#the whole show had such different vibes from the other two i want to

[candycandy00]

This is my first time really interacting on here, but I really love you work so I just had to request something.💜💜

Character: Nanami

AU Setting: Masquerade ball

Spice Level: NSFW

Mood: Your choice

Kinks: Degradation and size difference

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Non Curse AU. Degradation. Dirty talk. Size difference. 

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! Any feedback at all is adored! Dividers by @benkeibear.

 The stranger at the open bar is looking at you again. He’s totally your type, with his slicked back blonde hair and impeccably tailored black suit. He’s tall, muscular but not too bulky, and he stands there holding a drink in his large hand as his eyes slide over to you again. He’s wearing a black silk mask that covers the top half of his face, the sort most of the men are wearing at this swanky masquerade ball for bored rich assholes. 

You’re just here for the free drinks and food. Your uncle’s tech start up recently hit it big, so he got an invite to this party two weeks ago. “New Money”, they probably called him. But of course his perpetually single ass didn’t have a date, so he invited you to be his plus one. He even bought you a fancy cocktail dress, in shimmery fuchsia with a low neckline and high split up to the hip. You topped it off with a matching lace mask. 

When the two of you walked in, your uncle patted your back and jokingly told you to “go nab yourself a rich guy”. You smiled and grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray being carried by a server. 

That was over an hour ago, and you’ve barely seen your uncle since then. You spotted him a couple of times, chatting with other tech business bigwigs, but otherwise you’ve been on your own. You don’t mind. The food is fabulous and the drinks are plentiful. 

Then there’s the handsome stranger who keeps looking your way. You can see his eyes through the holes in his mask, can watch them travel up and down your body as you move across the room. There’s a dance floor where some of the early 20’s folks are dancing, so you head over and put on a little show. You may not be used to fancy places like this, but you go to clubs with your friends every weekend, so you know how to shake your ass to some music.

It worked. The stranger’s full attention is on you, his eyes practically glued to your every move. You wish he would just come over and dance with you, but you suppose he’s too mature for that. He gives off a totally different vibe from the young guys who hang around you at the club. 

Feeling emboldened by his hungry gaze, you work your way over to the bar and stand a few feet away from him, tantalizingly close yet just out of reach. You fan yourself as if you’re hot after dancing, hoping your perfume drifts over to him. 

Within seconds, he moves closer to you, leaning back against the bar casually as he asks, “Who did you come with?”

Are you that obviously out of place? You smile at him. “Who says someone didn’t come with me?” you say teasingly, sipping your fruity drink. 

“Just a hunch,” he replies, glancing at you sideways. 

You point to your uncle across the room. He’s laughing a little too loudly, being just a tad too clingy to the bear-like man standing next to him. You hope they’re hitting it off. “My uncle didn’t have a date, so I tagged along.”

The stranger smiles faintly. Was that his way of finding out if you’re single? His eyes roam blatantly up and down you again. You hope he’s enjoying the closer look. You certainly are. He’s tall enough to tower over you, and his warm, honey-colored eyes draw you in. He’s the kind of man you want on top of you at the nearest opportunity. 

“Are you enjoying the party?” he asks, moving even closer to you. He smells expensive. 

“The drinks and the food? Yeah. Not sure about the people yet,” you say with a grin. 

“Oh? This isn’t your usual crowd?”

You turn your whole body to face him. “Not really. I don’t usually hang around snobby rich jerks. But maybe a few of them are alright.” You say the last part playfully, looking him up and down the way he did you. 

His eyes flick down to your chest, as if tracing the dipping neckline, then return to your face. “Perhaps we could talk in one of the private rooms, and you can find out if I’m ‘alright’.” 

You feel your heartbeat getting faster as your excitement builds, but you maintain your breezy attitude. “Private rooms? Are we allowed to go in those? The owner of this house might not like that.”

The person throwing this lavish party is also the owner of this ridiculously huge mansion. Your uncle mentioned their name but it didn’t seem important at the time. 

The stranger smiles again. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

He holds out his hand, and you take it, trying to keep your breathing steady as he escorts you through the room. He keeps pace with you, probably walking more slowly than he’d prefer, and moves in such a way that it seems like he’s clearing the path for you. Such a gentleman! You really hope he’ll be fucking you like a whore soon. 

As the two of you step into a hallway, you notice the marble floors and the walls lined with paintings. “Look at this,” you say. “Who actually needs all this? It’s obnoxious.”

The stranger chuckles. “You really think so?”

You stop to look at a Chinese vase. It probably cost more than your apartment and your car combined. “All this stuff is beautiful, but I heard the owner lives here alone. He has to get lonely in this giant house, right?”

The stranger regards you for a moment, then says, “He probably does. Maybe he even throws these parties just to have some company.”

You think about his answer. “If that’s the case, I feel bad for him.”

The stranger says no more on the topic, instead leading you into what appears to be some sort of dressing room with an enormous walk-in closet. It’s exactly the kind of room you imagine a stupidly rich guy would get dressed in. There are multiple full length mirrors, high quality lighting, and a display case showing off dozens of expensive looking watches. 

You turn to look at the stranger as he closes the door behind him. He holds out his large yet elegant hand to you again, and when you take it, he suddenly pulls you close, right up against his body. Oh god, he’s so firm and strong! He leans his face down and kisses your lips, both of you still wearing your masquerade masks. His hands slide across your back, one of them moving down to squeeze your ass. 

He pulls away and looks at you, his dark eyes peering into yours. “What would you like me to do?” he asks, his voice low. 

You lean in closer to him, pressing yourself to his warm, sturdy form, and whisper, “I want you to wreck me.”

He puts both hands on your shoulders and, not too hard but not too gently, pushes you down to your knees in front of him. He unbuttons his sleek black pants as he says, “Let’s put that annoying little mouth to good use.”

Oh fuck. How does he know exactly what you’re into? Maybe you give off a vibe. You watch with anticipation, licking your lips, as he pulls out his beautiful, massive cock. Is everything about this man as sexy as possible? From the color to the shape to the thick, delectable meatiness, his cock is gorgeous. 

You don’t waste any time. You lean forward and run your tongue over it, spreading your saliva around, before wrapping your lips around it. You take him so deep, it feels like he’s halfway down your throat, and you love the fact that there’s going to be a hot pink lipstick stain around the base of his cock. 

His hand is in your hair, grip firm but not harsh. “You’re practically swallowing me,” he says. “You must’ve been hungry for cock all night. Is that why you put on that lewd little show for me on the dance floor? So you could end up on your knees for me?”

You look up at his face, your mouth still stuffed full, and mumble a whiny “mmhmm” around his cock. You can see his eyes widen slightly behind the mask, feel his fingers flexing within your strands. You move your head back and forth, fucking him with your throat, fighting back gags, your tongue swirling around him the whole time. 

And when he reaches his limit, he pulls your head back and says, “Open wide.”

You’re happy to obey, sticking your tongue halfway out of your mouth to give him a proper place to aim. When his warm cum hits your tongue and lips, you slowly swirl it around your mouth, giving him time to see it pooled inside before swallowing it. 

He loosens his tie and then lowers himself to his knees in front of you before unbuttoning his shirt, leaving both it and his jacket on but open. You can see his toned torso, can feel how damp your panties have become. He slides the straps of your dress down, revealing your breasts, and then leans down to take one hard nipple into his mouth. You moan as you dig your fingers into the fabric of his jacket. 

The stranger eases you onto your back on the floor, then pushes your shimmering dress up to your waist. It’s the most expensive dress you’ve ever worn, and right now you don’t give a shit it gets dirty. He slides down your lace panties and opens your legs, looking down at your wetness with a somewhat self satisfied smile. 

“So wet for me,” he says as his fingers probe your depths. “Such a little slut, getting soaked for a man who’s face you haven’t even seen.”

Ahhh, fuck, his voice turns you on so much! His fingers rubbing circles into your clit are driving you wild. You want him, no you need him inside you! 

“Please,” you whine, tugging him closer. 

He withdraws his hand and lifts your hips off the floor, pulling your lower half into his lap, his thick cock resting against your needy pussy. “Do you want my cock?”

“Yes, please!” you cry, wiggling in his lap, desperate for some friction. 

He has mercy on you, positioning himself at your entrance and then plunging inside. You gasp in pleasure, arching your back as he begins thrusting into you. 

“So tight,” he groans, gripping your thighs. “You’re clenching me so hard… so desperate… Fuck, you’re the cheapest whore I’ve ever had! You probably would’ve paid me for this cock!”

“Ahhh! Yes, I’m a whore for you! Please fuck me harder!” you scream, feeling your climax approach as he repeatedly hits your g-spot. When he slams into you one more time, you feel the pleasure wash over you as you cum, moaning and trembling. 

He gives a few more pumps, then completely buries himself inside you as he cums, filling you up so well. 

You both pant as he pulls out and stands up, buttoning his clothes. He then extends his hand to you again and helps you to your feet. While you straighten your dress and pull your straps back up, he looks at you somewhat sheepishly and says, “I hope I didn’t go too far with my words.”

You blink in surprise, then laugh. “Oh, don’t worry about it! I was into it.”

He smiles. “I thought so. I’m glad.”

You open your mouth to respond, but there’s a sudden knock on the door. The stranger walks over and opens it. A man in a server’s uniform is standing in the doorway, looking frazzled. 

“There you are, sir! We’ve been looking all over for you!” the server says breathlessly. 

“Oh? And what do you need?” 

“We’ve run out of champagne! Your guests are getting irritated!”

The stranger pats the server’s back. “Send Ryusuke to buy more immediately. Everything will be fine, I’ll go talk to the guests.”

The server seems to relax. “Thanks, Nanami-san.”

You watch the scene, trying to keep your jaw from dropping. Now you remember the name of the host, the man who owns this huge mansion that you’ve been shit talking all night. 

Nanami turns to look at you over his shoulder, a sly grin on his face. “Will you be accompanying me back to the ballroom?”

You smile back at him. “Of course. I might get lost in this stupidly huge house otherwise.”

He takes your hand. “Perhaps if you started visiting on a regular basis, you could learn your way around.”

You walk out the door with him. “That would probably work, Nanami-san.”

#nanami x reader #nanami #nanami smut #kento nanami #nanami x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #x reader #candys2kevent

[dwtdog]

my pov of dream getting emotional during uieud, the crowd singing for him and him hiding his face in his arm like FUCK

#dreamwastaken #la droncerts #la droncert night 2 #the whole show had such different vibes from the other two i want to #and it was so perfect #like he told us during ult mng that he was more intimidated by the smaller crowd #and you could tell i think in the way he let himself be more experimental kind of as a way to overcome the anxiety #like #especially with invincible stripped version i feel like people are t talking about #it was sosososososo good #ugh anyways #i could talk about this experiment for everrr #and maybe i will #:]

[scuderiahoney]

Oscar Piastri x reader // in motion pt 1

hockey au part 1: moving in, family dinner, and the first game of the season. also featuring: a whole bunch of other f1 cameos. 4.9k words

warnings: alcohol, slight reference to injury, my limited knowledge of college hockey, it’s a bit slow burn-y but i hope you get the vibe

You’re sitting in Lando Norris’ room, a basket stuffed to the brim with goodies perched on your lap. You’ve just finished going through them with Lando, explaining each one in excruciating detail. There are snacks, -both healthy and non healthy- study items, some school gear, and everything in between.

“You’re crazy,” Lando says, brows raised. “Like. Clinically. Coach told me to keep an eye on him, not… mother him.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t you want him to feel welcome? S’gotta be scary, coming to a new team his junior year.”

The two of you are talking about Oscar Piastri, the hockey prodigy who, for two years, has been playing at a different school. Now he’s headed to play with Lando’s team, and his coach had strongly suggested that Lando take him under his wing. He’s moving in as one of Lando’s roommates in their off campus house today, so you’d made him a welcome basket. You’d been thrilled about the whole idea. Lando’s less excited, it seems.

“I do want him to feel welcome,” Lando says, collapsing backwards onto his bed and sighing. “This just seems a little overboard.”

“When am I not overboard?” You ask, hugging one knee to your chest.

Lando purses his lips, then shrugs. “You’ve got a point.”

You hear a commotion downstairs, and both you and Lando sit up a little straighter. You can hear Max Verstappen, the team captain, talking, probably showing Oscar around the house. You wiggle your fingers on the bed in excitement. Lando sighs in mock annoyance. He’s smiling, and you can tell he’s excited too. You know him well enough to know that. You’ve been friends for years and years now.

Lando stands up and nods towards the open bedroom door. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

You follow him down the stairs and into the living room, where Max is standing with Oscar, explaining something and waving his hands around as he speaks. You and Lando lean in the doorway, his head stacked above yours, and wait patiently for them to notice you. Max does first, and his eyes light up. He waves the two of you in and introduces you both to Oscar, who smiles politely.

You’re holding the basket of goodies in your arms, and you hold it out to him. “This is a little welcome present,” you say, blinking softly.

Oscar takes the basket into his hands and blinks softly. His cheeks have gone red, and you feel your own face grow warm as he looks up at you. His hair falls over his forehead, and he smiles. Oh. Oscar Piastri is cute.

“Wow, thanks,” he says, quietly. “This is great.”

Lando leans over your shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

You elbow him, so hard he hunches over and groans. “Fuck off, Norris, you did nothing.”

Oscar laughs, muffling it behind his hand, and you feel quite proud of it. Max is quick to pull Oscar away after that, muttering something about showing him the rest of the house. Lando, having recovered, stands up and glares at you. You shrug. Then something pops into your head.

“Hey, family dinner is at 7:00 tonight,” you call after Max and Oscar, and Lando winces at the volume of your voice. “Don’t be late! I’m talking to you, Max.”

Nearly everyone shows up to the family dinner that night, which isn’t how they usually go. The whole team doesn’t live at the house, but Sunday dinner is open to everyone, and people make appearances based on their schedules. The guys who do live in the house are almost always there, of course. And you, because you almost never have anything better to do.

Oscar comes down to dinner in a Timberwolves hoodie that you recognize from the gift basket, which makes you feel a bit giddy inside. He stands on the edge of the crowd of people in the kitchen, like he’s a bit afraid to even put a toe in the wrong place. You smile softly at him from across the room as you open a bottle of soda. That same pretty blush returns to his cheeks.

Someone notices him, finally, and announces his presence. They’re hockey players, so they jump straight into teasing and far too aggressive handshakes. You let out a little sigh of relief as you see some of the tension fall from his shoulders. He looks happy to meet everyone, a smile slipping across his face. You can’t help the matching one on your own lips.

“Told you he’d be fine,” Lando says, nudging your shoulder.

You nod. “Yeah.”

Across the room, you hear someone comment on his hoodie as they tug on the front of it. “Nice, already repping the team!”

He nods, looking towards where you and Lando stand at the counter. “Oh. Yeah. Lando and his girlfriend gave it to me.”

The room falls silent for just a few seconds, and then they all erupt into laughter. Oscar looks around, bewildered, face even redder than before. You roll your eyes at the rest of the boys.

“I’m not his girlfriend,” you state, and Oscar scrunches his face up sheepishly. “And, like I said before, Lando did absolutely nothing to help.”

“You know, you could sound less disgusted at the idea of being my girlfriend,” Lando suggests.

You roll your eyes and pick your drink up off the counter. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Alex, a goalie on the team who’s leaning on the counter nearby, nods along. “Besides, it’s not like you could ever pull Bunny, Lando.”

Lando puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. Alex’s comment is met with resounding agreement. Oscar looks even more confused. There’s a little furrow in his brow that you think is honestly quite adorable.

“Bunny,” Max says, pointing at you, always happy to explain something, “is her nickname.”

“It’s a long story,” Alex pipes in.

Oscar doesn’t ask more than that. When everyone sits down for dinner, he’s quiet, especially compared to the rest of them. He’s still settling in, you remind yourself. A new team must be daunting. As everyone talks about class schedules and syllabuses and how they can’t wait for the hockey season to start, you relate to him more than he’ll probably ever understand.

After dinner, the rest of the team files out. Eventually, you’re left at the dining table with Lando and Max. Their other roommates, George, Alex, and Charles, are in the kitchen cleaning up the leftovers. Oscar has disappeared, off who knows where doing who knows what. He’s probably still unpacking. It’s a Sunday night, and when you decide to head back to your own apartment, Lando offers to walk you home. When you leave his house, you look up at the window in the corner from outside. The blinds are closed, but Oscar’s light is on.

…..

You quickly find out that you and Oscar must be in the same major, or at least a similar one, because you keep bumping into him during the first week of classes. The strange thing is that he doesn’t seem to notice you, or maybe it’s just that he doesn’t care to. You’re in at least three lectures with him. He barely looks at you in any of them, and never acknowledges you.

He’s just as withdrawn at the hockey house, where you spend most of your free time. He’s not mean, he’s just not exactly social, either. After the first family dinner on the day he moves in, he misses the next three, which is nearly unheard of for someone who lives in the house.

Lando seems to think it’s fine. “He’s showing up to training, he’s talking to the team, he listens to the coaches well. Maybe he’s just not a social guy.”

“Or maybe he just doesn’t like you,” Charles, the alternate captain on the team, suggests.

You glare daggers at him, reach into the mixing bowl in front of you, and lob a bit of cookie dough at his head. He dodges it with expert precision. It smacks against the wall and sticks. Damn athletes and their good reflexes.

“Hey, hey, no food fights,” Max says, having walked into the kitchen at the worst time.

He’s glaring at Lando, who throws his hands up in innocence. “It wasn’t me this time!”

Max turns to Charles, who points a finger at you. The captain gives you an exasperated look, resting his hands on the counter. He usually reserves that look for Lando, or one of his other teammates when they’re causing trouble. You hate having it directed at you.

You shrug. “He was being mean.”

“Was not!” Charles whines, and you roll your eyes at him. “All I did was suggest that maybe the reason Oscar’s quiet around her is just that he doesn’t like her.”

Max hisses through his teeth. “Charlie, that’s mean. Come on, who wouldn’t like her?”

You smile brightly. “For that, Max, you can have the first cookie.”

Max grins widely and reaches over to rub his hand against the top of your head. It’s the same way he rubs his gloves against his teammates' helmets when they’ve done well. You think it’s the only way he knows how to show affection. As he steps past you, Oscar walks into the room. You’d be worried he overheard the four of you talking, but you know he’s just arrived at home- you’d heard the sound of the front door. He greets everyone with a nod, sidesteps you, and heads for the fridge.

“Want some cookie dough, Oscar?” You ask, waiting with bated breath.

Charles narrows his eyes at you, obviously offended by your offer compared to you throwing it at his head. Lando’s watching you with amusement on his face. You want to punch both of them.

“Oh, no thanks,” he says.

He grabs a protein shake and then leaves the room again with just another nod. You pout at his back as he disappears.When you turn and look at Max, he’s giving you a solemn frown.

“We’ve found the one man immune to Bunny’s charms,” he says, shaking his head.

The cookies take a while to bake, and by the time they’re done, the house is empty. Everyone’s off at practice. You pack them up into a container, knowing if you time it right you’ll catch them on their break. Then you walk over to the rink, which is only a short distance away, cookies in one hand and a book in the other. You sit in on practices sometimes. Their coach only acts mildly annoyed about it. It usually helps when you bring baked goods along with you.

You take your usual seat down near the bench when you get there. A couple of the guys wave when they spot you. The head coach glares at you from the corner of his eye and then makes his way up into the stands, headed for you.

“Hi, Seb,” you say as you smile up at him as you take the lid off the container of cookies. “I made chocolate chip this time.”

Sebastian, or Coach Vettel, as everyone sane calls him, sighs and grins before reaching into the container. “They’re still warm!”

You nod, watching as he takes a bite. The smile stays on his face, which is a marker of a job well done. He turns over his shoulder, and you cover your ears just before he whistles to the team.

“Take a break!” He yells. “Cookies!”

Half the team scrambles over to the bench. Sebastian waves you down towards them. You follow him out of the stands and down to the bench, where Max is leaning over the wall, hands outstretched.

“I was promised the first cookie,” he says, elbowing Charles when he gets a little bit too close.

You hold the container out to him. Behind him, Oscar is face to face with the goal on the ice, shooting pucks like he doesn’t realize they’ve called for a break. Your heart sinks. Not even the cookies can make him look your way. Max catches your gaze as everyone else takes a cookie and scatters away, either to sit down or meander on the ice. He nudges his hand against your wrist and smiles softly.

“Give him time,” Max says with a shrug. “He’s trying to find his footing. Trying to prove himself. He’ll open up when he’s ready.”

You sigh heavily. “I don’t know why I care so much.”

“Because you’re a good person,” he says, and you feel your face heat up. “Because he’s new and you worry about him just like you worry about all of them. But that’s my job, too, okay? So trust me.”

You nod. He nods back. Then Lando comes barreling up, yelling something about cookies. You hand him a couple and listen to him whine about the practice as Max tries his best to keep the morale up. Behind them, Oscar shoots another puck into the net.

When they go back to practicing, you watch for a bit before you open your book. The season is ramping up, and their first game is only a few weeks away. The first practice was rough, it always is- you remember Max coming back to the house, so frustrated he wouldn’t even speak to anyone. They’re in sync now, though- passes connecting seamlessly, moving like a unit on the ice. You’ve missed it, you’ll admit. The scrape of the skates on the ice, the slap of the sticks against the pucks. When Lando asks if you’re excited for the first game, you’ll fake a yawn, just to keep his ego in check, but really, you can’t wait.

After practice is over, Lando yells up to you in the stands. “We’ll walk you home, yeah?”

You nod in agreement. You give them time to get packed up and changed and then meet them in the lobby of the rink. Slowly but surely, they all filter out. Lando’s first, hair soaking wet, and he shakes the excess water on you. Then Max and Charles, deep in a conversation you’ll never understand. George and Alex follow them out, and you peer behind them, looking for Oscar.

Max nudges you towards the door. “Oscar said not to wait for him.”

You try your best to hide the frown. Nobody but Max seems to notice, and he doesn’t point it out. He just smiles softly at you, like he’s trying to be reassuring. It works a little bit.

Your apartment is a few blocks down from the rink, sort of on the way to their house, if you don’t mind making a small detour. They always insist on walking you home, whether it’s one of them at the end of a family dinner, or a whole group on their way home from practice. Tonight, George and Alex peel off to head straight home, while Max and Lando accompany you. They’re chatting about the team, about practice, and you don’t really start paying attention until you hear them say Oscar’s name.

“I think he’s downplaying it,” Lando says, kicking a rock down the sidewalk. “I think with him, we have a real chance at the championship this year.”

Max is quiet. You know this is a sore spot for him. The team hasn’t won a championship since before Max and Lando’s freshman year. They’re seniors now. They’ve been in the playoffs every year. The championship has been just out of reach every time. They all want it so badly.

“Let him downplay it,” Max says. “Don’t put too much pressure on the guy, you know? Besides, better than him being a cocky asshole, huh?”

Lando twists his face up, but he nods. “Guess we’ll see at the game next week.”

You perk up even more at that. The first game is only days away. The whole campus is buzzing about it, yourself included.

“You’re going to be there, right?” Max asks, turning to you. “Can’t go without our resident cheerleader.”

You nod eagerly. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You’ve reached your apartment building. They each give you quick hugs and then send you upstairs. By the time you reach your bed, you’ve forgotten all about Oscar Piastri and his unwillingness to act like you even exist. You fall asleep and dream of cookies flying across the ice rink like pucks.

…..

You don’t sleep over at Lando’s house often, preferring your own bed to the couch or the air mattress, or, god forbid, sharing a bed with Lando. The two of you are close, but never close enough to be that comfortable with cuddling, beyond long hugs when you’re feeling sad or he’s lost a game. But you’d had a movie night that went on long and when you’d fallen asleep leaning against his headboard, he’d suggested you just spend the night. Then he promptly curled up next to you and passed out.

You’d done the same, but now it’s 1am and you’re wide awake, blinking around the room. The poster the guys all tease him for stares at you from the back of the door- Lewis Hamilton, former Timberwolves prodigy and first round draft pick. It’s a bit ridiculous that he’s still got the poster, really, but you know he’s had it for years. You drag yourself out of bed and head down to the kitchen. Maybe if you can get some cold water, you’ll be able to fall back asleep.

You nearly scream when you walk into the kitchen and find that it’s not empty. Someone’s standing at the fridge, his back to you. It’s Oscar- he’s shirtless, and he turns to look over his shoulder like he knew you were coming. He probably did, you suppose- the house is old and the stairs creak, along with every other floorboard.

“Hi,” he says, quietly. You’re trying not to stare at the smooth expanse of pale skin on his back, or his toned arms. “Can’t sleep?”

You blink a few times, then take a step into the kitchen. “I was asleep. Then I woke up.”

He nods in understanding and turns back to the fridge. You watch as he pulls the pitcher out, then reaches for a glass- two glasses. Something about that makes your heart catch in your throat. You swallow the feeling down and take a few steps closer. His arm tenses as he pours the water. You’re trying not to stare, because really, it’s his kitchen and you’re an outsider here. You’ve never felt like this in this house before, so out of place. He’s the only one who makes you feel that way. You don’t think he’s even doing it on purpose. So you’re trying not to stare, and failing, because honestly, Oscar Piastri is hot. You’re only realizing it now, because you’ve been too focused on him ignoring you before this.

He clears his throat. “So. You’re not Lando’s girlfriend?”

That startles you out of your stupor. He slides the glass of water across the counter, and you step forward to grab it. You drum your nails on the granite and shake your head.

“Nope. Just friends. Strictly platonic.” You state. He raises his brows- you’re not sure what to make of that. “I know me being here at 1am sort of contradicts that, but, yeah.”

Oscar nods. “Sorry. I don’t mean to pry, I just…”

He just wants to know why you are here, if it’s not because you’re dating his teammate. He doesn’t understand. You get it. Between the nickname and your penchant for hanging out around the house and the practices, he probably does think you’re some sort of puck bunny. You fight the urge to jump to your own defense. Oscar’s given you almost nothing. You don’t owe him an explanation in return

You shrug. “It’s fine. Logan asked the same things,” you say, referring to the freshman rookie. “I promise I’m not trying to fuck all your teammates or whatever you assumed. I’m just friends with them.”

You see his whole body tense. You take a sip of your water and study his face. You can’t quite read his expression, not in the same way as you can with most of his teammates. It’s annoying that he’s so easily unknowable. He’s not even trying.

“That’s not why I asked,” he says, quietly.

You almost believe him. You would, really, if he hadn’t been so standoffish towards you for the first few weeks you’d known him. You try to remember what Max said a few days ago. He’ll open up when he’s ready. Or maybe, never at all.

You take the glass with you when you head back up to Lando’s room. “Good luck on the physics quiz tomorrow.”

He calls out a soft, “you too,” at your retreating figure.

It’s a kind gesture, but you’re definitely going to fail the quiz. He doesn’t need to know that, though.

…..

You file into your seat at the first game of the year surrounded by the smell of hot dogs and soft pretzels and cheap nacho cheese. Lily, Alex’s girlfriend, is already waiting in her spot next to yours. She’s wearing Alex’s varsity jacket. You’re clad in a hoodie you stole from the hockey house, one you’re pretty sure used to be Max’s at one point. It’s been passed down to other people so many times it doesn’t matter, now. Lily smiles at you when you sit down and tears off a chunk of her pretzel for you. You accept it gratefully. Between the pretzel, the chill in the air, and the sound of Shut Up and Dance by Walk The Moon playing in the background, you feel right at home.

The Zamboni is down on the ice, making its last round. “Did you ask Alex if we could ride the Zamboni this year?”

Lily nods. “He said ‘we’ll see’” she says, mocking his accent and letting out a puff of air. “So. We’ll see, I guess.”

You sigh heavily and lean back in your seat. You’ve been begging them to get you out on the Zamboni for years now, trying to bribe everyone from the players to the coaches. None of the bribes have worked yet. You swear you’ll get your chance one day, but this is Lando and Max’s last year. They’re your best shot- they’re the ones you’re closest with, and the most easily convinced to go along with any of your antics.

The Zamboni leaves the ice, and the players come out of the tunnel, and for the next 60 minutes-plus breaks- you’ll be glued to the game down below. It feels like the whole school has been waiting with bated breath- it’s Seb’s first year as head coach, they’ve got Oscar now, this could be the year. They could win it all. Maybe this is it. When you look over, Lily’s hands are gripping the armrests tightly. You place a hand on her wrist, just to remind her you’re there. She smiles gratefully as Alex takes his place in front of the net, and the rest of the boys take their places on the ice.

Oscar scores 30 seconds in. The two of you lose your minds in the stands, screaming your heads off. Down below, you watch Max rub his glove against Oscar’s helmet, watch the way Lando comes barreling into the younger boy from across the ice. The electricity of it crackles in the air. For the rest of the game, you can’t take your eyes off of him, off of number 81. He’s captivating.

They win with a solid 4-2 score, and the team they played is one of the easier ones, but it still feels good, and bodes well for the rest of the season. Oscar scores two of the goals. Another goes to Max, and the fourth to Charles. You and Lily head to the house before they’re even off the ice, knowing full well what’s about to come. You make quick work of clearing any breakable items from the common spaces of the house, you make sure all the bedroom doors are closed, and you remove anything they wouldn’t want stolen or spilled on- blankets, random hoodies, Charles’ entire week’s worth of homework strewn across the kitchen table. Lily pulls the mixers from the fridge, while you take the bottles of alcohol out of the cupboard. The two of you set up beer pong in the backyard together.

When the boys get home, they bring a crowd with them- the rest of the team, minus the freshmen, the team’s girlfriends and friends and some of their families, and anyone else they’ve picked up along the way. The house already feels full, and you start to usher people towards the backyard, knowing it’ll only get more crowded from here on out. Max pulls you into a hug as he slips past you on his way outside- you pass him a shot, and he smiles gratefully before he tips it back. Lando is hot on his heels, and you repeat the process. They’re freshly showered and starry eyed, riding the adrenaline high. The two of them shove at each other, and they bump into you in the process.

“Good game, boys,” you tell them, smiling brightly at your friends.

“Fucking Piastri, mate,” Lando says, snapping his fingers in a way that makes you wonder if he’s had a shot on his walk here. “I mean, come on!”

Max laughs and shakes his head. You pour another round of shots for the three of you, and Max shrugs, as if to say, why not. You tip them back and all collapse into fits of laughter afterwards.

When you look upstairs, you just barely catch sight of Oscar, disappearing into his room. He makes eye contact with you for just a second, and he smiles softly, cheeks rosy pink. You smile back, and then he turns and shuts the door behind him. It’s the last time you see him that night. The whole team is talking about him, and he’s not even there. You think that maybe you’ll never understand him. You don’t have time to worry about him, though, not when your friends are dragging you outside and begging for a round of beer pong. Oscar can take care of himself.

In the morning, you wake up on the couch in the living room. The sun is just peeking through the blinds, and you’re surrounded by empty plastic cups. Someone has tucked a blanket over you haphazardly, and there’s a hoodie shoved under your head as a makeshift pillow. Max or Charles’ doing, probably, or maybe a joint effort. It’s early, far too early, and you close your eyes to try and fall back asleep when you hear it- the noise that probably woke you up in the first place. Someone’s in the kitchen.

When you lean over the back of the couch and look through the doorway, you find Oscar. He’s surprised to see you this time, it seems- he stops in his tracks, eyes going wide. His cheeks are red, and his eyes are, too- he’s been crying. After all his pretending you don’t exist, you shouldn’t care, but the sight of him makes your heart twist in your chest.

“Hey,” you say, quietly. “You okay?”

His eyelashes flutter, and then he closes his eyes and sighs. “M’fine.”

He’s clad in a hoodie and a pair of shorts, and his running shoes. He’s carrying a water bottle, too. He probably thought he could sneak out of the house and go on a run before anyone else was awake, and that nobody would even know. But here you are. Watching him fight back tears.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” you say, quietly. “I won’t tell. I get it.”

He opens one eye and stares at you, unconvinced. You nod.

“The pressure of the first game,” you suggest. “And you won, but now the pressure’s even bigger to keep it going. And everyone is talking about you but you don’t like the spotlight.”

He nods, chewing on his lower lip. “Yeah. Exactly.”

You rest your chin on your hands on the back of the couch. “It gets easier. Promise. And the guys- they’re just happy to have you on the team. It’s not all on your shoulders.”

He lets out a little huff and rolls his aforementioned shoulders. You can tell he doesn’t believe you, and for a moment, you wonder how shitty of a team he played with before. Max’s first priority as team captain has always been making sure his teammates are okay. Winning comes second. You know it’s not always like that for other teams.

“D’you… do you wanna come on a run with me?” He asks, and you blink in surprise.

You groan and flop back down onto the couch so he can’t see the way your face twists up. You do want to, actually. This feels like an olive branch. But a run is out of the question for you based on the ache in your right knee. Your physical therapist, Lando, and Max would probably all kill you for saying yes. So you say no instead.

“Piastri, I am violently hungover and I think I fucked up my knee last night, so I think I’ll pass,” you say. You hear him walk towards the door, and when he gets there, he turns back to look at you. His cheeks are still red, but his eyes are less watery. “But have a good run, yeah?”

He smiles. “Thanks.”

You can see him through the front window as he gets ready to take off. His breath curls into misty spirals in the cold morning air, and he’s silhouetted by the morning sun. It’s a bit breathtaking, really. When he disappears from view, you close your eyes and try to go back to sleep, comforted by the thought that maybe he doesn’t hate you, after all.

find part two, Change Of Heart, here!

a/n: i know it feels a little slow rn but we had to do some intro! let me know what you think!!

main taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @ggaslyp1

series taglist: @sourskywalker @ivyvlair @gwginnyweasley @annispamz @bearlul @aresriiots @lightsoutletsgo

if I’ve left you off a taglist on accident please let me know!!

#oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri angst #Oscar Piastri x reader #Oscar Piastri x you #Oscar Piastri series #oscar piastri friends to lovers #oscar Piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #formula 1 fic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 series #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 angst #formula one fic #fomula one fanfic #formula one x reader #formula 1 x you #formula one x you #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #fic: in motion #op81 #x reader #fanfic #honeywrites

[arminsumi]

can i request fluffy young love with yuji? he reminds me of that one song “and they called it puppy loveeeeeeee” he’s so sweet

PUPPY LOVE.

NOTE: this is so cute i sat here blushing and grinning pls!! and yesss that one song ahhh!! 🥲 it's got yuji written all over it. anyways hope u likeyy 💗

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

PLAY ME ♪ and they called it puppy love

yuji's eyes are heart-shaped when he has them on you. and he keeps a very straight posture when in your company; shoulders taught, chest puffed out a little, trying his best to impress you by showing off his tallness.

heeling wherever you go, he follows with peppy footsteps. even a stranger could tell that he's lovestruck.

his swooning is so blatant that it's become obvious even to his teachers that he likes you. he really exudes the 'i like you' vibes. the air between you and him is always buzzing with something that can't be identified by anything other than —

"puppy love. isn't it cute, suguru?" yuji's teacher comments as he catches the boy flirting with you yet again.

"mhm. very cute." suguru hums to satoru.

⁕⁕⁕

"can i walk you home?" yuji asks eagerly.

it's become a daily thing for him to walk you home. he knows you won't say no, of course, he likes asking just to hear you say yes. it makes him giddy.

he walks close alongside you down the sunset-lit streets, "clumsily" bumping his shoulder into you. the brief close proximity gives him butterflies.

the school day usually ended with the two of you sharing earbuds, listening to a playlist that the two of you made together, stopping by street food stalls, nearly choking on your soda when he makes a joke that catches you off-guard. things like that.

but something different happens today.

he holds your hand, when you two are about to cross the street.

you're staring at the walking person sign, impatiently waiting for it to turn green. and yuji is calculating his moves so hard that it feels as fatiguing as playing chess. the more he thinks about it, the more his hand starts to shake. the back of his fingers graze the back of your hand, you subconsciously reciprocate and — just like that you're finger-locking with your best friend.

he flattens his lips to stop from smiling. there's a boyish blush searing from the apple of his cheeks down to his jawline.

for every walk home after that, he always held your hand when crossing the road. eventually, he just started holding your hand the whole walk back to your house, and even down the school corridors.

each time he squeezed your hand in his, he was thinking of leaping in for a kiss. especially when you locked eyes.

sometimes the two of you could feel that you wanted to kiss each other, so you smiled bashfully and looked away. he'd laugh and mutter an unnecessary apology.

but one day, he braved it, and dove right in. he swiped a kiss right off your lips. he was so quick about it that you were too shocked to register what had happened — frozen in place.

the two of you looked at each other shyly, then started giggling to cope with the overwhelming romantic tension.

yuji got addicted to kissing you very quickly after the first kiss. little pecks at your cheek, on your hand, sometimes a cheeky smooch on your neck. poor megumi and nobara always complained about witnessing too much PDA. and though the teachers thought it was adorable, they scolded the hell out of you two when you tried to kiss in between classes.

some months after, yuji slipped a little promise ring on your finger. he seemed so nonchalant about it. but he was laid in bed daydreaming at night about one day putting a real ring on your finger.

© 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄.

#fluff #yuji #yuji itadori #yuji x reader #yuji x y/n #yuji x you #itadori x reader #jujutsu itadori #jjk itadori #itadori x you #yuuji #jjk x reader #itadori yuuji #itadori #yuuji x reader #jjk yuuji #yuji fluff

[suiana]

Yay!

(yandere! sweetheart x gn! reader)

You've seen him around. Seen how he talks, how he acts. And you're certain of one thing.

He's not what he looks to be.

Others might say you're paranoid or something, say you're just jealous of him and how everyone seems to adore him. But you really aren't. You just... You're just scared of him.

You're sure of it. It's his whole vibe and aura. It fucking creeps you out and you just can't understand why no one else can feel that. But you suppose it's because he looks like just another guy who's awfully sweet.

His eyes, lips, they all tell a different story as compared to the eerie vibe he gives off. Normally the eyes would be able to tell if he was just acting but... Even his eyes show that he's just a sweetheart.

You've rethought your opinions on him several times. Maybe you're just mistaken. Perhaps you're thinking too much about it.

But no matter how hard you've tried to see him in a positive light, your stomach churns with an indescribable fear. And your gut has never once lied to you.

Which is why you're currently trying to leave this scary situation which your best friend has put you in. She had brought you out to eat for a hangout and out of nowhere, this guy popped out and your friend invited him to join you two without caring about your opinion. You really wanted to punt her after she did that.

Anyways, she's in the toilet right now which means that you're left alone with him.

You didn't know what to say. You honestly just wanted to avoid him if you could. But he seemed to have other ideas.

"So! What have you been up to? I've been volunteering and helping around town, planting flowers and accompanying old granny-"

You tune out his words, staring at him with a slightly unnerved expression. Shit, he really does look like your average cute guy who's just a sweetheart. You can't help but feel bad about ignoring him but... even now, you're on edge. How could this be? You don't even sense any malicious intent but you're worried?

"Hey! Are you not listening?"

You snap out of your daze, blinking several times as you gulp nervously.

"Ah... apologies. I was just... tired, yeah."

"Hm..."

He hums, still smiling at you as he props his hands on the table and rests his chin on them. You figut the urge to look away from him as he stares holes into your skull. Shit, when is your friend going to return? You can't handle this anymore...

"Say, darling, do I scare you that much?"

He suddenly mumbles, catching you off guard by the petname and his words. What? He knew that he scared you?

"I knew that you were different. That you could see something others couldn't. Which is why I was interested in the first place. But it really hurts me to see you blatantly ignoring me more and more each day."

He complains, pouting at you as he continues to stare straight into your soul. You feel a shiver run down your spine as your mouth runs dry. Wait what? What is going on? Why did he say that? He knew? Darling? Did he like you?! What the hell?

"You're really special to me. I really don't want you to be scared of me."

He reaches one of his hands out and places it above your trembling ones. He smiles warmly, though you can't help but feel chilled by the action. Damn boy! Stop! You don't like this!

"W-what are you-"

"I am completely in love with you. And I apologize about my... condition that has scared you."

He admits, cheeks flushed as he continues to stare at you, eyes unblinking. You have no response to him. Who knew that the town sweetheart that scared the shit out of you had fallen for you? And condition? Oh shit, was he like, a devil or something?

You gulp nervously, lower lip trembling as you freeze in your seat. Cold sweat decorates your forehead as you pray for your friend to hurry her ass up.

"Ah... I had planned to just take you, you know? But I don't want you to be too frightened of me... It hurts. Truly."

He sighs before removing his hand away from yours, looking at the direction in which your friend was walking from. Thank god! What was she even doing for so long?! She was gone for five full minutes, damn!

"Your friend is back, let's cheer up a bit, hm?"

He chuckles lightly, stirring his coffee as he finally breaks the prolonged eye contact which made you feel naked. Whew, finally that was over. You felt molested by him even though all he did was say some creepy shit.

But... condition. Hm... You'd need to do more research about him. Maybe then you could finally understand why you felt so unnderved by this guy.

And perhaps even try to get rid of the constant stress in your mind. Which would be him, obviously.

He seemed to know so much about you yet you know almost nothing about him. This was really not an optimal position for you.

"Haha! Did you see a ghost or something? You look scared as shit!"

Your friend jokes, taking her seat beside you as she goes back to eating her cake.

Yeah, she was right. You did just see a ghost. And this ghost was sitting right at the table together with you two.

Damn it, this was really the worst.

#suiana's sinners #yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere concept #yandere sweetheart #yandere sweetheart x reader #gn reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting

[iridessence]

so I recently got booked for a burlesque show in nola that has a really great concept— each performer does two sets. in the first one it’s a classic burlesque act (think rhinestones, big hair, glamour, often vintage), the whole shebang. But after the first set is intermission and they (the producers) set up an x pole and the second set takes the audience to the strip club. the performers are able to interpret strip club as they see fit and in fact there is a lot of overlap— many of the burlesque people I know did or still do work at the clubs, so it’s not far off from them, but maybe the crowd is a little different.

anyway, I have not done club work ever, mainly because it’s just not seemed like a gig I could get based on my body and i imagine a lot of club runners aren’t interested unless they personally find you at least somewhat fuckable. but i had an opportunity to play around with what it might be like if i could work at a club, and i still brought a little glamour to it, but mainly i went for more of an ldr stripper fantasy and well… it was a glorious time.

I wore a baby pink powder puff bra, a marabou cuff robe and a pink g-string to nail the vibes because it’s either that or like, a rose bikini i did not have or an American flag sling shot which I couldn’t stomach for a lot of reasons right now. i wanted to wear makeup that felt appropriate to both my vintage burlesque set and a strip club mood so i went with a cut-crease eye look and just changed my lip from red to pinky-mauve between sets. basically hair was the high pony in my icon, and naturally I danced to a couple ldr tracks and just felt very sexy. One of my cast mates said I was giving high-end gentlemen club stripper that the other girls secretly hate because when she comes in, she’s going to make all the money, and that gave me a good laugh.

In general, there was just so much great support from the other burlesque buddies in the crowd passing through from other shows— and a couple of them fan girled over LDR and her Americana stripper bullshit with me. Bunch of audience members also said they thought the shift between sets and moods was really cool. The producer said later that they cried because the whole show was everything they hoped for… a great night indeed.

#text post #burlesque

[sweetkpopmusings]

how they feel before they know it's love with seventeen <3

a/n: i'm genuinely obsessed with "i don't understand but i luv u" like i have been listening nonstop since it dropped and i cannot get enough <333 i thought it'd be cute to do a lil post somewhat inspired by the song, so here it is !! i hope you find some comfort in the sweetness of these :,-) pics not mine~

content: fluff, sentimental and cute vibes only | wc: 2.6k | warnings: none really! | pairing: seventeen x gn!reader | requests: open

seungcheol♡‧₊˚

seungcheol, as a leader, knows how to step back and support his members, even when it comes to holding back what he wants to say to let the others continue the excited conversation. with you, it was an entirely different story. it’s not that he ever spoke over you–he would never dream of such a thing–but he talked with you nonstop. there was an effortless exuberance in your conversations because he knew that you’d always listen to him. anything, truly anything, that popped into seungcheol’s head was something he wanted to share with you. sometimes he worried that he was annoying you with his endless chatter, but speaking his mind to you was instinctive. he wanted to share every one of his thoughts and perspectives with you because he wanted you to have all of him. every word he said to you was filled with a deep desire to share himself with you. the vulnerability that flowed through each conversation with you convinced him that maybe, just maybe, there were some important words he had not said to you yet. 

jeonghan♡‧₊˚

jeonghan’s an extremely caring person. everyone knows that about him, but his thoughtfulness towards you went to a whole different level. he thought of you first for everything. everything. he could be on tour and trying a new drink, and the first thing that would pop into his head is “y/n would love this drink.” he did not care that you were hundreds of miles away from him; at that moment, all he would want to do is send you the drink in his hand, so you could try it and then tell him what you think about it. he never realized thought of you constantly until one of his members–probably joshua–pointed out how he always said your name in conversations or bought two of everything just in case. jeonghan would never intentionally try to bring you up, nor was he aware of how he ended up with duplicates of small items. in truth, your name was always on the tip of his tongue, and you were always on his mind. one day soon, something else would be on the tip of his tongue when he said your name. 

joshua♡‧₊˚

joshua tried to play it cool, but he was fascinated by you as soon as he laid eyes on you. the nuances of how you speak, the gestures you make when you’re telling a story, and the way your favorite songs exposed the most important parts of you–shua was obsessed with memorizing each of these things. when something about you was engraved in his mind, he would show you he knew it by teasing you. his imitations or remarks were always spot on, but they clearly came from a place of fondness and attention. he teased you effortlessly with a soft smile and a sparkle in his eyes, something that made you melt each time. he wasn’t aware of the look on his face or the tone of his voice because the adoration came out so naturally when he was with you. if other people were around when shua poked fun at you, it was completely obvious to them what he was actually saying when he flawlessly imitated your facial expressions while telling a funny story from when you two went to a coffee shop over the weekend. even before either of you could put words to it, you could clearly feel the love behind every teasing jab.

junhui♡‧₊˚

junhui is so very unique, and that shines through in the way he treats you. from the moment he met you, he felt a very intense urge to make you smile. he thought about you constantly, and, one day while shopping around in a random city the day before a show, he found a small figurine that reminded him of you. he was so excited to give it to you that he couldn’t stop smiling every time he looked at it. from that point forward, he collected small trinkets and keepsakes for you, as a way to bring you a little burst of joy, even when he was away. sometimes he bought them, and other times he would just hold onto a sticker from a music shop you went to together, giving it to you when he was proud of you for a specific accomplishment. to junhui, it only made sense to write you a little note with your favorite jokes and hide it in your bag for whenever you had a bad day and needed a pick-me-up. through each thoughtful gift, it became clear that he wanted to give you the world, and junhui most certainly would, one snowglobe and ticket stub at a time. 

soonyoung♡‧₊˚

soonyoung always felt strongly about you, so he never really stopped to put an exact word to it. how he felt about and with you was something special, something only shared between you two. it was just the world you lived in together, and, in his mind, there was no reason to analyze his natural state of existence when it felt as wonderful as life did with you in it. one thing, however, that made his head feel light and his stomach feel frenzied was a new habit he developed after he met you. whenever he said something funny, even the smallest comment that made someone else laugh, he immediately had to tell you. he’d call you, send you a voice message, or rush over to you from across the room, just to tell you the story and repeat his silly little joke. soonyoung, from the first time he ever heard you laugh, knew that he needed to see that smile on your face and hear that sound fall from your lips every chance he got. he wasn’t quite sure what to call that. soon enough though, he’d figure out how to express his deepest feeling for you with words that weren’t tied to a punchline.

wonwoo♡‧₊˚

wonwoo always excelled at observing everyone and everything around him. after he met you, however, most of what he saw, heard, tasted, smelled, and touched made him think of you. everywhere he went, something reminded him of you, and he’d always smile. the shoes a stranger on the subway was wearing could be similar to a pair he saw you in the other week. maybe, in the back of the restaurant he ate at with friends after a long day of work, there was someone who ordered a drink he’d ordered for you a hundred times. no matter where he was, what he was doing, or whom he was with, wonwoo found something in his surroundings that tied him back to you. even when you two were together, you’d catch him smiling in a quiet moment. he’d brush it off, say “it’s nothing; i’m just happy to be here,” but, really, he’d want to say “the sound of the car horn made me think of that movie we watched together a few weeks ago, and every time i think of you i feel so comforted and happy, like nothing could ever go wrong.” he’d stay quiet, pondering what it truly meant to always find you in his surroundings regardless of the distance between you, and he’d squeeze your hand a little tighter as he discovered the answer.

jihoon♡‧₊˚

it was extremely easy for jihoon to find inspiration for his music from you. what he didn’t realize was that you left an indelible mark on his taste in music. whenever you two spent time together, he would give you the aux (literal or proverbial) because he was interested in what music made you happy, sad, want to dance, relax, etc. he listened very intently, and it took almost no time at all for the songs you introduced to him to make their way onto his playlists. more than that, he would frequently hum the melodies of songs you showed him as he walked around his place and cleaned. no one would ever point it out to him because they had no way of knowing that the new songs he obsessed over were all tied to you, but, eventually, jihoon realized that all the songs he associated with you were the only ones he ever had stuck in his head now. memories of you permanently embedded songs into his mind, a playlist only for him to listen to in the quiet moments of life. as he wrote lyrics that expressed this occurrence, he understood that it all came down to the fact he could never, and would never, get you out of his head. 

seokmin♡‧₊˚

seokmin was so fond of you, and he naturally expressed that fondness by giving you at least one thing to smile about each day. it started as a way to break the ice during conversations when you first got to know each other. once you two didn’t need icebreakers, the habit stayed, and seokmin’s habit became one of the strongest aspects of your relationship. seokmin never relied on anything fancy; he would send you a wholesome meme in the morning, so you could start your day smiling, or he would show you a funny video clip when you met up for dinner, starting the night off with a hefty dose of laughter. there was a sparkle in his eye when he laughed with you, one that only showed up when he saw your smile. he would be particularly proud if he made you laugh until tears fell or you smiled so big your cheeks hurt. whenever that happened, he would boast to his members, showing them the picture or video while beaming with excitement as he recounted your reaction. alongside his excitement toward your joy existed the fact that he couldn’t rest easy until he knew you had at least a little bit of serotonin in your day. truthfully, he never felt more at peace than when he was the source of that happiness, and he wanted to feel that for as long as humanly possible. 

mingyu♡‧₊˚

mingyu has a real presence. from his height to his goofy personality, people know when mingyu is around. those charms were how he caught your eye, and he always got an energy boost when you were around. as he grew closer to you, more comfortable, mingyu’s behavior revealed an even sweeter side of him. whenever he spoke with you, his voice was soft and careful, every word meant for you only. his looks always held you gently as he soaked up every word that you shared with him. any times jokes or teasing comments wove their way into your conversations, he laughed hard but quietly, just loud enough for you to hear, even leaning closer to you, enclosing the both of you in the joy of the moment. if you had physical contact with each other, mingyu’s touches were as soft as everything else about him. it was never out of the belief that you were fragile. rather, tenderness radiated from mingyu whenever he felt you near, and it enveloped his entire being when he looked at you. mingyu was always caring, always considerate, but his loved ones often commented that they had never seen him so soft before. mingyu knew, without knowing how to explain it quite yet, that you were the difference.

minghao♡‧₊˚

minghao values peace and quiet. life is chaotic for most people, and this was especially true for someone in his line of work. he tried, as best as he could, to create pockets of calm whenever and wherever he could, through meditation or simply waking up to watch the sunrise by himself. searching for that peace grounded him in his toughest times, and he depended on that calmness to get through it all. as he got to know you, searching for that peace became easier. minghao was calmer, knowing you were there, and he instantly relaxed whenever you were beside him. there was not anything specific that you did; you could just look at him, and his whole body would relax, proving just how stressed he had been mere seconds before he laid eyes on you. to minghao, you were the ultimate source of serenity. he never wanted to lean into clichés, but it was true that, even in a crowded room, he would know you were there by the way his heartbeat relaxed into a natural, happy rhythm. it didn’t take long for minghao to notice that you had this effect on him. it also wouldn’t be long before he admitted this, and something just as meaningful, to you.  

seungkwan♡‧₊˚

everyone knows seungkwan is an entertainer through and through. when you two were introduced to each other, he performed as well as he could to keep you laughing, and, unbeknownst to himself, to impress you. as time passed, however, he realized didn’t have to perform in front of you. he felt comfortable enough to be his most authentic self, and he only ever wanted to be his most authentic self with you. he still loved to do bits around you and be dramatic when the moment called for it, but he wanted to show you other sides of him too. for seungkwan, he felt a connection with and appreciation for you that could only be expressed by him letting his guard down. what mattered more than entertaining you was showing you every part of himself as honestly as humanly possible. showing up exactly how he was whenever he was with you was all he could think of because he always wanted to meet you exactly where you were. it wasn’t long after he realized this that his truest feelings toward you came out. it wasn’t something he thought of before he said it; it was something that slipped out when you asked him, “how was your day?” 

hansol♡‧₊˚

hansol’s mind is expansive. his perspectives reflect his astute introspection and deep compassion, and he would never cease to amaze–or entertain–those around him with the thoughts inside his head. to hansol, however, your mind was the most fascinating. he was deeply curious about the things that made up who you are: your hyperfixations, the dreams you had at night, your favorite snack for each time of day, etc. he was endlessly entranced by everything that colored your life. he wanted nothing more than to color his life with them too. this genuine interest meant that hansol’s eyes were filled with childlike wonder whenever you shared something about yourself with him. he committed every minute detail to memory, and he often retold anecdotes from your life during conversations with his friends. even to them, it was endearing to see his delighted laughter as he recounted stories of small social faux pas in your adolescence that became inside jokes between you two now. it was during one of those conversations, while smiling at the thought of you, that hansol started to uncover what influenced his infatuation with all things you.   

chan♡‧₊˚

chan took to you immediately. your personality charmed him, regardless of how charming you thought yourself to be. he couldn’t get enough of the conversations shared between you two, existential or lighthearted. chan genuinely wanted to talk to you as much as humanly possible–without annoying you or taking you away from the other people you cared about–and that’s why he started calling you whenever he was done with his schedules for the day. it could be the hardest practice of the year, but chan, drenched in sweat and barely able to walk, would light up the second you started to say “hello” on the phone. the sound of your voice literally put a pep in his step. he developed a liking to walking home, just so he had an excuse to talk to you for a long time without any interruptions. neither of you needed convincing, however, because everything flowed so seamlessly between you. chan didn’t know exactly how to tell you this, but, with you, he was eager to say even the simplest things until his voice gave out, just so he could keep on talking to you.

#seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen blurbs #svt blurbs #s.coups x reader #seungcheol x reader #jeonghan x reader #joshua x reader #jun x reader #junhui x reader #hoshi x reader #soonyoung x reader #wonwoo x reader #woozi x reader #jihoon x reader #dk x reader #dokyeom x reader #seokmin x reader #mingyu x reader #the8 x reader #minghao x reader #seungkwan x reader #vernon x reader #hansol x reader #dino x reader #chan x reader

[babybinko]

Made a TON of Venture Bros. genderbends :D

Bonus + some of my thoughts on all the designs under the cut:

This is from a conversation I had with a friend about how Dermott and Hank would behave in this AU (its exactly the same as normal)

Ok now some thoughts on my design process

Hank: I think I drew Hank's face actually perfect, I made her so cute. I also feel like there's a common trope with genderbends where athletic characters get short hair so I gave her long hair and gave Dean short hair. I actually think the longer hair fits her perfectly. ALSO I LOVE HER BOOTS.

Dean: I gave goth Dean more Accessories than normal because normal goth dean had no fucking swag (it was besties idea to make her pants ripped). Even before I started drawing college Dean I knew I was giving her those legwarmers you can pry them from my cold dead hands. Same with the legwarmers I knew the first dean design needed a Jean skirt its just the vibes.

Dermott: The millisecond I even thought about doing Dermott I KNEW she would be 2012 grunge girl aesthetic. Gigantic shoplifting energy. Love her.

Rusty: I wanted her to look like a mean mom and I believe I accomplished that goal. Absolutely had to add the glasses strap. Very Jamie Lee Curtis.

Brock: I drew the one with the hair down first and my friends preferred the one with the hair up so I just did both. I wonder if she was a cheerleader in college and killed another girl on her cheer squad by throwing her too far/dropping them.

21: I drew 21 then I realized I had just drawn myself with bangs. Also I drew her with a blunt because there's an episode where 21 has a joint in his mouth the whole episode the other henchmen are standing in stupid poses in the background and its maybe one of my favorite bits in the entire show its so stupid.

24: 24 took several attempts to get the hair right I kept drawing it short and curly and my friend told me to give her Elaine from Seinfeld hair which I think ended up working really well.

Monarch: One of my favorites I did. I feel like this one you can definitely tell how Bayonetta completely re-arranged my brain chemicals as teenager. I love the hip cutouts, I made a tummy cutout to kind of mimic how Dr.GF's monarch costume is kinda skimpy. It's also hard to tell because of the cowl but I tried to give her like a finger waves hairstyle.

Dr.Gf: I tried a bunch of different hats but my friends liked the brimless hat the most and completely doomed him into looking like a Bellhop (more than he already did). Its giving Tyler the Creator at the 2020 Grammys. I still think he's cute though :)

Billy: I really didnt want to just draw her in a suit because thats boring. The show always gives me 60s vibes despite being set in modern day (I'm sure its on purpose) and I definitely channeled that with Billy. It took a couple tries to find a balance between fitting her body but still looking adult but I think I got it in the end.

Pete: YAYYYY PETE YAAAAYY!!! ^_^ Shes so Ava Max Coded. I also gave her giant buckles on her shoes to match his stupid ass one two buckle my shoes ass shoes.

Triana: Very much looks like putting emo boy in the Pinterest search bar. I made her thigh highs into his sleeves and I gave him square bangs like her.

Dr. Orpheus: NEEDED to make her a hot milf and I did. Its a little hard to see but her shirt has lace over the open part. I love the hair Jewerly at the bottom of her braid. :)

#venture bros. #venture bros #Hank Venture #Dean venture #rusty venture #dermott fictel #Dermott venture bros #brock samson #henchman 21 #henchman 24 #the monarch #monarch venture bros #dr. girlfriend #billy quizboy #peter white #triana orpheus #dr. orpheus #Gary Fischer #billy whalen #dr. mrs. the monarch #Dr. Byron Orpheus #my art #venture brothers #genderbend #genderswap

[astraariel]

eternal snow

pairing: sanji x fem!reader

summary: your love for sanji was unconditional, unfortunately, he didn’t feel the same seeing as there were petals coming out of your mouth.

word count: 3.6K

warnings: spoilers (?) just the name of a character from the whole cake island arc, it’s a modern!au so I don't mention anything about the actual arc!

tags: loosely based on “eternal snow” from fullmoon wo sagashite; angst; hanahaki disease; implied cheating; modern!au; hurt no comfort; lovesick; requited unrequited love

author's note: I think along with everyone opla is taking over my life so it encouraged me to finish this fic I started months ago lol. once again I like angst and this is soooo ooc of sanji he would never cheat I love him so much I’m sorry. on another note, I really like AmaLee’s cover of this song so you can give it a listen if you want to feel the vibe. 

also, ignore the fact that Pudding is sixteen, she’s older than that in this. I couldn’t really think of anyone else to have/didn't want to think of a different character. just know, she’s of age. other than that, ignore grammar mistakes and enjoy♡

──★ ˙ ̟read pt2 here!

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You weren’t entirely sure how you had gotten to this point. You were certain that you two would be together forever. How you had unknowingly lost the one you love so dearly, you would never know.

Sanji was a flirt and you loved it, he could simply say that you looked beautiful today and you’d melt. Hell, that’s how you too met, Nami had introduced you two and Sanji wooed his way into your heart. You knew that he had you in the palm of his hand, but you weren’t sure you could say the same for him.

Sanji was an attentive lover. When he loved, he showered you with his attention. You could always tell that his presence was there whenever you spoke. He’d care and cater to every request you asked of him, not allowing you to lift a single finger. It’s who he was.

You were blinded by your love for Sanji that you never noticed him slipping away from your grasp.

The two of you were currently sitting together on your living room couch. Sanji mentioned there was a new show he wanted to watch, so here the two of you were. Your attention was focused on the TV in front of you while his was on his phone.

You glance at him, “Who’s that?” 

He hadn’t looked away from it for more than 30 seconds throughout the last episode. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he looks at you. 

“Oh, it's the new dessert chef at the restaurant,” he shuts his phone off, “I've been assigned to help her around and show her the ropes,” he smiles, “It’s nothing, you want popcorn?” 

You turn to him, “Of course I do.” He gets up to walk to your kitchen, “Hey, I love you.”

He walks up behind you and bends down, kissing your head, “And I love you more.” He stands up and you hear him rummaging through the pantry for a popcorn packet. 

You cough slightly, “Could you grab me some water, Sanji?” He shouts back a response but you don’t make it out because you’re too busy pulling a petal out of your mouth.

♡‧₊˚

After that lone petal had made its introduction, it planted itself as a constant. Every so often for the following weeks, you’d feel something weird in your mouth, only to pull out a single flower petal.

You weren’t sure what was going on, but you couldn’t bring yourself to think too much about it. On top of the weird cough you were having, Sanji was also acting off. 

It was small at first, just tiny, little white lies that he’d tell you. 

Like when he’d say he was tired, that he was going to bed, but you could hear him on his phone laughing at something from the room. Or when he claimed that his phone had died and that’s why he hadn’t texted you back even though you were hanging with Nami at the time and he had replied to a video she had sent him a minute after you texted him. 

That was just the first few weeks.

You weren’t sure when the white lies became real lies but it had only spiraled more. You had found that he wasn’t even bothering with lying anymore, simply stating that he was too busy to come over or that he didn’t even want to hang out with you that day.

Sanji would claim to be too tired and not bother to see you for an entire week, but then he’d call you complaining that he missed you and question why the two of you hadn’t gone on a date recently and then insist that he was going to cook dinner for the two of you. Those times were always the best. It made you feel like nothing was wrong. 

It was pure whiplash. 

You were never sure which Sanji you were gonna get that day. Maybe it’d be the Sanji that you loved or this new person who had taken over and wouldn’t even text you back for days on end. 

Recently, he was your loving, doting boyfriend. Which caused you to completely forget about the flower petals you were currently collecting from your mouth when you were being distracted by Sanji’s full attention. 

You were lying on Sanji’s chest recounting your day to him when suddenly the sound of his phone pinging cut you off. 

A quiet chuckle made you peek up at Sanji, his eyes were looking at his phone intently, whatever was on his screen, clearly captivated him more than what was coming out of your mouth.

You sit up, his blatant disinterest in your day annoying you. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Your voice cuts through the room.

He looked up at your now sitting form, it looked like he was just acknowledging your presence.

He lets out a noise of confusion, “What?”

“Are you angry at me? Did I say or do something that pissed you off? Because, please, just tell me, I can't take it anymore.” you pleaded.

You notice Sanji’s body tensing, his brow scrunching in even more confusion. He laughs awkwardly, “Baby, what are you talking about? I’m not angry.” he looks away, “I love you, you know that right?”

And suddenly, you weren’t angry anymore. 

You smiled, “I love you too.”

He glances at his phone again.

But you don’t care, because he loves you. 

Satisfied with his response, you settle back down but are interrupted when you begin to cough. Quickly, you stand up to fetch your handkerchief from your pocket, wiping your mouth swiftly. 

You look back at Sanji, “I’m gonna-” but before you can finish, you feel the familiar flowers clawing their way up your throat. You walk out of the room coughing. 

Sanji doesn’t look up from his phone.

♡‧₊˚

He was late.

Again. 

You were exhausted. The constant lies that you fooled yourself into believing for the sake of your heart were beginning to wear on you. 

The old hoodie you were wearing enveloped you in an attempt to provide yourself some level of comfort that no one could really give you anymore. 

It’s late, around midnight, last you checked. The spaghetti dinner left on the table you had cooked had long gone cold. The Baratie had closed hours ago and Sanji still wasn’t home. 

You sit in complete darkness, the TV is currently rattling off an old rerun of some show you didn’t watch. You’re too tired to get up and find the remote to change the channel so you settle on watching the old comedic sitcom. You’re holding your trusty handkerchief that’s become your best friend in the past months; ready to close around your mouth in an attempt to catch the petals of flowers that’d come up your throat every so often. 

Your eyes glaze over the screen when you hear the door creak open. Footsteps were heard as a soft clatter sounded throughout the room from Sanji setting his keys down on the counter. 

You sit up slowly, in an effort to prohibit any intense coughing. 

Your eyes meet Sanji’s surprised ones, “You’re still awake? It’s late, you should go to bed.” he looks away. 

“You missed dinner.” You look over at Sanji’s form, he’s stiff, you note.

“I stayed late to help close, sorry we can reschedule.” He brushes you off swiftly.

“Was she there?” The argument had already begun, why not fuel it some more?

Sanji whips his head at you, an incredulous look gracing his features. “Who are you talking about?” Acting dumb was never a good look on him. 

Your tired eyes stare at him, “I know you’re spending time with her.” The venom in your tone was palpable.

You were over the lies. You were over the constant tiptoeing between each other, you’re honestly surprised he still even decided to come over. It would have been better for him to stay at his place and just call you in the morning to tell his lie. 

He has balls, you’ll give him that.

“Do you even love me anymore?”  

The silence that surrounded the room was upsetting. Of course, he didn’t, who were you fooling? You had all the proof you needed in all of the trashcans around your house, discarded tissues soaked in blood, and petals filled the bins.

Sanji scoffs, “I don’t know what you want from me.” He doesn't answer the question, “Why are you asking if I love you, you're being needy.” He stares at you before continuing, “If you don’t trust me,” he looks away, “Then maybe we should break up.” With a tone of finality, he turns around and walks toward the door, the sound of it shutting echoing throughout the house.

You’re left alone in the silence, the ticking of the clock on the wall muffling your coughs that were accompanied by flowers and blood. 

♡‧₊˚

With the new development of the blooms coming out of your throat, you felt defeated. You’re not sure what you did in a past life to deserve this. You didn’t wish this on anyone, it was a lonely and awful feeling, physically and emotionally. 

You’ve gotten used to your condition. It had been a month since you’d seen Sanji after he had broken things off and in that month, you would constantly find yourself leaning over the toilet bowl, hacking up blood and flower blooms. 

You finally had the courage to look up what you assumed was hanahaki disease. It was a rare condition, but you were certain that was what was causing you pain. The only cure was to have surgery that resulted in the patient forgetting about whomever they had loved. That you’d act as if nothing had happened, that you’d live in ignorance bliss afterward. 

Sacrificing your heart for your life. 

After that month, you had decided to go to a coffee shop forcing yourself to get out of the house and do something. 

So you went to Sanji’s favorite coffee shop. 

Why you had put yourself through that? You weren't sure.

You remember wrapping your hand around the door handle, ready to walk in when a wisp of light auburn hair had caught your attention inside the cafe. 

There she was. Pudding. The girl who had replaced you. The one who had captivated Sanji’s attention in a way you could only dream of.

Sanji stood beside her, you were certain he couldn't see you from inside, his attention was fully on Pudding’s face, absorbing whatever story she had been telling him. 

He had never looked at you like that.

Did he ever love you? Were you that stupid to even see the truth? Had it been there all along and you were simply too blind to notice?

An “excuse me” had brought you back to reality and had you rushing back to your apartment in hopes of not bumping into Sanji or Pudding. You weren't sure your heart could take it if you were forced to talk to them.

After that defeat you noticed that you were no longer hacking up petals, but fully blossomed flowers, you couldn’t walk for a long distance without wheezing, the flowers constricting your airways preventing you from wanting to do anything. You knew you were nearing the final stage, soon roots were going to begin to show up, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go to a doctor. You had read that the longer you kept this from being treated, you’d enter the point of no return. 

So, you simply waited.

Your mind was reeling. You never wanted to stop loving Sanji. You didn’t care about the pain that it brought you. 

You don’t care that you still long to have Sanji tell you that he loves you. To tell you and for you not to immediately have to turn away and cough up blood and flowers. 

You missed him. You yearned for him.

After Nami had found out why you and Sanji broke up, she went on a rant about how she was going to kill him, on how he could have done this to you. You weren't sure if you had ever seen her get so angry before. 

But even after that, you confessed that you still loved him. 

She proceeded to call you insane, but she simply didn’t understand. She didn’t know about how his eyes would sparkle when he would go on about a new recipe that he developed and how he was certain that it was going to be the new hit at the Baratie. She didn’t know how bashful he got when you complimented him on his food. How he’d kiss you like how it was the first time you were kissing each other.

You loved him. And you would forever love him.

But he haunted your life. Leaving you lying at night, not even allowing you to find comfort in your dreams since he haunted those too. When you’d close your eyes you could only mourn for the love that once was. To mourn for him even though he was alive and well, but could you say the same for yourself?

You had long accepted that you were going to die. If anything, you willed it. Never did you want to forget your love for Sanji. The idea that you would never be able to recall how he made your heart pound every time he’d look at you, would be a nightmare.

But you were tired. 

In the months after the cafe incident you would go through phases where the pain would turn to anger, cursing Sanji, wishing you two had never met, wishing that Nami had never introduced you too. 

But the anger would never stay directed towards Sanji. It would always circle back to you. And anger would turn to pity and pity would turn to sadness. 

You wanted to cry and scream at the sky, to yell at the world, to question why love felt this way. Why couldn't he just love you back, why were you being punished for simply loving him unconditionally?

You suffocate yourself in the love that you have for Sanji. Sacrificing your every breath to simply feel the true and fierce love you felt for him. You’d cry until you were gasping for air, til you were choking up flowers that were clogging your lungs. You wished, begged, for it to go away. Wishing that you had never fallen for him. 

But even with all the pain he caused you. You could never hate him.

You could never hate Sanji.

You can’t even bring yourself to hate Pudding, it wasn't her fault that Sanji was infatuated with her rather than you.

And you could never truly hate him for that.

The sterile white walls and the smell of disinfectant wafting through the air brought you back to reality. 

Recalling how hours before Nami had found you on the ground of your bathroom, post-hacking your brains out from the various blooms of flowers that rose from your throat at what seemed like at every hour of the day as of recently. You hadn’t heard her call for you when she entered your apartment so you weren’t able to hide anything from her. 

“Are you insane?” Her voice ricocheted in the bathroom after you had explained to her what had been happening to you for the last couple of months.

You were numb the entire car ride to the hospital as Nami yelled at you for being so careless. 

“Why are you letting that boy kill you?” 

Why were you? 

Why were you putting yourself through this pain, knowing he would never love you again?

The recent memory reminded you of Nami’s presence on the side chair that was placed beside the crunchy bed you were currently sitting on. Her brown eyes met yours and smiled softly at you. 

“You’re gonna be okay.” Nami’s attempt at reassurance was comforting to you for 5 seconds before the door swung open revealing the doctor. 

“Hello,” she said your name, “you’re the one with hanahaki disease, correct?” You glance over at Nami before replying to the doctor in confirmation. “Well, unfortunately, it has been developing for a while and if you had come just a little bit later it would have been untreatable, so I highly suggest proceeding with the procedure as soon as possible.”

Your hands grew clammy. This was it. You were going to be relieved from this grueling life you had found yourself in. You would finally be able to go back to normal. 

Normal. 

Would it truly be normal if you didn’t love Sanji anymore? Could you truly live with yourself knowing that you gave up the one thing that has been keeping you going? You guess you wouldn’t actually remember your love for him if you did the surgery but your heart would know. Your soul would know. 

You wished that all of this pain would go away. Longing to run back to Sanji, for him to stop the anguish that you felt. To have him whisper that he loved you and for you to not cough up flowers anymore. To know that he truly meant the words that he was saying.

You wondered how your life would have gone if you had never fallen for Sanji. Would your life still lead you to this very moment of hell that you’re living currently? You would think that hell would be hot, blazing with heat, but all you felt was the coldness of lies that you believed that spewed from Sanji’s lips when he spoke to you. 

You would like to think that you wished you had never fallen into this trap. That your heart never fell for him, but you knew better. You knew that he had your heart from the beginning. You were doomed from the first interaction.

Wasn’t it a true act of love if you could let the person go? Wouldn’t it be the final seal of approval of your love if you went through with the surgery? The love that you felt for Sanji would be proven by this simple act. 

You felt Nami’s hand grab yours. Her eyes were filled with remorse, a sadness that you could distinguish as the same sadness that you saw in your eyes ever since that first petal came to be.

Anticipatory grief.

She was grieving your love for him already, grieving for your heart, how you would never love again, how you would never love him again.

You sigh. 

♡‧₊˚

You wake up to the soft murmurs of the television in the corner of the room. 

Your mind was hazy, from what, you weren't entirely sure yet. It felt as if you had lost something like it was on the tip of your tongue, but you just couldn’t think of exactly what it was.

Guess it wasn’t important.

Your eyes wander over to your surroundings, the hospital room is bare except for the basic, usual furniture. Your eye caught movement out of the corner of your eye, turning your face to examine what it was.

A balloon with the words “Get well soon!” fills your vision, and your gaze scans over the hearts that surround the bubble letters in bright yellow hues. You reach over the side table to grab the card that sat under the balloon. 

Hope you feel better - Nami.

Sad that you had missed your friend, you made a mental note to pay her a visit after you were discharged from the hospital to thank her.

A soft knock echoed throughout the room, your attention to the door opening revealing the doctor. “Hi, glad you’re awake. The procedure was a success. You should be good to go soon, but take it easy for the next two weeks.”

The procedure.

You quickly scour your brain for answers of who it was you loved but came up short. 

Guess that was the point, wasn’t it? 

Before you could thank the doctor, rushed footsteps were heard outside the room, hasty knocks piercing the air along with the clamor of the door opening quickly. 

Sanji’s blond hair comes into view, and he stands, wide-eyed, near the doorframe. He was panting slightly, a sign that he possibly had been running before he got here. 

He says your name quietly, the doctor gives you a nod before excusing herself from the room to give you guys privacy. 

“Sanji,” you smile brightly at him, “Did you get off of work? Why are you here?”

His eyes shift over to the balloon on the stand beside the bed. “Nami told me about the…procedure.”

“Really?” you roll your eyes teasingly, “It’s not that big of a deal honestly, that Nami. Always the worrier, thank you for visiting me though, you’re a good friend, Sanji.” You look away before you can notice Sanji’s face falling. 

You look back at him, “Oh, could you take me home? I probably shouldn’t be driving right now.” you laugh quietly and scan Sanji’s face. His mind seemed to be somewhere else, perhaps he was really busy at the restaurant. “If you can, if not I’ll just call Nami.” 

“No,” he clears his throat, “Yeah I can take you home.” 

You offer him a smile, “Thanks, hey I think I may have to fill out some paperwork. Could you grab it while I go change?” You begin to stand up slowly before he rushes over to help you up.

You look up at him to thank him again when you realize his eyes are watering. 

Weird. 

Your eyebrows knit in worry, “Hey, are you okay?”

He blinks rapidly while looking away from you. His hand lets go from his grasp on your arm and runs it through his blonde hair while turning away from you. “Yeah, I’m fine.” he coughs, “Uh, I’m gonna go look for those papers.”

He walks out of the room before you can respond, leaving you slightly confused but you shake it off before you begin to look for your clothes. 

You don’t see Sanji standing outside the doorway, coughing up a flower petal. 

#astraariel♡ #one piece #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x y/n #sanji x reader #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji x reader

[itryhardtomakethishouseahome]

Jjk love languages

~Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Maki, Megumi, Choso

pt 2(toji & sukuna)

a/n: sorry if this sucks, I wrote in in two hours(i just realized i left out toji but lmk if you want me to write one for him too). also, please reblog if you can, I'd really appreciate it!!!

Gojo~

Annoying the absolute fuck out of you(obviously)

You could be lying down reading a book or watching a show/movie and this man will sneak up behind you and try to jump scare you or use his infinity to prank you. When he’s laying on you and you haven't said anything for a while he’ll look up at you and start poking your cheeks or biting you.

On days where his behavior doesn’t resemble a child fueled by 6 bottles of coke, 3 monsters, 8 red bulls, and 10 tons of sugar, he’s extremely gentle and soft with you. Satoru will cling to you and kiss your cheeks, neck, forehead, or hands or caress your face while staring deeply into your eyes telling you that he couldn’t imagine a life without you. 

Maki~

Encouragement 

Sparring with Maki was never easy and 100% of the time you end up getting knocked on your ass which is a little sad considering she always takes it easy on you. She has a habit of letting everyone know how much they suck and rarely ever encourages those that train with her but with you she’ll help you up and tell her that you almost had her and to not give up with a half soft half cocky smirk. 

Because of where and how she grew up, she’s not the best with emotions but if you’re sad/stressed she’ll rub your back and tell you everything's gonna be okay or let you fall asleep in her arms if you’re at home.

Geto~

Princess treatment

If you need something but you're sitting with your legs over Suguru’s lap or laying on him and don’t feel like getting up he’ll sigh and immediately get up and get it for you. 

When you’re out shopping with him, Suguru always pays for everything even when you try to fight him over it. He’ll always buy you food or offer to share his with you even though he ends up fighting the reflex to swat your hand away  when he sees you reaching for some out of his peripheral due to Gojo trying to steal some all the time.

When you’re too tired to get ready or you’re sick he’ll bathe and clothe you then brush your hair while telling you how beautiful you are and that he’ll always take care of you.

Megumi~

Honestly all i can say is “idk i just work here🤷‍♀️”

In the beginning of your relationship Megumi was awkward. He was a mix between vibing in silence with you and trying to figure out what to say and do. You knew he was never good with his emotions and that was completely fine because he had other ways of showing what he was feeling or thinking. When he missed you he’d text or call to “check on you” but really it was to hear your voice. When he randomly felt like saying ‘I love you’ he would rest his head on your shoulder or lap or play with your hair.

When you’re sick or stressed but have stuff to do he’ll get sassy with you and demand that you stay in bed and that he’ll take care of both everything you need done and you.

Nanami~

Acts of service and princess treatment

Kento’s acts of love and affection range from small forehead kisses every time he walks by you or leaves the house to you coming home to find a trail of rose petals leading to the bathroom while he’s leaning over the tub, pouring in bath salts and essential oils. He’s always doing something for you like cooking dinner in a pink heart shaped apron and massaging your feet even when he’s the one that had a long day. 

You getting sick is a whole different story. Kento goes from calm mama Nanami mode to uncharacteristically panicked mama Nanami mode. He makes you soup, runs bathes for you, checks your temperature on the hour, and forces you to stay in bed but the second he hears you having a coughing fit his composure goes out the window and he’s by your side in a millisecond rubbing your back and asking if you need to go to the hospital in a panicked tone.

Choso~

Another “idk I just work here🤷‍♀️” moment 

Choso is not only new to society and normal people but also to relationships. He has absolutely no idea what to say and when to say it, but he notices that when he acts on his urges that you seem to like it. Sometimes he wants to blurt out how much he loves you, but he feels like it’d be weird so he’ll either hold your hand and stare at you or pick you up, take you to bed, and cuddle.

Choso noticed that you love playing with his hair so when he feels as though you’re not giving him enough attention, he’ll ask you to brush his hair or wash it for him.

When you get sick he breaks down and panics. He’ll call Itadori balling saying that he needs help, you’re dying, and he doesn’t know how to make you better. It happens every time you get sick; panic and call Itadori to come help while he cradles you in his arms, begging you not to die, with his tears dropping on your face while you try to calm him down.

#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #maki zenin x reader #maki zenin #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #jjk gojo #gojo fluff #nanami fluff #choso fluff #megumi fluff #jujutsu fluff #maki fluff #geto suguru #jjk geto #geto x reader #jujutsu geto #getou suguru #geto fluff #jjj love language

[clairegregoryau]

Through the Looking Glass

From fairytale in Season 1 to stark reality in Season 2 of Our Flag Means Death- meta ported across from this Twitter thread by popular demand!

This thread contains spoilers for the entirety of OFMD Season 2

First OFMD S1 rewatch since S2, and holy shit, if you haven't done that yet... do that. A thing that it made instantly clear: they told us *all along* where this was going, but there was a reason we didn't see it. Because we were living in Stede's world then. Now it's Ed's.

I know that a lot of us have felt that the tone shift at the end of S2 was... jarring, compared to what's come before. This felt like a show that wouldn't go there. One where being run through was a temporary hiccup. We've travelled all the way from this to this.

But we haven't jumped there without a journey in between. And from the minute we started hearing about Blackbeard, the show never tried to hide what Ed's world and his specific life was like. Not once. In fact they told us over and over and over.

But Season 1 told us a lot of those things through song and story and fuckery. It blended reality with fiction.

Stede met the Blackbeard he knew through books and tall tales, and the real man was even more wonderful than he'd imagined.

We, along with Stede, were comfortable thinking that all those other tales were exaggerations and misrepresentations, and a lot of them very likely were.

The Ed Stede got to know was a person who was capable of whimsy and silliness and loved soft things and doing something weird. Yep, he was also capable of violence and rage, but when he was with Stede, he didn't feel it so much.

This was a vacation from that life.

To Stede he was absolutely lovely... oh, and also a bloodthirsty killer. And Stede loved (and loves) everything about him, and both of those things can be true. This is a perfect example of a spot where (in watching Season 1 without the benefit of hindsight) I assumed that everyone else in that pub was wrong, and Stede was simply trying to protect Ed's fearsome reputation by agreeing on the bloodthirsty bits. And I think from Stede's perspective that was largely true. I think that's how they wanted us to see Ed, through his eyes. Now, after watching both seasons, I think it wasn't the whole picture.

They told us, we heard it, we saw glimpses of it. But we (and Ed) were in Stede's run-away-to-sea fairytale the whole time. It wasn't until Stede left that we saw the reality- the Ed we knew had been, to a degree, a fictional character all along. I always saw this scene as Ed putting a bit of distance between himself and reality; it always felt like the Blackbeard of Stede's storybooks was the fictional one. But now it feels like the softer Ed that Stede knew was much the same- neither of them the whole story of who Ed was and is.

The one person who refused to live in Stede's fairytale was Izzy. I've seen people say it before, but he always gave off that vibe of the only human in the Muppets movie, or the guy who was in Black Sails while everyone else was in Pirates of the Caribbean. He saw the real risks clearly.

And in that light, the end of S1 has shifted an inch to the left for me, and I'm seeing it at a slightly different angle.

Izzy ripped away the healing Ed was doing, but in some respects he did it by tearing away the fairytale we'd all been living in, shoving Ed back into the Blackbeard story.

And that's where we pick up again in Season 2.

The fairytale reference came back in S2 in two notable places, those being Jim carrying that legacy forward in the darkest times, and in Izzy invoking the wooden boy against Ricky's efforts. Stede's made himself into a real boy. Ricky, nope.

Now that I've watched both seasons together, the tone shift doesn't feel so jarring at all, actually.

It feels like sliding through the looking glass, out of Stede's world, and into Ed's- a world that existed all along; we were just seeing it, la vie en rose, through Stede's eyes.

At the beginning of S2, Stede's gone, and we're seeing it unfiltered through Ed's reality.

But Stede wasn't lying when he said he loved everything about Ed. He made a promise to come back and find him- he went down into Ed's darkest place and reminded him that no matter how bad things got, there WAS someone waiting for him, ready to love him.

The contrast between S1's fantasy and S2's reality (excluding mermaids and actual bird guys and cursed coats) is stark, but it really is that.

We have the same settings, the same people, and very different ideas and outcomes at different times.

But it was always there.

Things do come back to a state of (precarious) balance once they're all together. Apologies are made, whether they're spoken out loud or through actions. Things go right, things go wrong. Healing happens. Izzy continues to have the steadiest, most real through-line in the story as he tracks toward redemption, finds acceptance, and to an extent finds himself.

Once again, I hate that they went here with the ending and I wish they hadn't. But it got a fraction easier for me looking at it not as a continuation of Stede's fairytale, but of the grounded-in-pirate-reality arc Izzy was always on, even while we lived in Stede's world.

Where does that leave us? We're not going back to the fairytale, but we're not going to be living in Black Sails for S3, either. We've hit a fusion point where S1 ended with each of them going to separate, miserable homes, but S2 ended with them in the same place, ready and willing to make a go of it.

Season 3 is going to give us their world, together.

I LOVED the moments in this season where the deep emotions were in balance with the silliness I've always adored about this show. Eps4-6 were wonderful like that. Clearly we're not done with drama, either, but like Ed and Stede, I think we'll find a middle ground.

Anyway in conclusion, a rewatch of S1 after S2 somehow made me love the first season even more, which felt impossible? It's now gained /even more/ layers of depth than it had before. No matter how you feel about S2 I think it's worth that rewatch.

Adding one more bit of clarity for myself: I think we got a bit (intentionally) seduced in S1 by the idea that the Ed of the storybooks, the Vampire Viking Clown with the nine guns, was a version of him that others saw, when Stede saw the REAL person who 'worked' for Blackbeard.

In hindsight I think it's clear the Ed Stede go to know was also not the complete version of himself- the reality is, there's a whole spectrum between the two, and they've landed in the middle of it now. Ed intentionally leaned into the unlovable Kraken image to protect himself.

It very much didn't work, just like being just... Edward hadn't worked to protect himself, either. This season has been very much about pulling those two extremes together and finding all the parts that make up Ed overall (another thread on that here on Twitter, which I'll also shift across to Tumblr soon!)

And I think one of my favourite things in S2 has been seeing the way Stede SEES that- he knows what Ed's done, everyone's told him, but he still loves Ed. sees his trauma and how it affects him, and believes he's a good man regardless. He IS lovable; he's not forever broken.

And together, they can heal.

#ofmd #our flag means death #gay pirates #ofmd meta #unreliable narrators #fantasy vs reality #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2 spoilers

[ramenhue88]

Kyoko and Homura

I was reading some fan work (It's about Kyoko and Sayaka baiting Homura to help them with their summer homework) online and the author pointed something out. (Read from right to left)

And it really is true, Homura never calls Sayaka by just her first name. Homura only calls two people by their first name. The first one is, of course, Madoka. The second one is...

Kyoko Sakura I immediately thought of the relationship between these two in the series.

^ This one where Kyoko respects Homura and their deal. She lets Homura deal with Sayaka instead of interfering. There was a vibe of friendly banter with the two of them. Something Homura hasn't shown the other girls in the series. It's because everyone was automatically hostile towards Homura (I mean... can you blame them?). Surprisingly, even when Homura threatened Kyoko (their first meeting where Homura saved Sayaka), Kyoko never took it to heart. She still had the heart to banter with Homura even after that exchange.

^ In this scene where Homura introduces the Walpurgis to Kyoko, she tries to connect to Homura by telling her that the two of them are exactly the same. As the saying goes, birds of the same feather flock together. But I see this as an attempt of Kyoko to get Homura to open up to her instead of having such a professional relationship.

^ This, where Kyoko doesn't angrily lash out at Homura for trying to kill Sayaka, but she tries to get an answer to Homura's actions. Kyoko understands that Homura is a person that acts on reason not on emotion. (But we know she acts more on emotion when it comes to Madoka) So Homura suddenly wanting to kill Sayaka was mysterious to her. (But not for us because we know what prompted her to want to kill Sayaka was for Madoka's sake)

^ In the series' timeline, Kyoko was the only one who knew what Homura can do because Homura told her, AND ONLY HER because Homura knows that she's substantially A LOT weaker if people knew what she can do, see Mami vs Homura in Rebellion. Homura's whole game plan hinges on the enemy not knowing what she can do. So, her telling Kyoko what kind of magic she has, shows that she trusts Kyoko with this knowledge. (Also, side note, Homura really is just the number 1 Sayaka hater, telling Kyoko to "toss that useless hunk of meat aside" lol).

^ In this part Kyoko repeats what Homura told her before and you can see that Homura feels some regret talking to her like that. I would like to think that Kyoko was referring to herself when she said "burden" because Walpurgis IS THE FIGHT and Kyoko will be a burden if she were to survive. But I think what's really happening is that she's just returning what Homura told her. (Like the friendly banter I mentioned earlier). Calling Homura a burden as a one last "GOTCHA!" to her friend. Now let's go to Rebellion.

^ Homura called out to Kyoko first because she was "acting differently from what I know". This just implies that Homura knows Kyoko more than the other 2 (Mami and Sayaka). Homura knows Kyoko as the aggressive and 'in your face' type of person. I also like to think that Homura is closer to Kyoko than them. If Homura were to rank them, it would be. 1. Madoka 2. Kyoko 3. Mami 4. Sayaka (Sayaka hater inbound) When it came to Kyoko too, she also saw Homura as someone who was acting out of character. Thus her comment..

(Bonus: Kyoko's act of friendship is sharing her food because how important it is to her.)

When Homura found out who was the witch, she called Kyoko immediately and updated her.

^ We get this scene where she hurriedly wants to help Homura. Dropping everything that is going on, wanting to help her friend with the problem she's facing.

^ Homura also apologizing to Kyouko as a last farewell to her. In Homura's POV this is her last call before she dies, before she becomes a witch. Homura chose to call Kyoko for 4 possible reasons. 1. It's to update Kyoko on what happened to her. 2. Bid farewell to a dear friend (I like this one the most) 3. Apologize to Kyoko for putting the Quintet in risk, so that she can ease some of the pain in her heart. She wouldn't call Madoka because she already had a heartfelt moment with her in the flower field. This scene, this wonderful scene of these two.

^ This scene alone shows so much about the relationship of this two. Kyouko mourning the loss of her friend and that face touch. It shows how emotionally intimate Kyouko is as a person (We already saw that in the series with Sayaka). And maybe she blames herself for not being able to help Homura with whatever happened. These 2 really trust each other and care for each other. I am inclined to believe that in one of Homura's timelines, Kyouko told her all about her past and Homura in return told her of hers. That would explain the connection these two have. I can see these two as very, VEry ,VERY close friends. In the end of Rebellion. Homura made Kyoko their classmate and put her beside Sayaka because she knows that these two are close to each other and care for each other. Homura knows that this is what will make Kyoko happy.

(Oh Homura, how nice of you)

^ In the final scene we can see Kyoko and Sayaka having fun in their new life thanks to the new world Homura sewed up for them.

^ I don't know what Homura and Kyoko's relationship is in this new world. But I hope it's a good one because the friendship in this two is something that I've always held in high regard in the series.

BONUS This is from a memoria from the gacha game (RIP NA) Magia Record titled, "My School Life". The descriptions reads: Perhaps another world could have existed where Witches weren't a part of my day-to-day life. Maybe I would have gone to school like normal, chatted with friends like normal, and gone home after school like normal. And it's cute that the picture they used is Homura and Kyoko.

#puella magi madoka magica #madoka magica #pmmm #homura akemi #mahou shoujo madoka magica #kyoko sakura

[foreingersgod]

I love love love your writing! I was wondering if you could write something about cc dating a pop star, very much chappel roan vibes

y’all must be reading my mind! this is perfect!

Red Wine Supernova . CC

pairing: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: you’re an upcoming queer pop star who just happens to be dating the hottest player in the wnba (set slightly in the future just for the sake of plot!)

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

it was off season for caitlin and she was so relieved to have time off from practices and games for a while. she had now devoted all her attention to you, hardly leaving your side these past few weeks. you, on the other hand, were just starting your debut tour. a small one, only a handful of destinations, but incredibly important (and sold out) nonetheless.

yes, caitlin had heard you sing, several times in fact. but she’d been too busy with everything that she had yet to see you perform live, outside of your home studio when it was just the two of you. so when she told you that she wanted to tag along with you for the entirety of your tour, you were practically beaming with excitement.

you had worked really hard on this album and you were thrilled to finally be able to perform it to your growing fan base. you loved performing in the bustling bars of your hometown and the stadiums in surrounding cities, but you’ve always known you were meant for bigger and better things; you wanted to travel the nation and share your songs with so many different people. you were even more excited, though, to have caitlin see you up on stage. something more than just a karaoke stage in a dingy bar with just your guitar and the intensity of your voice. no matter where you sang, caitlin still made it her mission to tell you how amazing you were and how she couldn’t wait to see how much of an amazing star you were turning out to be.

“wow, just…wow” caitlin said, speechless, when she walked into your dressing room for your first show in Chicago.

you, with the help of your entire team and manager, had just got into costume. a purple leotard that dazzled with thousands of hand placed gems. pink fishnets, white go go boots, a matching purple cowboy hat, and a dozen other miscellaneous accessories to pull together the outfit.

you looked up, still trying to pull your leotard into a comfortable position, when you heard her walk in. “hey, i was gonna meet you outside! everything ok?”

“yea no we’re all good,” she looked up and down, lips slightly parted “i just couldn’t wait to see you”

“well i’m glad you came, like the outfit?” your assistants stepped away, sliding past caitlin at the door to give you both some privacy before the show, as you gave caitlin a full twirl of the outfit.

“i love it, you look beautiful, people won’t be able to take their eyes off of you” she said “and if we’re being honest…i can’t wait to take this off of you tonight”

you felt your face heat up underneath your show makeup. “a bit cheeky tonight, i see”

“well when you look so good all the time, how could i not be” she grinned, pulling you into her chest and hugging you deeply before stage management gave you a 3 minute warning. “you’re going to do so good, i’ll be watching!”

“i’ll find you in the crowd, don’t worry” a quick peck on the lips and you were being escorted to the wings of the stage before you knew it.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

“HELLOOOOOO, CHICAGO!!” you cheered into the mic, waving to fans and hyping up the crowd “i’m so happy to perform for ya’ll tonight, this has been an absolute dream of mine”

you gave the classic introduction speech: getting the crowd warmed up, announcing the songs, teaching them the dances that went along with each song. it was cliche, for sure, but you loved it. it felt like you were meant to do this your whole life. once you got rolling, getting comfortable on the stage, the feeling only got better. this was truly a dream come true.

you performed your most popular songs, along with a few of your more lesser known ones, and had the time of your life watching all of your fans sing along to something you had written. you spotted caitlin a few times through the show, watching her sing along too and cheer your name, and it made you incredibly happy to see her support you.

“alright guys, this next one’s a song i’ve been keeping from you for quite some time” the crowd whispered to each other in anticipation “but i think tonight…y’all have earned it” cheers erupted from the audience.

“i wrote thing song a while back, when i met a certain…someone…” you grinned, purposefully avoiding eye contact with your girlfriend “and i fell head over heels for her the second i saw her…so without further ado…here’s RED WINE SUPERNOVA!”

your band started playing and the audience was already dancing and cheering. you were incredibly nervous to perform a new song, and little embarrassed knowing that caitlin was going to finally here a song you wrote about her from months and months ago. but the moment you sung into the microphone, you knew she was going to love it.

through out the song, you gave quick glances over to caitlin, trying not to be obvious while wanting to see if she was enjoying it or not. but you were struggling to find her this time with the change in set lighting.

then suddenly you found her, your eyes meeting, and you instantly noticed the goofy grin plastered on her face as she watched you sing about her. still making eye contact, you continued to sing:

Well, back at my house

I got a California king

you walked over to the end of the stage, with eyes still locked.

Okay, maybe it's a twin bed

And some roommates (don't worry we're cool)

you watched her laugh as she caught on to your inside joke.

I heard you like magic

I got a wand and a rabbit

you pointed out to her and she ran her hands over her blushing face in playful embarrassment.

So baby, let's get freaky, get kinky

Let's make this bed get squeaky!

you blew a final kiss to her, the crowd interpreting it as a cute part of your routine, but she knew you had meant it just for her.

you danced around stage for the remainder of your song, kneeling down time to time to hold your fans hand and letting them sing along with you. when your set ended, you bowed to the crowd and said your finally goodbyes and thank you’s, then quickly running off stage and into your dressing room.

after catching your breathe, you started to take off your makeup and costume, again with the help of your team. caitlin had texted you shortly after that she’d meet you outside the venue so that you could have a little time to talk with your team.

once dressed in a fresh tshirt and jeans, face washed and hair tamed, you grabbed your bags and headed out to find your girlfriend. you found her waiting right outside the venue entrance where she was leaning against a post and checking her phone. she looked up almost instantly upon hearing you call her name and hearing your footsteps against the pavement.

“hey superstar!” she ran over to you, you dropped your bags to the ground as you threw your arms around the back of her neck “you fucking killed it!”

“thanks, cait” you pulled away, smashing your lips into hers feverishly “ d’you like the new song?” you muttered against her lips.

“oh i loved it” she kissed you again “you know…suddenly i’m really into magic”

“is that so?”

“definitely, and i think i got a few tricks to show you back at the hotel, how does that sound?” she cradled your jaw, nipping at your bottom lip. you tried your hardest to suppress a moan.

“take me home, clark”

#caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark #wcbb #wcbb x reader #iowa wbb #chappell roan

[anneapocalypse]

Demands of the Qun, or How the Inquisitor's Choice Answers the Iron Bull's Most Important Question

I was having a chat about the Iron Bull and his personal quest with some friends and one person said in response to something I said that I should make it a Post, so here it is! And a usual disclaimer: this is not about which in-game decision is "correct"--it's an RPG, there's no wrong way to play the game. I just want to talk about the meaning of this decision for Bull's character and for his future.

Dragon Age: Inquisition’s “Demands of the Qun” is, for me, one of those quests where the RPG format of “player character makes major decision for companion character” really works. I do not see this as an example of game mechanics taking away agency from an NPC. I think Bull has agency in this situation.

The Chargers are not Inquisition soldiers. They are mercenaries, and Bull is their commander. If the Inquisitor makes a call he doesn't like, he is free to say "Screw you" and take his people and leave, because they are not soldiers, they're independent contractors, so leaving isn't desertion, it's just quitting. If he were already certain he wanted to leave the Qun, he could simply call the retreat himself, take the Chargers and leave. Similarly if he were certain of his loyalties and willing to sacrifice the Chargers for that purpose, he could do that, regardless of what the Inquisitor says.

He lets the Inquisitor make this choice.

The Iron Bull has had one foot out the door of the Qun for a long time now. But he's gone back and gone back, submitted himself for re-education and done his best to keep serving the Qun, because he believes he needs the Qun. To him, becoming Tal-Vashoth means losing himself, his identity, his purpose, his very sanity, and as the Fade tells us in "Here Lies the Abyss," this is quite literally his greatest fear. Bull could never bring himself to leave the Qun with nowhere to go instead, nothing to give his life purpose and meaning—and no one to entrust himself to should he doubt his own sanity.

But in his work in the south, the Iron Bull has found community and identity and purpose outside the Qun. The very name he has given himself speaks to that, as does his close relationship to the Chargers.

Right from the beginning, there is tension in "Demands of the Qun." Bull remarks that he's gotten used to the Qunari being "over there" during his life in the south. I think Bull has a very potent anxiety when he meets Gatt again on the Storm Coast, and introduces him to the Inquisitor and their party. To me, it very much has the vibes of introducing two friend groups, where you're not only pretty sure they won't get along, but you're also very aware that they know very different sides of you—and neither of them are going to like seeing the other side. Bull's discomfort is visible both when Gatt speaks freely about Bull's work in the Ben-Hassrath, and when the Inquisitor's other companions make disparaging remarks about the Qun. His two worlds have collided, calling into conflict two sides of his sense of self that he has thus far managed to avoid confronting.

And this is likely part of the point. The Qun does not truly respect alliances with any outside the Qun. I wouldn't say for sure that the Qunari set up this whole situation just to test Bull—it's possible they knew exactly how many Venatori would show up, but they couldn't have known precisely how the Inquisition would respond. That, and their desire to root out the Venatori is no doubt sincere. But I do think they are watching Bull's actions very closely throughout this proposed alliance, gauging his loyalty. Gatt tells him outright that many already believe he has betrayed the Qun.

Bull's internal conflict quickly becomes an external one when the Venatori reinforcements show up, and Bull is faced with the decision of whether to withdraw the Chargers or defend the dreadnought at the cost of their lives.

The thing is, Bull is not neutral on this. He tells the Inquisitor what he wants. He wants to save the Chargers. If the Inquisitor says that the Chargers still have time to retreat, Bull agrees. When Gatt tells him they need to hold position, he says in a low, intense tone, "They're my men."

And then, when Gatt tells him in no uncertain terms that calling the retreat will make him Tal-Vashoth, the Iron Bull looks to the Inquisitor.

Again, he is not neutral. He knows what he wants. He is standing there basically begging the Inquisitor with his eyes to save his boys.

So why doesn't he just make the call himself?

Because just as this whole situation is in part a test of Bull's loyalty, this is also a test of the Inquisitor.

What Bull needs to leave the Qun is not simply for someone else to make the choice for him, but to believe that there is a future for him outside the Qun. That he will still be himself, that he will have purpose, and meaning, and that someone else is worth trusting. Bull cannot bring himself to leave the Qun if it means he will be left utterly alone with nothing but his own mind and his deepest fears. And if that's what leaving the Qun means… then in his mind, it would be better to stay.

The Inquisitor's choice will answer that question.

To sacrifice the Chargers leaves Bull with nothing outside of the Qun. He has just watched his closest friends die, and he cannot trust the Inquisitor. With Krem and Rocky and Skinner and Stitches and Dalish and Grim, the new sense of self that the Iron Bull has found in the south also dies.

Of course he turns back to the Qun. He has nothing else left.

But if it's the Inquisitor who makes the call to save the Chargers… Bull can leave. He has friends who care about him. He has purpose. He has someone whose command he can trust. He has hope. None of this makes the choice easy for him. It is quite clearly very painful and difficult, and I don't think there's any way it could be otherwise. But he has a way forward nonetheless. The choice makes leaving possible.

The Inquisitor doesn't force the Iron Bull to become Tal-Vashoth. Instead, Bull implicitly asks a question, and the Inquisitor by their choice gives him an answer.

#the iron bull #iron bull #demands of the qun #dragon age inquisition #dragon age meta #dragon age #blunders of thedas

[chronically-ghosted]

i'm swingin' blind and you're stunning me without any gloves

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 9K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: the night continues while the two of you dance around the inevitable. dieter's restraint is foiled by dreams of a water bed.

warnings/tags: depictions of drugs, age gap, cum eating, piv sex, not actually incest but close, concerns about getting old, reader is at least 18 (by how much is up to you), no use of y/n, oral (f receiving), hand jobs (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, squirting, the barest hint of overstimulation, oh and SMUT.

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“Do all movie stars have six empty bedrooms they don’t use?” 

“They’re not always empty . . . I mean, it’s good for parties. Gives people space to get out of the chaos if they want, or if they need a place to crash. Keeps the energy, uh, flowing. Keeps the vibes good.” 

He uses the joint to take the place of having to explain that the room you just passed was in fact used as a revolving door for anyone who wanted a bump only two weeks ago. The second floor stretches out into the darkness, the nasty weather outside beating against the windows. He keeps a slow steady pace, the high making his insides comfortably warm as you wander in and out of rooms, like a less frantic, totally-fuckable version of that Scooby Doo gag. He’s quite sure he’ll never be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons the same way.

So far, you’ve been content with asking rather inane questions, filler questions that he suspects you’re hoping reveal more than he’s giving. The response to the question being more important than the answer itself. 

So no one lives in these rooms? No.

Do you ever use these as anything else other than bedrooms? No.

What’s outside by the pool? A gym.

A gym with full length mirrors that he used to adore snapping selfies in, in his younger cop show days, and without much prompting, would admit to masterbating to on occasion. 

You’ll always be your own greatest critic so fuck ‘em.

You come out of the last bedroom, smirking faintly as though someone had told you a particularly naughty secret, humming faintly to yourself. He never much cared for giving tours but given that you walked ahead of him and gave him adequate time to ogle the backs of your thighs, he could think of worse ways to spend time with you. 

“Mhm hmm,” you mutter to no one in particular. The carpet is plush, but that is the only thing you could say you really enjoyed about the style of the house. Everything else, especially the almost clinically clean air to it, makes it feel like a hotel, as if Dieter is mold growing in someone else’s house. Again, these are filed as things that helped fill out the picture of the man your uncle had become, if not the man he wanted to portray.

“So where do you sleep?” 

He had been lulled into such a stupor of quiet fantasy fueled by his warm high that he didn’t even think twice when he pointed down the hall. 

“God, it just keeps going, doesn’t it?” 

Turns out the path to moral degradation isn’t a straight line, but a curved slope. One he finds himself on, going down round and round and round, the longer he watches your legs, the curve of your ass, the bright smile as you quite obviously tried to get a glimpse of the old Dee. But that's the thing about drugs that he finds he so actively craved – of course there is the euphoria, the chemical sensations, the wires of your brain plugged into different outlets and restarting the whole system. But he's found that’s when people tended to be their most honest, most unpolished and they weren’t afraid to be like that. 

There was a lot of talk around the ego and the ID in his early acting classes. Who was your character when their ego had been pulled back like strips of skin? 

But as he got older, the question he became more obsessed with was, who were the people around him when they weren’t being paid to like him?

You, of course, are different from all that. You hadn’t built up an ego quite yet. You hadn’t built up the mechanisms required to survive the world because you hadn’t needed to. Sure, you could deflect and get what you wanted by batting your eyelashes, but there are times he felt ugly in the skin he had built. Like somewhere along the way, he had tried on all these hats and now they had all attached themselves to his head and he couldn’t tear them off if he tried. His costume didn’t fit– his face wasn’t even visible any more. 

And who exactly had spent the last fifteen minutes trailing after his beautiful, carefree niece, a single breath away from getting so hard it hurt, in this massively empty mansion? What version of himself wants to snake a hand into those shorts and effectively ruin you for anyone else – wanted to grip you so hard there’d be bruises and tears in your eyes when you came? 

Which one of them is he willing to show you?

All of them. None of him. The ID.

You glance over your shoulder, curious that he hadn’t answered you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, smoking between his two fingers again. “Could get lost in a place like this.”

You pause in your inspection, eyes soft because of the drugs or the low lighting or something else, and take his hand. “Lucky I’ve got you then.” 

His mouth is instantly dry in a way that has nothing to do with the weed. He offers you the joint and you smoke too, eyelids drooping, allowing him another second of looking. 

And then another smile breaks across your face.

“Fuck,” your laugh turns into a cough. “Did you ever get that stupid fucking waterbed you wouldn’t shut up about? I remember you swearing the first thing you’d buy when you were rich and famous was a waterbed – which I thought was so fucking cool because I’d never heard of a waterbed before because I was seven and it sounded like something totally made up — so of course, someone rich and famous could have one.”

You’re still holding hands, your palm dry and warm, when he laughs too. He takes the joint back from you, eyes narrowing as he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Turns out moral degradation is a fucking cannon ball. 

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” 

You squeeze his hand, eyes bright, before almost sprinting down the hall to the room on the right. He follows you, struck by the notion this is the first and last time you’ll ever enter his bedroom. This has to be the end of something.

He hears a grunt and a groan and he can’t help but smile. He saunters into the room, leaning up against the door frame with his hands in the pockets of his robe. You are face down on the mattress, hands under your chest. 

“This is not a water bed,” you grumble, the sound muffled. 

Once again, Maria deserved a raise just for making his bed. 

“No, it’s not,” he says slowly, as he edges a teasing tone into his next words. “Look, I did get a fucking water bed, alright? Just about a century ago when they were still a thing.”

You ease up onto your elbows and glare at him. “Can’t believe you got rid of it. What a waste.” 

And then you’re sliding back onto your knees, hands planted on the covers, and for just a second, he swears he can see the outline of your cunt through the material that could hardly be called shorts. 

His knees actually buckle for a second before he stands up right and physically has to close his eyes. Looking away wouldn’t have been enough. 

But you don’t see all of this. You’re frowning down, as if glaring hard enough will bypass physics and liquidate the mattress. 

“What happened to it? The water bed, I mean.” 

Just as he’s gotten his heart rate back under control, your question throws everything into a spiral again. 

Do not fucking tell her about the hookers and the brass pasties. Or the cock ring. Definitely do not mention the cock ring. 

“It, uh, popped.” 

You smirk over your shoulder. “It was a sex thing, wasn’t it?” 

The question lingers, Dieter unable to make a coherent word that didn’t sound like take your pants off right fucking now, so he swallows and shakes his head. By some minor miracle, you shrug and don’t push it, sliding off the bed and completing your assessment of his life by regarding the book collection against the opposite wall. 

It’s bigger than you expect someone like Dieter to have, but its placement in the house – almost hidden in his private bedroom – suggests that its volume is not there to impress. It’s his personal collection and, judging by the bent spines, books he’s actually read, perhaps several times. There’s a small desk next to it, crouching in the corner and littered with sheets of paper that look like they were torn from a sketchbook. 

He couldn’t decide which version of himself he wanted you to see less: Dieter, full of vices, or Dieter, bratty actor who only acted in the first place because he couldn’t cut it as a real artist. 

Your hands run over the sketches, eyes annoyingly unreadable, and just as he’s about to leap forward and scoop all of the sketches into the trash, you move on. Your interest is caught by some of the books. You make noises that are both outside of the realm of approval or disgust and he finds himself nervous. Book reading is about the last thing on anyone’s mind once they’ve reached the final destination of The Bedroom, so he’s never worried about what someone might think. But this isn’t just someone, it’s you. 

His mouth opens to make some quippy remark, when you gasp and lunge forward, grabbing something at the back of the shelf.

“Holy shit, that’s you!” 

You hold up a picture of his high school’s production of Othello and there he is fifteen and smack dab in the middle of the cast. 

“Oh fuck, I forgot that was there,” he groans, dropping the nearly gone joint into an ashtray by the side of the bed. You’re practically glowing with excitement and he rolls his eyes as he takes it from you.

“Jesus Christ, look at that kid. Has no idea what kind of dumbass he’s going to grow up to be.” 

Three years after that photo was taken, he had left in the middle of the night for Hollywood. Of course, just as he had finished packing up his piece-of-shit Chevy, Enrico caught him. Exploded in his face and scolded him in his old man ways for leaving without saying nothing. 

He kept this photo because it was the last thing that reminded him of home and yet so distant it didn’t hurt as bad any more. 

“I think he did spectacular for himself,” you grin at him. “Who knew The Dieter Bravo was such a softie for the old days?” 

He smirks at you, finally sick of you kicking his ass all night. There is a line between fucking you and out sassing you, one he could live with. You aren't fucking ready for that Dieter. 

“No way,” he rubs the bottom of his lip with his thumb, artfully contemplative, and purposefully distractingly hot. “Just keep it around for the spank bank. Ms. Lemons was a babe.”

You narrow your eyes at him as he leans across you to put the photo back.  “Oh yeah? I gave my first blow job in that blackbox.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Yes I did!” 

“What was his name?”

“Jeremy.”

“Jeremy what?” 

“Jeremy . . . Barnes.”

“Pssh, fake name, fake boyfriend, fake story.” 

“He was real! I just . . . can’t remember his last name right now.” 

“Blurs together with all the other guys you’ve blown, right?” 

You bite the corner of your mouth, your smirk so tight he can almost picture your toes curling. Not that he’d dare break eye contact with you now. Now that he’s got you practically pinned to the bookshelf, photo forgotten and something that’s been slinking around for the past three hours finally rolling on its back and exposing its belly. 

He knows The Look, he practically invented it, and he can’t quite remember why it’s not okay to get that from your niece and someone twenty years younger than him. Right now, the portion of his brain that can sort that’s fucked up and it’s not that hard to refrain from being a fucking creep is filled with smoke, a sort of hissing sound there that is not unlike a shaken soda begging for release. 

And dear God does he want release. But he’s willing to edge it just a bit longer, scrape that muscle as gingerly as he can before touching it where it needs to be touched.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you say softly, meekly being cowed for the first time all night. Fuck, do you have to make it so easy?

“That’s right. You don’t. Because if it were any good, you’d remember it.” 

He puts a hand above your shoulder to stop himself from sinking into you. Weed made the world feel plushy, moldable – and he just wants to lounge in the dip of your bottom lip. You look so different from the girl who showed up soaking wet at his front door. 

Your breathing hitches the closer he comes, your eyes fluttering as you watch his fingers dig into the spines of the books. 

“What’s his first name again, darling? Do you still remember that?” 

You gasp, loudly, as if his itching fingers had finally sunk in between your legs, but you’re sliding away from him and pulling out something from the shelf. Something white and something he should have fucking hidden better. 

“Oh my God, is this my senior yearbook?” 

You’re wandering over to his bed, leaving Dieter reeling, his own spell so alarmingly effective he is caught beneath it too. It takes him a moment to blink as he realizes maybe this is where you reneg and decide you don’t want to fuck him after all. 

“It’s not as weird as it sounds –,” he begins, heart in his throat, and hands safely in his pockets as he joins you near the bed. You still haven’t looked up as you flip through the glossy pages.

“Sure, sure.” 

“Look, your dad sent it to me and I didn’t even open it,” he says honestly. The package was delivered on the Tuesday afternoon when he woke up so hungover he actually thought he might die, and couldn’t bear the thought of not recognizing you in the class photo. 

Funny how that all fucking worked out. 

You hadn’t leapt off the bed, called him a dirty old man, and ran away to call the police. Which are probably good signs. So, slowly, he sits down next to you, halfway on the bed and halfway off. 

“He sent it just a few weeks ago. I didn’t really think much of it at the time,” he says quietly. So you had been on the high school’s newspaper staff, as well as being the captain of the journalism club and ran the book club. You were on the volleyball team and co-Secretary of the student body government. Here, he spent all night trying to find out what kind of person you are when half your life is waiting for him upstairs. “But maybe he sent it as, like, some sort of . . . fond reminder.”

You snort, your thumb tucked under your chin as your hand touches the memories on the page.

“No, it fucking wasn’t. He was guilt-tripping you.” 

So your dad definitely still remembered the fight all those years ago. Dieter grimaces. His gaze slides from the stock pages, to your knee, down the crease of your thigh. 

“You know, he would have made me your godfather if–,” 

“If you weren’t such a fuck up. Yeah, he told me that too.” 

You finally look at him and find him nearly out of breath, eyes wide as though he had been struck by a sledgehammer right to the chest. 

“Actually, he told me if I came around more.” 

Your face crumples, the flippancy gone.

“Fuck, Dee, I’m sorry.” You cup the back of his neck with your palm in a soothing gesture and it stirs something within him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It is what it is.” Deflection, distraction, escape.

You smile gently, thumbing his curls as your eyes roam his face, seeing right through his bullshit.

“You know, you kinda became the cautionary tale around us growing up,” you murmur, gaze searching his face. “Not sure why, though. Since you’re, like, a gazillionaire.”

Not worth it. None of it’s worth it.

“I get that. I get why he didn’t want me around. Probably best that I fucked off and never looked back.” 

The corners of your eyes crinkle, as though he had said something that didn’t make sense. You stop combing his hair and run your thumb over his ear. 

“But I don’t think you are,” you say slowly, as though you didn’t need to explain. “A cautionary tale, I mean. I think you’re . . . an inspiration. No one in our town ever fucking leaves, but you did. You got the fuck out and lived your dreams. And that’s pretty cool.” 

There’s not any hope for me, not if you knew all the fucked up shit I want to do to you. 

Don’t look at me like that. 

When he looks around for some self control, something to pull himself out of the pit he’s dragging you both in, there’s nothing. All eroded. 

Moral degradation is a smooth fucking shot. 

The yearbook drops from your lap, clatters to the ground as he takes your face with both his hands, his rings pressing into your cheeks, and kisses you so hard his lips knock against your teeth. The force of it rocks you flat against the mattress, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, grounding you to him – don’t take this back, don’t let go – and his tongue runs against your bottom lip once before your mouth opens without hesitation. He can feel that, that desperation, that eagerness to let him in, and he groans into the hollow of your mouth and you take it, you match it, just like everything else he'd given you this night. 

Your tongue rises to catch him, to guide him, to show him the places you need to be touched. He’ll get there, you little thing, so he nips your upper lip and you gasp, your body tightening beneath him. He grins – there’s so much you have to learn. 

His palm drifts away from your jaw, thumb gentle as it coaxes your cheek to the side, before he latches his lips to your neck, sucking and then a quick bite– all eased by his tongue. Your fingers dig up into his hair, clutching him to your chest as there is anything, anywhere else he’d rather be in the world. As if anyone could pry him off you. 

He dives back into your mouth, air rushing out of your nose in a silent moan, and your knee hooks out around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of your lap. You jerk back –

“Dee, you’re – holy shit –,” 

Your hips brush up as if you had somehow gotten it all wrong the first time. As if he isn’t rock hard above you. Your eyes widen as he smirks down at you.

“Yeah, baby, that’s all you. All you do to me.” 

He chuckles, dropping his head to your chest, breathing deeply, head spinning from kissing you so thoroughly. He inhales, nose rubbing against the soft material of your shirt, ideas of peeling it off you with his teeth. Your scent, it’s all at once intoxicating, mesmerizing, and . . . familiar. 

He groans, almost nuzzling your chest.

“Fuck, this smells like that nasty deodorant from 711 I used to buy ‘cause I couldn’t afford anything else.” 

You slowly open your eyes up at him, a distantly embarrassed smile curling up the corners of your mouth. You look hazy, blurred, lips flushed and pink from getting them sucked and bitten. Had he not just licked your entire mouth clean from spit, you might have blushed.

Your fingers curl gingerly around the back of his neck. “Well, you never forget your first.”

His mouth falls open. You had successfully knocked him back on his ass for a second time that night. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he husks, a grin breaking across his lips as the hand at your shoulder pulls gently at the sleeve. “This is my shirt? This has got to be older than you are.”

A small part of his brain, the part that definitely would object to fucking his pseudo-niece, goes warm at the thought that some part of him still lived in that neighborhood, was still there for all the important moments of your life. 

That is until the very active part of his brain lumbers in, quashes all gentle feelings and promptly wrestles for control of his mouth to ask you flat out if you ever touched yourself while wearing it. Not that he didn’t want to know, but if you said yes, he would have come right there on the spot, perhaps so hard his dick popped off. So he did not ask you that, but he did satisfy that part of his brain by molding his hand around your hip, so he could feel the cool fabric on the back of his hand, and your warm, plush skin against his palm. 

You like her being drenched in you, don’t you? 

You swat at his chest, rolling your eyes, oblivious to his rapidly darkening thoughts. “It is not older than me, but if it was . . . would that be a problem?”

You pick at imaginary lint on his shoulder, hips rolling just enough to indicate it better not be a fucking problem, and a smirk on your face that reads innocent and filthy all at once. 

Dieter shakes his head, grinning as he inches his wide palm up your hip, across the thin flesh of your ribs and – 

Does not find a bra. 

You had not been wearing a bra the entire night.

Your smirk deepens, your back arching into his palm, as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast, then over your tightening nipple. You moan softly, eyes fluttering, when he pinches it deftly. His jaw ticks, teeth grinding from the pleasure of watching your mouth arch open. 

It’s like you had been given a list of all the things that turned him on and you are crossing them off one by one. Like you had skinned him and read all his little nasty thoughts written on his ribs and made them your own.

Like you were made for him. 

He leans forward, the bristles of his beard and mustache rough like matches against the shell of your ear, his voice so weighty it could have been another physical thing he intended to drive into you, intended to rub against you to make you keen with pleasure. 

“It’s not a fucking problem, you little brat. Only problem is gonna be if it keeps me from watching those pretty tits bounce while I fuck you.”   

There it is. Out in the open. As if all his flirting and touching and tongue between his teeth hinted at something else besides you spread out under him. Half delirious from being so hard, he grins as he bites the bottom of the shirt – his shirt, Jesus Christ – and pulls it up and he ducks his head under the material and presses a sucking kiss into the valley of your tits. 

He likes giving head from underneath the sheets because, yes, it was hard to breathe. It was hot and stifling and everything smelled of sweat and sex and eventually his brain was forced to make a decision about what motor functions to hold onto and he made it focus on sensations until he was sure he’d be swallowed up by the cunt under his mouth or impaled by the cock in the back of his throat and if that’s how they found him dead, he’d be absolutely fine with all of it. 

Dieter Bravo – died doing what he loved. Giving immaculate, delicious head. 

The heat under the shirt is nowhere near as intense but it’s enough to make him flush with want. He licks the sweat gathering underneath your right tit, holds it on his tongue before he lathers both his spit and your sweat over your clearly-painfully tight nipple. Every touch of his makes you stutter and he can feel you unconsciously rubbing your hips up against him. 

“This isn’t going to end up on Youtube or some shit, right?” You ask above him, your voice rough as though your throat is dry. “You don’t have cameras filming this, right, Dee?” 

He chuckles with his nose rimming your left nipple. Do you have a voyeur kink? He muses vaguely. 

Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten rid of that mirror. 

“No, baby, it’s not going on Youtube.” He runs his warm palms up the curves of your side as he tugs his head out from underneath the shirt. “All the videos go directly to a password-protected server in the Cloud.”

“Dee–,” you groan as he lunges forward and kisses you hopefully so hard it knocks those silly thoughts from your brain before pulling back to grin helplessly at you. 

You cannot physically describe how impishly adorable he looks with his hair mussed, his lips pink and twisted in a smirk – you cannot really do anything at all, really – but your hand slides up from his shoulder, across his warm neck and settles into his cheek. The last bit of brown is swallowed by a swelling blackness as you rub your thumb across the bottom of his lip. This thing that has been eating at you the longer you’re around him edges you on, daring you to push him just a bit further because it knows you’d just love what he’ll do. It knows more than you, but it’s not exactly smarter than you. It’s just simply fascinated by Dieter Bravo. 

Your own mouth parts, your eyelids growing heavy, as you swipe across his lips one more time before sliding your thumb into the warmth of his mouth. Eyes never leaving yours, his tongue greets your thumb, massaging the pad before licking around it like he’d swirl off the top of an ice cream cone. He sucks gently and you can’t fight the noise that comes out of you. Almost shocked, surprised that you can feel this aroused with all your clothes on and just his tongue. He drags his tongue across the back of your knuckle and the groan is louder now – you want to bite into him – and he pushes his hips into the mattress. 

“C’mere, baby girl–,” 

Dropping your thumb, he dives in again for your mouth, this time the back of his hand grasping your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you as if forgetting there was another way to relieve the tension in his gut, the spark that's fanning smoke like a brushfire into every place your skin, your spit, touches his. 

“Take– this– off–,” He pants between the hot presses of his mouth to your jaw, your neck, the spot beneath your ear that makes you keen in a new way. His hands are scrambling over yours to get the shirt up and over your head, desire almost making him panic that everything is going too fast but not fast enough – he wants to be inside of you in every way that matter – he wants you to smell like him – to breath his same air – 

He’s not so much kissing as opening his mouth over your skin, his teeth and tongue and lips fighting over themselves to get to you first. He wants to linger, wants to take his time but the pressure – he deliriously thinks he can smell you – and only when his fingers clamp down on the waistband of your shorts – he has half a mind to punish you for walking around in these things, making his sanity unwind in the hallways of this fucking place, until the only truly sane thing to do is fuck you and fuck you good – the thought is so strong, almost violent he pauses. 

He looks up to the devastation he’s left in his wake – bright, purple spots on the inside of your breasts, under your ribs, the small swell of your stomach, your chest heaving – and he watches your face. You realize he’s stopped moving, slowed in his volcanic thunderous roll down to the clutch of your cunt, and you meet his gaze. You swallow, mouth too dry to form words, so you splat a hand on his shoulder. 

"No robe. I’m not – not going to let you f-fuck me in a bathrobe.” 

He grins. Of course, you would sass him after a make out session so intense he doesn’t even care if he comes in his pants. But he obliges, pretty much willing to cut off a finger if you continue to purr at him like you are. 

“Excuse you, this is lounge wear.” He leans back onto his knees and shrugs himself out of the green robe. Your eyes flash to the triangle on his forearm and he’d be fucked to admit he didn’t get it entirely for the look in your eyes right now. Chicks always dug the tattoos. Your tits bounce as your breathing hitches. 

Not Daddy’s girl, his smoke-heavy, lust-soaked brain chants at him, not Daddy’s girl. 

God, he’s so hard it hurts. 

He goes back down, dropping himself between your legs, arms tucked up under the backs of your thighs. He mouths the inside of your thigh – a distraction as his hand, like some sort of fucked up, horny magician performs a slight-of-hand, “iiiis this your clit?” – rubs you over your shorts. You are soaking wet and he’s fighting the urge to just dig in there, suckle you through the wet spot. He hadn’t actually made someone come that way before, but now seemed like an excellent opportunity to try. 

“You know, for someone who has to couch-surf, you talk a lot.” 

He noses the rim of the bottom of your shorts, allowing a full gaze down to your ass. 

“Sorry if I’m sick of fucking boys who look like their mom dressed them.” You are breathless, shaky, unwinding at the seams and you know exactly what to say to dig right into him. 

He bites the soft place at the back of your thigh and you groan. 

“I thought you couldn’t remember any of them before me,” he purrs, watching that damp spot grow darker the longer he talks, the longer he holds off on touching you where you and him and the entire fucking world knows you need to be touched. 

Maybe you ran your mouth too, when you were nervous, overwhelmed. Maybe you laughed too loud when you didn’t know what else to do, and maybe you gave him shit because the second words stopped coming out of your mouth, you’d have to sink into whatever he was giving you. You’d have to kneel to the white lighting between your legs. Maybe you were afraid there wouldn’t be white lightning at all. 

Families share similar insecurities, after all. 

He waits until you open your mouth again before hooking his fingers under the band of your shorts. 

“Hmm, there’s actually a fairly long list of guys before you. Guys who–,” 

He sucks the skin just an inch to the right of your hip bone, just before the patch of curly hair, he sucks it into his mouth and bites so gently he knows that your brain nearly splits in half from the hairline fracture between pleasure and pain. 

You gasp and you’re already arching off the bed. He breathes across those coarse, damp curls and inhales. 

Girlsex. 

Girlsweat. 

It’s like there’s acid corroding his brain, eating away at the clamps holding his sanity together and he’s gonna go fucking ballistic if the acid doesn’t get to him first. But he wants the burn. He wants the chemical smell. 

He wants . . . to put his dick into something. 

But first – 

You’re pliable. Easy to move as he scoops your shorts off your ass – Oh, fucking Christ, there’s her entire backside, isn’t there? – over your thighs and he hurls the shorts over his shoulder. He inhales–

God, this pussy is going to kill me, he thinks or maybe says out loud before he tips forward into that black, fluttering hole. When he licks you, you both moan. 

He remembers specifically doing planks for as long as he could to build up the upper body strength to languish here for hours.

Well, at the time, here wasn’t here here, but if everything before this was practice, then he was ready for the Olympics, dick as hard as a goddamn gold medal. 

He swipes up with his tongue, licking and sucking and swirling like frosting was going out of style. Frosting, that’s it. That’s what you reminded him of. Fat, sweating, sweet frosting. And there was the cherry on top. 

He guides your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as if to pull himself deeper into the wettest goddamn pool at the fucking YMCA. He sucks once and your hands fly into his hair. You’re making sounds that somewhat resemble his name, but they’re too high, too pitchy, too airless to be anything coherent. 

He wants to tease you about all the boys you mentioned. Wants you to go back on your word, beg for him to believe that there was no one else before him. If there was, it didn’t matter because this is it. This is the best you’d ever have. 

Even when you left him, you’d never forget – 

Disgustingly, he slurps up one lip of yours into his mouth and you cry out, fingernails digging into his scalp so hard that it hurts and sends another rush of blood into his weeping cock. He mouths up before teasing your clit again – around it but never on it – before diving back down and lapping up your other lip. 

“Dieter–,” you garble as if you know it’s filthy. He can hear your breathing tighten in your chest, feel your thighs clench around his ears, and he swears if he gets out of this with hair in tact, that’s the most he’s going to ask for –

And he french-kisses your clit.

You come, gasping, writhing, back arching off the mattress and he bares his forearm across your stomach, reaching up to pinch your nipple. 

Settle down. We’re only just getting started. 

He’s got to control himself but staring up at you, your face flushed with pleasure, he can’t quite remember what he’s supposed to do next. 

You are naked underneath him. Naked and heaving and he licks the dampness staining his mattress just to have your taste in his mouth again. This is going to be a problem, if he can’t think straight without his mouth on you. 

Oh my God, duh, fingers. 

He pulls himself up the length of your body, and his hands sink into your hair. His fingers curl around your ear as he makes you look at him.

“How are you feeling?” It’s an echo of what he asked earlier. You’re still warm but your breathing has slowed. Your eyes are open, even if they’re fighting to stay open as if you are concussed. 

“Good. Great.” You mutter, hand falling to his chest and tangling with his shirt. 

“You wanna keep going?”

Your eyes open wider as if someone rang a dinner bell and you’d been walking on hands and knees, starving for weeks. You swallow thickly, nodding frantically, and the hand leaves his chest, winding down between you and, before he can stop you, slides under the material of his sweats and strokes him. 

Your hands are like velvet.

Fuck, then what’s your cunt gonna feel like– 

Do not fucking come right now. 

“Oh, I see,” you huff, a smirk curling your mouth up, as if you had won some unnamed battle. You roll your shoulder to go aaall the way down his cock and stroke him. You think about licking your hand, but the precum leaking out of the tip of his head at a truly flattering rate is enough lubricant to keep your hand from sticking. “I can’t walk around without a bra on, but you can walk around in these thin fucking sweatpants and no underwear.”

He grits his teeth, dropping his head to his chest, trying to breath through the freightcar rattling down his spine.

“It’s my house, you little cocktease,” he pants, gasping as you run your thumb against the vein underneath his shaft. You pump him again and again and he groans low, with his eyes shut to keep them from rolling back in his head. “I can– yeah, right there – do whatever I want. Move your hand. I want to stick my fingers in you.” 

His words aren’t so crass they make your ears red, but it’s the unrestrained need in his voice. You slowly withdraw your hands and you go wipe the threads of him on the mattress as he sits up to take his shirt off. 

“Don’t. Just– gimme a second.” 

He yanks the tank shirt over his head, setting down in between your legs again and blinking like he’d forgotten where he was. He takes your hand, licks your palm as clean as something as dirty as this could ever get, and then penetrates your hole with his middle finger. His tongue slides in the crevice between your ring finger and your pinkie and when he adds a second finger below, you both can feel the moment your brain is wiped blank and your body twitches along with it. 

“Mhmm, good.” He pulls you down closer to him, fingers plucking your strings like the finest guitar. Your knees are spread wider than when he had half his body down there. He’s watching you practically drown his hand in the wetness seeping out, his other hand holding or balancing your knee. 

He hovers above you, watching you roll and writhe and beg. His forearm is strained, his hand must be soaking, and he thinks your face contorted in pleasure might be permanently burned into his brain. There is still some part of him that knows that’s wrong. He shouldn’t have the faintest idea of what you looked like, high and blissed out of your mind, while his fingers stroke and dig and pluck and rub to drag you higher and higher – 

The pad of his middle finger brushes something spongy and you nearly slam your legs shut over his arm, if it weren’t for his free hand pinning you open. 

“Dee,” you croak, head shaking, “that was – you can’t–,”

His eyes flutter at the sound of your voice so wrecked. He needs to memorize that exact spot, save it for when you don’t have enough sanity left to push back. It’s scary, he knows, but you must be out of your goddamn mind if you thought he was going to let anything bad happen to you. 

“Look at my thumb. Baby, look down.” 

You wrench your eyes open, past your quivering chest, down his long forearm, down to where the black bullseye on the meat of the space between his thumb and palm is winking at you. 

He’s stroking you with his thumb on your clit and the bullseye winking up at you. It’s eye-fucking you and that’s enough to break you. He wants to drink whatever drips out of you as your body locks up, head thrown back, and you come. You break through and his hand curls around your knee, gently, as he watches your body crescendo for the second time that night. He sucks his fingers, almost pensively, as if he is going to carve something out of you. Remake you. Split apart your atoms and rebuild you whole. Sex as an act of re-creation. 

He kneels his way out of his pants, cock pounding red, leaking, the hot center of where his want for you is infecting him like a sickness. 

Slowly, he drags one of your knees over his shoulder, half of your body hovering just above the mattress. 

He wants to ask if you need it rough or slow. He can’t be gentle right now but he does have enough awareness to keep from hurting you. But maybe you, like him, like a little bit of pain. 

He wants you on top, wants to see you sing for him, but he knows your legs are jelly. He knows there’s a white static hum in your brain and he’s so grateful for the pleasure of it. 

He rubs the top of your thigh and noses the back of your ankle up by his ear. 

“Do you want me to put a condom on?” he asks quietly, before kissing that spot below your ankle.

“Are you clean?” He’s so fucking broad and his rings pinch your skin when he pushes too hard and he’s asking for your comfort. You also want to feel every inch of his cock and you beg him to say yes. 

He nods, suddenly irrationally thankful of Paul’s monthly mandated screenings. You get the clap once, and your fucking manager never lets you forget it. 

You huff, realizing you’re so close your cunt can almost taste it. “I-I’m on the pill. A-a-and I’m clean too.” 

As if he had ever denied you anything, as if his willpower hadn’t barely lasted four hours, you tense at the anticipation of his cock. 

He’s just as warm, just as ready, so he grabs your other ankle and draws it next to your other one against the back of his neck. He sinks back just a bit on his ankles, fingers spreading you and grabbing himself and then–

It’s like getting the wind knocked out of you and getting sprayed with a hose of fire all at once. 

“JesusfuckingChrist, you’re tight.” 

He edges deeper as he sits up right, going slow not because he hadn’t unwound you properly but because if he went any faster, he’d obsess over the idea of getting rug burns on his dick. 

“Dieter, oh God–,”

Hands leaving your ankles to wrap around your thighs, he rocks his hips back and drags out his cock just as much as the both of you can handle before thrusting forward. Again.

Again. He can’t seem to fill you enough. He wants to be bigger, thicker, girthier, if only to plug you up more. 

But, fuck, your cunt is better than your hands but only because it’s so warm and wet and throbbing and he swears his heartbeat is in his ears. 

He thrusts almost lazily, dipping his head to kiss your shin before dropping it back, your toes brushing his hair. His hands greedily squeeze your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles. 

It’s like he has to recover from the shock and sensation of fucking you. It’s too good. It’s too much. 

He’s inside of you.

If there’s a relief fund for grilled cheese, he’s going to have to donate every red cent he’s ever owned. 

Your hands clench the sheets, mouth open and, yes, beautiful tits bouncing with every thrust. It’s not them hovering above him, begging to be bitten, but it’s close and he smooths his hand down from your thigh over his chest, down your hip and he kneads your breast. 

“Oh, fuck, Dee, fuck . . . you feel so fucking good.” 

I want to die in this cunt. 

“So good, baby.” 

It’s back, that pressure that connects the backs of his eyes, to the back of his gut, all the way to his pussy-soaked cock. This time he lets it build, lets it dangle out of reach, and his thrusts become faster, hurried. You jerk beneath him and let out a full whine as if he had spanked you. 

He fucks you some more this way, just to feel that tightening in his gut, before he pulls your legs off his shoulders and you whine again, this time out of annoyance. 

He has the where-with-all to smirk.

“What, baby doesn’t like it when I take away her toys?” He pants, almost feeling light-headed. You scowl at him but don’t push back in the least as he turns you onto your hands and knees. 

“It was just starting to feel good, you a-ahh–ss–,”

He jerks his hips into you without warning, fully seating you on his cock and your head drops between your shoulders. 

“If you weren’t such a brat, you’d be kind of cute,” he murmurs as he rubs his thumb over the knots in your spine, the sensation of your cunt sucking him in almost detaching him from this plane of existence. He knows you like to be teased, with his words, with his fingers, his mouth. He wants to give you everything – anything – he’s so pussy-obsessed he can feel it like ozone in his mouth.

He never wants to stop fucking you. He’s being unstable about it. 

“You like that I’m a brat,” you say and push back with your hips. The sensation does make him stutter and you take it as a win. His rings sting as they squeeze your hips. 

He’s sliding down that pressure, winding himself up so tightly in it he wants to stop breathing – 

He starts pumping faster. The sounds that echo in that room are like music to his ears.

The sheets ruffling as your hands clench around them. The jolt of the bed as it lurches back and forth.

Your moans as he fucks every thought out of your head. “Fuck, you’re so big. It’s not fair.” 

The wet slap of his thighs meeting yours. 

And it all narrows down, the universe closing to a single focal point–  all of it runs right to his cock rubbing up inside your cunt like it owns the place.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, head down. “Please – please fuck me harder, Uncle Dieter.” 

With a growl that surprised even him, he drops forward, one hand anchoring himself to your hip and the other coming up around your throat. You gasp as his fingers dig painfully into your skin. He pulls you both up right, nose in your ear and teeth tight in his jaw. 

He punctuates every word with a particularly brutal thrust that gnaws at something truly devastating inside you. 

“Don’t – fucking – call me that – while – I’m inside – you–,”

You turn your head, flush with his and the hand that’s on your throat slides up to your cheek and he holds you there, pins you there as his cock pounds the daylights out of you. 

“Say my name.” He husks. There’s something cataclysmic happening inside your cunt and he has the launch codes. 

You can’t remember feeling so full before. So up your eyes and your mouth and your ears and your heart – God, maybe there really hadn’t been anyone before him. 

“Oh, fuck, Dieter,”

“No, honey, my real name.” 

Your eyes flicker open and something in his chest roars. He’ll kiss you after this. He’ll kiss you so hard you end up on another fucking planet. 

“David.” 

The sweat on his temples mixes with yours and he wants to smear himself in your fluids. This close, his beard and mustache rub roughly against your skin and you wonder how long the burn will last after all this. You’re clenching his arm, clenching his lower back to you, you think you’ll make him bleed in half-moon cuts of blood. 

“All of it. All of it, baby girl,” he whispers to your cheek, your jaw. “Say it. I need to hear it. I need to hear it from you.” 

Your fucked-out mind spins, clutching at the memories of the past, to a name you hadn’t heard in a decade, while the man you’ve known all your life threatens to undo your sanity. You lock eyes with him, the precipice of something so large and looming, you can’t wait to be crushed by it.

“Davíd Moralés.” 

And that bastard’s cock intentionally pushes against that spongy spot and you shriek. Honest to God, yell, as you come, with Dieter wrapped up against your back, sweat streaking both of you.

“Get down,” he hisses suddenly and almost throws you off him. You land on your back, your entire body pulsing as one single organism, and he grabs his cock in time to aim it at your chest. 

He comes, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, as he sprays you with white ropes. It’s warm on your tits and you shudder through your aftershocks. You feel like you’re sinking into warmth as he keeps coming, your inner thighs drenched and dripping, and finally, he leans away and collapses on the bed next to you.

There’s ringing in your ears. 

You feel swollen all over, your nerve centers humming and firing and crackling as though someone whapped you over the head with a 500 volt electric baton. You want to keep sinking, keep drifting, keep existing in this warm, non-corporeal form. Everything feels so good here.

You had no idea you, or anyone else for that matter, could come that hard. 

“Holy shit.” 

You can’t help but grin through the short huffs of breath you swallow down in gasps. 

You want to sass him but it feels a bit like spitting in the face of God. “Yeah. Holy shit.” 

He sits up on his elbows, glancing over his side at you, the begrudgingly fantastic cock between his legs as deflated as you are. 

“Are you okay? Fuck, sorry, I got a little crazy there at the end.” 

You shake your fist loosely, with your thumb and pinky finger extended. “I don’t hear customer service calling. In fact, I think the line has been permanently disconnected.” 

You both laugh softly and his eyes roam over your face. This is why he only saw vampy women. It was easier to wake up to something almost over-the-top hot, than this. Than you, with your beautifully flushed cheeks, plump lips, and eyes that searched only for him. 

His gut twisted painfully. Okay, you nutted so hard you’re pretty sure your dick isn’t going to work for a week, now wake up. Wake up and smell the fucking arrest warrant. 

Uncle Dieter. You're his niece. 

What the fuck were you thinking? Where could this possibly go?

Instead of inspecting the small-starting-to-grow painful throbbing in his chest, he sits up and pleasantly inspects the mess you both made all over you. You follow his gaze, smirking as he intentionally smears his cum over your skin with his thumb.

“Oh, and that thing you did at the end, where you made me–,”

“Yeah?” He grinned wickedly, almost begging you to use your words, but you had been so good for him. He’d save that for later. “You liked that?”

“At the risk of sounding desperate, yes. A thousand times yes. But totally unfair and totally cheating.”

He snickers and leans down to your thighs. “Yeah, okay, Ms. I’m Not Wearing a Bra.” 

The smell of you is intoxicating and it’s drenching your thighs, the sheets below you. Maybe he could strip the bed before Maria came – oh, fuck, what if it’s in the mattress?

He hauls those thoughts out of his mind, his dick twitching uncomfortably, as he bends forward and licks the inside of your thigh.

“Oh my God, Dee, you can’t possibly be –,”

“Relax. I’m not. Just wanted to clean you up.”

He licks the drying liquid from your skin – you hiss, so very overstimulated – dragging his tongue up, never breaking eye contact with you as he slinks up your body, shoulders rolling – “Dee, wait, you’re gonna–,” and licks the cum off your chest. His own cum. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s nasty,” you murmur, eyes transfixed on his mouth as he swallows. He chuckles, finally deciding you’ve had enough for one night, and he leans forward and presses his lips on your temple. 

“I’m not ready, but it sounds like you might be.” 

He reaches back to the floor where his shirt was so casually discarded. He gingerly wipes your thighs, your hips, your stomach and chest. There’d be time for a proper wash later, but right now he thinks he’s going to pitch forward into unconsciousness in less than thirty seconds. His limbs are heavy, his eyelids are heavy but he can’t stop smiling.

You grin at him as he tosses the very used shirt back onto the ground and gets up from the bed to disappear into the bathroom. You roll onto your side, after unpeeling the bedsheets like you had done it a thousand times. When he comes back, you rub your face against his pillows and he realizes if he’s going to hoard the sheets, then he’s going to have to do the same to the pillowcase. 

“I’m not gonna wake up and find you mouthing that shirt, am I?” You ask, a smirk already cradling your lips. He huffs at you as he hands you a glass of water. You take it, gratefully, only vaguely aware that he probably did that kind of thing all the time with his other conquests. 

That thought threatens to sour your good mood so you put the glass back onto the bedside table and curl deeper into the sheets. 

He climbs in behind you, and rubs his nose over your shoulder and up into your ear, his hand spread across your hip. 

“Only if I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t mouth your tits.” 

He’s purposefully being sexy, being teasing, but there’s a question there. A request. A quiet ask that for all his thick dick swinging, doesn’t have the cojones to verbalize. 

 You smirk at him and roll back slightly to catch his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair and squeeze once. 

“Baby, I couldn’t stand up right if I fucking tried.”

He grins, eyes warm. “Wow. Even if you fucking tried?”

God, this is such a bad idea.

“Even if I fuck-in’ tried.” 

But despite all his not-at-all begging, he wakes up alone. 

He wakes up in broad daylight – the storm had passed. Too bright light streams in from between the gray curtains, illuminating the one thing he never wanted to see: your side of the bed empty. 

His heart clenches so fast he thinks he might be sick. There’s real nausea as he stumbles to his feet and pulls his pants on from last night. He’s about to rush down the stairs, frantically flipping over everything in hopes of finding a note, even if it told him to fuck off. 

You’re twenty years older than me, you fucking creep.

Just wait until my dad hears about this. 

I never want to see you again. 

Just as his mouth dries up till his lips crack, he sees something on the other side of the bed that makes him freeze in his tracks. It’s your phone, plugged into the wall. He goes over and taps the screen. The battery has only 15%. 

And then a post-storm breeze rattles the patio door handle and it opens slightly. He sees your barefoot through the cut in the door frame. 

Holy fuck, you’re still here, just outside. 

Heart now jettisoning into his throat, he opens the door to a truly spectacular morning. His patio looks down to the freshly-washed Los Angeles, the sky a cobalt blue, the air cool and faintly smelling of rain. People run and lead their dogs through the streets and for a minute he thinks he can hear the ocean. 

But what makes it truly spectacular is you. Curled up at the small table in one of his white shirts and those sanctimonious shorts. You’ve got a cup of coffee in your hand and you’ve got his favorite book, Eco’s The Name of the Rose, lying flat beneath your fingertips. But you aren’t reading. You’re looking at him.

“Well, hi there. Did you dream you missed a flight?”

He blinks. “What?” 

“You just, sort of, rushed out here, looking like you forgot something.” You frown. “Is everything okay?”

He swallows and it’s all he can do to keep from dropping to his knees and pressing his face into your lap. 

“Yeah, fine, fine. All good. Fine.” 

You turn back to the book, staring at it as if it was giving you a pep talk. Then you shut it and turn back to him.

“So, um, last night . . .” 

Here it comes. I regret it, all of it. You drugged me and took advantage of me. I can’t believe that you would–

“Was great.” 

He swears he hears his blood rushing in his ears. You smile at him, but clearly uneasy. As if you are the one second-guessing it all. 

Fuck, Bravo, put on your big boy pants.

He pulls out the other patio chair and sits down next to you. He clasps his hands, leaning forward on his elbows. His rings clink together. He nods, trying to catch your eyes.

“Yeah. It was fucking fantastic. I mean it. One for the books.”

He waits for you to say but. 

You wait for him to say but.

Neither of you do. You grin and put your coffee on the table. 

“So, in the events of last night . . . surprisingly, I forgot to charge my phone.”

He doesn’t want to touch you because he thinks it might spook you so he runs his gaze over your lovely knuckles, your wrist. 

“Sounds like, then, you might need to stay awhile.” 

You swallow, unable to contain the growing smile on your face. You duck your head and he follows you and your breath fans his face. 

“Guess so.” 

If he tells it, he says he kissed you.

If you tell it, you say you kissed him. 

Doesn’t matter though. Doesn’t matter that the coffee grows cold and he ignites something in you that you didn’t know existed.

When he finally pulls away, he’s still smiling. 

“This might be a bit weird, but . . . wanna see my other kitchen?”

The End

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #f!reader #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfic

[rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me]

Henlo :) okay so um hcs for the gang with a reader who comes from a family thats rlly rocky, so they dont rlly experience love so when they get it its confusing for them? Like experiencing cuddles for the first time?

A/N: Thanks for requesting this! I’m super sorry for the delay, things got kind of hectic around here- hope you enjoy these!

DARRY CURTIS

Honestly? The Curtis brothers are probably the only ones here that have experience with familial affections and just affections in general?

Darry’s grown up with two parents who love him and is pretty used to the affections that come from that

When he meets you? Who doesn’t have that? Who’s never had that with their parents?

He takes it slow, he’s careful in how he holds you, not wanting to make you uncomfortable and he tells you that he loves you

Gives you all the compliments, asks you about your day and how you feel about different things, he really just does anything he can so that you know that he cares about you

Not exactly the best with his words like Ponyboy is but he knows that it’s important for you to hear that someone cares and appreciates you

SODAPOP CURTIS

Sodapop is very perceptive and already sort of knows what’s wrong when you sort of tense up when he tries to hug you or throw his arm around your shoulders 

He’s a very tactile person, he likes to be touching you, so if you’re not used to being touched or don’t exactly like being touched, I’d talk to him about

Sodapop won’t care, he doesn’t mind either way and would be happy to work towards a happy medium for the both of you

If you’re not used to being hugged and stuff? Sodapop kind of dials in his affections, being a little gentler with you

Hugs, cuddles, holding hands, he’s always going to give you the option to pull away from him

He doesn’t want to overwhelm you, he really just wants to show you that he loves you and if being held all the time doesn’t make you feel loved, that’s no problem, the two of you can work something else out!     

PONYBOY CURTIS

Ponyboy isn’t a very touchy person? At least my version of Ponyboy isn’t, so tensing up during cuddles and stuff doesn’t really register with him at first until you say something

Pony’s big thing is words if you couldn’t tell- I mean, kiddo literally wrote a whole book and gave it to a professor

So hearing you kind of talk down about yourself? Leftover habits from being told that your opinions don’t matter? That kind of sets him off

Expect tons of compliments and gentle reassurances from Ponyboy, all sweet and genuine remarks

He loves you, he loves hearing your thoughts and your parents were crazy for telling you that you didn’t matter

You do matter, and Ponyboy’s gonna make sure you know that <3

DALLAS WINSTON

My version of Dallas had a rough homelife back when he was in New York, his dad was a deadbeat, mom died when he was younger-

So for you to come from a rocky home and not be used to affection and kind words? You and Dal are kinda the same

He doesn’t entirely know how to show you that love he has for you?

Like it’s not second nature to just take your hand or kiss you before he leaves, y’know what I mean?

So like, if you guys were a seesaw of uncertainty about affection, I don’t know if seesaws are just an American thing but I hope not cause you guys would seriously be missing out, the seesaw would be perfectly balanced in the middle, completely flat

Over time though, the two of you get a bit better, relaxing into each other and showing each other a little more love! It just took you a little bit of time 

JOHNNY CADE

Yeahhhhh so Johnny has a pretty rough homelife too so I have a feeling the two of you are in the same boat here

The whole not knowing how important you are, uncomfortable during physical affections, yadda yadda yadda, you guys know what I’m talking about

I think the relationship you have going with each other is good though! It’s good for both of you!  

Johnny gives those vibes that he’d definitely be the hype man for everyone else while putting himself down

So he’d shower you in all the compliments, in all the pretty words and everything you could ever ask for, paired with a few gentle kisses pressed to your cheeks

Every aspect of this relationship would be so calm and laid-back, you’d be so good for each other because you’d finally be able to show each other what real love should be <3  

TWO-BIT MATHEWS

Okay so I take back what I said about the Curtis bros, Two-Bit’s mom definitely loved him like a mother should and I can’t believe I overlooked that- 

She works two jobs for her kids and I can’t believe that I forgot how hard she works for them

He’s also very touchy? Like Sodapop, he likes to be touching you so he’s kind of taken aback when he realizes how confused you are by it

He’s like ??? and pulls away very slowly, looking at you and trying to figure out what’s going on in your head

And I swear, if you say one thing bad about yourself, no matter what it is, Two-Bit is immediately correcting you, telling you you’re perfect and that he cares in his own Two-Bit way

“Whaddaya mean you don’t care? I wanna know what you wanna do, doll. Where do you wanna go to dinner?”

STEVE RANDLE

Steve, another very touchy boy, does his best to slowly ease into physical affections with you

He’s not trying to make you uncomfortable or overwhelmed, he just really wants to hold your hand when you’re walking around the drive-in together

I suggest having a conversation with him about your less than satisfying homelife? Steve’s got his own shitty household, and I think he’d be pretty understanding 

He gets a little sad when you talk about how you think you don’t matter? It hurts him to think that you don’t think you’re important

Steve looks at you like you’re his whole world, he just can’t believe that someone could tell you that you’re not good enough

Gentle reminders that you’re enough, you’re more than enough and that he loves you are given in the form of extra dates, extra compliments and extra loving!  

TIM SHEPARD

The reason Tim is so forward with his affections and compliments is because he stops being able to function the second those nice things turn back on him-

So yeah! Both of you don’t really know what to do with gentle affection because you both had rocky homelives

But! You’re working on it, both of you, you’re slowly relaxing into each other, slowly realizing that this is what love really is and this is how it’s shown

And as for your self-worth? Tim makes sure you really know he cares about your opinions

He’ll ask what you’re doing, what you want to do and what you don’t want to do, what you like about this and what you don’t like about that

It’s not overly obvious? But his questions are definitely him trying to see what you want and trying to do whatever you want so you can the chance to be heard 

CURLY SHEPARD

Curly Shepard had a messed up childhood no matter what sort of background you headcanon him to have so I think he’d understand where you’re coming from

Hesitancy to be wrapped in a hug or to have someone hold onto your hand?

Confusion when you’re given compliments or trusted to make decisions for something?

Curly understands what you’re going through, he’s got the same thing going on himself sweetheart <3

Together though, I think the two of you would be really really good, you’d do a lot of good things for each other and sort of build each other back up

By the way, it’s hard to not feel special when you’re with Curly because he’s always calling you by little nicknames and giving you what he’s got, saying sweet things and all that good stuff <3

#the outsiders #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders hcs #the outsiders x reader #dillo’s writing #theaternut #sleepingnova #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #ponyboy curtis #dallas wintson #johnny cade #steve randle #two bit mathews #tim shepard #curly shepard #darry curtis x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #dallas winston x reader #johnny cade x reader #steve randle x reader #two bit mathews x reader #tim shepard x reader #curly shepard x reader