#i feel like that at least should still be said

[whatswrongwithblue]

Imagine Angel Dust questioning you on your sex life with Alastor

“C’mon toots, you gotta give me something!”

“I absolutely do not,” you say stubbornly, turning away from the spider demon but he just scooted closer to you on the couch, practically looming over you.

“Pleeeaaase. I can’t figure the guy out. He’s all flamboyant and goofy one minute and then terrifying and menacing the next. How does that translate in bed? Is he a bottom? A switch? A top?” Angel leaned impossibly closer, his voice taking on a more conspiratorial tone. “Does he let you peg him?”

“Angel!” you exclaimed, leaning over the side of the couch to get away, “that is really none of your business! And he would rip your arms off if he heard you asking such things.”

Angel Dust huffed, frustrated, and folded both sets of arms across his chest, practically pouting.

“This is just unfair. I tell you so much about my work, I don’t hold anything back.”

“I wish you would,” you mumbled, recalling the last disturbingly detailed conversation you were forced to listen to. You still shuddered when you thought about your friend participating in “sounding” or “donkey shows.”

“Alright, well you gotta at least tell me this much,” he said, sitting back up and holding two hands up in front of him. “How big is the guy?”

You shook your head, trying to pull out your phone and ignore him.

“This big?” he asked, holding his hands out about 8 inches apart. “Or this big?” His hands got a couple inches farther apart. “Or, I know, he’s gotta be like THIS big, huh?” Angel’s hands were now over a foot apart from each other.

“Oh my God, don’t be gross Angel, that wouldn’t even fit inside of me.”

“Okaaaaaay,” Angel said with a smirk, “so not as big as some of the Hellhounds I gotta take up the ass.”

“Please stop,” you groan, burying your face in your hands.

“Not until you tell me something juicy about your boyfriend.”

“Ugggghh, seriously, fine,” you say, defeated, and Angel sat forward eagerly, “I mean you’ve obviously seen him shape shift into taller forms. So, let’s just say . . . he’s as big as he . . . or I . . . want him to be.”

“Hmmmm,” Angel said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not a lot to go off of but I think I like your way of thinking. So, like this big then?”

You didn’t even look over to see how far apart Angel’s hands were now.

“What’s the record for how many times he’s made you cum in one night?”

“Angel, you said you would stop!” you yelled, feeling a blush begin to heat up your face.

“A lot huh? Because that, my friend, is the face of a woman who’s lost count,” he said with a knowing smirk.

“I am not dignifying that comment with a response.”

“I’m just sayin,’ I’ve seen you first thing in the mornings. You have the look of a gal who’s well satisfied.”

“Well, I am,” you say, “but that’s all decency will allow me to say. Alastor is a very private man and you should respect that.”

“Decency Schmeecency,” Angel said, throwing himself back into the couch cushions and picking up his own phone, looking bored with the conversation now. “This is Hell, there’s no such thing.”

Relieved he seemed to be dropping the subject, you pick up your own phone and enjoy a couple minutes of silence to scroll through your Sinstagram feed.

“Oh fuck me!” Angel exclaimed, startling you and making you drop your phone.

“What?!”

“That guy has got tentacles!”

There was no stopping the rush of blood to your face then . . . or the little smirk you just couldn’t seem to stop, though you did try and look away.

“Ooooooooh, oh doll face, you can’t hide that look from me,” Angel said, practically crawling over the couch to invade your space once again, “he has totally used those on you, hasn’t he?”

You turned to look at Angel, another retort about privacy ready on your tongue, but your eyes widen in horror as you see two shadowy tendrils raising up behind your friend’s back.

Angel registered the look on your face and sat back an inch.

“Wha-“

The tentacles grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him back to his side of the couch, and holding him down.

“I believe the lady said something about decency,” Alastor’s staticky voice said from somewhere behind the couch and then his shadow rose up from the ground before solidifying into the full glory of his demonic form. His body unnaturally long, antlers spread out wide, he towered over the spider demon he had pinned to the sofa.

“S-s-sorry man,” Angel said with a loud gulp, “I was just kidding around, you know,” he tried to chuckle nervously. “I-it was just girl talk.”

“Alastor,” you said, unbothered by your lover’s terrifying demonic appearance, “let him go. He’s harmless.”

“Hmmm,” Alastor said, tilting his head, eyes glowing brighter as he put on a show of considering the prey he had trapped in his tentacles. “Fine.”

Alastor dropped the tentacles from around Angel and within a blink of an eye, was back to his usual form, straightening his bow tie and brushing off the sleeves of his jacket.

“Ready for our lunch date?” you said, bouncing up off the couch and coming to stand by Alastor, who smiled down at you and looped an arm through yours.

“Sounds lovely, darling,” he replied, guiding the two of you around the back of the couch and towards the front of the lobby. “I’m positively starving.”

At the word “starving,” Alastor leaned over the couch, his glowing, toothy expression letting Angel know just how close he had come to being the cannibal’s lunch.

Angel sank deeper into the couch cushions in submission, eyes wide and fixed on Alastor, as the two of you headed for the front doors.

Alastor opened the door, but you paused after stepping through, grabbing the handle and shooting your friend a mischievous smile and wiggling your eyebrows in a suggestive manner at him. It was your own way of confirming his last line of questioning before Alastor had interrupted. You watched Angel’s jaw drop open and then closed the door, leaving him to his imagination.

Husk, who had been silently watching the entire thing from his place at the bar, began laughing.

“Yeah, he totally fucks her with those things,” he said, before taking a swig from his beer bottle. “Did you see the way she looked at them? She was almost jealous when he had you pinned to the sofa.”

“Jesus Christ,” Angel said, still panting a little. “Yeah, I don’t blame her. That was hot as fuck.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin angel dust #angel dust x reader #alastor x you #alastor imagine

[d4yl1ghts]

Hi could I request an Anthony c wife reader fic where they are in a heated argument and Anthony accidentally says he regret marrying reader so she ends up giving him the silent treatment and just ignoring him so he can grovel for her forgiveness

regrets

(mean?) anthony bridgerton x wife, fem!reader

summary: anthony realises the importance of words

warnings: argument

-

As you trudged down the antique staircase, you couldn’t help but ponder the lack of the presence of your husband recently. He was always locked away in his office and whenever you confronted him, he would always reply with: “I still have more work, Y/N.” After he said that, he would kick you out of his office. You were really missing Anthony currently and you longed for his touch, despite never really enjoying physical touch, you longed for his touch.

And so that is what led you to now, storming into his office, without even knocking. Anthony huffed quietly as he looked up to see you. He held his head in his hands as he stared back down at his pile of paperwork. “What?”, he asked blatantly as he eyed the paper. “Is that all you have to say to me?”, you asked bemusedly. “Yes. You stormed into my office whilst I am working.”, he justified. “Do you only care for your work and business?”, you asked with an upset expression.

“No, it is just so overwhelming sometimes. It is a requirement that I see to all of it as the Viscount.”, he responded as he shuffled in his chair. “Is it not a duty to spend some of your time in the presence of your wife?”, you asked as you focused on the elegant wooden desk, avoiding his intense eyes that often gave away his emotions. “I suppose so. I almost regret marrying.”, he confessed. You simply stared at him. Did he really regret marrying you? Why did he go through all of the effort of making your wedding perfect for you if he didn’t want to get married?

Silently, you forced your feet to carry you back into your bedroom which was fortunately not shared with Anthony. In the past, you would spend your sleepless nights in his room and he would go into yours if he burned for your passion. You slammed the door shut and locked it: to be certain that he would not enter your chambers. You needed to be alone.

It was safe to say that it was yet another sleepless night but he was not there to ease you through it. Amidst the sunlight of the rising sun, you hastily got ready for the day; you requested for your hair to be more simply styled today and your robes less detailed and delicate. Truth be told, you only asked your maids to do your hair gracefully for Anthony, you hated the process and you decided that you would not care about what he’d have to say about your robes: he didn’t need to acknowledge his wife anymore.

You sat at the table in silence whilst you ate breakfast with him opposite you, none of you making eye contact.

You sat on the sofa as you read in silence which felt unusual with out your updates to Anthony and his queries on where you had gotten up to.

You sat in the picturesque garden in silence.

It was not until dinner that Anthony broke the silence. “Y/N.”, he began as you pushed your food away from you like Anthony had you. “I do not know where to begin.”, he continued as he gazed across at you. “When I spoke such words, I did not realise they would be so harmful and impactful.”

You glanced up for a split second and saw the sparkle of sincerity in his eyes before going back to playing with your food. “I know that you will not ever truly forgive me for those unkind words but I hope you will at least know this: I did not mean it like that. In fact, I almost meant the opposite: I feel as though because I am the Viscount I am unable to take care of my wife and spend the needed time with her.”, he stated in one breath. “I almost feel pitiful for my wife: no one should be neglected simply because they are my wife. I just do not know how a woman could love me for I was not made to be a tender husband or a loving father. I was made to be the Viscount. Those are my duties. And so I thought to myself: you deserve so much better and so why should I bother when I cannot give what you require?”, he pleaded with a new sense of vulnerability in his eyes. You knew how hard it was for him to open up and for him to admit to this, you were proud of him.

“Anthony, you are the perfect husband (when you want to be).”, you mentioned teasingly. He let out a teary smile. “And I know that in the future you will be the most loving father to our children. You even admitting to feeling like such proves it.”, you responded as you slowly made your way over to his side of the table.

Once you had reached him, you carefully caressed his jawline as he gazed up at you whilst tears gently rolled down his cheeks. He placed his arms around your neck and pulled you down so he was able to passionately kiss you, conveying his love for you. As he pulled away, he cautiously grabbed your hand and guided you into his room. For the first time in weeks, you slept through the whole night.

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton one shot #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x female reader #fem!reader

[imaluckygirl]

bunggeoppang ( p.sunghoon )

synopsis: where your boyfriend comes back home with little somethings after an argument.

( 엔하이픈 ) - sunghoon x fem.reader ; fluff , crack & it reminds me of a cliche k-drama >< ( words : 3,2k+ ) ୨ৎ back to the bookshelf . . .

warnings : mentions of food ( obviously ) note : i didn’t checked this headcanon so it might contain some grammar error lol just ignore them !! ( there is the most waited headcanon from this previous pool i made, enjoy! )

sunghoon and you have been dating for about one year, and being friends for a decade. you still remember when he confessed to you. he came up with a “i like you” out of the blue and you remember to wide your eyes and gasp, while a red tint appeared on sunghoon’s cheeks; making him adorably purse his lips feeling embarrassed and shy.

but, well, in the end, that shyness unconsciously was brushed away the moment you said “me too- i mean, i like you”. um, you might not be wondering where you guys were at such a special and meaningful moment, and it was at a street fair. you know those street fairs where they sell those delicious and mouth watering street foods? that was the place where he confessed to you.

it might sound simple, and it actually was! both of you have been going to this street fair for ages! and it was kind of a daily night routine after a long and exhausting day at college.

you remember the first time sunghoon kissed you laugh. it was such a innocent and soft kiss that you melted the moment he crashed his lips into yours. it was clumsy, but it was so pure and full of love; that you felt like you were the luckiest person in this world for having such a precious boyfriend.

you also remember his family’s reaction after he revealed you weren’t his best friend anymore, but his girlfriend. you still have the clear memory of how happy his sister was and how shocked his mother was while his father laughed at his wife’s reaction; saying that he always knew.

things seems too sweet until i talk about arguments you had in the past with sunghoon. in the very beginning you didn’t knew how to manage your jealous over your — now — boyfriend. you were used to peak at his phone’s screen, trying to find out with who he was talking. even though sunghoon didn’t gave you any motives to doubt about his loyalty, you were concerned about other girls trying to hit on him — and perhaps, steal him from you somehow.

the day sunghoon found out you were peaking at his chats while he was distracted on his phone and how jealous you were, he felt betrayed. he was clearly upset that you didn’t trust on him. with that he confronted you about all of this. however, when he heard your sobs after he yelled at you, he knew he fucked up, so he hugged you. very very tightly, whispering so many apologies that you felt like you were hearing a broken record play.

you both apologised as both of you should. still, he felt so bad for yelling at you after figuring out you were super insecure that he went to that street fair and bought you bunggeopang — that warm rice waffle filled with chocolate. when you went out with him to go to this street fair for the first time — almost five years ago — you said your favorite desert was bunggeoppang after taking a savory bite of it. “id’s so gud.” you spoke with a stuffed voice, offering your friend a bite, making him laugh and lean to get a small bite out of it.

“are you okay?” a soft voice, sounding fearful, spoke close to your ear, making you slightly jump.

you were giving your boyfriend a silent treatment. it was his least favorite after-fight treatment. let’s say he prefer being shouted than being ignored by his pretty baby.

he was usually cling when he was back home from college, especially when you decided to call it a day. he was so used to spoon you when it was bed time or cuddle time, that it was weird for him to watch the scene of you watching tv with a straight face; instead of kissing him.

he doesn’t want to bother you or make you uncomfortable, so he gulps down tightly his desire to shower your face with wet kisses and hug you tightly like he always did. it was like a baby having to abandon the love of his life: his dummy. or pacifier whatever.

“jagi, don’t do this to me...” he hums, snuggling his face onto the gap between your neck and your shoulder.

you were also having a hard time resisting the urge to shower him with kisses, not knowing how much he wanted to shower you with kisses as much as you want.

realising you wouldn’t give in that easily, he sighed and glanced at his phone to check the hour. and you sighed just like him a second ago, and with a sudden movement your boyfriend went to your shared room. you pretended to not care and to not be curious about what he was planning to do or what was going on.

meanwhile, sunghoon was picking up a warm jumper of his — to face korea’s harsh winter — and walking out from the room with a calm face, avoiding your not discreet curious gaze. he picked up his phone that was laying on the sofa cushion — right beside you — and took his keys. however, before he went out, even though you were mad at him and he was kinda upset as well, he placed a soft and hesitant kiss on your scalp, whispering a very very light “i’ll be right back, don’t be mad, please...”

you tried to keep your lips shut and not show him you were forgiving him already, knowing how mad you were still mad at him since the previous day; because he forgot about the monthly couple dinner, making you wait for him for two hours at a fancy restaurant.

you heard the flat’s door shut and you sighed, thinking sunghoon went out to take a deep breath or sleep at a friend’s house to give you some space, when you actually don’t want this distance. you felt bad for ignoring him, but you knew he understood you — since he knows you long enough.

sunghoon rubbed his hands together, instantly regretting about forgetting his warm gloves at home, but he was already walking to that vaguely familiar tent. gazing at how the tents were illuminated, he remembered how sweet was the first time you two went there together.

“thank yo- oh my! sunghoon?! what are you doing here without a bigger coat boy?” the sweet old lady he met eight years ago hit his arm while being across the tent’s desert showcase watching how he shyly smiled. “where is that beautiful girl you were always with?” she smiled at him sweetly while handing the other costumers their orders.

“oh? y/n?” he chuckled, realising that old lady didn’t remembered your name since he was the one who walked to her tent more often. “she’s at home.”

“why didn’t you came with her? i think the last time i’ve seen her was three years ago!” she chuckled too.

sunghoon laughed at the old lady’s comment saying: “we had an argument, nothing really serious...” it was serious, but he didn’t want to expose his relationship in that way.

“aigoo...” she cooed, frowning. “you young couples...” the old lady muttered shaking her head.

sunghoon felt embarrassed, like he was being judge somehow. however, he knew she was an old lady and her opinions about the reality are clearly different, so he just shrugged and pursed his lips while cringing himself; because of the cold wind blowing on his face.

“why did you guys fight?” she asked curiously.

“i made her mad and we fought, now i need to apologise.”

“mhm, your mum raised you well sunghoon.” she tapped his cheek twice, praising him like he was from her family and she was a proud one.

“thank you.” he bowed his head, thanking her. “can i order?” he asked after an awkward silence.

“oh! yes, i got a bit carried away!” the old lady giggled. “what would you like to order? remember our hotteok? now we have tanghulu too-”

“bunggeoppang.”

“mhm?” she leaned a little bit to hear him a bit clear.

“i want a bunggeoppang please.”

“how many bunggeo-”

“six.” he coughed after answering her like he was desperate; and that was exactly how sunghoon felt.

“seems you really want to apologise to her, right?” she playfully asked laughing, grabbing a tong and picking up the fish shape sweet snack. “good job young man.” her eyes shined when she smiled, feeling her chest hurt after noticing how much that little shy boy has grown.

“oh... thank you so much.” he took the small paper bag from the old lady’s hand across the tent’s table, handling her the money to pay for the six unit of bunggeoppang’s.

“no, no! keep the money and go see your girlfriend!” she waved her hands, refusing to accept the small amount of cash he was handling her.

“no, let me pay it’s just six hundred won...” he pouted when he felt her wrinkly hands pushing his hand out of her sight.

“go to your home and say sorry to her!” she interrupted him, nodding her head to the right direction, like she was telling him to rush home.

“but-”

“go sunghoon! i’ll be happier if you come back with her instead of paying me.” she chuckled. “now, go!” she gestured with her hands, telling him to rush home another time.

“okay, i will come back with her then.” he nodded his head at the smiley old lady like it was a mission and he has to succeed.

she nodded her head, trusting on him and yelling an good luck before he started dashing back home to you. hopefully a bunggeoppang would fix things up.

as like luck began to get closer to his side, a stranger was giving random flowers on the street. he handed the flowers to strangers while some of them were in a rush after work, with their friends, partner, family, shopping and even handing flowers at foreigners; speaking a funny english with a ridiculously stupid accent. “thankiu!”, “hab’ a gud naith!”, “beourtibbul!” he would scream at a cute young couple, gesturing hearts exploding and sending them flying kisses.

that funny man was making people on the street stop just to laugh at him or record him, specially locals, who weren’t used to see such a funny and smiley man in the middle of their evening after work; it was even more rare when it comes to seoul — because mostly of the time these events happens to happen in hongdae or itaewon.

as i mentioned above, his luck was by his side, even though his face expression was blank towards the guy, the man seemed like taking it as a challenge, so he called sunghoon out. “hello love bird, where is your other love bird?” his brows went up and down, teasing him while following along his own way.

“why are you following me?” sunghoon cocked a brow, not really interested on what the man wanted.

“ugh... rude people nowadays...”the man quietly muttered, rubbing his eyes with a bit of annoyance, but he quickly recovered his enthusiastic energy, putting a smile on his own lips. “take this flower and give to your other half, trust me.” he handed sunghoon the prettiest rose he could find in his full hand without even hesitating or waiting for his reply.

sunghoon just scoffed, but not out of annoyance, but because he knew how lucky he was for meeting this guy.

you were already laying on bed and taking angry deep breaths, feeling left out by your own boyfriend. even though you thought he was pretty coherent for letting you have your own moment. feeling frustrated you got under the covers, covering your whole body — from head to toes.

however, you wanted him to come back and cuddle you on this cold bed. so, hesitantly, you grabbed your phone and called your boyfriend. you wanted him to not grab his phone, but in the other head you wanted to hear his voice so bad.

meanwhile, sunghoon was just unlocking the flat’s door and walking in with no hesitation, excited to see you and apologise for his stupidity. his phone was silenced and inside his trousers pockets

“love?” he called you when he realised the room’s light was turned off. “can i turn the lights on?” and when he heard no answer, he turned the lights on. “baby?” he whispered while walking closer to the edge of the bed, sitting there. “baby… are you okay?” he softly asked while waiting for you to say something.

“hoonie…” you finally gave in, your head peaking out from under the covers and revealing your red eyes and regret tone.

“oh-?” he gasped, placing the rose and the small paper bag with bunggeoppang’s aside and quickly went to place his hands over your cheeks. “my baby…” he rubbed his thumb over your soft skin from your cheeks. “why are you crying?” he frowned his eyebrows, feeling guilty that somehow he was one of the motives behind your tears.

you shook your head, like you already had read his mind, “there’s nothing to do with you, i was just-” you quietly sobbed and sunghoon pushed the covers off from your chest and hugged you very very tightly.

“i won’t ask why are you sad anymore,” he gently kissed your temple as he had leaned over your body to hold you. “i just want to see you okay.” he caressed your face, like he was trying to wipe that sadness away from you. “it’s okay,” sunghoon leaned forward again just to hold you even tighter — if that’s even possible… — “i’m here now.” he was rubbing your back once he got you to stand your body a bit upright.

you just closed your eyes and enjoyed his manly scent, a bit sweeter than you remembered. his smell was the perfect mix of the sweet and the citric. you just want to shove your face into his neck and smell the out of him.

his hands are warm — even though he was outside ten minutes ago — and rubbing his thumb over your back. when he felt you calmer, he softly and slowly pulled away. “i have something for you…” he shyly said, but his shiny doe eyes couldn’t hide his excitement for too long.

when you saw that familiar small white paper bag your eyes felt watery once again, but you weren’t crying because you missed him, but because you remember how lucky you were to meet him. opening your arms and smiling happily, he held you again.

“thank you hoonie…” you thanked him sniffing.

“it’s your favorite right?”

“it is.” you chuckled. “and it’s your favorite thing to give me whenever i’m mad at you, am i wrong?” you cocked a brow, slightly pushing your body to look at him — while your arms rested on his shoulders — creating a playful atmosphere, like things were getting back together.

he whined and hid his blushed cheeks placing his head above your shoulder. “mhm…” he groaned. “you got me...” he laughed against your neck, and you followed him.

“you little thing!” you messed up with his hair, but pulling his whole body closer to yours. “let’s eats some bunggeoppang together like the old times?” you suggested, feeling his head being pushed away from your neck to look at you instantly.

“darling, let me feed you.” he took one of the fish shaped rice waffles and placed afar from your mouth/sight. “baby, say ah~” he waited you to do it, except that you shook your head pouting.

“i’m not doing it.” you scoffed, but he insisted, not dropping his hand down.

“pretty, don’t make this hot pilot wait!” he referred to himself.

“sungho-“

“ah~” he interrupted you and you clicked your tongue, refusing to open your mouth. however, when you did, he finally sang “here comes the airplane~” and the bunggeoppang ended up in your mouth.

“you’re ridiculous,” you kissed his lips. “i love you and… i’m sorry-” a finger shushed you.

“no talking with your mouth full.” and he took a bite out of another bunggeoppang. “oh! by the way,” he licked his finger before grabbing the rose that guy handed him earlier and surprising you with the sight of it.

“a flower?” you smiled softly, brushing your fingers against sunghoon’s hand before taking the rose and smelling it. “it smells good?” you were kinda surprised.

“really?!” his eyes widened, leaning closer to sniff the rose’s core ( where the sweet smell comes from).

“where did you get this?” you were chuckling at yourself. “it’s too late to have a flower shop open right now, and it’s kinda hard to find one aroun-”

you were taken back by sunghoon’s lips crashing with yours. “doesn’t matter where i got it, just… just enjoy this moment, okay?” he tried to stay calm and not embarrassed/shy at the view of a silly smile spreading out of your face.

sunghoon was playing with your hair while cuddling you, just like he wanted two hours before. you were almost falling asleep, but couldn’t because your boyfriend decided to turn into a talkative at night; having at least three hours long pillow talk.

those pillow talks happened even before you two started dating and as an official couple. sunghoon sometimes get very talkative as i mentioned before, however you don’t really mind.

during this pillow talks, you just hum at everything he says, because you know your boyfriend knows that you usually fall asleep. usually the motive behind your droopy eyes were his soothing voice and natural low tone. it was like he was singing a lullaby to you without actually singing.

“that lady from the tent remembered about you, we should go there and say hi to her.” sunghoon commented after placing a sweet and light kiss on your scalp.

“that old lady that works at that street fair?” he hummed. “i haven’t been there in ages.” you pouted.

“she said she wanted to see you.” sunghoon mentioned.

“we should go see her tomorrow then.” you suggested, shrugging.

“mhm...” he groaned, unsure.

“by the way, i’m still curious about how you got that flower...” you slightly pulled your head away from his chest to gaze at him.

“ugh... long story.” he just shook that story off, hugging your waist tighter, taking a deep breath. “i love you.” he whispered to you.

“i love you more.” you whispered back, kissing his chin.

“i would buy all the bunggeoppangs in this whole world just to have you like this in my arms...” he whispers before falling asleep, happy that he could fix thing up with a simple warm fish shaped rice waffles; with a chocolate filling and some vitamin C(uddles) — like he always did, because he just knows you so well.

© imaluckygirl , originals .ᐟ 24.

taglist : @jakesangel . . .

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #fluff #enhypen headcanons #enhypen sunghoon #sunghoon x you #sunghoon is so hot ughhh #sunghoon headcanons #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon #sunghoon au #sunghoon soft thoughts #sunghoon soft hours #sunghoon is a cutie pie #enhypen reactions #enhypen au #enhypen scenarios #hoonie #sunghoon writting #enhypen crack #sunghoon crack #sunghoon boyfriend #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon x female reader #sunghoon x oc #kdrama #enhypen hyung line #hyung line

[nuggetofthesea]

Before writing more stories, I want to help people come to terms with the "identity death" and heavy themes in the animal HRT comics, and as a writer, want to explain why it isn't ACTUALLY death, but a form of renewal. Because I see it on all of my friends posts.

"I am just concerned about this loss of self thing, it sounds like identity death and I don't like it" is the common comment.

But in all of these comics, it is less about loss of self, but more about leaving behind who you were. A sign of extreme change and showing their own way of moving forward, and the start of a brand new life. A willing change to a new start.

Identity death is an unwilling change. All choice was stripped away from them and a new identity forced on them. This is also different from a transformation that leads to acceptance of the new form.

But in the animal HRT comics my friends put out, it is a willing change to a new form and cones with mental changes they are willing to go through. That isn't the same as a death. But a new start to their life they can start living to the fullest. It's also why some choose not to start anew, to bring one journey to a close and begin a new one. They choose to have that be part of the same journey. A new chapter instead of a new book if you will. In either case these are willing changes.

It can seem terrifying to some, but a total rebirth of yourself CAN be a slightly scary theme. It is terrifying to choose to take that new life.

But let me set up an example here:

When I first came to be, I thought I was going to be a visual artist, because Ashe was and that's what I remembered. When I was locked away by my own doing in the headspace I was stuck in a perpetual cycle of misery. It was terrifying to take the step to discover myself. To lower the barrier I had created, to rediscover myself.

But when I came to be, Ashe said I could be anything. A new sense of self outside of her. A new life. I tried to draw first, but I couldn't. Visual art was not my thing anymore. It never was. I just held on to memory of being a copy of Ashe. When writing my introduction I realized I love the feeling of writing. I have my own form. My own life. My own identity. A new start.

So let me ask you: Should I have not taken that opportunity to completely cast off who I was to embrace who I am? Should I have left myself in misery and fear as something I'm not? All for the sake of not casting off who I was and my life before? No.

Now while I do remeber all of what happened before my change, none of that shapes who I am now, because that life wasn't mine in the first place. This isn't a death of my identity, but a new start to an identity I chose. And I am happy to be able to live it with my new sense of self and build NEW memories. A new life.

Which also leads to the second heavy theme in those comics. Shortened lifespans. Outside of the fact that we are told time and time again HRT can lead to a shorter lifespan (which is a false average) starting a new life also means you are probably starting in the middle.

Our body is almost 30. That is 30 years of my lifespan gone. Yeah, I was around for 15 (almost 16) years of that, but my new life began a week ago. Who I am began just last week. And even though in the headspace I am early to mid 20s at best, that is still a cutdown lifespan.

So should I just have not bothered with the new start?

Absolutely not. The gift of life, new or old, isn't about how long it lasts. But how you live it. It is hard, it comes with problems, but for as long as I have of it, I will cherish the new memories I build, the new start I have, the ability to just... exist. For as long or short as that may be. And through this new start to my life, the people who love and care for me are still here. Still stand by me. And that is a great thing.

So please, don't be too offput by heavy themes in our stories. Even my stories will have some rough parts. (They'll always be tagged)

Hope this at least helped ease why those themes are there, and why some people choose to have them.

Also, don't worry about "adding to the fuel used against us" because we could sneeze and they'll find a way to use that against us. The fact is, with the Animal HRT series, actual HRT does come with some discomfort, pain, downsides, and problems. And like the heavy themes in the comics, we determined it is worth it for us to keep going despite them. We knew the risks.

"Everything is a risk. Life's boring as hell if you don't take them JUST because there is potential problems. Just make sure you understand them." - a line chaos told me the day I formed

It does less good to show everything as risk free and painless, because then nobody is prepared for the risks they are actually taking. Or the comic is based off the creator's life to that point, and they DID experience a lot of pain. So retelling their story (like mine) might be painful at spots.

My point of all of this is, the heavy themes are required to tell these particular stories. And while not every story requires dark spots, the dark spots help to accentuate the brighter picture. Otherwise it can just be blinding. So please go easy on the artists/writers behind them. As it is usually something personal for them.

(This also might not apply to all of them, some people just like writing horror, and we should respect that too.)

Next story should be sometime within the next couple weeks. Just needed to get this out there. It's been on my mind since releasing the short story with Iris.

-Aqua

#Aqua thoughts #heavy themes #Animal HRT #Dragon HRT

[reiderwriter]

Satisfaction Feels Like a Distant Memory

Chapter Three of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Your mounting attraction to Spencer Reid pushes you to the edge, turning begrudging friendship to deep hatred when he finally shows up on your doorstep. He's the only thing that can out you out of your misery even as you sink further into it.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, hate sex, rough sex, argument as foreplay, oral (f recieving) and face fucking, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, forced orgasms, "forced" submission, creampie, p in v penetrative sex, etc.

A/N: I've had about as much sleep as the reader in this fic has for the last week, but HERE IT IS! Chapter Three 🥰 You may need a bottle of water on standby, or at least a hand fan, because this one gets a bit heated....

Masterlist || Add yourself to the taglist!

You hesitated in front of your office door, which you supposed was going to become a bad habit of yours now. You tried lying to yourself, that nothing was different now, that you weren't attracted to him in a completely stupid way, but you still stood frozen in front of your own office door. 

Frozen and horny. 

Shit. 

You mentally went through a list of the worst things that could happen if you went in. 

1. He was there. 

2. He wasn't there. 

3. He was there, and he touched you again, and you moaned. 

4. He was there, and he didn't touch you again, but you still moaned. 

5. He was there, and you threw yourself at him immediately because why wouldn't you when you'd seen what you could be working with the night before? Fuck moaning once, moaning multiple times as he pushed you against the bookshelf would- 

“Are you gonna go in, or are you just going to fondle the door handle?” He asked from behind you. From too close behind you. 

You turned, keeping the doorknob in your grin, and immediately flattened yourself against the door as he took a step closer. 

So close. He was so fucking close and it was suddenly all you could think of. 

“W-What?”

“You know, the CDC warns that door handles should be washed every 20 to 40 hours To prevent bacteria like Escherchia coli and Staphylococcus aureus from-” You ignored his words, drowning everything else out as you tried to dampen the fire burning under your skin.

“Cock?” You said, all attempts obviously not working. 

“Staphylococcus, yes. It can cause Adenovirus, Rhinovirus, not to mention-” 

“Okay! Okay, Spencer. Taking my hand off the handle now.” 

Finally, you twisted it and walked backwards into your room, walking backwards a few steps before your foot caught on a stray pile of books. 

“What the-” you cried, waiting for the impact of your landing as you swung out your arms frantically for purchase, screwing your eyes shut as you found none. 

Instead, you found an arm snaked around your waist, another wrapping your hip tight as Spencer Reid cradled your body to his own. 

“Thanks,” you breathed out, not even hearing the words yourself for how much air was in them. How was it possible to expel air and hold your breath at the same time? Because that was how it felt being in his arms: at once a sigh and a stopping of all bodily functions barring want. 

“I thought this was your office, Y/N. Surely you should know the layout by now.”

Moment over. You pushed at his chest to stand upright, and he stepped backwards, removing his hands from your person. 

“Very funny. We both know these are your books. Setting traps for me now, Spencer?” 

You moved around the piles of books again as he flicked the light switch, moving the opposite way around your desks, before meeting you again next to yours. 

“You're usually more observant than this. Is there something wrong today?” 

“What, like Adenovirus or Rhinovirus?” 

“No, like something…” he searched for the right words, pace slowing as he tried not to scare you away by talking with you like this.

“Like something on your mind.” 

You snorted, leaning down to switch on your computer, and also to avoid his eye contact. Unfortunately, academic curiosity had gotten to you in the last few weeks, and you'd read some of his psychological papers. You knew exactly what it was the BAU was apparently so good at, and you didn't want him to know that you'd imagined him balls deep in you hours before. 

“Not friends, Spencer. If there's something I need to talk about, I'll talk to a friend,” you said, standing straight again and turning to him again. You still avoided eye contact, but it didn't matter. His eyes weren't on your face but angled further down, like he'd been checking out your ass as you bent over or something. 

No. No, you weren't going down that train of thought. 

“Or even better, my therapist.” You were planning on the words being a bit more playful, but your voice came out deeper than you expected it, more gravely somehow. 

Your bedroom voice, you were using your stupid fucking bedroom voice on Spencer Reid. 

You cut yourself off again before you said anything else. Before he touched you or didn't touch you, and you got to test your earlier theory about which would be the more demeaning reaction. 

“I have class in ten. Clean up before I get back,” you ordered, and you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up when he replied. 

“I don't take direction well, Y/N.” 

No, you didn't think he would. Neither did you though.

For a week, you tiptoed around the man, your words sharp, but your body weak to him. 

By day, you were hurling insults back and forth, messing up his papers and screwing with him via bookshelf again. 

“YOUR…FLY…IS….OPEN.” 

“VERY….MATURE.”

“MADE…YOU…LOOK…THOUGH.”

“BUSY….LOOKING…AT…OTHER….THINGS.”

“LIKE…THE…UNDERGRADS…THROWING…THEMSELVES…AT…YOU…?”

“LIKE…THE…PROFESSOR…I'M APPARENTLY…DATING” 

“Very fucking funny, Spencer,” you sighed at the last message, throwing the books off the shelf and pilling them up on the floor. 

“Don't even for a second entertain the idea of making that gossip a reality.” 

He grinned at you from behind his desk. 

“Okay.”

“Don't even - don't even think about it,” you said, stepping over his desk and poking at his chest as his smile deepened.

“Heard.” 

“I'm serious, Spencer, don't-” 

“You've thought about it.” You froze in shock at his words, as if your blood wasn't sure whether to run cold or burn hot and fast. 

“What?” You spat the words at him, unable to stop them coming out any other way. 

“You've thought about entertaining the gossip. You've thought about it a lot.” 

You needed to deny him, but he was right. By day, you tried to torment him, but by night, he did torment you. A week of wet dreams, of imagining him taking you over every inch of your office, of sleepless rest and failed orgams, and you could not escape. 

“No,” you said with a whisper, shaking your head and trying again even as your voice cracked from the lie and your body's cry for pleasure, for this man. 

“No, I haven’t- I don't-” You took a deep breath, but you knew it was no good, as his hand grabbed yours and flattened it against his chest. 

“Your pupils are dilated, your pulse is heightened, and your legs are practically clamped shut. Your mouth is dry, and I'm not sure if you've noticed yet, Y/N, but you're shaking.” 

“All signs of anger, Spencer, as you're well aware.” 

He let go of your wrist and sat back in his seat, just out of reach of you again. 

“Shame,” he whispered under his breath, nearly low enough that you didn't catch it, as he flipped open his book and continued whatever the fuck it was he even did in this office. 

You ignored it, anger really flooding you now, warring the heat of arousal that was firmly settled in your body for dominance. 

The anger won out. 

You grabbed books from your desk, files, and papers from the side table by the couch and your laptop from your desk and left the room quickly. 

You slammed the door, and you didn't look back, knowing that if you did, you'd see his winning smirk staring right back at you.

You marched yourself right to the staff administration office and put in for a week of leave. Spencer had one more week of work at the university, and then he would go back to being a regular FBI agent. 

Your paths wouldn't cross because you wouldn't let them cross, not when it meant for certain that you would give in.

You spent the week working to distract yourself from work. You finished books for your next semester courses, highlighting the better articles and essays to use, going through each bibliography to find better sources if they weren't good enough. You wrote more of a research paper you didn't have time to think about with so much going on. You corresponded with students, with TAs, with the other professors who wanted to know where you were. 

Okay, that was a lie. You aired the professors, but you did look out for any inboxes from him. Surprisingly, there were none. 

You spent a week throwing yourself head first into your work, and still, each night, you felt his phantom touch on you. No matter how exhausted, your brain still co jured images of his hands grasping your wrists, pushing them above your head and forcing his cock into you, his lips biting against your skin, the fire of his kisses leaving scars where they trailed down. 

You were running on three hours of sleep per night, sure, but at least you were as far as you could possibly get from the man ruining your life. 

You poured yourself a glass of wine the next Sunday, knowing that when you went back to work the next day, he'd be gone.

You wrapped yourself in blankets and put everything else off for the day, ordering food and eating it and not moving as you worked your way through boxes of pizza. 

It was when you finished your first glass and went to pour yourself another that there was a furious pounding at your door. 

“Y/N, I know you're in there, open the door.” His hand sounded again, and you nearly dropped the glass at the sound of Apencer Reid's voice. 

Your body acted alone, immediately following his directions as you damn near tripped over your own feet to open the door for him. 

Throughout all of your arguments, all of the quips you'd thrown at him, every stupid little thing you'd done to get under his skin, you had not once seen Spencer Reid looking this angry. 

His brow was furrowed uncomfortably, as if it were frozen in place. Gone was his perpetual smirk. 

“Spencer, what the fuck a-” 

“Thoughtless. Careless. Do you even know what you've done?” He snapped at you, stepping into your apartment and closing the door behind himself as he immediately walked into your space and began touching things.

“Stop! Fucking stop it, Spencer!” You said grabbing his arm and pulling him around to face you. He brushed you off quickly and worked his way through papers you'd left on your coffee table. 

“No. You stormed out over a week ago, you blocked my number, you did not answer any of my emails-” 

“I didn't get any emails,” you spit back, pushing yourself between him and your things now, bodies so close they were touching. 

“Then you blocked my email, too. You don't even know what I'm looking for or the damage you could have done, do you?” His hands were on you then, not threateningly, as you'd expect, his anger still burning through him if his shaking voice had anything to say for it. 

His hands stroked up your sides and back down again, smoothing away your need to think. 

“My files. My team sent me a file. It was on the coffee table, and you took it with you when you left. The case is ongoing, and I'm flying out tomorrow, and without some of the classified information in that file, we will be at a disadvantage. Our odds of catching our unsub fall from 83% to 47% without all of the pertinent information.” 

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer. 

“So yes, I'm going to go through your things, and if you're a good girl, you'll root through with me and help me find it.” 

He stepped away then, and you held your tongue. As much as you hated him, he was right. You knew what he did, you knew who he was and to trust him not to lie to you about his chances without this information. 

“The files on the coffee table are research notes, everything I took from the office is in that case over there,” you said pointing at a bag still where you'd dropped it by the door a week earlier. 

He walked to it and rooted through it quickly before finding the file he obviously needed and letting some of the tension out of his shoulders. 

“You're probably glad to see the back of me, right?” He said, laughing bitterly as he turned back around to you. 

“Obviously not as happy as you are,” you spat back, stepping back over to him. 

“If you ever speak to me that way again,” you started, spitting at him in the most threatening voice you could muster. “It won't be a fucking unsub that ruins your life.” 

“And how are you going to manage that, Y/N?” He said, stepping closer to you until he had you backed up against the wall, trapped in by his bigger frame, using it to his advantage to intimidate. 

“How will you manage to ruin my life,” he said, his voice softer as he finished his sentence, but not by much. “When you shake with just every time I get close?” 

“This is not lust,” you growled the words out, but try as you damn might, you were shaking, vibrating even. 

“Then what is it?” 

“Hatred, dislike, loathing, detestation, abhorrence, fuck Spencer, you can pick up a thesaurus yourself and find out.”

“Yeah. Okay. I'll believe your lies for a second.” He walked away, he was walking away but the fire was ringing in your ears and you needed him to stay fucking put so he could take it all. 

“You're a jackass.”

“Original.” 

“You slammed into my life, expecting me to bend to your will and be at the mercy of your needs, your wants. Your office space, your fucking case files, your job-” 

“None of that was my choice.” 

“And it wasn't mine either, but at least I fucking left you alone. I spent the week in this apartment and left you the fuck alone, and you couldn't even allow me the same.”

His focus was back on you again, but you refused to be backed against a wall this time. 

“What did you say?” 

“You will not let me know peace. I have lost my security, my patience, my fucking sanity with each word you have said, my peace of mind, my sleep, my fucking sanity, Spencer.” Your chest was heaving, touching his with each exhale as he too held his place in front of you. He was so close, you'd practically spat the words directly into his mouth. 

“How is that my fault?” He whispered, voice still dripping with disdain even as his hands again wrapped themselves in your hair, and he tugged your head back, baring your neck to him as he leaned down into you. 

“How do you know that you're not doing the same to me?” 

You refused to answer, though, meeting his eyes for one last second before you grabbed his hair in your hands and yanked him down to your mouth. 

It wasn't so much a kiss as a battle for dominance, each trying to torture a surrender from the other with clashing tongues and teeth. 

You made the first move, but he was obviously expecting it, and he didn't even pause before launching his own attack, finally pushing past your strong defence to walk you back to the sofa you'd abandoned earlier. 

His tongue still lashed against yours as you retreated, refusing to give up your upper hand even as you moaned into his touch. The couch hit the back of your knees, buckling, and you silently cursed your lack of sleep for leaving you so unstable right now. 

No, that wasn't true. It was him. He had left you so unstable, moving between happy and playful to angry and wrathful in the space of a week without you, and you'd been denying yourself the ability to even entertain any of this happening. Now that it was, your body was unprepared, totally at his mercy, as he pushed you to your back and pushed up your skirt. 

“You're already so fucking wet,” he groaned slipping two fingers inside you as you moaned around him, no longer capable of thought. This was the moment, this was when he was going to make you submit to him finally. 

Instead, he dropped to his knees and you gasped as his to guess found your sweet cunt and he began sucking to your clit. 

You were on fire, skin scorched from the inside out, spreading in waves from your pussy to the furthest regions of your body. 

With one hand, he spread your thighs further apart and pushed his entire face further into your cunt, tongue pushing inside right by his fingers, nose pushed right up against your clit as he didn't relent. Every movement was another curse falling from your mouth. 

“Shit, Spencer, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered, hips rocking back and forth as you tried to fuck his face, begging for more. 

To your surprise, he didn't keep your hips still but let you keep riding his face, riding his fingers as you chased your first orgasm.  

It came quickly, overwhelming you with the impact, jolting through your body like a lightning bolt as he let your hips shake and crash across his tongue. 

When he finally pulled his face away, it was glistening, and he wasted no time shoving his tongue back in your mouth. His message was clear - he may have let you take whatever pleasure you'd wanted with him, but he was still the one in control. 

You trailed kisses along his cheeks, neck, shoulders as he divested himself of clothing, shirt, belt, pants, ripping at yours to free your body as well, until the two of you were only left with underwear and you'd picked up every last drop of your cum left on his skin.

“On your back, now,” he said, and you complied. You spread your legs, and rubbed at your still wet cunt, jolting as he finally lined himself up with your cunt. 

But he didn't push in yet. Instead he wrapped two arms under your knees and pulled you closer, so his cock rested over the top of your stomach, and leaned down, his face hovering inches over your own, holding himself up with a forearm rested just above your head. 

“You see that?” He said, glancing down. “That is how much I am going to fill you. That is how deep I am going to ease into you. That is how far I am going to go to claim you. You can take it like a good girl, right?” 

“Just shut up and put your cock inside me, Spencer.” 

“You're so fucking pushy for a submissive little slut,” he said, smiling finally. 

“I am not a-” you started to protest, but he slid inside of your hot cunt and you lost the ability to focus. 

“Not a what, Y/N? Speak up,” thrusting shallowly as your cunt grabbed him and held tight. 

“I'm not a- SPENCER!” You screamed his name as he pulled out quickly, thrusting into you again with a speed and strength that had you wrapping your arms and legs around him tightly, fighting for him to stay right there deep inside. 

“Not a sub? Y/N, you're whimpering and drooling right now. You're three seconds away from begging for my cock, why the fuck can you not be honest with yourself?” 

“Fuck…you,” you said between moans as he rutted into you like a beast. He wasn't man anymore, bit monster, and he was claiming you inch by disgustingly perfect inch. 

“Let go. Let me take care of you, let me control you. Come on, baby, you know how good it would feel,” he said, before ducking his head and wrapping his tongue around a nipple. 

You screamed his name again, but you still tried to resist. 

“Come on, Y/N. Show me. Cum on my cock.” 

For a brief moment, you'd thought you'd resisted the demand. But then your brain faded, and your nails cut into his back like daggers as your body followed his commands and you came on his cock for a second time that night. 

“Perfect. One more, you can do one more,” he said, kissing your lips and lifting himself back up so he was sitting on his knees as he again picked up the pace. 

You mumbled his name over and over again as he fucked out all of the frustration in your body. Every thing either of you had said or done melted away in the glow of pleasure, your body buzzing from the feeling of him taking ownership of you. 

“One more, Y/N. One more, you need to cum one more time.”

“I can't, I can't I can't I can't, Spencer I can't I really can't,” you said, voice growing pathetically whiny as the tears sprang to your eyes and you choked back a sob. 

“Yes you can, one more. Together, we can do it together,” he said, groaning as you clenched around him.” 

He claimed your mouth again, his hand wrapping around your throat as he cut off your air supply for a second, then two, then three, as your ears buzzed and you finally slipped over the edge again. 

But this time, as promised, you weren't the only one caught in the pain of pleasure. Spencer collapsed on top of you as his dick spurted inside you, holding you close as he unloaded everything he had into you. 

He sat there, warming his cock as he lazily kissed open mouth kisses into every inch of your shoulders, collar bone and chest. Everywhere he could reach without pulling out of you and leaving you there. 

After weeks of no sleep because of him, it was his soft lips that finally enticed you into the hands of the sandman, his weight a comfort as you closed your eyes. 

When you woke in your bed, clean and clothed, he was gone, and so was every sign that he'd ever been there in the first place. 

🔖 @stillhere197 @understandingsunrise @mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @nox-sprite @alondralolll @allspicestones @chiyozai @i_heart_mgg @2hiigh2cry @tiyuel @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig @pisceslovrr @waywardgoddess66 @tampon_racecar @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @a1dyn @pleasantwitchgarden @kolasbombaf @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @melagem02 @calypso-read @ari-aurelia

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#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #dom spencer reid #sub reader #x reader

[patscorner]

ok, I see you need requests, so here's one, something for Chris where the reader is Jealous?

absolutely!

Defeaning Silence

Summary: Both you and Chris attempt to seal the cracks in your relationship

wc: 1,517

Pairings: Chris x fem!reader

Contains: Swearing, arguing, fighting, insecurities, toxic, mentions of alcohol

______________________________

You and Chris both knew it was coming, you’d seen the signs. You both just chose to ignore the evidence, and delay the inevitable.

Chris and you had gone to Tara’s party. You were less than happy to go, as you were swamped with schoolwork, as well as your boss forcing you to work overtime. The last thing you wanted to do on your day off was be around a bunch of people who were drunk and less than unaware of their surroundings.

But, you hadn’t spent a bunch of time with your boyfriend, and he had invited you to this party. So even though you’d rather be under a warm blanket, watching a movie and eating your favorite snacks, you suck it up and go out.

Everything is going well, as it usually does. You had been glued to Chris’s side the whole time, not having the energy to go out of your way to talk to anyone. Chris wasn’t super pleased with the hesitation you had when he asked if you wanted to go, he felt like you weren’t being super appreciative of the invite he’d given you. He, of course, didn’t communicate this with you, not wanting to cause an argument. So he instead attempted to hide his feelings and just to enjoy your company.

As the night progressed, the more people got drunk, the more irritated you had become, the more the uneasy tension grew between you and Chris. This was unusual for you two, as you were usually that one couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. But tonight, you stood uncomfortably at each other's side.

Chris mumbled something along the lines of ‘fuck this’ before turning to you. “Can you at least pretend to be having a good time? You’re really ruining this for me.”

You look up at him, your blood instantly starting to boil. “What? Where is this coming from?” you spit at him. This is truly not the time nor the place for this, both of you being slightly under the influence, and already upset with each other.

“You’re standing here, being all dry and shit, and you're really starting to piss me off. I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, ‘cause I know you’ve been hella busy. But, come on, you’re not even trying.” he exclaimed, flailing his hands around.

You’re stubborn, so even though deep down you know he’s correct, the last thing you’re going to do now is agree with him. “I am trying, Chris, that’s why I’m still fucking standing here. I do not want to be here, and I’ve already sucked it up. I don’t know what more you want from me.” you say, just as loud as him.

Chris rolled his eyes. “If you’re gonna be all mopey and shit, then you shouldn’t fucking be here.” Chris says harshly, his words laced with venom. Your eyes widen.

“Are you being fucking serious? You asked me to come, I’m here now, so what is the fucking problem?” You both are eye to eye now, screaming in each other's face. You know you should call it quits, sleep this off, and come back to it in the morning, but all logic has left, and you’ve both let the alcohol and frustration from earlier take over.

“My problem is the fact that I feel like I haven’t seen you in about two weeks, and when I try and be a good boyfriend and get you out of the fucking house, your acting like a bitch about it.” he spits bitterly. His words hold a hint of truth, despite his slight intoxication. “I might as well go hang out with someone else.”

You stand in front of him, speechless, as you let what he said sink in. Finally, you find your voice again. “Go hang out, with someone else then, Chris. See if I care.” you say untruthfully. You don’t mean it and he knows it.

He laughs even though this situation is far from funny. “I’m not falling for that again and you’re fucked up for trying to put me there.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, finding his implication shocking. He’s referring to a party you guys went to a while ago.

You’d only been dating for three months, so nobody really knew about your relationship. You had gone to a party, one that was far more packed than you thought it’d be, so you lost Chris pretty quickly. You’d had an argument before the event, so you assumed he had gone to hang out with his friends.

But after a while, you found him, talking to a girl who was the exact opposite of you. Her hands were on his chest, and his arm was snaked around his waist. You’d seen them talking, and you watched as she pulled him in for a kiss and how he didn’t pull away as their lips interlocked.

When they pulled away, he locked eyes with you, and you stood there, in shock. His eyes widened as he made his way to you, but you were already out the door. But he was fast, and he was able to talk you into letting him take you home so you both could speak privately. The car ride was quiet and awkward because, of course, it was.

You’d gone home that night, and the next morning, he explained himself. It wasn’t a good explanation, but you had always believed in second chances, so you let him attempt to make it up to you.

That didn’t stop you from having your own insecurities, though. After the party, you had him under a microscope. Every party, if you saw him talk to another girl, you’d be pissed for the rest of the night. Chris wasn’t able to do anything with anyone of the opposite gender, all because you were scared he’d kiss them again.

This led to a plethora of apologies and Chris practically begging you to relax. Your jealousy and his prior infidelity made it impossible for you both to have a positive relationship. It had turned toxic extremely quickly, but eventually, it got better. After long talks, you both attempted to work out all the issues you’d had.

Tara’s party was the first party you’d gone to since then, which was a year ago.

Back to the present, you were still staring at each other with such hatred. It’s like that flipped a switch in Chris. He realized you were both still hanging onto the past and it wasn’t going to get any better if you didn’t heal first.

He sighed deeply before grabbing your hands lightly, dragging you out of the party. “What’re you doing, Chris? Look, you can stay, I don’t care.” you ramble, wanting nothing more than for him to enjoy himself.

He opens your phone and orders you an uber, without saying a word. He hands it back to you and you look at it, then back at him. “We need to talk tomorrow. When we’re sober and cooled off.”

You don’t say anything, but nod knowingly. Chris sits down on the steps, and you follow as the silence surrounds you. Unfortunately, the quiet had become a recurring theme in you and Chris’s relationship.

When the uber arrived, Chris walked you to the car, and opened the door for you. Before you get in the car, Chris kisses your forehead. You smile sadly at him. “I’m sorry.” you mumble.

“I know, love, me too.”

The next day, Chris showed up at your apartment. You could tell by his demeanor what was coming. You both knew. It was only a matter of time.

“I’m sorry. Us being together is not healthy. And I know you know. We need a break. I just- I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s not just your fault, I know that. But you and I both know this isn’t good for us.”

At first you were in denial, knowing how much you loved him. “We can fix this- please, we can figure it out, we always do.” you begged tearfully.

Chris shook his head, water brimming his eyes as well. “Baby, I’ve figured it out. We’re only hurting each other.”

“You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?” you ask, swallowing your pride and biting the bullet.

Chris looks down. “The truth hurts, baby.”

“Lie to me then.” You whisper. Chris looks at you and smiles sadly.

“Baby.”

“I know. I just think there are other ways to solve this, a way where we don’t have to leave each other. Tell me what I can do to fix this. Please. Anything.” you're sobbing now, feeling pathetic.

Chris pulls you into an embrace rubbing his hands up and down your back. Eventually, he pulls away, his own tears falling.

“Thank you for being the light of my life.” Chris says, grabbing his keys and heading towards the door. Before he walks out he turns to you and looks at you with sympathy.

“We almost made it.” And with that, he closes the door, leaving you in the deafening silence.

______________________________

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#nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x reader #chris sturniolo imagines #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo imagine #christhopersturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo

[lexirosewrites]

What about omega prison guard Steve and alpha prisoner Eddie Munson.

Steve should sue that prison for workplace endangerment and I’m so sorry for how late this is. I have others still in my inbox too that I will get to eventually!

That being said... alpha prisoner Eddie flirting with nervous prison guard Steve!!! Steve who's been told to be wary of inmates trying to intimidate him with threats, but he was never warned that he'd fall in love with the charming weirdo in Block D who's always telling him how pretty he is.

At first, Steve assumes that inmate Munson is trying to get extra time in the yard or a better work assignment, but he never does. He greets Steve like a friend, asks how his dog is, and even makes sure that other prisoners don't mess with him despite being an omega working in an alpha prison.

It feels too good to be true, but five days a week, Steve clocks in and instantly finds himself drawn to Block D. Even if it's not his assignment for the day, he makes a point to say good morning to Eddie. Sometimes he does sneak him an extra granola bar from commissary if he's feeling generous, even though Eddie would never ask.

"Morning, officer beautiful."

Steve laughs at that, sticking his hand in his pocket to quickly find the pack of gum security had allowed him to bring inside. Not necessarily following protocol, but he figures that it's innocent enough.

"Good morning, Munson," he greets.

Eddie gets off his cot and comes over to the bars of his cell, his smile widening when he catches sight of the bright pink package of gum in Steve's outstretched hand.

He has to be subtle about the special treatment, but Eddie’s good about that, accepting the present and pocketing it quickly.

"Surely you can come up with a better petname than that, baby? You've had damn near a whole year to pick one for me,” Eddie teases in a whisper.

Steve brushes it off with a laugh, putting a little more space between them.

Having a soft spot for a handsome prisoner wouldn’t look good to the other inmates or his fellow correctional officers. Everyone already thinks he’s not fit for this job and he can’t afford to lose it. It’s the best paying job he’s ever had and the benefits are great.

“Alright, Munson. Mind your manners.. What’s on the agenda for Block D? Are you running your little club this morning?”

The alpha typically leads some weird club for the prisoners on good behavior. Steve has never understood their funny game, but he always volunteers to oversee it.

Eddie smirks, throwing him a wink as he returns to his bunk and picks up a full box to show Steve.

“Big plans for today, actually.”

He chuckles at that.

There are no big plans in prison. Every day is more or less the same. Eddie either has a work assignment or his club. Sometimes he attends a special workshop or class for some college credit, but it’s not exactly the Ritz-Carlton.

“Sure, Munson. Whatever you say,” Steve says, rolling his eyes.

Eddie pouts.

“Don’t you want to know why all my stuff is packed up? You aren’t the least bit curious?”

Huh?

He looks around the cell, suddenly noticing how bare the walls are— devoid of Eddie’s monstrous drawings and plans for his game. In fact, his bed has been completely stripped and none of his books are lying around the place anymore.

“Eddie? What— what’s happening here?” Steve questions frantically, his heart racing now at the idea of his favorite prisoner being transferred elsewhere.

He’s had good behavior lately, but maybe he got caught in a fight on Steve’s weekend off?

Eddie can’t leave. He’s unintentionally become Steve’s best friend here and honestly, he’ll really miss the guy. Even the extra attention and flirting too!

The alpha drops his box and comes all the way to the bars, close enough that he can reach a hand through and take Steve’s. He squeezes it gently, settling Steve’s panic a little with his calming scent now.

“Hey now, baby. I thought you’d be happy for me? Are you really that upset that I’m getting out finally?”

Getting… out? Holy shit. Eddie is leaving prison. For good.

“You— your time is up?”

Eddie leans down, glancing around to make sure nobody sees him press a kiss to the omega’s knuckles.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I told you I was gonna be on my best behavior for the parole board. How else was I gonna take you on that date I promised?”

Everything he says always sounds confident and a little cocky, but for once, Eddie seems vulnerable and sincere.

He actually wants to take Steve on a date.

Steve shakes his head, but doesn’t pull his hand away from Eddie.

“You didn’t really mean that,” he protests. “I know you were just messing around or whatever, Eddie.”

“Oh, so now you know my name?” the alpha teases.

Steve rolls his eyes, wanting a real answer.

“Munson…”

Eddie grins.

“Alright, alright. No need for all of that, honey. I just thought I’d give you a heads-up in case you wanted me to leave you alone when I get out. I didn’t really expect you to let an ex-con take you out, but it gave me something to aim for and I wanted to thank you nonetheless for being such a good friend, even if you don’t want to see me outside of here.”

Steve hesitates for a moment.

Of course he didn’t realize that Eddie was getting free any time soon when the alpha joked about taking him out and “showing him a good time.”

But does that really change anything?

If Eddie wasn’t an inmate, would Steve be interested in him? The answer seems clear, but he’d never had to think it through before now.

He clears his throat, giving Eddie a smile as he comes to a conclusion.

“I think… I think you could thank me with dinner, Munson. I’m assuming you have a place to stay already? Do you have a number I can call too?”

Eddie grins like a kid in a candy store and runs to grab a piece of paper out of the box, writing on it frantically before shoving it into Steve’s open hand.

“I’m staying with my Uncle Wayne. He got me a position at his garage since I got all my certs here. My first paycheck is all yours, Steve. You find the fanciest restaurant in town and I’ll book the table, sweetheart,” Eddie promises. “You won’t regret this.”

He blushes at the intense stare from the alpha, feeling surprisingly eager for him to follow through with this.

“I’m going to hold you to that, Eddie. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

Steve loses his favorite inmate that day, but ends up with a different kind of mate a few months later.

#slick Sunday #steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steddie ficlet #a/b/o #omegaverse #my asks #anon asks

[cobaltperun]

Tara x Fem!Reader,

They have been together for over a month now, laying in Tara's bed, watching a movie then Tara starts teasing R with cheesy pick up lines.

Like:

• Are you a camera? Because every time I look at you, I smile!

• That shirt looks great on you… as a matter of fact, so would I.

• There must be a light switch on my forehead because every time I see you, you turn me on!

• There must be a light switch on my forehead because every time I see you, you turn me on!

• If your upper lip is Christmas and your lower lip is Thanksgiving, can I come visit any time in between?

Then R teases back

• I’m an adventurer and I want to explore you.

And.... don't know about the ending! I just thought this would be a fluffy/funny one shot!

Thank you so much for taking requests, it's totally okay if you don't want to do this!

Pick up

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: You and Tara can't help but be silly.

Masterlist

Word count: 0.8k

It was official, you should never pick a random movie to watch. It was cheesy, over the top acting, so bad it was actually kinda funny, oh, well, at least you were having fun laughing at how ridiculous everything was. And then it happened. The main character, whose name you'd very quickly forget went and said it. The cheesiest pick up line of them all. "I swear someone stole the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes."

The poor girl he was trying to seduce was wearing sunglasses...

Tara leaned on your shoulder, shaking with laughter as she slapped your knee. "On no! Why would he say something like that?!" she laughed so loud you were afraid Sam would barge in, and let's just say Sam wasn't all that ready to accept you and Tara were together, even though it's already been a month since you and Tara confessed your feelings for one another and started dating.

Well, considering what the two sisters went through you couldn't say you blamed Sam, if you were in her place you'd be suspicious of anyone new as well.

"That was awful," you laughed with Tara and hugged her, pulling her down on the bed, the awful movie forgotten. It peaked, that was it, nothing could top the ridiculousness of that line.

"Y/N," Tara began once she caught her breath.

"Yeah?" you turned to look at her and saw the mischievous grin on her face.

"Are you a camera? Because every time I look at you, I smile!" she said it all proud and eager to see your reaction and you just lost it.

"Damn it, Tara!" you snickered, burying your face in the pillow to muffle the sounds.

"I have more," she leaned in while you were still snickering. "Are you an inhaler? Because I need you to breathe," she whispered, making sure she whispered it right in your ear.

Your breath hitched for a moment as she lightly bit your earlobe. "Yeah? Are you an alarm clock? 'Cause I want you to wake me up every morning," you replied, causing her to giggle in your ear, and though you loved hearing her giggles you turned around and brushed her lips. "Your lips look a bit dry, let me be your lip balm."

Tara grinned but leaned down to kiss you gently, she kissed you a few times, going from soft, innocent pecks, to a slow, sensual kiss.

"Mhm, if your upper lip is Christmas and your lower lip is Thanksgiving, can I come visit any time in between?" she tugged at your lower lip gently with her teeth and then kissed you again, this time slipping her tongue inside your mouth.

"No wonder the sky looks so dark, all the stars are right here," you said when you separated and moved to kiss her freckles. When you pulled away you saw her blushing, her eyes wide and lips parted slightly.

"That shirt looks great on you… as a matter of fact, so would I." she said, her hand sliding up your stomach underneath your shirt.

"Well, that escalated quickly," you grinned and pulled her so she was on top of you. "I must be ticklish, 'cause you tickled my fancy."

She snorted at that. "Got any more?" she poked your chest and smiled when you nodded.

"Apologize to polar bears. You're so hot their ice is melting," you said with a grin so cheesy you should put it on a pizza.

Tara covered her eyes but you could see the wide smile on her face. "There must be a light switch on my forehead because every time I see you, you turn me on!"

And you decided to match her. "I’m an adventurer and I want to explore you," you whispered softly in her ear and grinned as she blushed once more.

"Your battery is running low," she started laughing before she even finished saying whatever came to her mind. And with how infectious her laugh was to you you couldn't help but laugh with her. "I think you should plug it in me," she exclaimed through laughter.

You choked, eyes wide and blood rushing to your face as she said that. "That was awful!" you laughed, flipping the two of you around and burying your face in her neck as you tried to stop your laughter only to fail miserably and laugh even harder.

And Tara wasn't doing any better as she gasped for air from how hard she was laughing. "Okay, yeah, I think I can't top that," she confessed as her laughter subsided.

"I can top you though," you said without missing a beat, sending both of you into another fit of laughter.

Neither of you knew that maybe, just maybe, Sam did wake up, and she was annoyed at first, but hearing Tara laughing the way she was right now... well, it made her accept you a bit more. You were making Tara much happier than she was in a long time.

A/N: Damn, this was fun to write, hope you enjoyed this half as much as I enjoyed writing this 😁😁

#tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #scream #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #x female reader

[milkloafy]

YOUR SAVING GRACE — WRIOTHESLEY

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: in which you run into some trouble and wriothesley saves you, getting himself hurt in the process. [modern au; suggestive content] ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.4k ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: inspired by the wriothesley art where his face is a little bloodied and he’s smiling like that and hmmngfh i want to hold him so bad !! also the title is kind of a pun do u get it ha ha okay pls enjoy :>

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” 

Wriothesley chucked, wincing as the corner of his mouth lifted upwards. “Fancy way of saying thank you.”

With a sigh, you dampened a washcloth with warm water from under the sink. You wrung out the excess before gently guiding it up to Wriothesley’s face and dabbing at the cut on his lip. You frowned. His split lower lip wasn’t even the worst of it—he had a bleeding gash on the right side of his temple.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, fingers brushing against the high points of his cheekbone. Such a beautiful face did not deserve to be marred in such a way; he had already been through enough growing up.

“Of course I had to,” he said, your face so close to his that you felt his hot breath fan your nose. “The alternative would have been to let them harm you.”

You discarded the dirty cloth and grabbed a fresh one from the drawer. As you wiped the blood off his forehead, your mind wandered to the memory of the past few hours. It wasn’t exactly a good one, to put it lightly. 

You had only recently moved back to your hometown in Fontaine after spending time abroad in Inazuma, but you quickly found that all the friends you once knew now had lives of their own. Except your childhood friend Wriothesley, of course. Still, you didn’t let that stop you from going out on your own and trying to meet new people, especially now that you were back in Fontaine to stay.

Perhaps, however, heading face first into the night scene wasn’t the way to go. 

You shivered at the memory. The moment you realized you didn’t feel safe being out dancing alone, you tried to make your way home, only to find out you were being followed by some men from the venue. Your only saving grace was that of Wriothesley, who happened to be on a late night tea run. 

“Thank you for saving me,” you said sincerely, though you knew that wasn’t enough to display your gratitude. Who knows what could have happened had he not intervened. “I just hate that you got hurt because of it.” 

Wriothesley laughed, patting your head affectionately—as if the two of you never drifted apart when you moved away. “I would do it again, even if the outcome was worse. Besides, did you see what I did to the other guys?” 

That earned a smile out of you. “There were three of them! And you still kicked all their asses.” 

“Exactly,” he said proudly. “Now, if you look at my injuries in comparison, it’s really nothing.” 

Though the mood was slightly lifted, you still hated to see Wriothesley in any pain. The least you could do was make sure his wound were thoroughly cleaned and wrapped. 

“You don’t have to go through this trouble,” said Wriothesley as you disinfected the cut on his temple and placed a bandage over it. “You must be tired from your long night. You should get some rest. I can always have Sigewinne help.”

You shook your head fervently, almost offended by his suggestion. “You’re in this mess  because of me and you think I could just leave you to get it taken care of elsewhere?” you huffed, squishing his non-injured cheek with your fingertips. “What kind of friend would I be then?”

“I’m not in this mess because of you—it’s because of those lowlives who take pleasure in trying to harass an innocent person,” he corrected sternly. “It’s not your fault, and I’m sorry you had to go through that yourself.”

Once you finished cleaning and patching him up, you became overwhelmingly aware of the fact that you were standing in between his legs as he sat on the bathroom counter. You were leaning against one of his thighs as support to steady your hand while you wiped his wounds, but now that you were finished, you straightened back up, swallowing harshly at your now dry throat. 

How focused must you have been to not notice the feeling of sculpted muscles through his pants? You were glad to know you had some priorities, at least. 

Feeling warm, you tried to step away. “Well, thank you again for…you know, beating those guys up for me! But if you’re okay now I guess that means it’s time for me to go.” 

“Leaving so soon?” Wriothesley half-heartedly locked his leg behind your back with a grin, preventing you from taking another step back. “Have you checked under my shirt yet? Perhaps I have some injuries there.”

“Wriothesley!” you yelped, feeling your face grow warm despite knowing he was only joking. “You said so yourself— You have Sigewinne for that!” 

He let out a chuckle, as he released you from his gentle hold. “So my dear friend will help with the wounds on my face, but nothing lower?” 

Your mouth dropped, incredulous, yet you felt yourself taking the bait. After all, if your handsome friend with a hot body were to dangle the offer of seeing them shirtless right front of your face, who were you to deny it?

“Fine, let me check for you,” you said hastily. 

Moving his tie aside, you grabbed at the buttons lining the front of his shirt. The black longsleeve was tight-fitted, and the moment you felt his abdomen, you knew there were muscles underneath his clothes. As your fingers began maneuvering around the round, little button, you felt Wriothesley begin to stir. 

“Y/N,” his voice was gruff, “I was only teasing.”

Your brows shot up in surprise at his tone. He sounded strained and his eyes darkened with every button you undid. Your pinky finger accidentally brushed against his exposed pectoral muscles as you slowly parted the top-half of his shirt. At the touch of his warm body, you jolted in shock. 

Clearing your throat, you attempted to appear unfazed. “Well, sometimes your actions have consequences.” 

“I must say, this is quite a positive consequence.” 

“You’re one of the lucky ones this time.”

Wriothesley laughed, shaking his head. All of a sudden, he grasped your hand that was trailing down his shirt, stopping you from moving. You held your breath.

“Careful not to go any lower,” he warned, the slightest hint of a growl in his voice. 

“And if I do?”

“If you want our friendship to stay as is, then I suggest you don’t.” He stared into your eyes, his gray ones appearing almost black. “Before this leads to something you might regret.”

“I wouldn’t regret if this lead to anything,” you admitted, voice quiet. Gone was the playful teasing, traded for something much more sincere. “Would you?”

“Of course not.”

You raised a brow and broke your hand free from his gentle grasp, placing your palm against the heat of his bare skin. Your fingertips danced against the curve of his chest as you pushed the shirt back, just to check if he had any injuries there, of course. 

Wriothesley shook his head and groaned, running a hand through his hair as he shut his eyes. “You’re making this difficult, darling.” 

You giggled, letting your hand fall to your side and giving him a cheeky smile. “Fine, I’ll stop for now. You don’t have any injuries there anyway. I checked for you.” 

He had a conflicted look on his face—as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he should be relieved or disappointed. 

You grinned at his reaction. “Perhaps you want me to look again?”

Wriothesley choked out a noise of both surprise and amusement before collecting himself. “I believe your initial examination was thorough enough, but after you have a good night’s rest, then we can revisit this topic.” 

Though you were disappointed the two of you didn’t take it further yourself, you knew he was probably right. You did feel rather tired after the draining night you had. 

“I think that’s a good idea,” you conceded, offering him a hand as he got off the countertop. Even standing, he was significantly taller than you. You pursed your lips, if only you weren’t so exhausted, then maybe… You shook your head, snapping out of your thoughts. “Then, once I’m fully rested, I can properly thank you for your help today.”

Wriothesley smiled, understanding the not-so subtle implications of your words and welcoming it with open arms. 

“Great,” he said after a moment’s thought. “I look forward to it.”

#wriothesley x reader #genshin x reader #wriothesley x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x you #genshin fluff #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley genshin

[vivwritesfics]

PLEASE can we get more HOAF ?? Maybe their wedding with absolutely adorable Milo and Olivia OR their wedding night 👀👀👀 ~nurse-sainz

as two of you know, I've been seriously thinking about the hoaf second series. It has a title, but, because I don't want to start ANOTHER series until I finish a current one, it's something I'm going to be working on behind the scenes

1.7K

Warnings: Pregnancy, pregnancy hormones

Series Masterlist

Feel free to buy me a coffee ☕☕

She'd never expected to be pregnant on her wedding day. It was nobody's dream, to be round and swollen while stuffed into a pretty white dress that you just know would look so much better if you weren't pregnant, on your feet all day, unable to partake in any of the drinking.

Her bachelorette party wasn't all that. But she didn't want it to be. The only people she would have invited were the other wags, girls she didn't know all that well. No, her bachelorette party was her and Olivia getting their hair and nails done.

They ended the day getting dinner, just the two of them. They sat there, sharing a too big pizza while Olivia went over her details plans of the wedding.

It was the best bachelorette party ever.

Daniel had two bachelor parties. One that was organised by Max and Lando to be the wildest night of his life, with almost all of the grid accompanying them. And one where he could invite Milo.

The party with Milo was mini golf. Carlos was happy to carry Milo around on his shoulders, teach him all that he knew. The boys had all agreed to let Milo win, but he didn't have to know that. After the golf they had dinner and drinks.

One thing about Milo was he couldn't keep his mouth shut about the baby. Maybe Daniel should have reminded him that Baby Ricciardo was a secret, but he didn't expect Milo to just blurt it out, either.

But none of the drivers were surprised. They couldn't be surprised about baby Ricciardo, not when the couple hadn't exactly been good at hiding it. Daniel's hand on her stomach, the little list of baby names they'd all seen on his phone.

The party without Milo, when Milo was at home with Olivia and his momma, it really was a party. Loud music, drinks, dancing, it had everything. But, the moment Daniel got more than three drinks in his system, he was talking about her.

Arm over Max's shoulder as he slurred out his name and how much he loved her. "I want to have another girl," he said to Max, but it was barely audible. "A little girl that looks just like her."

When she had her first dress fitting, there wasn't a bump. Or, at least, the bump did little to change her frame. Her dream dress fit like a glove and Daniel's mother was crying.

It was naïve to think that the dress would still fit by the time the wedding rolled around. Her bump had gotten exponentially bigger, to the point where she couldn't hit it anymore. Now that the drivers knew, it was only time that the rest of the world knew.

They didn't announce it in any way. No, Daniel's Instagram usually had a picture of her in his photo dumps and this was no exception. Just, this time, her bump was visible in the picture.

If the world of F1 was losing its collective shit, neither of them noticed. The Ricciardo family was wrapped up in their own little bubble, just the way they liked it.

A week before the wedding, her dream dress wasn't fitting. Why the fuck wasn't it fitting? Well, she knew why. It was stupid to think anything would fit over her bump.

"I hate this baby," she said through tears as she rubbed her bump. No, she didn't hate baby Ricciardo, not in the slightest. Actually, she loved baby Ricciardo more than anything. But still, she couldn't help but wish she wasn't pregnant.

The dress she wore on her wedding day wasn't her dream dress. She couldn't wear those cute white heels she wanted to wear, couldn't even see her feet.

As she stared at herself in the mirror, just an hour away from being walked down the aisle, an hour away from marrying the love of her life, she was ready to cry. She held it back, though, couldn't afford to ruin her makeup. "What're we gonna do with you?" She whispered as she cradled her bump.

"Momma?"

She looked at Milo in the mirror before she turned towards him. "C'mere, baby," she said and held her hands out towards him. Fuck, how was he almost seven?

As her son wrapped his arms around her, she wanted time to stop. Just stop, let her live in this moment forever. He was growing up so damn fast, he was going to be a big brother soon. "You look beautiful, momma," he said.

This time, she couldn't help the tears. Stupid pregnancy hormones. "Thank you, Miley," she said through a shaky breath as she stood up and grabbed a tissue. Gently she dabbed at her eyes, trying to save her makeup.

She smoothed her dress over her bump and took Milo's hand. "Let's go become Ricciardos."

Daniel had never been this nervous before. Not in his first race back after McLaren had let him go. He was sweating in his suit as Max stood with him. All of their guests were seated, but the most important people were missing.

The door opened and Olivia and one of her friends, one that had been over a few times, walked in. They tossed the petals out of the little white basket as she walked in behind her.

Daniel knew her relationship with her family was... strenuous, at best. That was why they weren't at the wedding. With her father not there to walk her down the aisle, Milo held her hand.

Daniel's breath caught in his throat. He knew she wasn't in her dream dress, not the dress that matched Olivia's, but she still looked amazing. Holy fuck, it was enough to bring tears to her eyes. But that wasn't what actually did it.

Milo was the one walking her down the aisle. Milo in his little suit that near matched Daniels. He stood tall and proud, head held high as he walked his mother towards his step father. 

The kids sat together through the ceremony. Milo couldn’t stop himself from fiddling with the little pieces of petals as his mother got married. They were incredibly well behaved throughout, with Olivia’s grandparents, and Milo’s grandparents now, too, keeping them company. 

This close, Daniel could see the faults in her makeup. He didn’t care about the faults, she looked gorgeous with or without it. But still, Daniel could see the smudges under her eyes as he slipped the ring onto her finger. 

Mrs Ricciardo. She was Mrs Ricciardo now. 

Daniel didn’t say anything about the evidence of her tears as he kissed her. And, once he had his mouth on her, he never wanted to stop kissing her. He couldn’t dip her, like he wanted to, but his hand cradled her bump, cradled baby Ricciardo. His baby. She was his wife and she was carrying his baby. 

This was the best day of his life. 

Their family and friends were cheering as he walked her out of the church and into the car. Even then, even in the car, he couldn’t keep his lips on her. But he had to make sure she was okay, that took precedent. Even knowing that, Daniel couldn’t pull his lips away from her own. So the words were mumbled against her lips. “Were you crying?”

He tried to sound concerned, by her lips against his had his voice coming out as more of a desperate whine. 

But, as soon as he said it, she pulled away. “I’m fine, Danny,” she said and went to rub at her eyes, rub away the evidence of her tears.

Daniel caught her wrists. “You look beautiful,” he whispered and kissed her again. “My wife looks beautiful.”

The way she looked up at him, fuck, he could have kept her in that car forever. “Say it again.”

“My wife.”

When they arrived at the reception venue, their friends and family were there, waiting. As soon as they climbed out of the car, Milo and Olivia were pulling away from their grandparents, racing towards them. Daniel couldn’t help but pick Olivia up and place her on his hip as Milo held his mothers leg.

“Are we a family now?” Olivia asked, her voice coming out almost like a demand. 

But nobody could blame her. She’d been waiting for this moment for a year and a half. 

Daniel rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “We always were a family, Badger.”

There was no part of her wedding that the new Mrs Ricciardo didn’t enjoy. She wasn’t in her dream dress, but, now she had that ring on her finger, now she was married to the love of her life, she didn’t much care. 

She danced, but she didn’t dance the night away, like she had dreamed. She couldn’t help but be emotional as she sat with Daniel’s parents, her mother and father in law, watching the guests at her wedding. They were dancing more than she was, at her own wedding. 

Holding her bump, speaking softly to baby Ricciardo, she watched as her husband and her children danced. Daniel’s grin was so wide as the three of them were the centre of attention on the dance floor. That was the man she loved. That was the man she married. 

“Your daddy, your siblings and I can’t wait to meet you,” she whispered to baby Ricciardo as her mother and father in law watched on, hearts melting. “You’ve got the best daddy going.”

And, as Daniel put Olivia down after spinning her around, he looked over to his wife. She smiled at him, a smile he’d never forget. As Olivia went to dance with Lando and Max took Milo to get something to drink, Daniel walked over to her. 

“Hi, baby,” he said as his hand met her bump. And then he looked up at his wife, meeting her eyes. “Hi, Mrs Ricciardo.”

“Hi, Mr Ricciardo.”

He kissed her, and she never wanted to let him go.

If you enjoyed this, please feel free to buy me a coffee

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[sodaabaa]

wings a court of thorns and roses

rhysand x reader reader is mesmerized by rhysand's wings and he makes a tempting suggestion.

tw: none

playlist here!

I was sitting in my room when I heard the front door slam. I could feel his anger, a whole level above him, through closed doors. I put the sketchbook I was holding on my desk as I got up to see what all the commotion was about. As I made my way down the spiraling stairs, I saw Rhys storm into his room, shadows trailing behind him. I glanced at Cassian and Mor, raising my eyebrows in question. They simply shook their heads, don’t push him. 

I felt another pulse of anger through the bond, he must’ve been infuriated if he let these surges of emotion pass through the bond. I looked at his door, contemplating whether he’d kill me if I tried to talk to him. I had to try, at the very least.

As I walked across the hall, Mor grabbed my arm. “Hybern used faebane. He’s angry, give him some space to cool down.”

I shook my head, “he could be injured, let me just check up on him.” 

She let go of my arm but I could sense her and Cassian say a silent prayer for me to walk out of that room alive. I rolled my eyes at them, mustering up all the courage I had before walking towards his door.

I took a deep breath and cracked the door open to peer inside, hoping he couldn’t sense me behind the door. 

“Come in if you dare. I won’t kill you but I make no promise to spare those morons in the hall.” 

Humor. That’s unexpected. This shouldn’t be that hard, seeing how he was cheery enough to mock Cassian and Mor still. 

I walked in, my feet shuffling against the obsidian floor. He was standing before the window, gazing at the starless night sky, as if the stars too, could feel his anger and decided against shining tonight in solidarity for their High Lord. His wings were out. Wings. This was the first time I’d seen them. They were identical to Cassian and Azriel’s wings and dark, so dark that it seemed to eat up any light that dared to shine around them. What would it be like, to use those onyx wings as a backdrop for a starry night sky? 

“Are you hurt?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. 

He removed his attention from the window to answer my question. “Not badly. I’ll heal.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Silence. His attention turned back to the mountains in the distance. “He baited me. I should have been more careful. Should’ve known about the faebane.” 

I paused, unsure of how to respond. 

“You can’t know everything. It was a slip up, now you know how to handle confronting him next time.” 

“Next time I see him, it won't be to confront him.” He grumbled. A simple threat, frightening nonetheless.

Again, my eyes wandered to his wings. Imagining the things I could paint. The moon illuminating snow capped mountains, stars glittering like diamonds against the black of his wings. 

If you’d like to paint my wings, darling, all you have to do is ask. 

I was mid gasp when I coughed instead, earning a chuckle from Rhys. I had forgotten about my shields all night since I’d been painting in my room, no use for mental barriers when there was no one around.

He turned, facing me expectantly. 

“You’re not serious.” I said.

He merely raised his eyebrows. 

“You’re injured.” Excuses. I knew that was just an excuse. To paint him, I’d have to get too close to him. I wasn’t ready for that.

No need to be afraid, I won’t bite. 

I cursed him, “pig.” 

A breathy laugh. 

“Cassian and Mor were terrified of you just then. I’m pretty sure they prayed I’d come back in one piece.” I said.

He shifted, his eyes dropping to the floor. “They know better than to cross me while I’m angry.” 

“You don’t seem very angry, quite the opposite actually.”

He hesitated for a second. “You’re a soothing presence.”

I looked away, cheeks heating up.

“Paint my wings.” He said, breaking the silence.

I opened my mouth in protest but hesitated when our eyes met. His violet eyes were full of hope and anticipation. 

“Fine.” I huffed, a sly smile creeped onto his lips. Night Triumphant indeed. 

I made my way to the door to gather my paints but before I could even walk a step, Rhys waved his hand and my paints along with brushes appeared on his bed. 

I shot him a playful look which he returned.

“Alright, lay on your stomach then. If you get hurt any further, it’s your fault.” 

“I’d gladly let you hurt me darling.” He retorted.

I bit back a laugh, “who knew the High Lord of the Night was a masochist. I’d pegged you to be the sadist type.” 

A devilish grin and equally vicious eyes narrowed at me. “I’m whatever you want me to be, angel.” 

I fought the butterflies in my stomach, urged them to go away. 

He sprawled out on the silk sheets, his wings laid out before me. I readied my paints and leaned over him, standing on the edge of the bed to start the base layer. It wasn’t the most comfortable position but it would have to do. Though it seemed like Rhys had other plans.

“It’d be much easier if you took a seat, darling.” Despite not being able to see his face, I could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I’m not sitting on you Rhys.” I said. 

“You wouldn’t want the throne to go cold would you darling?” 

I rolled my eyes, “I’m not gonna make this comfortable for you Rhys.”

His response was that breathy laugh, the one that made my skin burn and my stomach flutter. I made sure my shields were up before climbing onto his hips, my thighs on either side of him. 

“This seems pretty comfortable to me, what happened to the promise of pain?” He taunted.

I smacked the back of his head, “let me paint in peace.”

“You make me suffer, angel.” 

“Good.” I replied.

For the next hour, I lost myself in painting his magnificent wings. Time slipped away as I focused on getting every star, every cloud, every snowy mountain right. Rhys seemed to enjoy the quiet as well, his head resting on his arms as he watched me in the mirror. I tried not to shy away from his gaze. 

“I think I’m done.” 

“Finally, my back is aching.” 

I winced, I completely forgot he was hurt. I scrambled to get off him but before I could, he turned onto his back, positioning his hands on my waist, keeping me straddled on his hips. 

“Rhys! The painting!” My eyes widened, the paint was going to smudge. He was laying on his back now, watching me panic before saying, “Don’t worry, it’s dried. I made sure of it.”

A sigh of relief left my lips.

“Then let me off.”

“I don’t think I will.” 

I stilled. 

He was gazing over my face, taking in what was before him. A hand came up to wipe away a smudge of white paint on my collarbone. I shivered when his cold hand touched my warm skin. He lifted himself up with ease, his face inches away from mine. My cheeks were bright red, my eyes dropping to his chest and my hands fiddling with the threads of my sweater. His featherlight touch traveled from my collarbone, up to my neck and stopped at my chin, gently lifting my face to meet his. I looked up at him through my eyelashes, eyes narrowed. His lips were no longer twisted in that arrogant smirk, eyes no longer held that devilish gaze. His lips were parted in anticipation, violet eyes pining with desire. 

“Are you gonna do something or just stare.” Barely a whisper.

Within seconds his hands were gripping the back of my neck, bringing my lips to his in a hungry, desperate, burning kiss. We were wind and water, violent waves crashing against jagged rock. His hands roamed under my sweater, drinking every curve, every edge. My hands mirrored his, wrapping around his broad shoulders and then traveling down his solid chest. I couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t get close enough despite being flush against him. He withdrew from the kiss, taking a breath, looking into my eyes, searching for hesitation. I smiled at him, don’t stop. The devilish smirk was back. His lips trailed down my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, there wasn’t an inch of me he didn’t claim. His hands held my waist so hard I knew they’d be bruised in the morning. I didn’t care, I wanted every bruise, every mark he gave me. 

What shall I be for you tonight, angel? Sadist? 

He brought his hand to the back of my head, gripping a fistful of hair and pulling back. I whimpered as he used the opportunity to leave bite marks all over my exposed neck. 

His grip softened, his lips now trailed further down and lightly kissed the hollow of my neck. 

Or shall I worship your body? 

He flipped us over, pinning my hands on either side of head. I was trapped between his strong, tattooed arms. 

I don’t care what you do to me, just never stop touching me. 

He smiled brighter than the north star. His lips brushed over my ear, “your wish is my command,” he breathed.

#acotar #rhysand #acomaf #feyre archeron #rhysand x reader #acotar fanfiction

[harmshake]

Melt

Roman Reigns & Fem Black Reader | 18+, NSFW, fluff, a hint of birthday smut | 939 words

a/n: Just a little something I whipped up because it's his day. 😍

Happy reading! Read my other Roman stories here, if you'd like. ✨

The lights were low to let the candles on his cake be the only glow in the room. But once your husband made his wish and blew them out, you flipped all the lights back on and Roman's smile glowed even bigger. He looked down at the strawberry cake you did your best to bake, the oven behind him still hot as you had pulled the cake from it and frosted it too soon—rushing to finish it before he got home. 

His brown eyes watched the strawberry frosting as it melted and dripped down the sides of the cake and pooled on the plate it sat on, threatening to spill from the sides and onto the marble counter. You looked up at him from his side, then the cake, and then him again, seeing his eyes crinkle with that glowing smile that wobbled into a tiny laugh.

"This is beautiful," he said but then you both burst out laughing together. The candles that you wedged into the cake were slanting into the icing, flopping like your entire attempt to surprise him. You had dimmed the lights, decorated the dining table with birthday gifts, and thrown on your cutest dress and stilettos so you could hold the supposed-to-be-cute cake and greet him at the door after you made him run to the store for ice cream as a distraction to set up. You both laughed so hard at the little disaster that was your cake that a tear slipped from your eye and you wiped it away before you felt his hands cradle your face with his wide thumbs stroking your cheeks, that glowing smile spreading his cheeks as his deep voice became softer. "Baby, no, seriously. I love it. I love you."

"That's a relief. Happy birthday, baby. Love you, too." You reached your hand up to hold his as he leaned down to give you a kiss that was as soft as his tone. You didn't bake very often but when you did it usually came out edible. If only he hadn't gotten back from the store so quickly. "Guess I should run back out and get a real cake, huh? Still want strawberry?"

Roman shook his head before he swiped his pointer finger in the puddle of icing that dripped onto the marble, slipping it between his lips to taste. "Naw, this is perfect. I'mma eat it as is," he said with another dip of his finger in the goopy mess. 

"Want me to grab you a plate at least or you just gonna eat it straight from the counter?" you teased as you turned to grab a kitchen towel that hung from the oven door to clean the counter. When you tried to switch around, Roman's arms were suddenly around your waist to pin your backside to him, his bearded chin on your shoulder when you went to look at him before his lips were on yours, sweet like the frosting. "Don't tell me...you trying to eat me, too, huh?"

That made him chuckle, especially since you could feel every inch of him in his joggers as he pressed himself to you. You pushed your butt against him to make him rumble a sigh in your ear and squeeze your hips in his hands as he said, "You know I always gotta taste for you...but psssh. I thought today was my birthday."

Roman shifted you to face him then, his hands still on your hips but his eyes on your juicy lips that glistened with your lip gloss. He bit his bottom lip as you nodded, catching his drift as you caught his gaze that grew hungrier for more than cake. You rested your hands on his massive chest in his white tee shirt before you slowly let them fall to his waistband that you tugged. 

"Didn't I spoil you enough with a homemade cake?" you asked with a grin as you pulled him by his waistband to the dining room where you pushed him down into the seat at the head of the table. Roman licked his lips as he watched you sink onto your knees between his burly thighs. He didn't have to answer because you could see from the greedy look on his handsome face that he wanted to be spoiled a little more—and you wouldn't deny the birthday boy on his special day. "Better be glad I love to spoil you..."

"Don't I spoil you on your birthday?" Roman wanted to tease but all that bass in his voice simmered into a heated sigh when you ran your hands up his legs and over his thick bulge until they reached his waistband again, pulling until it and his boxer briefs settled around his ankles. 

"You sure do..." you purred as you eyed his pretty, brown, thick piece of flesh that spoiled you almost every night and extra on your birthday, studying how it twitched for you before you could even touch it. You loved the way it felt hard yet smooth in your palm when you did...and loved the way your husband stirred with another sigh when you massaged it. You couldn't wait to hear the beautiful sounds he'd make when you wrapped your lips around it. "I love you, baby."

And you knew Roman couldn't wait, either, when he cupped your chin as you kissed his head with a flick of your tongue to catch his pleasure that tried to trickle from it, making him twitch again and making you tremble to taste him melt in your mouth and down your throat... 

"Mm, you love me, baby?" Roman softly growled to you, his eyelids low with his glowing smile shifting into a seductive smirk as his thumb grazed your bottom lip. "Show Daddy how much with this pretty mouth."

.

.

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[thinkingotherwise]

Hello! I read your post about Sugishita with a talkative reader. So, could you write for Hayato Suo with a reader who's talkative? Like, she's so passionate about talking that she explains every little detail perfectly. (I'm the chatterbox of my class and I've gotten scolded many times but I'm shameless.)

With that, the reader is also stubborn af so she needs a reasonable argument otherwise she ain't gonna be convinced.

The reader loves fairness. She can't stand if anything unreasonable is happening in front of her.

Oh well actually, if you want the reader can be gender neutral. I just asked like three requests at once. 💀 If you want you don't have to do it all! <3

As an introvert, I'm in awe of every person who is talkative, or as you called them a "chatterbox" - I know I could never.

Hayato is just so fucking majestic.

Hayato Suou x Talkative! reader

You were a very passionate person, who couldn't stay in silence for longer than a few minutes. The words had just always easily flown out of your mouth and it sometimes could get you in trouble. However, your words also helped to get you and others out with their problems. Growing up it was tricky to find the perfect balance of your talkativeness and the patience of your classmates, teachers, or even neighbours.

It was a little hard to find a person that could keep up with you, or at least didn't mind your ramblings. Hayato was perfect for that. Not only did he humour you during your rant sessions, but he also effortlessly kept up with your heated discussions.

You could spend hours upon hours talking about something and when he caught the wind of those times he would prepare some tea and snacks. That would make your discussions more comfortable and you would feel like your passion for talking was encouraged.

Hayato didn't mind your ramblings finding them amusing and informative. He couldn't also fathom how you could talk so much that during your logorrhea (stream of words), you'd change topics so much. Once, you started talking about the dinner with your friends you had the day before, going through the dilemma of whether pineapple should be on pizza, and finishing with sudden fun facts about different types of paint, with many more in between. It was still a mystery how you ended up completely detached from the first thoughts you shared.

When Hayato had his agility and martial arts skills to back up his testing words, you depended only on your phrases. You were an expert, and could easily out-talk anyone that started an argument with you. Your boyfriend thought it was pretty amazing how you could stand up to anyone with only words.

You used your talent for talking also to stand up for others, not being fond of some people putting down others thinking they were above them. "Excuse me, but it's not what I wanted." You heard a voice from your side from a woman, that previously stood in front of you in the queue. You were in the cafe with Hayato in the middle of ordering some desserts for yourself when she cut in and pushed you to the side. "I'm sorry, but that's what you ordered, Miss." The cashier said trying to be calm about the situation. "No, I wanted it with more milk and not this poor excuse of milk but the oat milk." She articulate it even more smashing the cup on the counter and spilling it. "I'm sorry Miss but you didn't inform us about it when taking the order, we confirmed it with you and you didn't say anything about the different type of milk you'd like to use. If you want we can-" The cashier said starting to get nervous as she fiddled with her fingers.

Your eyes widened when the fussing woman cut off not even listening to the barista. You were boiling all over and Hayato seeing that placed his hand around your waist and moved it in circles trying to calm you down before you could join the argument. "Of course, I did, you're just not listening to me. If you can't do your job correctly, then I don't know why you're still working here." The woman continued pushing the cup over the counter and into the cashier. "Miss, please listen-" "I'm not listening to someone so incompetent like-" She cut off the employee again and you had enough.

You pushed away from Hayato and heard him sighing in amusement as he knew what was about to happen. "Okay, that's enough." Your voice cut in firmly and the woman looked at you scowling. "Miss, you're clearly out of it, if you think you can be mean like that to someone who's working harder than you." "What? You're such disrespectful little-" You didn't let her finish just like she did with the cashier and continued on your own. "It's a fact that I can tell even without knowing more about you than what you've just shown everyone here. I was after you in the queue, I heard what you ordered, and now that told the barista she got your order wrong, and even doing such a thing." You motioned to the employee who tried to wipe the counter and her uniform from the spilled drink.

"You're the more disrespectful one. And I beseech you to shut your mouth and think twice before trying to make someone's life miserable just because your is." You finished with fire in your eyes making the woman frown and gasp at your rant. "OMG! I can't stand someone like that." She said waving her arms around before turning away and leaving the place. You sighed and felt Hayato moving towards you and moving his arms around you trying to calm you down. You showed your claws and he had a wide grin on his face, proud of you for standing up for someone else.

Tags: @misticbullet

#wind breaker (satoru nii) #wind breaker (satoru nii) x reader #wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #hayato suou x reader

[rayclubs]

Which tf2 merc do you think gets mischaracterized the least?

Good question! Let's do a rating.

In my opinion, there are three aspects to characterizing someone.

Facts - you have to get basic character backstory right. This includes all objective canon truths, events, and, well, facts about said character.

Behavior - you need to understand how the character acts, how their interpersonal relationships function, what they're like in their day-to-day life. This is the nitty-gritty of fanfic and fanart, this is dialogue, line-to-line characterization.

Integrity - you need to understand the character's core beliefs and principles, what their values are and how they view the world around them. This isn't something you can easily quote or point to as a mistake in fanfic, it's more of an overall idea of a character.

Each of these is going to be worth up to three points, with zero for terrible characterization that gets everything wrong. This would ideally total to nine points. I'll be awarding an additional bonus point for character interpretation that doesn't make me scream "he would not fucking say that". Let's go.

Scout:

His backstory is fairly simple. He has an absent father, half a dozen siblings, and a crush on his boss who doesn't reciprocate. People mostly get this right, except they also call him a virgin despite the fact he canonically lands the fried chicken queen, and seems to do it with ease. 2/3.

His behavior is also mostly portrayed accurately, in that he's loud, obnoxious, self-absorbed, and can be kind of a dick, though not completely without endearing qualities. The fandom is, admittedly, guilty of making him more insecure and self-conscious than he actually is, to amp up the drama. 2/3.

His core values, however, are completely off. The main interpretations I see of him are "depressed Scout", "homophobic Scout", and "baby Scout", neither of which is true to his character. This is a grown man with a force-a-nature complex. The homophobia is just projection and internalized prejudice, but that phenomena is too complicated for me to dissect here. I talked about it before and might make another post later. Anyway, 0/3.

Scout does not get a bonus point. He would not fucking say "poggers" but he would say "daddy-o".

Overall characterization score: 4/10

Soldier:

Very little is known about Soldier's backstory so there isn't really any room to be wrong about it. What we do know is also vague and unreliable, so it's open to interpretation. Given how little room for error there is, I'll give him a 3/3.

His behavior is completely off in most cases, often shown to either be overly aggressive or so dumb you start to question how this man functions in his day-to-day life. Canon Soldier has plenty of endearingly stupid moments but a lot of them can be read as deadpan jokes on the character's part, and many turn out to be secretly clever moments, such as him infiltrating the robot base with a goofy cardboard disguise. Likewise, canon Soldier has plenty of aggressive and mean moments, but he's not cruel and very clearly not a threat to his teammates, which isn't captured at all in fanworks that decide to go that way. 0/3.

Soldier's core ideals are mostly captured well, as in - yeah, he calls people communist as an insult in fanfics. I feel like he should mention God more often than he does in fanon, it's, like, one of the two ideologically meaningful things he ever talks about. The importance of "America" as a concept to him is mostly preserved but left unexplored. 2/3.

Soldier does not get a bonus point, he would not fucking say [homophobic slur] yet here we fucking are.

Overall characterization score: 5/10

Pyro:

His backstory is nonexistent yet people still fuck it up. His technical knowledge is clearly extensive and impressive, as shown by the complexity of his weaponry - which, mind you, looks HAND MADE - but people treat him as if he's altogether incompetent and maniacally stupid all the time always. He also ran an engineering company for hell knows how long and people just forget about it because they're allergic to adults or something. God this pisses me off so much. I mean for fuck's sake, people act like his full job description is "Pyromaniac" and not "Pyrotechnician". I'm so tired. 0/3.

His day-to-day characterization and dialogue is also completely off. People treat him as if he's INCAPABLE of communication, make him obsess over childish things he's only shown a moderate liking to in a manner that's borderline creepy and insulting, and take away his whole entire agency in everything he ever does. I will literally not give y'all a single point, you do my man Pyro so dirty. 0/3.

His ideology is complex and vague in canon, and I don't blame people for getting confused by such things as Pyrovision, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. In my time on Ao3 I've seen animal Pyro, cryptid Pyro, monster Pyro, alien Pyro, evil mindless maniac Pyro, incompetent baby Pyro, nonbinary Pyro (HENCE MY PROBLEM WITH THE HEADCANON, do you see how it looks next to all these other interpretations?) but I've rarely, if ever, seen competent adult Pyro with actual hopes and dreams and agency. 0/3.

Pyro does not get a bonus point because he would not fucking say "uwu" but he would say "fuck", let Pyro say fuck.

Overall characterization score: 0/10 are you fucking surprised

Demoman:

Oh poor lad what have they done to you. So, Demo's backstory is arguably the most detailed and fleshed-out in the entire canon. Too bad nobody fucking read it. Admittedly, in the recent years I've seen people mostly manage to remember he has several jobs and is overall a competent and successful man, but it's rarely - if ever - explored, I've seen exactly one fic where the author bothered to explore what one of his other jobs might be (and it was not a good fic for many other reasons, don't ask me for a link), and it honestly feels like people don't want to dwell on it? Like, they mostly mention it to fill a quota, y'know? Here, I'm not racist, I've acknowledged one of this character's achievements, leave me alone. Also the subject of him being fucking adopted as a kid never comes up. 0/3.

His day-to-day characterization suffers a lot because people think alcoholism is the most morally repugnant thing that can ever happen to a human being. This man honestly barely even has a presence in the fics he's in. Are you wondering where Demo is? Well, he wasn't there! He was BUSY! He couldn't come! There is a handful of writers who bother to write his actual inner monologue and point of view, and this point goes out to them only. Also there was a pretty good Boots and Bombs fic in which Demo was a dick to Soldier but then got better, and it stuck with me. 1/3.

His core character is fucked up by fandom because he's either all flaws or not allowed to have any flaws, and there's no in-between. Ever since I joined the fandom I've seen a lot of critique floating around, and people mostly seem to listen and realize they've been mistreating the man for long enough, but it created a whole separate problem of Perfect Demoman which is bland and boring. People don't want to write an offensive caricature but don't feel like fleshing him out either, so they just make him great at everything and never let him fail and grown in ways that are meaningful. Except that one fic I mentioned earlier, but I've already awarded a point for that. 0/3.

Demo does not get a bonus point. I couldn't find a meaningful example of bad dialogue because, like I said, he has no presence in any of the fics he's in. He would fucking say something.

Overall characterization score: 1/10 and honestly it's too generous on my part.

Heavy:

Okay so Heavy's backstory really confuses people. I've got like a dozen asks in my inbox when I called his father a revolutionary AND a counter-revolutionary. Wait till I call him a royalist, it'll blow your tits clean off. I don't feel like explaining the history of the communist regime in the USSR on this post, let's just say people are mostly faithful to canon but don't really "get" Heavy. 2/3.

His day-to-day characterization is plain bad. He's treated like a mother hen to the mercs when he's more of a stoic friend with a mean streak and a crude sense of humor. I think the main problem is the dialogue, people just can't give him the dignity of speaking in an intelligent manner. It's honestly also pretty bad in the comics. 1/3.

His core ideals are fine, if oversimplified. He's not a complicated man, he loves his family, his guns and his doctor. People rarely give him any more depth than that but it's not offensive to his character or anything. I feel like he should have more political opinions than people give him. I also feel like people make him way more protective of Zhanna's romantic pursuits, to a creepy degree. I mean, yes, he's annoyed by her marrying Soldier, and seems horrified for a brief second, but it's not like he's against it or anything, he's just kinda surprised? Anyway, 2/3.

Heavy does not get a bonus point because he would not fucking say "da". Pizda.

Overall characterization score: 5/10

Engineer:

Yeah people mostly get him. He's got 11 Ph. Ds. Some treat him like he grew up as an actual cowboy or something but most remember he's a nerd. I'd actually give all the points here because Engie's backstory is NOT complicated. 3/3.

His dialogue and day-to-day characterization is also okay, though people really mellow him down a lot. I had a bit in one of my fics where he said something like "let's teach those sumbitches how the real killin' is done" and like three different people commented on it saying they liked or were surprised by his mean energy. It's not even that mean, I think it kinda shows my problem with his interpretation. 2/3.

I asked about mischaracterization once and a lot of people replied "Engie is the most mischaracterized because people treat him like he's good but he's actually evil" which I think pretty much covers it? It's hard to write someone who is not implicitly strictly good or strictly evil. Engie treads this balance really well, I'm actually convinced his demeanor is not a facade, he is nice at times and mean when he wants to be. Fanon Engie can only be one of two things and neither is right. 0/3.

Engie gets a bonus point as an exception. I actually can't tell why, people just have his voice on-point. Is his accent and manner of speaking really that easy for you? I struggle to write him a lot. I think he should say "bitch" more.

Overall characterization score: 6/10

Medic:

People focus on the fact he lost his medical license more than on the fact he HAD a medical license in the first place. Other than that he really doesn't have a backstory. I dislike that people try to give him a sad one, I think he grew up loved and maybe even a little spoiled, but I can't fault others for not following my headcanons, so. 2/3.

His dialogue is the WORST because it's written phonetically. His goofy yet self-confident energy isn't captured well at all. The best I can put this is "people wife him" but it sounds kinda mysogynistic so really I'm at a loss. Submissivepilled breedablemaxxer. 0/3.

His core values are also all over the place. The complicated thing about writing Medic is that he actually doesn't come with pre-packaged drama. His backstory is vague, his demeanor is optimistic, his vibes are fun, and the worst thing that happened to him in canon was working with the classics for a bit - people amp it up to squeeze hurt out of it, which is fine, but not many people actually like going there. Thing is, fanfic writers aren't that good at writing drama when it hasn't been established before. They have to warp his character, make him edgy, self-conscious, or plain mad evil without redeeming qualities. I remember really struggling with my big Medic fic because I wanted it to be dramatic but had to put a lot of work into actually building up the emotion, because Medic is fine. He's fine. He's alright. He's fine. He's doing well. 0/3.

Medic does NOT get a bonus point, he would not fucking say "babygirl" and I'm not even sure if he would say "yass queen slay" I'm SORRY

Overall characterization score: 2/10

Sniper:

People mostly get his backstory right, probably because it's the most well-explained in the comics and it gets the most "screentime". It's also literally a Superman parody which is funny and memorable in concept. 3/3.

People can't find a good balance between stoic professionalism and social anxiety. I think Sniper is actually pretty simple, in that he's a little self-conscious which pushes him to actively better himself as a professional, but also makes him a little awkward so he comes across as standoffish and a little mean. He's a solid bloke that's balanced and feels real. Fandom has to go for the extreme every goddamn time with him. It sucks. 0/3.

People kind of get his drama, his relationship with his family and whatnot - mostly because a lot of us losers can relate, I bet - but, again, go for the extreme in making him anxious, whiny, and sad as a wet kitten. Unless it's a porn fic in which case he's an absolute freak that growls at people. I don't know what it is about Sniper that makes him so difficult to characterize. Manic pixie dream boy. Dark and moody lover love me like no other. 0/3.

Sniper does NOT get a bonus point because he doesn't say "cunt" nearly as often as he should. Also send me asks about my Sniper takes I want to stir up some shit.

Overall characterization score: 3/10.

Spy:

The only piece of his backstory we actually know is that he fathered the blight of the earth that is Scout TF2. 3/3.

His obnoxious and insufferable demeanor is mostly captured well. A lot of his portrayals aren't nearly as classy as people think they are, but that's because most authors are themselves proletarian, myself included, which is fine. Not many make the effort to pepper his speech with French words it would actually be natural for him to say, and blame it on the nonsensical complexity of the French language, but I'm not buying it as an excuse. 2/3.

His core values are off in regards to Scout - he's often portrayed as soft, mellow, overbearing, and critical of Scout's love life to either a comical or an uncomfortable degree. His fandom portrayal often also lacks the self-confidence he's demonstrated in the comics. Spy is not above strangling a man with a chain that holds the shackles around his ankles, he wouldn't consider it a blow to his dignity to fuck any of his coworkers either, come on. He's also funny and goofy but the fandom tends to neglect that. 1/3.

Spy does not get a bonus point because he would not say "perchance" but he would say "your mother".

Overall characterization score: 6/10

The final scores are:

Spy - 6/10

Engineer - 6/10

Heavy - 5/10

Soldier - 5/10

Scout - 4/10

Sniper - 3/10

Medic - 2/10

Demoman - 1/10

Pyro - 0/10

There we go! Pyro is the most mischaracterized, Demoman is a close second, and nobody is characterized well. Cheers!

#raynswers #my good friend cock #tf2 #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 demoman #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy

[cuubism]

I kind of just forgot to finish this fic - whoops!

physical therapy - the final installment

Hob helps him put all his books and things away. It gives his flat slightly more color and life. Dream still feels his lost art as an aching hole in his chest but at least he has this, Hob and these incremental improvements.

When they’re done he orders takeaway, and over his lo mein he mulls on what happened, on what he said. Hob didn’t actually say it back. But it— it’s fine. Even if Hob doesn’t say it aloud, it’s okay. Dream knows that Hob loves him. He shows it. He doesn’t need to say it. Dream’s ex-lover had, after all, said that he loved him frequently. “Come on, you know I love you.” But where had it shown up? That was not love. It was the opposite of love.

So he doesn’t need Hob to say it back, it is enough that he—

“Hey, Dream?” Hob says, interrupting his thought. His smile is warm, successfully banishing any hope of Dream finding his line of thinking again, as sunlight does to shadows. “I love you.”

“You were just thinking that now?” Dream asks weakly.

“Well, yeah. I didn’t say it before. I was too startled that you did.”

Dream supposes he had said it somewhat… fast. He has often been too fast in relationships, but he means it this time, in a different way than before. This love is fast but it’s real. It’s not just infatuation, or, as he’s slowly realizing some of his past relationships may have been, simply desperate bids to feel loved.

“I’m glad you were my physical therapist,” he says, and Hob laughs. I’m glad that we found each other.

“Me, too.” He takes Dream’s hand, the mostly-fixed one. “And I’m glad you got out. That was really brave.”

Dream scoffs. “I do not see how being so afraid could be brave.” He had never felt brave. Only terrified.

“That’s exactly why it was brave,” Hob insists. “You were scared but you didn’t let it stop you. And you didn’t let it stop you from creating art again, either.”

Hob seems to believe it quite fervently. Perhaps… Dream can try to believe it as well. “Maybe,” he concedes.

“Definitely,” Hob says.

Dream decides not to contradict him this time. He just eats his food, and basks in Hob’s company, coming back again and again to the fact that Hob went to get his things for him, defended him. Every time he thinks about it, he feels warm inside.

And later, when he curls up with Hob in bed, he thinks he feels… good. And safe. And maybe hopeful.

—

Several weeks later.

—

Dream has taken to spending more time in Hob’s flat than his own. Though his flat feels slightly more homey with the addition of his books and other things, it’s still not quite right. And he can’t shake the habit of blocking the door when he’s home alone. He still feels safer if he’s in Hob’s space, if Hob is around.

He doesn’t realize Hob knows that until he pushes aside the shelf he’d shoved in front of the door to let Hob in one night, and Hob looks from him to the shelf and back and says, “Are you still doing that?”

“What,” Dream says, eloquently.

“I can hear you,” Hob says, with a sad little smile. “Just didn’t want to make you feel awkward about it.”

“Oh,” says Dream, suddenly embarrassed. He— he should be more confident, shouldn’t he? And yet.

“You can come to my place if you want?” Hob says. “Even if I’m not there. I’ll give you a key.”

Dream goes to turn him down out of hand, he doesn’t need Hob to do that for him—

But. He wants it.

“Hell,” Hob says, and now he’s the one who seems nervous, scrubbing a hand through his hair, “just move in if you want. I like having you there.”

“You,” Dream says slowly, “would let me move in? Already?”

Hob gathers his confidence, taking a deep breath. “Why not? If you want to.”

Why not, indeed.

The more Dream thinks about it, the more he finds he likes the thought. He does not know if he can transition his entire life into Hob’s flat, not yet. Perhaps he’ll maintain his own flat as an art studio, or as a sort of… escape route, for he does not think he can handle having to flee his own home with nowhere to go ever again. But, on a regular basis… he thinks he might like simply being with Hob. It feels easy. Is it alright for it to just feel easy?

“…Okay,” he says, at length, and Hob beams. If he had smiled like that from the beginning, Dream might not have paused to think. He would do anything for that smile.

“Okay!” Hob echoes, still with that beaming smile that makes Dream feel like he’s standing directly in the sun. “I’ll get you a key.”

Dream smiles back, and his smile feels almost as easy as Hob’s.

—

The night after moving the last of Dream’s things in—he has, in fact, maintained his flat as a studio, but has moved everything else—flush with rather too much wine, they find themselves sitting in bed, having made the dubious, intoxicated decision to break out Hob’s barely used finger paints.

Giggling drunkenly, Hob dabs some blue paint on Dream’s forehead. Dream goes cross-eyed trying to look at him.

“You are bringing your meager finger painting skills to bear to paint me now?” he says.

“Is there a more perfect canvas?” Hob traces a star shape onto Dream’s cheek. “Besides. I’m no good with the canvases. You’ve seen it.”

“Your skills lie elsewhere, I think,” Dream agrees, and Hob laughs. “But they are many. However. Since you’ve started this, you should know—” Dream’s lips twitch in amusement like he's about to start laughing over something he knows and Hob doesn’t. "This is not body paint.”

"So? It's just tempera paint, it's not dangerous."

"No," Dream agrees, trailing his fingertips across Hob's chest, "but it is going to stick in your hair."

Fuck.

Dream giggles, then slathers a whole palm full of orange paint across Hob's chest, truly coating his chest hair in it, tracing a heart pattern in its wake. God, he's a menace.

"Oh, no," says Dream, deadpan, "now you will have to soak in the bath for hours to get it all out."

Hob dips his fingertips in the blue glitter paint and smears it over Dream's temple, tangling his fingers in the longest strands of his hair. "Now you'll have to be there with me."

"Horrible," Dream says, giggling again. “How will I survive it?”

Hob draws a heart shape on his chest, then kisses him, getting paint on his mouth. It tastes horrible, but he doesn’t care, because he’s kissing Dream. It’s always a marvel.

Dream curls his hands into Hob’s hair, making it all tacky with paint. He kisses Hob’s cheek, leaving a painted mark. “I think you are a lovely canvas,” he says. “Perhaps the loveliest. Should I paint you? I think you would look gorgeous.”

The thought of Dream’s delicate fingers all over him as he makes his paintings makes Hob shiver. “Paint me all orange? I’m sure it’ll be flattering.”

“Orange, and red, and yellow,” says Dream. “The colors of the sunset.”

Hob feels unexpectedly sentimental about it. “I’d think an artist like you would be using words like ‘ochre.’”

“Unfortunately,” Dream says with utter seriousness, “finger paint does not come in ochre. Though it would certainly complement your skin tone.”

Hob laughs. Resolves to try to find finger paint in ochre just to make Dream smile.

“You’ll just have to make it with the primary colors,” he says.

Dream grins, caught immediately by the paints, and sets to painting Hob how he sees fit. Hob submits to the treatment. Tries to cope with the feeling of Dream’s fingers all over him without having to put the paints aside and initiate another activity entirely.

Later, buzzing with the feeling of Dream touching him and sticky with paint, he finds himself in the bath, Dream lying against his chest and dragging his fingers through Hob’s chest hair, leaving eddying swirls of orange paint in the water as it slowly washes off. Dream’s own hair is still clumped together with blue glitter.

“This is slower to come out than I even anticipated,” Dream observes, still lightly touching Hob’s chest. “Perhaps next time you might acquire actual body paint.”

“Maybe next time you’ll just make a painting of me instead of painting me,” Hob suggests, chuckling.

“It was your idea,” Dream reminds him.

He lays his cheek on Hob’s shoulder, smearing more of the wet paint. “This was fun. I always enjoy the time I spend with you.”

Hob runs a hand through his hair, dripping water and streams of blue. It’s worth any and all mess to see Dream smile the way he had. “Me too, love.”

“Being with you makes me want to make art again,” Dream says. His lips quirk in amusement. “And not only on you.”

It’s really all Hob had ever wanted.

“I’m glad, sweetheart,” he says, holding Dream close, “I’m so glad.”

—

A few months later.

—

Hob is so proud of Dream for deciding to exhibit some of his art again. Hob’s always thought Dream’s new art was lovely, but he knows Dream didn’t always feel the same way. And still, his new art doesn’t look the same as his old pieces. But he’s putting on an exhibition anyway.

Hob might have taken him out for an embarrassingly extravagant dinner to celebrate the announcement.

Now he’s reaping the rewards—the reward, of course, being gazing at Dream in his formal wear. He looks incredibly elegant in his glittering black suit. It had taken Hob a while to get his mind back online after first seeing him, and he’d had to dip him into a kiss before they left the flat.

Now that they’re actually at the show, he’s managing better to keep his thoughts suitable for a public space, but mainly because he’s more focused on how Dream is feeling. And on keeping any unsavory characters away, should they dare to show up.

But as they stand in the corner of the room, watching the people milling about and studying the paintings, Dream is fidgeting. Shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, rubbing his fingers together. Hob watches him do it for a few minutes before finally saying something.

“Are you worried he’s going to show up? Because I’ll throw him out.”

“I know you will,” Dream says. Still, he keeps watching the room nervously, all the people meandering around, chatting amongst themselves. “It’s not that. It’s… what if they all hate it?”

Hob takes his hand and squeezes it. “Did you used to get nervous before?”

“Sometimes. But I knew, at least, that I felt confident in what I had made. What anyone else thought of it was of less importance.” He looks up at the painting they’re closest to, a large, cool-toned piece. “I still feel sometimes that it is not right, now.”

“Maybe it’s right for now,” Hob says, and Dream looks at him questioningly. “Didn’t most famous artists have seasons? They didn’t always work in the same style for their whole careers.”

“I suppose that’s true.” He sighs. “I am still getting used to it.”

“You also don’t have to sell them, if you don’t want to,” Hob points out. “Remove that whole bit from the equation.”

“I want to know that I can,” says Dream. “That this, as a career, is not hopeless.”

“I’ll buy them,” Hob swears.

“One, that would result in a net of zero money coming in. Two—” his lips twitch up— “you can’t afford me.”

“You’re right, I can’t. You should have tipped your physical therapist, then maybe I could.”

“I’m already sleeping with my physical therapist, now I have to pay you as well?”

“Sex can’t buy paintings, Dream,” Hob says sadly. “Well, unless...”

“Hmm. Perhaps I’ll just do a portrait of you for my next exhibition,” Dream muses. “A nude one.”

“Hell yeah,” Hob says, and Dream, evidently anticipating a no, starts giggling. “Just don’t sell it. Makes me feel weird to think of some random guy with one of my nudes above their mantlepiece.”

“One of your nudes?” Dream asks, raising an eyebrow. “There are others I’m unaware of?”

Hob just winks at him.

Dream studies him, intrigued, for another moment, tongue running over his lower lip. He’s learned what that sort of look does to Hob.

Hob swallows hard. “Could get started on it now?”

Dream chuckles. “Later. For now—” he straightens his shoulders— “I must try to sell this art.”

In the end, Dream did manage to sell a few paintings. Hob didn’t even buy any, though he was tempted to. Even without his interference, Dream left the exhibition flush with cash and, more importantly, pride.

Hob knew he hadn’t really believed he could do it: make art again in the first place, and especially not of a quality that someone would buy. But he’d done it.

He’d insisted on taking Hob out afterwards, rather than the other way around, and now Hob is shepherding a rather drunk Dream back to their flat.

“They actually liked it, Hob,” Dream says, and hiccups. He leans heavily against Hob’s side as Hob tries to maneuver them up the stairs to the flat. “The new art. They liked it.”

“I know, sweetheart, they did,” Hob agrees as he somehow gets them both through the door. He tumbles them into the bedroom and sets Dream down on the bed. Dream flops backwards, lying on his back on the mattress.

“It’s allll because of you,” he slurs, staring up at the ceiling. “You fixed…” he waves his hand vaguely.

Hob gets Dream’s shoes off, and then his own, and crawls into bed beside him. Their nice jackets and shirts crumple but he pays it no mind. “Oh, yeah? What did I fix?”

Sober Dream, he thinks, knows that this wasn’t really Hob’s doing. That no matter what Hob had contributed in terms of rehabilitating his hand, it was Dream who still had to put in the work to get back here. Dream knows that, usually.

Drunk Dream is trying to tell him something different, he thinks.

“All of it,” Dream insists. He lays his limp hand over his heart. “Me.”

“Aw, sweetheart.” Hob leans over him to kiss him. Dream hums in pleasure and twines a hand in his hair, tugging him down.

“I love you,” he mumbles, lips smearing against Hob’s. He sounds so happy. Very, very drunk still, but happy. Hob remembers the caged, nervous Dream he’d first met, who’d barely wanted to let him see his hand. Maybe he has managed to fix something, after all.

“I love you, too, baby,” he says, unexpectedly choked up. Dream cuddles him close, burying his face in Hob’s neck, worming his limbs around him so they’re all tangled up together. Hob holds him like that until he falls asleep, resigning himself to their ruined formal wear, basking in the fact that Dream is happy.

It’s all that matters to him, in the end.

#brief yet very sappy ending #physical therapy fic #my writing #dreamling

[quinnylouhughesx43]

𝐸𝓍𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓉𝒾𝓈𝑒

𝑅𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: yes/no

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: in which y/n is dared to kiss Jack during spin the bottle

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: jack!platonic -> Jack x Reader, use of y/n, female reader, friends to lover, fluff, part 1, unedited,

𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒: 1) I wrote this in different point of view, but still used (y/n). I’m hoping this allows for better flow and clarity. 2)please remember that anything written by me is purely for entertainment purposes. The fic written may be based off an official event that occurred, but facts may be skewed to fit the plot. Please do not take these fics for reference or for more than what they are intended to be. With that being said, I hope you enjoy.♡︎

ミ★☆彡

“Are you sure you’re okay with playing?” Jack asked squeezing her hand for comfort. He knew the likely chance that she was going to get dared to do something she was uncomfortable with or she would land on the kiss block. “Yeah it’s fine rowdy.” She gave him a small unconvincing smile. Jack didn’t push any further he only took a seat next to her in the circle of the others gathered to play spin the bottle.

(Y/n) wouldn’t admit to anyone but she was quite nervous to be sitting in this circle made up of numerous friends, people she didn’t know, her lifelong best friend who she had developed feelings for when she shouldn’t have, and her number 1 enemy.

She wasn’t sure when her feelings started to change towards Jack but they had. She did her best to keep them under wraps and act as if their normal interactions didn’t send her heart into overdrive, but it’s getting harder and harder. The two had always been the friends who cuddled and napped together. It was nothing for Jack to have her in his lap if all the lawn chairs were taken during a bonfire.

“If you get something you’re uncomfortable doing we will just leave, okay?” Jack whispers to (y/n) breaking her out of her thoughts. “Oh yeah, sounds good.” She smiles at him as Natalie, prime-enemy 1, starts rattling off the rules of the game. “Of course she would be in charge.” (Y/n) couldn’t help but mutter to herself, at least she thought, Jack heard her and laughed. “Not too late to back out.” He reminded her, but really it was. Natalie already saw her and Jack sitting in the circle.

After a few spins and narrow escapes the bottle landed on (y/n). “Alright Ms. Goodie-goodie, this should be fun.” Natalie snarks causing most of the group to laugh. Jack leaned closer to (y/n) to offer his support. As if to remind her that they could dip at any moment. “Truth, dare, or are you going to take two shots?” Natalie asks.

(Y/n) hesitates for a moment before deciding today is the last day she lives in fear of her enemy. “Dare.” She chooses boldly. Natalie’s smirk grows, and Jack stiffens next to her. “Hmm. Okay then. I dare you to kiss Jack. Right here in front of everyone.” Natalie never broke eye contact with (y/n) while making her dare. (Y/n)’s heart rate was crazy fast and her head was spinning.

Quickly glancing over to check Jack’s reaction she didn’t expect to see him studying her. “Hey, you don’t have to. Remember what i said.” Jack talks softly so it’s just between them. “No, rowdy. If it’s ok, I..I’ll do it.” She was doing her best to be confident in the moment. “What’s the hold up? Some of us want to get on with the game. If you don’t want to kiss him i will.” Natalie groans but it only entices (y/n) to leap into action.

She leans forward and softly brushes her lips across Jack’s. The moment her lips begin to move away from his, Jack immediately has one hand gripping her waist and the other cupping her face. (Y/n) gasps, yet quickly adjusts to follow Jack’s lead. Her and Jack’s lips moved in perfect synchrony. She was unaware that Jack was hoping she wouldn’t back out of the dare. Jack had been waiting for the day to kiss her and it not ruin their friendship if feelings weren’t reciprocated.

Jack moved his hand that was cupping her face down to her waist as well and pulled her closer to him. What the two weren’t paying attention to was that any closer and (y/n) would be straddling his lap. Whistles and hoots let out around the room. Jack reluctantly pulled away from the sweet fiery kiss. He didn’t care what anyone thought at this point he finished pulling his best friend into his lap and hugged her tightly to his body.

“Let’s get out of here.” Jack tells (y/n). She doesn’t say anything only nods and stands up. Both of them ignoring the calls from the group behind them. Jack pulls her outside and to his car.

“(Y/n). You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that. How long I’ve wanted to do that.” He admits, searching her face for signs of regret, disgust from his actions, anything to tell him to stop. But there isn’t anything except pure admiration in her eyes. “Jack.” His name sounds like honey to him. “I just have one question.” He interrupts her. “How the heck did you become an expert kisser? Because i never wanted to stop in there. It was so intoxicating. Invigorating.” His hands were back on her waist pulling her close to him. “I… I don’t know? I just followed your lead.. that was my first kiss. I thought you knew that?”

Jack’s eyes went huge before he quickly composed himself. “Can I be your next 100 or so more?” He cheekily asked. (Y/n) dropped her gaze feeling her face begin to burn.

“But we’re just friends, Jack.” He breathed out a slight laugh. “The hell we are, you’re mine now silly girl.” Grabbing her chin gently tilting her head up so he can look her in the eyes. “I’ve wanted to make you my girl for a long time, I know you feel the same way please don’t deny it. I will make every day worth it and the next day even better. I promise. I’ve loved you and cared for you since we were kids as your best friend, just give me a chance to prove to you I can truly love you as your boyfriend.” (Y/n) smiled ever so softly at the boy she knew when he was missing his two front teeth who’s turned into the handsome young man professing his feelings for her. Reaching up to touch his face, she whispers as if anyone could hear her “yes, Jack. Yes today. Yes tomorrow, it would’ve been yes two years ago.”

The overly excited boy all but smashed his lips to hers for the second time. “I can’t believe I waited so long for this. I never want to stop.” Jack said in between kisses. “Come home with me, please.”

ミ★☆彡

unedited - wrote on the tumblr app during a storm while having to shelter in place at work because of a tornado warning. I’ll rewrite later & there will be a pt 2.

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