#no bc i Need so desperately to be that person who turns up to classes at uni looking absolutely out of place

[azurajay]

i need to dress more like a wizard. time for a wardrobe overhaul

#HOW do i achieve this tho #a cape #how do aquire a cape #no bc i Need so desperately to be that person who turns up to classes at uni looking absolutely out of place #i need to be so over the top all of the time #i dressed like an elf when we were studying fantasy as a genre #i have halloween week where i dress progressively spookier and spookier leading up to hallows eve #now i Need to Become a Wizard #i also REALLY want to dress like a fairy now -- i was gonna equate my current style to be fairy like but im not even slightly extra with it #ive gotta start layering like crazy bro i gotta be so overboard i gotta go charity shopping NEOWWW #bluejay sings

[lightsoutletsgo]

i told the stars about you — op.81 (royalty au)

pairing: prince!oscar piastri x lady-in-waiting!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: angst? heartbreak, slightly inaccurate and semi-confusing greek mythology references, a spot-the-princess-diaries quote just bc i can

I actually wrote this listening to the bridgerton soundtrack... it's not what I usually write so I hope it's okay! please lmk what you think and if you'd like to see more like this. for extra heartbreak, listen to "love is a choice" from the bridgerton soundtrack on repeat while reading happy reading! love mimi 🤍

It was an accident really. Well, less of an accident and more of a cruel twist of fate if you had to summarise it. After all, such a cliche thing to happen. The lady-in-waiting to the Princess falls in love with the visiting Prince her future ruler is tied to in an arranged marriage.

Had any sensible person heard the predicament you were in they may have sympathised but still scoffed at how foolishly the two of you were behaving. Desperately entangling yourselves with one another despite the inevitable heartbreak that was bound to come any day now.

“Did I ever tell you how much I love the stars?” You led on your back on the grass underneath the night’s sky, delicately raising a hand to trace invisible lines between each star above you. Oscar chuckled next to you as his hand slid over yours, joining you in your night sky tracing, “I believe you may have mentioned it once or twice before…” You gave a faint smile as your arm grew tired, choosing to link your hand with his and rest them by your sides. “Have I ever told you why?” Oscar rolled onto his side, facing you as his eyes searched yours, smiling at the way they reflected the moonlight,

“Actually, I don’t think you have told me that.” You sat up quickly, always excited to share the story with someone. 

Oscar sat up before he moved to sit behind you, pulling you to lean back into his chest as his arms encircled your body, head gently resting on your shoulder. “See that star up there?” You pointed to almost directly above you, “That’s the North Star isn’t it?” You nodded and turned your head to reward his correct answer with a soft kiss to the cheek. “Mmhmm! When I was a child, my mother used to tell me stories of the stars every night…” You sighed happily at the memories, “There was one story that I loved far more than any others. The story of Perseus and Andromeda.” “I think I learned about that a long time ago… During my classical classes…” “Show off…” You reached one hand up to gently flick his nose. “Well, the story goes that Princess Andromeda was a very beautiful woman. Her mother, Queen Cassiopeia, claimed her daughter was more beautiful than Poseidon’s daughters. As punishment for her vanity, Poseidon sent the sea monster Cetus. Andromeda’s father, King Cepheus, trusted the sea monster to disappear if they were to sacrifice her. Just before she was devoured by the sea monster, Perseus came by on his flying horse Pegasus. He was on his way home after one of his great adventures. Perseus fell in love with the beautiful Andromeda and struck a deal with her parents. Perseus would save their daughter by killing the sea monster and in return he would be allowed to marry her. Andromeda however, was already promised to marry another man, Phineus. A fight arose between the two which Perseus eventually won. And so Perseus and Andromeda lived happily ever after.” 

Oscar smiled at the sight of your eyes lighting up as you told the story. He nuzzled his nose into your neck making you giggle as you carried on, “All of the people in the story were placed in the sky by the gods, so their story would never be lost. Perseus and Andromeda are still positioned close together in the sky, where they rotate around the North Star, see?” Oscar’s eyes followed to where you were pointing once more. He kissed your cheek as you gave a happy contented little hum.“Mother always used to say that lovers who needed advice or guidance would talk to the stars… And that those confessions of lovers to the stars meant that their love would last forever, just like Perseus and Andromeda…” You reached for the bouquet of daisies you’d picked earlier that evening.

“You know..." Slowly, you plucked each petal off of the daisies you carefully held. "I told the stars about you." Oscar chuckled, not expecting to hear such words from the lady sitting with him. "What did you tell them?" You turned to look at him and smiled, staring at his brown eyes. "I told them you have your own constellations on your cheeks." Your stare landed on the faint few freckles dotted on his face. He laughed, "What? What does that even mean?" 

You showed him a half smile before looking down at the daisies and plucking the petals again. "I told the stars you have more stars in your eyes than there are stars in the sky"

His smile slowly faded, instead he looked almost like he was holding his breath, like he didn’t dare breath incase it ruined the moment, "I told them that you are the moon that shines brightest in my eyes when I'm surrounded by darkness. I told them I always wish for you on a shooting star." You gave him the daisies you had been holding since you’d sat next to him. All petals now plucked. Oscar looked confused as he took the flowers, about to open his mouth.

"Do you want to know why?” You cut him off with a sweet smile before he could even open his mouth to answer, “Because I got tired of asking the flowers if you love me or not." “Y/N…” Oscar’s voice was barely above a whisper. You spoke softly, "Do you know what the stars replied?"

"W-what?" He thought he’d lost his voice for a moment. 

You smiled.

"Go after him."  

Silence. “So will you…” “I'm in love with the King-to-be, and I'm inquiring if he loves me too…” Oscar’s eyes lit up and in that moment, you felt as if all the air had been taken from you. One of your hands gently cupped his face as your thumb rubbed over his cheekbone, “You really do have stars in your eyes.” “And your eyes hold the whole galaxy, my love.” Oscar pulled you close to him and sighed in contentment as you shyly buried your face into his shoulder, the stars twinkling at you both from above, as if centuries of lovers were sprinkling their blessing on the two of you. In hindsight you supposed it might have been a warning, that heartbreak would ensue no matter how much you loved him 　 ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆　　　

“I told the stars about you!” Oscar cried out. 

You stopped. “I told the stars about you,” he repeated, trying and failing to hold back tears that were already falling, “I told them that I would never let you become one and end up so far away from me, I told them how you said you would always stay by my side, and...” Oscar looked back at you, where you were now facing him.

“I told them I loved you.” Your eyes widened slightly before your face fell again.

“...We always knew this was going to happen. We cannot change what our fate is, Oscar, I mean…” You looked back down at the ground, clenching your fists tightly before you spoke again. “Your Highness-”

“Don’t call me that, Y/N.” Oscar said immediately, rushing up to you. “Y-you’re not a lady-in-waiting. I'm not a Prince. We’re just Oscar and Y/N, two people who fell in love the instant they saw one another.” He stared at you, not fighting the tears anymore. “Two people who fell in love under the stars… I want that Y/N back.” Your heart broke as his voice cracked, overcome with emotion. “Please my love…”

But still you said nothing

“Where’s the Y/N who would tell me she loved me, the Y/N who vowed to be by my side forever, and… the Y/N who would tell the stars about me?” You finally looked up at him, and Oscar searched your eyes desperately for a shred of his Y/N in you. A lone tear spilt over and fell down your cheek. Sparkling in the moonlight, it almost looked like a shooting star. ‘How ironic.’ He thought to himself bitterly. You wiped the tear away and as quickly as it had appeared it was gone.

Oscar’s eyes darkened, and he wiped his face, his expression hardening, “My apologies, Lady Y/N.” He said, his voice cold. “This has been rather inappropriate. I believe you must have somewhere to be?” “My apologies, your Highness. Permission to leave?” It was time to accept that the old Y/N was gone, leaving a stranger in front of him. And if his Y/N was gone, there was no reason to keep taking up a stranger’s time.

“...Granted.” You began to move before you hesitated, leaned into his side, whispered something, and left. Oscar’s eyes widened once again, and a tear fell down his cheek. 

“I never stopped telling the stars about you.”

Oscar quickly turned around to watch you leave. A pained smile slowly spread across his face. He didn’t try to stop you. You wore a similar smile as you forced your feet to walk away. You wanted nothing more than to kiss him once again, but that was a dream you couldn’t have anymore. It was a dream you’d have to tell the stars about.

#mimi.writes #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri angst #f1 x you #oscar piastri x you #f1 angst #f1 fic #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri oneshot #f1 oneshot

[thedevilspearl]

please be on your old man Lucifer agenda more often we love to see it 🙇

a/n: so lucifer with erectile dysfunction is what gets you going, huh? kidding but yesss let’s talk about old man luci some more bc i for one can’t get enough (i am tempted to start spreading my dilf!lucifer agenda >_<)

warning: none really, other than age gap maybe (but it’s nothing specified). minors do not interact!

oldman!lucifer is a man with impeccable and acquired taste. so it doesn’t matter if you’re a pretty, young thing or aged like fine wine just like him; if he chooses you, that’s a blessing in and of itself.

his bones may be beginning to wear away and his body may ache with the years he has lived through, but oldman!lucifer always has the energy to pursue the one who caught his eye.

speaking of eyes, oldman!lucifer has cute little crows feet on his. and the ruby in his eyes still glimmer, showing that despite his age, he has more than enough spirit left in him.

but oldman!lucifer has very poor eyesight so more often than not, he’ll be wearing his glasses. they’re a nuisance at times, but he will always wear them when you’re around because he wants to see your beauty in all it’s glory.

even when you’re on your knees between his legs, oldman!lucifer will push up his glasses that keep sliding down from the sweat just so he can admire your pretty face as you gag on his cock.

now onto the cock, having erectile dysfunction is not something oldman!lucifer would ever want to admit. but when your piece of ass first crossed his path, it was the first time he felt himself harden naturally in months. your pretty face and compatible personality only add to his attraction for you.

oldman!lucifer longs for you and his cock hardens thinking of you and how wonderful his cock would feel wrapped up in your body. he reminisces the way you touched his arm and the flirty smile you flashed his way earlier that day.

he grunts as he strokes his cock under the covers and oldman!lucifer feels ashamed to be sullying your image by masturbating to the thought of you just because he can finally get hard again.

but then oldman!lucifer reminds himself that you are the reason he’s jacking off at midnight like a teenage boy who can’t control his hormones.

so oldman!lucifer decides pursuing the real thing would be much more exciting than his juvenile activities. so when you next meet, he decides to approach you.

he flirts with you in a way which you can only describe as gentlemanly. oldman!lucifer pursues you with elegance and class, taking you to the finest of places. if you prefer more simple and humble settings, he will learn and cater all dates to your interest and comfort.

and you don’t need to think twice because oldman!lucifer pays for all of your dates. that’s how it was done back in his day, and it’s most certainly how he does it now.

his legs may be weaker than when he was younger, but oldman!lucifer doesn’t miss the way your feet rub up and down his calf under the table and it shoots shocks of electricity right up his legs and to his cock.

oldman!lucifer went from having no control over his cock getting hard to trying his hardest to hide his boner as he walks out of the restaurant with you on his arm.

like the gentleman he is, oldman!lucifer drives you home and pretends he doesn’t notice the way your gaze lingers on him while he drives. he pulls up and walks you to your door, and he told himself to not be desperate and get his dick wet too early. but he can’t stop himself when you asked him to come in with those seductively pouty lips and needy eyes.

he takes it easy on the first night, slowly drowning you in pleasure and oldman!lucifer can barely hold back himself. he hasn’t had a night like this since....well, he can’t remember how long it’s been.

and he doesn’t give up after one night. he meets up with you several times a week, then it turns into every day. and it’s not just for sex. for a man at his age, it’s difficult for oldman!lucifer to find valuable company that appreciates him as much as he appreciates others.

but that changes with you and the already lonely soul of oldman!lucifer is even lonelier when he’s not around you.

oldman!lucifer does move quickly and his pacing may scare you, but it’s just because he’s desperate for companionship.

he loves having his cock buried in your hole(s) and oldman!lucifer loves hearing you scream his name as he ploughs into you, or listening to you whimper with tears when he makes love to you.

he loves feeling alive again, not just because his cock is but because you redefine his meaning of living. oldman!lucifer thought he’d learned everything there was to learn, but you teach him things he would never thought to have known.

oldman!lucifer ’s love language is gift giving. he is always thinking of new things to buy you. but he’s an old man so sometimes his gifts are what you’d expect your grandparents to give you when you move into your first home.

he doesn’t know what an air fryer is, but he thinks you need one and now you have one in your kitchen. is that a new top of the range vacuum cleaner? well, now it’s added to his shopping basket ready to be delivered to your house as a surprise. oldman!lucifer takes care of your home as much as he takes care of you.

even if he has kids of his own, oldman!lucifer doesn’t think he’s particularly good with children. toddlers and young kids tend to be repelled by his resting grumpy face, but teenagers, however, take a liking to him.

oldman!lucifer has shiny silver tips in his hair, and he obsesses every morning when he looks in the mirror because he has two, no, three new grey hairs and he can’t handle it. nor can he handle the wrinkles. to cope, he forces himself to act cool and nonchalant about his ageing, like he didn’t even notice it happening.

but oldman!lucifer finds a way to love it all because you run your fingers through his greying hair with so much gentleness, and you kiss all of his skin with so much love regardless of his wrinkles, and you adore him exactly how he is that makes him never want to change.

#i got majorly carried away with these #♡ pearl’s writing #obey me x reader #obey me #obey me smut #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer smut

[forever-rogue]

hi there i hope you’re having an amazing day!! i was hoping to request a steve harrington x fem!reader fic. they’ve been together for a few months but reader hasn’t come out to him as bisexual. she knows steve will be accepting but still has a sense of hesitance bc of his king steve era in high school. steve notices something is going on and tries to figure out what it is. reader eventually confesses what’s been happening in her mind and comes out. steve comforts her and tells her he’s proud of her. but then he tells her that he’s also bisexual and he was afraid to be vulnerable and share who he is until he met the reader. thank you so much, your writing is amazing!!

AN | As a fellow bisexual, I love this! Enjoy because it’s soft and sweet 🥺

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Steve x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.3k

Masterlist | Steve, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Robin?" your voice was so soft and timid that she almost didn't hear it. She looked up from the movie returns she was sorting through and raised an eyebrow in question. You sighed heavily before hopping onto the counter and anxiously swinging your legs back and forth.

"C'mon," she sat cross-legged on the ground and looked up at you with curiosity glittering in her eyes, "out with it."

You cast a furtive look around the store, checking to make sure that Steve wasn't there. Which was unrealistic, considering you knew he was doing his afternoon classes at the local university. You'd stopped by to bring Robin lunch…and pick her brains but right now it all seemed so hard.

"Ummm…okay,” you clutched at the edge of the counter, holding it so tightly that your knuckles were turning white. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, trying to search for the right words, “how did you know…or I guess realize that you were a lesbian?”

“Oh? Has the dignus finally made you realize that you don’t need men?” she joked and your face warmed up as you shook your head .

“N-no,” you shrugged, fingers anxiously drumming along the countertop, “I love Stevie, in all the ways, but I think I might…like women too.”

She snorted in amusement but when she saw the look on your face, Robin broke into a fit of giggles. You sighed softly and offered her a look that was nothing short of desperation, "oh. Oh. You're not…joking, are you?"

"No," you shook your head, playing nervously with your hands. You knew that Robin was the last person to judge you, but it still felt hard. You allowed yourself a quick peek at her and saw nothing but tenderness on her soft features, "I'm not."

"Babe," she stood up and threw her arms around you, squeezing you tightly but causing you to relax, "first of all - congrats on the revelation! And secondly - what's wrong? What's got you upset?"

"I guess just…it feels wrong," Robin reached up and gently wiped the tears that had rolled down your cheeks away, "I'm with Steve! Like it doesn't even matter but it's been nagging at me. What if I'm just making this all up in my mind?"

"I'm going to tell you that no matter what you think or the fact that you're with Steve and clearly so in love with him it's disgusting, who you are matters," she reached for your hand and held it gently in hers, "its a part of who you are, whether or not you're with a man or a woman."

"I do love Steve…more than anything,” even the mere thought of him was enough to give you butterflies, “but I feel like this is something that’s a part of me too.”

“Then it’s important and it matters,” she promised and that made you relax a little bit, “both can be true, you know. You can love and be with Steve, and at the same time, you can still be bisexual. Even if you never date anyone else, that’s still a large part of who you are. And the people that matter will understand; if someone doesn’t understand, then they’re not your people.”

“Those are some wise words,” you sniffled slightly, moved by her kindness and love, unable to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around her and giving her a tight hug, “thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” she insisted with a kiss pressed to your cheek, “that’s what friends do.”

“And you’re the bestest of them all,” you seriously didn’t know what you would have done without them, “seriously.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Despite Robin’s words of reassurance, you still antagonized over what to do next for so long. At least that’s what it seemed like….in reality it had only been a few days but when your mind was so full of a million different thoughts it seemed much longer. Steve had noticed that something was off, and had asked if something was wrong a few times but you never provided him with an answer. 

You brushed it off and just claimed that you were tired, but you knew that he knew you weren’t giving him the full truth. One of the many wonderful things about Steve was how patient and gentle he was. He knew that you’d come around and tell him what was going on when you were ready.

But as you laid next to him at night, trying to fall asleep in his arms, in your own shared apartment, the spaces where you felt the most loved and safe, you still felt a bit of nervousness. There were so what ifs swirling around your mind; what if you told Steve that you were bisexual and he hated you? What if he didn’t support you? What if he didn’t believe you? 

So many questions all at once. 

Eventually, however, everything had to come to a head. And it happened just as you imagined it would; easily and effortlessly.

You’d beaten Steve home and started cooking dinner, thinking nothing of it. The two of you often split these types of chores, but one of the things you always loved was that you both ended up in the kitchen together. 

“Hey lovely,” you’d been so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t heard Steve come in, let alone walk into the kitchen. You looked up from the sauce you were currently making on the stove and offered him a soft smile. He crossed the kitchen and stood behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder, “missed you today.”

“Hello, my love,” you turned your head so you could kiss his cheek, making a small sound of content as he squeezed you gently, “missed you too.”

“What can I do to help?” he asked softly and you shook your head, “come on, there’s gotta be something I can do.”

“Pour us some wine,” you nudged him in the direction of the cabinet so he could grab a couple of glasses, “and be generous with the pour.”

“I think I can handle that,” he grabbed the glasses and made quick work of pouring some of the sweet red you liked, setting the glasses down on the counter. You carried on but stopped to take a drink before giving him a berry sweet kiss. But despite how normal you believed you were presenting yourself, Steve could still tell something was bothering you, “honey girl, what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” you asked softly, slapping a stiff smile on your face, “hmm?”

“Something’s been on your mind,” he whispered softly, “and I can tell it’s been weighing on you. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

You swallowed thickly, attempting to make your face as neutral as possible. You took a long drink before turning to him, "nothing is going on, my love."

He inhaled deeply and you could tell that he had so much more on his mind but was trying to process exactly how much to say. Eventually he just nodded, a slight frown tugging down the corners of his mouth, "alright. Y-you know you can tell me anything, right?"

"Of course I do," you set your hands on his broad shoulders and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, "I trust you more than anyone else."

"Good," he offered a little half smile in response before gently touching your cheek, "let's go out for ice cream after dinner, huh?"

"Ooh, that sounds lovely!" You beamed at him and he relaxed slightly. At least you were still mostly yourself…the rest, he hoped, would come out in time. All he wanted for you was to be happy and he wanted to share in that happiness.

But he was a calm and patient and gentle man, and he would be ready to be there for you and support you whenever you were ready.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was late, so late that the only things keeping you company were the night insects and hooting owls. The window was open bringing in a much needed and gentle breeze. You were on your side and staring out the window into the darkness, unable to find sleep and opting to count stars instead. Steve was fast asleep next to you, an arm slung around your waist as he snorted gently. 

You had been so close to telling him your little secret for days now, but you just couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it. Every time you were ready to, it felt like a giant pit had lodged itself into your belly. 

“Oh Steve,” you wished it out into the void more than anything, not expecting that he was awake or would even register that you were talking to him, “I love you so very much.”

“Hmm,” you felt him shift slightly and almost froze up as his arm tightened around you, “love you too, angel.”

You stiffened when you realized that he was awake. You weren’t sure what it was, but for some reason, whether it was the cloak of night or the hope that he was half asleep and wouldn’t remember this, you felt brave. You reached for his hand and laced your fingers together, that familiar sense of safeness and security settling into your bones. 

“Can I tell you something, Steve?” your heart was hammering as you closed your eyes and swallowed the lump in your throat. 

“Anything,” he promised, pressing a few soft, featherlight kisses to your shoulder, “nothing could ever change how much I love you.”

“I-I know,” you choked up and took a moment to compose yourself, “I think…no, I, umm…I’m bisexual.”

He said nothing for a moment and your mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion.

He didn’t believe you. He hated you. He wouldn’t love you anymore. He was going to break up with you.

“It’s been on my mind a lot lately and I’ve just been thinking about it,” you wanted to cry when you felt him pull his arm from around you, “and I never want to keep secrets from you. I-I’m sorry but I just wanted to tell you.”

When he still didn’t say anything you were all but ready to pack your bags and leave. But then he sat up and leaned against the headboard and flicked on the light on the nightstand. You looked up and when you didn’t see anger on his face, you followed suit and looked at him with wide eyes. 

“S-Stevie?”

“Is that what’s been on your mind?” he asked softly, so different than what you had initially expected. You nodded slowly, unable to contain the tears that started to roll down your cheeks which he quickly wiped away, “baby.”

“I was scared to tell you,” you confessed, “I didn’t know if I should.”

“You never have to be scared to tell me anything,” he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to share that with me.”

“Me too,” you smiled when you felt him take your hand and start playing with your fingers, a method of keeping you both calm, “I thought about not doing it at all ‘cause it doesn’t really matter.”

“Why wouldn’t it matter?” his pretty honey caramel eyes narrowed in confusion, a look so cute and puppy-like that it made your heart melt, “of course it matters.”

“Because I’m dating you,” he took your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles and then your palm, “and you’re a man and I’m a woman and…I don’t ever plan on not being with you so…in a way it felt like it doesn’t matter.”

“It’s a part of who you are,” he put a finger under your chin and turned your face up to meet his, “and it matters no matter what. Being with me doesn’t change that.”

“Thank you,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and let him pull you into his warm, strong body, burrowing your face into his chest and inhaled his familiar scent, “I love you so much.”

“Can I tell you something too?”

“Anything.”

“I am…bisexual,” you pulled back from him and looked to see if he was being serious or joking, not that you’d ever expect him to joke about something like that. When he offered you a soft, dopey little half smile you realized he was telling the truth, “just like you.”

“I…Steve,” you put your hand on his cheek and looked at him incredulously, “I…wow. But…how come you never said anything?”

“I guess it’s really a pretty simple answer,” he too felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, “I didn’t really think it mattered. But then…when you told me, I realized it did matter. Just like it matters with you, it matters with me too. And no, I don’t ever plan on not being with you either. It’ll always be us, angel.”

“I love you so much,” you just beamed at him. This had gone very differently than what you had expected, even in the million different scenarios that had run through your head. You kissed him, a slew of different emotions running through your veins, taking his face in your hands and throwing every bit of love you had at him, “so, so much.”

“I love you too,” he pulled you fully into his lap, settling his hands on your hips, “I’m glad we were able to finally get this out there.”

“Me too,” you agreed, softly, “you are everything to me, Steve Harrington.”

“You are everything to me, angel,” he tenderly kissed your temple, “I love you everything you are, you have been, and will be.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #joe keery #st

[yesimwriting]

Hi! You asked us if you should keep the tension or let the bubble pop and all I have to say is KEEP YHR TENSION. 1. It does seem more realistic bc it doesn’t seem like the reader is the kind of person who would do that to her friends, and 2. The casually intimacy they all display with the bubbling tension of something more constantly keeps me going on the hard days, I NEED IT‼️ Like desperately (im so normal about this fic and is in no way unhealthy attached to it, why’d you ask?🙂*eye twitch*/j kinda) this actually got me thinking I wonder if other people ever notice how casually intimate they are? Like Stu’s naturally touchy but the way he dotes on her and the way Billy is just different from normal Billy when he’s with her,like not even just Randy, tate, and sid like other people who have known them for a while but they aren’t friends, like aquatints I’d love to see that

I’m sorry this spiraled, anyways all im saying is i personally love the tension, I love this story and I love you and you’re brilliance *MWAH <3* sorry for any spelling mistakes I was kinda rushing

a/n this ask is so sweet!! <3 also love the chance to expand on the final girl universe!!

i love this ask especially bc i feel like billy and stu have gotten so relaxed around final girl fic y/n that she probably just thinks they're like that and doesn't pick up on anyone finding it different 😭

the fic under the cut is in the final girl fic universe but it isn't a part of the main fic so it can be read as a stand alone

i think all the context needed is in the ask :) anyway here are some moments that made the people around billy, stu, and y/n raise their eyebrows a little 😭

----

"Billy." That's all it takes to snap him out of sludgy version of auto pilot he lets take over on days like this. Days that drag on in their mundaneness in a way that makes it hard for him to keep up the version of himself he's crafted for public display.

He turns his head, a strange type of fondness pinching his chest a little harder than usual thanks to the fact that you've saved him from whatever the peaked-in-high-school-quarterback-in-the-making was droning on about. Some party Billy would dip out of at the last minute or a recap of his last game.

You're smiling at him, casual but warm. He can take your appearance in more openly now than he did this morning when you were rushing to class. You're in a tank top that's a little low cut, paired with a cardigan that seems thin for today's weather. You're also wearing a skirt that's short enough to make him wish he had insisted on picking you up this morning instead of letting you walk.

Maybe he could get you to agree to a ride home. He could suggest it casually, bring up the idea of getting something to eat after school. Today's your least favorite lunch day, so it'd be an even easier sell than usual.

"Hey," he finally says when you're close enough, keeping his tone indifferent.

You stop farther than usual, eyes darting towards the walking varsity letter. It's a shift in attention that has the potential to jab at him, but the stiffness in your demeanor keeps Billy from spiraling in that direction.

"Uh...guess what?" A rhetorical question, probably an attempt to keep yourself from seeming too excited in front of the intruder. "Ms. Johnson paired us up for group projects today and this time she was a lot less mean to me...so that's cool."

Billy can almost feel the details that he's not getting because you're not alone. It's enough to make his apathetic feelings about the unwanted third party take on a violent tinge.

He wants to hear you talk more than usual today because it forces him to be present. It makes the aggravating need for patience go down easier. "So no more cheeto fingers?"

For a brief second, Billy's feels the comment in his chest. A call back to a joke you had only made a few times awhile ago. There's a chance you won't remember. A chance he remembers more than--you laugh, it comes out quick and clearly takes you by surprise.

You clamp your mouth shut, eyes glancing to the left again. "No more cheeto fingers on my notes or on my final project. I got paired with Stephanie McDonald, who I don't know for sure won't do the same thing, but she gave me a hair tie during PE one time so she doesn't seem the type."

Billy makes a mental note of the name, not being able to recall anything specific about anyone named Stephanie, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know her. It's Woodsboro, even if he's never met her he'll be able to find out something if he needs to. "Classy."

You tilt your head, eyes briefly squinting in that way that means you're trying to decide if he's teasing you or not. "You might be making fun of me, but she didn't even let me give it back."

"Not making fun of you." He shakes his head once, keeping his expression innocent, silently promising that he could never.

"Nah, that seems nice." A new voice that has you angling your body closer to the lockers. Billy fights the instinct to glare, wondering why he didn't give the guy a reason to leave as soon as he saw you. "Johnson's AP history, right?"

You nod instinctually, a small dip of your chin Billy can't fully read. "Yeah."

Billy knows the guy well enough, but they're not exactly friends. The guy's name is somewhere in Billy's head. After a second of thinking, all he can come up with is that it probably starts with a D. Damian? Or is Damian the other football player that's in his math class and always nods at Billy in the hallway?

"Cool," varsity jacket says it in a way that makes the word feel void of its typical meaning. Billy isn't sure where he's going with it, can't remember if he's one of those self proclaimed jocks that use high school as a four year power trip or just a guy that likes football. "You tutor?" The guy tilts his head, Billy presses his nails into the skin of his palm to resist the urge to step closer to you. "'Cause I wouldn't mind learning a thing or two from you."

The blatant line is finished with a bit of a laugh. Billy wants to role his eyes--a cop out in case you reject him. A built in safety net that makes it seem like he's almost making fun of you so he can laugh off your reaction if you don't instantly drop to his feet.

Your eyebrows draw together and even though your lips are neutrally set, something about your eyes makes it feel like you're frowning. Anger or annoyance for the sake of someone else is rare, Billy doesn't know how to handle the spike of defensiveness he feels. He's used to passiveness, never caring about who's messed with.

"Ignore him," the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, "He has a hard enough time keeping his GPA high enough to not get benched."

Billy doesn't know how factual that dig was, but the guy's face falls enough for Billy to assume his guess was accurate enough. The satisfaction of being right is nothing compared to what he feels when he looks at you.

Your lips are still pressed together, now in a way that's more amused than sad and your eyes are wide. The comment wasn't the kind of insult that Billy finds particularly cruel or hurtful but he knew you'd find it biting. Your reaction's enough to ease the tightening feeling in his chest without fully alleviating it. He needs to get you away before the guy says something else and more of Billy's control slips.

"You seen Stu?"

Billy knows the answer. "Yeah, this morning before homeroom." You stand a little straighter, one hand gripping the strap of your backpack. "His next class is next to mine, so I'll probably see him again in a second, why?"

"Good," he mumbles, reaching into his locker and grabbing a random notebook, "Can you give his notes back to him? He needs them back before fifth period and I missed him this morning."

Not true in the slightest, Billy knows Stu will go with it anyway. "Sure." You take the notebook, fingers brushing against his. "I'll go find him. See you later."

Billy nods as you turn away, "See you."

You're now gone. The guy who can't take a hint is still there. Maybe he's waiting for some kind of apology or explanation. Billy's turning on him does seem random considering that most of their conversation has revolved around Billy placidly agreeing to whatever. Instead of bringing anything up, varsity letter laughs. Billy raises his eyebrows, silently asking what that's about.

"Look, man, I get it, she's cute." That heavy feeling that Billy's always struggling to work with rises. The dark feeling twists its way around his lungs, making it hard to breathe without giving into impulse. "But she's so...nice and school...y." Cute, nice, and school-y. Those are the adjectives he's using to describe you. Billy was right to assume his grades are suffering. "It'd be like hooking up with a middle school try hard. Not worth whatever you're putting on."

The anger grows in density, a physical force expanding in his chest in a way that borders on painful. Rationality attempts to lighten the pressure, reminding him that it's a good thing this guy doesn't want anything to do with you. Logic tries to convince him that his focus should be on hardening himself, on making this guy and everyone else think that you're just another friend to him and that he's fully committed to Sidney.

Billy shuts his locker, harder than he meant to. "Good thing she'd never fuck you then."

The last of his patience and civility has been scorched, leaving nothing but bitter ash in its place. Billy walks away, already trying to think of an excuse to find you and Stu.

----

Stu turns angles his head to the side, just enough to look at you without really looking. You're content, watching some trailer with a measured level of investment. He focuses on that as you absentmindedly extend a hand to grab a few pieces of popcorn from the bag that he's still holding.

You're happy, he's here with you, that should be enough. It's no one's fault that more people that both of you know are here than he expected. That's the hard part of Woodsboro, one slip in front of the wrong person and the rumor mill will have an exaggerated version of events spread to over half the school by the next day. The guy that glommed onto Stu the second he noticed him in the theatre definitely falls into the category of wrong person.

Jacob whatever-his-last-name-is is a try hard. He's been searching for some kind of in, some kind of leverage on anyone that seems even slightly cooler than him since middle school. This need to be bigger and better has forced him into a permanent act that even good old, 'high school stereotypes are bullshit' Randy finds off putting.

You hadn't looked particularly bothered when Jacob stood up and waved Stu over, forcing the two of you to sit closer to the center of the theatre than Stu wanted. After realizing that the screening he had expected to be empty on a Saturday afternoon was crowded, Stu wanted to sit towards the back. It was a strategic goal, it would have given him the permission to be a little more openly touchy.

Stu had to actively focus on not holding it against you. You didn't complain or give any indication of feeling ambushed because you're nice to a point of fault.

"What'd you think of that one?" Stu shrinks down in an attempt to make whispering to you easier.

Your eyes shift away from the screen and towards him. "Hm..." You're debating, analyzing, "Not as good as the one before, but it doesn't look bad." You reach forward, taking another piece of popcorn and popping it into your mouth. "You?"

Honestly, Stu had been more focused on you than the trailers, but this last one had felt like a flat attempt to balance out horror with something artsy. But the chance to get to you is more appealing than just bashing a movie with a title he can't remember. "This one is so much better than the last one."

You snap your head away from the screen. "No." He presses his lips together to keep from grinning. What do you mean 'no'? You asked for an opinion. "You just want to start an argument."

He lets out a breath that's meant to take the place of a laugh. Is he getting that predictable? That transparent? "I never want to fight with you." You narrow your eyes, skeptical. "If Billy was here, he'd agree with me."

Your lips pull together in what's almost a pout. For a second, you're quiet, one hand coming to your opposite arm, smoothing the exposed skin quickly, like you're trying to keep warm. "He wouldn't and you know it."

"Okay," Stu's voice is suspiciously innocent, "We'll call him when he gets back from that thing with his dad."

Stu knows that Billy's dad tends to keep him out until late on weekend trips to the boat. When it gets too late to fish, he likes to keep them out on the water, spewing bullshit about Billy's mom because Billy can't escape.

"What are we going to do? Describe the movies over the phone or...?"

He raises an eyebrow, shrugging and letting his shoulder bump into yours, "Sounds like you're scared."

You grin, adjusting in your seat to make it easier to cross your arms. "Fine. If it's gonna be like that, we'll call him."

You're cold. You have to be. "Told you to bring a jacket," he sighs, already unzipping his hoodie.

"I'm fine, it's--" Too late. The jacket's already off and only somewhat awkwardly being pushed onto your lap. You touch one of the sleeves, oblivious to the way Stu struggles to look at you. "C'mon, Stu, now you'll be cold."

It's said so softly, so earnestly, Stu has to fight the urge to squirm. He can never tell if the nervous energy he feels makes him want to draw you in closer or force you away.

He ignores the touch of warmth rushing to his face. "I'm good." Stu shakes his head once, almost dismissively. "Run hot," he mumbles, finally glancing at you before nudging you with his elbow, "You know that."

You roll your eyes, smiling more than you mean to as you shrug on the jacket. The fabric is warm and criminally soft. "Totally." He'd call you out on your sarcasm, but you're already pulling on the jacket. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom."

"Sure you don't want to pick up some twizzlers before the movie starts?" You pause for a second too long and Stu knows that the suggestion has hit. Your eyes had lingered on the red plastic while buying tickets even though you insisted you didn't want them after accepting the fact that Stu wasn't going to let you pay for anything.

Scratching the back of your wrist, you give in with a sigh. "Okay." You start reaching for your purse. "I'll grab some." Stu reaches into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out some cash. "Stu."

"What?" He already knows where this is going. You're always trying to pay your own way. Every once in awhile, he lets you win just so that he can justify buying you something else. This is one of those things he probably should let go, but the additional shadow has already downed his mood. "I want them more than you do."

You sigh, pulling your purse onto your lap. "I have twizzler money."

"Oh, I'm sure, but my dad left me a bunch of cash before his latest trip and you're too pretty to buy your own twizzlers." Your resolve is cracking, like you often do whenever Stu mentions his parents. "C'mon, get me some milk duds, too."

Another sigh, the sound sharper as you let go of your purse. "You are so annoying." Stu smiles at the lack of bite in your tone as you stand, finally accepting the cash and putting it into the jacket's pocket.

"You love me, I keep you supplied in twizzlers."

You gasp, jaw dropping in offense. "Asshole."

He laugh as you turn away, "Remember the milk duds."

You glare, passive aggressively setting your bag on his lap. Stu takes it, adjusting his hold on it comfortably as you walk down the aisle.

"That's a fun thing you've got going there."

Stu can feel himself immediately tense even though Jacob's comment should feel innocent enough. There's just something about the way he says it, the hint of an edge implying more. Stu should be bothered because Jacob's the kind of guy who could turn this into a story for Tatum because he wants to have something over Stu. Instead, Stu's feeling defensive over Jacob looking at you like that.

Stu shrugs, "It's just Y/n."

Jacob's eyes briefly leave the screen before refocusing. "That was friendly even by your standards."

Feeling even more defensive over you and the way he acts around you, Stu sits up straighter. "We're friends."

"Yeah," Jacob concedes, amusement in his voice that Stu doesn't quite get, "And she's turning you into a softie."

That hits him in a different way. Sure, Stu's nice to you, nicer than he is to some guy that doesn't get that no one likes him. Stu can also admit that he's touchy with you and likes taking any excuse to be close to you. But he's not soft about it.

"What?"

Jacob laughs, the sound restrained, like he's scared he'll forget where he is and give in fully. "You're cold, here's my jacket."

Stu scoffs. That wasn't--you're--whatever, it's not like Stu cares about what Jacob thinks. He'll do what he wants, treat you however he feels like. You're the only one that comes close to getting him outside of Billy, Jacob could never get that.

"Whatever, man." Stu mumbles, hoping that you'll come back before he can get too caught in his own head. The lack of aggression in his own comment surprised him and he's not sure how much longer he'll be able to keep it up.

Another preview begins to play on the screen and for a brief second, it feels like that might be the end of the conversation. "If my friends looked like that, I wouldn't mind acting like that either."

Stu tightens his grip on the arm rest. "Maybe if you didn't make everything a thing, you'd have some."

"You're the one holding her purse," Jacob mumbles, attention turning back to the screen as if that proved something.

Stu's knuckles strain white. There's nothing sensitive about the way he feels about you. It's not Stu's fault he can't pursue right now the way he wants to, and if this asshole knew half the stuff you let him get away with he wouldn't be so smug. "Fuck off."

Maybe the comment could have been played off if Stu's tone had been lighter, more relaxed. But he didn't. It landed with the same intensity a threat would, and Stu's not completely sure he didn't mean it that way.

Soft. Hard to call someone that's pulling out your insides soft. He'd have to wait for Billy to get back, talk the idea up to him and explain why someone they've tolerated on and off since middle school deserves a call. It'd be worth it, though, because should they really leave someone that talks about you like that? Why shouldn't Stu treat you in a way that's totally normal?

"Hey," you whisper, slipping back into your seat, "Guess who got the last box of milk duds." Stu's attention shifts to you, that bloody itch becoming a lot more bearable as you smile a him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he eases, "Commercials are just getting worse."

You stop tearing into the top of the box enough to look at Stu and wrinkle your nose. "I feel you." You shake out a few pieces of chocolate into your cupped palm. Stu expects you to take them, but you don't. You just extend both hands, the box and the candy you had gotten out. When Stu doesn't react, you prompt him, "Here."

Stu moves his hand, letting you spill them into his palm, the edge of your pinky briefly resting against his. The gesture is so gentle he almost feels like he's being suffocated by it. Stu takes his hand back silently. If you notice the change in his demeanor, you don't comment on it. Instead, you just take your bag back and hand him the unopened pack of twizzlers and box.

The latest commercial comes to an end and the screen fades to the start of the opening credits. "Okay," you whisper, "Last chance to predict if this movie's going to be good or not."

"I picked it," Stu says, moving his hand enough to have the milk duds roll into each other, "Why would I think that it's bad?" He's not acting normal enough, he can feel it. "Why would you come if you think it'd be bad?" A weak question, considering that Stu knows sometimes you purposefully watch the worst movies you can find for entertainment.

You don't point out that sometimes trashy movies are worth the suffering, you just shrug. "I don't know, I kinda just wanted to hang out with you."

Something in Stu's chest cracks. His face feels warmer than it did a second ago. He's not one to feel mushy or look into tone the way Billy does from time to time, but you had said it so innocently.

"Aw," he hums, finally coming back to himself, "You like me."

"Shut up," your response is immediate, "Movie's starting."

He leans down, placing a hand over the one you're laying on the arm rest. "You like me."

You roll your eyes, "Give me a twizzler."

----

He knew. Even when Stu was still insisting that they were capable of keeping it together enough to keep the circle of people small, Billy knew that the night would turn into a party.

Billy's annoyed and slowly becoming genuinely irritated thanks to the beer and pot mixing together on an empty stomach and the drowsiness that came for him with no warning. Everything feels louder now, heavier.

He shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose harder than he should. Another 20 minutes, half an hour tops, and he'll get Stu to start shutting it all down.

The only good thing about nights like these is that you crash with them. You always choose to sober up at Stu's even though your mom doesn't seem like a hard ass when it comes to drinking. You still don't want her or your practical step dad seeing you drunk and you can't help that other people are smoking, which is something you've made clear your mom would kill you over.

It'll take some time getting you into bed. Unless you're drunk enough, you'll offer to sleep on the couch, like the three of you haven't justified sleepovers before. Sometimes drunk you has a tendency to get a second wind out of nowhere. If you get all hyper on him then it'll take even longer.

"Billy!" He opens his eyes and you're there.

He smiles easily, watching as you walk towards him. "Hey."

You stretch out an arm slowly, open palm gently pushing his arm. There's something sluggish about the movement and something else in the way you nearly miss him all together. Are you that drunk? Stu said he'd watch your drinks.

"Hay...is for horses," you state blankly, almost like some external force had possessed you to get the thought out coherently. And then you burst into a fit of tired giggles.

Billy presses his lips together. He knows you, knows how you get when you're not handling your alcohol. This isn't exactly that. It's more like you at the beginning of...

Ugh. You didn't--Stu didn't--With a sigh, Billy grabs your arm and glances around the room. Everyone's caught up in their world, and even though Sid's around here somewhere, there's nothing inherently suspicious about Billy checking on you. Especially while you're like this.

Still, better safe than sorry when Billy's not in the mood for self control. He tugs you forward, you follow as he leads you two to a nearby corner. You barely protest when Billy angles you so that your back's against the wall.

Billy squeezes your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your head so that you have to look him in the eye.

"Hey--" You mumble, protesting a second too late, "Oh, I just," you laugh, "--I said the horse thing."

Great. Your eyes are tinged red and considering the fact that Billy saw you take a few shots earlier...

He told you at the start of the night to pick one, and the easy decision for everyone had been for you to stick with alcohol. Drunk you can handle crowds and the general party atmosphere. High you is clingy and easily startled and usually more complicated to deal with.

Billy watches you intently. It only takes you a second to still in his hold, staring at him in a way that makes it harder to keep his edge. "You're high." It's not an accusation, it's a statement. "And drunk."

Your eyebrows pinch together briefly. It'd be easy to lie for the sake of it. "Not high," you defend weakly, "I smoked a little, but not--it wasn't that--I'm good. Not high."

He sighs, letting go of your face. "I told you to stick to one."

"You and Stu smoke and drink at the same time all the time." Billy just stares blankly. It's not a strong defense, but it's all you have. "'S'not a big deal."

Not a big deal now. Just wait until later when it's hitting you harder and tomorrow morning, when you're hungover. Then it'll be a big deal and it'll be his big deal.

"No?" You tilt your chin down in a barely there nod, trying to solidify your stance. "You do whatever you want now?"

You sigh, lips pulling downwards in a slight pout. "It's not like that."

"Who gave it to you?"

Your eyes won't meet his. "I don't--" You cut yourself off, still aware enough that trying to hide things at this point is the quickest way to make things take a turn for the worst right now. "Stu let me use his--a little--but it wasn't like that. It was only a little."

Yeah, considering how red your eyes are and how much slurring and concentration it took for you to get through that, Billy really doubts it was as little as you're trying to convince him. "You're going to feel sick tomorrow."

To be fully honest, you can see that, a tiny bit of off-ness already starting to pull at the edge of your current buzz. You also don't love the way the usual giddiness of alcohol is blending with the easy uncertainty of your high. But Billy doesn't need to know that right now.

"'M okay." True enough, since you're not actively spiraling, "But I believe you."

He hasn't eased and a part of you is now starting to feel bad. You know you're not the easiest person to deal with when you're like this, but you also don't think you've done anything particularly annoying. His sour mood is starting to make what's wrong about your buzz feel magnified. Yeah, Billy told you to stick to one thing but he didn't make it sound like it was a big deal to him.

You swallow once, ignoring how dry your mouth feels. "C'mon." Billy's still close, within grabbing distance. The second you realize that it'd be easy to touch him, you reach out and place a hand on his arm. "Don't be mad."

He tenses under your touch, but you don't move your hand away. "Thought we didn't listen to each other." You half-sigh-half-groan as you drop your forehead against Billy's chest. He doesn't push you off, which has to be a good sign.

Billy places a palm on your back, rubbing soothing circles against the fabric of your shirt. "Let's get some water."

That feels okay enough, so you straighten, nodding once. "Okay."

He keeps a hand on your back, leading you back towards the main area of the party and into the kitchen. You're quiet as you walk, instinctually following Billy without question.

"Hey, I was looking for you--" Stu cuts himself off as soon as he sees Billy's expression. "You guys good?"

You nod placidly, "'M good, he's--"

"You gave her some?"

Stu holds his hands up in defense, "She was begging for it."

Begging is definitely an exaggeration. You want to explain, to defend the situation and take just enough blame to keep the peace without making yourself look like the bad guy. The words jam themselves in your head, twisting until they're in such a knot that all you can manage to get out is, "Nuh-uh."

Stu turns to glare at you, "So when I'm the bad guy it's all 'please' and 'I thought we were best friends' and 'it'll be our secret' but the second it goes a little bad you run to Bill--"

"Didn't run," you defend, but it doesn't matter, it's like you didn't say anything.

"You told her not to tell me?"

"No." The single syllable is so urging you can almost imagine that the question sobered him up. "I didn't say that."

There's a weird wave of tension between them, so thick and tangible a small part of you can't believe that the rest of the party continued, unaffected. You get why Stu snapped back to normal so quickly. "Guys," you try, even though you have no idea where you're going with this, "I just--I asked--asked like a lot--but I didn't beg. And it's--" You squeeze your eyes shut, really wishing you had been better at hiding your high. "It's not worth fighting over." Squinting your eyes open, you cross your arms across your stomach, hoping it'll make you seem more awake. "I love you guys, 'm good, let's just chill out for a second."

Billy and Stu both blink, exchanging a look that you don't get. You know you wouldn't get it if you were sober, either. It's one of their moments, a silent exchange you can't imagine anyone else ever getting.

Stu breaks the silence with a laugh. "She's way more out of it than I thought." You glare at that, not finding anything funny in what you said. You were nice, you diffused the tension. They're such assholes. And you always hate when they talk about you like you're not right there.

You glare. Maybe ditching them's still an option. They'd eventually accuse you of pouting, but there's a chance it'd be worth the future teasing. You could find Sid and Tate again, hang out until you calmed down.

"Aw," Stu hums, reaching for you, "She's pouting."

You push at the hand on your shoulder, too tired and distracted to be good at getting him off of you. "Am. Not." Stu squeezes harder. Normally, that'd just get you to fight back more openly, but now your stomach feels tight and things are starting to feel too warm. "Stu, knock it off--I'm nauseous."

Billy presses his hand against your back, the pressure comforting. "Give her a minute."

Stu lets go but makes a point of staying close. "You okay, sweetheart?"

Nodding slowly, you focus on feeling the words coming out of your mouth. "Yeah, yeah."

"You need to step out? Get some air?"

You shake your head once. You're okay, stable. "I'm good."

Billy's hand moves up and down your back gently. "You need to drink water."

The fighting risk is gone now. You should be completely happy, but the conflict rubbed you the wrong way and you're starting to feel like you might need space from them. "I kinda want to look for Sidney and Tatum."

"C'mon, cutie." Stu takes your hand gently, squeezing it softly. "Don't be like that." You're torn between arguing that you're not being like anything and telling them that they started it. "Do what you want, but no one's going to want to put up with you like this."

The comment stings more than it should. It's been mentioned before, that you're the the lightweight, the one that can't handle their substances and takes over without meaning to. Never cruelly, but it still hurts. "Mean."

"Not that mean," Stu pulls on your hand, "Because you love us."

You roll your eyes, hating past you for letting that come out. "Not right now."

Stu starts walking forward, you follow without complaining. "Don't say things you don't mean."

Billy's stays close as you walk, one hand on your back as you're guided to the kitchen. There are some people lingering around the fridge and the bar, but it's a lot less crowded than the main living room.

You stop at the island counter, moving to push yourself onto it with no warning. It takes Billy less than a second to pick up on what you want, he keeps a hand on your waist to stabilize you as you sit.

"Here." Stu hands you a glass filled with ice water.

You take a few long sips before setting it down next to you.

"Better?" It worked a little too well, and a part of you hates them for it. You reluctantly nod. "Told you."

More like Billy told you, but you're not opening that up again.

A small half-scoff-half-laugh snaps the three of you out of your bubble. Stu turns his head towards a semi-familiar blonde holding a beer bottle, "What?"

"Nothing." The voice is also familiar. A girl named Marley that used to hang around freshman year. "Just remembering the first time I got high and freaked out, you told me to get it together."

You crane your neck to look at the stranger, unsure if her comment's meant to attack Stu or you. "I'm not freaking out."

"Yeah," Stu defends, placing a comforting hand on your knee, "It's just water, Marley, if that's an issue, go be bitter somewhere else."

The girl scoffs, "Not bitter, just different."

You soften a little at that. Maybe she hadn't meant to come off as that hostile.

Stu shrugs, "I've grown." You watch the exchange curiously, wondering how well they know each other. There's a chance they met in kindergarten or on the first day of middle school or in some random sophomore class. Sometimes living in a small town that you didn't grow up in is the constant fear of becoming a third wheel in a matter of seconds. "In more ways than one."

Marley pretends to scoff, "Yeah, I'm out." She holds her hands up in a display of surrender before walking away.

"You know she used to be obsessed with me."

There's a 50-50 chance he's exaggerating. A more sober, more adjusted you would be able to make an educated guess, but right now you can't and for whatever reason that twists your stomach. You reach for your glass, taking a few sips to stabilize yourself.

"He's delusional," Billy corrects, voice so low you think you might be the only one that hears it. "She used to hang around, mainly for Sidney and Tatum, but never stuck." You nod absentmindedly. "No one else did before you."

The comment is small, muttered like saying it felt like pulling teeth. You smile regardless, way more warmed by it than you should be. Billy finally looks back at you. For a second, you let yourself openly watch him. A wave of casual drowsiness hits you with no warning, so you lean forward, resting your forehead against Billy's shoulder.

"You okay, angel?" Stu places a hand on your back. "Jealousy making you feel a little sick?"

You let out a breath that's almost a laugh as you force yourself to straighten. "You're right," you look at Billy, "He is delusional."

"Hey," Stu makes a point of poking you in the shoulder, "Don't be mean."

"You're right, I'm totally obsessed with you and--" A yawn breaks your sentence into two, "Close to bursting into jealous rage."

Stu's fingertips brush up and down your arm. "You're staying over, right?"

You nod, "Mhm, if that's okay."

He almost rolls his eyes. You're always prone to formality, always wanting to make sure that you're not bothering anyone. "I'd never kick you out of bed, sweetheart." You try to glare at him, but you're too tired to seem bothered. "You should go lay down for a little, I'm going to start kicking people out."

Hm. You are tired, but you never like being the first to go, the first to head upstairs and be left alone. You're about to protest, insist that you're fine when Billy speaks up, "I'll go, too." Billy straightens, holding out a hand to help you hop off the counter. "Over it."

You take his hand, getting off the counter with minimal complications. Billy moves an arm around your shoulder, deciding that that'd be the quickest way to help you get to the stairs.

#final girl fic #scream x reader #scream 1996 #stu macher x reader #stu macher #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #ghostface #poly! ghostface #ghostface x reader #poly!ghostface x reader

[elliesflower]

i saw you in a dream

summary; it all started with that stupid flyer. ellie x afab!reader

chapter; 1/? 1.9k words

cw (per chapter); recreational marijuana usage, language

a/n; i've currently been listening to a lot of girl in red and i love the idea of college stoner!ellie oml. no smut in this chapter but please trust, there will be smut in future chapters bc i'm h o r n y. please let me know what you think! you can also find it on AO3 here <3

!!!!FREE GUITAR LESSONS!!!!

email ellie for more information

[email protected]

Despite your initial hesitation at emailing some random person who was giving suspiciously free guitar lessons, you knew you wouldn’t be able to pass without some extra one-on-one help. You needed a tutor, desperately. Why you had decided to take guitar as an elective when your major had nothing to do with music was beyond comprehension at this point, but these were the last 200 level credits you needed to move on to your higher electives for your major. No way were you taking a chance on this final.

Your email correspondence with ‘Ellie’ was brief— basically a ‘hi, I’m terrible at playing guitar and need to pass my final,’ and a ‘sure, I’m free this Saturday if you are!’ Looking back, you probably–no, you definitely–should have gotten a bit more information from her, but oh well. It was now Saturday, and here you were, on your way to either get really good at guitar, or die a slow, painful death. The chances seemed about fifty-fifty at this point. 

“It’ll be fine, I promise I’ll be on standby if you need me!” Dina encouraged, grabbing your arm as you walked through the courtyard, away from campus. Red and brown leaves crunched under your feet as you groaned, shaking your arm away from her grasp. 

“Right, and what would you do from, like, five blocks away if she tried to murder me? She could literally be a serial killer! I swear everyone else I meet at this school is weird as fuck,” you complained. You were new to this school from out-of-state; however, it’s now approaching the end of your first semester, and so far, the only friends you’ve made are Dina, and another person from your (completely unnecessary) guitar class—they were no help, though. They were just as bad as you.

“Okay, but the chances are so slim. The chances of you actually passing your final because you get help from a guitar legend are actually much higher,” Dina chimed, giving you an encouraging look. You side-eyed her. 

“Seriously,” she said with a breathy laugh. “You’ll be fine. This Ellie girl sounds like a very nice, very non-serial-killer…esque person.”

Well that’s rich, coming from someone who also knows zero information about her.

“Whatever,” you shook your head, turning to face her. “I expect you to be by your phone and at the ready for the next…” you quickly check your phone for the time– “...however long it takes me to not fuck up my final.”

Dina laughed and gave you a satirical pat on the shoulder. 

“Sure pal. I’ll be here.”

-

The pair of you split up, you heading off to Ellie's place, and Dina having vowed to do a few hours of studying at a nearby cafe. You know, in case Ellie really does turn out to be a serial killer or something. 

You approached the block of student housing duplexes just outside campus limits and quickly identified the house number, anxiety growing with each step up to the porch. You pulled your phone out of your coat pocket, letting out a nervous sigh as you sent a message to Dina.

Just remember, if I die, you’re paying for the funeral

She was quick to reply:

okay, but hopefully i’ll get to write a eulogy about how you were an amazing guitar player upon your death!!!!

You laughed quietly, stuffing your phone back in your pocket as you approached the front door and gave an apprehensive knock. A simple ‘welcome’ mat scraped under your feet as you took a step back to observe the small porch—there was a small wooden storage bench to the left of the door, and a few scattered plants on the ground. It was tidy enough, so very unlikely to be a complete weirdo, right? Right…

Your knock was obviously not as faint as you thought, as you quickly heard muffled footsteps approaching the door, before it swung open to reveal a very…non-serial-killer-esque girl.

She had the most piercing jade-crested eyes, framed by a few loose strands of reddish-brown hair from her low bun. She smiled widely at you, revealing her perfect teeth. You tried not to let your mouth literally drop open.

“You must be here for the guitar lessons?” Her voice was slightly gruff, yet rich and modulated. You were so caught off guard by the woman in front of you—you’d spent so long picturing someone much worse, that this was more than a pleasant surprise. Her light gray top was tucked into baggy jeans, secured around her waist with a simple belt. Before your eyes could roam any lower, you snapped yourself out of your trance, meeting her eyes once again. 

“Uh, yeah, I am,” you couldn’t help but to match her infectious smile, despite your nervousness. You slung the guitar case off your shoulder, setting it down in front of you, as if presenting it to her. “Was I that obvious?” 

She laughed melodically, the sound making your heart skip a beat. 

“Just a bit,” she smirked. 

“You must be Ellie?” you asked, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks despite the cold breeze.

“That I am,” she said, and there were those perfect teeth again. Her eyes quickly scanned over your face, noting the faint blush on your cheeks—hopefully just assuming it was from the cold.

“Sorry, it’s freezing out there! Come in, come in,” she beckoned you inside, stepping out of your way. Warmth flooded over you as you moved past her with your guitar, the faint smell of vanilla and weed filling your nose, and you immediately recognized the song playing from upstairs.

Baby, I want some of your love, 

Your love, your love, your love,

The house was smaller than it looked from the outside, but that’s not surprising for student housing. There were shelves and bookcases, filled with trinkets, books, and plants—a small, mismatched sofa and chair sat in the farthest corner of the room, next to what looks to be a desk that was being used as a dining table. Various posters and paintings littered the walls, textbooks were strewn about, and you couldn’t help but take notice of the small rainbow flag that stuck out from a hanging plant near the window. 

“It’s really cute in here,” you were unable to hold back, adjusting your guitar back over your shoulder. Ellie gave you a smile, smaller than before. You felt like you were going to melt into a puddle. 

Baby, can I have some of your love?

Your love, your love, your love,

“Thank you,” she says, lightly scratching the back of her neck, looking around as if to see what you were seeing. Was she nervous? Fuck, she looks really cute with her nose all scrunched up like that. 

“I can’t take much credit though. More than half of this stuff is my roommate’s,” She hovered awkwardly in the doorway, looking at you now, and you found yourself shying away from her gaze. You kind of hoped the rainbow flag was hers.

“Sorry, erm, you can put your coat here, if you’d like,” she gestured to an overflowing coat rack next to the door. “Shoes on or off, it doesn’t matter much to me.” You took a glance down and noticed her lack of shoes, as well as the shoes lined up near the door, and it encouraged you to slip off your boots. 

“Let me grab that for you,” Ellie insisted, taking the guitar from you as you slid it off your shoulder, allowing you to shrug off your coat with ease and throw it on the hanger.

When you turned back to face her, she had your guitar perched in front of her, green eyes studying you intently. You took it quickly, with a thank you, and threw it back over your shoulder. Ellie still just stood in the entryway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. You were utterly mesmerized by her contradictory aura of confident, yet guarded.

“So…” you broke the silence when it became apparent Ellie wasn’t going to talk first. She gave you a sheepish look, once again letting the confidence slip.

“Right, the uh, lessons,” she started, clapping her hands together once as if snapping herself out of a trance. “We can head up to my room, all my guitar stuff is in there.”

“Lead the way,” you said. She gave you another look that made your heart sink into your stomach, eyes sparkling and one side of her mouth curved up into a sideways smile. God, focus! Guitar lessons. No time to focus on really cute girls with really cute freckles and really cute crooked smiles.

Ellie bounded up the steps two at a time, and you struggled to keep up. Behind her, you could smell the scent she wore, and it was intoxicating—you took a deep breath of the deep woody aroma, trying not to be too obvious about it. The music got louder the farther you ascended. 

Rounding the corner at the top of the stairs, she spoke again. “So, are you needing these lessons to impress someone, or just to pass a class?” 

You were starting to realize truly how little information you exchanged with her, and once again had a fleeting thought that she still could be a serial killer. Then again, usually scary people don’t have faces that look like they were painted by John Sargent himself.

“Oh, I’m just really terrible at guitar and need to pass my final,” you admitted, lightly scratching your arm in embarrassment as she looked back at you. “I should have never taken the class in the first place. I almost flunked out of middle school band class.”

Ellie chuckled at this, pushing the door to her room open, the music pouring out.

Nothing really lasts that long for me to realize, I'm still alone

And you're not with me,

She quickly pulled out her phone to turn it down as you followed her into the small room. You realized the weed smell was coming from her room as the rich, earthy scent flooded your nose. You glanced at the bong sitting in the window, and the rolling tray on her nightstand. Ellie must have caught you looking, as her eyes immediately widened. 

“I’m so sorry, I probably should have asked you if you were cool with this,” she looked concerned, and now it was your turn to chuckle at her. You were no stranger to this—in fact, you often found yourself fanning the smoke detector in your dorm room when Dina got too stoned to remember to point the fan out the window. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” you assured, slinging your guitar off your back and leaning it on her bed as Ellie sat in the chair by her desk. She still held a look of concern on her face, so you pulled together what little confidence you had left and strode to the windowsill, picking up the glass and inspecting it. The water was fairly clean, especially compared to Dina’s, and the bowl held freshly packed flower. 

Ellie leaned back a little farther in her chair, watching you intently. You caught her gaze, offering a shy smile.

I wonder what's inside your mind, but you seem pretty occupied

So I'll leave it alone,

You pulled a lighter out from your pocket.

“May I?”

chapter 2 here

#the last of us #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #dina tlou #tlou #tlou part 2 #ellie williams x you #ellie x you #stoner ellie

[enha-cafe]

I thought of this bc I'm omw to dance practice, so could you please do Sunghoon being jealous of your dance partner??

Also I hope you do well on your final! <3

ah, I'm sorry I'm getting to this ask late also I did really well on my finals so I'm happy :)

Sunghoon loves to see you dance and nothing in the world makes him happier than seeing you having fun.

However, seeing you dancing with another man couldn't help but make him feel a bit jealous. You dance perfectly fine on your own so what's the purpose of you dancing with someone else, especially a man.

Do you even know him? Are the two of you close? Since when has he even been in dance class with you?

Seeing you brush against one another and his hands on your body made his jaw clench. He can't help but be grateful the second it's over. The second you walk over to him, he puts on a smile and can't wait to get you home.

Sunghoon during the car ride home can't get the image of you with that other man out of his head because you're his. The only person you should be that close to is him. The only one allowed to grab your waist and hold you close is him. He can't take it anymore and finds an empty parking lot to pull over.

Turning to you he says "I don't like how he was dancing with you. Only I should be able to hold you like that. You're mine and mine only." You're taken aback and try to open your mouth to reply but he pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss is hungry and desperate, his hands are racing down your body. Groping you all over trying to hold onto you as if you're going to slip from his fingertips at any moment. He drags you to the backseat trying not to separate his lips from yours.

His hips are grinding into yours and he's sucking on your collarbone and at that moment you realize he's jealous. "Sunghoon did you really get this jealous over me dancing with another guy?" You say between moans. He breaks away from your skin to look up at you, "of course I did. He was touching what belongs to me so now I need to mark you up to make it known who you belong to." He smirks while flashing his fangs at you.

He lays you down and pulls your bottoms off kissing along your thighs and getting closer and closer to your core. "You're so pretty for me and only me," he dives between your legs and licks at your core, and gives a small suck on your clit. You can't help but let out a loud moan and grab at his hair.

He continues to lap at your cunt like a starved man. Teasing your cunt by brushing his nose against it to make you squirm and make those pretty noises he loves. He decides to plunge two of his fingers into you as he starts marking your thighs.

Scissoring the fingers inside of you and curling them. "Only I can make you feel this good, right?" He looks up at you "yes, sunghoon, only you can make me feel this good, only you. I'm close I'm going to cum" you whimper "that's good to hear, baby," he smirks as he rips his fingers out of you leaving you clenching around nothing. You let out a whine at the loss of contact.

Sunghoon pulls his pants down as he aligns his cock with your core. Plunging deeply into you, you can feel all his veins and how deep inside you he is. "mine" is the only thing he can say between grunts as he starts thrusting into you with one hand playing with your clit.

"That's right hoon I'm all yours," you say as you pull on his collar to bring him in for another kiss. he's thrusting into you hard like he's trying to make sure that your cunt never forgets the shape of his cock.

You can feel his thrusts become sloppier "going to cum baby, where do you want it," he asks "inside hoon, please" you whine and his cock twitches at the thought of filling you with his cum. His cum dripped from your core and the possibility of claiming you so intimately. "Of course baby," he says while kissing you harder and thrusting into you faster. Your legs wrap around him as you tell him you're about to cum and with that his thrusts stop. Feeling him paint your insides white tips you over the edge as the both of you let out loud moans.

The both of you stay entangled in each other's limbs. Just holding one another with all the windows fogged and bodies sore. Not wanting to lose this moment. "Sunghoon you shouldn't get so jealous you know I'm yours and only yours," you break the silence "I know but it's so much more fun proving it to you," he replies while leaving a kiss on your forehead.

tag list : @sunoouz

tag list : open

#park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen hard hours #enhypen drabbles #enhypen headcanons #enhypen oneshots

[vaguely-yandere]

reading your (amazing) writings got me thinking about like, a fuckboy/playboy(? im sorry idk the gn word for this? slut maybe lmao?) yandere who’s rich, doesn’t even need to study, always gets to any party where they can get some action. they never had a romantic relationship before bc they thought it was just stupid and unnecessary foreplay. basically everyone is either horny for them or hate them.

so imagine their surprise when they see their (future) darling staring at them while they were talking to their friends. yan thinks they’re cute enough and talks to them, starts flirting their darling up and when they ask what darling finds attractive about them they start listing things like “your smile, its really pretty” or “you’re so smart, and you’re fun to be around” instead of something about how their body looks sexy or some shit they always get instead.

this leads to confusion, because someone never acted like this for yan before. how were they supposed to react? that moment was when their heart truly skipped a beat because of someones words, their darlings words felt so warm and genuine it made them shiver.

id also like to think theyd have a huuuuugeeee ego, also really possessive. but once they get close to their darling or just see them they turn into a golden retriever type, ready to do anything and everything, kill anyone and everyone for you.

sorry if its not comprehensive its 3 am, i dont have my glasses on and im just really excited after reading ur writings 🧍‍♂️

broski. i love this.

just an absolute player (i think???) of a yandere and uber rich (LOVE yanderes with money) and a massive slut

one night stands every night, always getting their ego stroked, always sexualizing themselves and others and then they meet... you <3 you compliment their smile, their laugh, the things they say, everything and it makes them completely fall for you and when you refuse to have sex with them because theyre obviously drunk and well, you're an ethical person, that just makes them want you more.

finding you is easy, throw enough money at a problem and itll solve itself. and being a rich socialite is hard and they completely lack in the 'social' part so they just.. show up. work, school, where ever and follow you around, questioning you and if anyone makes you do something, the brattiness comes out.

"y/n! you were suppose to finish this ages ago! would you please stop talking to your friend and get to work on this? c'mon! we can't keep letting you slack off!"

"ah, sorr-"

"no, no, who is this? who are you? you know what, i dont care, you are no longer important to me, leave." they make a shooing motion, turning back to you with a smile. "you wanna go shopping? have lunch? travel? anything you want, its on m-"

"hey! you cant just ignore me! im gonna have to ask you to le-"

the yandere turns around, standing at their full height to properly glare at your boss/teacher. "cut me off again and i will cut out your tongue." they snap their fingers, summoning the person thats always following them around. "escort whoever the fuck this is out, im talking to someone and theyre being a bitch."

as the curses and yells of your boss/teacher rapidly fade, the yandere turns back to you, grinning. "so! did you decide yet?"

ohhh, i hope you love getting spoiled because this socialite will do it constantly. food, jewelry, perfume, clothes, companies, electronics, anything you want? its yours as long as you keep giggling when they say stupid shit.

and just imagine how cute they look when they see you! beaming, glowing with love, desperately trying to impress you all of the time, just so so cute! and if you praise them, i can already see them struggling to hide their moans of pleasure and spend the rest of the day on cloud nine

if you work, theyll get you fired so you can spend all your time with them. if you go to school, theyll get enrolled to or enroll you in online classes and you will rarely spend a moment without them at your side, willing to do absolutely anything for you.

now, i dont think this yandere would be possessive like others! they demand others to praise you, to compliment you, acknowledge you constantly and appreciate your beauty but one wrong comment and theyre tied up in a guest house, being hunted like a drugged up tiger. they post pictures of you near constantly, showing off how amazing you are, forcing everyone to basically bow to your feet and yeah, they get a bit culty with it sometimes but hey! it could be worse!

#socialite yandere #yandere x y/n #asks #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere x you

[zukkaoru]

too lazy for emojis but

hc about their childhood, hc that scares them, hc about music

Kunikida and Gin mayhaps:3

kunikida

🧸 A headcanon about their childhood

straight-a delinquent kunikida my beloved,, he was always on time to class, always turned in his work, studied for exams, got good grades, etc etc. but he was also beating up bullies behind the school or punching them in the hallway and if any of his teachers said anything wrong or misleading, he would absolutely take it upon himself to interrupt class and inform everyone of the truth

👻 A headcanon about what scares them

i think.. he fears the day when the people who depend on him either realize they don't need him anymore or deem him not reliable enough of a person to depend on. kunikida is desperate to be Needed by those around him. he doesn't even really realize this is something he's afraid of, but whenever it starts to happen (i.e. kenji getting more independent after getting used to how the city works or dazai starting to rely more on chuuya for reminders to take care of himself) he starts kind of., spiraling.

🎶 A headcanon about music

i. don't think kunikida listens to music very much. he usually doesn't mind if other people have it on as long as it isn't interrupting his work but it's just not something he's super interested in. he does get into it a little more when chuuya starts introducing him to their favorite bands, but it's really more of him admiring the way chuuya's eyes light up when they start talking about the things they like, and the music makes chuuya happy, which makes kunikida happy in return

gin

🧸 A headcanon about their childhood

they started disguising themself as a boy while living in the slums bc girls were seen as "easier targets" so it was deemed safer if they pretended to be a boy. they didn't think much about the Gender Implications until they joined the mafia and realized they were,, more comfortable presenting masculinely even when it wasn't necessary

👻 A headcanon about what scares them

i think the thing that scares them above all else is just. the thought of losing their brother. this does not get better and in fact only gets worse after the doa arc and it takes them a very very long time before they're ready to trust a single word dazai says bc they blame him entirely for aku's death 👍

🎶 A headcanon about music

they have pretty similar music taste to tachihara and the two exchange song/band recs a lot

#thank youuuuu <333 #kunikida doppo #gin akutagawa #ask game #ness tag

[transmutationisms]

ooh can you go into kendall offloading his guilt to his siblings and then being seemingly over it in s4? is it just bc he wanted to tell someone? and they accept it basically unconditionally in that moment so he thinks he no longer has to carry his guilt?

sure yeah. i'm reading between some lines here and i'm willing to revise judgment if things change in the next four episodes, but here's how i see it:

in season 2, kendall's guilt was a combination of feeling he wasn't living up to what his father demanded of him, and feeling genuinely bad that he killed someone. logan saw his drug use as weakness and saw him going off with a (young, male, attractive) waiter as gay, and saw these things together as indicating that kendall was "a hothouse flower" (weak, needy, fragile; the opposite of the alpha type he wanted for an heir). but in addition, kendall shows genuine remorse, especially in the scene at doddy's house. by season 3, kendall is trying to kill his father, and he's trying to convince himself he's not like logan at all, because he's a good person. so he tries to convince himself he doesn't need logan's approval, actually, and logan's cruelty and abuse are not something he wants to aspire to. the problem is that he still knows he killed someone, and someone logan considers nrpi. that weighs on kendall because, if he dismisses doddy too, does that make him as callous as his father, whom he's trying to win a moral crusade against?

so, after this moral crusade falls to shit ("life's not knights on horseback"), kendall turns to his siblings in desperation. he doesn't elevate them to the centre of his moral universe the way he does logan, but he does think they're basically good people—certainly better than he feels about himself at that moment—and so their opinions count for something morally. and roman's response is, essentially, a more humourously-inflected version of "nrpi" that shiv signs off on. the waiter didn't matter, except insofar as his death was inconvenient for the roy siblings, and that's how roman consoles kendall and how the two of them bond in italy.

essentially to kendall this means that devaluing doddy's life is no longer exclusively a logan move. roman and shiv have signed off on this as well, and kendall can finally breathe easy knowing that having killed someone doesn't need to keep him up at night. doddy truly didn't matter. it's not a nice thing, and kendall is the master of repression so he probably just shoved it down into the recesses of his psyche, but in a way he really is freer in season 4 because he's simply come to terms with the idea that he's a roy, doddy was a working-class nobody, and he can just move on with his life now. what the show is suggesting here is that it would be impossible to be in kendall's position—the heir to an empire—and be functional under the terms of capitalism, and also have that type of guilt weighing you down. it would eat you alive. and kendall has never had the moral convictions to do anything principled about injustice (plus, like, who could overthrow waystar overnight?) and so his solution to this problem is the slow leakage of his humanity so that he can be what he was supposed to be—a roy.

#a sandpit for emergent behaviour

[longlivefanfic-net]

106 & 146 w nancy wheeler PLEASE dawg i need it so bad fr 🙁 also i know how ppl hc nancy as a dom but in my head that girl is my prissy princess and i need so bad to give her the sex that no man could 🤷🏽also it would be cool if you could fit in something to do w nancy x barb bc that’s a hc that I’ve had for a while :) & bi nancy finally accepting herself 🤭 okay yes im probably gg be spamming reqs like this every so often- much love !! -maxaroni & cheese (wow im so funny hahaha 😐)

Maxaroni! I feel like it's taken me FOREVER to get this finished for you (sorry!!!) but it is DONE. I hope you like it!

Prompts: “I’m going to fuck you until you forget that asshole’s name.” and “Were you just masturbating?” “U-uh…no, I was just…” “Want some help?”

Content: sapphic reader; afab!reader; afab!reader x Nancy Wheeler; college roommates; smut, just like a lot of queer smut; some pining on the readers side because why not; Nancy Wheeler has a praise kink; mommy kink; Jonathan x Nancy

Word count: 7.1k (this was supposed to be short WHOOPS)

Summary: You meet Nancy the day you move into your shared college living space and spend the next few months desperately wishing to be between her legs. But she's got a boyfriend! And a plan for her life! Right?!

Nancy Fuckin' Wheeler

It wasn’t your fault you had fallen for your roommate. She had shown up on move-in day, had simply appeared, like the pixie she resembled, in the too-small room you were expected to share for the next nine months. Her brown hair had been curly, shorter back then, with bangs that brushed the tops of the lashes that framed her large, round eyes. She had smiled at you, striding across the tiny room with her hand already extended, and you had noticed the way her nose wrinkled, right at the tip, when she grinned and you were gone. “I’m Nancy,” she had said, picking up your hand to shake, firmly, like she shook a lot of men’s hands and was tired of being told she had a weak grip. “Nancy Wheeler.” 

You had played it cool for the first few weeks. This was your college roommate–if you didn’t fuck this up, she might end up being your best friend for life. It’s not like you could say, “Hi, Nancy, nice to meet you, I like girls and think you’re hot!” No. No way. And, if you were honest, you couldn’t risk isolating the only person you knew at Emerson. It was lonely in those big buildings, the bustling sounds of city life right outside every window yet feeling so far away. You wanted Nancy to be your friend, and you had thought that meant you had to pretend to be…like her. 

After a few weeks, though, you couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore. Nancy had taken to having full conversations with you while she changed in the mornings, tossing her towel on her bed when she got back from the shared bathroom. She’d hold intense eye contact with you, chattering away the entire time about her classes, and her plans for the day, and whether you wanted to go grocery shopping with her that day, and her boyfriend, always her damn boyfriend. She’d stand on the other side of your narrow bedroom, completely naked, practically daring your eyes to slip from her face, and talk at a hundred miles a minute about Jonathan, this perfect Jonathan, who was always coming to visit that weekend but never actually showed up. 

When you cracked, she didn’t even react. It was during a rare moment of silence, her back still wrapped in her towel and turned to you as she pulled a top out of her neatly-organized closet. Your eyes were fixed on the back of Nancy’s neck; her brown hair was pinned up, and the pale skin of her neck still had beads of water from the shower darkening the fine curls that lay flat against her skin. You watched a drop of water slide down her skin, tangle in that one, C-shaped piece of hair that had fallen out of the clip, and felt your eyes glaze over; you wished, desperately, to be water, to be able to slide over her porcelain body, touching without touching, and find rest in her hair. “You know I like girls, right?” You had blurted out, the words throwing themselves desperately off your tongue to land with a disgusting smack in the middle of the room, as bare and naked as Nancy tended to be. 

She turned her head over her shoulder, barely glancing away from the shirt in her hands. “Oh! No, I didn’t know that.” You stood, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for Nancy to call you names or tell you she was uncomfortable or tell you to request a room change but instead–instead, all you got was a slight blush over her cheeks when she turned back to you. “Did you–did you want me to change in the bathroom?” You shook your head, suddenly numb to the sounds of the cars in the street, the people yelling at each other on the sidewalks, the sounds of your other roommates making breakfast in the kitchen. It all disappeared when Nancy smiled at you–almost shyly, her lips only slightly tilting up at the corners before her eyes ducked down–and removed her towel. 

Afterwards, Nancy had taken it upon herself to make sure you knew you were welcome to bring over whoever you wanted. She eyed girls at the grocery store, the coffee shop, the diner the two of you frequented for late night pancakes, and nudged you, using those wide eyes to motion towards the girls she had picked out for you. She had good taste, you had to give her that–but the girls Nancy picked were always too tall, their hair too light, their bodies too full for who you really wanted. 

One night, late–or early, really–the two of you were nestled into the couch, swathed by blankets, Nancy’s pajama clad legs in your bare lap as you passed a carton of ice cream back and forth. The other roommates had gone out earlier, disappearing in a haze of hairspray and blue eyeshadow with promises to be back for lunch tomorrow. Nancy had declined their invitations, staying home and waiting for Jonathan to call. When he didn’t, you slipped downstairs, running across the street to the bodega for a can of Coke and Nancy’s favorite icecream. 

The night slipped away with the two of you there, sitting by the phone–”just in case,” Nancy said, biting her too-full bottom lip as she avoided your eyes. The conversation started innocently enough: You wanted to comfort her, and had started sharing stories of your own pathetic dating life. She laughed so hard she snorted, actually snorted, her nose wrinkling and her eyes creasing at the corners as she closed them, when you told her about the boyfriend you barely let touch you in high school, the “best friend” you had “practiced” with instead.

“I did that too!” She exclaimed, her voice high and breathless between the sweet peals of her laughter. Her feet pressed into the bare skin of your legs, toes digging against soft skin as you tried to ignore the goosebumps that raced down your arms. She was so warm, so full of light as she gazed at you, and the weight of her body, sprawled so casually over yours, felt so right, felt like home. “I did that too,” she said. “My friend, Barb–she was my first kiss. We said we were ‘practicing’ for when boys decided to date us.” 

You reeled in your shock, loosening the fingers that had immediately tightened around her ankles at the words. Nancy Wheeler–Nancy “Perfect” Wheeler, Nancy “4.0” Wheeler, Nancy fuckin Wheeler–kissed girls? Nancy eyed you from the other end of the couch, the television light flickering over her brows, still high with the glimmer of her laugh. Her cheeks were dark, a blush building there as she held your eyes with her own. “What?” She asked, her voice suddenly low. “You didn’t know I kissed girls?” She cocked her head, slightly, the movement exposing the side of her throat. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, aggressive thumps, as her eyelids lowered slightly. Her lips parted, just barely, and you watched the pink tip of her tongue wet the very edges of the lush bow. 

“Nancy,” you replied, your shaking voice betraying you, your body betraying you as it warmed under her gaze. “That’s…kinda gay.” Nancy rolled her doe eyes, smirking slightly. “Are you–Nancy, do you like girls?” She shrugged her pajama-clad shoulders, angling her head towards the TV. “Yeah,” she said, flicking a heavy-lidded glance back at you. “And guys. It’s not a big deal.” She said it so nonchalant, said it like she hadn’t just rocked your world and flipped it on its axis, like she hadn’t made your heart jump into your throat. Nancy liked girls. Nancy could like you. Hell, it almost seemed like she was flirting with you. Except–

Except for Jonathan. Fucking Jonathan, who happened to call at that exact moment, like your thought of his name summoned him from California, the earsplitting ring of the telephone making both you and Nancy jump. She grabbed, desperately, at the receiver, picking up the heavy plastic and cradling it between her strong chin and shoulder. “Hello?” She whispered, breathy with her excitement. “Yeah. No, it’s fine, it’s– I can talk.” She looked over her shoulder at you and, if you didn’t know better, you’d have thought she looked guilty. 

You smiled, bitterly aware that it didn’t meet your eyes, and slid her feet off your lap. Standing up, you stretched–the two of you had been on that couch, skin touching skin, for hours now, and your joints felt stiff. Nancy watched, either unaware or uncaring that you could see her eyes fixate on the way your oversized t-shirt lifted with your arms, the hem dancing over the edges of your underwear. Heat pulsed through your core, a sudden, desperate throbbing, as her eyes met yours from where she sat on the couch. Your breath caught, slightly, in your chest, and you turned, heading to the bathroom for a cold shower–and, if that didn’t work, a few minutes alone with your hand and the image of Nancy, eyes wide and hungry, jaw loose like it was waiting for you to guide it. 

After your shower–and, yes, a few minutes of picturing Nancy’s face, Nancy’s body, Nancy’s neck and skin and hair and lips–you headed back to your shared bedroom. Nancy was no longer in the living room, not lazed over the arm of the couch while she giggled with Jonathan on the phone. You opened the door to your bedroom quietly, hoping she’d already be asleep. She was in her bed, a small bundle of limbs and dark hair tucked in amidst the lightly colored bedding of her twin-sized mattress. 

She wasn’t asleep. Maybe you had turned the door handle too quietly. Maybe she heard you and just didn’t care. Either way, when you closed the door with a soft snick, Nancy kept her eyes closed, continued to thrust her hips lightly against, you assumed, the hand hidden under her bedspread. You felt your heart stutter in your chest, your knees suddenly weak; she was beautiful, gorgeous, somewhere between frustrated and focused as she worked against her own skin. “Nance,” you whispered, and her eyes shot open, wide and all-too-innocent as she fluttered her lashes at you across the room. “Were you just masturbating?” 

“Um,” she replied, cheeks dusting lightly with a pink blush that matched her bedspread, “U-uh…no, I was just…” Nancy’s eyes flitted nervously around the room, her lips pressing together into a hard, embarrassed line, and you watched her throat bob as she swallowed. It was the swallow that did it, of all things. Your newfound best friend, your roommate, laying in bed with her dark curls spread under her angelic face had already driven you to the edge, but watching her throat move as she swallowed, wishing you could taste that swallow, finally hurled you over the precipice you had been dancing on since the first time you had lain eyes on her. 

“Want some help?” The words burst from between your lips, your body going cold and then hot as the blush raced under your skin. But the words were out, were hanging in the air between the two of you, and all you could do now was wait, your veins full of ice. Nancy’s eyes widened, her jaw relaxing and going slack so that her lips parted. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the full, rosebud pink curves, wishing to be in between them; that’s why you couldn’t miss it when they shifted, just slightly, letting Nancy’s whispered “yes” glide under your skin. 

The ice in your veins melted, the sudden liquid rushing in your ears, as the heat you had just dulled sparked back to life in your stomach. You pushed down the excitement, the fear that swirled through your body; it was important, so, so important that you handle this right. You walked towards her tiny bed slowly, giving her plenty of time to say “I was kidding!” or “Nevermind,” as you shifted her blankets aside, sliding your half-clothed body into the bed next to her. Nancy shifted her face, just slightly, so that her oversized eyes were trained on your face when she blinked, a rush of blood rising to the surface of her cheeks. 

You looked down at Nancy’s slender body as you propped yourself up on one arm, pressing yourself closer to her under the warmth of the blankets. Jonathan–the mysterious Jonathan, who never came to visit when he said he would, who only existed to you as the framed photograph on Nancy’s desk–flashed in your mind, and you wondered if he was the reason Nancy was rutting her hips against her own hand; if he had spent those minutes you were in the shower whispering in her ear across the phone lines, making her desperate for him, for the feeling of his body pressed against hers. It doesn’t matter, you thought to yourself. I’m the one in bed with her. The thought made you blush, and your eyes skittered away from Nancy’s, floating down the outline of her body under the blankets she was covered by. 

“You don’t have to–” Nancy suddenly whispered, watching the heat building along your neck and cheeks, and you cut her off, jumping on the words and stubbing the burning embers of her rejection out before it could flame. “I want to,” you whispered back, the words shocking you as they pressed into the room, making their presence felt in your core with a brush of heat. Nancy just stared, doe eyes blinking rapidly as she pressed her lips together, swallowing again and–fuck, what you would have given to taste the inside of her mouth. She looked, pointedly, at her body, hidden under the bedspread, before flashing her eyes back to you. 

You pulled the corner of your bottom lip between your teeth, worrying it slightly, before slipping your free hand over her body, her flat stomach and soft thighs, until it was over the hand she still had wedged between her legs. “Move your hand, Nancy,” you commanded, watching the blankets so you didn’t have to look at her. When she pulled her hand away from her sex, you could have sworn that, for just a moment, she let her fingers brush against your palm. 

Slowly, your fingers cupped around Nancy’s folds, luxuriating in the heat emanating from her skin. When you slipped your middle finger in between her lips, stroking once, you kept your face carefully turned away from hers, refusing to watch the shuddering gasp fall from her lips. Your finger was poised at her entrance, ready to push inside of her–or pull back–with the slightest hint of what she wanted. “Nance,” you said, your voice low and quiet. “This is going to feel better if I get you wet first.” You let the silence build between the two of you, stretching on for what felt like an agonizing length of time. “Can I kiss you?”

“O–okay.” The voice under you was timid, shy, unlike the Nancy you had come to know in the last few months. You angled your head towards hers, desperately seeking out her face in the dim light of your shared bedroom. Nancy was watching you, eyes eager as she licked her lower lip. The warm lap of fire in your core suddenly tightened, blazing as you leaned down, ducking your head to her strong jaw. Your lips pressed against the coolness of her skin, the hard line of her angular jaw, and you felt her chest hitch under you, her body shake with the desire that buried itself in her lungs at the touch of your mouth on her body.

You pulled back, peering at Nancy’s face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted as she lay under you, glowing in the soft beams of moonlight that slanted in through the window, radiant; she was a Renaissance painting against her pillow, a woman blissful in the throes of passion, seduced by an immortal god. Your body, your soul cried out for you to touch her, touch her, and you leaned down, pressing your lips against the long line of her throat, the column of smooth skin, before running your tongue over it. The tiniest, softest moan escaped Nancy’s lips as your tongue warmed her skin and–

You felt her body under your hand, still cupping her sex, flutter. Her walls tightened, almost imperceptibly, as your finger waited for her body to grant you entrance. When you felt the rush of slick dripping in between her folds, sliding over your hand, you slipped yourself inside of her. Nancy whimpered, eyes still closed under you as you curled your finger slightly, pressing against the warm, tight wall of her body. “Shh,” you murmured, and your free arm pressed itself into her pillow, your hand pushing her curls out of her face so you could watch her eyes tighten, her brow crease. She moaned again, barely more than a sigh, and you felt her hips tilt up, pushing your finger deeper inside of her. You couldn’t stop the grin that slipped over your lips–and she couldn’t see it, anyways, her eyes shut as her head rolled back on her pillow. 

“More,” Nancy moaned, and you ignored the spreading heat in between your legs as you bullied a second finger into her. She was tight, much tighter than you ever would have dreamed, and you could feel her clenching around the forced spread of your hand inside of her. You rotated your wrist, pulling your fingers back before slipping them in again and again, never fully pulling them out as she gasped with each thrust. “More, more,” Nancy’s voice came to you like a prayer falling from her lips, begging, pleading for you to touch her; you dipped your head, lips latching on to her exposed collarbone as she mewled. 

Nancy ground her hips against your hand, her desire coating your palm and other fingers now, desperate for more friction as you filled and stretched her. “What is it, babygirl?” You heard yourself whispering against Nancy’s throat, the words slipping out without your permission. “What do you need from mommy?” Nancy’s hips stuttered against your hand, a physical reflection of her shock at the growl in your words, the low, coaxing tone that wallowed in between your bodies. 

“Need–I want–” Nancy stuttered, and you dared to glance up at her from where you suckled on her throat.

 “Use your words.”

 “I want you to touch my clit.” 

“Good girl,” you whispered, and Nancy whimpered, a high-pitched sound that scratched itself out a home in your heart as it fell from her lips. You let your thumb push in between her folds, seeking out the swollen bud above her opening. Pushing into it, you reveled in the sound of Nancy’s breathing, harsh pants now as her hips lifted again and again. “You’re doing so good, sweet girl,” you breathed into her skin, fingers curling inside of her as your thumb rubbed harsh, fierce circles. “Keep going. Keep going until you cum for me, baby.” 

Nancy whined at your words, and you felt her suddenly clench around you, drawing your fingers even deeper into her body. You moved your thumb faster, whispering “that’s my girl, that’s my girl, go ahead, baby,” as her panting turned into soft cries, little moans that elevated in pitch as her body pulled, tightening and releasing in short spasms. When she stopped, her hips slowing, her muscles loosening around you suddenly, you kept your fingers resting in her warmth. Pulling your face back from her neck, you carefully avoided Nancy’s eyes, avoided seeking out the sweat and blush on her face that was meant to be your reward, and carefully pulled your hand from her body, gentle as her walls twitched. 

Your hand came up from under the blankets, dripping and coated in the clear expression of Nancy’s satisfaction, of what you had to assume was her enjoyment of your touch. You chanced a glance back at her, still lying on the pillows. Nancy’s eyes were on your hands, the corners of her eyes tight as her mouth pressed into a hard line; you felt the burn of rejection simmer in your gut, a byproduct of the guilt and shame you read in her face. “I’m just–I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you said, flipping Nancy’s blanket back and standing up suddenly, desperately hoping she couldn’t see the discoloration where your underwear was soaked through, couldn’t see the glimmer of slick dripping down your own thighs. 

******************************************************************************

The two of you never spoke about it. Never, not once, over the next few months did you bring it up–and there were chances to. When you brought a girl home from a Halloween party, Nancy didn’t ask if you got her off the same way you did her; when she left to go back to Hawkins for Thanksgiving, you didn’t ask if her own hand would satisfy her the way yours had; and when either of you entered your room late at night, you both always knocked first, giving the other time to whip their hand out from their underwear and feign sleep. 

It almost felt like you had made it up, like it was some too-vivid dream. Like you had dreamt what Nancy’s throat tasted like, like you had dreamt how her hair smelled like jasmine, like you had dreamt that her fingers had tightened in the fabric of your shirt as she came, like you had dreamt of her face cradled so gently in your palm while you pushed her hair out of her face. 

Or worse–like you had dreamt up the little glances she shot you in the kitchen as you poured coffee, her eyes darting away nervously as soon as they met yours; had dreamt the way her eyes pulled together with hurt when you had walked the girl from the Halloween party out of your apartment, ducking slightly to avoid the kiss the girl had tried to press to your mouth at the front door, aware of Nancy’s gaze on the back of your head; had dreamt the blush that darkened her cheeks as she took calls from Jonathan in your living room, the phone ringing for her less and less often. 

The one thing that you knew you weren’t creating in your own head was the silence. Because Nancy still changed in your shared room, exposing her full body–the soft, pale thighs your hand had parted, the pert, firm breasts you had felt against your torso when you leaned into her–to you as she pulled her clothes, but now she did it without speaking. 

You would have let the silence go on forever, would have lived in quiet for the rest of the year and moved out in the spring and spent the rest of your life pushing thoughts of Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Fuckin’ Wheeler, out of your head for the rest of your life. Would have never spoken to her again, if that’s what she wanted, until December. 

She had packed her bags, chattering at top speed to all of the roommates: Jonathan had called, had made plans for the two of them, had booked her a flight–she was going to California for Christmas. She’d spend the holidays wrapped around the boy you resented, snuggled warm under his blankets, his hand between her thighs instead of yours, exchanging presents and kisses, while you sat alone in the drafty apartment you all shared. The other roommates were going out of town, too, with promises to bring back their family’s cookies and cakes for you since you were the only one not planning on leaving for the month of break. 

When Nancy left, she had flung an arm around the neck of each girl; had hugged them quickly, but fiercely, like she wanted them to know that she loved them but not enough to stay. When she walked up to you, her arms were slower–she wrapped both of the thin, long limbs around your waist instead of your neck, pulling you in tightly. Her lips ghosted over your racing pulse in your throat, a gentle brush that could have been mistaken for an accident, before she pulled back. “Bye!” She chirped, her voice as bright as her welling eyes. “See you in a month!” 

The next few weeks were a haze. A disorienting blur of the other roommates leaving, of rides to the airport and lonely trips to the grocery store. Of waking up in an empty bedroom, no sounds of soft sighs and sleepy, content breaths from the other side of the room. You settled into a routine: Wake up, make breakfast, bundle up in your warmest coat and a thick scarf to go for a walk, come home, flick through TV while you snacked, make dinner, go to bed. It was boring, yes, but the routine settled you, and when thoughts of Nancy, images of her wide eyes and wider grin, her sharp brows and strong jaw, her long fingers and dark curls, danced across your retinas, you could shake your head and refocus on the task at hand. There was no space for the lingering hurt in your heart with your routine, no space to bemoan the state of your life and loneliness as you sat on the couch on Christmas Eve. 

The routine was familiar at this point, comforting in the way it surrounded you with people and distractions while you were entirely alone. The routine is why it was so alarming when the front door swung open, accompanied by the loud thumps of a heavy suitcase hitting the floor. The routine was the reason you looked up so slowly, why it took your brain so long to process the small woman in your doorway wearing a skirt and t-shirt, shivering aggressively as tears slid down her face. “N–Nancy?” You asked, feeling your eyebrows draw together in confusion. She opened her mouth, the only thing coming out of it a wail. 

“Nancy,” you said, standing up suddenly. You rushed to the door, wrapping your arms around her slender, icy frame. “Nancy, what’s wrong? What–Why are you here? Where is your fucking jacket?” You asked, your head turning quickly to look at the frozen flurries frolicking past your window, snowflakes glinting in the light of the streetlamps. A watery laugh burst from the chest wrapped under your arms. 

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Nancy asked, tilting her head slightly to peer up at you from watery lashes. “I come home,” she sniffed, wiping her nose as you relinquished your grip on her, “crying,” she said, emphasizing the word, “and you’re worried about me not having a coat?” She laughed again, the sound broken and making your heart ache. 

“It’s freezing outside, Nance. You–come on, you need to get wrapped up. Come sit on the couch.” You pushed her farther into the apartment, following behind to swaddle her in the blankets, still warm from your own body heat, that were piled on the couch. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to be in California with Jonathan until January.” 

She sniffed, running a finger under her eyes. “We broke up,” she said, her voice catching on the words. The story burbled out of her in stops and starts, tears and shuddering gasps interrupting her words as she recounted the morning’s conversation, how Jonathan had sat her down at the breakfast table, how he had explained that he wasn’t sure he could give her the life she wanted, she deserved, he said, and how, eventually, it had come down to the simplest words possible: We just don’t love each other anymore.” 

Her hands reached out, sliding over the blankets to wind her fingers in between the spaces of yours. “He was right,” Nancy said, her voice more even now as the tears stopped. “He was right, we just–we don’t love each other anymore. I don’t think we have for a while. But I just–I wasn’t expecting it, you know? I thought–” she shook her head, a trickle of laughter flowing from her lips. “I thought I would just get through the next four years, and then I would marry Jonathan, and we’d have a couple of kids, and we would be normal. I wanted to be normal.” Her eyes met yours, sending a shiver down your spine before she shifted her gaze to your interlocked fingers. “I don’t think I can be normal, though. I think–I think I want something else for myself now.” Nancy’s fingers tightened, a shot of adrenaline coursing through your veins at the touch. 

When she leaned forward, pressing her wide lips to yours, it caught you off guard. You jolted backwards, breaking the first real kiss the two of you had ever had. “Nance,” you whispered. “I’m– I don’t think we should–” 

“Please.” 

“You just broke up–”

“I don’t care. I don’t care about him like that anymore. I haven’t since–since before we–please, I just want you to touch me.” 

You bit back the words that had been pushing for space on your tongue, the denials and the rebuffs that were rational and responsible. “Say that again.”

“I want you to touch me. Please.” The last word was a whimper, soft and quiet like she was ashamed of it, but it melted whatever lingering resolve was buried in your chest. You moved quickly, bringing your mouth to Nancy’s again, pressing lips together as you tilted your head, pressing hers back so that your tongue was able to slip easily into the space between her lips. She gasped, quietly, against your mouth, and you felt your heart rattle in your chest, chaotic and longing to be closer to her. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” you whispered, moving your mouth to press harsh, hot kisses into her chin, her jawline, her neck, her throat, “until you forget that asshole’s name. Understood?” The whimper that fell from Nancy’s lips was your only verbal response, but she nodded her head vigorously, her brown curls shifting out of place with the motion; the way her fingers tightened around your arms, her nails digging into your skin as her head tilted back, a moan falling from her mouth, confirmed it for you as well. 

Your fingers flew to her waistline and were met by her hands; you pulled her skirt down as she pushed her shirt up (a trickle of annoyance in the back of your mind that Jonathan, fucking Jonathan who’s been an invisible presence between the two of you for so long, let her come back here in the dead of winter wearing a t-shirt and a skirt). Your fingers find bare skin, exposed paleness dappled with large freckles here and there. It’s the first time you’ve seen her like this–the last time you touched her, she was covered the entire time, keeping herself hidden away from your prying eyes like a sacred relic, like she knew that you were greedy and would take as much of her as you could and would never, never give up what you held in your hand at that moment. 

You wrapped your fingers around her waist, pressing your hands into the lines of muscle and sinew that separated you from her bones. Overcome, you dipped your head, pressing your nose flat into the soft padding above her belly button. The weight of your face pushed Nancy back onto the arm of the couch, her legs sprawling open as you fit your body between them so you could continue to touch the parts of her that reclined backwards. You dragged your nose up, letting your skin burn a path across her stomach as your nose and chin pushed up, up, until your chin was resting on the very bottom line of her bra. You settled your face there, Nancy’s fingers winding through your hair as she gripped your scalp, and blinked at her, a slow smile turning your lips as you took in her disheveled hair, pink cheeks, panting breaths. “Hi,” you whispered. 

“Hi yourself,” she whispered back, a gentle smile settling over her face. She loosened her grip on your hair, and the long fingers brushed against your forehead. Nancy tilted her head, slightly, watching her own hands trace patterns over your skin. When her eyes drifted back to yours, you couldn’t help but see the warmness in them, the distant echo of a centuries old fireside that represented home. “Are you done? Or do I get more?” She asked, and you had to stop yourself from practically purring at the simplicity of her request, of the implication that she was just waiting this whole time for you to decide to give her more. 

“Depends,” you said, smirking. “What’s your ex’s name?” 

“Jonathan,” Nancy replied immediately, eyebrows pulling together. 

“Must need more then,” you said, and turned your head abruptly to nip at the swell of the breast that threatened to spill out of the cup of her bra. Nancy’s sharp gasp was finished with a laugh, and your hands slipped under her torso to unclasp her bra, pulling the straps down her arms as you moved the material away from her skin. Her breasts fell free of the enclosure, the pink rosebuds already hard and drawn in the coolness of the air. You bite, playfully, at the curving line of her chest, soothing the small mark from your teeth with your tongue as Nancy whimpers. “Shh,” you whisper, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” 

Your mouth moves, slowly and sloppily, to the hardened perk of her nipple, and you’re quick to take it in between your lips, sliding your tongue over it, around it, all but rolling it in your mouth. Nancy is gasping, little “yes”s bursting from her lips as your hands wander down from her sides, skimming over her narrow hips to clench the tops of her thighs that your body presses between. All she’s wearing underneath you is a pair of the satin panties you’ve spent the last semester watching her shimmy over her hips, wishing desperately to touch. 

You lean back, letting your eyes wander over the expanse of her body as Nancy catches her breath. Her chest heaves under your eyes, her pulse throbbing in the column of her throat. “God,” you hear yourself whisper, voice rasping. “You are so fucking pretty for me, baby girl.” Nancy’s eyes widen, her lower lip wobbling as she takes in your words. Her arm extends, grabbing your wrist tightly as she pulls your fingers to her skin. 

Nancy places the palm of your hand against her throat, your fingers instinctually wrapping around the slender column. You feel your eyes widen slightly, shocked by the unspoken request; her brows arc, right at the narrow ends, and you feel your face press into a grin. “Words,” you whisper, and Nancy’s eyes slip closed, a tiny smile playing at the curve of her full, swollen mouth. 

“Please.”

“Please what?” 

“Please choke me. Please. I need you to–” 

Her words end abruptly, a gentle sigh replacing her voice as your fingers tighten, pressing into the harsh pulse on the sides of her throat. Your other hand slips between her legs, finding the skin of her inner thighs slick with longing. “Oh, you’re such a good girl,” you whisper, and Nancy’s moan makes your stomach tighten, your core throb. Your fingers slide the soft fabric of her underwear to the side, pushing in between the folds to seek out her center. 

“Wait,” Nancy huffs, and you loosen your fingers around her throat, eyes flashing to her face with concern. You look over her, eyes darting for signs of distress, for too-red cheeks or teary eyes. “I just–you already–please, just let me go down on you.” You lean back, feeling your eyebrows climb over your face as your lips part slightly. “Please. Mommy.” The words are stilted, falling from her mouth like bricks, but the light blush snaking over her cheeks tells you that Nancy knows, she knows what she wants, and she wants you. 

You nod, the movement subtle. “Okay, baby girl. Whatever you want.” She preens under your words, her eyelashes fluttering as a soft smile highlights the apples in her cheeks. Nancy’s fingers are gentle, slow where yours were quick, as they grab the hem of your night shirt; she pulls it over your head carefully, eyes on yours until your skin is exposed. The cool air of the apartment hits you, causing goosebumps to rise on your soft form.

“You’re so…” Nancy’s voice trails off, quiet as her doe eyes roam over your skin. “Beautiful,” she says, the word hanging in the air between the two of you, glimmering with traces of months worth of pent-up longing. “You’re so beautiful.” Her eyes meet yours, a spark of electricity bouncing from her to tighten your heart in your chest. Nancy leaned forward, pressing her mouth to yours as you fell back against the worn couch. Her delicate hands guide you to lie down on your back, the top of your head pressing into the bottom of the arm of the couch. “Beautiful,” she whispers, pressing her mouth into your throat; “Beautiful,” she says again, her lips cloying at your collarbone; “Beautiful,” hushed, like a prayer, at the curve of your breast; “Beautiful,” louder now, spoken into the softness of your stomach; “Beautiful,” a moan, this time, as you slip your underwear down your legs, exposing your heat to her mouth. 

Nancy is quick now, her lips pressing once to the skin above your already-damp folds. You feel her fingers spread you, her body tightening with anticipation in between your clenched thighs. A finger pushes against your opening, the muscles fluttering at the slight pressure. “Is this okay?” Nancy asks, and she pulls her eyes away from your body to gaze up at you. You nod, aware that any words from your lips would come out cracked, broken, as pathetic as you’ve felt dreaming of this moment for the last few months. 

Nancy’s finger slides into your core, and a soft sigh falls from your lips. She’s gentle, caring with her hand already up to the palm inside of you. The finger curls, just slightly, as she pulls it back, and your eyelids flicker at the pressure against your walls. She pushes a second finger in, stretching you just slightly as she works her hand against you, forcing a small whine from your lips. “You’re okay?” She says, the end of the sentence rising like a question as her eyes meet yours again. You nod, your eyes already feeling hazy as you watch her watch you. “Can I…use my mouth?” The question is hesitant, tentative, shy. 

“Don’t ask so many questions, Wheeler,” you mutter, cheeks burning as your voice shakes. A slow smile spreads over her face, and Nancy pulls her fingers from your warmth and dips her face to the space between your thighs. You can feel her tongue, flat and wide, licking a stripe between your lips; when it passes your gaping hole, you whimper and lift your hips, trying to grind into her face. Her tongue whisks over your clit, barely more than a fleeting brush, but it makes you gasp, the sound echoing through the empty apartment. 

“Oh,” Nancy sighs, and her eyes are narrowed, quizzical as she looks at you again. “You want both? Want to be filled and licked?” You nod again, the desire to mock her endless questions dying on your tongue as her fingers slide back in, quickly now that she’s in familiar territory. Your head rolls back on the couch under you, and your eyelids slide closed. When her tongue returns to the swollen burst of nerves, you whimper–the sound is long, loud, ludacris when coupled with the sound of her fingers thrusting into your wetness. “Oh,” Nancy moans–really, truly, moans, into your dripping cunt, and the vibrations send shockwaves through your skin. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, and your hands are suddenly wound in her hair, giving you something to hold on to as you rut your hips against her face. Her nose, her tiny, perfect nose, is pressing against your skin, her tongue lapping fast, wide strokes at your clit, and her fingers are starting to relax, to spread from each other and stretch where you’re tightest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimper, and Nancy’s fingers are faster, harder, while she lets you use her face for friction. “Oh, Nance–Nancy–Don’t–Please don’t–stop–” The words are coming out of your mouth in between hitched breaths, breaking in little gasps and cracks as you force them out, desperate to tell her that if she stops–if her tongue slows, if her fingers disappear, if any of it goes–you’re pretty sure you’ll die on the spot. 

“Nance,” you mewl, the word falling from your full lips like a prayer, “Nance, I’m gonna–don’t stop, I’m gonna c–” It’s the last word you get out before your back arches, body tightening around her fingers, a sharpness in your spine curving in on itself until it’s unleashed, the arrow of your desire loosed from the bow of Nancy’s lips. The sound that drips from your mouth is high pitched, cradled on each end by gasps, and you swear you can feel Nancy grinning into your body as she continues, relentlessly fucking you through your freefall. 

When you finish, she sits up and pulls her hand from you. You watch as Nancy sits back on her knees, slips her fingers into her mouth. Any thought you would have had at that moment–what does this mean, are we together now, are we going to talk about this, holy shit that was the best orgasm of my fucking life–dissapear from your head as you watch Nancy’s eyes close, an expression of bliss on her features as her mouth cleans you from her hand. She removes her fingers with a subtle pop, and you try to bring your gaze from her lips back to her eyes unsuccessfully. Your eyes are still on her lips, which is why you can’t miss when she says it. 

“Jonathan.” 

“What?” You ask, eyebrows jumping together in confusion and shock. 

“Jonathan,” Nancy repeats, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “I still remember his name.” 

You take a moment, letting your earlier conversation roll through your mind. A devilish smile turns up the corners of Nancy’s mouth as she watches you put the pieces together. “Right,” you say, sitting up with a grin on your own face, “Guess I’ll have to do something about that.”

#nancy wheeler smut #nancy wheeler stranger things #nancy wheeler fic #nancy wheeler/you #nancy wheeler/reader #nancy stranger things #nancy wheeler fanfiction #nancy wheeler x afab!reader #nancy wheeler/afab!reader #nancy wheeler x you #nancy wheeler x reader #sapphic nancy wheeler #queer nancy wheeler #wlw nancy wheeler #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fan fiction #my fic #maxanon

[alectology-archive]

omg bff why do you not like brandon sanderson's books? (im asking both bc im curious and also in hopes that you will rant your heart out)

I let my thoughts cool for a while before answering this sjdhwifhskf because his books just make me so mad. I've tried to organise my thoughts but I haven't really succeeded so it's mostly a compilation of all my annoyances with him. This is partly a me-problem in the sense that writers who’re only good at plot (which is mostly the case with him) just do not work for me at all. In my list of priorities good plot is ranked a lot lower than interesting thematic explorations and good prose (but he also sucks at characterisations - most of his characters are carbon copies of one another with slight differences, which means I don’t really end up liking any of them).

I’m going to put the rest of the rant under the cut because this turned out longer than I expected although I was typing this on my phone during class today-

His writing style is just really brash and lacking elegance or nuance - plus he has the most boring prose I've ever come across, maybe? I very much think he needs to step back and stop publishing so many books with such large wordcounts when most of his exposition turns out to be pretty useless. I just HAVE to drop a couple of quotes because some of them are such an eyesore, full of nonsense fragments and repetitions. 

He stared northward.

At the black and silver clouds.

He’d never seen their like before. They blanketed the entire horizon to the north, high in the sky. They weren’t gray. They were black and silver. Dark, rumbling thunderheads, as dark as a root cellar at midnight. With striking silver light breaking between them, flashes of lightning that gave off no sound.

LIKE.

War had come to Andor in the still of night. The approaching refugees would soon discover that they’d been marching toward danger. It was not surprising. Danger was in all directions. The only way to avoid walking toward it would be to stand still.

Me when I’m trying to desperately say something #deep (he does manage to write thoughtful stuff. But he also fails a lot of the time and he needs a better editor.)

Outside the palace, the Asha’man line was finally weakening. They’d given him the better part of an hour, blasting back wave after wave of Trollocs in an awesome display of Power.

When I talk about him prioritising Drama and Plot over thematic importance, this is what I mean, essentially? One of the main themes RJ’s books deal with is that war is a tragedy, but instead of trying to maintain the spirit of that, he delves into how Cool the asha’man look killing the enemy’s armies and dedicates a whole book - a memory of light - to endless war sequences that I don’t quite understand the need for... at all.

I've only read mistborn, his WoT instalments and parts of the way of kings so I can only speak for them, but mistborn was generic-YA-bad and the way of kings reads like a person who doesn't know how to write trying to desperately write fantasy so I had to drop it early on (I'm still trying to read it, but college has been keeping me very busy, unfortunately so I'm trying to prioritise Good Writers instead because I can tell that reading his WoT instalments has rotted my brain and ruined my prose. ugh). I've also seen people describing the experience of reading his books as interacting with a textual translation of video games (in a not-good way) and I agree, honestly!

What I hate MOST is that he specifically instructs readers how to feel about characters doing certain things instead of trying to steer them towards those conclusions. He lets you know that you’re supposed to hate x character and sympathise with y character instead of letting you decide yourself based on their prior motivations/actions in the story. I hate it when an author tries to spoon-feed everything to me and tries to force me to feel about certain stuff in a way that they specifically want me to - such writing also means they’re probably a bad writer if they feel the need to clarify to the T why I’m supposed to feel a certain way. 

Again, mistborn is one of his earlier books and I don't know if he's improved since, but there's also a bunch of fridging in his books, a sense of female caregivers being put on a pedestal, and female characters undergoing a character arc to embrace their femininity (while they previously rejected it) which means I have a harder time trying to believe he actually enjoys writing female characters. The 'how dare the oppressed subclass hate it's oppressors' thing he keeps pulling repeatedly in his books will never stop infuriating me either.

Also he is not funny and I wish he'd stop trying to be funny because I feel like throwing my book against a wall whenever I read what is supposed to be a ‘humorous’ passage. Shallan Davar bless you, the fandom loves you but I may never just because you get the brunt of his ‘funny’ dialogue:

“Well,” Shallan said to the captain, blushing but still eager to speak, “I was just thinking this: You say that my beauty coaxed the winds to deliver us to Kharbranth with haste. But wouldn’t that imply that on other trips, my lack of beauty was to blame for us arriving late?”

“Well…er…”

“So in reality,” Shallan said, “you’re telling me I’m beautiful precisely one-sixth of the time.”

“Nonsense! Young miss, you’re like a morning sunrise, you are!”

“Like a sunrise? By that you mean entirely too crimson”—she pulled at her long red hair—“and prone to making men grouchy when they see me?”

He laughed, and several of the sailors nearby joined in. “All right then,” Captain Tozbek said, “you’re like a flower.”

She grimaced. “I’m allergic to flowers.”

I’m sighing for a thousand years.

#it's also the homophobia thing and the mormon thing mostly #see I have my own beef with grrm but he knows to Write at least lol #I can't say the same for BS - he just doesn't read like a person who really knows how to write #sure he's creative. but he's not translating it well into a written medium. #asks #willowycreatures #text #brandon #<- I know I have a lot of his fans following me at this point so you're welcome to filter my rant tag #sanderson critical

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for not paying my employees their wages?

Alright hear me out. I (27M) are the boss of two employees (14F&16M) in an odd job company. The jobs are hard to come by and when they do it's always the weirdest shit bc this town is filled with aliens and human (but seriously the humans are much weirder. One I personally know can make food turn into ashes of hell) . For example, last week we got hired by a kid that wanna see a high class prostitute that he claimed was his mother, we did bc we are kind and benovalent not bc we are desperate for more cash and we almost got killed by the boss (who's a strong alien btw). Don't worry the kid got to meet his mom. We did got payed.

But the problem is my luck is so bad that not long after that my stupid friend's (27M) ship crashed right onto our office/home. And I had to repair that out of our payment. And the three months late rent. And our groceries (seriously. we need like 5 times the normal amount bc one pot of rice is for the teenage girl employee alone). And also broken stuff that the girl and her bigass dog broke when they play like everything is sturdier than them. And also she keep getting in a fight with this stupid S-officer (I also did always get a fight with his stupid second in command boss. Did I mention that their commander is stalking my male employee's older sister? Crazy right who knows there's someone that would like that gorilla of a woman.)

Anyway here's my budget:

Earning: ¥ 3500

Rent: ¥ 700

Groceries: ¥500

Sweets: ¥400

Comics: ¥200

So you can see where I put my priority right? They get fed and all that don't worry. Anyway gotta go my friend who's a terrorist is bothering me again.

Edit: stop telling me to cut off sweets and comic as a man it's essential to me.

Edit two: stop nagging me for hiring underages, one needed money to keepup his father's dojo and the other is an alien who hit my damn bike and refuse to go anywhere. Both of them refused to stop working with me. And no I did not pick her up bc I pity her she eats too much her bald ass dad better come back and pay me the damn child support

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality #STALKING MENTION

[idealspawn]

been feeling extremely neurodivergent recently. trigger warning i guess.. wanted to hurt myself but remembered that since i moved i dont have my blade w me here. how have i managed to reach the age 21 and still be so socially incompetent. i dont want to stand out i dont want to be different i dont want to be quirky anymore. my head wont shut up about how im on such a different page from everyone else. but it isnt something you can change or name. its just that Something is off. and idk if others can see it but i think they can because when i was younger thats how my highschool and middle school went. apparently ppl just thought i was weird for my mannerisms but never were able to actually specifically name the cause, like something that i acc Did. i started crying in the middle of the class after speaking up in a group discussion and i couldnt even calm myself down because of the setting. then i proceeded to cry in the bathroom between every lecture. and in my other lectures too today. i feel like an alien. i dont have a group for a group project bc i know noone in this class and i panicked and i didnt dare to ask anyone. i dont want to be the dragging link in the group project. they all know eachother and have studied this for 2 years but this isnt even my field of study. ive realized i have noone in my life that i can turn to for emotional support. i have friends but not people who can provide me support. i ended a 5 year long friendship because she made me feel even more alienated and my needs were unmet and she wasnt willing to even try meanwhile she knew i was therapizing her a lot and was willing to consider her triggers in the friendship. i met up for the first time w my internet friend. i think we are relatively close, i feel close to him. but i feel like i am burdening him a lot with my emotional shit bc i am overflowing and desperate to be seen and heard. i am trying so hard to be healed and have a secure attachment style and think like how a person w a secure attachment style would but my fearful avoidant tendencies have started to creep up on me regarding our friendship. i yearn for closeness and connection but i cant seem to get it. sometimes i dont allow it for myself because im so deep in my studies and so behind on work but other times i just am unable to receive it. i havent met my comfort person in a while (my friend i reconnected w this summer). we have crossed paths and hugged and talked for a short while but not long and i think it is driving me insane. i might see her this weekend.

[xamaxenta]

Marcoace modern au where Marco’s new in town and desperately needed a date for his new job’s new year gala/party or whatever and its mandatory he attends with a date/partner/spouse

So against his better judgement he follows Thatch’s advice to stand on the side of the road with a sign stating his name, his job and that he needs a date ASAP, please call x number

And it’s pretty mortifying, just standing there, with Thatch (who did show up as moral support) trying to wingman various people into going with him but to no avail

Until a young man approaches and asks if he’s serious and Marco sighs like unfortunately. Yes.

Ace shifts on his feet and thinks about how this year his holidays are going to be quieter seeing as Luffy’s staying in his uni dorms for the winter holidays instead of coming home and Sabo has to visit his family due to legal shit this year bc sorting inheritance and he’s feeling petty

So he asks what’s the dress code ? And Marco shrugs like formal? Theme is winter colours I suppose and Ace thinks it over a little long and then pulls out his phone to save Marco’s number

Thatch is beside himself lurking behind Marco like 👀, Marco kicks him in the shins surreptitiously

Glad that he’s sorted out the date issue, Marco and Ace end up texting frequently, and its super cute, Ace currently works as a freelance accountant whilst enrolling in online classes to get a teaching degree (kindergarten teacher Ace strikes again hehe), he likes cats, spicy food, documentaries and going on long hikes

Marco didn’t expect to catch feelings this fast, especially considering they’ve only met once in person and texted there after. He’s a little nervous as the gala date grows closers and asks Ace if he still wants to go and Ace sends him a voice message, the first one ever where he jokingly reprimands Marco like hey! No take backsies, you asked for this I’ promised you and besides I’m down for free fancy hors d’oeuvres lol

So they set a time to meet up so they can go together, Ace doesn’t have a car, a motorcycle yes but Marco isn’t keen on arriving cold and windswept so he offers to drive seeing as alcohol isn’t really his thing

And when he arrives to pick Ace up, he hadn’t been expecting much, considering he’s really just wearing a nice suit himself but Ace waits for him in a very daring white ensemble, perfectly tailored to fit and contrasts with his hair prettily, bc supermodel Ace is always necessary for modern aus too thanks ❤️

Speechless, Marco just looks him over and Ace smiles and tells him this is the only good suit he actually owns, (Sabos tailor is goated in this au, Sabo also forced Ace to get one good suit bc its for life bro) Ace shyly asks is it alright and Marco kinda struggles to say much bc ha pretty man

But he reassures him of course, if anything he feels underdressed now and then flusters when Ace flickers his eyes up and down his body, clearly, obviously checking him out

And the entire social event with Ace turns out to be so much better than he expected, dare he say fun, Ace being more extroverted than him talks for the both of them, happily chats and sustains conversations with Marco’s colleagues and their wives or husbands etc, they even win something together during the bingo hour and when the dance floor opens up, Marco, notoriously known within his own family for having two left feet allows Ace to drag him out, unable to resist his smile and lets him lead them around the dancefloor to dated festive music and it must be the wine Marco said he wouldnt have (but he did, its fine hes still sober) but as the night wears on, Ace becomes beautifully disheveled, in the sense that he’s slightly flushed from the champagne, his hair that was initially styled now mussed from how hes run his hands through his hair

It only feels natural to kiss him beneath faux crystal and snow

#marcoace #long post #xam writes #AAAAA WEEPEOING #i love them… mi kokoro is itao #itao #ITAI GOD

[aajjks]

👀👀

BC!JK

“good job today class!! you all have a wonderful day!” you tell your students as they happily rush out of your class. today was an early day at school which means you get to go home early too!!

of course you still do some lesson planning to stay caught up for next week which is about self-portraits for your kindergartners and western art history for your middle schoolers. as you’re finishing up your lesson planning, you feel your phone vibrate in your desk and before you can take it out—

*KNOCK* *KNOCK*

“miss y/n? someone is here to speak with you” says one of your co-teachers who is standing at your door.

“good afternoon, y/n” he says and when you look up to see who it is, it doesn’t take you a long time to figure out just who the man in question is. from his suave demeanor, calm tone, and smile this man is jungkook’s father jeon jaehan.

“g-good afternoon mr. jeon. weird seeing you here” you say as you stand up from behind your desk to walk up to jaehan and shake his hand.

“no need to be formal dear” he smiles and sneakily his thumb travels to rub the smooth skin of your palm. jihye constant bashing about you made jaehan wonder what you looked like in person.

it’s only right that he meets the woman that’s got his son wrapped around his finger and he’s beginning to think that jihye was exaggerating because you are drop dead gorgeous.

your pretty eyes are enough to rival his wife’s, your lips are perfectly plump, and your freckles look like a constellation he could stare at all day and night. your voice is as sweet as honey and your body is to die for.

not to mention you smell so fucking good, if you were a piece of candy he’d eat you up. your coveralls are adorable and so are your glasses, to sum it up, jaehan completely understands why his son is so hung up over you.

“uhhhhhh…mr. jeon?”

“oh, sorry. spaced out there. you’re very beautiful”

“oh, uh, thanks?”

“no need to thank me. a woman like you should know that already. ehem, but that’s not why i’m here, would you look to eat dinner with me? my son would love for you to join us”

“thanks but no thanks. not sure if you’re aware but your son and i aren’t friends at the moment”

“oh really? why?”

“i’m sure he can tell you why”

he already knows why but he just wants to listen to you talk. no wonder these kids are so fascinated with you. your voice is perfect, your face is perfect, and you are perfect. didn’t jungkook say you broke up with someone?

whoever let you go is insane and his son is a bigger idiot than he thought because he fucked up his chance to have you.

but maybe…

“well i just had to meet the woman whose got my son so crazy in love. if you ever change your mind” jaehan hands you his card with both his phone number and personal address on it.

“just give me a call. enjoy your day” he says before turning to leave you with your confused thoughts.

‘great. first his mother and now his father?’ you think to yourself before you get your phone from your desk and open it to see a text message from an unsaved number saying ‘sage is missing you’

what a coincidence.

‘i miss sage too. how’s bam?’

[UMMM MR JEON?!!? UMMMMM Excuse me? SHE IS SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR FUTURE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW.]

Your reply is instant. And it’s already got him giggling like he’s gone mad. Jungkook sighs and relief as you’ve replied and he takes a few minutes to reply to your text back because he doesn’t want to seem too desperate.

But after three minutes, he’s already typing his message.

���she says you should come here~- and as for him? He’s been a little grumpy, which is so weird because he’s never grumpy with me.’

He sends it, trying not to sound too persistent, and the truth is that sage doesn’t want you here, but he does.. jungkook laying down, waiting for your reply and everything is going good that is until… you tell him that his father just visited you.

And he immediately sits up straight from his bed, absolutely shocked, because why would he? What is going on? Did his mother tell him everything? And maybe he went there to you, were probably to offer you money so you can be out of jungkooks life forever?

‘wait yn?! I’m going to call you please pick up.’

He is so embarrassed right now because his parents don’t leave any opportunity to do that, why would he visit you when he’s always so busy even for his own son?

Jungkooks quickly dialing your number and you pick up after one ring. “Uh hello? My father was there?! at your workplace? How the fuck did even find it? I don’t know where you work?”

His father is not a nice man. He knows that very well and he wouldn’t just go there so he can fix his sons fucked up love life.

Not unless he has an agenda for himself.

“what did he say to you?”

#ask: bc!jk #GIRL IM SPEECHLESS #let’s hope yn doesn’t become jks step mommy 😮‍💨