#whenever she does something incredibly stupid.

[stromuprisahat]

Siege and Storm- Chapter 17 (Leigh Bardugo)

If Alina's truly worried for Grishenka, this is the most idiotic move possible.

Name one (1) place connected to Alina, a place she won't stop clinging to, the only place she knows... hmmm... I wonder, where she might send those kids...

[emily-mooon]

Scott Pilgrim Characters as Text Posts but they’re mostly of Stacey and Neil cause I’m obsessed with them :]

[seattlesellie]

no bc why does ellie give off older brother’s sorta meanish friend who’s always teasing you ….

mean older brother’s friend ellie hc’s ☁️

cw: smut, mentions of alcohol

♡ mean!bbf ellie who’s introduction to you isn’t a nice or comfortable one. it's rather... bizarre. you had just finished showering, your hair still fully wet, tiny droplets of water flowing down your body. you leave the bathroom in a tiny towel, mindless as ever because this is your house, and as soon as you open the door, she just stands there. she was literally about to walk in, probably to pee or something, and she fucking startles you because who the hell is this absolute converse wearing, messy auburn haired stranger standing in front of your door?!

your parents may have told you something about your brother coming home from college for the holidays… perhaps with a certain girl this time, and you were just happy he finally got a girlfriend, or something. when you see her… yeah. thats definitely not his girlfriend. she’s so… i mean, you get it. she doesn’t look like someone who’d be into his type.

you huff out a small squeal when you’re startled by the absolute stranger, and she seems to be completely unbothered, although… her eyes wander down for a second before she catches your gaze. “who the fuck are you?” you gasp, and automatically hold the towel with a tighter grip to your body, since it almost fell off completely when you lifted your hands up out of pure panic. “ellie” she says with a smirk. she brings her hand forward to form a handshake, clearly aware that if you lifted your hand up, the towel will completely fall down. when you hold the fabric even tighter, she sighs, and places her hand back in her pocket. “are you my brother’s girlfriend?” you question, and she looks at you like you’re so fucking dumb. “do i look… like your brothers girlfriend?”

♡ mean!bbf ellie who decides that fucking with you is the funniest thing on earth, since ticking you off and making you go completely mad seems to be too easy, and one day when you have a simple dinner, just you, ellie and your brother— (since your parents maybe… went off to visit some relatives for the night) they have a conversation and she seems to completely ignore you, and he obviously does too. when they talk about something apparently “hilarious” that happened in college, a dumb thing a guy said during a lecture— as you play with your fork, squishing the food down on the plate, you decide to butt in on the conversation.

“something exactly like that happened in one of my cla—“ you quip, and ellie fully side eyes you and huffs under her breath. when she sees you stutter on your words since that look was so mean, she mocks you completely.

“my class— i mean, one t—ti”

“t—t t- what… you can’t talk?” she smirks, and tilts her head to the side. then, ellie immediately looks over to your brother and sighs. “didn’t know your sister had a stuttering problem”.

he giggles like an idiot and they immediately move on to a different topic, leaving you completely embarrassed, hot in the face and incredibly famished. you can't even eat— what if she says you chew funny.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who plays the stupidest, meanest pranks on you. they vary from hiding on the other side of the door and jumping on you with a terrifying scream, to replacing the sugar with salt in your tea like a literal 12 year old. ellie cant help but grow obsessed with how loud you yell and how your eyes pop out of your head, stomping your feet on the floor whenever you’re pissed at her. something about the way you snicker and tell her that you wish she returned to her stupid college already, the way you add an “ellieuhhhh” to the end of every sentence really just satisfies her deeply, for some reason she doesn’t… fully get yet.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who plays soccer with your brother in the yard, all sweaty with her bangs sticking to her forehead, dressed in basketball shorts and a stupidly tight tank top that make her stupidly tight abs pop out because she’s so stupidly damp with sweat, and you’re staring out of the window of your room like a creep. you’d usually rather not join because she has made it very clear that she doesn’t want to be around you unless you’re squirming or growing absolutely embarrassed. unfortunately, you’re so freaking bored and the weather outside truly is so nice— barely cloudy, the grass shining green and— fuck it. you pace downstairs, and stand stupidly still in the yard for a moment, before you gain the courage to ask if you can join. ellie obviously doesn’t want you on her team (she’d much rather humiliate you by taking the ball out of your feet at any given chance) so your brother has to take you in. you skip around the living room to put on some sneakers and when you join— it’s on. clearly, it’s not a proper game of soccer with only three players, but it’s their own version of it, and their own version is incredibly aggressive. all they do is yell at each other and elbow one another in order to keep away from the ball, and once you magically have it intertwined between your legs (your brother had finally passed it to you after literally begging for ten whole minutes) ellie makes sure to run as fast as she can, kick it violently out of your legs (that is definitely a foul, red card for ellie) and swiftly nudge you so that you fall on the grass with your nose bumping into it’s softness. she moves to stand right above you, towering over your body completely, and she's laughing her lungs out. she moves to the side to cover the sun from glowing directly in your eyes, just to force you to look into her and see how happy she is to humiliate you again. you’re absolutely pissed now, so you push your legs forward and kick her right back— she falls over you, her chest right on top of yours.

she’s heaving and panting, and you swear you could almost taste the sweat slowly leaking on her forehead. the world literally stops.

“you’re so fucking dumb” she snickers, and lifts herself off of you.

you go into your room to punch a pillow. shes so fucking annoying.

she goes into her room to do something… different. you’re so fucking annoying.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who always rolls her eyes when she sees you come closer, and constantly gives your brother those certain looks, that she clearly makes to piss you off and watch that little pout form on your lips. one morning, you walk over to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and ellie’s in her pajamas (for some reason, you really can’t stop looking at her arms, since she’s only wearing a wife beater and some low hanging sweats). when you greet her with a chipper good morning, she mumbles a lazy “morning” back, and when you lift yourself up on your toes to grab your favorite mug, she sees your shorts ride up a bit and her breath completely cages in her throat. she considers coming over and helping you, but hearing your sweet, breathy little huffs is so much nicer.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who finds you extremely attractive, and wishes you stopped walking around the house in tiny outfits (she wouldn’t be too far off if she called them literal napkins) because you’re making it very hard to concentrate when she works on a project with your brother in the living room and you just happen to walk by, carrying a tray of freshly squeezed lemonade and offer it to them. and she hates how fucking kind you remain even though shes so mean, so she gets even meaner and tells you that the lemonade tastes bad. she spits it out inside the glass, and the way you squint your eyebrows and ask her if she wants you to make her a new one literally tugs at her heartstrings. she tells you; “s’fine, you shouldn’t be near a kitchen, like— ever again. tastes awful” and when you take the glass out of her hand and walk off without even commenting anything back, she huffs a silent “shit” under her breath and closes her eyes for a second.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who one day has a super… weird dream about you. you lounged inside a lively kitchen— but it wasn’t the one she grew familiar with. it was mostly filled with mahogany furniture, an aqua green stove and a peach colored carpet. you were baking something, and it smelled like maple and cherry and vanilla and peach cobbler, it smelled messy and like an explosion of sweetness but god, she felt the hunger in her sleep. you stood there in a little apron, and just when you shut the stove’s lid up, she hugged you from behind. she smelled your neck, and wrapped her arms around you. “smells nice, babe” she whispered. you turned around and smiled at her so big, and just as you closed your eyes and parted your lips— she woke up.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who can’t. stop. thinking. about that freaking dream. she wakes up and she feels parched, and so fucking confused. she bumps her palm against her forehead and decides she needs a tall, refreshing glass of water before she tries to slumber again, because god knows she wont be able to. she goes downstairs to the kitchen, and gets so startled when she sees your shadow standing over the stove, its just like that dream but you're not baking, there's just a bowl of cereal in your hands and random music silently coming out of your phone. when she jumps— you jump too. and you drop the whole entire bowl and the milk is now running all over your top.

“jesus fucking christ!” you gasp, and when you see that it’s ellie, her face all puffy from sleep, your heart thuds in your chest. you’ve never been… completely alone with her, not ever since you met her outside of the shower for the first time, anyways.

“why are you standing like a creep in the kitchen in the middle of the night?!” she questions.

“i was… eating”

“at 3am?”

“yes and now i guess i wont be eating anymore since you made me— drop! the entire bowl!”

for some reason, she tells you that she’s sorry. maybe it’s that fucking dream—

she hastily grabs some paper towels and helps you wipe. she’s awkwardly rubbing all over the material and shes being extremely stupid because clearly you can just change your top, this is your house after all, and your closet is right there, but she doesn’t seem to be able to stop wiping and whispering that she’s sorry and she’s tugging at your top and it… makes her flustered so she fucking stops, and throws the paper towel on the counter.

“clean yourself up— you’re the weirdo awake at 3am”

(she was right where you stood yesterday, eating some cheese puffs on the floor while watching a gaming stream but she obviously wont mention that)

♡ mean!bbf ellie who instead of surrendering to her feelings that are obviously starting to creep up, decides to grow even meaner. it’s not just random comments and stupid pranks anymore, it’s quite literally pure evilness. when she watches a film with your brother, a bowl of popcorn in her hands and some fuzzy socks, cuddled up inside a thin blanket on the couch, you decide to make an appearance. you, bored out of your mind, decided to to join in on the fun. usually, ellie had no problem if you just lounged in the living room while they watched television or played video games, because you would quite literally be completely mute and not bother them at all, untill ellie made a joke (“that dude’s head looks like the titanic’s fucking iceberg”) that you couldn’t help but laugh at. when you laughed, so hard you practically wheezed, it kind of made her feel soft and icky and she wanted to slap it out of her. today, when she saw you slide into the living room from the corner of her eye, she deadpanned completely.

“no— no, we’re not watching this with you” she snickered, and her tone was so serious and it didn’t even carry a glimmer of teasing, it was purely just mean.

you scrunch your eyebrows, and huff a quiet “what? why?”

“because you’re fucking annoying and we don’t want you around”

you went pure silent, just staring at the floor.

“why are you still standing there? go” she waved her hand, as if she was kicking out a small, pesky little animal.

you really weren’t a crybaby, but you truly didn’t deserve this. for some reason, a lump formed down your throat, and your eyes glistened. you climbed up to your room and silently sniffled.

even your brother thought she was being too mean now.

“that was kinda… fucked up”

ellie brushed her tongue on the side of her mouth, and clenched her jaw. she knows.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who notices you appear less and less around the house. mean bbf ellie, who really isn’t a bad person, she isn’t even that fucking mean, she just can’t handle her feelings and masks them completely untill you absolutely hate her guts. after that night— the night where she kicked you off to your room, you don’t chipper a good morning. you enter the kitchen, groggy and quiet, make a drink and disappear to your room with the cup in your hand. you don’t make lemonade anymore, and you don’t even laugh when she makes a stupid joke. mean ellie who misses your laugh, and tries so hard to hear it again, but fails miserably.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who loses it completely when you decide to go out to a party one night. you’re so quiet it feels almost as if you’re sneaking out, but you truly aren’t. you’re just scared she’ll make a mean comment on your dress or tell you that you look stupid with your makeup done like that.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who stares you down completely, and shamelessly checks you out when you twist the doorknob in order to leave the house.

“wh… where are you going?” she questions, and it’s so hard to keep it cool when you look so good and your thighs are on full display with your ass almost popping out of your dress. it makes her gulp because she fucking knows it’s not for her. you’re gonna go out and you’ll have people gawking over you and it drives her crazy.

“party” you simply mutter.

“dressed like that?” she clearly runs her eyes all over your body.

she's going to say something mean again. you just know it.

“really don’t have the time or the energy for your comments right now, ellie”

she wishes you added that cute uuuh, at the end of her name. you don’t.

“you look… stay safe—“

“i look what, ellie?”

“nice. y’look nice”

you shut the door. she just complimented you. that was a first.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who waits for you to come back from the party because she’s worried. she doesn’t admit it to herself, and excuses it by thinking she just can’t fall asleep because the winds too loud or the room’s too hot, so she just lays awake, waiting to hear your footsteps and your room’s door close shut— but you don’t. seem. to come. home. she feels sick because what if something happened to you— and then she feels completely stupid because you’re an adult and you’ve probably been to numerous parties already, but she can’t help but feel it in her guts. what if something happened to you? what if you drank too much and god forbid— what if you went home with somebody? she falls into the mattress with a thud and stares at the ceiling for half an hour, just picturing you making out with someone and them grabbing your waist or your ass and now she feels like she’s about to punch the damn wall— and then she hears you. you’re humming a song, specifically— cash shit by megan thee stallion, and you sound obviously drunk. she can’t let you go to sleep like that.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who propels the door open, to see you sliding down the wall, smelling like alcohol and sweet perfume and she feels sickly but she needs to take care of you, so she grabs you by the waist, guide you through the corridor, opens the door to your room and puts you down on your bed. she coo’s at you to stay quiet and calm for her.

“yeaupp m’in my baggg but im in his too…” you blabber, and burst out laughing.

“okay— okay, you good? you got contacts you need to remove? if you’re gonna throw up, i’ll get a bucket” she whispers, as she watches you swing back and forth. you look so pretty it’s incredible hard for her to be calm.

“some new sh—shoes… blah… mwahhhhh” you pull out your tongue and pucker your lips. you look incredibly silly and she swallows a giggle.

“you’re wasted, aren’t you?” now she's just caressing your face. why does she feel like she's going to faint?

“k— not t’wasted… you’re wasted… you’re wasted and pp—pretty” you mumble.

“huh?” thank god you’re drunk, because shes full on blushing.

“pretty pretty els…. s’pretty and so evil and m—mean and pretty…. like a millions pretty but—b’millions evil… so e—evil”

she decides to just shut the fuck up. keep going.

“i k—kissed somebody”

and now she’s the one who feels like she’s gonna puke.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who decides to completely give you the silent treatment. you didn’t even do anything, but god it feels like she hates you now.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who confronts you about that stupid kiss and asks you who the fuck dared to kiss a drunk girl, and you look so panicked and afraid, and it hurts when she tells you she’s gonna let your brother know and that he’s gonna kick their ass and you’re gonna be done for.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who fully breaks one day. it’s the last week of her and your brothers visit, and you haven’t talked to her for three whole days. she feels it inside of her chest, and every time you come near, it becomes harder and harder not to push you against the counter and kiss the hell out of your lips. it’s hard to stop staring and it’s hard to keep her distance so she confronts you.

“you know you told me i’m pretty, right? before you threw up on the fucking bed?”

your eyes pop out of your head. you feel absolutely embarrassed. no you didn’t.

“i did not— what? what the hell is the matter with you?” you huff, and back away.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who comes closer and closer the more you back away, because it’s becoming incredibly difficult to keep that distance apart, so she makes sure you can feel her breath on your lips and makes sure it makes you shiver— before she mutters a loud “fuck it” and takes your lips between her’s.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who kisses you so hard, it truly feels like you've never been kissed before. nothing could ever compare. when she takes your lips between her's, and sucks on the bottom one, just to hear a sweet little breath leave your mouth, she grunts. it feels like everything she's ever felt was flowing out of her body and crashing onto yours. when she squeezes your waist, and pulls you in closer so her chest bumps into yours— she breaks the kiss to look at you. my god, you're panting, and flushed, and she can feel you shaking.

"i'm sorry" she mutters, and she truly isn't, but if you keep on shaking like that, she's gonna have to start running away.

"please— don't stop"

honestly, she wasn't planning on stopping.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who picks you up, and as your legs automatically intertwine with each other on her lower back, takes you to your room and bangs you up on the door.

“what— what are you doing?” you ask, and it’s completely interrupted when her lips land on yours again. she can’t do this anymore, she can’t keep playing with you because if you kiss another person again who isn’t her she swears she’s gonna run out and beat them up, or even worse— kill them completely, and she can’t help but moan against your lips because you’re so fucking cute when you let out those noises and she needs to touch you right now or she’ll die.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who need's to hear you add that little "uuuh" at the end of her name after you kiss her because she'd imagined it too many times.

"say my name like— fuck"

"say it like you fucking do when you're pissed at me— say it"

somehow, you immediately know what she means.

"ellieuuuh!"

she's never swallowed so hard in her life. she looks at you like she's famished, and she growls. when ellie kisses you again, it feels like you're going to crash down and die.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who eats you out like shes starved in your childhood bedroom. swirls her tongue and spits on your cunt and tells you to “keep fucking quiet” or else your brother will hear, and he’s right in the next room and she told him she just went to get something to eat, so she shoves your little panties right in your mouth and holds your stomach down on the bed with her two hands, parts your pussy lips so far apart they practically burn and she goes on and on till you cum on her face twice. “atta fucking girl just like that… just like that”

♡ mean!bbf ellie who plays with your clit in little circles, sits with your back pressed against her chest, and growls every time she sees feels hole clench around her. she tells you to be a good little whore for her and take her fingers before she gives you her strap, and you don’t even know why she has it with her because— is she fucking other girls?

♡ mean!bbf ellie who isn't fucking other girls— she just brought it because she... well, maybe she looked at your brother's facebook before coming over and she happened to stumble across a very, very pretty girl

♡ mean!bbf ellie who slaps your pussy hard every time you yell out her name— “you better keep fucking quiet or m’not letting you cum” and then shoves your panties even deeper inside of your mouth till you’re almost gagging, and only takes them out by replacing them with her cunt, and makes you eat her out completely controlled by the sway of her hips as she grinds herself down and god— she fucking needs it because getting off to you from knowing you were right next to her room truly wasn’t enough so she makes sure you make her feel good, and pats your cheeks every time your tongue swirls around her clit just right.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who straps you down on the bed, whispers short circuited “take it. take it. take it” every time it hits that one spot inside of your cunt, and makes you whisper in her ear to fuck you harder and faster because hearing your sweet little voice saying these obscenities is making her clit pump and brush on the bottom of her harness just right. “you gonna be my good fucking girl— make me fucking cum inside you? hmmph?”

she can’t help but… ask you,

“you want your brother to know how much of a fucking slut you are? letting his best f—fucking friend fuck you like this?” and all you can do is whine and hiccup broken sobs of “n—no ellie dont want him to know!”

“think you fucking do— if you keep on fucking screaming like this”

♡ mean!bbf ellie who… makes you cockwarm her strap while watching tv. this time, she doesn’t kick you out. with your brother’s eyes glued to the screen, watching E.T, it’s very easy to miss out on the bulge that’s hiding inside of ellie’s sweats. she signals you to come sit on her lap, and you just nod and whisper “no”, because what if he see’s— but she grabs your waist, slides you to sit right on her lap, pulls your pants and your panties down, and god— you’re already soaking just from being around her. she makes you roll your hips down her strap, separating your pussy lips apart and rub yourself all over it, guiding your motions with her hands. she can barely keep quiet herself because the way you whimper so softly and slap a hand on your mouth makes her lose it. she knows you wont be able to keep quiet if she bounced you up and down.

“stop being so loud” your brother snickers, and he almost… almost turns his head to the side. if he looked— he’d see his little sister sitting right on his best friend’s lap. that same best friend who kicked you out, same best friend who teased and mocked— what if he sees?

“shh… shh— just sit on it” she whispers in your ear and you shiver. you obey, and move your hips up. its almost too big, you have to swallow a screech when it slides inside of your hole. you want to bounce on it so bad, but your brothers still fucking awake. she almost snickers at how easily it went up inside, your slick completely swallowing it whole, but she stops herself. her could wake up at any given moment.

“keep on sitting on it” she grabs your thighs and digs her nails into them. “don’t move” and whenever you do—, eagerly attempting to disobey her, she pulls you down and grinds you deep on it, making sure you're caged inside. when she hears the quiet shores of your older brother sound asleep in the background, she starts fucking it into you deep. she thrusts her hips forward, and you don’t even have to move a muscle, you really did earn it after all.

"such a good fucking girl— have to make it up to you"

♡ mean!bbf ellie who sneaks little spanks, and grabs your tits whenever no ones looking, creeping up on you from behind and smelling your neck— just like she did in her dream. she kisses and kisses and almost doesn’t care if she gets caught— she has only three days left.

will you go away with her, or are you going to have to wait till next year’s visit? <3

[jaynemia]

AOT Petname HC's

My list and takes of (various) AOT character's usages of petnames in a relationship <3

Characters listed: Levi, Mikasa, Armin, Hange, Eren, Annie, Jean.

!! Slightly suggestive + sorry for grammar mistakes if any

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Levi Ackerman

❥┆As expected, Levi isn't the type to get too particularly creative with the names he calls you, so he usually just calls you by your name. However, when he does, you always tease him about it.

❥┆Lovely is what he calls you whenever he gets sentimental or when you need comfort. "I'm here lovely," or "stay with me lovely, come on," are some uses of this petname.

❥┆Dear is what he calls you when he wants to encourage you. Although he rarely uses it, it sometimes slips out when he's vulnerable. "C'mon dear, keep going."

═══��══

Mikasa Ackerman

❥┆She loves to use petnames as it reminds her that you're hers. Sometimes she gets too eager to ask you if you're comfortable with a new petname and just drops it out of the blue, getting extremely flustered after.

❥┆Honey is what she usually calls you for generic sentences and situations. She loves it because it sounds like the two of you are married. "Honey, are you done yet?"

❥┆Darling is what she calls you regularly too, but mostly in situations where she's extremely happy or wants to comfort you. "Let's go out to eat, darling."

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Armin Arlert

❥┆Ugh my sweet Armin (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) he also likes to use petnames and chooses the sappiest, sweetest, and most corniest ones to call you.

❥┆Angel is what he uses when he's being overly sweet and lovey. He loves to add "my" in front of it because it's more possessive. "Come back to bed, angel," or "my angel is so beautiful," are some examples.

❥┆Sweetheart is what he calls you when he's.. vulnerable. Begging and needy. He loves to use it because he knows you'll cave into all his desires the moment it slips out of his mouth. I am NOT writing examples cause I'll go insane.

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Hange Zoë

❥┆They honestly use the weirdest petnames on you that fit more under the nicknames category than anything.

❥┆Princess, if you were comfortable with it, would be used to mainly mess with you and refer to you in the third person. "Don't stress too much, princess," "My princess is the only royal I care about, personally."

❥┆Bunny is what they usually call you. It was cute up until you found out they got the name from one of their now dead titan subjects. It was still endearing, though. "What'll we have for dinner, bunny? Stew?"

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Eren Yaeger

❥┆He uses petnames like any normal person, but he's actually so incredibly NOT creative that it pisses you off. Whenever you ask for a more unique petname, he usually just shrugs and says something stupid like "cutie patootie?"

❥┆Baby/Babe is what he calls you when he's frustrated or jealous. While he calls you "babe" when he's angry, he uses "baby" in a soft, but irritated tone when he's trying to get what he wants from you. "Come on, babe, we're wasting time here." "Baby- stay here with me. Don't go off with those people."

I literally can't imagine him saying anything else LMAOO

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Annie Leonhardt

❥┆Sorry but I also just can't imagine her calling her partner anything; however, that doesn't stop her from loving being called petnames herself. She loves every kind of petname you come up for her and gets flustered every time you use them.

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Jean Kirschtein

❥┆Don't even get me started. He's such a hopeless romantic that when he finally got a piece of ass, he immediately showed how absolutely grateful he was through cute petnames. He's so incredibly corny with some of them, though.

❥┆Babyboy/Babygirl is what he calls you when he's being sweet or when he's just trying to comfort you. "I'm right here, baby---, I'm right here."

❥┆Doll & Sugar is what he calls you regularly for any circumstance because it makes him sound flirty, smooth, and mature. He doesn't know that it sometimes gets him weird stares from strangers. "Hey, doll. You just gonna stand there?" "Why're you feeling lonely? I'm right here, sugar."

I had more ideas for him but I was just gonna list two (*´-`)

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[poppy-metal]

envisioning citygirl!reader getting forced by her dad to go stay with grandma in bumfuck nowhere america bc of some reason and she is so not happy with it bc how is one supposed to have a brat summer amongst the corn?? ofc she’s not as peeved when she realizes her grandma’s ranch hand is an incredibly hot art donaldson and she suddenly spends all her time on the front porch in the shortest denim shorts she owns sipping sweet tea and letting it drip down her chin and neck whenever she feels him watching her as he fixes her grandma’s fence and she flirts with him sososo hard but art is a good ! christian ! man ! the type to have a high school sweetheart who has a promise ring that matches his own! he’s only working at your grandma’s ranch to save up for the engagement ring,,,,but he doesn’t mind the newfound attention from you with your sultry smiles and filthy mouth. he doesn’t mind that at night when he’s all needy and alone he’s thinking of bending you over the railing of that front porch and pounding into you while he’s fisting his cock as long as he doesn’t cave in no matter how hard you try

hhhhhh

seducing him into fucking you on the guestroom you're staying in for the summer - promising you won't tell - you're only here for a few short months, and it's a big commitment he's making, signing his life away to one woman so early? besides - doesn't he want to be good at sex for when he gets hitched? does he want to be a one pump chump?

he doesn't. your reasoning makes just enough sense to him to condone his cheating- it's just for practice - just to get good at it by the time he proposes to his sweetheart. and you'll be long gone by then - it has nothing to do with the fact that he's weak and just wants to stick his dick in something warm and wet so badly - he's tired of being so good all the time - being the perfect church going golden boy, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect son and grandson, perfect everything else.

he wants to be imperfect for once, maybe. give into his desires and be wicked. even if it's just for him - just a secret.

it's just for the summer. it's just for practice.

that's what you both tell yourselves anyway, when you drag him into the barn when your grandma is making lunch and sink to your knees to show him what it feels like to have a warm mouth around his cock. encouraging him on how to hold your head - how to flex his hips - "look at me." you tell him, tonguing the head, "you have to look at me and tell me how good it is." then you add, "that's what girls like." so he thinks you're just coaching him, and not just speaking on your own desires, which you are. you have no fucking clue what his stupid little girlfriend would be into- you only care that his calloused hand slides against your cheek. fingers in your hair - "it does feel good." he breathes, eyes looking panied as you sink your mouth down around him. all the way to the base. "you're so fucking pretty - oh my god -"

it's just for the summer. it's just for practice. that's what you tell yourselves when you shyly part your legs and let him tongue gently at your swollen pussy. when he moans at your taste and delves his tongue between your fat lips and licks inside - and you clench your hands in his hair and rut against his face - he's a fucking natural at it, you tell him. fucking magical with that tongue - jesus god. makes your legs shake as you drench his tongue in your cum not five minutes later -

it's just for the summer it's just for practice when you sink down onto his cock in the loft above the barn, warm stacks of hay surrounding you and not the most comfortable but you can't risk it in your bedroom today - not when so many guests are over - but you can't stay away from eachother either - under the guise of teaching him "how a girl rides someone." when really you just want to be close to him - feel those warm work worn hands on your hips, guiding you up and down on his hard cock - and the ruse is temporarily forgotten when he switches you, and you're on your back and he's sliding over you and back in you, rolling his hips - he's gotten so fucking good at sex - so good at fucking - your legs wrap your his moving hip and you kiss eachother, warm and wet and it feels alot like making love - the kind of sex he's mean to have with his girlfriend and future wife - and not with you, his secret summer paramore. you push that thought away, muffle your whimpers into his warm shoulder and hold him close.

it's just for the summer. it's just practice.

[jenoslutie]

Can we have some more step bro jeno pls 👀

warnings: non-consensual filming during sex and he sends the vid to um..yeah!! :P

stepbro!jeno who was genuinely nice to you when your parents first made it official. being the best stepbrother one could want. he was caring, he cooked for you (though he lacked any cooking skills), he really tried his best until he found himself looking forward to seeing you too often, looking forward to how you wear less and less clothes whenever he's around, looking forward to seeing you doing the most mundane things but making them incredibly sexy. not that you intended to turn Jeno on with every move you made.

stepbro!jeno who started to distance himself when he realized he really wanted you. well, to fuck you. but seeing that it was the least effective strategy, he convinced himself he hated you, calling you every name in the book until you were running to your room, a crying mess. he'd comment on every outfit you wore, on every makeup look you tried, on everything you did, jeno had something to say about it.

stepbro!jeno who'd make it his goal to make all his friends hate you too, he's heard them talk about wanting to fuck jeno's new stepsister. Jeno doesn't like that so he resorts to talking mad shit about you to his friends and makes them all hate you because he knows they all want you and he doesnt want any of his lame ass friends to fuck you before he does. thats how he treats you, acting like he hates ur guts but deep down all he wants his to bend you over and have you crying on his cock and begging him to fill u up

stepbro!jeno who gets off to you crying to your friends over all the mean shit he says and does to you at late hours in the night, you don't know he can hear everything you've been complaining about, hearing he filthy names he calls you come from your mouth does something to him. he loves hearing you cry because of him, some nights he'd even jerk off to the phone calls you have with your friends, the pretty sobs you let out as tears stream down your cheeks is something jeno dreams of seeing.

stepbro!jeno who finally gets into your pants, finally gets what he wants. you on all fours as he pounds into you from behind. crying out his name so loud he almost wants your parents to hear. and something about that thought drives him absolutely insane. he wants your parents to hear, he wants them to know what you're letting your stepbrother do to you. but jeno wants to keep fucking around with you, his cute stepsister whos currently fucking herself back on her stepbrother's cock and moaning like a slut because of it.

stepbro!jeno who lets his intrusive thoughts win and picks up his phone while he fucks you from behind, recording a video of you on all fours, arching your back as much as you could and gripping the bedsheets as he fucks you absolutely stupid. moaning all sorts of profanities with a mix of jeno's name. he'd make sure your whole frame is in the video except your head, so you're not easily identifiable. wouldn't think twice before hitting send on your mother's contact.

jeno: [attachment: 1 video}

jeno: sorry i meant to send it to someone else.

a/n: blame @jenomov for this....she made me insane

[b14augrana]

The End Of The World

Alexia isn’t well post-breakup

Alexia Putellas x reader

masterlist

Warnings: angst, mutual breakup, yearning and heartbroken alexia, no happy ending

A/N: listen to the song for max effect! ‘right where you left me’ is another good one that fits this story. this is only a short fic, but i hope you enjoy :)

You and Alexia breaking up was for the best. She knows that.

Her career is demanding, and you just weren’t willing to pursue that lifestyle yet; it was glamorous, being the girlfriend of a professional footballer, but it also meant there were rarely any opportunities to spend quality time with her and that wasn’t the relationship you wanted. She understands that.

So why does it hurt worse than ending on bad terms? Actually, that’s a stupid question. Alexia knows why it hurts. If she had a reason to hate you, it would be easier to move on, but she cannot think of a single thing worth hating you for.

That’s what she hates the most — the lack of cruelty, toxicity, infidelity behind the breakup. There isn’t a single proper reason for her to stop yearning for you.

The first week after the breakup, she finds herself seeking out any signs of you wherever she could. It hurts, and she doesn’t have an excuse or a reason. She swore that your perfume lingered in the air, following her, taunting her. Whenever someone walks past, she notices; everyone smells like oranges, earth, and incense. Everyone smells like you.

On every street, there is something of yours. A mural you posed in front of for a photo, a flower bush you once pointed out on a walk because the budding flora stood out to you, a restaurant you introduced Alexia to without knowing it would quickly become her favourite. She sees apparitions of you in places that you would’ve been in right now, if you were still here. Still with her. Still part of her life.

Everything seems pointless and from the moment you declare the love story of her life to be over, Alexia thinks that everything should cease to exist. Why does the sun shine through the gaps in her curtains, when you aren’t laying beside her in the mornings to compliment it? Why does her heart continue to beat, when it cannot be listened to on sleepless nights, with your head on her chest?

Nobody works up the courage to ask her what’s wrong when she walks into the gym with dull under eyes and little to no energy in her movements. Alexia’s signature enthusiasm to be in the gym and improving herself is gone, and her teammates only look on with inconclusive questions as to why their captain is so… different. She watches them go on with their lives like nothing ever happened, and she’s so offended and bitter. They’re completely unaware that the end is here, at least for Alexia. The world has been at its inevitable end for longer than they know — the world ended when you stopped loving her.

Alexia isn’t one for letters, so it’s incredible that she finds herself sitting at her dining table, hunched over at an ungodly hour, scrawling words in her best handwriting onto a piece of paper.

She seals it in an envelope, running her thumb along the smooth surface for a second. She still knows your address by heart, and despite your house being much like a prison for her in terms of trying to avoid it at all costs, she finds herself navigating streets and turning corners to end up there.

Alexia passes a bookstore, and in the short moment she stands in front of it, she recalls standing in between aisles with you while you chose a book to buy. Clothing shops line the roads, and she can point out shirts in their windows that you own. A restaurant sits on the corner of the street, and she can point out the table you two had eaten breakfast, lunch, and dinner at…

But she can point something else out — you.

You’re there, in the window, sitting at the table in the same seat you always chose. It makes her wonder if those memories were lost on you. Magazine in one hand, tea in the other. She knows it’s tea, because you hate coffee.

Alexia becomes acutely aware of the letter in her hand, and her plans have changed.

When a waitress comes up to your table with a little white envelope in hand, explaining that someone had just come into the restaurant and asked her to give it to you, you’re confused. When you unfold the letter and read it, whatever you’re feeling is inexplicable.

‘Mi querido,

I probably shouldn’t be calling you ‘mi querido’, or writing this letter in the first place, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t tell you how much I love you one more time. I cannot imagine a life where being happy and being without you are able to coexist. If I knew that my career would’ve been the end of us, I would’ve traded my first love for my forever love, in a heartbeat.

Sincerely yours…

Your head lifts and you crane to look out of the window. Streaks of blonde hair disappear down the street, further than you can see from your seat.

…Alexia.’

[modelbus]

can i request a reader (with sbi and also separate) who’s rich rich like she was born with a gold spoon and whenever she gives them gifts or treats them food they feel bad BAHAHAHA but it's just readers love language

can this be a drabble or whatever you can do :DD

I got your other message saying you wanted headcannons, so here you go! No wilbur for obvious reasons.

Included: Cc!Tommy, Cc!Phil, Cc!Techno, + all of them (platonic)

Rich Reader Headcannons

Tommy

Unapologetic about using your money.

He cares at first, and even when you say you’re paying he’ll order cheap things from restaurants, but after you give him the go ahead he will be a menace

Expect to lose all your money to Legos, his one true addiction.

“I could stream building this one, but this one would look so good in my room…” Tommy mumbles, squinting at two Lego boxes. You’re starting to regret letting him talk you into stopping by the store for what he said would be a quick visit.

It’s been two hours.

“Just get them both, Tom.” You finally sigh.

He lights up, no better than a kid on Christmas Day. “Fuck yeah!”

He’s money conscious, and will still note the price of things, but after he gets used to it he’s fine with you paying.

Doesnt blink twice at gifts.

You get this man anything and he will GOBBLE it up. Give him an Apple Watch? Great, his forever, he’s already wearing it. Give him a toothpick? He’s using it, perfect.

Won’t ask you to pay, and is very willing if you don’t want to, but let’s be real you always do pay.

He’ll say “thank you” at least. Five days later, maybe, when he finally remembers, but he says it!!

Talks you into buying things that you don’t need.

”I mean, you have the money. Y’know. Just saying.”

Phil

This man hates it, change my mind.

It’s a competition to see who can pay first with this man, and he does it out of pure spite.

Actually, he does it because he wants you to feel normal and not like you have to pay because you’re rich.

“I have the money, Phil!” You insist, holding your card.

“And I don’t care. I already gave them my card, I’m paying.”

When you make a stupid financial decision and buy a $1,000 lightsaber (blame Tommy), he just kinda sighs at you.

If you approach him for financial advice, he will genuinely tell you helpful things as if you weren’t incredibly rich.

He accepts your gifts, but always makes sure to somehow give you one in return.

maybe not of equal value… he isn’t as rich as you… but of equal love <3

Techno

Have you SEEN this man’s setup? He is in NO POSITION to decline gifts.

Will secretly be desperately in need of literally anything and just. Wont get it. So you end up buying it for him…

You order him food online to have it delivered to him and man just won’t say thank you. He’s rather awkwardly send you a photo of the food on his desk, entirely eaten.

Or he’ll just drop a photo of his new setup in discord for you.

He will “anonymously” acknowledge you when he streams/records a video on his new gear though.

“And if you’ve noticed this video came much faster than normal, it’s because of a new PC which runs at light speed.” He zooms into the face of his Minecraft character. “It’s not a toaster guys! Praise the rich gods!”

He literally can’t afford to buy you gifts in return.

Well he COULD but that man sees the shipping and is horrified.

His gifts in return are those photos of whatever you give him.

Techno genuinely is VERY appreciative though!! Like you are practically saving this man’s life by buying him shit.

He won’t ask for anything, you’ve just got to use your gut instinct to figure out what to give him.

All

Having all three to spend money on is a DREAM for you.

Phil forces Tommy to say “thank you” every single time. Repeatedly.

Techno sends his photos in the group discord, and Tommy will jokingly rage that he didn’t get a new PC or something that Techno did.

Paying when you all go to eat is a competition of speed between you and Phil. He started getting sneaky and approaching the waiter/waitress before they even brought the bill.

So you had to compromise and agree to give your cards to the waiter and let them pick a card at random.

(you win most times because you’ve got a fancy ass card)

For your birthday they tend to kidnap you from your bed and take you to do a surprise so you can’t find a way to pay or something 😭

They’re all in awe of your house, meaning you love having them over!!

Best vlogs occur at your house, let’s be honest

[nomazee]

pry your way in

sebastian (sdv) x gn reader

word count: 4.7k (oh my god)

content: mutual pining, ROMANTIC TENSION, aggressive pining on the reader’s part, do they kiss or do they not, social anxiety (can u TELL), embarrassing situations, comedy (maybe) (hopefully) (maybe you’ll get a little giggle out of this and swing your feet around), so much build up, the slowest burn you could possibly get in under 5k words

notes: oh HEY guys so i went crazy again and i don’t think i’ve ever written so much in one sitting. this is insane. look at what this game has done to me. 

part 1 part 2 (you are here) part 3

<><><><><>

All you need to do is drop off these stupid eggs in Gus’s fridge. That’s it. In and out and then you can go home and pretend that you did not stare at Sebastian for almost an entire straight minute in the doorway of the saloon. 

He’s too busy playing pool, you think, and from the brief (many) glances you’ve taken at them, it looks like he’s pretty close to beating Sam. Your heart goes out to the blonde. One day, for sure, he’ll be able to get more than three balls in an entire game against Sebastian. 

The fridge door is open now. No one notices you except for Emily, who gives you a kind nod and a smile. You don’t know if you should be upset by the fact that no one really talks to you whenever you go to the saloon unless you talk first, or if you should be incredibly relieved. It’s leaning to the latter, because you don’t think you could handle being looked at right now especially by Sebastian because good god the jellyfish thing was so embarrassing and you really hope he’s forgotten about it because oh my god you actually almost puked all over his shoes and what is wrong with you and—

“Farmer!” Oh god. It’s a woman’s voice. It’s Abigail, and despite the fuzz in your mind you can tell by the timbre of her voice and the fact that the shout came from over by the pool table. You managed to get two eggs in the container in the fridge before being ousted. Good job. You hope Gus’ extreme ginormous 24-egg omelet is worth all of this. 

If you tried really hard, you could have played it off as if you didn't hear her at all. But then she’s walking over to you and you hear her footsteps and they’re light, friendly. Unfortunately, that does nothing to stop you from freezing up and feeling every individual cell in your body go taut.

Maybe she’s going to kill you, or something, because maybe you did actually puke all over Sebastian’s sneakers nights before this and your mind just blocked it out. Oh god. Well, this town was nice while it lasted. You hope they’ll bury you in a nice spot out of courtesy. 

Turning to face Abigail, you manage to give her a shaky sort of grin and wave. “Oh. Hey. I didn't know you were here.” You are such a liar. And a bad one, probably. 

“Yeah! Me and Sam and Sebastian.” You nod at that. A pause, and then, “Hey, are you busy tonight? We were wondering if you wanted to join us. We’re playing pool, but— um, it’s mainly just those two playing. They’ve got a rivalry going on.” 

She looks back at them and watches, amused, and you do the same for a moment. Sam is in the middle of making some big joke-y scene, throwing his head back and groaning and swatting at Sebastian while the other man just barely ducks away from his attacks. They’re laughing, and elbowing each other and you look away before either of them notice that you’re watching with the intensity of a wild deer. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Thank you. I don’t want to come if not everyone wants me to join.” 

“Everyone does,” Abigail tells you, and she’s really telling you. With purpose. There is something in her eyes. Something imploring and meaningful and her lips are quirking up in some pretty and teasing smile, and you’re wondering what’s so different about the way Pelican Town people are raised to make them carry so much weight in their eyes. So much weight that it makes you dizzy. And nauseous. And now maybe you’ll puke on Abigail’s shoes, instead.

“Okay.” It comes out as a whisper from your shaky mouth. She only smiles brighter at you. You register that you’re still behind Gus’s counter and there are drinks being shaken and poured just steps behind you. “Okay, I’ll be over in a second.” 

Great, she tells you, and then she’s turning around and walking away with a little jump and you might throw up because why did you agree to this? You did not plan on talking to people this evening. Not at all. And you’re wishing so hard that you had just dropped these eggs off in the morning. This is the type of stuff that happens when you don't just drop eggs off in the morning. Just your luck. 

You shake your head, as if maybe it’ll rattle your senses into being ready to spectate a pool game and talk with people for at least half an hour. And Sebastian. You don’t think you could handle the intensity of just sitting next to him. You might throw up again. All over the pool cues and the fuzzy cloth of the pool table. And maybe Sam’s shoes. Everyone’s shoes are getting thrown up on this week. 

Eventually, you make the walk out from the counter and consider just leaving through the door and telling Abigail later on that you just felt sick and needed to go home. It wouldn’t be a lie. You are a person of half-truths, most definitely. 

But you don’t, because you like Abigail and you want her to like you too. By the look of everything she’s done for you, you’re fairly certain that she does like you, or at least more-than-tolerates you, and you would like to keep it that way instead of burning down all of your Stardew Valley relationships in a slow, painful fire. (And okay, yes, maybe it’s a benefit that she’s friends with Sebastian. So what.) 

You blink. You’re in front of the three of them. Abigail and Sam are smiling at you and Sebastian is giving you a look. What is it with the people in this valley and their looks?! You have yet to be able to decode any of them. This is rough. So rough. You’re falling back into the uncomfortable feeling of otherness. Of just-barely-not-fitting. Like squeezing between a desk and a wall. Every other day you are walking through just fine, and the other days you are squeezing between this town and the people and everything you have yet to learn. 

You might puke. You’re not making it out of this saloon alive. 

“Hey, farmer!” Sam greets you, and your chest is struck with endearment over how everyone calls you farmer. Maybe it’s just because they forgot your name, but you can’t seem to mind it at all. “Are you joining us?” 

“Oh, just for a bit,” you tell him. You can’t help the smile that takes over your face, warmed and sheepish. “And then I should go. But I’m a big fan of watching you guys argue over pool. Really, it’s very captivating.” 

Abigail chortles, taking pleasure in the playful sarcasm you’ve adapted to. When Sam and Sebastian both follow suit in their own little laughs, your defensive habits slip away the slightest bit. And you can’t seem to find it in you to hold onto them. 

“Less of an argument and more of a…” Sebastian pauses with a teasing glance at his friend. Your heart stops for no reason other than you being stupid and in love, and it only chokes you up when he directs his stupid stupid pretty eyes right at you. “More of Sam being a sore loser. It’s an easy win on my part, really.” 

A snicker escapes you, undignified in how easily you let it out and how it threatens to reverberate against the walls of the game room. You’re holding onto yourself for dear life, trying to ground yourself in some attempt to maybe keep some of your dignity before it’s worn away through the course of the evening. 

But Sebastian has this prideful simper on his face and it’s like he’s happy to make you laugh. Maybe it’s the loving delusions running through your head. But you let yourself dream, just for a minute. 

Stupid boy. The urge to kiss him is slowly hurtling its way through your entire system, and it’s starting with your respiratory tract judging by the way you can’t seem to catch a breath. Stupid. Boy. 

“You can sit down, you know,” and he nods his head to the pair of chairs behind him. “Stay a while.” His eyes are filled with a stupid teasing glimmer and you might pull him aside just to kiss that expression right off his face. 

You won’t. Obviously. Because look at what happened last time you let your inhibitions run free. (Absolutely. Nothing.) 

Maybe I will, you want to say, stay a while. Maybe I’ll stay forever. 

You take a seat, and Sebastian is still leaning against the table with his pool cue in hand. He is looking at you, hesitant, with his mouth slightly open like he wants to say something. Before he can, Abigail interrupts. 

“Wait, let me take over for you!” She says, rushing forward to steal the cue from him. “I want to play! You guys, like, totally monopolize the table every time we’re here.” Abigail’s eyes flit to Sebastian, then to you, and she continues, “Next time, let’s just play the two of us. You and me, farmer.” 

There’s another big, stupid smile stretching your face taut and you hope none of them notice your cracked, drying lips. They’re peeling open from how much you’re grinning tonight and how much you’re not moisturizing them. “Of course.” 

Sebastian is left with nothing in his hands once Abigail turns to aim her cue and hit the white ball (poorly) in an attempt to keep up Sebastian’s winning streak. With her and Sam occupied, you are left with the black haired man standing aimless in front of you. Again. And his eyes are trailing you, with purpose and a goal to speak. Again. 

You throw his words back at him with, “Well, sit down. Stay a while.” And he does. And your stupid mind is wondering if maybe him following you so easily means something. Stupid stupid. 

“How’s, um. Your stomach,” he asks, stunted pauses littering his voice as he tries his best to look at you. You don’t know what he’s talking about, and it must show on your face because he’s clarifying, “From the ceremony last week. I haven't seen you since then so I figured you must’ve been sick.” 

Sebastian is prying. Not in his words, but in the way he’s looking at you. Really, really looking, and this feels like a repeat of last week and you are reliving a million and one things that you would rather never relive again. 

Your palms are suddenly cold and you’re avoiding his gaze, body stiff with guilt. You’d been avoiding him for a week and you honestly hadn’t even noticed. It was like a subconscious response to humiliating yourself in front of the pretty boy that you’ve liked for weeks now. You hope he doesn’t blame you for that, somehow. 

“Right. Um, I was fine. I’m fine now, I mean. I turned out fine. Sorry for all of that,” your feet are shuffling against the ground and you drag patterns into your pants to comfort yourself. “It was kind of embarrassing. To have you walk me home and then suddenly get sick. I really am sorry for that.” 

“Don’t even worry about it.” There’s a sureness in his voice. When you find the courage in your lungs to turn and look at him, you’re met with a furrowed brow and steady eyes. It’s overwhelming you with ten different feelings, many of which are yelling at you to KISS HIS STUPID FACE. “Seriously. It wasn’t embarrassing, either. Things happen. I’m just glad you’re okay, now.” 

Sebastian ends it with another one of his chest-aching, brain-melting, palm-sweating smiles and he’s doing that stupid thing with the corners of his mouth. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it, and that’s what frustrates you the most. Maybe you should tell him, but he would take it the wrong way and stop doing it and you wouldn’t survive without seeing that stupid smile. As much as it makes you want to tear your hair out if you look at it for too long. 

You give him a firm nod. The rest of the night is easy conversation. You have one drink. Really, you make sure of it, because you haven’t gotten intoxicated in months and you really don’t want to see what drunk-you does in Stardew Valley in front of the sweet townspeople and the stupid pretty man in front of you. Said stupid-pretty-man follows suit, only having a pale ale and indulging in shirley temples for the rest of the night. (You punch yourself for finding it endearing that he likes such a sweet drink. Urgh.) 

It feels like a parallel universe of the Moonlight Jellies celebration of last week. One where you are a much less awkward person (but, really, there’s just barely a difference between now and before), and where you offer to walk him home instead of the other way around. Your stupid infatuated heart skips a stupid beat when you ask him if you can walk him back, but it quells when he gives you an easy smile and agrees. You pointedly ignore the voice in your head telling you that he sounds almost enthusiastic.

Sam and Abigail wish you goodnight, and they’re both beaming at you in a silly way that makes you follow suit. Giggles bubble in your chest and you don’t even know why. You think they must just have those kinds of personalities, and you really couldn't be more happy to seep into it. 

You don’t hold Sebastian’s hand on the way back. Not at all. In fact, you don’t even feel the urge to. You totally, totally don’t look at his hand swaying between you and fight the instinct to grab it and trace your fingers across his palm lines and the dips of his knuckles and all the scars he’s collected in his youth. You. Do not. Feel that way at all. 

It’s easy conversation, yet again. It’s almost impressive how, even with how easily you seem to do the most mortifying, awkward things in front of Sebastian, you still slip into moments with him where you can talk like you’ve known each other forever. God. Something about this town. You can’t tell if you want to catch the next operable bus out of here or stay here forever. You feel that way often, actually. 

Before you know it, you’ve cut through the city and ended up in the mountains and in front of his house. The lights are off. It must be super late, then, if everyone’s dead asleep like that. 

Crickets chirp and buzz in the air. You and Sebastian stop walking in the middle of the large dirt patch that takes up his front yard. Now, you’re looking at each other, and he’s giving you his awkward stupid gorgeous downward grin. You hope that you’re giving him something at least half as pretty, with the way you feel your lips stretch and crack again. You really need to get lip balm from Pierre’s. 

“It’s so late,” you mutter, because you don’t know what else to say and your heart is melting and slipping right out of your chest and onto the soil. “I guess I should go home.” 

You hope—cross-your-fingers-say-a-prayer type of hope—that he hears the hesitancy in your voice. That he realizes you don’t want to leave. That he sees the fondness in your eyes and how you’re trying to soften every defense mechanism you’ve ever learned in order to pry into him, now. And you hope. Cross your fingers and say a prayer. That he wants that, too. 

He hums a thoughtful, quiet sort of hum. Sebastian doesn’t move towards the door, or bid you a goodnight, or nod along and tell you he’ll see you another day. He waits. He is looking at you and prying you open and trying to gauge your reaction. To what, you don’t know, but there’s a static feeling in your head that tells you to wait and find out. 

“Right,” he says finally. His voice and his mouth curl carefully around the word, and it’s there again—the pauses, the hesitancy. You see your habits in him and you are aching with the need to find out what he means. What this all means. And you’re feeling stupid, and so you wait, too. 

“I think I feel bad leaving you to walk home,” Sebastian tells you. He’s speaking slowly, but not in a degrading way. It feels more like he wants the words to float to you and sink into the pores of your skin. And they do. They do, and it’s embarrassing, because now you’re sweating and hoping (again) that it doesn’t show on your face or your hands or the twisting of your fingers. “This is really far from the farm, you know.” 

“I think I would know,” you respond, teasing and lighthearted and acting like there isn’t a saturated yearning weighing down your body right now. “I can manage. I’ve been in the mines, you know. Seen all the monsters down there and everything.” 

He lets out a stupid breathy laugh and shakes his head. You hate how he acts so nonchalant, like it’s not obvious that you’re fighting the instinct to pick him up and shake him around like a bobblehead until his skull pops right off his neck. “Right, because there’s totally monsters down there.” 

“There are! You can come with me one day. I’ll prove it to you.” And it’s risky, to entertain that kind of thing, the concept of you two spending time together alone, where no one can see. Sebastian takes that as a challenge, apparently, because the diffident tilt of his lips turns smug and he’s saying,

“Then maybe you’ll sleep over one day.” 

Stttttupid boy. He’s stupid. The stupidest man you’ve ever met because now you’re really, really holding onto every last shred of your self-control. The thought of you in his house, with you both sleeping in the same twenty-foot-radius of space is making you heat up more than the valley’s summer sun. A frog croaks in a nearby bush. Nausea pools in your intestines. 

And you’re a terrible person, really, because even though you’re sweating and lightheaded from the heat you’re entertaining the thought of you both sleeping in the same bed. And it’s ridiculous. Really. You’re both adults who are perfectly capable of sleeping in the same bed without it meaning anything. Any particle of logic that enters your brain is vaporized by the heat of it. Your stomach is twisting and you swallow around the lump in your throat. 

He’s watching you. Still watching. Waiting for something to happen. The look he’s giving you is bordering on defensive, as if he’s anticipating a rejection. Stupid man. By now, he should realize you’re not prone to giving him rejections, of all people. 

“Maybe I will.” By some grace of whatever higher power is listening, you choke out the last puddles of your strength into a hopefully-confident tone of voice and the last words you have left in you for the night. It’s not a rejection. You hope he understands that. And he does. Oh, he has to understand what you mean by now, because he’s biting his lips and still. Looking at you. And waiting. All he does is wait. And you glance down and see his hands twitching at his sides. And you are going to do something. Something.

Oh, god. You’re thinking, Oh, okay, this is what this is, and he’s doing his stupid smile and the corners of his lips tuck in and you’re staring at them again. Really, really staring at them. You hope he notices. Your fingers are twitching now, too, almost aching with the need to hold something—to hold him and his twitching hands and spin them around in yours like a fingertrap. You want to get stuck and woven together, just for a moment. An aching, hurting, burning, devastating moment. 

It’s all you want. It’s all you’ve wanted for weeks now. And there’s a heat in your chest and your fingers and your head. Fingers twitching, eyes unblinking, and hands sweating; you wait. Wait for him to come closer. For him to do. Something. Soon. 

It’s an impossible task for you. You are not one for initiative. Never have been, not since you left your stupid office job and took up your place on this stupid farm and fell in love with this stupid man. Initiative is a daunting, horrifying, overwhelming concept, and all of your ambition has been drained from you ever since you planted your first parsnip in the ground. 

But but but. And this is how it always goes with you and Sebastian. But but but. There’s something about tonight. Something about tonight and the last week and the week before and the seasons before this that have carved this open wound into the middle of your diaphragm. Without even knowing it, Sebastian has clawed his way between your lungs and made an uneasy home in your heart. It’s disgusting, and maybe you’ll cough up all this adoration right on the doormat of his family’s house. 

How long has it been? How long have you both been standing here like idiots and waiting and breathing and staring? How long? You are asking yourself too many stupid questions. Initiative. You think of it again—and now your hands are on Sebastian’s shoulders and you don’t have half the mind to wonder when you stepped closer. 

You are not slow in your movements. Not at all. You are urgent and desperate and aching, but you give just enough time for him to pull away. In the back of your head, you wish that he’ll pull back and leave you empty and cold. But there is a warmth seeping through the cloth of his hoodie and tonight, you are stupid. 

You’re staring for just a moment before you close your eyes and surge forward slow enough for him to stop you, but fast enough that he won’t get the chance to look at your embarrassing, longing, yearning face before you kiss him. 

Because that’s it. You’re kissing him. You’re kissing him, with your hands gripping his shoulders with bruising strength, and with your feet planted into the ground to stop yourself from either floating or flinging yourself into the lake. You’re kissing him. And he’s not pulling away. And his hands reach to touch your elbows gently. For a moment, you think he’ll shove you down and run away, but his fingers are tapping along your arms, leaving a buzz in your bones and your head and your heart. 

You. Are kissing him. You are. You fucking. Did it. Joy floods your buzzing body and you hope he can’t hear how loud your skull is vibrating, how intensely your chest is rattling. Or how heavy your hands have become on his shoulders and how much you’re pushing back against him to get further, to pull him into you and you into him and pour in everything you’ve ever felt straight to his lungs. You’re kissing him. 

And he’s warm. So warm. Unexpectedly so, and you feel your entire body heat up in innocent adoration and you want his fingers to curl around your forearms and ground you. His hands shift, and for a minute you think he might pull away, but now he’s dragging his fingers in small paths up your arm, above your elbow and brushing your shoulders. Ggggggggod. God. You’re gonna scream into his mouth and slap him. Stupid man. 

In reality it lasts for a second, but the rush of feelings and thoughts and screams and cries that overwhelms your body makes it feel like it’s an hour. (At least ten minutes, maybe.) You wonder how he feels. You wonder if he’s trying to pour everything into you through this, too; or if maybe, he’s a normal fucking human being who is just kissing you to kiss you without all the grandeur and flourish and waxing poetic. Unbothered, you realize you won’t mind regardless of which it is. 

Your eyes are closed, and you hope his still are, too, because if he opens them and sees you you might throw up all over him. For the fortieth time this week. 

“Sebas— oh!” 

And. There’s a voice and a distressed exclamation. It’s Robin. Holy shit. It is his mother. 

The man you just spent an hour kissing (read: five seconds max) takes a moment to realize what just happened. You, on the other hand, have a ridiculous supercomputer in your head and you have long since figured out what just happened. You cannot believe this. This is embarrassing. A trip back to Zuzu City is well deserved now. 

“I’m— so sorry. Oh goodness.” Robin is being way too polite. You’d thought for sure she would’ve yelled at you and banned you from coming to the mountains ever again. You already kissed goodbye to both Sebastian (literally) and your mining career. And half your fishing career.

Sebastian’s face is flooded in color. It’s soaked in red and radiating heat that you can feel even with the ten-foot distance you had placed between yourselves. He’s not looking at you or his mother, eyes instead fixed on the patch of torn up dirt behind you. 

Finally, you process that Robin is the one apologizing to you, which is ridiculous and you wish she would’ve just pushed you into the river and screamed at you instead. You wish these people would’ve been a lot meaner to you already, and then maybe you would have never worked up the gall to kiss the man you’re stupidly in love with and cause this whole ordeal. 

“I’m so sorry,” and you’re the one saying it this time. You turn to look at Robin fully and resist the urge to fall to your knees and beg for her forgiveness. Tonight, you committed a mortal sin—giving her son a big fat heart-stopping kiss on the mouth right in front of their house—and you can only be forgiven by death, and death alone. 

There’s a confused look in her eyes, almost worried, and you think you might be actually shaking enough to launch yourself into the stratosphere like a space cannon. Instead, you channel the energy into completely turning yourself around and running away from the both of them. 

Disastrous. This night has been disastrous. You would’ve rather actually puked on everyone’s shoes instead of going through whatever the hell that was. You’re never going to catch a break in this stupid town with these stupid people and stupid Sebastian and his too-sweet-for-her-own-good mom. 

When you get home, you’re panting in exhaustion from sprinting across the valley, and your nerves and head are still buzzing and your lips are still warm from Sebastian’s being completely and willingly planted on them for about ten whole seconds. Your brain is too fried and melted to even consider the implications of everything you both just did, but you can’t seem to care. 

You’re embarrassed. Wholly and utterly humiliated, and for a moment you cross your fingers and pray to whoever will listen that you won’t be a topic of discussion during Robin and Sebastian’s family dinner with everyone else. 

You take a moment to catch your breath (an impossible thing) and finally collapse into your bed. You’re staring at your ceiling for what feels like hours, but you have a very poor sense of time and don’t trust that judgment at all. Everything settles in your head like mud shaken in a jar of water. And you smile. Dear god. Despite it all, you’re smiling and giddy and laughing to yourself, riding a high of schoolgirl-type-infatuation and post-kiss-adrenaline the weird, cruel excitement of the night. 

You kissed him. You kissed Sebastian. You. Fucking. Did it. 

The rest can be worried about tomorrow. Or maybe the day after that. Maybe even never, because you are absolutely going to avoid everyone and move in with the wizard instead, living in isolation for the rest of your life. But for now. You swing your feet and giggle like a twelve-year-old and replay the kiss in your head. Over and over. Like a sleep aid. You fucking did it.

[seakicker]

Could I ask your thoughts on Milf!Reader with either Kaveh and/or Alhaitham?

i decided to go with the or aspect this time but the idea of the and... much to think about. teaching these stupid idiots to share 101. i didn't mean to make alhaitham's milf so loserpilled but now im super into it lol she needs help asap amen. NSFT but just slightly since i didn’t delve too deep into smut with either… this time :p maybe i’ll write some continuations later!

alcohol in both sections, somewhat unrequited (depends on how optimistic you are, I suppose) feelings on reader's part in alhaitham's section, and public sex + drunk sex in kaveh's section below!

You seek Alhaitham out after tiring of the proverbial game of chicken he’s been playing with you these past couple of months. Frankly, you’re not convinced he’s half as into you as you’re into him, if his nonexistent track record of interactions with you is anything to go off of. He’s just the tenant renting out the spare bedroom in your apartment following your two daughters’ departure for college, and you’re just somebody he occasionally pays his rent to and assist with groceries— nothing less, nothing more.

Nothing less, nothing more… but being a single woman in her mid-forties and an empty-nester both already bring about a great deal of loneliness and longing by themselves, but together? One would—and should— call it miserable. Alhaitham largely keeps to himself when he’s home and your schedules don’t line up very well to begin with, so instances where you two cross paths are far and few between, but when the younger man is around, he’s courteous and cordial enough to make a good tenant… albeit a little cluttered.

You harbor a sense of guilt over finding a man just a little older than your collegebound children handsome, but living about a decade alone after divorce leaves you with needs and wants as human as food and water and shelter. Alhaitham is attractive, Alhaitham is polite and curt in a way that suggests a handsome sort of indifference, and you really, really don’t think he cares for you in any regard beyond the professional, but you can’t say your feelings are limited to the same boring boundaries. You want him in ways that are surely inappropriate between a forty-something-year-old woman and a twenty-something-year-old man, but what Alhaitham doesn't know can't hurt him because you are in absolutely no position to tell your tenant how you really feel about him anytime soon.

Except Alhaitham already knows how you feel without you needing to tell him how you really feel about him because you make it so incredibly obvious in ways beyond the verbal. You can't meet his eyes when you greet him, you stumble over at least half of your words every time you attempt to talk to him, and you absolutely refuse to step foot in his room even though you literally own it and, at least in his mind, have every right to access what's yours— though he certainly doesn't mind the privacy. Frankly, he almost considers your behavior entirely unbefitting of a woman your age—what are you, eighteen?— but something about your hesitant demeanor and reluctant way of speaking almost... charms him? No, that's certainly not the right word, he thinks— that would imply he's smitten with you, and he wouldn't go that far... but he does find you and your behavior somewhat interesting. You're certainly quieter and easier to be around than half of the people his age, and he doesn't take offense to having such a quiet roommate... you have his college roommate beaten on that front if absolutely nothing else.

Alhaitham doesn't drink much, but he's noticed you're somewhat of a habitual wine-drinker, particularly on the weekends and on the occasional weeknight once you're home from your desk job. You get a good deal more talkative whenever you drink, but his inclination to listen certainly doesn't increase alongside your temporary conversation buff. He'll nod absentmindedly and offer interjections where needed, but unless you manage to pique his interest, he doesn't have much to say... after all, he doesn't know you that well nor do you know him all that well.

You sigh, a sound as pitiful as it is longing. "Do you keep secrets well?"

Oh, that's something that manages to pique Alhaitham's interest.

He thinks for a moment before speaking. "I suppose. I don't gain anything from sharing secrets with other people." Not that he has anyone to share secrets with, of course... he's no more gifted in the friendship department than you are.

"I think I... have feelings for you. Is that inappropriate? It's not like you... not feeling the same way would jeopardize your living situation here," you mumble no louder than a whisper.

He almost wants to scoff with a smug I'm well aware of that, but he says nothing. He glances over at you, but his eyes only meet the top of your head, your own gaze reflected back at you in the swirls of your wine. Alhaitham wants to ask if you really, actually, truly like him or if your feelings arose from the hallmark middle-aged loneliness stage, but even he knows that your feelings are probably a fairly even mix of both aspects.

"Please say something," you almost beg, looking up at him. Oh, has he accidentally allowed the silence between you two to extend past the socially-acceptable "I'm thinking about it" phase and into the uncomfortable phase?

"I'm well aware of that." Alhaitham decides it's an appropriate and neutral enough reply because it's the truth, after all. He's known for months now, and what good does lying to you do? He's not a liar.

You can only describe the feeling in your chest as humiliation— of course he already knew because he's leagues smarter than you are and he still has his entire life ahead of him and you're just a desperate, lonely, needy housewife. The ball's in his court and you never learned how to play tennis.

Looking up to finally face him, you set your wine down on the coffee table before you. "Do you... hate it?" What kind of question is that? Of course he does.

Alhaitham sighs with something just north of resignation but without the regret attached to such a word, and you almost wish you had said nothing.

"Come sit," he offers, sliding over to allow you a spot next to him on the couch. It takes you a moment or two before you stand up from the loveseat and join him, leaving about an arm's length distance between the two of your bodies. Does he need to lay out everything for you?

In a rare display of initiative from a man who prefers to leave the bothersome work to everyone else, Alhaitham pulls himself closer to you. You worry he can hear your heartbeat right through your flushed skin and your thick sweater just as you hear it in your ears, but he doesn't comment further on any of your very, very apparent anxious expressions.

"Show me, then," Alhaitham offers, uncrossing his arms.

"I'm... sorry? Show you... what?" You ask, somewhat stupefied. Who needs alcohol when you have fear and tension to make you feel like garbage?

He leans in and offers you a gaze that almost feels challenging, like he doesn't believe you'll do a single thing he asks you to. "Show me how you really feel if you can't find it in yourself to say it."

Ah.

You don't want to even consider if he's just doing this to make fun of you or if he really, actually shares your feelings on some microscopic level, so you act before you have to think. Kissing him in a way you haven't kissed anyone in the ballpark of ten to twelve years ago, you let out a downright pitiful moan against his lips because the most basic display of affection feels so, so good after so, so long without it.

Alhaitham moves quicker than you do, and he has you down flat on your back against the couch before you can ask him if he really, really likes you or if he's just really, really bored tonight.

"If you'll have an old woman like me," you breathe quiet and pleading and ashamed against his mouth.

"Age has nothing to do with it," he replies simply, and such a matter-of-fact expression about how little your age matters almost comforts you in a sad way. "You're no less significant than anybody else. Having lived for longer and having learned and experienced what some never will already puts you a step above most."

"And, frankly," Alhaitham continues, lips brushing down the soft, soft edge of your jaw and across the warm plane of your neck. "I find that sort of conversation much more stimulating than whatever my own peers occupy themselves with these days."

You don't even attempt to bite back the whimper that escapes your mouth when Alhaitham firmly bites into the curve between your neck and shoulder, your eyes screwed shut and hands weaved tightly through his ashen hair.

"If I'll have you?" He repeats, hands searching south of the hemline of your sweater. "I suppose I will."

Kaveh seeks you out… in his dreams, at least. He can more easily picture himself peeling some paint off the wall, eating it, and asking for seconds than he can picture himself finally asking you out on a dinner date. He's sure there's some stipulation in the employee's handbook prohibiting relationships between employees and other employees and especially between employees and their immediate managers— which just so happens to be him and you, respectively. A salaryman dating his beautiful, forward, confident, and double-his-age manager? Yeah, right— that sort of thing happens in films and novels, not in the playing field of reality.

He's had it in for you since he started two years ago, for better and for worse— having a crush on one's supervisor makes them eager to please and, subsequently, makes them a harder worker, but said crush also begets daydreaming and accidental slacking while still on company time. Kaveh can't even feel too embarrassed when you stop by his desk and scold him for simple mistakes in his filed paperwork because he'll take any single opportunity he can get to see you—whether you're happy or just slightly angry with him, it makes zero difference to recently-graduated man in love.

Maybe it's the way you command a room and your little team of desk jockeys, maybe it's the way you dress in form-fitting skirts and blouses that hug your soft body, maybe it's the appeal of someone with both professional and life experience guiding him, or maybe it's your sultry and maternal manner of speaking that drives Kaveh through the roof. Maybe it's the way you stand behind him and lean forward over his shoulder to check the work on his computer screen, maybe it's the way you sweetly call his name during team-wide presentations and meetings, maybe it's the way you and him are consistently the very final two people to leave the office at the end of the day, maybe it's the occasional invitations to go out drinking together Friday evenings immediately after work, maybe it's the...

God. Kaveh almost feels guilty staying in a job he doesn't particularly care about just so he can see his lovely forty-one year old boss every single day. Desk jockeying leaves little room for creativity which absolutely hurts somebody as imaginative and innovative as Kaveh, but he's sworn to himself that he will not seek out a new job until he takes you out on a proper date at least once.

And, no, Friday night beers at a local bar don't constitute a "proper date."

Friday night rolls around just as it does at the end of every monotonous workweek, and Kaveh doesn't miss a beat in accepting your invitation to go out drinking. The recent end of the third financial quarter has kept both you and Kaveh up to your hairlines in paperwork, so the two of you haven't been drinking since sometime in early July— and to say he's missed your little rendezvous would be an understatement. Whenever work really picks up and the rivers of printer ink, white-out, and ballpoint pen ink all flow aplenty, you barely have the time to check in with him and his coworkers between all the hours you have to spend away in your office locked to your own desk. He starts to miss you like he's a lost puppy; isn't that just embarrassing?

You're on your third or fourth beer and Kaveh's only halfway through his first because he knows he's a lightweight— he couldn't match your pace if he tried. He listens dutifully as you complain about your higher-ups and how that ginger asshole in finance always has something smug to say and how that stoic gray-haired dude who works just a few rows down from Kaveh has awful handwriting, and he finds it endearing that you're just as... human as everyone else is when you're like this. He loves seeing you in Office Demon Work Mode and he loves seeing you with your hair down, your neck ribbon untied, and your blouse unbuttoned... for more reasons than just getting to see you relax for once.

God, you're beautiful.

By the time you've cleared your last beer (Kaveh stopped counting after five) and Kaveh has finally, finally finished his first and only, you're sufficiently and thoroughly plastered. Without any rational judgement to remind you that this is your employee and not your boyfriend, you're clinging to his arm and whining about how stupid life is when you're forty-one and unmarried since you hardly have time to go out and meet men with how busy work keeps you. Even if he had the courage to, Kaveh would never offer himself as a potential dating candidate for you since you're his boss and he knows you're far, far out of his league anyways.

"Hey, Kaveh," you breathe in a way that's just barely toeing the line between innocent and sultry, and he has to really, really force himself to take it as the former. "Walk me back to my car? I'd fall asleep on the side of the road otherwise."

"You're not driving anywhere," Kaveh answers without missing a beat, helping you to your feet and thanking the bartender as the two of you leave. "You know you can't, ma'am."

"'Ma'am," you parrot, snorting. "That makes me sound so old. Young ladies get miss and us hags get ma'am, right?"

Kaveh reminds himself to pay no mind to the feeling of your breasts pressed against his arm as you walk side-by-side, but the more he has to force himself to think or look or focus on anything else, the more he notices you and only you. How could he even try to divide his attention between you and anything else?

"Aging isn't a bad thing," Kaveh musters up, holding on tight to your hand so you don't stumble off the curb. "You get to experience more the longer you live, right?"

"I've experienced enough!" You laugh. "I want to be twenty again so I can drink six beers and wake up without even a hint of a hangover the next morning. That doesn't happen at forty-one, you know; I won't be normal until next Friday now."

Kaveh chuckles. "Ma'am, you don't have to invite me to drinks every week if it makes you sick."

Glancing up at him as he clumsily fishes in the pockets of his trousers for his keys, you send him a pout so cute it nearly makes Kaveh drops his keys. "And miss out on my guaranteed dates with my star employee? Yeah, right."

Guaranteed dates.

Star employee.

"I just mean, like," Kaveh stutters, unlocking his car and guiding you towards the passenger seat. "We could get dinner instead of going to a bar, you know?"

"Are you asking me out? I accept," you purr, clumsily flopping into your employee's car and wrestling with your purse. "But, in return, I want to ask you to do something, too."

Sliding behind the wheel and turning to face you once more, Kaveh takes a split second to pray and pray and pray to every single god he's aware of that you'll invite him on a date so he doesn't have to experience the potential humiliation of a sober you declining his offer.

"My house," you whisper, leaning in so close he can smell the residual beer on your breath.

Kaveh knows he should decline, he knows he should just drop you off and help you inside then leave, he knows that if he accepts your offer he’ll regret it Monday or lose his job or hate himself or ruin your opinion of him or—

“I’m already dropping you off, right? I’ll already be at your house for a second then I’ll head back to mine and—“ He’s tripping over his works so clumsily one would figure that he’s the drunk one, not you. You only press a finger to his lips and shh him teasingly before leaning in slowly, your eyelids heavy and your lips parted invitingly.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Kaveh,” you whisper, your other hand sliding across the center console to rest on his right thigh. “I’d have to be stupid to not pick up on it. You freeze up and turn bright red when I walk by your desk and stop to see what you’re doing. You accept little tasks I give out to the whole team before anybody else has a chance to step in. I know it, dearest.” You slide your finger across his lip and cup his cheek in your palm, your thumb resting lightly on his bottom lip.

Kaveh prays you can’t hear his heartbeat drumming in his ears, but he subconsciously leans closer to you anyways and taking your thumb in between his lips.

“Just like this,” you continue. “Such a sweet boy… such an eager boy. Younger men are the best, hm? I want to give you everything you’ve thought about… I’ll show you all the love I’ve been saving for forty-one years.”

He knows he shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, and yet… he wants it. He’s earned it. He works so hard for himself and for you and he wants you so, so much more than you know.

“Spend the night with me, Kaveh,” you ask again, reaching to cup the painfully obvious bulge tenting his nice, neat worn slacks. “Consider it a demand from your boss or a request from a cute girlfriend, whichever makes you hornier.”

Releasing your thumb from his lips with a moan, Kaveh nods and reaches for your breasts. He doesn’t care if you’re only saying this because you’re drunk— what does he have to lose? He’s won a night with you and that’s all he’s ever wanted.

“I’ll take care of you, ma’am.”

[vevobly]

Being Lottie Matthews's Girlfriend Headcanons (Pre-Crash) [Part 1]

A/N: I was thinking about making Laura Lee's first before hers because the lack of stuff with her is a fucking crime. Girl kept everyone's faith together, and when she died; all hell really just broke loose.

Whether it's a surprise to you or not, Lottie isn't overly showy about her feelings in public. It's different in private though, she's incredibly affectionate and gentle with you. Whenever this girl touches you, it's always soft and comforting. I mean, call it an exaggeration or whatever but being with her feels like paradise.

You guys get a lot of these affectionate quiet moments; her just holding your hand during long car rides, she'll brush a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, or rest her head on your shoulder when you guys are together.

Lottie's presence is extremely calming to you. When you're feeling stressed or overwhelmed, she has a way of grounding you. By that, I mean this girl can literally just bring you back to the present with her soothing voice or presence alone. She's your immediate go-to person when your own life gets chaotic sometimes.

(blf'iv z ullo) Lottie is the type of girlfriend who makes everything feel okay just by being near you. She has this way of making you feel like everything will work out, no matter how tough things get (even though you'll think otherwise).

Lottie has this almost instinctual understanding of your emotions (so don't even try anything stupid like shoving it down or whatever). She'll know when something's bothering you before you even say anything and will always be there to offer her support.

It doesn't whether it's through soft words or a comforting embrace from her, she will help you feel better without pushing you to talk about it until you're ready. She'll often say things like "I just felt like you needed this" during it, and honestly? You might as well just die early from how wonderful this girl is. z ullo

Lottie is protective of you quietly. While she isn't confrontational, you can bet this girl will not hesitate to step in when she senses that someone is making you uncomfortable or even treating you poorly a bit. gszg'h dszg blf ziv

She's the type to stand by your side and just make sure you're okay quietly. This part of her shows itself in small ways, stuff like reminding you to take care of yourself or guiding you away from situations that might hurt you (gosh you are completely fucking in love with girl). You always feel safe with her. (But much like a promise, they break so easily, don't they?)

Okay, while Lottie does spoil you a fuck ton. She's all about the small things; leaving you thoughtful notes in your locker, buying you your favorite snack when you're having a bad day, or surprising you with a playlist of songs she thinks you'll love.

Every gesture is subtle but deeply meaningful. Even though her way of showing love isn't loud (I don't know the exact word to use for it), it is constant and sincere. Every small act of kindness from her comes from a place of deep love and care. (Love burns. And if Lottie's love for you burns too bright, will it keep you warm, or will it devour you whole?)

Lottie loves talking to you, especially when you two have these really deep conversations about stuff. Lottie is always listening carefully to you, and making you feel heard (you wonder sometimes how you ended up with such an amazing person like her- it wasn't by luck, that's for sure).

If it hasn't been made clear yet, Lottie is an amazing listener. Whenever you need to vent, she'll be there for you with open ears and comforting you. She knows she can't fix everything for you so she doesn't. instead, she'll give you space to talk and figure things out at your own pace. She always makes you feel so damn understood and supported no matter what you're going through. Sometimes, you think she might have been an angel sent down from heaven. (Is she though?) I mean, she seems like one! (That's just what you think. She's a curse disguised as a fucking blessing, you're a fool for thinking otherwise.)

Lottie values your private time together hella more than anything. Whether it's just sitting quietly while you both do your own thing or having a lazy day in, those moments mean the absolute world to her. She's never bored when she's with you, even when you aren't talking. The simplicity of just being in each other's presence means so much to both of you (you're like oxygen, she needs you to live).

When she's feeling overwhelmed by her own thoughts sometimes, you'll be there for her. Just like with you, you help ground her too; reminding her to take deep breaths and where she is in the present. She's very grateful for how you never judge her for having these moments. (She doesn't know what she would do if you ever looked at her the way THEY did) That instead of being a dismissive dick and whatever, you're patient and understanding with her—you're always giving her love and reassurance when she needs it the most.

Lottie thinks a lot about the future. In fact, she's always thinking about it and including you in her plans without hesitation. Doesn't matter if she's talking about a trip you could take together after graduation or just imagining a peaceful life from Wiskayok, she always sees you there by her side (this fact alone makes you want to marry her, but gay marriage be damned because it's not legal yet).

[parkvcrs]

I Won’t Say I’m in Love

SUMMARY: s/n y/n is a popular idol in japan, but there is just one important thing worth mentioning… she is still in high school! but she doesn’t go to any school— she is a student at u.a. high where she has captured the special attention of the arrogant and short-tempered bakugou.

PAIRING: katsuki bakugou x idol!fem!reader.

WARNING(S): nothing worth mentioning other than bakugou being a tsundere.

NOTES: this imagine was inspired by the lyrics of ‘i won’t say i’m in love’ from the animated hercules movie.

Bakugou didn’t ask to be seated behind the most popular girl in school. He found it incredibly distracting to his learning. He already had to deal with so many extras anyway, why did the school have to include one more? Oh, right… U.A. High School made an exception for S/n Y/n because she just so happened to be one of Japan’s most popular idols.

How stupid is that?

He got into Class 1-A fair and square by working his ass off during the entrance exam, but S/n was just tossed into the same course without a second thought. If you were to ask him, Bakugou thinks Principal Nezu should’ve just lumped her with the General Department: Class 1-C, so he wouldn’t have to bare staring at the back of her head.

‘Was that brat allowed in this class because of her status or is her Quirk really that valuable?’ Bakugou thought to himself. It was a question that plagued his mind as soon as he received word that she was joining Class 1-A. How disgraceful.

But… he did have to admit… S/n is a looker. She’s beautiful. So beautiful in fact that perverted Mineta Minoru didn’t care that he was practically drooling for the idol a few seats back.

The mere mutters coming from that purple-balled freak caused a scowl to make its way onto Bakugou’s features. It seemed like all the boys wanted her and all the girls wanted to be her. But he will not fall for her siren’s spell. Quite literally. That’s her Quirk and the main reason S/n Y/n is such a popular household name, she has a voice that is irresistible to men.

So, if he just so happens to overhear someone’s conversation about S/n or the faint sound of her singing, Bakugou wastes no time putting in his earbuds and blasting his heavy alternative rock music at one hundred percent in hopes to drain her out.

He remains steadfast in the belief that he is one of the few men in Japan who didn’t have feelings for the idol.

So… why on earth does he get upset whenever he sees or hears another person flirting with her? ‘There is no way that I’m jealous of that fishy brat.’ He concluded as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Bakugou was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice that half of the class has disappeared to go to lunch until Kirishima tapped on his shoulder, saying, “Hey, you good, Bakugou? The bell rang…”

“Piss off, shitty hair,” Bakugou groaned and then smacked his friend’s hand away. “I’m fine.” He added.

The cafeteria, as always, is filled with students, their voices echoing through the lively atmosphere. Today, Bakugou decided to bring his own lunch, a steaming bowl of mapu tofu, its fiery aroma wafting in the air around him while Kirishima departed from his blond friend temporarily to get in line to order something.

Bakugou scans the room for an empty seat, but something in the distance catches his attention — a familiar, melodious laugh that sets him on edge. He follows the sound, and his gaze locks onto Y/n surrounded by an adoring group of boys.

From what Katsuki could see some of the boys offer to pay for her lunch, while others attempt to vie for her attention, hoping to sit with her. Several even present their homemade bentos, eagerly hoping she'll accept their gesture.

The sight twists something inside Bakugou — jealousy. He clutches his spoon tightly, his appetite waning. He doesn't understand why this bothers him so much; it's not like he has feelings for her or anything... right?

Just as he's about to sit down and try to eat his mapu tofu after what he has to bare witness to, Ashido Mina, Kaminari Denki, and Sero Hanta approach him. "Hey, Bakugou! What are you having for lunch?" The notable pink girl asked with a curious smile.

Katsuki's jaw tightens, and he glances back at Y/n, her radiant aura drawing everyone's attention. "Nothing," he mutters, a tinge of irritation in his voice. "Just lost my appetite."

Mina notices the distant look in his eyes and follows his gaze, connecting the dots. "Oh, I see," she says playfully, nudging his arm. "You're jealous, aren't you?" She wiggles her eyebrows while the boys beside her simply watch everything unfold for themselves with widened eyes. Did Mina have some sort of death wish or something? Because she’ll surely wind up died if she keeps poking fun at Bakugou like that.

At this, Katsuki couldn’t control the reddening on his face and he quickly denies it. "As if! Why would I be jealous of that?" he retorts, trying to brush off his feelings, as he uses his spoon to point at the crowd of boys surrounding his enchanting classmate.

Mina smirks knowingly. "Sure, sure, Bakugou. Whatever you say."

Ignoring her teasing, Katsuki forces himself to take a bite of the mapu tofu, but the taste falls flat. His mind remains fixated on Y/n, and he finds himself glancing in her direction more than he'd like to admit.

Meanwhile, Y/n enjoys her lunch surrounded by her admirers, her laughter filling the air like a captivating melody. Katsuki's conflicted feelings continue to gnaw at him, leaving him to wonder what it is about her that has such an effect on him.

And as the lunch period goes on, Katsuki struggles to concentrate on his meal or anything else for that matter. He's torn between trying to understand these emotions and trying to ignore them altogether.

That night, Bakugou couldn’t sleep.

No matter what he did, sleep eludes him as his thoughts stubbornly cling to one person… Y/n. It didn’t take long for frustration to bubble inside him as he mutters curses under his breath. "Damn it, why can't I just sleep? This is ridiculous..." He clenches his fists, trying to clear his mind of any thoughts that involve the idol.

After what feels like an eternity of futile attempts to sleep, Katsuki ultimately decides to give up.

"Fine, screw it. Maybe working on my lunch for tomorrow will get my mind off this shit." He quietly slips out of bed, mindful not to disturb his roommates, and steps into the hallway.

As he tiptoes past the dorm rooms of his male classmates, he can't help but feel a tinge of embarrassment. But that feeling soon dissipates and is instead replaced with annoyance.

"It's not like I'm sneaking out or anything. I'm just going to the damn kitchen," he grumbles to himself.

When Katsuki reaches the ground floor, he pauses for a moment. He can see the soft light spilling from the kitchen, and there she is. Y/n, clad in her pajamas, searching for a late-night snack.

His heart skips a beat as he watches her, but he quickly scolds himself for the involuntary reaction. ‘Get a grip, man. It's not like you care about her or anything. Just focus on your lunch.’ He reminds himself, trying to remind himself of his initial purpose. However, as he's about to turn away and head to the kitchen, Y/n senses his presence and turns her head slightly, locking eyes with him.

Her surprise is evident, and she closes the fridge, standing there awkwardly before speaking, "Sorry… I didn't think anyone else would be up. Please don't tell Aizawa…” she says in a meek voice, flustered. She tried her best to put on her best smile, hoping that he wouldn’t snitch on her to their teacher. Even if it may be uncharacteristic of him.

Katsuki blinks, momentarily taken aback by her sudden appearance. He crosses his arms, trying to appear nonchalant, but he can feel his heart racing. Thank God that it’s dark or else he’s almost positive his face is the same shade as a damn strawberry by now. "Tch, why would I tell him? I don't care what you do.” He replies, trying to hide any trace of his inner turmoil.

At this, an actual smile makes its way onto her features, appreciating his understanding. "Thank you, Bakugou. I just couldn't sleep, and I was hungry. So… you’re the only one awake, huh?" Seemed like she was trying to make small talk.

Katsuki nods, not trusting his voice to respond properly. "Yeah, seems like it. Whatever, just do whatever you want. It's none of my business.” He mutters, feeling a mix of annoyance and something he refuses to acknowledge.

Y/n's smile widens, and she takes a step closer. "Well, if you're up, why don't we have a late-night snack together?" she suggests, surprisingly at ease despite the unexpected encounter.

Katsuki's eyes widen a fraction, but he quickly recomposes himself. "Hah! Like I need company!” He retorts, but the harshness in his tone isn't as convincing as he hoped. “Besides,” he started once again and then slowly began to approach the oven. “I’m not here to snack. I need to make my lunch for tomorrow.”

To his surprise, Y/n's eyes light up. "You can cook? I had no idea!”

“Well… surprise.” Bakugou pretended like he couldn’t care less about their chat but in actuality, he was desperately hanging onto every word. Cherishing it.

“Say…” Y/n took a few steps closer toward the blond which didn’t go unnoticed. He sucked in a deep breath and tensed at the closeness. “Do you think you can make me something? Please?” She asks eagerly, frowning. And just for a moment, Bakugou’s facade escapes from him and his gaze softens at her enthusiasm. But he quickly regains his composure and lets out a small growl.

"Why can't you just eat one of those bento boxes your fans make you?" He shoots back.

Y/n pouts before replying, "I don't feel comfortable taking food from my fans. The media can be so extra, and I don't want to deal with rumors or misunderstandings." She shivered at the many disgusting titles of what she could be painted as. Selfish, for starters, why would an idol as famous as her take food from those of a lesser income? Or worse: one of those students would claim to be dating her, even if she did do something as simple as accept a meal from them.

Katsuki stays quiet after hearing this. He never considered things like that.

Meanwhile, Y/n hops up to sit on the counter, watching the blond closely. "You either make me food for tomorrow, or you take me out on a date," she says playfully. His train of thought shatters when Y/n said that. Bakugou’s eyes widen at the proposition, caught off guard by her boldness. He opens his mouth to respond, but she continues, imitating his gravelly voice, "'Why don't you go out with one of your fans?'" She pretended to be all grumpy like Bakugou to really sell her performance. But alas, there was a reason why she pursued singing instead of acting.

Katsuki huffs, trying to hide his embarrassment. "I didn't say that!" He said, defiantly.

Y/n grins mischievously. "You were thinking it!” She teases.

After a moment of bashful silence, he finally relents. "Fine, I'll make you something. But don't expect me to cater to your every whim!” He crosses his arms over his chest. “And, uh… you can eat at my table if you’re not too busy with, well, your life. But it’s not for me. It’s for raccoon eyes since, y’know, I think she would be happy if there was another girl in the group.” He cleared his throat and used Ashido as a proper alibi to cover up his own wishes. He would be elated if S/n Y/n could have lunch with him.

Y/n squeals with happiness, hopping off the counter to hug Bakugou tightly, much to his surprise. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She happily chanted, jumping up and down all the while she held onto her classmate.

He blushes slightly but tries to play it cool. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now go back to bed. I'll have something ready for you tomorrow."

“You’re the best, Bakugou,” Y/n whispered, stepping away from the blond. She slowly begins to make her way to the stairs when she stopped, peering over her shoulder to give Katsuki a small wave. “Goodnight.”

“Tsk, whatever.”

[ginevrapng]

Hiii<3 im sorry, can you write something about george? I dont know, something sweet? I feel like he is like that, and i miss him so much and i love your writing so i kinda wanted to ask for that, it is totally okay if you dont do it!! Just want to say i love your writings<3 they made me feel like im living your stories, its just soo good<3 oh and sorry for my english it's not my first language

hi<33 hopefully you like this! i decided to write a sweet best friend to lovers with george. i love him so much and i feel like this trope fits him really well. {contains slight angst but blink and you'll miss it

i'm really glad you like my writing, i love to hear that it! your english is really good by the way<3

george weasley is your best friend. you met at hogwarts in your second year and by your fifth year your feelings for your best friend were less than platonic. it's frustrating being in love with your best friend, you know it's wrong and he doesn't think of you that way but at the same time you don't really blame yourself george is amazing and it's no wonder you fell for him.

george loves you and it's so obvious to everyone, at least everyone that isn't you. george is sweet and kind but with you he takes it to another level yet you're so oblivious. he's your best friend of course he's going to be more touchy with you, right?

george always pulls you towards when you're walking down corridors together, he puts his arms around you and brings you to his side when you're sitting next to each other but in your eyes it's just george being comfortable around you. he even kisses you cheek and forehead and you brush it off. george is incredibly tender with you, holding your hand gently and complimenting you everyday. "you look very pretty today love" and "another o? you're so clever sweetheart." you think those affectionate nicknames are just between best friends though, you do call him georgie when the only other person who does so is fred.

he spends his spare time with you and makes time for you between pranking. george loves it when you help him with his pranks by giving him ideas, he knows you typically try to stay away from getting properly involved worried that you'll get into trouble but he loves when you praise him about how brilliant his pranks are and how creative he is. george always makes sure that fred doesn't prank you, the last time fred pranked you was in their third year and george was pissed off, not wanting to talk to him for days. it was a harmless prank but he didn't want you to be the target of their pranks.

george comforts you whenever you need it, sometimes you can get emotional and he'll be your support. if classes are getting you down he'll be there next to you, holding you in his arms after class while you lay on his bed while he tells you about how rubbish the teacher is and how stupid the subject is, "don't let it get you down sweetheart, so what if you got a d in astronomy? sinistra is just terrible, she's even worse than snape." you knew he didn't think that but it still brought you comfort.

if someone says something mean to you they'll suffer with some harsher prank. when he overheard zacharias smith talk bad about you he made him pay the next quidditch match the gryffindors had with hufflepuffs, george focuses more on aiming any bludgers towards smith than any other hufflepuff.

george knew you'd always be friends, no matter how many hints he gave, you'd only see him as your best friend. sometimes he thinks he has a shot when he swears he sees you look at him the way he looks at you but he dismisses it. he's happy to be your best friend and he hopes that however you end up will treat you well, just as long as you don't end up liking... "i can't help it, i know i should be trying to get over him but i love him so much." he hears your voice. "he's just perfect, he's so sweet and always looks after me. he's so good at quidditch and he's so popular... i know i don't have a chance. his red hair is so hot and i lay in bed at night thinking about his lips." george hears the laughter of your friends and his heart breaks.

you deserve to be happy, you do, but the one person he wishes you didn't fall for was his twin. george feels like everyone prefers fred, george has felt second best all his life and at the end of the day george is insecure and you're one of the only person who knows this. he goes to leave not wanting to hear anything else you have to say. "he's my best friend." george immediately stops, "i mean it's george bloody weasley. he's amazing and i'm just me." george grins and he's so glad he took his time walking away before you carried on speaking.

at dinner that night he comes up to you and whispers in your ear, "come to the room of the requirement later love." you nod your head and later on you're worried that you'll get caught out of your common room after hours but you trust george and you'll risk getting into trouble if it meant spending time with him. when you arrive to the room of requirements you're shocked by the display. george has set up a midnight feast with hot chocolate for you both to warm you up, a blazing fire, a big comfy sofa and big bed. basically a big room where you can relax for the night with george. "this is amazing georgie."

george's heart is beating incredibly fast as goes to stand next to you. "i'm so glad you think so." you see pink dusting his cheeks and wonder if the room is too warm for him. he gently picks up your hand and places it on his chest where you can feel his racing heartbeat. your eyes widen as you get worried but before you can ask him if he's okay he starts speaking. he cups your cheek in his his hand, "i love you," he presses a soft kiss on your lips causing you to gasp at his confession.

[goopgirlie813]

I suppose its to be expected with the sheer number of political bots on tumblr right now, but goddamn the anti-Harris crowd has been incredibly unconvincing. Whenever I try to ask for elaboration on the claims they make they either fail to understand that more claims does not amount to actual evidence or they call me lazy/stupid for not doing all the work to find evidence for their claims for them. Its like, bro, are you even trying to be persuasive? Do you even actually want me to change my mind? What reason do I have to believe you even know what you're talking about, let alone that its an opinion I should share?

"Kamala Harris is going to destroy America!!" Ok, how? What is she going to do? How is that thing going to cause damage? What kind of damage? How do you know that it will have that outcome? How do you know that she will do it? Why should I believe you?

"Kamala Harris is a communist!!" Ok, how do you know? Or better yet, what do you mean by communist? What is bad about being a communist and how has she done that? As the saying goes, "even a broken clock is right twice a day," something being present in communism/socialism does not make it inherently bad. So tell me why the things are bad. Tell me why the specific things that Kamala Harris has done are bad.

Name calling, labelling, and accusations are not going to convince me if I cannot see why the actual tangible things are actually tangibly bad. I don't believe that anything is pure evil to even be associated with, so don't tell me "she is X therefore she is bad." Tell me why her actions are bad. Tell me why the things she supports have negative impacts.

Do you understand what I am saying? Do you understand what I am asking for? Do you understand yet why y'all have failed to persuade?? Do you understand yet why I am unconvinced??? Is anyone willing to step up to the plate and give me actual reasons why I should agree with you instead of just insults and accusations!??

I'm fucking tired of being expected to believe things without evidence.

[lightlycareless]

uuu just imagine reading manga with naoya in bed while being cuddled up together <3<3

Hello!!!

Ok so this is sweet—kind of domestic amirite? oof. I love me some domestic Naoya when he's nothing but a loving husband. akgfhaksjghkjaghjkashgjas and a nerd too ahahah awww anyways...

warnings: very tiny mentions of smut. implications really. fluff outside of that.

happy reading!!

Imagine it being a cold snowy day where Naoya doesn’t have to go out on missions, tend to clan responsibilities, or anything else.

A day where he can simply spend his time in nothing but his favorite, deserving things, such as catching up with his favorite series, enjoying a well-deserved break from all those countless missions, and of course, spend time with you—his needy wife who didn’t hold back from letting him know how much she missed him.

“What would you like to do today?” is how the days would begin, with you peppering endless kisses across his face while the two snuggled underneath the sheets.

“Hmmm, I feel like spending the whole day in bed.” He sighs, kissing the top of your head. “The new chapter of the manga I told you about came out yesterday, and I want to read it.”

“I’ll make breakfast, then.” You smile, ready to push yourself up from the futon and rush to the kitchen—though Naoya had something else in mind too.

“What’s the hurry, my love?” he murmurs, pulling you back to him. “Going away from me so soon? I just came back…”

“N—No, of course not… I could never!” you blush. “I just… just wanted to make the best of today, you know? Please you.”

“You know, there’s one thing that will immediately please me.” He breathes against your ear, you shudder.

“…I still have to get your bath ready.”

“Can’t see why we can’t do both.”

You press your lips together, heated by his words.

“Ok, but we can’t get too distracted—I still want you to enjoy your day! You rarely get to rest as of lately….” You pout, he laughs before leaning to give you a kiss.

“With you by my side, there’s no way I cannot.”

After that is done, followed by a relaxing bath and a delicious meal prepared by you—Naoya insists in only being fed by you, not the staff; you happily oblige—you’re quick to take your place by his side on the futon, wrapping one of his arms around your waist and rest your head against his chest while his free hand holds up one of his favorite magazines, the one that publishes his favorite anime of the moment.

“I read they had to reprint this issue solely because of one mistake. Nothing too big, but apparently big enough to have the whole publisher pull out the magazine…”

“Gee, that must’ve been quite the task—And to allow it too! Is the author that big or something?”

“Kind of, he’s the best seller at the moment.”

“No wonder, if he’s not happy, that means no business for them.” You sigh. “I wonder if the change is even noticeable.”

“I don’t know, but that’s what I’ll figure out now—they usually point it out anyways.” Naoya squeezes you against him, kissing the top of your head.

“Well, that’s sounds like a wonderful plan!” You grin. “And if you get hungry, or want something to snack on, just let me know and I’ll bring it to you.”

Naoya blushes.

“I love you.”

It’s your turn to blush.

“I love you too.”

The rest of the evening would go on that way, with Naoya reading his manga, eyes intently fixed on the panels while murmuring to himself whenever particularly interesting scene occurs, if not scoffing when a character does something stupid—just as he did in real life; both gestures that you found incredibly cute, how relaxed he is when doing things he loves.

And though he was very focused on that, he was still attentive enough to your presence and gestures, hands and lips looking for yours whenever you reached out to him or vice versa, as well as allowing you to feed him, careful enough to not distract him that much.

Because you just couldn’t snap him out of trance, you know? He looked so adorable!!

Although it would turn a bit… too much soon enough.

“I don’t—I don’t want anything else, Y/N—” he protests when you try to shove another piece of popcorn into his mouth, going as far as moving away, but you simply stuck to him.

“Come on, you have to eat!”

“Not to this point!” Naoya gasps, stomach full to the point of exploding! Of so it feels. “I don’t—I don’t want anything else!”

“Tough luck, Naoya—If you didn’t want me to spoil you, you shouldn’t have stayed home!” you giggle, and Naoya just relents, because he can’t do anything else when he’s putty to both your adorable charm and insistence, his beloved wife.

A side of Naoya that fortunately, is just for your eyes to see.

I just realized that Naoya was the kind of guy to say: "I want a wife that is submissive, that is only attentive to me and knows her place and yadda yadda yadda" until you came along and he was like "ok I like that but... I also want kisses...."

Idk I just keep thinking he's very desperate for affection hahaha call it ooc I DO NOT CARE I AM IN LOVE WITH HIM. 😶😶

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this small thing 🥺❤️ him getting all flustered because you're always so caring to him is AGH healing!!! We could literally change him...

Now, thank you so much for sending in this ask ❤️❤️❤️ take care and hope to see you soon!!!

[nightlyrequiem]

Latrodectus

II. Fragmented

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

AO3

Latrodectus Mactans, otherwise known as the Black Widow, are known for their uncouth treatment of their partners. The 'widow' part of their name stemming from the common occurrence of the female devouring her partner after mating.

Tags/Warnings: Abduction, Violence, Emotional Manipulation, harassment, A Dabble of Psychological Torture, Drugging, Breaking And Entering, Fem!reader

================================================

Valeria learned to adapt, like any good animal. She mastered the art of mimicry, and her peers were none the wiser. She studied their faces and mannerisms and copied them to perfection. In hindsight it was pointless. Once puberty hit and she grew into her face and body nobody cared that there was something just a little off about her. Being pretty and physically developed meant she could get away with a lot more. No longer would she be shunned for her off putting ways. In fact, it just made her all the more desirable to her hormonal male peers. Their attention was wasted on Valeria, who spent most of her time chasing girls she found 'special.' Marie Sanchez turned out to be very unremarkable. Not as deity-like as Valeria thought she was. Then came Elle Minote, with her honey blonde hair and mousy round face. Her good looks rivaled Valeria's and she quickly swooped in to claim her. Crowning herself as Elle's best friend. 

Even before their friendship fell apart, Valeria's treatment of Elle was far from appropriate. She smothered her. Elle wasn't allowed to hang out with other people when Valeria was not pleasant. Elle wasn't allowed to have other friends. If she refused to stop hanging around them Valeria would throw guilt-tripping fits. Valeria would harshly criticize any boy Elle showed interest in. Making her feel foolish for even considering going out with him, why would Elle want a boy like that? She's far too pretty and likeable for someone about as interesting as a cheap handbag. Elle couldn't handle the overbearing weight of being Valeria's object of affection, though. She drifted away and found herself a boyfriend. Heartbroken and furious, Valeria vowed to ruin every relationship Elle ever got. It's not like she had any issues doing so. Boys are simple creatures after all.

You didn't eat the sandwich. Valeria stares at you with disappointment and you glower right back at her from the corner. Your skin is looking dull. Probably from the lack of nutrients and sunlight.

"Why are you being so difficult?" Valeria asks sharply. Why does she even bother with carefully handmaking your food if you're going to be so unappreciative?

"Why am I being so difficult?" You repeat. Voice hard with anger. "Gee, I don't know, maybe it's because you kidnapped me and locked me in a fucking cell!" Your hands grip your iron chain tightly.

"A cell?" Valeria scoffs incredulously. How dare you call this a cell. It's clean. You have a nice, soft bed with blankets. It's far more luxurious than any prisoner would get. She storms up to you and grabs your face. "You are so incredibly ungrateful." She whispers dangerously. Dilated eyes locked onto yours. 

You were an artist. In the background of one of your pictures, barely in frame, was a half-painted canvas. It took her a while of staring at the photo to realise you were painting a lamb. After some digging, she found out you did commissions. You didn't make a whole lot off of those though so to make ends meet you worked at a bar. Wasting your talents and life away serving up elaborate cocktails for ungracious patrons. Valeria became a regular. The bar was subpar and hardly worth the money she spent there but with you behind the chipping counter, illuminated by the sickly glow of the old hanging lights, she could spare a few pesos.

Her blood pressure would spike every time a male patron would flirt. She seethed even more whenever you'd giggle or smile at whatever stupid remark they'd make. You were only doing it to get tipped, Valeria knew that, but it still angered her to no level. No man was deserving of you. They would never be able to appreciate all your little intricacies. Not in the way a woman could. Not in the way she could. She had to walk out one night when you were laughing a little too hard at something one of your coworkers had said. She crouched in the alley behind the bar, stiff with hatred, fingers clutched in her hair. She hated him and she hated you.

Your nails bite into the skin of her wrist. Valeria shakes her arm harshly before grabbing your wrist and wrenching your hand away. Your nails scrape against her flesh as they're moved away. Leaving thin raised lines in their wake.

"I could show you what a cell really looks like." She growls. "I could leave you in a cold, dark, damp room. No bed, no toilet, maybe I should let you starve too." Valeria feels hurt that you are comparing your room to a cell. You're throwing her hospitality back into her face. She's doing her best with a shitty situation. She sees the fear coursing through you. The way your brows twitch down and the way your breathing hitches.

"Why are you doing this to me?" You ask. Your voice breaks, a warning that you're going to start crying. "... Is it sex you want?" Valeria releases your face. She has to take a step back to stop herself from slapping you. She already explained everything to you. Are you stupid?

"No." She snaps. Glaring at you. "I already told you why I'm doing this."

"You don't love me, don't stand there and try to convince me you do." You hiss. You press close to the wall.

Valeria is appalled by your words. She hates it when people try to claim to know what she feels. They could never begin to understand her feelings. Not even her parents could begin to understand it. The violent screaming and crying fits followed up by weeks of numbness. Valeria loves you so much that she didn't give up after you turned her down. She has so many plans for your life together. She takes a deep breath to calm herself down. Those plans won't ever come true if she kills you.

"I know this is scary and that you don't understand," She explains slowly. "but I am doing what's best for you." And, what's best for her. She can't function like she needs to when she's constantly on the verge of snapping. All because the woman she wants isn't hers.

You aren't receptive to her words at all. You put your face in your hands. Your body is so tense that she can see a slight quiver in your shoulder.

"Let me OUT!" You screech. You throw your back against the wall and scream. Hands sliding up your face and into your hair. "Let me go you fucking PSYCHO!" You claw at your own arms and hyperventilate. Valeria watches silently. She knows you'll scream your vocal cords raw for the next few hours then curl up in your bed, unmoving for the next few weeks. Your behavior is repetitive and resonates with Valeria in a way that nothing else ever could. She sees herself in your rage. In the intense anger you direct onto yourself. She turns and walks out of the room.

Your screeching stops being audible at the top of the stairs. She locks the basement door and walks into the living room and sits down on her expensive dark grey couch. Her back aches in protest. She didn't realise how sore it was until now. She leans back with a sigh. Silence rings loudly in her ears as she thinks. You've been here for a month now, yet you aren't warming up to her at all. Perhaps it's the lack of stimuli. Animals kept in captivity develop zoochosis when under stimulated. Her gaze shifts to the painting she hung above the mantel. The beady eyes of a lamb stare unfeelingly back at her. She taps her fingers on her knee. She commissioned that one from you. 

You're frustrated and need an outlet. Valeria understands that now. With you being so deprived of anything you enjoyed pre-capture you'll probably jump at the opportunity to do anything other than stare at the depressing stone walls of your room. Painting is a good way to relieve stress and it's also a good way to bond. The sun shines through the window. Warming the little lamb. Highlighting the delicate paint strokes. She imagines how you must've looked while painting it. An engrossed look on your face as you twist your wrist in a delicate arch to capture the soft woolly curls.

When she was in primary school, Valeria would eat alone at lunch. Kneeling in the itchy grass beneath a large tree. The grass would leave indents on her calves and thighs. She had to come up with ways to entertain herself. She would read, play with bugs, tear strips of bark from the tree that shaded her. For her twelfth birthday her mother bought her a small, coiled notebook. It was pink and had bees on it. The best part was that she didn't have to use it for school. She filled the lined pages with drawings. Some of her favourite memories are of her sketching away at lunch, tuning out the joyful noises of her classmates. She knows how good art can be for the soul.

She browses through the paint section at a small craft store and wonders if she should get you your own sketchbook. The thought is tempting, but she'd have to give you something to draw with and she's unsure if she wants to provide any potential weapons. The paintbrushes she's getting you is risky enough. Her eyes scan over the coloured tubes of acrylic. Each one fighting for her attention. The whole store smells faintly woody. It's a little disorienting. She grabs twelve colours. The basic ones as well as a few different shades. She grabs some canvases too and walks to the front to pay. The little old lady at the front gives her a judgmental look. Valeria doesn't break eye contact as she hands over the cash.

Back home, she sets down the art supplies on the dining room table. She spreads them out and inspects them. The paints, the canvases, the brushes. She can feel her own creative spark flaring up at the sight. She puts all of it back into their respective bags and carries them over to the basement. She sets them down by the door and continues further down the hall. She walks into her bedroom. The room is tidy and free of dust. The queen bed with its light pink sheets is made, the pillows arranged against the headboard with care and precision. The day is on the hotter end, and she's sweated through her shirt. Jeans and a black long sleave clearly weren't the way to go. She digs through her wardrobe and settles on a comfortable pair of black cotton shorts and a t-shirt made of a thinner material. She gives her reflection a quick check, admiring the tattoos visible on her arms. She quickly combs her fingers through her hair then walks back out.

She picks up the bags and walks down the stairs. She reaches your door and presses an ear against the wood. There's no screaming or crying. She unlocks your door and peers inside. The light is off, but your shape beneath the covers is slightly visible from the light behind her.  You don't so much as shift when Valeria steps inside and turns on the light. She spots a few red droplets over in the corner. She's worried for a second that you did something to yourself, so she sets down the bags and speeds over to you. She grabs the edge of your blanket and yanks it down. There are a few red scratches on your forearm already beginning to scab. She relaxes when she realises it's nothing serious. She will need to cut your nails though. 

Valeria looms over you as she softly calls your name. Trying to coax you into sitting up. Despite your eyes being closed she knows you aren't sleeping.

"Hey." She murmurs. Grabbing your shoulder and giving it a small shake. "I know you're awake. Come see what I got for you." For a few seconds you remain still. The prospect of receiving something intrigues you enough to open your eyes though. Valeria respectfully steps back and watches you sluggishly rise up. You focus your blank gaze on her and then to the bags behind her. Valeria turns and drags them towards you. Setting them beside the bed. She walks back and sits down on the ground. The cement in cool and pleasant against her bare skin. You lean over the edge of your mattress and look through the first bag. Fingers grasp the rough material of a canvas, and you pull it out.

Valeria stares at you intently. Trying to discern what you're feeling. She feels frustrated at the lack of reaction. You hold the blank canvas in your lap and simply stare at it. Valeria decides it's because you're picturing what you could paint. You set it down to the side and to Valeria's pleasure, continue to look through her gifts. You take your time looking at the other canvases and all of the paints. At the sight of the brushes, you seem to perk up. She bought you ten, wanting to give you a little variety. You hold the largest brush and turn it over. Inspecting it at every angle. You softly trail a finger down the wooden handle. Raising your head, you lock eyes with Valeria.

"I know you liked to paint." Valeria says calmly. You look cute like this. You're not baring your teeth in a gleeful grin but Valeria can still tell you're happy and for that she feels smug. A month without anything for entertainment means anything new will seem far more interesting than it normally would.

You look back down at the paintbrush and Valeria takes the opportunity to approach. She shuffles over and rests an elbow on your bed. You look back at her and she gazes at you. Feeling awed by the sight of you. She has you within her grasp.

"I did." You murmur. Eyes glazing over as you retreat into your head. "I was - am - good at painting." You tell her. 

"I'll go get a cup of water; we can paint something now if you want." She says. Hoping you can't hear the satisfaction in her voice. You nod. Features soft for the first time since she took you. Valeria smiles and gets up, leaving your room. She doesn't bother locking the door. She won't be long.

Valeria hurries back down to you. Spilling some of the water on the stairs in her haste. You're sat on the floor with your paints spread out around you. Valeria realises that she forgot a palette. You don't seem to care though. You're hunched over a canvas. Dipping one of the brushes into a small splotch of green you just squirted onto the cement floor. Valeria feels the need to grab a rag and wipe it off, but she can't do it when you're finally starting to warm up to her. Valeria sits down across from you and places down the water cup between you two. Eight brushes sit off to the side and Valeria grabs one and a canvas. Starting her own painting.

Her eyes periodically shift back up to you. You're so focused that you don't take notice. Valeria is glad. She doesn't normally feel embarrassed but there's something vulnerable about painting the woman she loves. She does her best to mix colours to perfection. She remembers the detail and texture you created for the lamb painting. She tries to imitate it. To give your skin and hair life.

"Hey... Valeria?" You speak. She looks up again and stares. "... I need your opinion on something, could you come here and look at this?" Valeria sets down her canvas and moves towards you. Twisting awkwardly to look at your painting. It's a beautiful, lush landscape. She can see the brushes in her peripheral. She can hear your slightly fast breathing.

"I was wondering if I should add a cabin." She glances at the brushes again. Seven lined up side by side. She furrows her brows.  

"Um... Yeah a cabin would look nice." There should be eight.

The first time Valeria was ever stabbed was during an offence mission. She was cornered by an enemy. The feeling of his steel blade passing through the flesh and tendons of her hand didn't hurt as much as she imagined it would. It didn't hurt much at all. It just felt cold. Maybe because of the adrenaline rushing through her at the time. The rattling of your chain is the only warning she gets before the jagged edges of broken paintbrush pierce through her arm. You were quick but Valeria was quicker. Had she not blocked your attack you would've stabbed her in the side of the neck. 

The wood drags against her skin, leaving slivers as you pull it out to stab at her again. Valeria roughly grabs your arm and wrestles you into submission. You struggle and cry. Writhing beneath her. She squeezes your wrist until you're forced to let go of the paintbrush. Red runs down her arm. Dotting your painting with little red puddles. Valeria's movements are fluid and smooth as she wraps her hands around your throat. You wheeze and feebly try to fight back but Valeria only tightens her grip. Valeria feels betrayed and hurt. You attacked her, after she tried to do something nice for you, you attacked her. You start going still when she suddenly releases your throat. She glares down at you as you pant and cough. Her heart is hammering. Valeria needs to leave before she kills you. She aggressively grabs the paintbrushes and storms out of the basement. Locking the door behind her. She's given you too many chances. You're starting to run out.