by the way,” he says, his lips grazing your ear, “you look stunning tonight.” 

the cameras erupt into more clicks, the shouts and cheers go wild. you know what moment they’ve just captured—matty, almost kissing the shell of your ear and you going the same shade of red as the carpet. your stomach swirls with butterflies even though the nerves are ever present. a pleasant shiver runs down your spine. 

matty’s already facing the cameras once again, staring them down and giving them a gorgeous smile that has your heart skipping a beat. 

before you have the chance to overthink it, you stand on your toes and press a kiss to his cheek, leaving a perfect red lipstick mark behind. his jaw goes slack, his grip around your hand loosens. not even a second later, you feel the same hand around your waist, pulling you into him, surrounding you with his scent. 

“oh we’re giving a show tonight huh?” he smirks. 

you smirk back, feeling the adrenaline rush through you. “thought that’s what you wanted,” you reply, your voice a low whisper that only he can hear over the chaos of the red carpet.

matty's eyes sparkle with mischief as he leans in, his lips dangerously close to yours. “well then, let's make it a performance they'll never forget,” he says, his thumb lightly brushing against your waist. 

before they have a chance to ask more questions, you move on—arm around matty’s waist, practically leaning into him as your head swims with the almost kiss. sure, he did it for the cameras but the dizziness you feel is real. the way your blood rushes is very fucking real

“ready, darling?” he asks just before you’re going to step in. 

you bite your lip, actually excited this time. “ready as i’ll ever be.”

but the excitement drains away the moment you leave the cameras and step through the massive doors to the auditorium. this is the true test—the outside cameras would only catch a glimpse of your evening, the first look at your outfit and hair and a look into your excitement for the evening. but the inside cameras capture everything!

you remember the utter scandal from a few years ago when the cameras caught a musician rolling his eyes after his rival won a big award. you remember the memes on twitter for days after, the snide remarks from other industry peers, the hateful comments. you remember emma mentioning how his publicist had been fired two days after. 

you remember the instagram live meltdown. 

and now as you see jack in front of you, arms linked with his date, you wonder if it would be you next, if history would repeat itself. 

“alright?” matty’s voice cuts through your spiral and you stop instantly, causing him to walk into you just a little. matty’s arms tighten around your waist, steadying both of you and he frowns. 

“yeah,” you give him a tight smile. “jitters.”

“‘s that it?” matty looks skeptical, cocking an eyebrow at you, which somehow makes his whole face turn sharper. it’s the kind of sharpness that’s lethal… if you weren’t careful. 

in an attempt to steer the conversation away from yourself, you shake your head. “how come you’re not nervous?”

“who says i’m not?”

a laugh spills out of you, sharp and unbelieving. you’ve never seen someone more confident, more self-assured in your life before. hell, you’ve seen their concert videos now and matty is fucking electric in all of them. he looks like he owns the place, owns the attention of everyone around him. he looks impenetrable—an utter fucking rockstar. 

“well, you– you…”

“i…? what?” his eyes turn playful, his lips curve upward. “i look so dashing and sexy and in control all the time?”

“sure,” you drawl, fighting the smile that’s about to make its way onto your face. “that’s what i was goin—”

“hi, babe!”

your blood turns cold and a sour taste coats your tongue at the sound of his voice. 

jack looks exactly like he did the last time—the same dark wavy hair, the same piercing blue eyes that captivated you all those years ago, the same full lips that… you cut that train of thought before it could lead to places you’d rather not. instead, you stare right at him and give him a tight-lipped smile. 

“hi jack.” the babe doesn’t go unnoticed; neither by you, nor by matty, and he straightens, standing up to his full height. jack ignores him entirely.

“was wondering if you were coming.” you resist the urge to roll your eyes at the loaded sentence. you know exactly what he’s referring to—the fucking pathetic pap walk, the absolutely embarrassing amount of pda. it’s curious that he’s here alone now, smiling wide at you with unnervingly straight, white teeth. his date is nowhere to be seen.

“yeah, me too, actually,” you smile turns saccharine, “considering you don’t have any nominations this year.”

matty chokes back a laugh and jack’s face reddens a little. still, he manages to hold up pretty well. 

“oh, feisty! aren’t you, babe? isn’t she?” the last part is addressed to matty who stiffens, pulling you closer. a part of you wants to give into the butterflies swarming in your stomach. a part of you wants to lean into him and feel protected. 

you expect matty to come up with a witty response, something that would put jack in his place, but matty turns to you instead, looking down at you with… adoration, almost. it’s not like it’s real, you tell yourself, it’s only for your ex. only for show. 

“is that the guy you were telling me about, darling? the boring one you dated before?” 

now it’s your turn to choke back a laugh. you try not to dwell too much on the darling, or his low, almost seductive voice. you certainly don't dwell on how it makes your insides flutter and feel warm. instead, you focus back on jack and relish in the way his jaw tightens. 

“i see,” he mutters, but matty clearly isn’t done yet.

“she can speak for herself, won’t you say john—”

“jack.” his voice is terse now, and as much as you’re enjoying this little interaction, you’d rather it get not picked up by cameras and even more tabloids. the headlines that would be splashed on them tomorrow are already predictable enough. so you tug on matty’s arm and smile up at him sweetly. 

“shall we go find our seats, love?”

the iciness in his eyes fades at the one word, and you try not to let that do funny things to you. (even though it’s practically too late now, even though you can almost feel your heart doing somersaults in your ribcage). matty presses his hand to the small of your back, the skin of his palm so deliciously warm that it seeps through the fabric and you have to swallow back a groan. 

god! he’s fucking attractive… 

and fuck! you might just be in trouble. 

jack stares daggers at you when you let matty steer you away, the stare so intense that it almost burns into the back of your head but the electricity from matty’s proximity is something else entirely… 

“love?” he teases, the moment you’re out of earshot and you blush deeply. 

“i said it for him, not for you!” but even you know the retort lacks conviction. 

“whatever you say…” a shit-eating grin appears on his face, melting away all the sharpness from before. and suddenly matty’s just… a handsome boy. curly-haired and smiley and soft. his eyes crinkle in the way that makes you think how used to he is to smiling and laughing—as often as he wants, as freely too. 

he’s beautiful like this, you think, different from the rest of them too. you don’t constantly feel on guard around him for one.

his finger lightly taps you on the forehead, catching you off guard. “what’s going on in there?”

what is going on is you waxing poetic about how hot he is but his ego does not need that particular ego boost. but try as you might, you can’t think of a sarcastic remark, nothing teasing or mocking. all you manage is a genuine smile. 

“just that… it’s not so scary anymore.”

“yeah?”

you nod, giving his hand a squeeze. “who knew bringing you as my fake date would be a good idea, huh?” 

“fake date…” matty smirks, and lets his eyes roam over your face. it’s the type of stare that’s hard to look away from, the type of stare that holds you captive. matty lets out a shaky little breath and takes one small step closer. just one. “i don't know, seems pretty real to me.”

lemme know what you think <33

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[soraarchives]

jake kim x reader / angst

how did it end?

you meet him three weeks before he is supposed to get out of juvie.

"i have got so much to tell you. i can't wait to meet you after so long." he is barely able to contain the excitement in his voice. it's so pure it's almost off-putting given in the place you are. how could this guy be in such a place when his motives were never unjustified? for you, that is, for the rest of the world, it's hard to say.

big deal is all about romanticism and that romantic nature didn't seem ever to leave jake.

"let's watch that movie together you wanted to watch," is what he suggests as one of the first things you two could do after such a long while.

he always had your back and so did you. be it you going to him for comfort after dating all those trashy guys and being in trashy situations or be it for him coming to you knowing no one may get him in the whole of big deal except you, how you would go on and on about the most random of things sometimes. how he says, "i really wanted to hear you laugh." it's undeniable whatever you both have in between.

the movie suggestion had you thinking of you both cuddled on the sofa, with the both of you not having your hands to yourselves. his hands roaming onto your thighs scribbling something.

the way he's got you feeling is like a high school girl in love. that's what you were when you first met him. how fitting it is you think to yourself.

…

as the day of his release was coming closer the rumours were getting to each and everyone's ears in big deal.

"what do you think, jerry? has he really changed?" you ask jake's sword who is as hesitant to answer your question as you are to think about his changed demeanour.

days go by you couldn't help but have this giddiness all the time. you thought the cards were stacked in your favour. this was the perfect time when you could meet jake and have time off to spend with him.

if only this perfect time could last. you're only waiting for the day when jake is released now. only he could provide you with the comfort you need is the thought on your mind.

the day comes when you meet him. whatever happened has let you know it will be quite different from all your daydreams.

he meets you on big deal street. you find him waiting for you. the first thing he asks for is a hug which you happily comply.

you both are here at the coffee shop that you chose, sitting with beverages in your hands. it's all good, may not be in the way you both had imagined but it wasn't as bad as your imagination. this is just the kind of break you need to get over what had happened.

"i know this is unexpected. i'm sorry for that. i have to leave tomorrow." he's dumbfounded at your words.

"where to?" he asks wanting to know what is this urgency that has you leaving.

"i have to go home." jake takes in your words.

"let's go somewhere else."

you're at his place.

he takes you by your hand, pulling you in. his arms are encircled around your waist. your face slightly peeking through his shoulders.

"i lost my.."

he doesn't need you saying anything further. he knows what you mean as always without you needing to say it for him. you both are in the middle of his living room staying still just wanting to be in each other's presence. this is what you needed.

"give me your hand." you do as he asks. "it's so small." you feign annoyance at his remark and bury your head in his chest. "it's not so small."

he pulls back to tuck your hair behind your ears to rest his forehead against yours. he leans in to see whether you want this too.

"if you want to do something, right now is when you should do it."

"i can't.. you know this is not the right time."

he gets behind you, pulls you close by your waist and his hands rest there while yours come to rest atop his, his lips are on your neck. he's waiting for the okay which you are hesitant to give.

"this may be the last time we're able to get close to each other." this time you are shocked at his words. you turn around to face him. "what do you mean this is the last time?"

"i've decided for you to retire from big deal."

"how can you decide that for me?"

"big deal is changing. i just got out of juvie. i don't want you to be dealing with anything like that."

there's sense in what he's saying but it's too abrupt to be dropped on you like this.

"i know i'm putting you on the spot." you find yourself enveloped by his warmth again. his explanation is muffled because his face is buried in your hair.

you pull away to listen to his words clearly but he doesn't allow that, his hand burying in your hair and guiding you to his chest.

you have an argument forming on your lips but he has you cut off by his words. you're too taken aback to make sense of it. you look up at him your hands resting on his which are now cupping your face. what he wants is evident. he leans into you again.

"i could kiss you right now if that's what you want."

"i'd want that any other day. now is not the right time."

"when would be the right time then?"

"anything but now. you know what i'm going through right now. i was waiting for you before. i would have wished to do so much more then."

"i get it. it's okay. i don't want to force anything on you."

"it's not okay. you're saying it's the last time."

"i'm just saying if you want to do something now is the time. after that i want you to move on."

"i can't move on after doing this with you. it's n-"

you take a step back to look up at him. he has his arms wrapped around you once more.

"it is okay."

you both can't come to a middle ground. before long he says, "you should leave. you have to get ready to go back home." time has slipped from your hands both for now and for this situationship of yours for years. you know you couldn't argue with him on this. you had to leave.

back at home, you realise jake did change. back at home, you realise he did tell you everything even when it felt like he didn't. back at home, you realise for all the times he said it was okay, it wasn't.

[stars-of-kyber]

The Greatest Love of My Life - Chapter 1

"Feeling the first streaks of annoyance get a hold of him, he quickly skimmed the blasted missive. And then his blood ran cold. The card was not an invitation to some random society ball his mother was trying to browbeat him to attend. It was an invitation to a wedding. The wedding of Mr Thomas Dorset to Miss Kathani Sharma." __________________________________________________________

After his failed wedding to Miss Edwina, Anthony flees to the country trying (and failing) to use distance to dampen his feelings for the Elder Miss Sharma. And then he receives a wedding invitation with a scribbled message he just cannot ignore.

My fellow Bridgertonzians, (I have watched Wicked twice already, leave me be) I have come up with some more crazy canon-divergent love confessions. This has been shamelessly inspired by a very corny Brazilian Sertanejo song called "O Grande Amor da Minha Vida! ", The Greatest Love of My Life in English in which the lady confesses her love to a guy by writing it to him at the back of her wedding invitation TO ANOTHER MAN lol (It's SO TRASHY BUT I LOVE IT SO MUCH OKAY? YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO IT IS SUPER VIBES!) I thought it would be the kind of stupid situation Kathony would 100% find themselves in and that's what came out of it! To @mimix007, who listened to me babbling and vibe-checked, you're brilliant, my friend. And again and always, to @harnitbee who is, seriously, best person and beta and writing partner. She stands all my dramatics and only for that she deserves a damn prize. This will be three chapters and one tiny epilogue long and it's all written and betaed so I'll probably be done with posting it by next week! WEeeeeeeee! I hope you vibe with this as much as I did! Happy reading, Enjoy!

[cripplepunk-sylveon]

Other people: why does Hobie's art style look so trashy. It's just collage and scribbles. It's so chaotic, I can't keep up.

Me, with a passing knowledge of art history and the time he lives in: Hobie's art style is hugely inspired by the Dada movement of the 1910s-1940s, a movement started by left-wing anti-war artists to mock the absurdity of war and challenge the comfort of the bourgeoisie while they sent men to die in droves for land they never visited. Dada is one of the angriest and most anti-establishment art movements of the 20th century, it's perfect for Hobie. Also, Hobie is unhoused, so of course his supplies are going to be magazine cuttings and whatever he can scrounge together to make art with. I'm sorry that your only experience with collage was in second grade art class, where you were a child with a bottle of Elmer's glue and rounded scissors and nothing adult to say.

Also Hobie as he appears in the film took three years to animate and the style bible for him alone was comedically long. It is DIFFICULT to make deliberate chaos.

[iamthekaijuking]

I made quick scribbly little redesign of magnamalo, I used machairodont felids as an anatomical reference. What do think? Can magnamalo be saved?

Excellent redesign! The machairodont anatomy really works well for him and gives him a reason to be front heavy without looking goofy. The armor and horns feel more streamlined and organic while still having a samurai feel. And the smaller styliform blades feel appropriately downsized, not getting in the way of hunting but still useful for defense.

Magnamalo is one of the few monsters where if you redesign him the end product will probably work better logically than what got. Kinda like valstrax. The thing is Capcom has never done a major redesign for a monster before. For instance the raths, over the course of 20 years, have still kept all their bells and whistles and only changed in minor ways (more wing digits, dentition changes, shifts in proportions). So I don’t think Capcom will ever “save” magnamalo. Part of me actually wonders if it’ll be a few games till we see him again since most of the fanbase liked worldborne more then risebreak.

That said, while UHC hates magnamalo (for very valid reasons), it’s tied with glavenus, tigrex, Anjanath, and Deviljho for my favorite monster. Although my love for magna borders on ironic, in the same way a lot of nostalgia critic fans semi-ironically enjoy his content. The only thing I think is really stinky with magna is the design, and even then I love it because it’s kinda like Balahara where it’s pretty close to how I would design a character for Gverse. Hell, magna’s gunlance design is tied with raging brachy’s for my favorite in the series!

Magnamalo also kinda highlights something about my personality, where as long as it’s entertaining then I’ll probably like something really trashy or bad. For instance eight crazy nights and squidbillies, they’re not good at all but everything I’ve seen so far has made me ironically love them. That might come with being a tokusatsu fan though.

[killingthecringe]

For the prompt thing how about 135, or 243, or 388? You pick which ever gets you inspired.

243. “Oh my God! You’re in love with her!”

"Shut up, Rouge." He hisses, blowing past his roommate with a grunt. Despite his best attempt, she fans a wing out to block his path.

“Oh no, we are going to talk about this!” “No, we aren't. I have nothing to say on the matter, so leave me alone.” Shadow’s low growl doesn't work on the bat, she’s heard it too many times to believe there is active malice behind it. When her wing remains unmoved, his shoulders drop with a sigh.

“Please, Rouge. I’m tired.”

He doesn't show exhaustion the way most people do. No discoloration forms under his eyes, and as far as she can tell he’s never yawned. But there is weariness in the way he moves, and when he does meet her eyes, she can see how true the statement is.

“Fine. But we talk about this in the morning”

She folds her wing out of the way, and he all but runs to his room, shutting the door behind him. She doesn't mean to pry- but satellite ears aren't something that can just be turned off. The dull thud of him tossing his shoes across the room and the creak of the old bed frame as his weight drops onto it.

To give him his privacy, she turns a trashy reality TV show on, volume on just loud enough for the sounds of his breathing to be covered by the glamorous women throwing wine at each other.

As expected, he keeps his promise.  When she wakes from where she's spent the night on the couch, he’s sat in his chair, reading. His ears twitch towards her, and he looks up, observing her silently as she stretches out her tense muscles. The apartment smells of fresh coffee, and she perks up at the sight of her favourite mug sat with steam rising from it. 

“You can't bribe me with coffee. We’re talking about it.”

Shadow sets his book aside without marking the page, and she gets the odd sense he’d only been holding it to keep his hands occupied.

She takes a sip of the warm drink, letting the heat seep into her as she draws her knees to her chest.

“When?”

Shadow starts bouncing his leg as his arms cross over his chest. “I don't know.”

Her raised eyebrow is met with an unenthusiastic shrug. It's not like he's got a well-developed emotional vocabulary, so she will have to take what he's willing to offer.

“Is it mutual?”

“I don't know.”

“Does she know?”

“No, not that I am aware.”

“You're kind of unobservant.”

“I know.”

Rouge sighs. “I thought she was still in love with him.”

He reacts as if he was hiding a stab wound in the field. Ears pinned back, curling in on himself in a defensive manner, even as he fought to keep his composure. To keep his dignity. To pretend to be unaffected.

“She is,” Rouge said aloud

Silence, with crimson eyes burning a hole into the permanent wrinkle of the rug underneath the coffee table/

Rouge chewed at her lip, dragging her fangs across a split that had just healed. Amy was a really wonderful girl, full of fire and potential and joie de vive. She’d thrown love and care at anyone she’d come across, including those who didn't deserve it - but that never stopped her from doing it again.

A lot of people liked Amy.

A lot of people loved Amy.

But she had tunnel vision in the worst way. No matter how heavy-handed the flirting was, how overt, how direct, Amy never caught on. She just kept chasing the fantasy of having her love reciprocated by Sonic and Sonic only.

Suitor after suitor tried their luck, something the bat noticed when hanging out with Amy a few times. Waiters stumbling over their words, double takes as they were passed in the street. Once even, someone had given her their number scribbled on a napkin, and the oblivious flower had thought it a request for volunteer information.

Rouge has asked, had made clear points - but Amy had always dismissed it as flirting meant for the bat or ‘romantic thinking’.

So Shadow’s subtle affection would be entirely undetectable.

“This is stupid.” Shadow mumbled, crossing his arms in front of him. "I should be better than this.”

The bat huffed. “Better than what? Mortal emotion?” “I shouldn't let her have the effect on me that she does.”

“Well,” another sip from her coffee mug, “I don't think that’s a choice you get to make. Your heart knows what it wants.”

“I should be using my head. She doesn’t want me.”

She watched his fingers dig into his bicep as he crossed his arms - if there was no cotton padding his claws, she has no doubt he would be bleeding. His voice came out soft, unsure. “I don't understand why she wants him when all he does is run, and leave her miserable after.”

Rouge hummed. “Predictability.” With his inquisitive look, she continued. “Amy knows sonic isn't going to love her back on some level, right? But if she keeps chasing him, then at least there are no surprises. No getting caught off guard. No risks. No actual vulnerability.  No growth, no change. No real pain, not like an actual relationship could cause. Just an ever moving goalpost.” Shadow huffed, “Impossible to succeed.” “Impossible to fail.” Rouge finished her coffee, leaning back onto the plush cushions. “She’s as scared of love as she is enamoured.”

The dark hedgehog sighed and ran his hands through his quills. “So what then?”

“That's up to you.” Rouge stood, stretching out. “But asking her to hang out wouldn't be a bad idea. Show her that she doesn't always have to be the one planning everything for everyone all the time.”

Shadow pulled out his phone, typing quickly as Rouge passed by him, patting his shoulder and heading off to take a shower.He was gone when she got out - but he’d left a note on the couch next to his book.

Thanks.

[sollyraptor]

Playing with the thought of making a trashy Turbo ask blog just for the fun of it- so long the brainrot lasts. Dude's just fun to draw, I didn't doodle scribble so much paper things in ages, pff-

Seen a handful of fun OG designs for the dude and I guess AUs and things. The activity of the Wreck-It Ralph niche of Tumblr itches an odd spot in my brain I wanna scratch it so bad.

But I already have four (4) Minecraft ask blogs to feed and they are starving. *sob*

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Who out of the 911 crew would be the most likely to be a Midsomer Murders fan?

This was a surprisingly tough one.

I feel like Karen loves trashy reality TV and horror films she can make fun of, the sort of things that you can watch with a glass of wine and a snarky friend.

Buck is canonically huge into documentaries and nonfiction, and I feel like by extension he really likes historical fiction since he ends up researching stuff about the time periods.

I think Bobby and Athena share a not-so-secret love of romance, both contemporary and historical (and have definitely roleplayed some scenes from favorite novels). They probably have semi-serious semi-playful arguments over ships in shows.

Chim seems to like just about everything and drags Maddie along with him.

And it's canonical that Eddie loves telanovelas (he loves anything with high-stakes constant drama, he probably binged the fuck out of CW/The WB shows as a teen like Vampire Diaries and Dawson's Creek).

But something that I think Buck and Athena have in common is that they love solving puzzles and so I think out of the 118 those two would be most likely drawn to murder mysteries, seeing if they can figure it out before the episode reveals the killer. So that's my bet! I think Athena probably introduced Buck to several older shows like Columbo, Murder She Wrote, and so on. Eddie would love the drama shenanigans of Midsomer like all the cheating and red herrings and insane subplots, so he'd watch along with Buck and just enjoy the tongue-in-cheek tone while Buck's actively trying to beat Barnaby and is scribbling down clues.

(He has completely failed to realize how much like Winter he is, despite many sly comments from Athena and Eddie quietly having a crisis realizing he has a Type.)

[brunchrodent]

Paper Tiger Don aka Putin’s Trashy Sidepiece can go ahead and make as many “declarations” as he wants with his Crayola scribbles, and I will continue to callously disregard each of them.

Trans Rights, motherfuckers, and I will scream that in a blaze of fucking glory so bright, both God and Satan (if they exist) will be scared of my dedication to the cause of true liberation.

If anyone disagrees with the common sense idea that Trans/Queer rights are human rights, then I humbly and politely invite you to fuck off the edge of my dick and introduce your cranium to the pavement fast and hard.

Welcome to my No Nonsense Era, dearies.

[idjit112]

Hi! Welcome to @hippykattrs 's writing side blog. I write fun little stories sometimes.

Fic Masterlist:

Summer Lightning (Fence comics)

"Are you almost done?"

Bobby sighs from where he's sitting but doesn't remove the eyeliner pencil from Nick's face. Instead, he continues scribbling on more makeup, making Nick wonder if this is ever gonna end. He loves Bobby, but he's been sitting here for over 2 hours. He knows he was the one to agree to the makeover, but no one can blame him for going stir-crazy.

-----

Bobby finally gives Nick a makeover.

Under Where? (Sasaki to Miyano)

The pair of gray boxer briefs sitting in Sasaki's laundry basket definitely weren't his.

For one, they were way too small to ever fit him. Even with the stretch of the elastic waistband, they'd never comfortably fit around his waist. He didn't even have to hold them up to his hips to know they'd be short on him. Plus, he knew for a fact he didn't own boxer briefs. There was no way they could be his.

_____

OR Sasaki finds Miyano's underwear in his laundry basket and promptly freaks the hell out.

Wanna Bet? (Teen Titans Animated Series)

Beast Boy insists Bruce Wayne is Batman. Cyborg doesn't believe him. Chaos ensues.

Involves mentions of trashy reality TV, crappy Party City costumes, and a poorly conceived bet.