#what got me to slip into a spiral was at the show he did a cheeky turn left to right on the lyrics 'empty seats' and like

[lifemod17]

Oh dear, oh dear, I'm sorry

that you grew up so soon

And if you want, I can tell the truth

that this life takes a toll on you

I spend nights stitching up the loose threads of my soul

in the morning I'm bulletproof

[delphi-shield]

SAY IT BACK ↪ letting them leave without an ily

finishing up some smaller things from my wip folder before i buckle down and work on the big stuff again. here's this doofy little fluff piece.

characters included: chris redfield, leon kennedy, jill valentine, ada wong

content: fluff. just fluff. established relationship. mildly ooc behavior for the sake of fluff (also known as being in a relationship and acting stupid)

You found it on TikTok - or maybe it was Instagram, or Facebook - doesn't matter. One of the media conglomerates had given you a horrible idea about how to tease your loving, devoted partner.

It's simple - when they said 'I love you' before they left for work, you just wouldn't say it back. What could go wrong?

Chris Redfield ↪

Did not notice. Secure. In his lane. Unbothered. Probably not moisturized. (Get him a nice oil, fragrance free. He'll like it more if you massage it into his muscles for him, spend a little extra time smoothing along the curve of his spine, up and over the tightness of his shoulders.)

If you're at the point with Chris where he's saying “I love you” in place of a goodbye, he doesn't need to hear you say it back. He's confident in your relationship. Hearing it is just a nice bonus.

You're going to get your own feelings hurt here. Sent yourself into a spiral. Like, damn, does he not listen? Does he not care? What the fuck is his deal?

Chris is legitimately confused when you bring it up to him later. Doesn't get the point of the whole thing. “Why wouldn't you just say you love me?” Head cocked to the side, so puppy-like you can practically see the velvety ears flopping over.

Really doesn't do the whole social media thing. Even when you show him videos as an example, he's just shrugging. "I'm pretty sure those are skits, honey. No one really reacts like that."

If only he knew. Hey - at least now you know that Chris is perfectly content in your relationship and won't let anything silly like this bother him. It's just a sign to ramp up the pranks - more practical jokes, less subtle, harmless emotional manipulation.

That's what you thought, at least, but when Chris flips the light off that night and sidles up behind you in bed, strong arms slipping around your middle and tugging you back to him, his voice rumbles in your ear - "You gonna tell me you love me, or is this gonna be a problem?"

And Chris is really good at extracting confessions. How badly do you actually want to get some sleep tonight?

Jill Valentine ↪

Doesn't seem to have noticed that you ignored her. Walked right out the door without missing a step, didn't even glance back. Her car pulls out of the garage, her sunglasses on - she seems entirely unbothered.

Oh, she’s bothered.

Jill Valentine is Not Petty™️. And she does not pout when her partner doesn't say ‘I love you’ back. She's in a pissy mood at work for a completely unrelated reason. She's not returning your texts because she's busy at work, not because she's trying (and failing) to give you a taste of your own medicine.

She definitely doesn't carry that storm cloud all the way home with her, doesn't rain on your parade when you cheerfully announce that dinner's ready and on the table.

You're trying everything you can think of to cheer her up. Asking about work got you a noncommittal shrug. You'd offered to draw a bath for her - or (preferably) for the both of you, but she'd dismissed the idea, talking about how it would take up too much time.

She didn't have the heart to shrug you off when you started massaging her shoulders. Despite your silence in the morning, you were clearly intent on taking care of her. Maybe nothing was wrong. Maybe you just hadn't heard her.

Her palm presses against your cheek, turns you to face her. She searches your eyes for a moment, her gaze unreadable. "Thanks for dinner. I love you."

Nothing. Fucking nothing. "You're welcome."

Jill knows that look on your face, that shit-eating grin that you're trying to cover up by glancing down, by pretending to be flustered. Her hands grip your hips. She manhandles you into her lap, chair scraping against the floor to make room for the both of you.

"Okay - spill. What's up with you?"

Once you explain, she's not mad about the whole thing, not really. But you can't help but notice that she's been withholding kisses lately, and-- wait.

Fuck. Now she's turned the tables on you.

Leon Kennedy ↪

Keeps finding new and inventive ways to double back inside the house. He's not going to outright ask you what's up - that would make him look desperate, which he’s totally not. He’s definitely not concerned at all that you didn’t complete your morning ritual and send him out the door with an ‘I love you’. He’s a big boy - this isn’t high school, this is his very mature, very adult relationship.

Excuse number one: “Sorry, forgot my keys,” as he makes a show of dropping his keys out of his pocket, onto the living room floor. His eyes are on you when he reaches to grab them. Leon tosses them in his hand, making as much noise as he possibly can. “All right, love you.”

You hold strong. Still no ‘love you’ back. He’s gone for all of 60 seconds when he comes back with excuse number two: “Ah, damn, forgot my badge. I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached.”

His badge is attached to his belt. You can literally see it. When you point that out to him, he makes a show of being relieved, goes so far as to press a kiss to your temple, and says, “God, what would I do without you? Love ya. Have a good day.”

But you hold strong. Until excuse number three:

“Babe, have you seen my gun?”

You laugh, which only makes him laugh - and then he hits you with ‘no, seriously’ while he leans against the doorway, hip cocked. He’s got you figured out by now, knows that if he can make you laugh then you’re not doing this because you’re mad at him or anything. He can't even be mad when you explain it to him. He can only warn you:

"I'm gonna get you for this. Now, c'mon - say it."

Ada Wong ↪

I don't know why you would do this to her to be honest. She just said ‘I love you’. You should be marking your calendar and turning this into a holiday.

She doesn't say it often, at least not while you're conscious. Whether she presses her sentiments into your hair while you sleep against her, drooling against her collar bone, is up for debate. You have no hard evidence and she'll deny the allegations.

It simultaneously is and is not a big deal. She didn't say it because she craved the validation of having you repeat it to her. She said it because she meant it. There's so few concrete truths about herself that she can share with you, but that was one of them. Does it sting a little not to have it returned? Maybe.

She turns the moment over and over in her head, letting it haunt her. You had given her time, she thinks, why can't she give you yours? But your silence is a specter that tinges every moment. It creeps at the edges of every thought, it–

“Hey, you forgot your coffee.”

She turns to see you in the door of your apartment, hanging from the frame with one hand, her cup extended to her in the other. She clicks back to you in her stilettos, and your press a kiss to her cheek when she claims her drink. The guilt of it all ate at you before you could let her leave your sight. “Love you. Be safe.”

She'd spiraled before she even got down to the parking lot. Total loser in love.

[strawberrykidneystone]

the blast that changed everything

sevika x female! reader

summary: your wife came home after being gone at work for more than a day with a limb missing and it was definitely an adjustment

a/n: i did do research for this fic about limb loss but if there's anything that i can do to improve this please don't hesitate to let me know!!

tags: loss of limb, angst to fluff, emetophobia tw, domestic moments, weed, making out, reassurance,

ao3 version

thank you for requesting anon!!!

when sevika had first told you that she was switching to work under silco, you were more than confused. but once she explained her reasoning and promised that she would be careful, you slowly got on board with her work. you knew that she wanted action instead of whatever "passive bullshit" that vander was negotiating with piltover, but you knew you couldn't talk her out of it even if you tried.

sevika got so many nasty looks whenever she was out in public for "betraying" vander, but a betrayal is a stab in the back, not the front, which is what sevika did when she left vander.

but working for silco meant going along with his scientist's experiments, which you were less than keen to learn about. sevika didn't tell you much because honestly, mainly because she didn't know much about it herself. she did tell you to never touch the substance, a shimmering purple substance would bring nothing but trouble.

so here you are, waiting on the couch for your wife to come home from work. you glanced up at the ticking clock in the living room, it was well past midnight, where was she? sure, she had late nights before, but she would always send someone to at least tell you that she was going to be late. you tried not to worry, but you felt a pit in your stomach that something just wasn't right.

your suspicions were confirmed when you heard a frantic knock on the door. bolting up and throwing the door open, you're met with a panting ran who takes a deep breath and rambles out something slightly incoherent, but you pick up the words "sevika" and "hurt". quickly throwing on a jacket and slipping on the nearest shoes you urge ran to bring you to her, the two of you tearing down the street until you go down a huge spiral staircase into a lab that had an open window view of the ocean.

frantically looking around, you raced to sevika's side as you saw her passed out on a crude surgical table and cupped her hand in yours, reassuring her that you were here even if she couldn't hear you.

then you saw her other arm.

it was charred as it she had stuck it directly into a fire, but it was glowing... blue? she had a scar running up from her shoulder to her cheek with blue cracks as if her skin were a glass that shattered. you had never seen an injury like this before. singed was working on her shoulder with a bone blade and you covered your mouth with her hand, there was no way that this arm was salvageable. you squeezed your eyes shut as you heard the crunching of her bone, she was losing her dominant hand and you had no idea how she would adjust to losing her primary arm. you felt nauseous and dizzy, quickly kneeling down by the nearest trash can and barfing your brains out. you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and took a shaky breath. you had to be strong for her, especially after she woke up. eventually, you fell asleep at her side and didn't wake until you felt movement near your head the next morning.

you quickly perked up and almost started crying when shew finally showed signs of life. sevika groggily looked around, clearly very disoriented until her eyes locked in on you. "baby? what happened?" she asked raspily, trying to shake the brain fog out of her head.

you gulped and took a deep breath, clutching her hand in yours, "after you pushed silco out of the way, the blast had some sort of blue technology in it, it wasn't a regular explosion. singed tried everything he could, but he had to amputate your arm up to you shoulder and there is some blue scarring going up your face that he couldn't explain to me how they got there."

sevika slowly nodded along and looked to her side at the stump that was now her arm. she seemed oddly calm, but sevika was never really one to let her emotions overtake her. by this point, you had tears streaming down your face and profusely apologizing as if you had been the one to set off the blast. she shook her head and placed her hand on your cheek, rubbing her thumb against your cheekbone, "baby it's okay, i'm okay. it's just an arm, silco's probably commissioning a new one for me as we speak. it's gonna be alright."

you sniffed and covered her hand with yours, leaning into her palm, "i'm supposed to be the one comforting you dummy, you're the one who got hurt."

she snorted and shook her head, "as long as i have you, i know everything's going to be alright."

you wiped your tears away and kissed the inside of her hand, "okay okay you sap, I'll stop worrying. but you're not going back to work until you feel ready, capeesh?"

"caposh, now get up here and kiss me," she said with a grin. you basically lunged up to her and pressed a hard kiss to her lips, throwing your arms around her neck as you smothered her in entire face in kisses. sevika was a little thrown off when she went to wrap her arms around you, but only one actually showed up.

this was definitely going to be an adjustment.

over the next few weeks, you had taken sevika to a decent physical therapist that you had found in zaun and worked with her to improve the handwriting in her right arm. her center of gravity was entirely off and she was unconsciously leaning to the right side when she walked, which she also had to work on in physical therapy as well as outside of it. she opens up to you after a while about how she swears that she can feel every finger in her left hand still, sometimes still reaching for things with a limb that is no longer there and mourning what she lost. she also asked you to cut off the left sleeve of her shirt to make it easier to dress herself, which you happily obliged as you had an excuse to practice your sewing.

when she started getting phantom limb pain, you started massaging the area and sitting down with her with a stand-up mirror so her mind gets tricked into thinking it still has all of the pathways in her body.

and smoking weed.

she joked that the doctor had basically given her a prescription to smoke weed, but that is kind of what happened. you would smoke with her and she loves it when you shotgun into her mouth, her brain releasing tension with the pain in her missing limb soon forgotten. it became a nightly ritual for the two of you to sit out on your bedroom balcony and smoke a shared blunt that usually ended up with you perched on her lap in a sloppy make-out session. life was slowly starting to feel normal again with her adjusted lifestyle. it took her a while to ask for help when she needed it, even from you, her close loved one. sevika was nothing if not resilient, but her patience usually wore thin when tasks started taking her twice the time it did before the accident. you were always there to lend a hand and reassure her that asking for help was nothing shameful, that you wanted to help her. it took her a while to accept, but when she did, her life drastically improved for the better.

during all of this, you were hounding silco's ass about her new prosthetic arm that he calmly said was still getting worked on. he would never admit it aloud, but he was a little scared of you.

when she came home one day with a new prosthetic arm attached to her shoulder, you looked at her in awe as your wife had the cheesiest grin on her face. she immediately wrapped you up in her arms and chuckled as she felt you shiver with her cold metal arm against your slightly exposed back. even though she had the new arm, she didn’t like wearing it around you since it was technically a weapon.

being able to write with her left hand again was. a huge relief for her, sure she made do with writing with her non-dominant hand, but this was different, it was almost like having her own arm back again.

plus, now she could write with both hands.

you were less than thrilled when she added a shimmer component to her arm, lecturing her on how it was hypocritical of her after she was so adamant about not using it when singed was first experimenting with it. however, silco kept sending her on harder missions and shimmer helped her do her best work, so you slowly came around, especially after seeing how feral the substance made her (especially in bed, shimmer strap who?)

eventually, things settled down and she was back at work with new additions to her arm every so often that she loved to show off to you. you admired them and asked about the new features, simply happy that she had new tools to keep her safe while she was out doing silco's dirty work.

it was all worth it for zaun to slowly take steps forward to becoming independent and governing themselves instead of the ever looming presence of piltover stopping them.

a/n: silco having workers comp??? maybe he's not so bad /j

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all @fandoms-will-be-the-death-of-me @sevikasfan @lez-zuha @comfortripley @sunflowerwinds

[monzamash]

easy to please lando norris x you rating – mature (sexual themes, coarse language) blurb for ✨monzamusings✨

thinking about u, the text read. above it, there was a photo – dark, a little bit blurry, possibly a figment of your weary imagination. a hand pressing down on black cotton, tanned and veiny – a hand you immediately recognised. fingers too, gripping the thin material and an outline that had you sitting up in bed, lazy smile slipping across your flushed cheeks as the picture came into focus. lip bitten. baby, was all you sent in reply. your eyelids fluttered shut momentarily, loosing the battle to sleep until you felt your phone buzzing, resting in your slack hand. they were coming thick and fast and bringing you back into the present. your fingers tingled from the sensation when you held it up and nearly dropped the bright screen on your squinting forehead. don’t baby me i miss u can i call please???? winky face emoji.

you sighed sharply into the plush pillow beside your head, wondering whether or not you had the energy for it. the appetite was always there. hell – all you could think about was him; even in the mundane moments, he was everywhere you looked – your work, your friends, the cheesy rom com that made you cry before wrapping yourself up in a blanket and falling asleep. you missed him. the back and forth, the will they won’t they bullshit nearly sending you into a spiral of complete and utter confusion. the future was uncertain; the distance between where you were and wherever he was in the world unbearable but what you did know was that you loved him, missed him. and he was yours.

heartbreakingly so. alright romeo but make it quick always am hehe. dickhead.

the phone call connected after one, maybe half a ring – there was no pretence anymore with you and lando. this was routine now, the late night calls across oceans, and it was always the same. whispered, i miss you's and i love you's, strangled moans, hands frantically chasing the high of what you knew felt like heaven together, by whatever means necessary, the best dirty talk you could ever imagine, barely tiding you over until you could be close enough to feel each other again.

“hi pretty girl.”

“hi boyfriend”

“ugh, i love it when you call me that. say it again…”

and you did, over and over until the late night giggles took hold and lando couldn’t breathe – the goofy smile scrunching the corners of his dry eyes, fatigue and exhaustion lingering in his hoarse voice.

“you should be sleeping.”

“i would be if you were here,” he stated matter of fact, not even a blinking, “i think i got used to having you with me over winter break… spoiled me too much and now i'm ruined for life.”

“so dramatic.”

“i’m being so real,” he yawned and by the soft grumble on the other end, he was definitely stretching out his sore, weary muscles like cat. there was a beat and a click of the tongue before lando spoke again, the ominous silence already making your eyes playfully roll.

“so… what are you wearing right now?”

“unbelievable…”

“you cant blame a man for asking, especially in my hour of need… show me pleeeeease” lando whined, toothy smile no doubt lining his chapped lips.

“what if I’m not wearing anything?” you taunted, snapping a quick photo and sending it through without a second thought.

lando quickly peaked, side-eyeing the screen sneakily and sighed when he realised you were pulling his chain, “i'm wearing some shirt you left behind because it’s hotter than satan's asshole here in london at the moment.”

he groaned more to himself than to you, eyes scanning your curves under the thin material, fixated on how unconstricted you were under the shirt he recognised, breasts pert. lando was restless and you really did deserve more than the desperado ‘what are you wearing’ pick up line but god, he wanted to know, no, he needed to know because if he didn't find out, he feared he may never recover.

after all, it was you that had him sick in love. and perpetually horny.

“think i might like you in my clothes more than naked…"

“you’re a sicko.”

“mmm you make me like this… and no bra, like are you trying to kill me?”

“always.”

you cupped your chest over his shirt and took another photo, teasing the gorgeous man waiting for your every move with bated breath. he’d sucked in his bottom lip, you could hear by how shallow his breathing had become, reminiscent of a panting dog – the sound alone quickened your heart rate. the image of him sitting in a hotel room alone, hand pressed to his aching cock thinking about you, parched to the point of a sleepless night was dizzying.

and it was easy with lando, the familiarity of his voice and the rhythm you effortlessly fell into. all remnants of consciousness melted away with him.

“wish i was there with you baby,” he whispered and you nodded, smiling, even though he couldn’t see how happy it made you to hear him say it.

“me too,” you sighed, relaxing into the stillness until your loud, obnoxious doorbell shook you from the peaceful silence.

“fuck!” you cursed, frozen in place.

“what?” 

“someones at the door…”

“what time is it there?”

“like 11pm… should i ignore it?” you were already grabbing the cardigan you'd thrown over the end of your bed and halfway to the door, curiosity winning out.

“nah, nah. you’re on the phone with me – answer it,” he encouraged, “i wanna make sure it isn’t your side piece coming ‘round when i’m not there.”

“ha-ha, actually my other boyfriend is already here, i've been trying to get you off the phone this whole time...”

"hmm, lucky cunt." he mumbled.

lando made you brave, stupidly brave so you swung the door open without hesitation, locked and loaded with a line of interrogating questions for the person interrupting the precious time you had with the man you love.

but you were hearing double as you held the phone to your ear and looked up – you knew that mess of frazzled curls and tired eyes anywhere, peering back with a smile the size of the moon curling at the corners of his lips. he was bundled up in a hoodie, one you knew would feel warm to the touch and smelled like him.

you had to be dreaming.

“better go tell your other boyfriend to pack his shit and get the fuck out of our house.”

“lando…” tears welled in your eyes as you lunged into his open arms.

“hi pretty girl…” he chuckled, picking you up without hesitation and hooked your legs around his waist, carrying you over the threshold.

“why didn’t you say you were coming home?”

“surprises are sexy, no?” he asked, voice deliciously low. he knew your answer.

“very sexy.” you moaned and pressed firm, fiery kisses into his strong neck, “you’re so sexy – all of this is sexy… god, i love you.”

“love you too sweetheart – let’s go to bed.”

“to sleep?” you asked, with doe-eyes and a devilish grin.

“yeah, i flew eleven fuckin' hours to just sleep… oh and by the way," lando narrowed his eyes and pointed to the crinkled shirt hanging from your shoulders, you looked a mess.

"i want my shirt back right now.”

you hummed and twirled down the hallway, “you’re gonna have to pry it off my cold, horny body, norris…”

“mission accepted,” lando confidently stated, chest puffed as he started stripping his hoodie from his body and inched closer and closer to where you were stood and all you could do was admire the gorgeous man stalking towards you.

oh, and blink a few times to make sure you definitely weren't dreaming, "i can't believe you were sexting me in the back of a cab."

“i know," he chuckled, "it was getting a bit much by the end there, so i walked the last couple of blocks to calm myself down."

you couldn't suppress the moan building in your throat at his touch and his confession – your mind was running wild, "that's so hot."

"you are." he quipped, hands slowly tracing your sides and cupping your chest in his warm palms.

"this is way better than phone sex.”

lando shrugged as you ran your hands down his toned stomach, thumbs circling the indents just above his hips, “i’ll take anything with you – it’s all good to me.”

“you’re easy to please.”

“well, you make it easy – god, look at you,” he exhaled, brushing the loose strands of hair from your face and all you could do was smile.

“i’m glad you’re home, ya goof. it doesn't feel right without you here."

“me too, baby. meee too.” lando smiled and planted a longing kiss to your pouty lips.

more writing...

bit of backstory with this blurb; it was originally going to be a follow up to another fic i wrote called lost in japan and then got buried in the wip graveyard. somehow it resurfaced in my doc folder right when i needed it and i feel like it still kinda fits in the lost in japan universe - selfishly i love those characters. anyways, i hope you enjoyed it 💋

[xxgoldie]

ns/fw ramblings - minors dni

ik we all like to imagine lighter as some sort of sex god - it comes with the territory of a confident n hot male character. but the more I think abt how much of a down-bad dork he is, the more the idea of him being a virgin, or at least having very little experience, is so so delicious to me. like, he could absolutely fuck if he wanted to, he canonically has fangirls, but he's a sap and he wants to wait for the right person. not to say he isn't horny - he fs watches porn and his head is full of fantasies.

imagine your relationship reaching that point, messily making out while you grind on his lap, both of you in nothing but your underwear. being able to touch all of you like this, the feeling of your clothed crotch rubbing against his, the soft little noises you made when your clit pressed against him - all infinitely better than his wildest fantasies, and he doesn't think to stop you until its already too late and he's cumming in his boxers with a stuttered groan.

he hadn't told you it was his first time. he had meant to, but things got hot and heavy before he got the chance, and he didn't exactly know how to slip it into conversation when you were taking your shirt off. it certainly looked like you were putting the pieces together now, a brief silence falling over you as you realised what had happened.

"lighter, did you just-" "i. i am so sorry-" "hey, don't apologise. are you okay?"

you aren't mad, visibly more surprised than disappointed, but even as you reassure him, his thoughts spiral. he finally found his person, finally felt ready to do this, and he'd gone and fucked it up. your sweet words fly in one ear and out the other, only making him feel more guilty that you were being so nice about it. he wanted to make you feel good, recreate all his late-night fantasies where fucked you until you couldn't think about anything but the feel of him, catering to your pleasure over and over again - you deserved that. yet here he was, falling apart at your slightest touch.

he only really snaps out of it when you kiss him, feather-light against his lips. your finger is tracing soft patterns against his bare chest, the feeling grounding him.

"trust me, love, its okay. i'll take it as a compliment."

there's a slight teasing glint in your eye - not making fun of him, but showing him this wasn't a big deal. when you kiss him again, he deepens it, as if he's trying to push all his scrambled thoughts of love and devotion from his mind to yours. your hips had been hovering over his, but you lowered yourself back into his lap as the rhythm of your tongues intensified. he almost felt relieved when he felt his dick twitch back to life.

"i really am sorry, baby." "i told you, you have nothing to apologise for. besides-" you wiggled your hips a little, drawing a sensitive hiss from his lips "-it feels like you're getting ready to make it up to me."

it may be an awkward start to his first time, but when he finally feels you sink down onto him, lighter feels like he's just found a heaven he's been waiting his whole life for. you feel impossibly good around him, but he thinks that even if his dick was numb, he could cum just from watching you - your low whine as he fills you up, the way your whole body tenses at the stretch then relaxes into pleasure, how you have to brace against his chest when he starts to thrust up into you.

he doesn't last long this time, either - any stamina he had built up by jacking off was for naught when you felt so much better than his hand. but he's so eager to please, a newfound addiction to the way your hips buck and eyes roll back. he makes you cum with his fingers, experimenting to see what makes you tick, eyes roaming your body and logging every little twitch and keen, confidence skyrocketing every time you praise him or beg for more. he's a fast learner - he has to be, he wants to see you fall apart like that over and over and over again.

(okay this turned out WAY longer than I intended it to be but I'm brainrotting so hard abt him, like can you blame me. also this is completely unedited and i wrote it one go lmao)

[dollyfiles]

rafe cameron knows that it isn’t just LUST he feels for you

cw: mutual attraction, forbidden love, emotional betrayal, angst, inspired by the song “lust” by chase atlantic.. & for my sweet girl @vampteeths <33

the humid night air clung to like rafe a second skin as he leaned against the porch railing of tannyhill, eyes fixed on the distant shoreline. the party inside was roaring—a mix of drunken laughter, loud music, and the occasional sound of bottles clinking. his friends were there, drowning in excess, but rafe had slipped outside a while ago, needing to breathe.

the drugs numbed him most nights, but tonight, he felt restless. there was something clawing at his chest, something he couldn’t ignore. and then, as if the universe wanted to punish him, the person who haunted his thoughts, stepped outside.

you. he didn’t even have to turn to know who it was. he could always feel you before he saw you.

he had no idea when it started—this pull you had on him. maybe it was the night topper introduced you to the group, laughing and draping his arm over your shoulders like you were just another accessory. at first, rafe thought you were like every other girl that hung around—beautiful, fun, disposable.

but then you smiled at him, said his name like it mattered, like he mattered. and something inside him cracked. it wasn’t like the rush he got from a pill dissolving on his tongue or the high of a line burning through his veins. it was different. he didn’t crave you in a way he did with other girls. you were different. he just liked you.

and that terrified him.

“rafe,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the thick night air.

he didn’t dare to look at you right away. he couldn’t. he was afraid of what might show on his face if he did. instead, he focused on the waves crashing in the distance. “shouldn’t you be inside with top?” he asked, his tone carefully detached, though the words felt like poison in his mouth.

you shrugged, wrapping your arms around yourself against the cool breeze. “just don’t feel like it.”

finally, he looked at you. your eyes met his, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. it always did when you looked at him like that, like you could see all the dark corners of his soul and weren’t afraid of them.

you were wearing one of those simple dresses you always seemed to favor, the kind that made you look effortlessly put together. your hair was loose, framing your face, and in the dim light of the porch, you looked almost ethereal.

“you’ve been quiet lately,” you said. your voice was gentle, but there was a weight to your words, like you knew he’d been spiraling. you stepped closer, and rafe’s entire body tensed. he wanted to tell you to stop, to go back inside, to leave him alone. but he didn’t. he never could with you.

rafe laughed, a bitter sound echoing across the porch. “quite’s not really my thing, is it?”

“not really.” you tilted your head, studying him in that way you always did, like you could see right through him. it daunted him, but it also made him feel seen in a way he never had before. “you don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

he hated how much your words got to him. hated how much he wanted to believe them. “why are you here, y/n?” he asked, his voice low.

you hesitated, both of you knew it was risky. you knew it every time you caught each others gaze from across the room, every time your conversations stretched too long, your moments together lingering on the edge of something dangerous.

but then you stepped closer, so close that he could smell the faint hint of your sweet perfume. “i don’t know,” you admitted. “but i couldn’t stay in there. not with him. not tonight.”

your words hung in the air between the two of you, heavy with implication. rafe’s heart was pounding now, a hectic rhythm that matched the chaos in his head.

“this is wrong,” he said, but even as he said it, he didn’t move away. “i know,” you whispered, gaze dropping to the ground, and for a moment, you looked so vulnerable that it made his chest ache.

rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling just underneath the surface. “i’m not… i’m not good at this. at feeling things. at caring.”

you tilted your head, gaze soft but steady. “you care more than you let on, rafe. you just don’t want to admit it.”

your words settled over him like a weight, and for once, he didn’t push them away. because you were right. he did care. he cared too much, and it scared the hell out of him.

“do you know how messed up this is?” he said, his voice raw. “you’re with topper. he’s my friend. and you’re… you’re you.”

“and what’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

“it means i shouldn’t feel this way,” he sighed, his voice breaking. “i shouldn’t look at you and feel like you’re the only thing keeping me from falling apart.”

you bit your lip, just standing there in silence while rafe watched you. he wanted you to say it, to acknowledge what you were both pretending wasn't happening. rafe wanted to reach for you, to pull you close and tell you that none of it mattered, that he’d walk away from everything if it meant he could keep this—keep you. but he couldn’t. because no matter how badly he wanted you, he knew he wasn’t allowed to have you.

“i don’t get it,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “why are you even here? why me?”

you inched forward, so much he could see the faint freckles on your skin, the curve of your lips. “because i see you, rafe,” you said simply. “and i think you’re worth seeing.”

something inside him shattered then. he’d spent so long chasing highs, trying to fill the void with pills and powders and girls who didn’t mean anything. but you didn’t have to do anything. just being near you was enough.

“I don’t even need… I mean, I don’t—” he stumbled over his words, unsure how to explain what he felt. your eyes softened, and for a moment, you looked like you might cry. but you didn’t. instead, you reached out, your hand brushing against his cheek. it was the smallest touch, but it sent a shockwave through him.

rafe closed his eyes, simmering in your touch for a little while before softly grabbing your fragile wrist and putting it back, right next to your body. “you should go back inside,” he said finally, forcing the words out even though they felt like poison on his tongue.

you looked up at him, eyes shimmering with something he couldn’t quite name. for a moment, he thought you might argue, might tell him that you didn’t care about topper or the rules or how wrong it all was. but instead, you nodded.

“goodnight, rafe,” you said softly, your voice laced with a sadness that mirrored his own.

he watched you go, your figure disappearing into the glow of the party. and for the first time in a long time, rafe felt something other than numbness. it wasn’t comfort, exactly—it was too complicated, too messy for that—but it was something.

and as he stood there alone, staring out at the waves, he realized that you had become his new addiction. a dangerous one, maybe even more dangerous than the drugs. but unlike the pills and the powders, you made him feel alive.

tags: @vampteeths @rafesheaven @rafeysbangs @rafesbowbunny @rafesweetie @whinyangel @plaidcowboy @filthyrafe @figthoughts @littlelamy @fawnhart @rafesdollette @starzify @rafesangelita @cherrygirlfriend @ch6rm @inspiredangel @girlyrafe @rafespreciosa @gibson-g1rl @kissyrafe

[pickingupmymercedes]

A Christmas Carol - Lewis Hamilton

A Christmas Special

genre: fluff (there's a bit of angst because it wouldn't be me without it)

wordcount: +3k

a/n: Wasn't planning on doing one, but alas, like the Grinch "I'm toasty inside and I'm leaking". Hope you guys enjoy it.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Christmas was supposed to feel magical. It was supposed to smell like cinnamon and pine, sound like kids laughing over the crinkle of wrapping paper, and taste like mulled wine and homemade cookies.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself as I power-walked from the kitchen to the dining room, a tray of meticulously arranged appetizers wobbling precariously in my hands.

“Where’s the rosemary garnish?” I called out, my voice sharper than I intended.

“On the counter where you left it,” my mom’s voice floated back, tinged with just enough exasperation to make me grit my teeth.

“Right, okay. Thanks!” I tried to sound upbeat, but it came out brittle, like one of the ornaments I’d already broken this week.

The house was perfect. Lewis’s Colorado cabin looked like it had been ripped from the pages of a Christmas catalog.

Snow blanketed the landscape outside, and the living room’s towering evergreen glittered with gold and red ornaments.

Both our families were here—mine and Lewis’s—mingling in various states of holiday cheer.

Everything looked exactly as it should.

So why did it feel like everything was on the verge of collapse?

I was usually the type to wing things. I’d always believed the joy was in the process, not the end result.

But this was different. This was the first Christmas we were hosting as a couple, the first time our families were all under one roof, and the first time I felt the weight of needing everything to be flawless.

“You’re overthinking it,” Lewis had said a week ago, catching me mid-panic as I tried to finalize the seating chart. “It’s Christmas. Nobody’s going to care if the napkins match the table runner.”

I’d rolled my eyes at him then, brushing off his easy confidence. “This is important, Lewis. It’s our first big family Christmas. I need it to be right.”

But now, with the pressure mounting and the hours slipping away, I was starting to wonder if he’d been right all along.

Still, I couldn’t stop.

There was too much to do, too much riding on this. It wasn’t just impressing everyone else; it was proving to myself that I could pull this off. That I could create something perfect.

“Y/n, the caterer just called. They’re going to be an hour late,” came Lewis’s voice from the kitchen, calm as ever.

I barely acknowledged him, my brain too busy spiraling into contingency plans.

Late appetizers meant a delayed dinner schedule, which meant the kids would get restless, which—… Okay, breathe.

“It’s fine,” I said tightly, not looking up from my task. “I’ll… figure it out.”

“Babe, it’ll be fine,” he replied, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe him. How could he be so relaxed about this?

This was the first time I could show everyone that I wasn’t just good at planning vacations—I could host the kind of Christmas that would make everyone look back and say “Remember that year at Lewis and Y/n’s place? That was perfect.”

But perfect came at a price. A steep one.

I was usually laid-back on holidays, but this one… well, I was turning into someone I didn’t entirely recognize.

Someone who had snapped at Lewis when he joked ironing the napkins was a bit much. Someone who brushed off my mom’s attempt to help set up because “I’ve got it, thanks.” Someone who hadn’t stopped to sit down—or breathe—since the day before.

I knew I was being ridiculous.

Rationally, I knew that no one cared if the table settings matched the garland on the fireplace or if the cranberry sauce came from a can instead of being homemade.

But rationality didn’t exactly have a seat at the table in my mind. Instead, it was crowded with doubts, insecurities, and the quiet, nagging fear that if I didn’t get this right, it meant something about me.

I wanted so badly to prove that I could do this—not to Lewis, not even to our families, but to myself. To prove that I could handle blending traditions, making everyone feel at home, and creating a holiday memory worth cherishing.

The irony? In chasing that, I was starting to lose the very thing that made Christmas special.

“Y/n,” Lewis called again, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. I realized I had been staring at the same strand of lights for a tad too long. “Why don’t you take a break? Have some wine or something.”

“I’m fine,” I said, sharper than intended. He didn’t reply, and the quiet that followed made me feel worse than any argument ever could.

I sighed, sinking to the floor, the lights still tangled in my hands.

I glanced around the room, the half-decorated tree leaning slightly to the right, the dining table still bare, and the unmistakable hum of chatter from the kitchen where both families mingled.

It wasn’t perfect. Not yet. But as I sat there, surrounded by the mess of my own making, a tiny voice in the back of my head whispered that it didn’t have to be.

I had just managed to shove the last box of ornaments under the console table when I heard a familiar voice call out, “Y/n! You didn’t even say hi when we walked in. What the hell?”

I turned, my brother already halfway across the room, his lopsided grin in place and a lumpy gift bag dangling from his hand. He had that look he always got when he was about to annoy me out of spite.

“Hey,” I muttered distractedly, glancing at the clock. Dinner prep was starting to fall behind, and I still hadn’t decided which candles to put on the table.

He stopped in front of me, arms crossed. “That’s it? Not even a ‘Merry Christmas, so glad you’re here, oh wise older sibling who taught me everything I know?’”

“I don’t have time for this, asshole” I said, brushing past him to fix the garland over the fireplace. “You and everyone else are so very welcome here, but I have a million things to do.”

He let out a low whistle. “Wow. Someone’s really leaning into their inner Scrooge this year.”

I didn’t bother responding, too busy adjusting a stocking that was slightly off-center.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he asked, softer this time. “You didn’t even notice when your niece tried to hug you.”

Guilt hit me like a truck, but I pushed it aside. “Nothing, I swear. I just… I want everything to be perfect, for her too, okay?”

“Perfect?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who once wrapped all Christmas presents in newspaper and duct tape because you forgot to buy wrapping paper.”

“I was sixteen and broke.” I snapped.

“And happy,” he countered, his voice pointed but not, at all, unkind. “We all were. Because no one cared what the presents looked like. Or if the tree was crooked or the turkey was dry. We were just… together. That’s what made it Christmas.”

I turned to face him, arms crossed. “Are you seriously trying to give me some kind of Christmas ghost speech right now? Because I don’t have time for—”

“Maybe you should make time” he interrupted, and for once, there was no teasing in his tone.

I hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in despite my resistance.

“Look, I get it” he continued, his voice softening again. “You want this to be special, and it will be. But not because of the table settings or the garland or whatever else you’re obsessing over. It’ll be special because you’re here, and we’re here, and that’s all that ever mattered to us as kids. It’s all that matters now, too.”

“Thanks for the Hallmark moment. Really. But I have things to do.” I sighted instead of admitting he was right, as I turned back to the fireplace.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped back. “Suit yourself, sis. But don’t come crying to me when the ghost of Christmas present shows up later to say ‘I told you so.’ over dessert”

I was halfway into rolling my eyes when it hit me. The pie.  but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at my lips as he walked away. Still, his words lingered, like the faint smell of cinnamon that seemed to follow me everywhere this week.

“Seriously, what’s going on, now you look like you seen a ghost?” my brother asked, peering into the living room.

“Oh, no,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a freight train. I had forgotten dessert.

My brother smirked. “Guess perfection really is a myth.”

Lewis appeared in the doorway; eyebrows raised in concern. “Everything okay?”

“No,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “I forgot the dessert. I can’t believe I forgot the dessert.”

“Babe, it’s not a big deal,” he said gently, resting a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got plenty of food.”

“It’s Christmas, Lewis!” I suppressed a yell. “You’re supposed to have something sweet.”

Lewis exchanged a glance with my brother, who shrugged as if to say, ‘Your turn.’

“Hey,” Lewis said, tilting my chin up so I’d look at him. “What’s the one thing you always say when things don’t go according to plan?”

I blinked at him, tears threatening. “I don’t know.”

“You say, ‘We’ll figure it out.’”

“I’ve got it” I replied, careful to keep my tone light.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he came closer, a quiet warmth that made me hyper-aware of how tightly I was holding onto the matchbox in my hand.

“Y/n,” he said softly, and that was all it took for my defenses to wobble.

I set the matchbox down with a shaky exhale, staring at the empty plates in front of me. “I just want everything to be perfect” I murmured, more to myself than to him.

He stepped closer, his hands brushing lightly against my arms before resting on my shoulders. “It already is” he said.

I laughed under my breath, a sound that came out more bitter than I intended. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen the cranberry sauce yet.”

“Babe” he said, his voice full of that frustrating calmness that made me want to hug him and throw something at him, at the same time. “No one’s here for cranberry sauce.”

I turned to face him, ready to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped me cold.

They weren’t teasing or dismissive or even annoyed, like I probably deserved after snapping at him all day. They were warm, steady, and so full of love it made my chest ache.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asked gently, his thumbs rubbing small circles against my arm. “You’ve been running around for days like you’re hosting the royal family instead of our families. What’s really going on?”

I swallowed hard, my resolve starting to crack. “I just…” My voice wavered, and I hated how small I sounded. “I want them to have a good time. I want them to see that we’re good at this, that we’ve got it all together.”

He tilted his head, studying me with that quiet intensity he always had when he was trying to read between the lines.

“You mean you want to prove that you’re good at this,” he said softly, and the truth of it hit me like a punch to the gut.

I dropped my gaze, staring at the floor like it might hold some kind of answer. “It’s stupid, I know” I whispered.

“It’s not stupid,” he said, his voice firm. “But you don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Y/n. Not to our families, not to me, and definitely not to yourself. You’ve already done more than enough by bringing them all over.”

I shook my head, tears prickling at the edges of my eyes. “It doesn’t feel like enough. I just… I want them to look back at this and remember it as something special.”

He reached out, tipping my chin up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. “They will,” he said simply. “Not because of the candles or the napkins or whatever else you’ve been stressing over, but because they’re here. Together. And because you made that happen.”

His words settled over, softening the tension in my shoulders and quieting the storm in my mind.

“I don’t know how you always do that,” I said with a shaky laugh, brushing at my eyes.

“Do what?”

“Manage to say the exact thing I need to hear, even when I don’t want to hear it. Especially then”

He smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to my forehead. “It’s a talent,” he said lightly, his tone teasing but his eyes still serious.

I leaned into him, letting the steady beat of his heart anchor me. For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe again.

“You’re right,” I admitted quietly.

“About everything?”

“Don’t push your luck” I muttered, earning a soft laugh from him.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands still resting on my waist. “Come sit with us for a while,” he said. “The table can wait. Dinner can wait. Right now, I just want you to stop and enjoy this.”

I hesitated, my gaze flicking toward the half-finished table.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice low and insistent. “Please.”

The weight of that single word unraveled the last of my resistance.

“Okay,” I said softly, letting him guide me toward the living room and let myself just be.

Dinner was still salvageable, the table was mostly set, and the stockings—mercifully—were straightened.

It was fine. I was fine. We would be fine.

I hadn’t slept much. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the last few days finally wearing off, or maybe it was the quiet nagging feeling that I hadn’t quite nailed it.

Either way, when Lewis stirred beside me at the crack of dawn, his alarm buzzing softly, I was already awake.

He leaned over to kiss my forehead, murmuring something about taking a quick shower before the kids woke up. I mumbled back something that sounded vaguely coherent, but the moment he stepped into the bathroom, I slipped out of bed.

Still in my pajamas, hair a mess, and not a speck of makeup to hide behind, I padded softly down the stairs. The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes in those fleeting moments before the day begins.

The living room came into view, and I froze for a moment, leaning against the doorway. The tree stood tall, its lights casting a soft, golden glow over the room.

The presents we’d spent hours wrapping were still neatly stacked, though I knew that wouldn’t last long.

I sat down on the edge of the couch, tucking my knees under me as I watched the room come alive in slow motion.

First came one of Lewis’s nieces, her sleepy face lighting up the moment she spotted the tree. She gasped, then bolted back upstairs, her little feet pounding against the steps as she woke her brother.

A chain reaction followed—one by one, the kids tumbled into the room, wide-eyed and buzzing with excitement.

Next came my mom, her robe tied loosely around her as she headed straight for the kitchen.

I could hear her humming a Christmas carol as she rummaged for the hot cocoa mix. Within minutes, the scent of chocolate and marshmallows filled the air, mingling with the pine of the tree.

I didn’t say anything; I just watched.

Watched as the kids tore into their presents, the floor quickly becoming a chaotic sea of wrapping paper.

Watched as my mom handed a steaming mug to each child, all looking up at her with a grateful smile.

Watched as my brother shuffled in, still half-asleep but smiling as he plopped onto a chair with his coffee.

And then, almost as if she sensed I needed it, my mom came over to the couch and sat beside me, handing me a mug of cocoa, the marshmallows bobbing at the surface, and settled in with a soft sigh by my side.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she said, her voice as warm as the drink in my hands.

“Merry Christmas, Mom” I replied, leaning my head on her shoulder.

We sat there for a while, watching the chaos unfold.

One of the kids trying to explain a new gadget to my dad, while my niece proudly displayed her new doll to Lewis’s mom.

It was loud and messy and completely uncoordinated.

And it was perfect.

“This reminds me of Christmas when we were kids,” I said quietly, my voice almost drowned out by the laughter and chatter.

My mom turned to look at me, her brow lifting slightly.

“You know,” I continued, smiling faintly at the memory. “When we’d open our presents in the morning, and you and Dad would be in the kitchen getting food ready. All the relatives would be there, the cousins running around, someone always spilling something…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “It was chaos, but it felt like Christmas.”

My mom chuckled, her hand brushing against mine as she squeezed it gently. “That’s what makes it special, honey. It’s never about the perfect decorations or the perfect dinner. It’s about… this.”

She gestured to the room, where Lewis’s nephew was now gleefully dragging people to play with him, everyone looking thoroughly confused but nodding enthusiastically anyway.

“The mess?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“The mess,” she affirmed, smiling. “The people. The noise. The love in all of it.”

I blinked back the sting of tears, resting my head against her shoulder again. For so long, I’d been chasing perfection, thinking it was the key to creating something memorable.

But sitting there, surrounded by laughter and torn wrapping paper and the occasional shout of “Where are the batteries?”—I realized I already had everything I’d been looking for.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“I hope I get it this messy, this right, every year” I said softly, my voice thick with emotion.

She didn’t reply, just leaned her head against mine, and we sat there in the quiet chaos, letting it all wash over us.

It wasn’t what I had planned. It wasn’t perfect.

It was better. So much better

And as if on cue, my mom glanced up and caught sight of Lewis standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame.

His hands tucked into the pockets of his pajama pants, his grin warm and knowing as he watched us. With a soft smile, she nudged me gently.

“Someone’s waiting for you” my mom murmured before excusing herself, her footsteps light as she headed toward the kitchen.

Lewis didn’t waste a second, crossing the room to take her spot beside me on the sofa. He flopped down with exaggerated effort, his arm draping lazily along the back of the couch.

“Well, well,” he teased, tilting his head to look at me. “I don’t think I’ve seen you out of the bedroom without a fully picked-out outfit, perfect hair, and makeup in days?”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “I’ve been… intense. Haven’t I?”

“A bit” Lewis replied, grinning as he reached over to tug my hands away. “But only because you care”

I lowered my hands, glancing at him shyly. “I just... I wanted this to be perfect. I needed it to be perfect. Not just for everyone else but—” She hesitated, her voice faltering.

“But?” he prompted, his tone gentle.

I bit my lip, my gaze flicking to the kids tearing through their gifts, then back to him. “But for me. For us. For... the possibility that this might be our future someday.”

The words faltered, vulnerable and unsure.

Lewis didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he reached out, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me into his chest.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to try so hard. You’re already more than perfect.”

I let out a small, disbelieving laugh, but he pulled back just enough to cup my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over my cheeks as he looked me in the eyes.

“I mean it,” he said firmly. “I’ve been dreaming about a future with you long before these past few days. Ever since I saw you barefoot on that trail, convincing Willow it was the best way to feel the earth beneath her. Since you let Roscoe slobber all over you on the beach the very first time you met him. Since we spent three days on that road trip, eating two-day-old sandwiches and drinking from streams, and you still made it feel like the greatest adventure of our lives.”

My eyes glistened, a shy smile tugging at my lips. “You’re really pulling out all the stops here, aren’t you?”

“Whatever it takes” he replied with a playful grin before his expression softened again. “ You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Least of all me.”

We stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, watching the kids dive into their presents. The room buzzing with laughter and the occasional triumphant shout of “Look what I got!”

My chest felt lighter than it had in days, my worries dissolving like the marshmallows in my cocoa.

I rested my head against Lewis’s shoulder, my heart settling into a steady rhythm that matched his.

But then, a thought struck and I sat up abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Lewis asked, trying to pull me back by the waist.

I swatted his hand away with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

I sprang to my feet, clapping my hands to gather the kids’ attention. “Alright, who’s ready to make a mess in the kitchen?”

A chorus of enthusiastic “Me!” erupted as they abandoned their toys and raced toward me.

I led them to the kitchen, my laughter echoing through the house as I opened cabinets and pulled out bowls, flour, and cookie cutters.

Within minutes, the kitchen was alive —flour flying, cookie dough being enthusiastically rolled and eaten, and the sound of uncontainable giggles filling the air.

Lewis stayed back, leaning against the back of the sofa, watching the scene unfold with a smile tugging at his lips.

I caught his eye once, winking at him as I smeared a dollop of cookie batter on one of the kids’ noses, eliciting a delighted squeal.

This could be our forever. Far from perfect, but perfectly us.

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[sk3tch404]

Yandere Donnie Darko Hcs

A/n: I finally came around to watching Donnie Darko while I was styling my hair this morning. It was so good and omgg HIS CHARACTER!!! Love it 💜 What he voices in where he rebels against authority resonates with me in the most honest and straight up sense, it's crazy.

CW: Characterizing of psychosis without research (I am in no way claiming this is how individuals who suffer some psychosis or with schizophrenic symptoms act or feel like. This is simply a work of fiction and how I see Donnie's mental state affect the scenario), Donnie is actually very tame here except for his obvious criminal record and acts of violence, and YALL HES A MENTALLY ILL TEENAGE BOY so he's a lowkey soft okay. Y'all see him with Gretchen? So caring and passionate ugh, love him sm. <33 I try to write as close to canon as possible, but sometimes that leads to really soft yans and I kind of doubt my writing. Despite that. I like to think that not all yanderes need to be possessive killing machines in order to fit into the troupe. Everyone's got their own way of dealing with obsession, and so I think I did decently with this one lol.

Proof read a few times, so sorry for wordy/run on sentences and possible wonky grammar.

I feel like Donnie is very observant and patient with his darling. He's quite analytical for a teenage boy which leads him to take time to consider the variables that weigh within your possible relationship.

Donnie is still an awkward kid, so dont be surprised when you accidentally find him staring at you for a considerable period of time in class. In school, he doesn't approach you, seeing as the setting is already suffocating enough. He'd try to catch you after school or when you two have a little bit of privacy.

He's kinda shy and clumsy at first glance--- too talkative in his speech and self-aware of his minor fuck ups. Over time, he'll be more open to what he wants with you. Donnie might not really understand how to handle love and all of its complexities, but hell try really hard to make it work.

Yeah, y'all saw how fast he dived in for that kiss in the film?... Embarrassing, but it's true that he's quite excited to show his affection for you. He'll be "so chill with it," and he is to an extent--- not too clingy at all--- but when he's around he gives you guard dog privileges. Stays at your side and defends you from any brain rotting comments made from the guys around the neighborhood. Donnie isn't much of a fighter, but he's damn well capable of planning and executing a crime if it calls for it. One count of arson, another unaccounted for, severe property damage, and murder? Don't doubt it for one second that he won't consider further acts in the future to come.

His psychosis affects him directly when it comes to you--- as it also does with most things. He already feels so shitty with how things are going in his life, Frank voicing the many thoughts he has about you day to day stresses him further. Sometimes Donnie is scared Frank will convince him to hurt you as the countdown progresses. Despite that fear, he can't keep away from you.

This distress causes Donnie to rebel more often. As he spirals down the rabbit hole Frank keeps digging for him, the anxiety that follows with what will happen to you once the world ends lingers late at night in his bed.

Donnie's main love language is quality time. He walks with you from school and chills with you pretty much wherever. He's pretty book-smart, so he'll pitch in with your projects and homework assignments. His parents don't really seem like they care what he does most of the time, so if he's given the chance, he'll crash at your place for a few before they think he's off sleepwalking or some shit.

Donnie already knows he's slipping off the rails, placebo medication or not, Frank stays to stir the pot. He's almost scared, scared to death that you'll think he's an insane lunatic and he'll scare you off. But at the same time, why be scared if it's the truth? He has evidence, the book, and his own visions. That anxiety doesn't go away when he rambles on about the six-foot-tall bunny rabbit and how that thing has led him to the method of time travel.

You're just left there dumb founded as he stares on at you with that deadpanned look. Too late to back out now. World's ending and you don't got a boyfriend. Well, you got Donnie... and Frank's there too sometimes, but either way, you're all each other's got. You don't want to be alone do you? Donnie knows he doesn't.

He trusts you more than anyone else. Yeah he's on meds, and sure he's loony, but everyone knows that already; not that they seemed to care too much anyway. He feels like he can just exist with you around. All that pent up frustration with the looming guilt of his actions festering inside can be washed out like waves on a cold shore. Of course, it's not a cure-all, but it's damn nice compared to the bone headed friends he got and the tense dinner table back at home.

He has scratch paper in his drawers that are just filled with messy sketches of you. Not sure if he'd be the type to use sketchbooks, but he is pretty organized in his own room. Donnie just finds you so easy and beautiful to draw. Art block has nothing on this boy. He hates it when his sisters barge into his room and see any unfinished piece of you lying around. They tease him so bad about it, he wishes they'd just leave him alone.

"Ooo, is this the girl you're always wasting your time with?"

"No, gimme it. It's none of your business, and get out of my room."

"Geez, fine. Not like that's the freakiest thing you got in here anyway."

Donnie wouldn't be the extreme stalking type, but if he caught a glance of you, he wouldn't be able to look away. He'd also take into account what your daily patterns are as well as your likes and dislikes. He notices your little habits like if you constantly apply too much pressure to your mechanical pencil, making your lead break. He's always have had a passive opinion on the school uniform, but you made it look good, great even. Donnie likes it even more seeing you in street wear. He takes note on your style and even thinks of taking some inspiration from it to feel closer to you.

He's sensitive in places a teenager would be in most. He's irritable and closed off much of the time, even to you if it gets bad enough. Of course, it's not your fault usually. It only makes sense to be defensive in the case of anything he may perceive as a threat, even if that means any possibility of you breaking his heart.

Donnie may be a bit shy in his advances, but what he isn't is hesitant. He's quite bold in his thoughts and feelings. While he is afraid of your judgement in particular, he doesn't mind doing many things in front of you. Your collar is crooked, so let him just fix it up real quick. Talk about something that's got him thinking? He's letting his thoughts pour out like it's happy hour. He sees no issue in doing what he wants to, so if you're feeling unsure or nervous about something, he'll be the one to do it for you. Not many questions asked unless it's got his serious attention.

Kisses are passionate and deep. (Tbh when I first watched the movie I was like, "DAMN dont eat her face- shit.") I dont know if Donnie has had previous experience or not, but he's definitely got the enthusiasm. He tries to match your rhythm if you seem to have trouble following. Not too much tongue, but best believe he's devouring your lips like it's the last 6 hours in the universe. His hands are roaming around your body, feeling the dips and curves so cautiously because Jesus, you're just rocking his fucking world. If you tell him to slow down, he will. Donnie never wants to force you to do anything you wouldn't want to.

Words of affirmation aren't really a thing for him. If he says something to you, it was probably on his mind anyway. If you say "I love you" to him, he'd be almost stunned but wouldn't have a problem reciprocating that energy. He just felt like that connection between you two was already clear enough. No need to say it so directly. Although, it's nice. He really loves and cares for you. Would take a bullet for you--- cross his heart till he dies, all that sappy shit.

If you reject him, let's just say Frank and Donnie will be speaking more often. It pushes him off the edge. Frank isn't in Donnie's head just to do evil shit, but it's not like his presence doesn't perpetuate Donnie's behavior further. He wouldn't go on a killing spree or anything excessively violent like that. He'd be hyper-focused on the time travel aspect of his situation and become more forceful in his methods. He'd demand answers to make sense of all of it. To cope with the fact you didn't want him like how he needed you. Why didn't you like him enough? What didn't he do? Actually, what did he do? His mind feels like its on the brink of breaking as he tries to rationalize all the negativity in his life. He's already done too much, his world feels like it's collapsing in on itself before the actual day could even come. You were a majority of that world, and now it's just broken.

Donnie is so distraught and confused about his adolescent experiences, he almost doesn't know what to do. The only thing to do from then on is to focus on the countdown. Time travel, and how to fix it all. Otherwise, not only would he be left alone, but you would be too. Donnie wouldn't want that for you, not ever. Even with all the pain and frustration stowed away inside his still beating heart, he would never wish to hurt you; one of the only people on Earth who didn't suck so much as everyone else did.

[marstonsboy]

had another evil thought that spiralled out of control. indulge me for a moment:

over the years, people start arriving on a near empty plot of land west of blackwater. it’s uncertain who got there first: bessie matthews, beatrice and lyle morgan, eliza, isaac morgan, etc.— but more and more people show up until it’s something of a community. jenny kirk, mac and davey callander. then soon after, jake adler, sean macguire, kieran duffy, hosea matthews, lenny summers, molly o’shea, eagle flies, susan grimshaw. more and more in such a short amount of time. arthur morgan is the last, and suddenly the deaths stop.

after a sudden stretch of years with little newcomers, a house starts taking shape. soon enough the house is a home, and peculiar things can be found all over: a dog barking where no one can find it. echoes of campfire songs going late into the night. photos of john and abigail’s wedding, attended by what remained of their family. a taxidermy squirrel that appears back on the mantle no matter how many times you throw it out, wearing a very familiar hat. in just a few years a heartbreakingly young girl comes home, bearing a strong resemblance to one abigail marston.

then, gunshots. john marston and uncle are the next to arrive.

in the next few years, the house is eerily quiet. the residents see it falling into disrepair, but they can’t do anything about it. the dog stops barking, the campfire has gone cold and won’t relight. abigail marston is next, and though they’re happy to see her, the arrival brings up a question. what happens to jack now?

the livestock are gone, and the house is dusty, all but stripped of the knickknacks and personality that built up over the years, like someone found it all too painful to look at. john’s hat and guns, once tucked away inside a box beneath the bed, vanish the night after abigail arrives. newspapers come to the door, announcing the death of former government agent edgar ross.

soon after, a wanted poster, bearing the name “john marston jr.” and a sketch resembling the boy’s namesake so much that it has john himself stumbling back. jack was only a boy when he left, and now he’s wanted dead or alive, with a price over his head that could rival some of his uncles and aunts back in the day.

every year that passes without any sign of jack is a relief. the house doesn’t change much, still abandoned, but letters come in. mary-beth gaskill, tilly jackson, simon pearson, sadie adler, charles smith— old friends and family, checking in on him. none of them reach the recipient, as he is not home, but they’re filled to the brim with love, letting him know that he isn’t alone. that he always has a home with them, if he wants it.

one day, john spots a book he doesn’t recognize on the shelf by the piano, and he stops. “Red Dead” by a J. Marston. it doesn’t take much to figure out who that could be. he opens it, flips through, and reads it to abigail. the kinder parts get read to their daughter, ecstatic to learn about how her older brother is doing. their son did become a writer after all, even if everything he’s written speaks volumes of his grief, his anger. the loneliness he’s endured since losing his family, and killing edgar ross.

arthur morgan opens his old journal to find several entries and sketches from john, but also many new ones from jack. his handwriting is just as clumsy as his father’s, but his drawings are more refined. little portraits of the gang members that lived and scribbly sketches of what the world is becoming in their absence decorate the pages. war, cars outnumbering horses, and a very detailed drawing of a revolver none of them have ever seen before.

he’s all grown up, and good lord is he angry. he’s mourning, and hurt, and he’s lost so much, but he’s still undoubtedly jack marston. he draws dogs and writes about missing rufus, slipping strays some food from his bag whenever he sees them. sometimes he’ll write a dry, sarcastic joke that speaks of his father’s influence, or mention missing his momma’s cooking, “even though it was hardly edible,” which makes abigail roll her eyes. he hates fishing and prefers to lose hours of the day with his nose in a book. the best maintained part of beecher’s hope is the graves on that hill, which gain new flowers every week. sometimes, if they listen close, they can hear him talking, telling his ma and pa what he’s been up to, though he saves the grisly details for his book.

and when jack marston finally does walk through that door, much older than when anyone he knew last saw him but far too young to die, he is welcomed home with open arms. because no matter what he’s done, and no matter how much he may hate himself, he will always have a home here with people who love him, and who can’t wait to get to know him all over again.

[smashboxgirl26]

i crumble completely when you cry

ph! katsuki bakugou x fem! reader summary: this wasn't the way it was supposed to happen, but sometimes mistakes yield the best results contains: proposal!! (for @/pityslash <33), kinda ooc soft bakugou but im blaming it on him getting a concussion, mentions of injury, lots of fluff hehe word count: 1.8k words masterlist

Katsuki awoke to a darkened room with white, tiled speckled ceiling cut into rectangles and an IV in his arm; you were sleeping in the plastic chair at his bedside, head leaning against the wall and your mouth slightly open. It was probably about two or three in the morning, judging by the dimmed light coming from the hospital hallway.

Fuck.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He shifted around slightly under the thin sheets, grunting as he tried to move his (apparently broken) right arm to fit in the pocket of his hero costume. A sigh of relief pushed past his lips when he felt the little velvet box still stashed away, thankfully left untouched.

And god– fuck did his head hurt… but this wasn’t how the night was supposed to go.

You were still dressed up — makeup and all, heels sitting next to you on the floor, the pretty black satin dress he watched you show off before you both left for dinner: now bunched up in your lap between your palms as you slept. 

You were definitely going to complain about the crook in your neck when you woke up from the way your head was angled against the wall. You should’ve just gone home and slept properly in bed: but he knew arguing with you would’ve been fruitless — you’d refuse to leave his side like you always did. 

Katsuki let out a small huff as he stared back up at the darkened ceiling.

This was supposed to be your anniversary. He had it all planned out: flowers, dinner, taking a walk through the park near the apartment to get ice cream, proposing in the little ramada he’d gotten Hanta and Eijirou to decorate with fairy lights and flowers. His mother’s old engagement ring was what he’d nervously tucked away into his suit pocket earlier that evening; she’d given it to him the first time you met her — as if she just knew the outcome of your relationship. 

And yet, not even halfway through dinner he’d gotten a call about a villain spiraling out of control. 

He knew his apology was lacking when he pushed himself up from the table, telling you he’d be back as fast as he possibly could; and he could tell how disappointed you were at the fact he was leaving despite how you playfully urged him to hurry before you ate all the dessert without him.

He’d slipped the ring in his costume pocket thinking he would make it back in time for your walk in the park — but that went out the window the second he was caught off guard and blasted through an apartment building.

You shifted slightly, against your spot on the wall. Katsuki almost thought it was because he was thinking too loud.

Your eyes opened after a moment or two, and blinked once or twice at him before realizing his eyes were also open.

“You’re awake?” you asked groggily, scrubbing your eyes before pulling yourself up from the chair. “Let me go get the nurse–”

“S’fine,” he stopped you before you could get out the door, lifting his head off the pillow because he knew you would come over and scold him for it.

Shit he felt dizzy.

“Don’t move right now,” you chastised him — immediately abandoning your mission to rush back to his side and help him lay his head back down on the pillow. “Is that comfortable?”

“Yea,” he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Don’ get the nurse yet… I don’ really want more fuckin’ needles in my arm right now.”

“...fine.” You pressed your lips together, concealing the lecture he knew you wanted to spew: him never being careful when he promised he would be being main point among those you wanted to address — yet you pulled the hard, plastic chair you were sitting in up to the bed and leaned against the mattress.

“...do you feel dizzy?”

“Yeah.”

“You got a concussion from your fall,” you turned your head to look towards the side, and he couldn’t see your expression anymore in the dimmed light from the lamp next to his bedside. “You also broke your arm from landing on it.”

“You saw?”

“It was on the news.”

You sounded on the verge of tears. He needed to apologize. He’d ruined your night.

“M’sorry,” he let his left hand drift over to where yours was laying on the bed next to him, his fingers catching between your own — grabbing you out of your dazed attention — “M’sorry I ruined our night.”

“You didn’t ruin anything Katsuki,” you shook your head, but he could hear the little edge of pain in your voice. “It’s not your fault… I was just worried.”

“I did, though,” he continued. “Tonight was s’posed to be just us walkin’ through the park n’ getting ice cream.”

“You had it all planned out huh?” You finally faced him again, tired eyes and a small, sad smile on your lips. 

“F’course I did, would y’expect anythin’ less from me?” 

“Of course not,” you humored him, bringing his knuckles up to your lips before planting a kiss over a small scab and pressing your cheek against it — staring faraway, somewhere his mind could never find yours.

“Why didn’t you go home?” he rubbed his thumb against yours. “Could’ve changed and been comfortable.”

You let out a small huff — “I couldn’t just leave you here. I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

“You didn’t have to worry about me, baby. Y’should’ve slept comfortably at home, come and seen me in the morning.”

You didn’t answer; instead, pressed another kiss against his knuckles before letting his hand come back down to the bed.

“If you saw what I did, you wouldn’t be saying that.” — was all you left it at — you tried to get up to get the nurse, but he didn’t let your hand go. “Katsuki–”

“Just let me be a lil’ longer,” he slurred, drowsily. “Come lay down with me.”

“Kats–”

“Please.”

“How could I–”

“Please.” He repeated, and you gave up to the pleading look in his eyes. “Can’t sleep properly without you there.”

He shifted himself over slightly, watching you hold your tongue once again with a little snort, before patting at the spot next to him. You climbed up slowly, carefully, trying to be as light as possible to not let the little hospital bed creak under both your weights — letting yourself melt next to him, your hand resting over his chest. You didn’t say anything, just nestled yourself into his shoulder with a yawn.

Something about the way you were positioned made it feel like you were hesitant to touch him — as he was as fragile as glass. Even with your fingers resting over his abdomen, he barely felt them there.

“What’s got your mind all worked up?” he asked after what felt like hours of silence.

“...nothing.”

“I know when yer overthinkin’ baby.”

You looked up to him, sad eyes and all. “I was really worried.” You sniffed, burrowing yourself back next to him. “I was just sitting in the restaurant finishing my food until I got a notification on my phone about the news — and I clicked it and saw the video of you being blasted through the building. There was so much debris, I almost thought–I don’t know what I thought… It felt like I couldn’t breathe or–or think… I just ran out of there as fast as I could so I could get to the hospital. And then, when you wake up, your first concern is that you ruined the night?” You huff, angrily and under your breath but you didn’t let him see it. “I can’t believe you sometimes…” 

“M’sorry,” he repeated, this time drowsily— despite the disapproving click you let out in response, he wrapped his arm around you: rubbing small circles in your arm to soothe the tension you continued to let off. These situations were the only times you both switched roles; the only time he was the one who had to calm you down when usually it was the opposite.

“Stop saying that.”

“I am though,” he continued anyway. “For making you worry and cry when I should’ve been careful. I got a little reckless tryin’ to get back to you quickly. I just… didn’t wanna leave you stranded there.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” you almost scolded him. “I’m used to it, I understand what your job is like.”

“Told you though, I had it all planned out n’ shit — stupid bastard ruined it all…”

“It’s okay,” you pacified him. “It was just dinner, we can always go out another time.”

“It wasn’t just dinner though…” He stopped himself from continuing, but looking down at your furrowed brow knew that he’d have to give an explanation. 

“We’ve talked about marriage before—” he started again after a moment of silence. A moment to catch his breath, to let his racing thoughts and heart subside slightly. “—about us staying together like this because we couldn’t really ever see ourselves with anyone else.”

You nodded.

“And I thought–I knew that we were both ready… So I was gonna propose.”

You didn’t say anything, and he didn’t dare look down at your face — not when he could feel the heat rushing up to his face like he was about to pass out.

“I uh, had this whole speech planned out n’ everything,” he stared at the ceiling once more. “Even had Ei n’ Hanta set up flowers and candles in the park near that cherry blossom tree we always picnic near.”

You still didn’t say anything.

“M’sorry for just bringing it up now, and spoiling the surprise ‘cause I could’ve just done it later…”

“...are you really apologizing for telling me that you were going to propose?” you spoke after a moment. 

He could hear the slight crack in your voice, and he looked down to see that his suspicions were correct — you were crying.

“Don’ cry,” he tried to wipe them with fail because he could only use one arm. “You know I get sad when you cry.”

“I can’t help it.” 

 “I know that this isn’t where you probably expected to get proposed to, but everything I said is true — I wanna spend the rest of my life with you n’ get those little moments with you. N’ honestly, as long as we have that, I don’t think it matters where this shit happens.” He shifted around slightly, before you could stop him: sitting up to properly face you and pulling a little velvet box out from his pocket. “Marry me?”

“Of course I will,” you tried to wipe away your tears before falling into his embrace — pausing after he let out a hissing sound. “I’m calling the nurse for real now.”

[wannaeatramyeon]

Goo Kim x Reader: One Night

G/N. Crazy Stupid Love Emma Stone/Ryan Gosling scene but make it Lookism. Masterlists

"Are you nervous?" Goo murmurs, a smile tugs at his lips when he feels you trembling.

He peers down at you and pauses. His hand, having worked its way under your top and caressing your bare skin - stops.

Tonight, you have aimed for sexy and sensual. It worked well. Fake it until you make it, and you made it when this handsome blonde at the bar invited you back to his apartment for a night of debauchery.

But your mask slips. It's hard to keep it on, y'know. When you are both half naked, about to be even more naked, there's nowhere left to hide.

Your nervousness comes out as a snort, because duh and you think some of your previous sexy and sensual points are deducted.

"Yeah," you respond with an awkward giggle. Then your mouth runs before your single brain cell can.

"- Also, something has been digging into my back all this time," Goo waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, "No. Definitely not. I think it's a spring or something or I don't know... crumbs? Have you been eating in bed? Either way I think this is the most uncomfortable mattress I've ever laid on. Your silk bed sheets are something else though - who even has silk bed sheets? It's like something from the 80s along with waterbeds but god they feel so fucking great on my legs."

Goo is stunned into silence momentarily before he barks out a laugh.

He rolls off you and onto the left side on the bed, full body wriggling around slightly, experiencing the silk bed sheets for himself and chuckles.

"Sweetheart, you're right. And I've always hated this mattress." He sighs, adding, "I got conned by fucking influencers."

You whip your head towards him and give him a look, "Influencers?! What. Is this those fancy brands that I've been seeing them shill all over my social media-"

Goo turns towards you, a pout on his lips and eyebrows pinched together in a pitiful expression. "Yep. I've hated it since the first night."

"Then why didn't you return it!"

He shrugs and you laugh, your previous nervousness dissipating.

"I always wondered what idiot would fall for those."

"Hey!"

A brief moment of silence then-

"Did you buy these sheets from an infomercial or something?"

"Excuse me!" Goo shuffles, angles himself so he's fully facing you. Head held up by the palm of his hand and resting his elbow on the mattress.

There's mischief, life in his face that wasn't there earlier tonight. "Sue me. I have money to spend, sometimes I can't sleep, and those sales people sell things so well."

You let out another unrefined snort, amused by this guy.

Suddenly finding there's so much personality, a touch of vulnerability revealed in that statement, behind the expensive glasses, his tailored suit and his muscled body.

"Wanna see what other crap I've bought?"

.

.

You both wander around his apartment, which turned out to be a huge fucking penthouse now that he has the light on and is giving you a guided tour, in your underwear. 

Goo, no shame and expanses of skin on show, and you follow closely behind with his silk sheets wrapped loosely around your body.

He gestures at what you assume to be a coffee machine sitting proudly on his kitchen countertop. All sleek and stainless steel with dials and buttons on every surface.

"I can't even use this thing. I've had it for 2 years."

"Look," Goo opens an overhead kitchen cupboard, gesticulating like he's going to perform a magic trick, and dramatically shows you rows and rows of trendy kitchen gadgets, no doubt also purchased during moments of insomnia. Pizza scissors, spiralizer, bread maker, air fryer, pressure cooker.

"Never used."

"This," he points at the far wall, and you squint, barely making out a framed art piece of the ugliest monkey face you have ever seen. But hey, art is subjective, right-

"-is an NFT. I bought that too."

That tips you over the edge.

You cackle and cackle, doubled over and holding onto him for balance.

.

.

There's a dusty segway sitting pitifully in the corner of an unused spare room.

You jump out from round a corner, LED mask on your face and flashing a menacing red - "Boo!"and Goo actually jumps.

A lonely treadmill, placed beneath one of those fancy sit-stand desk catches your eye.  Goo smirks, "Babe, I don't even have a desk job."

Instead of spending all night tangled in his silk bedsheets together, Goo jogs down memory lane of sleepless nights and impulse buys with you by his side.

Your laughter starts to tinge all his memories.

Your good natured ribbing and mocking.

His hyena cackle joins yours, and he wonders when was the last time he was able to laugh with someone. Has he ever spent an entire night talking to someone like this?

"Ask me something personal." He requests, both now lying on his uncomfortable bed. You in his arms, hair tickling his chin.

"What do you want from life?"

"To make money."

"Why?"

"I want to be rich."

"Why?"

"Well, who doesn't want to be rich, sweetheart."

"Yeah but why do you?"

Goo remembers running errands, doing anything to earn some money. Anything for a price. His cousin calling in his services, and he happily beat up some middle schoolers to help him (and who was it again, Tabasco?) out.

He doesn't really know where his thirst for money making has come from. Maybe there's some deep set trauma from his life pre-juvie or some shit he should pay a therapist to decipher but alas.

He tells you this, all this and more. At some point, his head is the one lying on your chest and you absentmindedly stroke through his blonde locks, humming noises of encouragement, listening to his words.

Weird, Goo thinks, when he finally drifts off to sleep with you snoring gently beside him. 

The morning sun already filters through the blinds, and the hustle and bustle of Seoul has started to pick up.

How comfortable this feels. How natural your connection with him is. How this is the spark people dream about, and somehow it has hit him when he wasn’t looking for anything more.

That someone as different to him as you are, that is only ever supposed to be company for a few hours, a night at best, could spell trouble. Raise his hackles, send his alarms blaring.

When he's usually the walking red flag.

Because you’ve got him thinking. A lot. That shrewd brain hidden behind playfulness has been whirring; wondering about what happens if you become a regular fixture.

Maybe you might doom him, in the end. Maybe this will lead to a dead end and nothing more.

But he's curious enough, the spark is shining brightly enough, to see where else you might lead him to too.

[rispwr]

⋆˙⟡ step by step #5 ❤︎ m.list

note : this is not a love triangle i promise

contents : jk wearing a black button up, kinda the start of the drama, oc stubborn and indenial again, bad words, he calls her a naughty girl, no sex for now, oc finally softening up to him

wc : 1k?

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

I closed my phone, a satisfied smile creeping onto my face as I adjusted the weight of the shopping bags in my hands. five on each side, the perfect haul. What can I say? Shopping is a woman's way to relieve stress!

 Well, at least it's my way.

Slipping my phone into my pocket, I walked out of the mall and waited on the curb for Jungkook.

And then I saw him.

A sleek Toyota Corolla pulled up in front of me, and Jungkook stepped out in a fitted black button-up, dark trousers, and a sweater casually draped over his neck. The shirt was just tight enough on his arms to show off his big biceps, flexing slightly as he adjusted the sweater hanging around his shoulders.

He looked effortlessly put together.... Did he really go to work like this? No wonder his students were practically an Aria Montgomery wanna-be trying hard to get his attention.

The thought of Jungkook and his students made me irk in a way I didn't want to admit. It planted a seed of irritation deep in my chest, one that could easily fester into me being mad at him for no reason all week.

But even so, it was irrelevant. Illegal, even. Jungkook was mine, 

well, not mine- but still! 

Mine enough that the thought of anyone else made my blood simmer.

do i love him? why am i even feeling like this?

Before I could spiral further into that ridiculous thought, he walked toward me, his expression calm but with that little crease in his brow that said he was mildly annoyed.

Without a word, he took the shopping bags from my hands, carrying them effortlessly to the trunk before returning to me. His hand rested on my arm as he helped me into the passenger seat.

He sighed audibly as he closed the door, rounding the car to get in the driver's side. I could already sense the lecture coming.

----

Once we were settled in the car, he glanced at me briefly before speaking. "Okay, now who's the idiot that brought you to the mall and then left you all by yourself?"

I bit my lip, avoiding his gaze. "Are you gonna be mad...?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Depends, Y/N."

Y/N? The sudden shift to my full name made me wince slightly.

"Ugh, fine," I groaned. "It was Jimin. He came shopping with me to bond because we haven't seen each other for a week."

Jungkook hummed in acknowledgment, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. "Did you have fun?"

"Of course! I got new sets—" I stopped mid-sentence, my eyes widening as I slapped a hand over my mouth.

But it was too late.

A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of Jungkook's lips. "New sets, huh? Are you gonna do a haul?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, my cheeks flushing. "Maybe, if you're lucky."

Before he could say something else teasing, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Fishing it out, I glanced at the screen and frowned slightly before answering.

"Oh yes? Hello?"

"Hi, hello!" a smooth voice greeted on the other end. "This is Min Yoongi, your new boss. A co-worker gave me your number, and I wanted to ask if you could send me the files later?"

My heart dropped.

"Hello? Are you there?" Yoongi asked again, his voice tinged with confusion.

"Oh- uhm, yes, of course, I'm still here, boss," I stammered, my throat suddenly dry. "I'll, uh, send it to you via email later."

As I finished speaking, the traffic light ahead turned red, and the car slowed to a stop. Jungkook glanced at me, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he picked up on my nervous tone.

"Alright then," Yoongi continued, his tone light. "I'll let you go. And hopefully, your ankle gets better soon."

There was a pause, a silence that felt loaded before he ended the call.

I lowered the phone from my ear, sliding it back into my pocket, my fingers fidgeting.

"Who was that?" Jungkook asked, his tone casual but with a slight edge that only someone who knew him well could detect.

"Oh- uh, it's just my boss," I said quickly, avoiding his gaze.

His brow twitched slightly, but he didn't press further.

As the car rolled forward again, Jungkook couldn't shake the unease bubbling in his chest. He could tell by the way you'd tensed up during the call, the slight shake in your voice, that there was more to it than just a work-related request.

And when you brushed it off with a quick "just my boss," something about it didn't sit right with him.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was overthinking. But Jungkook had learned over the years to trust his gut, and right now, it was telling him there was a lot more to this "boss" than you were letting on.

He tightened his grip on the wheel, his mind racing. He wasn't going to pry, not yet, anyway. He'd wait until you were ready to tell him.

But deep down, a bitter thought lingered: what if this was someone who could pull you away from him? Again.

------

We got back to my apartment, and Jungkook carried all the shopping bags inside like they weighed nothing. Meanwhile, I hobbled behind him, carefully maneuvering on my crutches.

As soon as he set the bags down by the door, I let out a squeal. "Haul time, baby!!" I cheered, making my way toward the couch as slowly and dramatically as possible.

But before I could settle myself down, Jungkook was already there. Dropping the shopping bags, he came over to help me, his strong hands steadying me as I eased onto the couch.

"Have you eaten yet?" he asked, his tone shifting from playful to serious.

blah blah, proper name, backstory stuff

His words caught me off guard for a moment. It was so... him. Always making sure I was okay before anything else.

I looked up at him, his black button-up slightly unbuttoned at the top, and my mind drifted—again. It wasn’t my fault that the shirt clung just right to his biceps, and now, with him leaning down toward me, it only made things worse.

The way he carried himself always left me reeling. Jungkook had that mix of soft care and hard control, and the two were colliding right now in the most dangerous way.

As if to punish me for staring too long, Jungkook’s fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt. He undid them slowly, exposing the toned lines of his chest as he stood in front of me.

My core clenched at the sight, and I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure.

His dark eyes flickered to mine, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. "Eyes up here, lady," he said, reaching down to tilt my chin upward with two fingers.

The position we were in right now… My knees were practically brushing against his legs, his body towering over mine. If I wanted to, I could lean forward, pull him closer, and suck him off right here, right now.

"I-I… no," I stammered, completely forgetting what he’d even asked me.

Jungkook’s smirk deepened as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, tilting his head slightly. He leaned down, closing the already too-small gap between us. His voice dropped lower, more gravelly, sending a shiver through my spine.

"You… naughty girl," he murmured.

I felt my breath hitch as he leaned in further, his lips brushing against mine. My eyes fluttered shut instinctively, my lips parting in anticipation of the kiss that was sure to leave me melting into the couch.

But he stopped.

The distance between our faces was so close it was maddening, but instead of the deep, passionate kiss I was expecting, he pressed the softest, quickest peck to my lips.

When I opened my eyes, I was met with his smug grin. "I’ll go feed you first," he said, pulling back and straightening up. "You wait here."

And just like that, he walked away, leaving me hot, bothered, and completely embarrassed.

I scoffed, crossing my arms as I glared at his retreating figure. The sight of him heading to the kitchen with his shirt still slightly unbuttoned only made it worse.

"Jeon Jungkook," I muttered under my breath, my eyes narrowing in frustration.

I couldn’t tell if I wanted to strangle him or pull him back into the room and demand he finish what he started. Probably both but i can't anyway cause i can't walk. 

[deeper-x-deeper]

what if I were to knock on your door? would you answer?

I think so. I think you'd at least peek out your window, even if you choose to remain hidden from my view.

but on top of an eccentric outfit, I have such a welcoming face, and such captivating eyes, you might be interested to see what I'm here for.

do you open the door?

[CONTENT WARNING: CNC, KIDNAPPING, BRAINWASHING FANTASY]

so you open the door.

I smile, and give a small wave.

"Hi, I'm new to the area and my cat got loose while I was moving some furniture. I'm showing his picture around in case you see him, do you mind taking a look here?"

I hold out my phone to show you the image. it's a cute, dopey looking orange cat.

"You can hold my phone to see it better, and you can scroll to see more pictures if you want!" I chuckle weakly. "He's a sweet guy, just dumb."

you take the phone, smiling with relief. just a neighbor with a lost cat.

"It doesn't matter which way you scroll honestly, it's all photos of him...I don't really take pictures of anything else."

so you scroll. but it's not another orange cat photo, no.

it's a simple, yet captivating spiral.

even if it doesn't catch your attention for too long, it will serve its purpose to distract you just long enough for me to fully close the gap between us, pressing a sweet smelling cloth over your mouth and nose.

it's useless to try to resist the effects of chemistry, and even if you do, all you'll succeed in doing is hearing me whisper, gently,

"Shhh, it's ok, pet. You'll be back home soon, I promise."

before you lose consciousness for a little while.

of course, when you wake up, it won't be for too long.

because you'll wake up, tied up, but comfortably. carefully.

with a nice, soothing voice in your ear.

"Hello, pet. No need to worry, you're home, now. I'll take good care of you."

then why be tied up, you may be thinking?

"You're not tied up, sweet pet. You're tied down."

did I know your thoughts? did you mumble them out loud?

"None of that really matters. What matters is that you're home."

home. where is home? it's dark in here.

"Home, with me, your master. So you can just relax, now, and let me take care of everything."

just relax. master will take care of everything.

"That's it, now, I'm going to undo some of these ropes, ok? So you can relax more. This chair is much more comfortable if you're not tied to it."

so you can relax more. you feel the ropes fall away from your wrists first, and your mind seems to fall a bit with them.

"That's right. I did up your arms a bit, let me get those, too."

the soft shuffle of the ropes hitting the floor slip you further into a relaxed state. this chair is comfortable, just as master said.

"Now, let me just...switch this on..."

switch...what?

"I know you were wondering why it was dark in here. It won't be dark for much longer, pet."

a soft click, and you realize the dark "room" is actually a visor, as it lights up in a colorful spiral, more intricate than the one from before.

but as you stare, "before" begins to slip away from you...

"Good pet. Just stare. Just sink. Just submit."

stare. sink. submit.

"Good pet for master."

good pet for master.

"No need to think anymore. Your master will take care of everything."

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

THE MEDIATOR AND THE INSTIGATOR.

(moon system) marc spector x reader — angst

summary. you and marc have been casually dating for a while now, though he finds it hard to admit his feelings. steven fronts to comfort you after a tiny argument, and he finds it hard to contain his own feelings towards you

word count. 1290

wrote this to get me out of a writers block and did a spinning wheel to help. so here we are, enjoy the slight heartache x

With Marc, things weren't always so straightforward. Either things were dramatised and blown beyond proportion or, on the contrary, brushed under the carpet and ignored. It was tricky to find a plain levelling road between you.

You've been seeing each other casually for the last several months, and it was still so hard to pull a genuine emotional response from Marc. Just something to let you know he felt the same way as you, just something to let you know you were both going in the same direction.

He kept his feelings behind a stoic wall, never wanting to allow someone the opportunity to jump it. Although sometimes, he would show small snippets of his feelings towards you - doing something cute and instantly brushing it off with a casual, throwaway comment: a singular flower on your pillow in the morning or your favourite snack stocked in the cupboards, for him to then say he doesn't know how it got there.

It's little things like these that you desperately clung to, tiny moments that gave you hope.

You often felt a continuous spiral of confusion revolving around your own feelings. In your heart, you knew you wanted to give things a genuine go with Marc, but that lingering thought remained intact in the forefront of your mind. The thought that you shouldn't have to convince someone to be with you - that you should never have to force someone to want you.

You had stayed over Marc's last night, and you woke this morning to an empty bed and a flower resting on your phone atop the nightstand. You smile at the singular red rose and sit up, placing your hand on Marc's side of the mattress - feeling how warm it is. He must've been up a while because the sheets were stone cold.

Scooching across the bed, you stand and slip on your pyjama bottoms - walking out of the bedroom to locate Marc. Within a few quick moments, you find him sitting at the kitchen table - a bowl in front. He gives you a short nod, lips forming an ever-so-faint smile when you get closer.

He was distancing himself again.

"Morning," you say, walking past him. You grab a bowl from the cupboard and a spoon from the drawer and go to sit opposite him, filling your dish with the cereal on the table. "Do you want to do something today?" you ask, pouring the milk into your bowl.

"Can't. I have plans," he says, tone like that of dismissal. He stands, picking up his bowl to place it in the sink - leaving you again.

You nod, sadly smiling as you prod your spoon into the floating flakes. "What about after?" you offer, trying again.

"I'll let you know," he murmurs, barely looking over his shoulder, heading for the bedroom.

You sigh, feeling frustrated. Moments like these undid all the progress between you. Everything you worked so hard towards - gone. You no longer felt like eating your breakfast, and as the seconds passed, you stayed there at the empty table, staring at the pieces of cereal growing soggy.

You hear scuffling from the other room, presumably from Marc getting ready for the day - you hear muffled talking, though no words are cohesive enough for you to pick up on. You sit there, silently debating what to do. One part was begging to barge into the room and force him into talking. The other part had the urge to get up and leave.

You decide partially on the latter and stand from your seat at the table, walking across his apartment and into his bedroom. You knock firmly at the ajar door, peering your head through the gap.

"I need to get my clothes. Can I come in?" you ask, tone pointed.

He hums faintly, the floorboards creaking under his weight as he moves to pull on the handle - letting you in.

Keeping your eyes away from his direction, you walk around his bed and collect your things - throwing everything in your overnight bag.

"Where are you going?" Marc questions, halting in his placement by the dresser.

"Home," you reply shortly, continuing to pack your belongings. You undress and put on what you wore last night when you came over - throwing your sweats back on.

"Why?" he asks, voice far more gentle than those moments before in the kitchen.

You ignore his questioning and shove on your shoes. But Marc is quick to notice your attempts to leave, so he moves to stand in front of the bedroom door - blocking it.

Your head cocks to the side as you sigh, unamused by his sudden care. You step forward, hoping that he'll take the hint and step aside, though he doesn't.

"Why?" he repeats, his tone just as desperate - maybe even more so.

"I don't feel welcome here, I just want to go home," you reply honestly, gesturing for him to move. "We'll talk about it another day, just not now."

"Let's talk about it now," he prompts, eyes soft as he focuses on you. It was clear he didn't want you leaving him, especially right now.

"You never want to talk about anything."

"I want to now."

"What? When I'm trying to leave? That's when you care?"

He stills, his expression firming. Unknowingly you hit a sore spot. "Yeah, go on, then. Leave. Everyone else does, anyway," he sneers, moving from the door - walking to stand in his previous spot in front of the dresser.

You pause, taken aback by his comment. Does he not know how hard you've tried with him? How patient you have been?

"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask turning to face him, voice firm and frustrated.

He's focused on the mirror ahead, looking at himself - muttering things to the other person in the reflection.

You linger in your spot, waiting for Marc to say something. Though he never does.

"Alright?" he greets - the face is the same, but the accent is not.

"Steven?" you question, your tone far softer now.

He hums, taking a seat at the edge of the bed, patting beside him. You follow suit, sitting next to him - hand beside his.

"He's trying," Steven says, speaking like the mediator. "He just finds it... hard."

You nod. You understood, you understood it all. You knew of his past, and why he is the way he is - and that's why you were always so patient with him. It wasn't his fault. It's just how he is, the way he grew up. You were just hoping that by now, he'd be comfortable enough to let you in the same way you did him. If there is no trust, how ever can it work?

"I just wish..." you pause, twisting around to face Steven. "I wish he was honest with me— you are," you pick up his hand, holding it in yours. "You're honest."

He sighs faintly with a soft shake of the head, retracting his hand from your hold. "Give him a chance— just one more, yeah?"

You awkwardly place your hands on your lap, moving them away from Steven.

"Marc loves you, you know. He really does," he says, voice gentle, his face wounded. He diverts from your gaze, turning away to look at the mirror. "He just can't admit it to himself."

You follow his eyeline, trying to see what he sees, but he's quick to turn back around - his gaze now locked on you beside him. He's quiet as he places his palm over your knee, the warmth and touch familiar like all those times before - it's Marc.

"I'm ready to talk now."

never wrote them together before/ part of the moon system, scary shit

[o-kingston]

Gone With the Sunrise

Richard Grayson x Reader

Words: 1329

Warning: Angst (I guess), cursing

Note: This is my first ever fan-fic so I’m sorry if it’s bad. I read a fic where the reader confronted Dick about all the time he spent with Barbra and it gave me inspo to write this, but unfortunately I can’t find the fic anymore. I hope you enjoy it!

Synopsis: Life with your boyfriend, Dick, was a dream, right up until it wasn’t. You knew he was out there, keeping Gotham safe with his family, but a nagging feeling in the back of your mind couldn’t help but feel like he’d rather be out there with her rather than spending time with you.

The night was cold, or rather, it was lonely. Dick was off saving the city, once again leaving you alone with your racing thoughts. You knew he was busy, and what he did was important, but at this point, it just seemed like he would rather spend his nights with her than with you. 

God, Barbra was a force to be reckoned with. She's strong, smart, pretty, and sometimes, everything you felt you couldn’t measure up to. She got to spend her days and nights with him, and what could you do if she decided she wanted him again? How could you step in and stop her if she saw your boyfriend way more often than you did?

You spend your night wallowing on your couch, waiting for Dick to burst through the window and come to reassure you, but as the hours ticked by and the sun began to rise, the hope fluttering in your stomach hardened into dread.

You grab your phone with the time glaring back at you. You call dick and wait. When he doesn’t pick up you call again, and wait, and wait, and wait. After the third time the phone went to voicemail you finally shoot off a text to him.

You: hey dickie, i miss you. 

You: call me when you get the chance. 

You don’t bother waiting for his response, leaving the couch and getting ready for work. You don’t know whether to feel upset or disappointed; or both. You never see him anymore, never really talk, or anything. Time just keeps slipping past him, and by the time he’s done patrolling or hunting bad guys as Nightwin, he goes out to be Officer Grayson then repeats until there’s no time left in the day for you.

~~~~~~~~~~ Time skip to the end of the day ~~~~~~~~~~ 

Work had dragged on. Within the 8 hours you spent busying yourself behind your desk you had sent Dick three more texts.

You: i miss you. i feel like i haven’t seen you in forever. we should try to do a dinner sometime this week.

You: maybe if you’re free today we can get some food before you head over to bruce’s. 

You: i love you.

Every single message has gone unanswered. You were losing hope and you were frustrated with yourself for letting it get like this. You get home and busy yourself with your night-time routine. You figure that Dick won’t respond to you in time to grab a bite so you start making dinner. You get through your entire dinner, shower, and night time routine with still no response back to any of your texts. 

Your tense getting into bed, checking your phone every minute hoping Dick will finally text you back; disappointed each time your screen pops up blank. You decide to just go to bed and try again tomorrow, not really wanting to face your emotions tonight if Dick doesn’t show up. You slowly lull yourself to sleep while spiralling through everything that could’ve gone wrong in your relationship.

~~~~~~~~~~ Time skip to 3 am ~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up to loud knocking on your window. You sit up, looking around your room for the source of the sound before seeing Dick in his Nightwing suit on your windowsill. You freeze, not expecting to see him at all tonight, especially since he never responded to your texts.

“ Y/N? You gonna open the window or are you gonna keep staring at me like a weirdo?” He asks. “I mean, I don’t mind but its a bit chilly out here.”

You immediately spring out of bed, going to unlock the window.

“Dick? What are you doing here?” You ask.

“I just wanted to see my beautiful girlfriend. Is that so hard to believe?”

You don’t know what came over you but you just snap, finally having enough of his hot and cold treatment.

“Yes, that is hard to believe. You don’t make time for me, you don’t text me or respond to my texts or calls. For fucks sakes the last time I saw you was over a week ago! What are you doing that is so much more important than even letting me know that you're still alive and that I am in fact your girlfriend still?”

“Where's this all coming from Y/N? Of course you're still my girlfriend! Why would you think that?” He asks, clearly caught off guard.

You take a second to regain your sense before continuing, “Dick, where have you been this past week.” His face immediately falls before blanking. 

“Why does that matter? I’m here now aren’t I?”

“Dick, it’s 3 AM. I’m not some booty call you come to when you're horny and nothing else. It matters to me where you are when you can’t seem to make time for me when the sun's out.”

“I’ve been busy working a case with Barbra. We’re onto something here and time just keeps slipping to the back of my mind. You know how I get when I’m in the zone.”

Your frustration was starting to boil over. You couldn’t understand why he didn’t understand why this was such a big deal.

“Why didn’t you respond to my texts? Or pick up the phone to tell me you wouldn’t be coming by at all this week?” Tears were starting to crowd your eyes, making the image of Dick in front of you blurry.

Dick grabs you, pulling you to his chest while trying to stop your tears from falling. “I forgot my phone at Barb’s place and I keep forgetting to grab it. I swear if I knew you texted I would have responded.”

Your heart stops beating and your body turns cold. “Barbra’s place? Why were you there? You said you were just working a case with her?” Your thoughts were starting to spiral again, tears of frustration and sadness falling down your face faster, and faster. 

“No, no. Fuck. Y/N, baby look at me. We were just there for work. I didn’t do anything, I swear. I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

“No, Dick. Why did you stay in the cave or something? Do you know how that makes me feel? You're ditching me to spend your nights at your ex’s place? God, how am I supposed to trust you, trust that you're not doing anything with her?”

“Because I’m with you Y/N!” Dick yells, “I’m with you, I have you. I don’t need or want Barbra, I only want you.”

“Then why don’t you spend time with me? Why don’t you call me or text me? Why don’t you think about how your actions affect me?” At this point you were sobbing. You couldn’t hold it in any longer. All of the hurt, anger, frustration, everything was flowing out of you after being pent up for so long. 

“I’m sorry Y/N. I swear I'll do better. I’ll get my phone from Barb’s and I’ll tell Bruce I need the weekend off. We can do something, just us. I swear. I only need you. I miss you too, more than anything in the world. Please just stop crying. Please.” He begged.

You couldn’t stop crying. You mind was running at a thousand miles an hour, and it all kept circling to one thought. He never said he loved me. He kept saying he needed me, and that he missed me, but never once did he say he loved me. 

“Dick,” You started. “Please leave. Please leave. Please leave.”

You kept repeating yourself, talking over him until he visibly deflated. He finally stopped trying to talk to you and walked back to your window. He took one last look at you before climbing out and swinging away. He looked beautiful as he left, with the sun rising behind him, making it seem like he glowed. You followed him with your teary eyes until you couldn’t anymore. And just like that he was gone with the sunrise.

[megalomaniacz]

IM SO HOOKED ON CRYBABY I NEED MORE OMG

CRYBABY! - (E.W) PT6

pairing: mean/cruel ellie x sensitive/emotional reader.

synopsis: you’ve had enough at this point.

a/n: the next chapter is already in the works and guys…things get so… like there’s no going back i think this is the end point 😭

i don’t care if it hurts

masterlist.

no one can get a word in before jesse breaks up the fight. “we go on in two minutes. get it together. fucking get cleaned up.” he pulls at ellie.

you’re baffled, really. such a silly word but it’s the only one you can use. abby never really got into fights, that you’d known of. she was one of your best friends. and you never had the heart to tell her about what ellie had done, so how did she figure everything out? why are you spiraling? ellie probably said or did something to get herself punched. maybe this has nothing to do with you?

“and i’m very excited to introduce our next performers. watching them go from garages, to performing on stages, to signing record deals has been a beautiful journey. i’m happy to say i’ve been here since the beginning. now please make some noise for, seattle revival!”

you and abby are sat backstage as you dress her wounds. you wait to hear a familiar string of notes from jesse as he starts their first song, but you’re surprised by ellie’s voice on the mic.

“guys i just want to start the show off by apologizing to someone very near a dear to me. a very special person in my life who i’ve hurt—“

“we love you ellie!”

“aww i love you too. i want to say i’m sorry to her because i did some really fucked up shit in the past and i hope that she can forgive me and that we can move past it.”

the crowd cheers.

“and go back to being lovey dovey girlfriends. please forgive me babe. it’ll never happen again.”

abby’s mouth falls so far to the ground you could stick your fist in it. her face has never turned red faster. “what the fuck is she talking about? you guys were—are dating?”

you frantically shake your head. “no abby she’s lying. i don’t know what she’s gaining from it either. i think we should go now.”

“and this next song is dedicated to her—“ she points to you, an employee tugs at you to make you more visible, pulling you to the stage. a spotlight falls on you. everybody’s phone is up. everybody’s flash is on. here come the waterworks, fuck. didn’t you say you weren’t gonna cry today?

and then a familiar string of notes plays. jesse and dina catch on quickly, and your heart seeps. there was no way she was playing this song right now.

“when you were here before.”

you’re taken back to that first rehearsal. stuffed in jesse’s parents garage on a gloomy day. you were sitting on a scratched up couch, petting his cat. ellie looked over to you with a smile on her face. “you listen to a lot of music?”

you nod. “i love music. i was honestly so excited to hear you guys are starting a band. i’ll be your first groupie! handmade merch and everything.”

she laughs before whispering something to jesse and dina, then returning to the mic. “we’re gonna dedicate this one to our first groupie.”

“couldn’t look you in the eyes.”

dina and jesse slipped off after that practice and you knew they’d gone to go fuck somewhere, so you stayed with ellie. “they have no idea how to be discreet about it.” you laugh. she shrugs. “good on them, atleast i’m not alone dealing with it anymore.”

she’d convinced you to grab icecream with her. nestled in the booth of the old restaurant over an icecream sundae. soft music playing from its speakers. it was nearly empty, and it had started to rain outside.

“so how long have you known jesse and dina?” you ask, dipping a spoon in your side of the sweet treat. she grabs a cherry from the top, popping it into her mouth. “since we were kids in highschool. those are my best friends. i’m excited to be starting a band with them, and i’m glad i got to meet you.”

you blush.

you’re crying now. onstage, you’re crying. you can feel the tears slipping down your cheeks and underneath your chin. you wipe at them but they just won’t go away. she was so sweet to you a couple years ago. she was the sweetest person you’d ever met. how could you even compare the person singing to you now, and the person you’d met back then?

then you get a glimpse of her. it’s in her eyes. you’re flashing back between that memory and now. her hand in yours, running through the rain. catching the bus back to jesse’s. staying up and watching movies all night. waking up the next day to the lovebirds apologizing, while you and ellie laugh about it so hard your stomachs started to ache.

and you’re conflicted because this is the same ellie that got drunk at a party and threw up all over you. twice. then the next day said, “atleast it was better than what you’d been wearing.” jesus, she was addicting. she’d hooked you in and completely destroyed you. your self esteem. and now she was trying to play nice?

out of the corner of your eye, before you can catch it, abby is walking onstage. she takes a moment to look at you, tears streaming down your face, and decides to turn around. she walks away and it takes you a minute to follow behind. calling for her. begging her to come back.

“abby stop. where are you going?”

“no, just stop. you’re pathetic. why do you take the shit she does? don’t you have any respect for yourself?”

you’ve never heard her speaking to you this way. between your head rushing from the crying and the whiplash you’re getting from her harsh words, you feel like you’re going to pass out. “i don’t just take it abby. how do you even know about that stuff—“

“because jesse and dina told me! i’m supposed to be your best fucking friend but you can’t even communicate the simplest of things. the things i know are hurting you inside. i was gonna— never mind. fucking forget it.”

and then she walks away, disappearing into a hallway. fading away slowly like a ghost. body blurred from your tears. you feel your feet get weak first, then you drop to your knees and onto the ground. huddling within yourself. letting all your tears fall.

the “seattle revival’s last show after party” is one you refused to miss. with everything happening between abby and ellie, you were more than prepared to let it all go. to get drunk or high or whatever the fuck, and stop feeling. this very thought picked you up off that floor, and led you to the dressing rooms. you enjoyed the rest of the show from there, wiping at your face so hard you felt like it would bruise.

when the band found their way into the dressing room, dina and jesse rushed over to comfort you. “i swear i’d bash her head in if it didn’t interfere with the tour. i’m sorry, i shouldn’t be apologizing for her but it’s the only way you’ll get a real one. i’m sorry.”

you had sat with the pain for long enough. you’d cried enough. you didn’t know where abby was or why she said what she did but it was your breaking point. if you were a house, she had pulled a loose brick. making everything collapse within itself. and tumble over everyone else in its path. you felt like…ellie. the world had darkened. the small light, the tiny bits of happiness in you, had melted away. you didn’t care anymore.

you get up to face ellie, her smile fading when her eyes meet yours. everything had left them. all that purity. all that love, was gone.

“honestly i’m over it. let’s go to the after party.”