#and that still doesn’t make him the bad guy :)

[luveline]

Hi Jade! I had an idea for a request! I was thinking about reader with a really low sex drive and maybe one day she starts to get a little worried and insecure about it and one of the boys just reassures her that he doesn’t care about it<3 idk if that made sense but write for whatever boy you want to I don’t have a preference love you 😚

How Remus, James and Sirius would comfort you when you worry your low libido is a problem. fem, 2.2k

❥ Remus 

Remus sits with his legs crossed in the corner of the settee, a book open on his thigh, though his attention has been caught and kept by the TV. 

You think some grovelling may be in order after last night. Quiet, you round the settee and climb onto the seat next to his, body turned away from the TV, arm creeping onto his thigh. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi.” 

He encourages you closer, leaning back to give you room to lie on him. His right arm does most of the work to keep you up, sandwiching you to his chest, an almost not quite hug. “What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“How do you know something is wrong?” 

He taps your back with his fingers, looking up at the ceiling with a sarcastic smile. “What could it be?” 

The hints of green in his irises are more pronounced when he’s sitting in the sun like this, rays cutting in through the window, turning his pale skin slightly tanned and his hair a warmer chestnut colour that curls behind his ears. The scar on his lip relaxes as his joking smile fades to a proper one, a lovey-dovey type that melts you. It’s nice to be looked at so nicely, like just the sight of you inspires happiness. 

You shift off of your legs, deciding you might as well lay flat with your head in his lap instead. He lets you sink down. His hand takes up station near your cheek, the back of his curled fingers brushing the skin just shy of your eye. 

“This is nice,” he whispers. 

“I have to say sorry,” you whisper back, drawing shapes into his t-shirt, the soft muscle of his stomach pillowy to poke. 

Remus nods emphatically. “Yes, you didn’t come and see me as soon as you woke up. I heard you on your phone in bed. That’s not very nice, is it, depriving me of your company?” 

You shake your head into his thigh, a slow, guilty movement. “No, about last night.” 

“What about last night?” 

Last night, Remus had given you a very slow kiss. He’d been half asleep and you’d been more so, but it was a lovely kiss and his hand had been rubbing sweet half circles into your hip, but it still made you feel awful when he asked if he could touch you and you’d told him you were too tired, even if he didn’t mind. He’d just kissed your cheek and snuggled into you like a life-sized teddy bear. He never takes your rejection as an insult. 

“You… you wanted to fuck and I didn’t, I’m sorry. I feel like every time you ask lately I say no.” 

Remus frowns at you. Deep frown, eyebrows pinching and brown eyes bordering sullen. His fingers uncurl over your cheek and cover your ear as he cups your face. “I don’t want you to be sorry. The reason I ask is so you can say no, you can always say no.” 

“I kiss you, and I wind you up, and then I can’t–”

“Which I enjoy. You don’t have to worry about that.” He leans down to kiss you but doesn’t fully get there, your noses touching, and then he’s leaning away again. “Please don’t say sorry. You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

“I know that. I’m not trying to make you into the bad guy.” 

Remus taps your nose with his and leans in again. “I know you’re not. You aren’t one either. Sex is just another fun thing to do, okay? If you don’t want to, that shouldn’t bother me, and it doesn’t. I promise.” 

You curl your arms around his neck. He lifts his head, subsequently lifting you as he moves, his arm curling behind your back for a hug. 

“Sometimes I want more of you than you want to give,” he says, “but it’s just because I love you, not because I need it. Don’t be silly, dove. Don’t say sorry.” 

He presses the heel of his palm to your back and begins the heavy pressure of a back rub. You won’t say sorry if he doesn’t want you to. You shouldn’t anyways. But he’s your boyfriend and you love him, so his being accepting of it is a relief. 

Like he can read your mind, he says, “You never have to say sorry for this.” 

“I know.” You lift your chin. “Kiss?” 

Remus kisses you quickly before tucking you into his neck for a long hug. 

❥ James

“You’re beautiful.” 

You’re boiling. James doesn’t notice, kissing and kissing and kissing, your neck flushed with his touch and his murmured compliment. “James.” 

He tilts his head, weaving in on the other side of your neck to give it the same loving treatment. “Pretty doesn’t cover it,” he says in a rush, his teeth scratching dully up to your jaw, his kissing like nips without any pain behind them as he reaches your cheek. 

You catch his face in your hands and push him away gently. It’s so hot in here you can’t breathe, and you’re not in the mood for any further action. It’s funny. You adore his kisses and James is undeniably a good fuck, but your libido is low no matter how pretty your boyfriend is, or how pretty he finds you. You’d always wondered if that meant there was something wrong with you. 

James doesn’t seem to think so. 

“Sorry,” he says, beaming, “that’s enough, right?” 

You feel a weird sharp stab in your chest. “Sorry?” 

“I’m getting ahead of myself.” James sits up where he’d been lying on top of you, having manoeuvred such a position in the midst of all his warm kisses. He sits back on his calves, kneeling in the space between your legs, a hand falling instead to your knee. “It’s fucking hot in here, isn’t it?” 

“Sorry.” 

“Did you make it hot?” 

You look at your hand on your chest. He’s noticed you don’t want to take it any further, you hardly ever do. You knew he’d see that eventually. You have the libido of a panda, where James is an athletic young man who loves you. 

“No, I mean. I’m sorry, because I never want to when you want to.” 

Your serious tone surprises him. “Baby, what the fuck are you talking about?” he asks. “I am so lost.” 

“Just– Most of the time when you try to sleep with me I turn you down. You know already.” 

“Baby, that doesn’t matter.” He leans in again, only to hold your wrists, two big hands curled around your arms to stop your fidgeting. Two pet names in quick succession is unlike him, and it relaxes you before he’s begun to explain. “It doesn’t matter at all. Just makes it better when we do manage to want it at the same time.” 

You grimace. “Are you sure?” 

“You want me to be honest?” 

You’re not sure. “Yeah. Please be honest.” 

“Sometimes we kiss and you know I want you,” his eyes dart down, prompting a surprised laugh from you, and an easy chuckle from him in return, “and it’s frustrating, but it’s not ‘cos of you. I can go shower and sort myself out and it’s not the same as being with you, but it’s not your fault. It’s just a reaction.” 

“But I feel bad for making you deal with it yourself.” 

“What are you supposed to do? You can’t force yourself if you’re not in the mood. That’s the last thing I want you to do. I’d rather have it fall off.” 

You laugh again. James’ smile is glowing, and warm as he presses it to your wrist in a chaste kiss. “We can do other things. If you feel that badly about it, you can give me a scalp massage, please. You shouldn’t feel badly about it, but still. If you’re okay with it, I’d love one.” 

He presses his cheek to your chest in want of your hand. 

You press your fingertips to his hairline and weave your fingers into the roots of his soft hair, shaking them, nails scratching lightly at his scalp like you know he likes. “How’s that?” you ask. 

“Better than sex.” He is unmistakably sincere. 

❥ Sirius 

“Did you lock the door?” 

Sirius hums. 

“Close the kitchen window?” 

“I did,” he says, waving your hand gently where he’s holding it between you both. You lay straight in bed with the duvet up to your chests and the TV playing one of his favourite movies. 

“Okay. Did you take your medication?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. Everything’s done. You can relax.” 

You pick your book up and open it to the first page. You’ve been meaning to read this one for a while, you’re happy to get the time, but you’re feeling queasy about something. 

Sirius is a loud guy. He loves the glitz and glamour of life, he likes to go out, play fast and hard, he’s electric most of the time. He can be quiet, too, like you tend to be, but you’re worried that you’re another night closer to him deciding he’s bored. It’s been weeks since you went anywhere, and you haven’t fucked in almost as long. 

“Can I have this?” he asks, pulling your hand to his lips. 

You smile as he kisses your knuckles, barely there presses of his lips to your skin that linger. 

“You haven’t turned a page yet.” 

“It’s hard to start,” you tell him. 

“What’s it about? Fantasy?” 

“No, just a romance, I think.” 

“I like your romances. You read the complicated ones with the good love, like ours.” 

It’s a very nice thing to say, even if you’re not sure how he knows what romance you’re reading. He enjoys listening to you talk about books when they’re done, so perhaps the details have sunk in.

You let the book flop to the side and curl up around your joined hands. “I love you,” you say. 

He curls into you in return, “You should. That was a good line,” he says teasingly. “I love you too, my girl.” He speaks it with a quiet, gentle cadence that suits him and the pet name well. “Lift your head. Wanna see you.” 

You angle your face up to give him a view of the half that isn’t hidden by the sheets. “I’m so boring.” 

“Says who?” 

“Everybody, probably. All we do is watch TV and sleep.” 

“Good thing I love both of those things.” He wraps an arm around you, palm to your shoulder. “And it’s not true. We went to the cafe yesterday after work. On the weekend, we’re going to the cinema. Why, do you want to do more?” 

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Siri. Aren’t you bored?” 

He stares at you. Long, non-judgmental looking, his dark lashes kissing in the corners as his gaze wanders down to your neck. “Is this about something else?” 

“No.” 

His mouth turns sympathetic, a wobbly frown. “Are you sure, lovely? You can talk to me.” 

You weigh each word as you say it, determined not to embarrass yourself, “I’m worried that I don’t make your life very interesting. We don’t go out much, we don’t drink, and I never…” 

You turn your face down, your forehead to his chest. Sirius hums unhappily and encourages your head back to see you again almost immediately. “You never what?” he asks. 

“Never mind.” 

“No, please. Tell me, Y/N. You can tell me anything, I won’t care.” He’s getting so serious about it and it’s making it even more embarrassing than before, but you don’t want him to worry. You spit it out. 

“I don’t put out. We hardly ever have sex.” 

“Does that upset you?” he asks. 

“Well. It upsets me if it upsets you.” 

“It doesn’t.” His hand cups your cheek, his forehead drops down to yours. “It doesn’t upset me. Did I make you think that?” 

“You’re just so cool and I’m your loser.”

He laughs happily. “You’re my loser,” he agrees. 

“The last couple of times I’ve said no. I guess I just worry you want more than I’m giving out, so. I don’t want you to wish we were having more sex, but I can’t make myself want it more.” 

“I see.” 

You listen to him breathing, the warmth of his exhale like a kiss all its own as it fans over your mouth.

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. “Can I tell you what I think?” You nod, and he continues, “I only want to have sex with you, that’s one of the consequences of being in love. It’s a good one. So if you don’t wanna have sex, it’s safe to say I don’t want to either. Okay? Love you just as much with or without it.” 

Unlike him and not to be this tender. You bite the inside of your lip.

“Promise?” you ask. 

“I promise.” 

#the marauders #marauders #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #sirius black fanfiction #james potter fanfiction #remus lupin fic #sirius black fic #james potter fic #the marauders x reader #the marauders x fem!reader #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter

[urhoneycombwitch]

breathe in the air

eddie x reader x steve. part i

foreword: this is part one/set up for a fic I’ve been chewin’ on. cw is for both parts and will get updated- no actual smut in this first one but please heed the tags anyway. +18 mdni as always. (@somnambulic-thing you inspired me to write from Eddie’s pov! 💖)

cw: smoking (weed and nicotine), R’s hair is mentioned but unspecified texture/length, also wears Eddie’s shirt, R has breasts + V,  Eddie and Reader are both varying degrees of stoned while performing sex acts (please be safe IRL and don’t read if that makes you uncomfy!!), pt. ii will have: voyeurism (Eddie and R fool around and Steve watches), blow jobs, masturbation, both the boys being Down Bad™️

wc: 2.5k (part i)

_____

The sun has sunk low over Forest Hills, Eddie’s room cast in deep blue where the golden path of his bedside lamp doesn’t touch.

He’s lighting up a post-sex cigarette, one of the best things this shitty world has to offer, in his opinion- second only to feeling your warm body against his; writhing and wriggling with pleasure, neck craned to let him lick the sloping sweat from your skin- or times like now, when you’re calm and satiated, nude under the comfort of sheets and the weight of your head on his chest.

Casting a hand out to shuffle blindly through the bedside table, Eddie wraps his other arm around the sleepy length of you, pulling you tighter to himself; your response a wordless, happy little noise. His hand deep in the drawer catches on a stray cigarette, then around the hard plastic of a spare lighter. With a sigh of contentment, he kisses the top of your head before bringing the filter to his lips.

Sparks catch under his thumb, cherry of the cig burning red- like some sort of sleeper agent responding to the click, you sit up with a jolt, stealing the mess of sheets upwards, exposing Eddie’s lower half to the cool air.

Eddie swears, startled- thinking you were almost asleep, he’d been nearly careless with the open flame- tossing the lighter aside, he reaches towards your back that now faces him. “Jesus, babe. Give a guy some warning before you snap to attention like a damn general.”

Thumb pressed to the notches of your spine, palm wide around your lower back, Eddie can feel the quiet giggle that shakes through your ribs.

 “Sorry,” you whisper once you’re finished, still staring at the far wall like you're trying not to break a spell. Your arms are crossed, sheets bunching around your chest- “Had a thought.”

“Must’ve been a good one,” Eddie muses, thumb following the line of your spine down, like he’s petting an oversized cat.

In true feline fashion your back arches into his touch, encouraging his palm to sweep up again, to your shoulder blade this time as you murmur, “I wanna go swimming.”

“Okay.” Eddie’s immediately agreeable, taking a long drag from the cig, letting smoke fill out the hollows around his lungs. “We’ll go to Lover’s Lake tomorrow. Heard it’s gonna be a hot one.”

Hawkins is having a record heat wave for the second summer in a row- as if all the damn underground monster shit and horrific earthquakes of last year weren’t enough already: global warming to top it all off. The sun has been merciless these last few weeks, peaking midday, nothing for it but to lie in a heated daze on the kitchen tiles of whoever’s house is the least amount of bitch to get to.

Not that Eddie’s complaining about you being half-naked most of the time. He thinks this is the year you might actually kill him, now that he can touch you, call you his- every curve of upper calf in those short shorts, every soft slip of stomach peeking out from cropped tops- he’s got enough spank bank material to last until his deathbed. (Which he’s decidedly allowed to joke about, since, ya know, the whole almost-dying thing last spring.)

Eddie moves on haptic memory to set aside his cigarette, searching pinky-out for the lip of the ashtray (ceramic, with a poorly-drawn Snoopy, the ears far too big- you’d laughed until you cried over it at the thrift store; he was fifty cents poorer that day but rich and dizzy off your glee). 

“No, not the lake. And I wanna go swimming now.” There’s a hint of petulance in your voice, walking the thin line of childish whine that only appears these days after you’ve smoked, tongue and desires loosened and lax with the help of the finest hash stash in Hawkins. 

There’s a smile threatening to split Eddie’s face in two. He’s been working at that hard-won wall of your solitude for ages now, showing rather than telling you it’s okay to ask for things, that you’re safe to make requests and hell, even demands, from him. Eddie’s not sure what he wouldn’t do for you, at this point- hasn’t found that line yet. Probably doesn’t exist.

A monster of my own design, he thinks, fondly, sweeping the hair from your neck so he can see the outline of cheek and jawbone, reflective with lamplit glow. “Baby, there’s nowhere to swim right now- it’s dark and that’s not real safe. Tomorrow I’ll make us some sandwiches- we can drive out to the lake, you can get stoned and I’ll play lifeguard.”

It’s probably too much to hope you’ve swallowed this bitter pill of compromise in silence, but based on the lack of response, it’s certainly possible. Eddie presses his thumb into the muscle where your neck meets shoulder, massage a silent apology for saying no when you’d been so good to ask. 

Crickets chirp in chorus outside, sound dampened by the glass window- he needs to open it soon, get the hot air out and night breeze flowing (though he is loath to replace the heady smell of sex wrapped like a cozy blanket around his room).

He feels you shuffle under his hand, eyes popping open to watch- you’ve tucked your chin over the dip in your shoulder, looking down the slope of your own nose at him, an expression on your face that makes Eddie’s stomach flip (with nerves, fear, excitement, hard to pinpoint exactly).

Your voice is quiet but steady when you speak, Eddie’s massaging fingers freezing to a halt when you say, “I know a place, open right now, with a lit-up pool. And a lifeguard.”

A thin tendril of smoke from the ashtray floats into Eddie’s vision as he stares blankly at the ceiling for a moment. Then he sits up, crushing the cherry into Snoopy’s wavered outline (sorry, pal) before brushing arms with you, patient and stern with a headshake to match- “No way, sweetheart.”

“Why-y?” That petulance is back, Eddie’s heart kicking up in response; it’s your turn to give the physical affection, winding your arms in a closed loop around his neck, forehead bumping against his jaw as he works it back and forth. 

His stitched-tight resolve quickly unspools as the wet plush of your lips track a path across his throat; he clears it before squeezing at your side again, one last argument to try and stick like cooked spaghetti to a wall. “You’re high.”

You snort, puff of breath sending goosebumps across his skin, rapidly cooling from lack of your affection- “Yeah, and you’re not. So you can drive us there, and then smoke again with me before we go in, and Stevie boy will keep us safe in that nice, heated, well-lit pool of his.”

Even as you speak, Eddie’s shaking his head, but it’s more in disbelief of his own weakness (namely: you). He slips a hand to your cheek, pulling back to take you in- mischief shimmering like twin stars in your eyes as you lock onto his gaze, lips parting pliant when his thumb swipes at your bottom lip. 

“You gonna behave yourself?”

It’s less of a question and more of a check-in, the meaning behind the words an undulating variable, a riddle with a thousand different answers.

The one you do give is complimented by a wicked grin, punctuated with a quick kiss (awfully chaste, considering your bare front pressed against his), your mirthful delight at having won both unsettling and tantalizing.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

With a sudden push to his chest, Eddie goes down easy for you, hair spreading riotous across the pillow as you move with shocking fluidity to throw a leg over his hip. Your hands meet in the middle of his chest, just under the rippling ink of a crow in flight, settling your weight comfortably on his stomach. 

Eddie’s sure you can feel his pulse, jack-rabbit fast, as you dip to kiss beneath his jaw. His hands automatically settle on your hips, grip tightening with each loving kiss you scatter over his collarbones, his sternum.

He’s half-hard under the sheets by the time your lips find the hitch of his ribs, stuttering and expanding to meet your mouth- can’t be faulted, really, not when your bare chest gleams in the low light, the top of your head imploring for the warmth of his wide palm to rest. 

Just when Eddie thinks he’s in the clear, that the call of your needs (evident in the slickness pooling just under his navel where your naked cunt rests) will drive the call of your wants to distraction, you sit up again, using your planted hands as leverage to swing completely off and away.

The coldness of your absence is cruel and unusual punishment. Eddie groans, scrubbing a hand down his face, deciding right then that he won’t be above begging tonight- when you suddenly reappear with a clean beach towel in either arm, pulled from the bowels of his closet.

There’s youthful, honest enthusiasm to your movements- something that’s catching, apparently, ‘cuz Eddie’s tipping himself out of bed with a resigned sigh, pulling boxers over his flagging dick and answering your spree of questions about these new evening plans.

“Sure, bring a water bottle. No, babe, we don’t need sunscreen- it’s night. Yeah, I’ll bring more weed. How ‘bout you bring me that old shoulder bag and we can bring some stuff with us.”

As you work on digging through the mess of a combined closet to find something suitable for swimming, Eddie folds the two towels that you’d found along with a baggie of joints into the bag. You’re humming under your breath while getting dressed, and Eddie’s staring at all the leftover space- what does one pack for a nighttime high swim with one’s girlfriend and the guy you’ve both sort-of mentioned threesoming with?

He tosses in a well-loved edition of your favorite book of poems, figuring the Harrington abode will have plenty of snacks. Food for the mind, he thinks, then snorts at his own joke. 

“C’mon, snorty.” You beckon from the doorway, an old t-shirt of his just swishing past the dark strip of your bikini bottoms, van keys held aloft. 

At the front door, there’s a brief argument about coats (you think you’ll be fine without, Eddie disagrees vehemently) which Eddie wins, wrangling your arms into the sleeves of his oil-stained work jacket before locking the front door behind you both.

Eddie smiles, a secret, pure thrill watching you tiptoe gingerly across the gravel on bare feet (too stubborn to actually wear the sandals that hang from either hand). His coat is bunched up around your ears while your legs poke out like some sort of winterized bird with bare legs. 

There’s a bright pang of love that suddenly hits hits sideways, a dizzying urge to sink on denim knees to the ground, sharp rocks be damned, just to kiss the tender spot behind your knees, to feel the hill of your calf under his tongue…

Your giggle breaks his reverie, impatient and pointed jiggling of the locked passenger handle clunking out into the quiet park. “Quit staring, weirdo. You coming?”

Hope so, Eddie thinks, spinning the key ring in looping arcs around his pointer finger. He bypasses the porch steps completely, boots hitting the gravel with a satisfying crunch. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Your cheery mood is sustained during the short car ride as you chatter animatedly about some coworker drama that you forgot to catch him up on, Eddie’s hand drawn like a magnet to your upper thigh while he drives. 

But by the time he’s pulling the van next to Harrington’s beemer, your eagerness has waned, speech drifting off into silence once he’s parked. 

“Hey.” His voice draws you back to him, a bit, your eyes too wide and roving for his liking, coat sleeves clenched around opposing fists as you hang onto his words. “Sweetheart. We don’t have to go inside. Can go anywhere- diner for some food, back home, the damn trash heap for all I care. Just want you to feel safe.”

“I do,” you counter, earnest but chest still punching a fast rhythm. “I feel safe. I just… you think he’s even awake?”

There’s a yellow glow coming from one of the second-floor windows. Your fingers twist harshly around fabric in the dark, breath loud. 

Eddie nods, then kills the engine and grabs behind his seat for the Ziploc of pre-rolls, an offering held to you between two ringed fingers. “Want a bit of Green Courage before going in?”

The van windows are soon fuzzily obscured with a haze of smoke, sprinklers for the pristine lawn nearby hissing to an automated start at the turn of 11 PM. The weed coaxes your earlier state of relax to the forefront, this time with an added layer of giggles, which Eddie finds desperately cute. 

He’s sure he’s high now, too, ‘cuz he’s unintentionally focusing really hard on your lips as you speak, and you’re letting him, corner of your mouth quirking when you ask, “Gonna take me inside, Munson?”

“Uh huh.” An automatic response, just so he can keep staring- when you pop the handle of your door open Eddie reaches, faltering before landing on your face, cupping the tilt of your cheek- “Meant it. Earlier. Just say the word. Take you anywhere.”

Weed fragments his speech but you melt with understanding, leaning into his hand, your lashes sweeping sweetly at the bridge of his thumb as you whisper, “Okay.”

You’re out the door and he’s left scrambling in the wake, hauling the strap of the packed bag over one shoulder and snapping up your forgotten shoes from the footwell. He locks the doors (nevermind that this is a nice neighborhood, can’t trust rich people farther than he can throw ‘em and Eddie has always been better at running over shotput on field days) and hikes it across the grass to where you stand, a beacon of beauty under the porch light.

“Ready?” he asks.

Your bare foot- flecked with wet grass- trails up the back of your opposing leg, veins at the whites of your eyes spidering pink with anticipation (and the fresh joint) as you turn to smile at him. “Yeah. Bring it on.”

“Your wish, my command,” Eddie says, winking, knuckles pulled into a fist to rap at the front door of one Steve Harrington. 

___

[END: PART ONE]

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steddie x reader #eddie munson x reader x steve harrington #eddie x reader x steve #steddie #cw weed #weed ment #tw weed

[wttcsms]

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody, atsumu miya

pairing atsumu miya x reader word count 1.4k synopsis love for you is holding him; love for him is allowing himself to be held. content contains hurt/comfort, intimacy, atsumu-centric, insecurities, unconditional love, showering together but make it sfw

The stinging spray of scalding hot water from the showerhead should be enough to get him to leave, but he barely registers the pain, can’t seem to bring himself to feel the heat, can’t seem to bring himself to feel anything.

No — that’s not entirely true. He feels one thing.

Devastated. 

Everyone knows Atsumu Miya likes to talk shit on and off the court. It’s his thing, his trademark, his brand. Lots of athletes like to talk big about how they’re going to win; who the hell is going to support a guy who walks onto the court with a well, it’ll be alright if I lose. 

He’s staring down at the tiles of the shower, can somewhat register the persistent barrage of water spraying onto his back as he has one hand splayed on the wall, shoulders slumped, water dripping from his hair and running into his vision, making everything blurry. 

Don’t blink, he tries to demand of himself, but the issue is, we can’t always control our bodies. He has to shut his eyes, just for a brief second, and in that second, it all comes back to him.

The opposing team at set point. His team depending on him to serve. One point left. Only one chance. He can feel the stadium’s crowd holding their breath, can feel the lack of air in the atmosphere, can hear how loudly the blood is rushing to his head. Dizzy. Dazed. He doesn’t give into pressure, not anymore, not ever. Doesn’t feel performance anxiety, knows better than to try to attempt something flashy just for the glory of a good story to tell. 

Give ‘em a serve they don’t have a chance of receiving, he demands of himself. 

The final seconds of the match all come to him like stills from a movie, each frame another devastating blow to his ego, his self-worth, his very being. The ball is in the air, he’s bending his knees to prepare for the jump, his hand making contact with the ball. Something’s off, he can feel it upon first contact, but it’s too late to save, too late for him to change anything.

The ball lands.

On his side of the net.

He’s frozen in place as he stares ahead. He can tell the other team is cheering, slapping each other on their backs, and he can hear the blow of a whistle, the celebration from the crowd. But all he sees is the ball. All he sees is his failure.

Atsumu has spent a good portion of his volleyball career knowing that he plays the game better than most. It’s why he feels so comfortable talking about the lack of skills other players display. It’s why he always has something to say at practice, on the court, during a post-game interview. 

And he knows he makes mistakes. He knows that he’s only human. But a bad serve in the middle of a game isn’t as crushing as knowing that he is the sole reason as to why the Black Jackals’ season is going to be ending early. 

Where did he go wrong? He did everything perfectly, did everything the way he usually does. Why couldn’t he perform? Why did he let his team down? Why—

“Atsumu?” 

He doesn’t look up, and all you can see is the sad shape of his outline from the foggy glass door of the shower. You know that Atsumu probably wants nothing more than to be alone right now, but you can’t help but worry when fifteen minutes have gone by, and you could still hear the shower running. That’s your first sign that something is wrong.

Atsumu is a notoriously quick showerer, to an almost concerning degree. When you first started living together, you debated planning elaborate tricks to see whether or not he was even using soap. (Which, in hindsight, was just flatout silly; he walks out the shower smelling overwhelming of his Axe Men’s 3-in-1 and Old Spice deodorant.) 

No — the first sign that something is wrong would be his uncharacteristic silence on the trip back home. He hadn’t responded to your it’s okay, baby, you’ll get ‘em next season. Instead, he just looked out the window, the devastated expression on his face silencing you as well. Even when he lost to Kageyama, he had been disappointed, upset, but still talking big about how he was going to crush the Adlers next time around. He had then made a comment about Tobio’s stupid haircut, and that’s when you told him if he doesn’t have anything nice to say, he shouldn’t say anything at all.

Now, you’d give anything to have him say something. Something for you to work with.  

“Atsumu?” You call out for him again, worried when you don’t see his figure moving. 

Pathetic. Atsumu thinks that’s what he is. A loser, a fucking scrub, a failure. Even if his teammates won’t admit it, the media will. And what then? Will you think that about him too? It’d be the truth, wouldn’t it? Isn’t that why you’re in the bathroom now? To pity him? 

He’s too busy tearing himself down to react to the distinct sound of you sliding back the glass door of the shower so you can enter it. There’s a brief burst of the cool air of the bathroom hitting his exposed body, but it evaporates the moment you shut the door. 

“Oh, ‘Tsumu.” You whisper it, and he wants to tell you that he’s not fucking fragile. That he’s not going to shatter into a million pieces if you just raise your voice, if you tell him how you really feel about him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn around to face you. He doesn’t want to. He can’t.

His skin is red from the heat of the water, his back staring at you angrily, hurt. The skin’s going to need some time to heal, and you turn the faucet, lowering the temperature of the water. 

“Turn around, honey. Please?” You’ve never seen Atsumu so upset before, so quiet. You wait several minutes for him to actually do as you request, and you think it’s only because he wants a way to get rid of you sooner. 

You don’t say anything to him as you reach for his shampoo, letting it lather in your hands before you give him a pleading look, one that has him leaning down so you can reach his hair. It feels nice, he thinks, the way you’re shampooing his hair. You’re gentle with your movements, and it almost relaxes him. 

You use your body wash on him. Massage the suds into his skin, but you’re mindful of the amount of pressure you apply. You know which areas of his skin is more sensitive from its exposure to the hot water, and you are careful with the spots of his body that he had chosen to be negligent with. 

“Am I so fuckin’ worthless that you have to do somethin’ as simple as bathing me?” He’s not angry at you. He might spit out the words — words that come out sounding all raw and scratchy, like they had to personally claw themselves from his throat — but the anger is not directed at you. It’s at himself. 

“Look at me.” 

His eyes are glossy, wet, shiny, and you know it’s not because of the shower. You’ve never seen Atsumu cry before, and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. So, you do what feels right. You whisper his name softly, tenderly, and it’s this tenderness, your unwavering softness, your unconditional love, that breaks him. That makes him feel safe enough to break. That makes him think of the possibility that you’ll take these jagged pieces of him and piece them back together for him, with him. 

He’s so much bigger than you. You tell him all the time that he’s larger than life, and he thinks about that comment as he lets himself sink into your open arms, as he lets himself be held. He has never felt smaller in his life, and in your embrace, he buries his face into your shoulder, letting his warm tears mix in with the water already on your body.

“I don’t know how you can still look at me.” He mutters, and every word is spoken onto your skin, tiny blades striking you. 

Atsumu isn’t sure what he wants to hear, isn’t even certain that there’s anything that could be said to ease his devastation, but melts into you even more so when you tell him,

“Atsumu, I thought you already knew that nothing can change the way I look at you.”

#atsumu miya x you #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #angst #one shot #fluff #drabble #imagine #alright if this doesn't make it to the tags im never posting again

[queenxxxsupreme]

At the End of the World (Cooper Howard x reader)

(Part 2)

A/N: So I don’t know how much I like this, but I think after this piece I’m going to try to follow some of the show but just add my own little twists into it :) I hope you guys like it! Enjoy!!

Warning: nothing outside of canon, mentions of bad dreams and of child loss, a twisted ankle

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Sometimes Lucy doesn’t know when to stop asking questions. Here is Part 1 in case anyone missed it :)

You jolted awake, eyes opening wide and lips parting with a soft gasp. Your heart beat so hard against your chest that it actually hurt.

“Easy, doll.”

You furrowed your brows as you looked up at Cooper. Your head rested in his lap, his hand gently brushing over your hair.

You pushed yourself into a sitting position, rubbing your hands over your face.

“Shit.” You cursed.

”Everything alright?”

”Yeah. Yeah, um…. Just a bad dream, I guess.” You looked over your shoulder to him. You moved to sit against your backpack, your leg brushing against Cooper’s. You bent your knees slightly, bringing your hands up to rub your face. “Do you have my smokes?”

He reached into the pocket on his jacket for the carton of cigarettes and a lighter. You took the carton and pulled out a cigarette. His eyes watched you put the stick between your lips. With a flick of his thumb, a flame appeared over the lighter. You leaned over to light the cigarette, taking a small breath.

“Heart’s racin’.” He commented.

You leaned back, blowing a cloud of smoke out of your mouth.

Your hand falls down to your lap, the cigarette dangling loosely between two fingers.

You try to fight the feeling, to fight the scratchy lump forming in your throat. Your right eye stings with tears and your chest tightened as if you were being suffocated.

“I miss her so much, Coop.” Though your voice was weak, he could hear your words just fine.

“I know ya do, doll.”

You hastily brushed the tears off of your cheek. Your gaze fell upon the Vault Dweller that laid fast asleep just a few feet away from you.

You raised the cigarette to your lips, the stick trembling just slightly in your grip.

“My Gracie would be about her age now.”

Wordlessly, Cooper reached over to place his hand on your knee. He didn’t know how to comfort you, how to make you feel better. As a parent himself, he knew what it was like to lose a child. Though for him, there was the smallest chance that his girl was still alive. He just wasn’t sure.

”Finish that cigarette, doll, then you need to try to go to sleep.”

You stiffly shook your head.

“I don’t want to sleep. If-If I have to see her again….” You trailed off.

Cooper let out a soft sigh. You were one stubborn lady.

Silence fell between the two of you. Your eyes seemed glued to Lucy but your gaze was blank. Even though you sat right next to him, you were a thousand miles away.

***

When the sun came up, you, Lucy, and Cooper were back to trudging across the Wasteland. You walked a few feet ahead of Lucy and behind her was Cooper. His eyes continuously scanned the Wasteland for any signs of danger, one hand resting on a handgun on his hip. He had bound Lucy’s hands before the three of you started your journey. He didn’t trust her.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.” Lucy spoke as she jogged to catch up to you. You glanced over to her for a few moments before looking back to the path ahead.

“I’m not feeling too chatty today. Didn’t get a lot of sleep.”

”Are you okay?”

”Yes, I’m fine.”

”I’ve been having a lot of bad dreams lately too.” Lucy sighed out. “There’s just…. There’s so much death and-and blood. I don’t know how people do it.”

”We don’t have any other choice.”

”Yeah, I guess.” The vault dweller shrugged her shoulders.

“Some of us have had to go through so much that the thought of giving up now seems…. It seems pointless. We just….” You paused for a moment. “We just have to keep finding the next thing to keep us going.”

”Like what?” She looked over to you. “Icy, I-I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. You had a family, a whole family and-and now…. I wouldn’t be able to keep going.”

You pressed your lips together. You wanted to be angry with her, to be upset with her. If she thought that everything that had happened to her in the short time she’s been on the surface was bad, she was in for a nasty surprise.

“Sometimes after such loss…. It takes finding someone else who has been through similar things to keep you going.”

Lucy glanced over her shoulder to the Ghoul that traveled a little ways behind them.

The vaultie followed you down a slight incline, but she stepped the wrong way and twisted her ankle. Immediately, she fell to the ground from the pain.

“Ah! Ow! Ow, ow ow!”

”Quiet down, girly.” You knelt down beside her. She clutched at her ankle, groaning in pain. With your cybernetic left eye, you could see that she had overstretched the ligaments.

”What the hell happened, Vaultie?” Cooper looked down at the two of you.

“She sprained her ankle.” You sighed, untying her boot.

“Course she did.”

“Wait, what-what are you doing?” Lucy furrowed her brows.

”Your ankle is going to swell and if you leave it in your boot, it’ll only do you more damage.”

”Oh. O-Okay. Yeah, that makes sense. I guess.” Lucy breathed. “Are-Are you a doctor?”

You looked at her for a couple moments. Sometimes you weren’t sure if she was being serious or joking with you.

You put the boot into your backpack and stood up.

“She’s not going to be able to walk much longer, Coop.”

”Well she don’t got much of a choice, does she?”

You looked to the west where the sun was beginning to set.

“We’re about four hours out from Alma’s.” You looked to Cooper. His jaw went slack as he brought his hand up to rub his brow.

“Damn it.”

”Who’s Alma?” Lucy started to try to stand up. You held your hand out for her to help her to her feet, then you cut off the rope binding her hands together. It would make it easier to help her walk with her hands not stuck together. “Thanks.”

”She’s a friend.”

”A friend ain’t what I’d call her. She tried to kill me last time I saw her.”

”Well she isn’t exactly your biggest fan, Cooper.”

The Ghoul held your gaze. He didn’t want to go all the way to Alma’s. It was out of the way and would just tack more time on to the trip. Not to mention, he didn’t want Alma involved. But with Lucy’s new injury, you really didn’t have a choice.

”I reckon we’re goin’ to Alma’s.”

”Come on, Lucy.” You moved to stand on her right side to provide her support while she walked.

***

Six Hours Later

It was dark by the time you arrived at your destination. It was in what used to be a suburban neighborhood but many of the houses had long since been abandoned. You passed by one derelict house after another, eyes carefully scanning broken windows and rubble for any signs of danger. You knew the danger would be limited as Alma was in charge of most of the raiders in the area, but sometimes the raiders were a little rowdy and eager to attack.

There was one house that stood a little better than those around it. Its windows were mostly boarded up and there was a barbed wire fence around it. The siding of the house had long since lost its original color, instead taking on a more rusty brown color. The right side of the roof to the front porch had fallen in and it made the house appear unsafe to enter.

You stopped at the fence and let Lucy go.

“You two stay out here for just a moment.” Your eyes flickered back to Cooper. He nodded once in acknowledgement.

You slipped between the barbed fencing and then climbed the creaky wooden stairs. Just as you were about to knock on the door, it was pulled open.

An older woman stood in the doorway, a shotgun by her side. Her dark but graying hair was put up in some sort of high mess atop her head. Behind large lensed wire framed glasses were two big brown eyes.

“Icy May. Ain’t no way in hell I thought I’d be seein’ you again.” The shotgun in her hand was leaned against the wall on the inside of the house.

“Hello, Alma.” You smiled, embracing her tightly. “It’s good to see you.”

”You too, dear. So good to see such a pretty face.” She pulled away to get a better look at you. “You look all in one piece. What brings you all the way out this way, darlin?”

”I have a huge favor to ask you.” You stepped aside so that Alma could see the two who traveled with you.

Alma leaned forward, eyes squinting as she struggled to see whoever it was even with her glasses on.

“Oh hell, Icy May.” She shook her head, adjusting the old cardigan that she wore.

“Well ain’t it my favorite old maid.” Cooper spoke, giving Lucy a nudge to go through the fence. Lucy slipped between two of the barbed wires and nervously started for the stairs.

“Shut the hell up, you old bastard. I still haven’t gotten over what you did last time you was here.” Alma nodded her head to the side of the porch that had fallen in.

“I happen to think it made this place look better. More welcomin’.”

”Well I ain’t trying to be more welcomin’.” Alma put her hands on her hips. Her eyes followed Lucy as she struggled to get up the stairs. “What in the hell is this, Icy? A vault dweller?”

”It’s a long story, Alma.” You shook your head. “We just need to rest for the night.”

Her eyes flickered up to you, hesitating. A vault dweller could mean big trouble.

”Aw, what the hell.” She threw her hands in the air and turned to go into her house. She picked up the shotgun she had left by the door.

You offered Lucy your shoulder once again and walked with her to the living room.

The house wasn’t as bad on the inside as it was on the outside. Wallpaper was peeling off of the walls and in some places, it was missing all together. There was a fireplace that had been filled up with rocks. A sofa, which had definitely seen better days, was in the living room. Beside it was a rocking chair and a little end table. It appeared as though the end table was a combination of two different tables put together.

“You have a lovely home.” Lucy complimented.

Alma shook her head, swatting a hand at the Vaultie.

“There’s food in the pantry and water in the washroom down the hall. You’d better get cleaned up and settled for the night. It’s already late.”

”Thank you, Alma.” You offered her a little smile. “We’ll be gone when the sun rises.”

”Better be. Don’t want Howard fuckin’ anything up anymore than he got to.”

“Missed you too, ya old bat.” Cooper muttered.

You took Lucy to the washroom and left her there, then you went to the kitchen. Cooper was already helping himself to the pantry. He sat at the kitchen table with a can of some sort of nonperishable food.

“There’s the couch in the living room and there’s two rooms with mattresses.” Alma told you. She moved around the kitchen, gathering up a canteen and a pack of cigarettes.

”Where are you scurryin’ off to?” Cooper asked her.

”I ain’t scurryin’ nowhere, asshole. It’s past my bedtime and you bunch look worse than the backside of a feral hog.” Alma stopped at you to give you a one armed hug. “We’ll talk in the mornin’, honey.”

”Good night, Alma.”

”Night, girly.”

You watched her leave the kitchen then listened to the floorboards creak as she disappeared down the hallway.

“You should eat somethin’.” Cooper spoke. You rubbed his shoulder before moving to pull a chair up beside him.

“I will.”

It felt nice to finally be able to sit down. Your feet hurt and you were exhausted.

Cooper leaned forward to give your knee a squeeze. Your eyes flickered up to meet his gaze.

***

A little while later, Lucy had retired to the room she was going to be staying in. You and Cooper would be sharing the other mattress in the room across the hall from Lucy.

You made your way down the hallway, doing your best to be as quiet as possible. You didn’t want to disturb Alma.

You came to a stop in the doorway of Lucy’s room, watching her as she sat on the edge of the mattress . She was in the process of eating a can of peaches when she noticed you were standing in the door.

“Oh, um…” She quickly swallowed a peach and held the can out towards you. “Do you want a peach?”

”No, thank you.” You shook your head. “Alma is a good friend of mine.”

”Oh, yeah! She’s incredible. Super nice person.”

”Can I trust you to be here, Lucy?”

She stopped eating the peaches and directed her attention to you.

“She’s taking a big risk letting us stay here for the night. If anything happened to her while we were here….” You trailed off. “Alma’s one of the last few good people out here.”

She nodded her head softly, understanding what you were telling her.

”So do I have to keep an eye on you or can I trust you?”

”You can trust me.”

You weren’t sure you completely believed her.

“Good.” You turned to leave but she stopped you.

“Thank you, Icy. For…. For everything.”

You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms.

“You need to stop thanking me.”

“You’ve practically saved my life by showing up. Who knows what that man would’ve done with me if you hadn’t come along.”

You gazed at her for a few moments, her bright blue eyes still filled with some sort of kindness. It wasn’t often that you came across those kinds of people.

“Good night, Lucy.”

“Oh, uh good night, Icy.” Lucy was confused with your sudden ending of the conversation. That seemed to be a trait of yours.

You moved down the hallway, your quiet footsteps still making the floorboards squeak.

Cooper was in the room the two of you would be sharing. He had taken off his bandolier, holster belt, and duster coat. All items had been placed in a pile at the foot of the mattress. The ghoul was lounging across the mattress with his breather in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and his shoulders leaning up against your backpack. One knee was bent and that was where his hat rested.

His eyes watched as you took off most of your layers. First it was your jacket, then the old flannel, and tattered sweatshirt. You were left in cargo pants, boots, and a thin brown tank top that had definitely seen better days. You pulled your hair out of the ponytail it was in to fix it up for the night.

“My, my, my. Ain’t you a sight fit for kings.”

I tried to bite back the smile that crept across your face but it was no use.

“Keep the charming to yourself, old man. We need to get some sleep.” You sat down on the mattress facing the ghoul. You leaned your torso against his bent leg, picking up his hat and placing it on your head.

He offered you the cigarette, which you gladly took. His breather was discarded on the floor beside the mattress.

You inhaled and held the chemicals in your lungs for a few moments. As you exhaled, Cooper brought his hand up to cup your face. His thumb, calloused and rough, traced your bottom lip.

You let him do so, your eyes steadily watching his face.

He traced the curve of your bottom lip, then used his fingertips to trail along your cheekbone and your temple. He brushed a few pieces of hair back out of your face.

”So what’s your big plan once we get to Hank MacLean?”

The ghoul paused for a moment, pulling his hand away from your face to rest it on his chest. You passed the cigarette back to him and he took it.

”I want to know what happened to them.” He was quiet as to not let his voice carry throughout the otherwise silent house.

You nodded your head. Cooper waited for you to speak. He waited, and waited, and waited. But you said nothing. All you could do was gaze down at one of the buttons on his shirt. The original button, which had been a light shade of brown, was torn off some time ago but you recall sewing a dark green button in its place.

“Say somethin’, doll.” He urged you, tapping the side of your leg gently.

You bit the inside of your cheek, finishing off the cigarette with a deep inhale.

“I hope you find the answers you’re looking for, sweetheart.” You put the cigarette out on the soul of your boot and started to move, wanting to reposition yourself. Cooper stopped you from moving, his hand grabbing yours.

“I just…. I have to find out, Icy.”

”I know.” You murmured softly with a nod of your head. “I’d want to know too, if I was in your place.”

It wasn’t like the two of you were in a full fledged relationship where one of you had asked the other to commit to you, but it also wasn’t casual. Cooper Howard didn’t do casual. It was far too hard to trust someone enough for that sort of thing.

”Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about it.” He put his head back, his hand steadily rubbing your leg as he directed his eyes to the ceiling. “I mean, if MacLean has been able to live this long, then there’s a chance…. even the smallest of one…. that they could be out there.”

You smiled a little, though it was sad and didn’t reach your eyes. If you believed in a higher power, you would pray to them to make it all true, to make his hopes and desires a reality. It was what he deserved after all that he had been through.

Though you wanted to be happy for him, your chest tightened a little with the idea of him finding his family. What would happen to you if he found his wife and his daughter?

You reached out to take his hand away from your leg, clasping your fingers together tightly.

“I hope they are.” You brought his hand up to kiss the inside of his wrist.

Cooper watched you kiss his wrist once, then twice before holding his hand in your lap. He didn’t let you linger in your thoughts for too long. He pulled you down towards him, making you lay down beside him.

“It’s nothin’ but wishful thinking.” He thought out loud.

“Sometimes that’s all that keeps us going.”

***

The Next Morning

Lucy made her way out of her room, using the wall for support as she limped down the hallway. She peered into the living room and found it empty. Her next stop was the kitchen.

The Ghoul sat at the kitchen table, which was covered in an assortment of junk. He was wiping off one of his hand guns.

Lucy looked around the kitchen, hoping and praying she’d find you or Alma.

Cooper glanced up at the vault dweller, very briefly meeting her gaze before looking back down at his weapons.

“Oh, um…. Good morning.” Lucy greeted him in an attempt to be friendly, but friendly wasn’t Cooper Howard’s thing.

He stayed silent.

Lucy leaned against the doorway to take her weight off of her ankle.

”Is Icy up yet?”

”She went out with Alma.” His answer was short and stiff.

“Oh, okay.” Lucy nodded her head.

She stood there for a few moments awkwardly. Should she just go back to the bedroom and hideout until you and Alma returned?

Oh, what the heck.

Lucy limped over to the table and pulled out a bulky wooden chair to sit in. She sighed in relief as she sat down. She examined the amount of junk on the table, curious as to what exactly everything was.

It wasn’t long before Lucy became bored and found herself watching the ghoul that had taken her hostage.

“So…. Is your name Cooper? Or is it Howard? Because, well, I heard Icy call you one and Alma called you another. So I guess I’m just a little confused.” She chuckled nervously.

”My name don’t matter to you, Vaultie.” He sat the handgun down on the table then picked up a shotgun.

“Well I’d like to have something to call you when I talk to you, to have a conversation like real people do.”

”Ah, but who said I wanted to have a conversation with you?”

Lucy pressed her lips together. This man was awfully hard to get along with.

”That’s fair, I guess.” She nodded.

Silence fell between the two as Cooper continued to clean the gun. Once he was finished cleaning the sawed off shotgun, he began to load it.

Lucy sighed, bored out of her mind. Cooper wasn’t entertaining at all. She messed with the cuff on her suit to try to keep herself occupied and to try to keep her mouth shut for a little bit longer.

“Do you love her?” The question kind of just came out without Lucy really realizing what she had said.

Cooper dropped the bullet that he was trying to shove into his gun. It made a loud banging noise as it hit the floor.

“What in the hell did you just say to me, Miss MacLean?” He looked at her, his eyes dark and sharpened.

The use of her name made Lucy feel on edge. He had always just called her Vaultie.

“I-I was just— I just see the way you guys are with each other. I didn’t mean it in-in a bad way, you know?”

The ghoul was silent as he held her gaze. He leaned forward to retrieve the bullet from the ground. He shoved it into the gun and placed the gun on the table.

The front door to the house creaked open. Lucy turned her head to see. You and Alma walking in.

“How’d you sleep, honey?” Alma put her hand on Lucy’s shoulder. The vault dweller opened her mouth to answer but Alma spoke over her. “Howard, if you don’t get your damn guns off my table, I’m gonna beat the piss outta you.”

Cooper didn’t offer any sort of smart comment back. He just picked up each gun and tucked them into their appropriate holster.

“I slept well, thank you. Where, uh, where did you guys go?” Lucy asked, turning her attention to you.

“Had to make a run early this morning.” You placed your backpack on the table, pushing some of the junk back so you had space. You rummaged through the bag before pulling out a stimpack. ”How’s your ankle feeling?”

”Really bad, actually. It’s super sore and looks very bruised.” Lucy eyed the giant needle at the end of the stimpack. “What’s, um, what’s that for?”

”You’re ankle. You can’t travel with a busted ankle and we can’t stay here.”

”But what is it?”

”A stimpack. It will heal your ankle up enough to get you back on your feet.”

With no warning, Cooper stood up and left the room rather hastily. Old floorboards creaked beneath the weight of his worn boots.

“What crawled up his ass?” Alma pushed her glasses back on to her head to hold her hair back out of her eyes.

“I don’t know.” You hummed. You listened to him move around in one of the back bedrooms.

He wasn’t a chatty person by any means, but surely he would’ve greeted you and Alma with some sort of witty remark. And you were very positive he would’ve given Alma an asinine remark about his guns on her table.

“What happened while we were gone?” You turned your attention to Lucy.

“I-I was just trying to talk with him.” She put her hands up, shaking her head.

“And…. Boy is he difficult to have a conversation with.”

You sighed heavily. Why couldn’t the vaultie get it through her head that sometimes she needed to shut up?

“I’ll be back in a second, Alma.” You looked over to your friend before going down the hallway to the bedroom Cooper was in.

He stood leaning against the side of the open window. He was fidgeting with his breather, replacing the empty vial with a full one.

”You leave me with that girl again, woman, and you’re gonna be scrapin’ what’s left of her brain off of Alma’s walls.” He grumbled.

You pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of your jacket.

“She’s got a way of getting under your skin.” You put the cigarette between your lips and tucked the carton away, then pulled out a lighter. “What’d she say?”

”Don’t matter.” He took a puff of the breather. You held the cigarette out to him and he gladly took it, crossing the room and closing the space between the two of you in just a few strides.

You watched as he put the cigarette in his mouth and took a deep drag from him.

“I’ll fuckin’ gut her like a pig next time she tries to talk to me.”

”You don’t mean that.” You shook your head gently.

He exhaled the cigarette smoke right into your face, then took another quick puff of it.

”Like hell I don’t.”

You took the cigarette from between his fingers.

“She means well.”

Cooper watched you, his gaze still hard and angry. You inhaled the cigarette.

“What did she say to you, Cooper?” Your voice was quiet.

He looked down at you for a while. Then let out a breath and adjusted the hat on his head, casting his eyes downward to his boots.

”We need to be leavin’.”

Without another word, the Ghoul slipped past you to go down the hallway.

taglist: @green--beanie @mack-attack420 @miniemonie2001 @eykismyfav @fallout-girl219 (I think I tagged anyone but I’m so sorry if I missed you!)

#fallout #fallout tv series #the ghoul fallout #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard fallout #cooper howard fic #the ghoul cooper howard #queenxxxsupreme

[inuiiwonderland]

Twisted Captivity

Chapter 3

Twst third years x fem reader

A/n: Sorry for the long wait! This chapter is a bit longer than the first and second one so I hope you guys enjoy! Also sorry for any spelling mistakes and grammar it’s like really late rn and I’m sleep deprived😵‍💫

Words:1.3k

-

You spent half an hour talking to both ace and deuce in the heartslabyul enclosure. The two were absolutely curious creatures. They asked all sorts of questions about humans and what they eat. (With the best of their ability since they couldn’t speak the human language all to well)

You of course answered their questions with the best of your ability. While the three of you chatted you also decided to ask your fair share of questions about merpeople.

The two of them were rather thrilled when you asked. With the little bit of human language that they know, they started telling you about all sorts of traditions, stories, and cultures about them and their people. You were amazed as you wrote everything- well rather try since they said so much you couldn’t keep up.

You were all so caught up in the conversation that you didn’t realize that you still had to go visit the savanaclaw enclosure!

“Shit! I’m so sorry you two but I have to go!”

“Go?”

“Why?”

“I forgot that Crowley also asked for me to go visit the savanaclaw enclosure! Shoot I’m late! Bye guys I’ll see you two later!” You quickly grabbed your things and bolted right out of there. The two mermen sadly watched as you left.

-

You ran as fast as you could to get to the next enclosure that you were supposed to be at 20 minutes ago.

Your lungs burned and your legs felt wobbly but you decided to ignore it all and push yourself to run even faster. The relief that ran through your body when the doors to the enclosure came into view as you slowed down and started catching your breath.

“Shit! Ah I can’t breathe-“

“You’re late!” You quickly looked up to see a man who seemed to be in his late 50s look down at you with a raised brow.

“I’m sorry!” You bowed while also trying to steady your breathing.

The man just shook his head before sighing.

“Since you’re still new, I suppose I can let this slide for today. But next time I won’t, so please make sure you make it here on time”

You could only nod as you still tried to catch your breath. The man then handed you a silver bucket. You curiously looked in only to see a pile of dead fish. You grimace at the sight before looking back at the man.

“It’s their feeding time. I suppose Crowley also mentioned that you’ll be in charge of feeding the mers, no?”

“Ah yes he did say that” you awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck as you gave him a sheepish smile.

“Well I suggest you go in and feed them. One of them is very upset right now. He doesn’t like waiting when it comes to feeding time”

“Right. And thank you”

“Mhm”

He moved out the way as you opened the door. You were once again met with a beautiful sight but too bad you didn’t have the time to gawk and admire it this time since you have hungry mers to feed.

You walked in and looked around before you saw them. There were multiple mers surrounding a giant rock and you can tell some looked very upset.

You gulp before quickly making your way over to them. One of the mers seemed to have noticed you as they chirped and whistled which caused everyone to turn and look at you.

“Sorry for the wait” The moment they saw the bucket. They grew Wild.

You gasp as some tried yanking the thing out of your hands but you quickly backed up before they could.

The hell?! They’re acting like they haven’t seen food before or something!

You quickly grabbed a fish before throwing it in the water. They all went wild so you quickly threw more in until there were only three left.

You looked around to see if everyone got one and once you saw how everyone had their own fish you let out a sigh of relief.

You looked down at the bucket and wondered if you should take it back or just give them extra.

You were in deep thought until you heard a whistle

You look down to see a mer. He pointed at the bucket and then his stomach.

“Oh! I’m sorry here” You grabbed one of the fish from the bucket before throwing it to him. The boy quickly grabs it before scarfing it down.

Poor guy….does Crowley feed any of them at all?

Your thoughts were soon interrupted when you felt webbed hands wrap around your ankles. You gasp as you look down to see the mer pointing at the bucket again.

“I’m sorry but I already gave you some already. It wouldn’t be fair to everyone if I gave you another”

The mer tilts his head in confusion before pointing at himself and shaking his head. Now you were the one confused. You watch as the mer points at the bucket again but then he turns around and points at something.

You look to see a cave. He was pointing at the cave.

“Do you have some friends in there that haven’t gotten any?” The mer only nods as you sigh.

“Alright, take me to em” The mer then motions you to follow him as he starts swimming towards the cave.

Once you two got there, you looked at him and he motions you inside. He swims right in and you follow suit. You were thankful that there was a small path for you to be able to walk right in. You were careful, making sure you didn't slip and fall right into the water.

The mer stops and calls out who you assume to be his friends.

You felt a shiver go down your spine as you swear you heard something similar to a growl. You gulp as two mermen make their presence known as the other one just swims away.

“I-I have your food” You say as you raise the bucket. One of them, the one with white hair swims up to you as you try to stay still.

Jeez….I sometimes forget how scary some look.

He eyes the bucket curiously before sniffing it. Once he is satisfied, he nods before patiently waiting for you to give him one.

“Oh! Here” You gave him the fish and he thanks you with a nod. You watch as he also scarfs it down and your heart couldn’t help but break.

Does anyone even feed them? They eat like they haven’t eaten in ages!

He senses your stare and quickly swims away. Like he was shy.

You watch as he swims deeper into the cave. You then turn to the other one who was already staring intensely at you. You gulp as you grab the last fish from the bucket and show it to him.

“Here” The mer just stares at you. You didn’t know what to say or do so you just stood there uncomfortably with a dead fish in your hand.

Damn it. Did I say or do something weird? Feels like I’m being judged.

You just carefully placed it down on one of the rocks that you saw near you before getting up.

“Well I guess it’s time for me to go. Enjoy your um…meal!” And you bolted right up out of there.

The man just watched as you ran away.

Yes he was mad that you were late with his meal but he was more surprised that you dared step foot into this cave. Some keepers either don’t feed him at all for this reason or just hand the fish to one of the two mers with him so that they can give him his food.

You were sure a interesting one that’s for sure

He grabs the fish before swimming deeper into the darkness of the cave.

What an interesting human

-

Taglist: @ruisann @roseapov @anunholyabomination @owodi @mochi-lover26 @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @floevi @thatpersonuouknow @h0rr0r-10ver-69

#inuiiwonderland🤍 #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x female reader #twst x reader #disney twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #tw: yandere #yandere themes #twst leona kingscholar #twst ruggie #twst jack #twst savanaclaw #leona x reader #leona kingscholar

[suashii]

— 𝒶 𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ౨ৎ

okkotsu yuta x f!reader. 3k wc. ﾉ smut ﾉ nsfw (mdni) ﾉ characters aged 21+ ﾉ oral (f!receiving) ﾉ face sitting :3 ﾉ clothed sex ﾉ subby yuta ﾉ reader is a little mean at moments ﾉ jealousy

you can’t say that you normally time how long it takes yuta to answer his door but you can say that it never takes this long. you add the oddity to your growing mental list titled: “ways yuta has changed since having sex for the first time.” it’s not one you ever saw yourself making but life has a way of throwing curveballs at people and this seems to be the one pitched to you. 

maybe yuta feels a bit different these days, but he’s still yuta. you’re sure you’ll get used to this new version of him soon enough.

a few more long seconds pass before you hear footsteps on the other side of the door and the barrier swings open, revealing yuta in all his glory.

“so you are home,” you comment with a smile upon finally being met with the sight of him. you don’t see him as often these days and the fact makes you sadder than you’d like to admit. so, you soak him in silently—the perpetual dark crescents beneath his eyes, the dark hair that hangs over the left side of his forehead, the way his hand almost unconsciously always finds its way to rest on his neck.

“sorry, sorry,” he apologizes with that familiar, sheepish grin of his. at least some things never change. “come in.”

the way he ushers you in and leads you back to his bedroom leads you to believe that you unintentionally interrupted him. he’s thumbing through the shirts in his closet when you come to stand by his bed and ask, “did i catch you in the middle of something?”

“oh, i’m heading out later so i was just getting ready.” you stop yourself from getting comfortable on his mattress at his response, although, when he turns around with a button up in hand, he uses his other to wave the misunderstanding away. “you can hang out though.”

“where are you going?” you ask him, plopping down on his bed. the scent lingering on his pillowcase and sheets is fresh like he just washed the bedding. however, you can still pick out a hint of the fragrance he wears regularly—warm and just a little woody.

“out for drinks,” he tells you. he’s in the process of trading out the t-shirt he’s been lounging in for the one he just picked out when your silence finally registers. a look over his shoulder at you is enough to tell him that the answer doesn’t satisfy you. the expression you’re wearing is telling—like you know there’s more that he chose not to say. it doesn’t seem like you’re backing down, either. with your silent prompting, he adds, “with a girl.”

“another date?” you have to stop yourself from frowning. “didn’t you go out with some other chick over the weekend?”

this is exactly why you haven’t seen him lately—he’s so busy meeting women and taking them home to fuck that he barely has time to spare for you. you’ve always thought that if he’s happy, you will be, too, but you have to admit that that isn’t the case. it’s worrying—how quickly he went from such a timid guy with no sexual experience to one who’s getting laid every three days.

you aren’t sure if this is coming from a place of concern for the girls crossing paths with him or if the whole fuckboy persona is beginning to become offputting to you, but you find yourself asking, “and they all know this is casual? that you’re seeing other girls two days after you hook up with them?”

“it sounds bad when you put it like that…” he starts, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. he’s only gotten around to fastening the bottom half of them, leaving the unblemished skin of his chest on display. “but yeah, we’re all on the same page.”

it’s still hard to believe that the shy little yuta you’ve come to know has turned over a promiscuous new leaf. it would be one thing if he simply lost his virginity and settled down with one partner but the extent of his sexual activities has truly surprised you. a question comes to mind—one that you normally wouldn’t ask your other friends but an important one considering yuta only just started sleeping around. “you’re getting tested, right?”

the question doesn’t phase him the way you think it will. you expect his eyes to widen and a furious red to overtake his cheeks and the tips of his ears but neither happens. he simply nods. “yes, of course.”

“and you’re wearing condoms?” you follow up.

“mm-mm.” he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, the dark strands falling back into place. “who knows how many women i’ve gotten pregnant by now.”

you can’t hide the disbelief that paints your features—the way your mouth hangs open and your unblinking gaze glued on the man before you. the shock of his words makes it difficult to find your voice and you’re sure it comes out higher than usual when you finally do. “yuta, you cannot—“

“i’m joking!” he exclaims with a wide smile. it shrinks into something smaller when he sees how serious you are. “yes, i am wearing condoms. jeez, what’s with the third degree?”

“it’s nothing, just wanna make sure you’re being safe.” you had planned on sticking around until it was time for him to leave but the thought of staying here while he’s getting ready to see—to fuck—someone else isn’t a pleasant one. you swing your legs over the side of his bed and stand up, making your way to the door. “i’m leaving. have fun fucking your flavor of the day.”

“wait, wait, wait.” yuta reaches out to grab your arm. his calloused grip is warm and firm, though, you’re sure you could pull away if you wanted to—he’s made sure of that much. despite that, you don’t. “you aren’t jealous, are you?”

“wow,” you scoff and turn to face him. there’s a sparkling glint in his eyes, one that has no place being there. “you have seriously let this inflate your ego.”

your comment doesn’t offend him, doesn’t hurt him the way you secretly wished it would. instead, his thumb glides against your wrist, runs over your pulse as he leans down closer to you. his voice comes out just above a whisper. “you aren’t curious? not even a little?”

“not everyone wants you, yuta.” you finally pull your hand back. “someone should really put you in your place.”

your words put a smile on his face. “are you volunteering?”

you have no idea what’s gotten into him, why he’s poking you like a bear and looking for a reaction, but his incessant goading has done its job. reflexively, almost without a thought, your hands come up to shove the broad chest before you. yuta stumbles back and his legs hit the mattress, causing him to fall back against it.

for the first time since you walked in, shock washes over yuta’s face the moment you begin to approach him. you find yourself crawling on the bed and straddling him, your hands pressing into the mattress on either side of his head. his lips are parted now and they only seal when he swallows the lump lodged in his throat.

it’s almost enough to make you laugh—how quickly his tune changed from confident to a bundle of nerves. you guess this has yet to happen to him, not being the one who’s calling the shots, that is. maybe you aren’t quite laughing, but it does make a grin stretch across your lips.

“what happened, yuta?” you ask him, sitting back on your calves. you lift your hand and bring it to his face, letting your finger drag along the curve of his jaw. it may just be your imagination, but you swear you can feel him shiver at your touch. “you were practically begging for this just a second ago. but if you changed your mind, i’ll get up and go.”

“no.” he shakes his head, the hair against his comforter growing frizzy with the careless movement. his hands come up to rest on your hips. “please stay.”

“ah-ah.” you knock his hands away and panic flashes over the man’s face. “no touching. you have to earn that.”

he swallows thickly and gazes up at you with curiosity swimming in his eyes. “h-how?”

“be good for me,” you tell him, the grin apparent in your voice. you brush the stray strands of hair away from his face before leaning down just like yuta had to you only moments earlier. this time, you’re sure that he shivers when your whispered voice tickles him as you ask, “tell me what you want me to do.”

your fingernails graze over his exposed skin—down his neck, over his shoulders, along his collarbone, anywhere you reach. it’s meant to be no more than a way to keep you busy while you wait for a reply from yuta, but he seems to enjoy the touch and the way goosebumps raise following the drag of your nails. although his quiet moans are easy on the ears, it’s a bit boring for your taste. your hand slows on its path in search of an answer. “hmm?”

you’re almost convinced that his voice is stuck in his throat when his request finally fills the air. “k-kiss me, please.”

you waste no time fulfilling his wish, brushing your lips over the same spots your fingers had just been, stopping every now and then to press them down in soft kisses. they grow deeper as you traverse against his smooth skin, love bites marking the once spotless canvas. by the time you make your way up to his lips, your kiss is hungry, almost desperate on your end and his—like the both of you have been silently waiting for this time to come.

as much as you enjoy yuta’s pillowy lips against yours and the way he melts for you when your tongue slips past them, you have a desire for more. you keep that bit to yourself so as not to feed yuta’s existing albeit dormant cockiness, though, you are willing to nudge him in the right direction.

you pull back from the kiss, still close enough that yuta can feel your breath when you speak. “don’t tell me all you want is for me to kiss you. there must be something else…”

there are a lot of things that come to mind, a lot of things yuta has dreamt of doing with you, but one rises above the rest. he can only hope that you’re willing to indulge him. “would you…” his voice trails off as he turns his head to the side, avoiding your gaze.

“go ahead,” you start, grabbing his chin and turning his head so that he’s looking at you, “ask me.”

he’s never felt this hesitant before but none of the women he’s slept with have been you. they’ve never made him ask for what he wants, patiently waited until he verbalized his desires. and he hasn’t wanted that, no, not from them. as foreign as the task is, he’ll do it if that means finally getting a taste of you.

despite the warmth spreading over his cheeks, yuta forces himself to hold your eye. “can you—can you please sit on my face?”

hearing the words pass his lips makes your heart jump in your chest. the goal had been to get him to admit what he craved the most but part of you believed that yuta was still holding onto his old ways, too bashful and shy to come clean about his needs. perhaps you’re holding onto a version of him that he’s left behind for good, though, you want to see for yourself. “you really want me to?”

“god, yes, please.” his fingers dig into the comforter beneath him in an attempt to keep from touching you like you told him even though he’s itching to. he’ll be patient, be good, for you. “i want to taste you so bad.”

shy little yuta really is gone.

but you suppose it isn’t all that bad.

you crawl forward over him to situate yourself. his breath is warm against your bare thighs and it makes your skin prickle. you hike the skirt you’re wearing up your legs so the fabric doesn’t obstruct your view of his face—you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to see the show.

“you aren’t going to take off your panties?” yuta asks. he’s only inches away now and he’s sure if he tilted his head up just a little bit, he’d be able to stick his tongue out and reach you.

you shake your head with a smile. “i’ll tell you when you can move them. you can lick me through them for now.”

there’s a complaint ready on the tip of his tongue about how he wants to taste and feel you—only you, but he bites it back, figuring that you’ll revoke your generosity entirely if he seems ungrateful. patience, he reminds himself. if he’s patient, he’ll have all of you soon enough.

he wets his lips before diving in, tongue sloppily licking at the layer of cotton keeping him from you. despite the barrier, he can make out your landmarks—the lips he’s wishing his tongue could slip between and your clit that he desperately wants to suck on. even though it isn’t quite what he was expecting, he eats you out through your panties like a man starved.

the fabric is soaked through now and if it weren’t for the hint of you on his tongue, yuta would wonder whether it was his spit or your arousal leaving a darkened spot on your panties. the thought that he got you wound up enough to soak through your underwear oddly fills him with a sense of pride—feeds the ego you claimed he had earlier. he had brushed it off then but it’s hard to ignore now considering that you’re the woman he’s wanted to do this with for the longest.

yuta is a lot more talented with his tongue than you anticipated he would be. you can’t remember the last time someone drew such satisfied noises from you—sharp gasps that you suck in whenever he happens to brush against your clit and musical moans that fill the room when he finds that magical rhythm. you’re beyond pleased with his performance, but an unwelcome thought nags at the back of your mind as the man eats you out; just how many women did it take him tongue-fucking for it to feel this good? you know you shouldn’t say it, but you voice your thoughts anyway. the question comes out breathy, “did you learn to use your tongue like this on all those other girls?”

“they–” he starts, licking you once more before continuing, “they were all practice for you.”

the ache between your thighs grows all the stronger with his confession. you don’t doubt the sincerity of his words—if there’s one thing that you know yuta will never abandon, it’s his honesty. you can admit to yourself that you were jealous earlier, jealous of all the women yuta decided to sleep with instead of you. the envy has all but dissipated now that you know you’ve always been the object of his affection.

“push them to the side,” you tell him hurriedly. yuta doesn’t waste a second following your command, hooking a finger on your panties to drag them to the side. your glistening wetness is hypnotizing and if he wasn’t already salivating this sight would surely be enough to have him drooling. he thinks he could stare at your pretty pussy all day but what he really wants is for you to come on his tongue.

before you know it, he’s lapping at you like your arousal is the very water that he needs to survive. there’s saliva running down his chin as he savors the taste of you. the vibration of his moans against you serves as a means to work you up even more, moans and whimpers of your own bubbling up from your chest.

it’s nearly impossible for you not to grind down on him, to ride his face like there’s no tomorrow. yuta doesn’t mind being trapped between your thighs, only being able to breathe in your heavenly scent and taste your honey-like essence. his tongue glides between your folds, teasing your entrance with each up on down.

“ride my tongue,” yuta’s muffled voice sounds from below you. “use me to come.”

and you do, rocking your hips against his face in rhythm with the salacious movement of his tongue. each flick of the muscle is a drop in your cup that’s filled to the brim, threatening to spill over and flood at any moment. all it takes are a few swirls of his tongue around your sensitive pearl for a wave of pleasure to wash over you. your thighs tremble with your orgasm and your back arches as the aftershocks ripple through you all while yuta continues to languidly stroke your cunt.

he hums against you as you come down from your high, leaving a kiss on your clit before telling you, “you taste so good.”

the compliment makes your heart flutter. “you think so?”

he nods, or at least tries to from his place between your legs. “the best i’ve ever had.”

“well then i guess it’s only fair for me to return the favor,” you suggest, letting your head loll to the side. you can practically see the gears turning in yuta’s head but he doesn’t speak up to question you, instead, waiting for your clarification. “what do you say; want me to suck you off?”

thanks for reading! reblogs + comments are greatly appreciated :))

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: jujutsu kaisen #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta x reader #yuuta x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuta x you #jjk x you #yuta smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #yuta drabble #jjk drabbles #𐙚 after hours

[unluckilyimnot]

Yes! Dw abt it :D in fact, I just wanted to see Sae being a daddy. It can be without the divorce though, just wanting to know how he would be as a father 🫶🏻

Sae as a father

m.list | rules

note: hii thank you for your answer <3 here it is finally i hope you like it ! also i made a get to know me, let me know what you think about it hihi i would love to chat a bit more with you guys

He must be awkward at first but he loves it a lot

I see him as a girl daddy he would love his little girl to death

talks about her more than he likes to admit it

but she's so funny

wait until she get to school and he’ll get to listen to all the gossip with a lot of passion

he’s really into it, if he came home late and she’s already to, he asks you what happened today and ask for all the details

loves to pick her from school when he can, but he’s busier than you

“no daddy you don’t get it !” and then she’ll explain the whole thing again (she doesn’t know shit about it but he would always let her think she’s right <3)

he doesn't want to be strict with her but he's still cold when he's upset, it's hard for him to work on that

but he always make sure to make it up for her by talking to her and explaining what was up – he doesn’t want her to think it’s normal to be ignored without explanation

both of you have to work on a lot of things, you’re not perfect, but you really want to show her the best model possible

sometimes he jokes about the fact that she loves him more than you

he loves doing picnic with both of you, that’s his favorite type of family date

when all of you three cook together and then you get to sit in a sun bath to enjoy it – it’s really the best

Not forgetring about the sea !! It's really important for him and he wants her to have a thins kind of feeling/relationship with it as well ♡

she would love to cook with him !

I hc him that he won’t let you cook because of his diet notably but also because it’s his way to show that he loves you and her

he’ll do his best for her to taste a lot of things but still respect when she says she doesn’t like something

he’ll probably get killed if he ever force her to eat something she doesn’t like in fact, ‘cause you hate that behavior

he also want her to be really educated about a lot of things so both of you make sure that she can go to a lot of museums, see temples and be in touch with animals to be aware and take care of them and the planet

he’s love to do sport with her but won’t forced her either if she doesn’t want to

but if she does, damn he’ll make sm time for her (even more than before)

but he’ll be salty if she’s more into the things you like

he’s totally the type to get caught away to watched cartoons or movies with her but ended up SO into the story ?? like hell yeah he needs to know the end of this barbie or pixar movie

play with her a lot even if he’s not the best at it, you’re definitely more expressive than him but you can be tired and he wants to spend time with her that way too

if she ever cry because of someone at school, be sure that his next day is taken and he’s got an appointment with the director without even asking him

he’ll just show up and makes things clear, could also talk directly to the kid if it was bad enough

he loves to walk with her on his shoulders even if she pulls his hair too much sometimes

he’s overly cute and caring with her  

i hope you liked it ♡

#blue lock x reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock hc #blue lock headcanons #bllk x reader #bllk fluff #bllk headcanons #bllk hcs #sae x reader #sae hc #sae headcanons #sae fluff #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock #bllk

[psiroller]

in which chilchuck tries to get some but ends up a sucker to his caretaker instinct once again

i just wanted to write something where chilchuck unironically indulges laios' hyperfixation, lol. im folding this into something larger but it kind of stands on its own for now, so here.

“Hey,” Chilchuck slurred. An arm crawled around Laios’ shoulder, stirring him from his reading. “What are you doing up? It’s my shift.”

“Just research,” Laios replied cheerily. His eyes were drawn back to the book and away from Chilchuck, something that elicited a soft huff of irritation. “I’ll still be good to take over for you. I’m kind of wound up, you know? Couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah,” Chilchuck snickered, his hand brushing across Laios’ chest with just a bit too much pressure to be purely friendly. “I’ve been wound up, too.”

Laios met Chilchuck’s lascivious gaze with concern. “Are you starving yourself again? You wouldn’t have such bad insomnia if you ate well.”

“I got wine, there’s nutrients in that,” Chilchuck giggled, giving Laios’ tit a fond pat. Laios smelled the drink on his breath and the hair on his neck stood on end.

“On an empty stomach? Chil…” “What you getting worked up for? I’m fine. I know what I’m doing.”

Laios’ brows furrowed. Chil stared up at him, waiting for him to back down, and the smug smirk only widened when he didn’t.

“You gonna force-feed me or something? I didn’t take you as into that kind of thing.” “Knowing how depraved you are, you’d enjoy it if I did.” Chilchuck scoffed. “Oh, yeah, you’re one to talk—”

Laios closed his book. “You’re being reckless,” he declared, in that know-it-all leader tone. Rarely used—Laios hated using it—but terse enough for Chilchuck to tilt his head and shut his mouth for a minute. Not long enough.

“Being a little tipsy doesn’t mean my eyes and ears don’t work,” Chilchuck groaned, pulling away and slumping onto the next step up from the one he was perched on.  “It’s not my job to fight them anyway. All I gotta do is throw the bottle at your head and I’ve done my part.” “I’m not talking about the party, Chil.”

Chilchuck shrunk away from Laios and crossed his arms.

“When did you become such a nag?” Chilchuck groaned. “I’m older than you. I know my limits.”

Laios turned from his seat on the floor, rising on his knees, invading Chilchuck’s space. He braced his arms on either side of Chilchuck’s lap.

“Do I have to say why?” Laios rumbled. “If you don’t want me to care, stop making passes at me.”

Chilchuck clucked his tongue. “Didn’t have to hit on you to get you to take a few quills to the back for my bony ass.” “So much for never talking about that again.”

Chilchuck grinned. Laios’ eye twitched, knowing that Chil knew he’d taken the bait. Chilchuck reached up to cup Laios’ face; Laios let him, unfortunately.

“You can relax, big guy,” Chilchuck said, and the softness in his voice made Laios deflate all at once. “I got by just fine until you hired me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to believe you,” Laios murmured. Chilchuck could feel the muscles of his jaw working as he spoke, the weight of his heavy tallman skull in his palms. “I do. But you don’t know—" “I’m fine,” Chilchuck asserted. “What’s got you so…?”

He stopped, bit his tongue. Laios looked up at him with those insufferable, upturned puppy dog eyes, deep amber in the low firelight, and he remembered. Chilchuck let out a long-suffering sigh, stroked up his cheek into Laios’ hair and scratched his scalp.

“We got this,” Chilchuck said. “It’ll be alright.” Laios slumped forward into Chilchuck’s lap, thick jaw slamming down onto his legs like a harpsichord lid, and Chilchuck squawked. Laios turned his face into the loose-fitting, threadbare slacks Chilchuck normally wore to bed, sucking in a long breath that made his back rise and then letting it all out through his nose. It reminded Chilchuck of Leed’s wargs after a good dinner, resting their big, wrinkly heads on any friendly knee and whining for attention.

Chilchuck scratched at his sideburns. He knew propositioning Laios would be risky in the dungeon, but this wasn’t the kind of disaster he’d envisioned if it went wrong. His hand came to rest on Laios’ back, and he rubbed it along the length of Laios’ spine. Laios’ broad body sunk that much further into his lap. Chilchuck’s calves were going numb, but he held deathly stll, as if he’d scare Laios off. As if he didn’t want to scare Laios off and get out of this mess.

“We’ll find Falin,” Chilchuck said. “We did it before, and we’ll do it again.” Neither of them believed it, really, but it was a nice thought. Maybe if they chanted it enough a spell would be cast. No mana sickness yet; they’d have to keep at it.

“I’m pretty confident about that,” said Laios, muffled in Chilchuck’s legs. His breath puffed warm on his thighs in short, controlled breaths. “But if we do and we don’t get her, if the Mad Mage takes care of us, then—it’s not just Falin, anymore.”

Chilchuck’s breath caught. His fingers curled in Laios’ shirt and tugged fitfully. Laios didn’t budge.

“She used to be all I had, you know.” Laios hugged Chilchuck’s pins-and-needles calves, which further trapped him but also returned some level of blood flow. Small blessings. Chilchuck wished he were dead. “That was fine. It was—better that way. Less to worry about. Then I found a nice girl, and I proposed—"

“Wait, what?”

“—she was so cute, so nice to me, but when my father said Falin would have to leave, I couldn’t just leave my little sister to rot somewhere, so—I broke it off. It didn’t matter, if I could earn enough money and Falin would be okay—”

Try faking a heart attack. You have the plausible deniability. “He… sent Falin away?” He was dimly aware of Marcille and Falin having met at magic school. “You were supporting her?”

“—but I didn’t even—need to. She was happy where she was. And I still—I still dragged her here, let her get eaten, let the Mad Mage take her. What kind of brother—”

Chilchuck gripped the back of Laios’ skull and pulled at his hair, not enough to move him, but enough to shut him up. He let go and ruffled it instead, soothing out the tension in his scalp. Laios melted, limbs melting to the stone tunnel floor.

“I see why you’ve been so wound up,” Chilchuck said. “You’ve just been sitting here and spiraling. Are you even reading that book?”

Laios squeezed Chilchuck’s legs to his chest. “Not really. I’m looking at the words but I’m not… retaining anything.”

That’s bad. “Let me see it.” Laios looked up at Chilchuck with confusion, then distrust. “Please?” That only confused Laios further, but he lifted the worn old tome from the floor for Chilchuck to take.

“Dragons of the Eastern Archipelago,” Chilchuck read out. “Another cookbook, eh?”

The jocular tone whiffed right past Laios’ ears. “It’s… not really research,” he admitted. Chilchuck thumbed through the pages—there were many detailed technical sketches of long-bodied, short-limbed dragons with horsehair and deer antlers, strange boggling eyes and stretched lips. More impressionistic doodles filled the margins, with scrawled-circle eyes and jagged teeth, little flared scratches of the broad side of a pencil representative of dragon fire. Their fat snake bodies had wobbly, uneven sides and sloppily looping scales—but some were a little more distinguishable as a dragon than others.

“Ah.” Chilchuck cleared his throat. “Nothing wrong with a little light reading, I guess.” He tried on a smile. “The, uh, pictures are nice.” “I kept telling Falin that long don’t breathe fire,” Laios said, voice tight, “but she kept saying it would be cooler if they did.” “That’s what they’re called? Longs? Seems kind of on-the-nose.”

That managed to get a laugh out of Laios, but it sounded more exasperated than anything. “It’s just one of the native words used for them, but it’s not Shuro’s language, apparently. The word he uses is ryu.”

“I haven’t seen anydragons other than red and green. Maybe it’s just the dungeons I’ve been to.” Chilchuck said. He winced, realizing he’d just stumbled over a lecture topic, but Laios stayed folded across his lap, seemingly having gotten comfortable there, and stayed quiet. The silence made Chilchuck’s hair bristle. Chilchuck nudged him, knuckles against Laios’ temple.

“C’mon, man, I set you up. Go on.” “Now you’re just making fun of me.” “Seriously, Laios. I really want to know this time, and you’re gonna sulk about it?”

Laios turned up from his lap to read Chilchuck’s face, though he never seemed to be able to get it right all the other times he’d attempted it. Chilchuck heaved a melodramatic sigh and patted Laios’ head, an action that lowered his hackles. It really shouldn’t have worked that easily, but Laios closed his eyes and hummed.

“There are… so many kinds,” Laios said dreamily. Dread began to creep in on Chilchuck’s charitable mood, but he’d talked himself into a corner. “They’re super adaptable. Pretty much anywhere you have a dungeon or an ecosystem robust enough to support one, you can find a dragon.”

“I’ve, uh, heard about white dragons. Furry ones, kind of like these guys, but with wings and the stocky body type. Never seen one, though, so it could have been bullshit.” “Oh, they’re real. Pretty common up north.” “Do they really breathe ice? How does that work?”

“Basically, yeah. It’s super-cooled air. They have huge lungs and a fuel organ like a red dragon, but instead of burning the waste matter inside, it liquefies it into a kind of slurry—” Chilchuck grimaced, but Laios was already talking with his hands and not measuring Chilchuck’s enthusiasm. “—that undergoes a rapid chemical reaction when exposed to the air the dragon exhales.”

“Huh.” Chilchuck absently stroked the back of Laios’ neck. Laios squirmed, but didn’t complain. He slipped out of his kneeling position to sit flatter against the wall, head still flopped over Chilchuck’s lap but looking outward toward the fire. The angle looked uncomfortable, so Chilchuck dropped a step lower, letting Laios slide over just a bit more, lay more solidly in Chilchuck’s lap. Laios’ ears had turned red. “Y’know, I always just figured magic did it. I never knew any of the biology until I met you.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong for thinking that way,” Laios half-shrugged. “They wouldn’t exist without some kind of mana source, so they’re still a product of magic. But to sustain the kind of huge, complex bodies dragons have on mana alone would starve the ecosystem, so they have to develop organs and bones to keep them upright and moving to serve their purpose.”

“To destroy whatever enters their lair?”

“To survive.”

“Same as the rest of us, then.”

Laios hummed. Chilchuck’s wrists had begun to hurt from holding the book, so he propped it up on the crown of Laios’ skull. He didn’t seem to mind.

“So what’s this big pearl they keep drawing the long dragon with?” Chilchuck asked, even though the answer was right beneath it, indicated helpfully in a list of figures.

“Oh, that’s an egg, believe it or not.”

“No kidding.”

“Dragon clutches start out pretty big, but because of how demanding the hatchlings are, most of them don’t survive to adulthood. Some species of dragon choose a ‘favorite’ out of their eggs to focus on and raise instead…”

Chilchuck smiled into the palm of his hand as Laios rambled, flipping through the book to keep his eyes open as Laios talked, listening as the spaces between words grew and his tangents unspooled, dissolving into dreamlike nonsense. The weight of Laios’ head got heavier in Chilchuck’s lap until the static crept back in, but Chilchuck had no intention of moving him anymore. It was well past the scheduled watch shift change by the time Laios began to softly snore, but Chilchuck didn’t rouse him.

#chilaios #dungeon meshi #ficroller #if you recognize the dragon egg factoid i know what you are

[anyarose011]

Emotional Motion Sickness {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: When it's only you, your father, Mary, and Angus left behind at Barton for Christmas, you and the boy (who you were an asshole to, but in all fairness, he was one to you too) decide to get to know each other; whilst sneaking around the school.

Part 3 of ?? (Part 1 , Part 2)

Warnings: Teddy Kountze (but not for long), swearing, underage drinking, mentions of past harassment, mention of pornography, and extremely long monologues that I think would be great audition material because I'm delusional :) .

Come get y'all juice (this shit was so much longer than I expected). This may be part 3 in the series, but this is part 1 of songs that are Agnus Tully/Reader coded. And also part 2 of you guys not being able to escape being an awkward teenager just because this is fanfiction. Enjoy!

Word Count: 7.1k

You didn’t talk to anyone the day after you told Angus Tully he didn’t have any friends (well…of course you talked to your father and Mary, but the boys? No; not even the freshmen).

It was warranted; you punched Teddy in the face, you ignored Jason, and Ye-Joon and Alex were probably afraid of you at that point. Angus had the biggest excuse of them all of course, and while you actually felt bad (to your own surprise), you couldn’t bring yourself to actually approach and apologize at the time. Call it pride, call it cowardice, but you suddenly felt so ashamed you couldn’t even speak to him.

So, save for the talks you had with Mary in preparing meals, the nighttime check-ins with your father, you kept your nose stuck in a book. You ignored Teddy’s glare (while also checking over your shoulder every time you passed by him), only gave slight nods to the younger boys, and Jason didn’t even bother talking to you about what he said the day before. Angus, apparently despite not talking to each other, had perhaps the most civilized of silent discussions with you. You would only make eye contact with each other…but somehow, just somehow, there was a bit of understanding between the two of you.

You also had given him your spare toothpaste along with his payment of chocolates and cigarettes for waking you up because you noticed that he was running low. He gave you this…look. Not one of disgust, but he was confused beyond belief, and you swore he was in his own little world as you talked about your reasoning and all he did was stare at you.

Weirdo.

The day after that, making it the sixth day of being stuck at the school, you were sitting on a stool in the kitchen, reading to Mary as she prepped for lunch. “‘Reader, I married him. A quiet wedding we had: he and I, the parson and clerk, were alone present. When we got back from church, I went into the kitchen of the manor-house, where Mary was cooking the dinner and John cleaning the knives, and I said— ‘Mary, have you ever been in love before?’”

You paused, looking up from your book and watching as the Mary in front of you was doing what the Mary in the book was doing; cleaning the knives. She glanced back at you upon your quietness, giving you the eye.

“And? What did she say?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’m waiting for her to answer.”

Scoffing, she turned away. “You’re not that funny you know.”

“Yet you’re hiding your smile.”

“Am not.”

“Well have you?”

“Have what?”

“Been in love?”

She huffed. “I’m too sober for that conversation.”

“There’s some wine in the chapel-.”

Mary turned, pointing a knife at you. “-Don’t you dare.”

“What?! It’s not consecrated!”

“Still, you’re a baby, you can’t drink that stuff.”

“I’m going to technically graduate in a few months.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Sighing overdramatically, you leaned against the wall. “Can you just give me a yes or no?”

She turned and headed back to the counter she was at, looking at you. “Yes, I’ve been in love before.”

“When you were young?”

“Am I not young now?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes.” She began to chop vegetables.

“Was it scary?”

“Kind of.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It happened later for me than most of my friends, so that’s probably why.”

Before you could ask another complex question, a humming noise caught your ear. You thought you were going insane at first until it had also apparently got Mary’s. After taking one glance at each other, you both followed the sound, and it led you to the nearest window.

Outside, in the sky, a yellow helicopter flew above you.

The next thing you knew, as you and Mary were rushing to the library to ask your father ‘What in God’s name is going on?’, you ran into everyone in the middle of the main hall, including a man you had never seen before.

Apparently, Jason’s father cracked and decided to come pick his son up for Christmas at the ski lodge. He also offered to take the rest of The Boys Left Behind. So, there you were after Mary left, deciding to stand outside with the rest of them as Jason, his dad, and your father sat in the administrative office, calling up everyone and their mother (quite literally).

“So, Hunham,” Teddy asked, his voice so grating you would rather claw your brain out with a fork than have to listen to him. “what’re you gonna do when all of us go skiing? Take some pictures?”

You shook your head, not letting it get under your skin. “No, I’ll probably spend time with Elise.”

“Elise?” The boys questioned.

“Yeah, we met in middle school.”

“Is she anything like you or is she pretty?” Teddy prodded.

Angus rolled his eyes. “I don’t think she’d really want to hang around a cesspool like you.”

Holy shit…he was actually standing up for you? Even after you told him he didn’t have any friends? Perhaps men hadn’t failed you completely (your most famous last words of this entire winter break…maybe not for the most part, but still).

You snorted, crossing your arms while still holding Jane Eyre. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you meet her, Kountze.”

Before he could even attempt a comeback, your father came out through the door, and turned to the boys. “Well, good news gentlemen. I was able to reach Dr. Woodrup and your parents;” He glanced at Angus for a second. “Most of them, anyway. I recommend all of you go pack, have a merry Christmas.”

The rest of the boys, including Jason who exited with his dad, raced past one another; all except Angus. You could see how he tried to hide his growing disappointment and went to the first stage of grief; denial.

“Could you try them again?” He asked your father.

Paul Hunham took a deep breath. “Alright.” He turned to Jason’s father, both men uttering a ‘Merry Christmas’, before yours went back into the office. Leaving you outside with Angus.

He leaned against the wall, folding his arms. Well…this was your chance to try and be nice to him again.

“If they don’t pick up, just tell him to keep calling.” You suggested.

Angus looked at you, shrugging. “Yeah, that was my plan already.”

“I always annoy him until I get what I want. Usually works for me.”

“So why aren’t you in Copenhagen?”

“…You.” There was a silence between the both of you, and to your surprise, you had to bite your tongue not because of anger, but to stop yourself from laughing. You gave him a nod. “I hope you get to go skiing; even if Kountze will be there.”

Not giving him time to respond, you walked right past him to your room in the infirmary. In your mind, best case scenario, everyone would go skiing and you and your dad would somehow make it to Copenhagen; middle case scenario, everyone would go skiing but you’d be left in Barton with Mary and your dad; worst case scenario, you were stuck with Angus…at Barton, over Christmas break.

While he was the one that irked you the least out of the boys your age, you weren’t really in the mood to be with him until the middle of January.

It was as you were sitting on the edge of your bed, reading the rest of Jane Eyre, when someone knocked on your door. Glancing up, you saw Alex. Smiling, you asked.

“You ready to go?”

He nodded, then walked into the room, holding out your mittens. “Sorry I forgot to give them back.”

You took them, standing and smiling. “No, you’re alright. If I’m honest, I would’ve let you keep them while you were here.”

“Are you and Angus going to be okay?”

Giving him a look, you chuckled. “Well, if there’s a god, then hopefully that means he’ll go with you guys.”

At that moment, both of your eyes were drawn to the doorway when you heard heavy footsteps and watched as Angus Tully stormed past.

“Okay, guess there isn’t.” You grumbled, then went back to sweet. “Don’t worry though, we’ll be civil with each other.”

“I think you should be friends.”

Well…that was unexpected. Still, you snickered. “Alex, are you saying neither of us have friends already? And I thought you were nice.”

“No just,” he sighed. “I heard Ye-Joon crying a few nights go, Angus told him friends are overrated, and Ye-Joon told me that Angus had been kicked out of a lot of schools…I don’t know.”

You nodded, completely understanding. “I’ll be nicer to him; I promise you that. Now go have a great Christmas.”

He grinned from ear to ear, unexpectedly hugging you. After freezing for just a moment, you hugged him back before pulling away. You bid each other goodbye, and he went running back to his room to pack. A few seconds later, it was Jason who was in your room.

“Hey.” He greeted.

“Hello.”

He stood there stiffly, almost as if he was nervous for the first time in his life. “Um…I just wanted to say sorry.”

This intrigued you. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Jason fiddled with the bag in his hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you; Teddy was an asshole, end of story.”

You gave him a smile. “Thank you.”

The silence between you was different; not one of comfort, but not exactly discomforting either. Though, it was becoming that the more time dragged on.

“You know,” he grinned, and you couldn’t tell if it was genuine or a joke. “if we hurry, I could probably sneak you on?”

You merely kept your face the same; a pitiful, upturned mouth. “Merry Christmas, Jason.”

He nodded, taking the hint, wishing you a ‘Merry Christmas’ back, and left. Not exactly the best apology to receive, but you were more than happy you got one. Also happy that he didn’t call you names for refusing his advances; bare minimum, but welcome to the early 1970s.

Teddy followed soon after him, and he stopped in your doorway, turning his head to you. He only managed to take a breath to speak before you beat him to it.

“I hope you fall of the fucking ski lift, snap your fucking neck, and never recover.”

He only smiled. “I hope your business goes well. Tell Daniel I said ‘hi’.”

And that was the last time you saw him that Christmas break. He did indeed fall off a ski lift and snap his neck.

He didn’t actually, but you wished he did. When he walked past you, Ye-Joon was next, and you both just uttered a quick ‘Merry Christmas’, before he left. Knowing that Tully was still in the room, you decided it was best to avoid him, and went back to your father.

“No luck?” You asked him.

He shook his head. “No luck.”

Sighing, you glanced down at the floor. Great…it was official; you were still stuck with at least one boy who would for sure not have his brain developed until he was thirty at the youngest (or so you thought).

“Do you want to see the helicopter take off?” Your father asked.

You nodded, not knowing what else to do. So, that was how you found yourself, your father, and Angus (who surprisingly crawled out of the room to also watch it take off), in the snowy quad, watching as the ‘Boys Left Behind’ became the ‘Boys Who Are Now in a Damn Helicopter Going Skiing’. You thought the last title had a better sound to it.

Your father sighs from beside you, turning to look at you in the middle, and Angus to your right. “Well, let’s make the best of it.”

He went in soon after that, leaving you and Angus alone together. You wanted to say something, you probably should’ve. Yet, in all honesty, you had nothing to say, and you knew that if you forced yourself to come up with something, it would’ve been bad.

So that’s why you didn’t even look at him when you left. That’s why you avoided him for the rest of the day, luckily being able to spend most of it with Elise and doing nothing but making Christmas cookies with her and miss Crane (even though she’d already made more than enough to give to the teachers. They were…fine when your dad gave you one), and muting channels from the TV and voicing over them.

You and Elise had done that since you were kids…which actually wasn’t that long ago when you were still doing it.

When you got back, you helped Mary with dinner, than all ate in silence; save for your father trying to make conversation about your day since you were truly the only one out of all of you to have an interesting day.

That’s when the four of you found yourself in the teacher’s lounge; you reading Little Women, your father and Mary watching The Newlywed Game, and Angus reading Popular Mechanics in a chair far away from you.

As you were disappearing into your second read of the book, it was Mary who brought you out of it.

“Your daughter asked me an invasive question today.”

You looked up in alarm at the accusation. Paul Hunham sighed, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “And what, pray tell, was it this time?”

“Asked if I’d ever been in love.”

Your father said your name warningly. Of course, you defended with. “We were reading Jane Eyre! If I was reading this,” you held up your book. “I would’ve asked if she ever rejected a man before. I already know the answer, but still.”

“You know the answer?” Mary laughed.

“You probably had to beat them off of you back in the day, you were so pretty.”

“Were?”

“Fine wine, miss Lamb.” You hung upside down, tossing your feet over the back of the couch. “You age like fine wine.”

 “Stop that.” She scoffed lovingly, then asked your father, almost as if it was a joke. “What about you?”

You looked at him. “Oh, I sure hope he’s been in love.”

“Well,” he said your name. “you know, it was purely for economic reasons at first, but then-.” The pillow you threw at him caused him to chuckle before continuing. “Yes, Josephine March, I was greatly enamored by your mother.”

“What was your favorite thing about her?”

“Everything.”

“Oh, come off it.” You rolled your eyes.

“Well then, if you’re going to be like that, then it’s her laugh.”

You sat up. “That’s such a basic fucking-!”

“-Hey!” Both him and Mary started.

In the corner of your eye, you swore you saw Angus smile for just a second. Your father continued. “I’ll tell you why her laugh was my favorite; it’s because she barely did.”

When you thought of it…she really only laughed around you. Were you that funny or did she just love you that much? Either way, you were more than happy about it. Your father continued.

“She announced in front of an entire class that she would more than likely laugh while being stuck in a brazen bull, then listening to my jokes. That was the first thing she said to me, and it’s still one of my favorite memories.”

Mary chimed in. “Not your wedding day?”

You and her shared a knowing look, trying not to burst out in laughter as your father just smoked his pipe, nodding. No time to unpack that.

“But you know, there’s more to falling in love than just with people.” He started soon to clear the air. “Imagine it, like a monk: forgoing sensual pleasures for the achievement of spiritual goals.”

“Spiritual goals, you?” Mary questioned. “What spiritual goals are we talking about? You go to church?”

“Only when required.”

“Exactly.” She mumbled. “Me having to save your daughter’s soul every Sunday since she was a kid.”

You only went because she’d take you and Curtis out to lunch every Sunday.

“When’s the last time you even left campus?” Mary asked him.

He almost looked offended. “I go into town all the time.”

“Oh!”

“For groceries, and errands, and various appointments.”

“Jane Bennett over here can’t drive and she gets out more than you.”

“Okay yes,” he sighed. “I don’t leave campus often. I don’t really feel the need.”

Mary nodded. “Let me ask you something. If you could go anywhere on earth, where would you go?”

“Well, we were supposed to go to Copenhagen…” nearly left your lips, but then your eyes caught Angus again, and looked away soon when his sight met yours.

“Oh,” your father grinned. “Greece, Italy, Egypt, Peru, Carthage, Tunisia now, of course. In college I started a monograph on Carthage. I’d like to finish that someday. A monograph is like a book only shorter.”

“I know what a monograph is.” Mary answered tiredly.

“Why not just write a book?”

That was the first thing you heard Angus say after hours of silence.

Your father shook his head. “I’m not sure I have an entire book in me.”

“You can’t even dream a whole dream, can you?” Mary asked.

If it were any other day, you would’ve laughed. But for some reason (that reason being you staring at Angus Tully), you didn’t. Still, once the two of you made eye-contact, you shot your gaze back to the TV, and then down to your book for the rest of the night.

What a strange person (he probably thought the same as you).

Your father agreed to let you sleep in the free room of the infirmary on account of the fact Teddy and Jason were gone. He made the joke too that you could “Finally sleep” as if you already hadn’t been sneaking out to get sleep. Still, even though you could no longer hear his snores, you found yourself more awake than ever that night.

When you were a child, you used to go on nightly excursions. Those being where you’d walk down the stairs of your old house and see everything in the dark; a familiar place becoming the unfamiliar and realizing just how taller everything was compared to you.

You cried the first time that you did it, and your mother rushed down to comfort you; your father, of course, slept like a rock. You still went on the little adventures though.

So…why not do it at Barton? Surely you were old enough you wouldn’t cry this time?

Tiptoeing through the halls and into your father’s room after throwing on your boots and jacket, you somehow managed to grab the keys and flashlight without him hearing you. Then you saw the bottle of whiskey by his bed; checks out.

As you were exiting through the hall, you passed by Angus’ room. You stopped in the doorway, contemplating. Would he be more pissed at you for waking him up, or for leaving him out? Well…only one way to find you.

In the same way you did on the first night, you shook him awake. He flinched a little when he saw you but wasn’t completely frazzled. “What?” He groaned, more so out of exhaustion than annoyance.

All you did was hold up the ring of keys to him.

That got him to sit up, and you managed to smile, tilting your head back to the door. It still astounds you to this down just how quickly you both could communicate without having to say a single word. He got on his coat and shoes, and the pair of you were soon off, traversing down the halls. Your first stop was the teacher’s lounge.

“I just want to check on Mary.” You explained.

“Why?”

“Because she checks up on us.”

And he didn’t argue; poor, tall child was just happy to have some freedom for the first time in almost a week. So, you both just quickly peered into the teacher’s lounge, and sure enough, she was sleeping on the couch with the TV on. You both tiptoed out of there and into the darkened hallway.

“Turn on the light.” He whispered to you.

“I’m trying.” You felt around for the switch, and then heard a ‘bump!’ in front of you followed by cursing.

“Shit!” Your heart jumped. “What did you do?!”

“Just turn on the light!”

You did, and you saw him hunched over, cradling his left elbow. You made a face. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just maybe turn the flashlight on before going into a dark place?”

Oh, hell no, you weren’t taking that amount of sass. “Well maybe you should stop being so tall and stupid. Jesus wept, you make the ground shake every time you walk.”

He scoffed, though an etching of a smile played on his lips when he knocked on the wall beside you.

“What’re you doing?” You asked.

“She’s not going to wake up. It’s fine.”

“Still, I don’t wanna risk it.”

“Okay,” he shrugged his shoulders. “then could I have the light? Seeing that you can’t handle it?”

Oh, what a little shit. Rolling your eyes, you handed it to him, to which he immediately turned over his shoulder and started skipping down the hallway, making quite a lot of noise.

“Angus Tully, I swear to God!” You rushed after him.

He led you into the kitchen, but you led him to the freezer and the large tub of vanilla ice cream the cooks only used for ‘Special Occasions’. You grabbed spoons off the counter and ate from the tub for a few good minutes without saying a word to each other.

When you were finished, he asked. “Where else were you thinking of going?”

 “I’m not sure.” You then glanced over to one of the ‘Staff Only’ doors. “I got an idea.”

After using the keys to unlock it, the door led down into a dimly lit tunnel. You went down first, the cold hitting your skin and you zipped your jacket up. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Angus still up at the top.

“Well come on, you’re the one with the light.”

That seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, and he walked down the steps.

“How’d you know this was here?”

“That’s for me to know.”

And you just walked ahead of him.

He scoffed. “So, I don’t get to find out?”

“Nope.”

The tunnel was much longer than you initially thought it would be, but when you both got to the first door you’d seen, you were led into the sacristy of the chapel. Instantly, Agnus set down the flashlight and opened up the cabinet, taking out the chalice and jug of wine.

You snorted. “What a faithful altar boy you are.”

“Of course I am.” He responded, pouring the wine into the chalice and taking a huge gulp of it. “Want some?”

You tensed at first but responded quick enough. “Sure.”

He poured the wine into the chalice and took a small sip. It wasn’t as bad as when you first tried it; in fact, it was pretty good. You finished most of it after bringing it to your lips again.

“You’ve never had it before, haven’t you?” He grinned like the little shit he was (still is).

Shaking your head, you handed it back to him. “Just not in a while.”

You both got quickly bored in the sacristy after Angus had another drink of wine and went back through the door into the tunnel.

“Do you think someone died down here?” You questioned.

“If you’re trying to scare me, you’re doing a shitty job at it.” He answered.

“That sounds like something someone who’s terrified of ghosts would say.”

Sooner than you thought you would, and after a solid minute of you two going back and forth about the existence of ghosts, you found another door, which led you up into the auditorium. You’d only been there once for Curtis’ graduation the year prior, and you hadn’t step foot in there since then. Angus immediately went to the piano, sitting down at it and looking out to the sea of seats. You approached him leaning against the grand piano. He brought out a pack of the cigarettes you’d gotten him and a lighter.

“Mind if I have one?” You asked.

He nodded, placing a cigarette between his lips and then handing you one. He lit it for you, and you brought it up to your mouth. Somehow, you hadn’t coughed, and you were proud of yourself; you let your curiosity get the best of you, but it hadn’t killed you yet. Angus pressed a few keys on the piano, and you chuckled.

“You play?” You questioned.

“Not since I was ten. You know how?”

“Nope; all I know is Roman history and how to annoy men, apparently.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Can I ask you a question after you do?”

“Sure.”

“Go ahead.”

He takes a puff from his cigarette before asking. “Why the book names?”

Chuckling, you shook your head. “It’s just always been a thing my mom did; they all mean different things. Countess Natalya when I’m being overdramatic, Jo March for my dad, Jane Bennett for Mary, Emma Woodhouse when I’m being stubborn, things like that.”

“Should I call you something then?” He teased.

“I’d prefer just my name from you, thank you very much.” You played along back, walking around the piano and plopping yourself down on the wooden floor. He soon sank down to be at your level, finding it awkward to sit above you. “Okay, my question.”

He nodded. “Shoot.”

“Why did you and Teddy get into a fight at the beginning of break?”

Sighing, he rolled his eyes. “Asshole stole my family picture and I knew it but he kept denying it; might’ve said some shitty things to him, but it’s not like they weren’t true.”

“What’d you say?”

“That he was a sociopath, and his family didn’t want him around.”

You almost choked on your cigarette but laughed. “Damn, that’s brutal.”

“Smith had to pull us apart, it was apparently that bad.”

Scoffing, you said. “You and him had to hold Teddy back after I punched him.”

“Asshole.” He muttered.

“Asshole.” You repeated.

Silence passed by the both of you for the hundredth time that day, and that was when you spoke up.

“I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a jerk these last few days.” He arched his brow, and you just went on. “To be honest, you have been too, but I’ve been a bigger one; especially today. I wanted to say something before but…I didn’t want to be more of a bitch than I already was.”

He shook his head. “You’re not; I was kind of a dick when I first met you.”

“Kind of?”

“Okay, a lot.” He admitted. “It was honestly stupid luck I got that question when you first showed up at Barton, and I got carried away with bragging.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” You repeated his words from a few days ago. “You’re actually the smartest out of all of them.”

“Really?”

“Not even close to me, but still.” You held out your hand. “Friends of some sort?”

He shook it. “Friends of some sort.”

You both pulled away, and after taking another drag of your cigarette you said. “I actually don’t know jack shit about you.”

“That a fact?”

“Yeah, and since we’re going to be stuck here for a while, I think that should change. How about this?” you scooted closer to him. “We ask each other questions. Simple at first, but more and more, we go a little deeper. How does that sound?”

He huffed. “Sounds like a regular conversation.”

“We get to refuse to answer one question.” You added. “Everything else after is free game. Sound more exciting?”

Angus nodded. “Alright, what’s your favorite color?”

“Pass.”

“Are you serious?”

“Fuck no.” You laughed, giving him your favorite color then asking him. “Favorite book?”

He responded much faster than you thought he would. “Catch-22.”

“Ah, a man of culture. Thank God, I thought I’d have to stop talking to you.”

Angus shook his head, chuckling. “If you could be an animal, what would you be?”

Ah…a bit of a stranger one, but you like that. You thought more on it, then gave him your answer. He nodded.

“Yeah, seems like you’d be one.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” You answered in a dead pan, and broke character the second you saw his face fall. “Just messing with you. Favorite childhood memory?”

He paused at that but didn’t show any sign of discomfort. Hesitance, yes, but he was taking more time thinking about your (frankly bizarre) question. Then, he answered.

“My dad took me on a fishing trip when I was twelve. Just for the weekend out in the woods with a small cabin. Talked to me about what it meant to be a man, telling me what he was like as a kid…I don’t even like fishing.”

The short story, even though it wasn’t yours, brought a nostalgic smile to your face for a moment. “I tried fishing once; not really my thing either.”

“Mr. Hunham took you fishing?” The look on his face made you laugh.

“Oh god no.” You shook your head. “Curtis did.”

Angus blinked upon the name. “Mary’s kid?”

“You’ve already asked a question.”

“What?”

“I just asked you what your favorite memory was as a kid, you asked me if my dad took me fishing. It’s my question now. Technically, I can ask two in a row because you just asked me what I meant.” It was your turn to have the shit-eating grin.

“I…” He tried not to laugh, unable to believe it. “So, our friendship is basically transactional?”

“Huh?”

“You’re having us say that if one of us asks two questions in a row, even if one isn’t really about getting to know the other-.”

“-It was about getting to know me; you asked if my dad took me fishing.”

“That’s a transactional relationship, not really a conversation.”

“Are you trying to explain to me what a conversation is, Tully?” You furrowed your brow, stomping out your cigarette. “Do you really believe women are that stupid?”

He shrugged. “Maybe, considering how you just asked three questions in a row.”

Never in your life (at least recently) had something thrown you off balance so drastically. You counted on your fingers, jogging your memory, and yes, you indeed answered three questions: freeing him from yours. You both made eye contact, and with the same, unspoken language, you both laughed. It took you a bit longer to recover, to which you then asked.

“Okay, and you can ask me two questions, do you genuinely think women are stupid?”

Angus shook his head, his cigarette on its last leg. “Everyone’s stupid in their own special way.”

“How poetic of you.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

“Shut up and ask me a stupid question because you’re so stupid.”

He threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out before turning to you. “Craziest thing that happened to you?”

Your face dropped for a moment at the question, before it soon morphed into a nervous smile. “It’s what made my dad start homeschooling me.”

Angus raised his brows. “If it’s not a fun memory than-.”

“-No it’s alright.”

“If anything,” you thought to yourself. “it’ll make me see who you really are.”

You set the scene. “You’ve been in eighth grade, right?”

“I though you said I could ask two questions-?”

“-For fuck’s sake, Tully.”

“Yes,” he grinned. “I’ve been in eighth grade, surprisingly.”

“Well, you probably remember how much we thought we were hot shit at that age, right?” You didn’t give him time to respond. “My friend Elise is Miss Crane’s niece, Miss Crane the secretary.”

“Yeah, I know who she is.”

“Elise only comes to live with her during winter and summer breaks. I met her when we were like twelve, and we were immediately inseparable. Summer of eighth grade going into high school, she takes this theatre summer camp hosted by some kids at Ridgeway.”

Angus scoffed. “That fucking shithole? My roommate had some of his friends over who went there; assholes.”

“Oh, that’s not the half of it.” You rolled your eyes. “So, one of the counsellors, I don’t know I think her name was like…Gloria, or something, really liked her, and invited her to a party she and the other theatre kids were having. She told Elise that she could bring anyone that she wanted. Elise thought that other campers were being invited, so she asked me because…okay shoot me, I liked theater growing up. Now Elise wasn’t going to Ridgeway for high school, but I was, so she thought it’d be great for me to meet the people. That’s what she told my dad and her aunt; that it was a part of the camp. God, we spent hours getting ready, I look at pictures that Miss Crane took of us, and we didn’t even look that good,”

You and Angus paused to relish your chuckling before continuing. “but what mattered was that we were excited. Miss Crane drove us to the house at seven, said she’d pick us up by ten, and then left. The only people there were us, Gloria, and two of the other counselors; one being her boyfriend, Bobby fucking Nolan. So, it was awkward for the first hour because, of course Gloria wasn’t supposed to invite two eighth graders, but it’s fine because she said ‘Elise is cool, so her friend’s probably cool’. I wanted us to call someone to take us home because there was a misunderstanding, hell, the counsellor that wasn’t Gloria’s boyfriend even offered to, but Elise said she wanted to stay. I wasn’t leaving her behind, so I stayed too. It actually got fun after that. It was more than obvious I was uncomfortable, so they asked me to pick a board game for us to play when waiting for other people, and I picked Clue. It went on for a while, and people started showing up, so it was really just me, Bobby fucking Nolan, and another random kid playing with us because the others, including Elise, left. Bobby said that I was purposefully hiding my cards because he assumed some things weren’t adding up. He did this the whole game, and he’d try to be teasing, but he always sounded like he was accusing me of murder. Which, okay, a part of the game but you know what I mean. I got fed up with it, so I told him a bit more aggressively that I wasn’t lying. This asshole reaches over and squeezes me here.”

Scooting closer to Angus where your face was just a foot away from his, you pointed to the base of your neck where your clavicle is. “So I freak out of course, and he just started laughing, saying he found out that’s a ticklish spot for everyone. My stomach started feeling weird, and I…a year before that, my dad told me that if I ever started feeling sick out of nowhere, whether it was because of a person or situation, than I’d leave. Doesn’t matter what, I’d just go. So, I say I have to go to the bathroom, get Elise, she sees that I’m starting to freak out, and we try to find Gloria, her friend, or just anyone who’d want to take us home. Bobby finds us instead, he’s lit, and he won’t let us out of his sight. He was joking at first, and I’m fucking terrified at this point, so Elise has to tell him we’re going home. He’s getting pushy now, and it takes him calling her a ‘bitch’ for people to notice. So, thank God, some of the others pull him away to calm him down because he looked like he’d start swinging, and one of the girls took pity on us and drove us to Elise’s house because we were supposed to have a sleepover. I was crying at this point, so I begged Miss Crane to call Mary, not my dad, she picked me up, I told her everything, she brought me home, told my dad, and the next day I told him everything I told Mary. He said I did the right thing in leaving and was pissed at the school. So, he called them, got most of the kids there in trouble; all except Bobby fucking Nolan. Because Bobby Nolan’s mom was screwing the principal, and technically besides underage drinking and minor harassment, he didn’t do anything wrong in the school’s eyes; so, he just got a few days’ worth of detention, but even then, that was probably wiped from his records…He was a freshman going into sophomore year, so if I went to Ridgeway, I’d be stuck with him for three years…everything else checks out.”

The silence was deafening. Angus had a face you had never seen on him before. “I…shit, that’s fucked up.”

Just like with everything else you did when things became too serious (because it was only then you realized that you just told him something that was somewhat traumatic and not funny), you made it funny.

“Oh fuck, you asked me about the craziest thing that happened to me. Sorry, I forgot to say that I was like a little tipsy throughout all of that.”

“What?!”

No one ever said you landed the punchline all the time. Still, you tried.

“Now I know that sounds bad-.”

“-It is bad. You were like what, fourteen?”

“…Thirteen.”

“Oh my god.” He groaned.

“How old were you when you first drank?”

“Sixteen.”

“That’s like three years.”

“It’s about maturity.”

“Oh,” you snickered. “and you have a lot of that?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, maybe I do."

Rolling your eyes, you said. “Go ahead.”

“What?”

“Ask your other question. No, that one doesn’t count, I’m actually tired of the rules I set up.”

He was still, understandably, thrown off about all that you told him. Still, he went. “How’d you know about the tunnels?”

“Curtis Lamb. We were friends for a while, and he told me he and some other kids would explore them. Mary never found out somehow.”

“Why’d you stop being friends?”

You shrugged. “We didn’t, he just died. Did your mom and dad get a divorce or…?”

You were always a hardball when it came to being blunt.

Angus tensed. “Pass.”

“Okay.”

“Can I ask about the letter?”

Oh…oh…

Well…what a spot you put yourself in…

“Pass.” You said without hesitation. Had he said that to get back at you for asking a stupid question or did he actually want to know?

Still, he respected it. “Your turn.”

And you decided to be slightly less bold, but not back down completely. “Have you been kicked out of school before?”

To your surprise, he wasn’t angry when you asked. A bit smug even. “Oh, who told you?”

“Alex.”

“Figures. Yeah, three.”

“Why?”

“‘Unruly behavior, instigating fights, stealing school property.’” He rolled his eyes. “If I get kicked out of this one, it’s off to military school.”

You nodded. “So maybe don’t then.”

“Seems like a plan.”

“When did your mom marry your stepfather?”

“Just last summer; that’s why they’re taking their honeymoon now. She’d only been with him for six months.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “Just lonely I guess.”

You furrowed your brow. “She had you.”

He didn’t say anything, he stopped looking at you too. Well, new tactic now.

“What you did was nice a few nights ago.” Like Pavlov’s dog, he looked up at you. “Helping Ye-Joon out.”

His eyes drifted. “It was nothing.”

“It was everything to him and it meant something to me. It meant that you’re not a complete asshole you try to be, and I don’t know why you try to be one, but you’re not.” You saw right through him, and you both knew it. Still, to save face a little while longer, you added. “I’m sorry too about saying you didn’t have friends.”

“It’s fine-.”

“-No, it’s not, because I felt like shit as soon as I said it, and it’s a shitty thing to say to anyone.”

He stared at you the same way he did when you gave him toothpaste, and it unnerved you even more. Had anyone ever apologized to him?

“Thanks.” Was his reply, and the two of you stopped asking questions. You both sat in the auditorium for perhaps a small moment’s silence when he said. “I uh…we should probably get back.”

You nodded, getting up. “Yeah, sounds good.”

The two of you tried to make it seem like you’d never been there and made your way back down into the tunnel. The walk seemed much longer than it had previously, the two of you not seeming to have anything to say until Angus went-.

“I threw out the skin mag.”

Well…the actual last thing you thought you would hear from him that night.

You stopped in your tracks. “Huh?”

He didn’t look at you as he confessed. “I stole Kountze’s cigarettes to trade for it and practically waved it in his face the first few days. I know it’s none of my business, but after he read the letter…I just felt bad about it.”

What on God’s green earth were you supposed to say? Apparently, after a few moments of stunned silence, you knew.

“…Thanks? On behalf of all women, I guess?” He nodded, still not looking at you, which only added to your anxiety. “We’re good, right? Still friends of some sort?”

“Yeah.” He finally met your eyes.

You nodded. “Nice.”

And you walked ahead of him as if trying to outrun the light. You both tiptoed through the halls, setting the keys and flashlight back in your father’s room in the infirmary, and went into your own separate rooms.

As you laid down to sleep, the strangeness of the whole evening played in your mind. You had been so vulnerable with him, and he hadn’t thrown it back and spat it in your face; he let you talk about it for so long.

He didn’t blame you for what happened.

You never told anyone about that besides the people involved…

But he didn’t do the same. Yes, your friendship (of some sort) didn’t have to be where each of you dumped a lot of baggage on each other…but you still felt odd doing so.

You felt something in your stomach the more you thought about the whole night; being alone together and exploring the school as if you were both main characters in a novel, telling secrets in the dark…

You didn’t feel sick though; at least, not like when a boy touched you for the first time.

#angus tully x reader #the holdovers #paul hunham #mary lamb #angus tully #Youtube

[thewulf]

Second Sunrise || Dallas "Dally" Winston

Summary: Request - Dally x buck merril's cousin!reader who buck adopted bc her parents were abusing her.

A/N: Ahhh protective Dally is the best kind of Dally!! This is a heavier one, please look at the trigger warnings before reading. Hope you guys enjoy.

Pairing: Dallas "Dally" Winston x Female Reader (Buck Merril Cousin)

Word Count: 5.2k +

TW: ABUSE, talks of abuse, hitting, bruises, cuts, blood, threats of violence, general Outsiders warnings

The night at Buck's Rodeo Bar was buzzing with life. The jukebox played a raucous country tune while laughter and the clink of beer glasses filled the air. Neon lights cast a glow over the rustic scene illuminating the wood-paneled walls adorned with rodeo memorabilia. Behind the bar, Buck Merril, the owner, and a towering figure with an easy smile, was busy serving drinks. He handed another beer to Dallas "Dally" Winston who wasn’t just a regular; he lived in the small apartment right above the bar.

"Here’s another on the house," Buck said, wiping his hands on a towel. "So, Dal, still finding trouble or is trouble finding you?" He smirked knowing how tuned into trouble his friend was.

Dally was reclining against the bar with his leather jacket just catching the light gave Buck a wry grin. "A bit of both, I guess. Keeps life interesting. What’s been going on with you?"

Buck's gaze shifted to the end of the bar where a young woman was quietly serving customers. His expression softened a bit as he nodded towards her. "You see that girl over there? The one with the tray full of drinks?"

Dally followed Buck’s nod, observing her. She seemed out of place with her reserved demeanor.  Almost too gentle for the rough-and-tumble crowd of the bar. "Yeah, I see her. What about her?"

"That’s my cousin," Buck revealed. His voice lowering even as he kept his tone casual. "Took her in a few months back. Found her in a real bad way... her folks were the ones hurting her. Had to step in and bring her here."

The typical hardness in Dally’s eyes softened. A rare flicker of concern showing through as he took a longer look at her. "That’s rough. How’s she doing now?"

"She’s getting by day by day. It’s tough though, especially at night," Buck explained as his eyes tracked her movements. You skillfully avoided drawing attention to yourself. "She doesn’t talk much about it… tries to keep her head down."

Dally nodded slowly. His usual detached demeanor shifting towards something more thoughtful. "She got a name?"

"Her name's Y/N," Buck said, a touch of pride in his voice. "She's a tough one but you know how it is... the past has a way of holding on."

Dally took a sip of his beer. His gaze lingering on you as you laughed softly at something a customer said. "Maybe I’ll introduce myself, see if she needs anything. Living up here it’d be good to have someone to talk to who understands."

Buck clapped Dally on the back, grateful. "I’d appreciate that and I think she would too. She could use a friend around here."

As Buck moved off to attend to another customer Dally watched you carefully across the bar. There was a quiet strength about you that reminded him of his own struggles, sparking an unexpected sense of kinship. He decided he'd make the first move later that night. A simple gesture of solidarity from one survivor to another.

On a chilly a few months prior during the evening Buck was at a local bar, not his own. He was just enjoying a quiet drink away from his usual crowd. The place was less crowded, dimly lit, with the usual murmur of hushed conversations filling the air.

At the far end of the bar Buck overheard a familiar voice rising above the low din. It was his uncle, Y/N's father, drunk and bitterly ranting to anyone who would listen. Buck’s ears perked up as the harsh words cut through the buzz of the bar.

"Yeah, that worthless girl of mine," his uncle slurred, his voice dripping with contempt, "Nothing but a dumb whore. Ain’t good for nothing but to kick around. She’s just like her mother. Can’t do nothing right."

The bar’s patrons shifted uncomfortably. Some trying to ignore the man, others glancing sympathetically towards Buck knowing the already strained relationship. Buck’s jaw tightened with anger and a fierce protectiveness rising within him. He had known your home life was troubled, but the cruel reality had never been so blatantly laid out before him.

With a hard slam of his glass on the counter Buck stood up, his decision made in an instant. He left the bar and drove straight to your house. His mind racing with every turn of the wheel. When he arrived, the scene was as bad as he had feared, maybe worse.

He found you in the corner of her dimly lit living room. Your form small and battered. A stark contrast to the storm raging outside. Your mother was the only other person present, her demeanor anxious and defensive as Buck burst through the door.

"What the hell is going on here?" Buck’s voice thundered through the small space as he quickly assessed the situation. His eyes darting from you to your mother.

Your mother tried to intercept him with her voice shaky. "Buck, you shouldn’t be here—"

"It’s too late for that," Buck cut her off. His voice firm and resolute. "I just heard that excuse of a father of hers at the bar, bragging about how he treats Y/N. I’m taking her with me. She’s not staying here another minute."

Overwhelmed and cornered your mother wilted under Buck’s stern gaze. "You can’t just take her. She—"

"I’m not asking," Buck stated flatly. His decision was clear in his tone. "I’m telling you how it’s going to be. If you have any objections we can go through the authorities."

He approached you, his demeanor softening as he reached out to help you up. "Let’s go, Y/N. You’re safe now. You’re with me."  With a comforting hand on your back Buck led you out of the house and into the safety of his car. The rain started as the two of you drove away washing over the car.

Dally watched you move through the bar. Your interactions tinged with the newfound stability that Buck had given you. His thoughts on your resilience deepened. His respect for Buck’s bold intervention reinforcing his desire to get to know you better. The bond of shared struggles was forming, unspoken yet palpable in the busy bar.

You moved with a gentle grace. Your smile was warm yet reserved as you took orders and delivered drinks. Your interactions were polite and professional, yet there was a hint of wariness in your eyes. A shadow that seemed to linger from your past. As you paused to reset a table, straightening the condiments, and wiping down the surface, your attention to detail spoke of someone who took pride in your work. Dally thought that perhaps you found solace in the routines.

Dally’s gaze followed your movements until he found himself standing up, driven by an impulse to bridge the gap between them. He approached the bar where she was lining up drinks on a tray.

"Hey," Dally started. His voice slightly hesitant as he leaned against the bar. "You’re Y/N, right? Buck’s cousin?"

You looked up with a flicker of surprise crossing your features before you nodded hesitantly, clearly unsure of the man standing before you. "Yeah, that’s me. And you are?"

"Dally," he replied offering a small, reassuring smile. "I live upstairs. Heard a lot about you from Buck. Said you’re tough. I can respect that."

A trace of a smile touched your lips. Your guard lowering just a bit. "Thanks, I guess. It’s been a... well, it’s been quite a time adjusting here."

Dally picked up a coaster, spinning it between his fingers. "I get it. Had my share of rough patches too. Buck’s a good guy, though. You landed in a decent spot."

"Yeah he’s been great," You agreed with him. Your hands busying themselves with the drinks attempting to hide a slight tremor. "I’m just trying to make the best of it now."

"Mind if I help you carry these over?" Dally gestured towards the tray. He was eager to extend the interaction, to find more common ground with you. You seemed so hesitant and afraid. Not that he could blame you.

You paused for a fraction of a second before nodding. "Sure, that’d be nice. Table six, over there."

As you walked over to the table together Dally felt the initial awkwardness begin to dissipate. "So, you ever think about what’s next or you just taking it one day at a time?"

"One day at a time, really," You said as you reached the table being careful to set down the drinks with a thankful smile from the patrons. "But I like it here. It feels like a fresh start away from… them."

Dally nodded feeling a kinship in your words. "Fresh starts are good. Hard but good. If you ever need someone to talk to or anything, I’m just upstairs. Sometimes it helps talking to someone who gets it."

You looked at him with your expression softening further. "Thanks Dally. I might just take you up on that offer." For the first time in a while a genuine smile crossed your face at his words.

Over the next few weeks, a subtle shift began to unfold between you and Dally at Buck’s bar. What started as casual exchanges of small talk over the bar counter deepened into late-night conversations that lingered long after the last customer had left.

One evening as the neon signs were turned off and the bar quieted down you found yourself sitting at one of the tables with Dally with a deck of cards spread out between you. He had insisted on teaching you poker, claiming that it was a sin you didn’t know how to play. That got a laugh out of you as you agreed with him. The game was merely a pretense. It was a backdrop to the intimate dialogue that wove between you two. You touched on topics neither of you usually shared with others.

"So, do you have any dreams? Like things you wanna do now that you’ve got a fresh start?" Dally asked. His hands idly shuffling the cards almost afraid to look into your eyes.

You paused as you traced the wood grain of the table with your finger. "I don’t know," you confessed softly. "I used to think a lot about traveling. Seeing places that are totally different from here. Maybe write about them. But that doesn’t really seem possible. What about you?" You tried your best to flip it around on him.

Dally let out a soft, wistful laugh. "Me? I’ve never been much of a dreamer. Always been about getting through the day. But I guess, maybe, finding some peace? Could be nice to have a real shot at something stable, you know?" He’d told you all about his shitty situation that made your heart hurt for him. How could anyone be so cruel to him? Sure, he had a rough exterior but had anybody ever tried to get to know Dallas Winston? He was a sweetheart through and through. Albeit a little awkward about it but he always seemed to put your needs ahead of his. How could you not start to fall for him?

Your eyes met then met his with a mutual understanding crossing between you. Both of you knew what it was like to long for something more than just survival, more than the daily struggles that had so often defined your lives.

As autumn deepened and the nights grew colder your meetings at the bar became a regular fixture. Sometimes you would both sit in silence each lost in your own thoughts yet comforted by the presence of the other. Other times you would share stories of your pasts—guarded tales of pain and resilience that you entrusted to each other.

One winter evening as you walked back from a nearby diner that Dally and you had become accustomed to you wrapped your arms around yourself against the chill. Dally noticed and without a word draped his jacket over your shoulders. Neither of you broached the subject of what the hell was going on. Rather you simply just decided to enjoy the others company. It was easy with him. A rarity in your fucked up world.

"Thanks," you murmured. Your cheeks flushing slightly as you pulled the jacket tighter around you. “You sure? It’s cold.”

"I’m sure. It’s nothing," Dally replied with his voice low. "You know, talking to you... it’s the first time in a long while I’ve felt like someone actually gets it." His eyes looked everywhere but yours. A slight flush crossed his features as he admitted so. You’d come to learn how difficult these emotional conversations were for him. But you did get it. They were hard for you too. Neither of you were raised with love. You were always the second thought. The bitch daughter or the troubled son.

You nodded to him with your eyes reflecting the streetlights. "I feel the same. It’s weird, isn’t it? How talking can make things seem a bit lighter." You tried reassuring him with your words.

You continued your walk-in comfortable silence, whatever it was between the two of you growing with every shared glance and laugh. By the time you reached the bar again your laughter echoed softly in the empty street. You’d never laughed so much in your life as you did when you were with him.

The bar was alive with the usual Friday night revelry as you knew Buck needed your help. Once you entered the bar you waved Dally off with that genuine smile he adored so much. The air was filled with laughter and the twang of country tunes. You stood behind the bar pouring drinks and sharing easy smiles. You felt more secure and content than you ever had in your life. Dally was there too. He didn’t want to leave or go upstairs after your dinner not date. He watched you from across the room with a protective gaze that had become a comforting fixture in your life.

But the fragile peace shattered the moment your father staggered through the door.

His arrival cut through the noise like a cold front. His eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you behind the bar. With a cruel smirk twisting his lips he made his way over to you. Each step heavy with menace. You tensed when he stood in front of you. Your hands gripped the edge of the bar trying to ground yourself back into the situation. Why? Why couldn’t he have just left you alone? It’d been months and you hadn’t heard from him. Why did he have to come now?

"Y/N.” He spit your name out with vengeance. “You think you can hide from me?" He slurred.  His voice loud and filled with malice. He reached over the bar grabbing your arm and yanking you towards him. You should’ve expected it, but the shock of his arrival had you paralyzed. His other hand struck your face. His ring cutting a sharp line across your cheek. You let out a quiet yelp as the pain burned bright.

The bar fell silent. The music fading into the background. Before you could react, Dally was there in an instant. His presence like a storm. He grabbed your father by the collar and threw him back with such force that your father stumbled and fell onto his back with a heavy thud.

"You lay your hands on her again and I swear it'll be the last thing you do," Dally thundered, standing over him. His fists clenched and ready. His breathing was heavy as he looked like he truly would kill him should he try that again.

Your father, sprawled on the floor, looked up at Dally with a mix of shock and rage. "You stupid worthless whore!" he spat at you. His words echoing through the now silent bar. He jumped to his feet attempting to get his hands back on you.

Dally’s response was swift though. His fist connected with your father's face, a sharp, resounding impact that sent him back to the ground, blood spattering from his lip. All you could do was gape at the situation unfolding before you.

Buck rushed over appearing out of nowhere. His face set in a hard line. "That's enough!" he declared standing beside Dally. His eyes bore the same expression of Dally’s, "Get out of my bar and don't come back. Next time I'm calling the cops."

With a hand from Dally your father was hauled to his feet and shoved towards the door. His exit was met with relieved sighs and a few scattered claps from the patrons, but the atmosphere remained tense. You couldn’t seem to focus on what would come next as your eyes were trained on Dallas and only him.

As the door slammed shut behind your father leaving the bar in an uneasy silence. Dally turned his gaze back on you. His heart nearly shattered seeing your bleeding face mixing with a few tears that’d slipped down. He could see the pain flicker across your face not just from the cut but from the reopened wounds of your past. Slowly he walked back over to you with his hands up. He didn’t want to freak you out further than you were. With a gentle touch that contrasted sharply with the fierce protection he had just displayed Dally leaned in close.

"Come on sweetheart. Let's get that cleaned up," he said softly nodding towards the staircase that led to his apartment above the bar.

You hesitated. A mix of emotions swirling within you—gratitude, relief, but also a deep-seated fear from the confrontation. Sensing your hesitation Dally offered a reassuring smile. "I promise you, you're safe with me."

Trusting him you allowed Dally to lead you up the stairs to his modest living space. The apartment was small but welcoming with a warmth that felt comforting after the cold violence of the night. Dally guided you to a seat at the small kitchen table, then wet a clean cloth with warm water and approached you gently.

"May I?" he asked. His tone was more tender than you’d ever heard from him. You nodded and he carefully dabbed at the cut on your cheek. His touch was so light you could barely feel it. As he tended to your wound the kindness of the act—so at odds with the harshness you had grown used to—overwhelmed you and a fresh set of tears began to stream down your face.

Dally brow furrowed in concern. "Hey, it's okay," he murmured while he set aside the cloth to pull a chair up close beside you. He sat down. His brown eyes searching yours. They were so full of empathy. "You don't have to hold it all in, sweetheart. Not here."

You looked into Dally’s eyes seeing there not just the rugged survivor of the streets, but a kindred spirit who had seen his share of pain and still chose kindness. With a shaky breath you leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder.

Dally wrapped his arms around you holding you gently. "You're safe here, Y/N. As long as you need, as long as you want."

In that quiet space with Dally's steady presence enveloping you, the fear and tension that had knotted in your chest began to dissolve. His apartment was small and unassuming, but it felt like a sanctuary and his embrace a shield against the chaos of your past.

The night wound down quietly with you and Dally sitting together. The two of you talked softly about nothing and everything until the early morning light began to seep through the curtains. It was the first night in forever where you felt truly safe, truly seen.

As the first light of dawn painted the walls of Dally's apartment a soft, warm hue, the room was filled with a sense of quiet intimacy that had grown over the course of the night. Sitting side by side on the worn couch both you and Dally were enveloped in a reflective silence. The kind that follows after a storm of emotions.

Dally was the first to break the silence,. His gaze fixed on the faint light peeking through the blinds before turning to look at you. "You know," he began with his voice low and a little rough from the long night, "tonight was a mess, but it kinda cleared up something for me."

Your heart fluttered with a mix of anticipation and nervousness as you met his eyes. "What's that?" you asked softly. You were almost afraid to hear the answer but desperate to know.

Dally took a deep breath as his hand found yours. His fingers gently intertwining with yours. "It's you," he said simply. "All this craziness... it made me realize how much I care about you. More than I thought possible, actually."

Hearing his words a warmth spread through you, mingling with the fatigue from the night’s events. You squeezed his hand, the gesture simple but filled with meaning. "Dally, I feel the same. I didn't know how to say it before, but you've become so important to me."

The corner of Dally’s mouth lifted in a half-smile. A hint of his usual cockiness peeking through his tired features. "Yeah? That’s good to hear, 'cause I wasn’t sure how you’d take it." You giggled at that feeling a sense of euphoria at how this all actually turned out.

As the conversation dwindled, a yawn escaped you breaking the tender moment with its stark reminder of the night’s toll on your body. Dally chuckled softly. He pat his leg in a gentle, inviting gesture. "C'mere, sweetheart. Lay down here and close your eyes. I’ll be right here when you wake up."

Grateful and too exhausted to protest you shifted closer, laying your head on his thigh as he adjusted to make you comfortable. His hand found your hair, fingers brushing softly through it in a soothing rhythm.

With the comfort of his presence and the security of his promise you allowed your eyes to flutter closed, sleep overtaking you swiftly. The last thing you felt was Dally’s protective gaze and the gentle pressure of his hand in your hair. It was a silent vow of his commitment to be there no matter what came next.

As you settled against Dally your breath evening out in the quiet rhythm of sleep, he watched the soft rise and fall of your shoulders. A sense of peace settling over him. The apartment was quiet now the only sound the faint hum of the city awakening outside. In this moment, with the early morning light casting gentle shadows across your face, Dally found himself in a rare state of contemplation.

His hand rested gently on your head. His fingers lightly tracing through your hair. It was a simple, almost unconscious gesture that soothed both of you. The weight of the night's events lingered in his mind—the confrontation, the fear in your eyes, the way his heart had raced when he stood up for you. It all solidified something he'd only begun to admit to himself: how deeply he cared for you, how fiercely he wanted to protect you. How he may have even loved you.

As he watched you sleep Dally’s thoughts drifted. He was used to solitude, to the rough and tumble of a life lived on the edges. But sitting here with you breathing softly against him, he felt a pull towards something different. Something more. It was terrifying and new. This feeling of wanting to belong to someone, of wanting someone to belong with him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself to be so vulnerable with another person or if he ever truly had. But with you it felt right. It felt necessary. He realized that this—caring for you, being there for you—might be the closest thing to home he had ever known.

The morning grew brighter, light filling the room and Dally’s own eyelids began to droop. The exhaustion from the night's adrenaline and the emotional toll of opening his heart were catching up with him. But he didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to risk waking you. He wanted you to sleep as long as you needed, to wake up feeling safe and cared for.

His hand continued to run through your hair slowly, rhythmically, until his own eyes finally closed. Sleep overtaking him in the quiet comfort of his apartment. Even in sleep, his presence remained steadfast. A promise to be there when you woke up, and for whatever came next.

As the morning sun climbed higher with its rays streaming through the gaps in the curtains the apartment above Buck’s Rodeo Bar held a quiet, peaceful scene. Dally and you were asleep as an unspoken love formed in the shared silence of rest after a tumultuous night. However, this tranquility was soon interrupted by the sound of the apartment door swinging open with casual familiarity.

Buck strolled in with a steaming coffee cup in one hand and a bag of breakfast sandwiches in the other. His voice breaking the morning calm with a playful tone. "Well, look what we have here," he exclaimed. "Our very own knight in shining armor and his damsel tucked away from the world. You two sure skedaddled out of the bar pretty quick last night. Place your bets, folks!" He snickered seeing you and him so coziest up on the couch together.

Before Buck could spin another jest Dally's eyes snapped open, immediately alert. His protective instincts still sharp from the night before, flared up at the intrusion. “Buck, shut the hell up. She’s sleeping.” Dally hissed with his tone both irritated and fiercely protective. He glanced down quickly to make sure you were still out, undisturbed by the noise of your cousin.

Buck paused at the threshold, a knowing smirk spreading across his face as he took in the scene—the way you were nestled comfortably against Dally, his hand resting protectively in your hair even in sleep. "Oh man, Dally’s gone soft," Buck teased in a low voice chuckling to himself. "Never thought I’d see the day. Truly."

He set down the coffee and sandwiches on the kitchen counter. His movements now deliberately quiet though his eyes twinkled with mirth. “I’ll keep it down. You lovebirds need your rest after all those heroics last night.”

Dally just glared at him, but his posture relaxed slightly as he saw that you were still sleeping peacefully. His gaze softened as he looked back down at you. The fierceness melting into something tender and caring.

Buck watched the exchange. His chuckle deepening as he backed out of the room shaking his head in amusement. “I’ll be downstairs,” he murmured before pulling the door almost closed behind him. "Don’t rush Dally. The world can wait."

As the door clicked shut Dally’s hand resumed its gentle motion through your hair, his eyes lingering on your face. He let out a quiet sigh while the tension eased from his shoulders. The world outside could indeed wait. Right now, being in this quiet moment was all that mattered. He wanted to keep you safe making sure you felt cared for. And as he settled back closing his eyes once more he knew deep down that whatever came next, he was ready. So long as it was with you.

Later that day after a few more hours of much-needed sleep, you and Dally made your way back down to Buck’s bar. The place had regained its usual lively atmosphere with the afternoon crowd bringing a bustling energy that filled the air with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses.

You and Dally settled into a quiet corner booth a bit removed from the hustle and bustle. The events of the previous night still lingered in the air between you. An acknowledgment of everything that had happened and everything that was still unspoken.

Dally slid into the booth across from you his demeanor relaxed but his eyes keen, watching you with a softness that was new. "So," he started while breaking the comfortable silence, "feels like we got through some kind of storm, huh?"

You nodded wrapping your hands around a warm cup of coffee that Buck had brought over. His knowing wink making you both smile. "Yeah it does. But it feels like it’s clearing up now," you replied before meeting Dally's gaze with a hopeful smile.

Dally's lips curved into a slow, genuine smile. "I think so too. We've been through a lot, but maybe it's just what we needed."

"Right," you agreed. Your heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time.

The conversation drifted then to lighter topics. Plans for the bar, stories from Dally's wilder days, your dreams of traveling, and with each story and shared laugh the love between you deepened. It was as if the foundations for something new and hopeful were being laid down with each passing moment.

As the afternoon wore on the bar began to fill up with the evening crowd. The music grew louder and the sounds of a lively night taking shape swirled around you. Yet, in your quiet corner of the bar it felt like a sanctuary with him.

Finally, Dally reached across the table taking your hand in his. His gaze conveyed a silent promise of support, understanding without needing to articulate it. The clamor of the bar seemed to fade into the background as Dally broke the silence. "Hey," he said. His voice softer than the din around you, "I was thinkin'... How 'bout we go out tomorrow? Just you and me, no chaos, no drama. We could take my bike, hit the road, see where it takes us."

Your heart that was already warmed by his earlier protectiveness leapt at the invitation. His offer was simple but filled with the promise of new memories, new experience. Just Dally and you learning the rhythms of each other's joy. "I'd like that," you replied with a grin. Your voice equally soft. "A real date, huh?"

Dally's smirk was one of triumph mixed with a bashfulness that you had come to find so endearing. "Yeah, a real date with a beautiful girl," he confirmed. "Figured it's about time we did something normal for a change sweetheart."

The bar around you hummed with life. The energy of people embarking on their nightly escapades, the clatter of glasses and the laughter serving as a backdrop to this quiet, pivotal moment between you and Dally. It symbolized not just a return to normalcy but the blossoming of something new. Something hopeful.

As Dally's thumb gently caressed the back of your hand you felt a chapter closing on the past and a new one beginning. Here in the heart of the bar's fervor you found a peaceful anticipation for the future. This wasn't just an end to the turmoil that had swept you into Dally's life. It was the start of a journey together. A journey that promised the warmth of shared sunrises, the thrill of open roads, and the comfort of hands held tight in solidarity.

In the cacophony of the bar, you both found a shared rhythm. A mutual understanding that this was just the beginning. And with Dally's hand in yours, the future, once so uncertain, now seemed filled with endless possibilities.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

#dallas winston fluff #dallas winston x you #dallas winston x reader #dallas winston x y/n #dallas winston #dallas winston angst #dallas winston imagine #dallas winston headcanons #ponybody curtis #dallas winston one shot #dallas winston oneshot #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders x you #the outsiders x y/n #outsiders x reader #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders #the outsiders darry #the outsiders dally #outsiders fanfic #outsiders angst #outsdiers fluff #x female reader #female #buck merrill #outsiders headcanons #the outsiders fluff #the outsiders fandom #outsiders #the outsiders fanfiction

[ariesbilly]

Steve should have cheated on Nancy with Billy

I mean when would he have had the time Nancy broke up with him like 2 minutes after he met Billy lmao

BUT

I do love a sloppy steve moment so imagine with me if you will:

Steve is happy in love with his girlfriend. Life is going great as far as he’s concerned. He’s at a Halloween party all dressed up dancing the night away with his girl. What could be better than this

He ends up in the kitchen at one point to get him and Nancy some more lunch. He’s still got a bounce in his step, grinning from ear to ear. Maybe he can convince Nancy to neck in the car later before she has to go home or he can sneak into her room… whichever

But then the new guy is suddenly at his shoulder, probably waiting for his turn at the punch. Steve’s all “oh hey man here you go” and makes to leave but billy starts his whole king Steve thing except this time without any venom. He’s being super flirty about it and Steve “never met a homosexual” Harrington is super confused and absolutely not picking up what Billy’s putting down so he leaves the exchange bewildered but also kinda horny for some reason… he’s probably just drunk. Whatever

Cut to Steve in the bathroom taking a piss when billy stumbles in all “oh oops my bad” like genuinely didn’t know anyone was in here but once he sees it’s Steve he goes from 😳 to 😏

Gets ESPECIALLY excited when he sees Steve’s dick is still hanging out and wooo boy that thing is impressive.

And Steve’s all awkward fumbling trying to get out like “oh yeah it’s fine I’ll just go lol” but then billy starts flirting with him again, starts talking about what a nice looking dick he has cuz billys just drunk enough to be a little too forward for his own good and Steve’s never had another guy talk about his dick outside of like locker room banter and it’s this sweaty shirtless guy with nice tits - wait what who said that - and Steve won’t lie he’s kinda getting hard about it…

So anyway cut to billy on his knees giving Steve a blowie in the bathroom that rocks Steve’s world and awakens him to some homosexual desires he previously did not have and billy sends him out back to his girlfriend and calls it’s a night

And the rest of the night Steve is thinking about billy and his mouth. Thinks about it when he’s fucking Nancy in the back of his beemer. Thinks about it the next day at school when they’re meant to be studying in the library. DEFINITELY thinks about it during basketball practice when hargroves rubbing all over him in those tight little shorts and like

Steve is NOT gay. Has never been gay. Him dragging Billy into the equipment closet after practice is just like…a fluke. An experiment to see if his drunk mind is still possessing his sober one.

But after a week of messy hook ups in janitors closets and under bleachers and the quarry on a Saturday morning steve doesn’t think he can keep blaming being drunk anymore…

#harringrove #briana answers things

[peachesancreams]

Expanding on the Wives

everyones favorite asexual serial killer and his cute wifey! this one is marked mature as it is his serial killing days. I will be going into all their deaths on the third part so stay tuned~

Alastors wife

Okay so I said Al doesn’t remember how they first met and he doesn’t mainly because I personally headcanon that he has a lot of trauma in accordance with that time. Mainly at the hands of his father, which more then likely is one of the core manifestations of his future MO for being a serial killer, being that he killed ‘bad people’ and never outright leaned toward killing women. Do I think he did? Yeah someone had to have seen something at one point and Alastor isn’t one for lose ends. (I’m sorry guys you’re gonna see a lot of me info dumping, serial killers psyche and the types are a special interest of mine)

They meet when they were kids, him just running around New Orleans learning the streets and how to use the alleys to make a quick getaway. It had helped him more then on one occasion growing up in that day and age, more so when people knew of his parentage. Not that he was ashamed but rather no one Likes Pain much less children, and unfortunately other children will do as they see their parents do. Rosalind had been reading on the steps on the library when he had ran into her. It wasn’t any kind of meet cute considering they got into a argument about who’s fault it was, kids am I right?

They kiddos had decided that they both were ultimately at fault, him for running when Mama said not to rush and Rose for sitting on the steps where people walk. They’d shook on it and had spent the day talking about some radio stories, Alastor eventually telling her about his dream of being a host himself.

They meet up regularly and talked about the many things kids find important. Until Rosalind’s Pa died and her mother had to move them back up north. The saddest part was it all happened so rapidly, Rosalind hadn’t had time to find Alastor to tell him. Her mother kept Rosalind close to her through out the process of the funeral and the move, having heard of the company her daughters been keeping but also to grieve with her daughter.

Thus she moved away and Alastor slowly forgot the face of his friend. He remembers having a dear childhood friend but figured they, like everyone else heard of his heritage and left him.

Meanwhile up north Rosalind was dreaming of going back to the south. She thanked her lucky stars her fathers family lived down in Louisiana still, she sent letters often down to her cousins asking about life and how is dear New Orleans changing?

When she was 18 Rosalind decided to make the choice to move down south. Her mother had gotten a urgent letter from her aunt raving about how her cousins were living in sin and needed a good girl like Rosalind to guide them. Of course this was only partly the case, their cousins mother had actually passed in the fall and one them impersonated her as to fool Rosalind's mother.

They made this plan as to get Rosalind out from her mothers thumb, wanting her to stay close and up north together. It was not that Rosalind didn't love her mother she just didn't want to be smothered by her anymore.

Now for the second and remembered meeting!!

Once secure in the South her cousins had decided to celebrate! What better way to celebrate gaining independence in the 20's then going to Mimzy's club! Bonus her cousins worked there as showgirls(have to make money somehow...) so they were familiar with the atmosphere.

It had been fun, they drank and danced some. It was only when her cousins had been swept onto the dance floor by two different gentlemen that Rosalind finally felt conflicted. Truth be told she had been having mixed feelings all night, but now alone with the gazing of hungry men feasting on her flesh.

Heading to the bar she ordered herself a drink, trying to call the bartenders attention. It was when a smooth voice called above her head that the bartender finally looked over.

"John my good man! My usual drink for me, and one for the lady as well."

Now at this time Al has been establishing himself in his career for a while, I imagine at this time he had actually just scored his first segment. It was some news on event in town and weather reports, he still has a small way to go till he can report on what he really wants. The Local Crime segments, the man who does it now Tyler put people to sleep the way he drones.

He had come to Mimzy's tonight to stalk his next hunt. His radio career wasn't the only one he had been curating and growing with time. He started his murder career with a truly vile man, his father. No one thought much of the hunting accident, his father was a drunk and many had the opinion it had been bound to happen. Filled eith righteous fury, he went after only villainous people. Muggers, rapists, a fellow murderer, and well an unfortunate witness.

Alastor had been eyeing this particular prey for a while, a rapist who preyed on woman. Alastor had watched his prey pick out his own prey for the evening, watched him circle like a vulture. He took notice of the woman, a soft smile on her face but discomfort colored her brows. It stirred something in him, a flash of his mothers face making his grin feel strained.

Alastor doesn't know why and could only put it to words after when he was in Hell. He interrupted his preys hunt to intercept the woman, buying her a drink. The conversation was stimulating, and having her not fawn over him was a nice change. Despite his small role in the station his popularity grows by the day. What can he say, he has a voice made for radio!

They hit it off from there, him quietly offing his prey another night. No need for vermin like him to linger around. After all Ms. Rosalind frequently met him at Mimzy's so there no reason not to keep the place...tidy so to speak.

Rosalind felt like she was in a fairytale, not only was she able to get a job as a poster painter(lots of prints were handmade back then!) but Alastor, a radio host with a career on the rise, seemed to fancy her.

She didn't realize who Alastor was until they'd gotten married, saw a picture of him and his mom he kept in the back of a bible. She also realized he didn't remember her, it made her a little sad but she remembered the bruises he would show up with and forgave him in her heart.

Speaking of, they were only together for like a month before getting married. And the proposal was at his house! He made dinner and lit candles, and made sure to be his most charming.

Rosalind could only say yes to her dear sweet Al. The thing that had gotten people talking is that she hadn't gone home that night. Alastor was never huge on touch but always seemed to gravitate towards her space. That night they'd cuddled on the couch, exchanging small kisses until they'd fallen asleep.

It’s had started the rumor mill but what made it a full function factory was how the wedding ended up being a month later. So many older ladies comforted her saying ‘first babies are always late’, Alastor had gotten a good laugh out of her flushed face after. She had scolded him but couldn't put any heat behind it, weak as she was to his smile.

They never were physical together, it just wasn't something either of them wanted. They didn't desire each other for the body itself, but for the company and conversation. It was a lovely union, Alastor being attentive to her labors praising her work in the house and garden.

Speaking of her garden, since I see the house being his parents before his own. The garden was originally his mothers. It had fallen into deep disrepair since she had passed, as he had no talent for gardening. With his little wife however it had returned to its old splendor.

Where he didn't have a talent for the green, he did take well to his fathers old hunting lessons. Something he found himself indulging in as a married man. Fresh vegetables and herbs along side some fresh venison, made for a wonderfully fresh meal you couldn't find anywhere else. Who knew all it took was one these hunts for him to disappear from her life forever?

#x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #1920s-1933 alastor #tried to keep it time accurate #dividers by #saradika-graphics

[philsmeatylegss]

Can I talk about Cat King because no one else will???

I haven’t finished the show yet so this might be wrong or age like milk

I could talk about his role in the story for hours. Tbh I overly identify with Edwin because I’m gay with a lot of problems in the past and Edwin’s historical typical internalized homophobia already makes a history nerd like me giddy with glee. And Cat King easily can be written off as a gag character, which I do think is part of his purpose, but he also represents the aspect of this story regarding Edwin’s sexuality not solely being sexual, but also still being sexual. As in obviously Edwin sexually fantasizes about men, but there’s much more than just that. That implication, acknowledging the fact, feeling free to tell Charles and the others, acting on that, just day to day life. Edwin had gotten by for thirty years ignoring his sexuality until cat king came along. Edwin acknowledging his sexuality, acting on it, and discussing it (in his own way) is a large part of his character growth which is fully pushed on because of Cat King. I know he’s supposed to be the bad guy, but I genuinely believe he is an anti hero or something along those lines. I think at first it was to just tease Edwin, but it grew into something deeper.

Don’t even get me started on the cuff. It is SO symbolic I could almost cry. It’s a physical representation of how limiting and claustrophobic it is to be in the closet. Specially not being out of the closet to close loved ones. You couldn’t have a closer relationship than the relationship between Edwin and Charles, but it doesn’t seem that way before Edwin comes out. And that’s multiple reasons on both of their parts, but part of it is that complete shut down to that side of himself. People don’t realize how much sexuality plays into day to day life. And Cat King made Edwin realize how much he’s missed out on. And also that he can’t put off his problems forever. Slay relatable.

I think the addition of Crystal and Niko also makes Edwin realize that he needs to at least recognize his sexuality. I think they help him realize how much he is missing out on by not being himself in general, nevertheless outing his sexuality.

And all of this goes back to the cat king!!! It drives me insane no one talks about it!!! There’s also the aspect that, on the surface, cat king is just supposed to represent lust. The difference between his feelings for Monty or Charles is that there’s emotions there while cat king is purely lust and a giggle. But when you think about the story, that’s just not true. When media deals with a character’s sexuality not being straight, it’s usually over sexualized or not acknowledged as anything sexual. Cat king gives that balance to his feelings for Charles. Because being gay is partly explicit. As is being straight, bi, pan, whatever (other than asexuality). Saying you are ___ sexuality is implying that you are sexually aroused by whatever gender(s). And cat king is that reminder while Charles and Monty are the reminder that love and relationships are also part of it. Cat king adds balance that makes Edwin’s character feel way more authentic and actually gay.

I haven’t even gotten to cat king pushing for Edwin to admit why he solves cases. WHY DOES NO ONE TALK ABOUT IT?!?! I was gnawing at the bars of my enclosure during that scene. It is arguably one of the most important scenes of the entire show. And it’s entirely brought on my cat king. Every single time Edwin either decides or is forced to reveal something vulnerable about himself, it’s Cat King!!!! Edwin’s confession that it is about preparing a justification as to how he should be allowed into heaven even though he is gay is such an insanely important moment and I’m gnawing at my enclosure again!!!

I may be studying history, but I’ve always been an English kid at heart and symbolism about religion and childhood trauma brings me to my knees. And Cat King is scratching an itch I’ve had for years that I had no clue was there anD NO ONE IS TALKING ABOUT IT WHILE IT IS DRIVING ME BANANAS.

Anyway, that’s my case for talking about cat king. I just finished episode 4 and it’s gonna be really embarrassing when something happens the next few episodes that completely invalidates all of this

#this is me doing a quick summary about my feelings btw #rae’s rambles #dead boy detectives

[ultimateloserboy]

thinking about duck dhmis having health issues and not even knowing it. first of all, he has diabetes, which you could say is just a joke, but i dont really think so. id say it would be if yellow guy didnt bring it up again a minute later in electricity where it was confirmed. sure hes talking to a different character, but his immediate assumption when someone is acting strange is to assume their blood sugar is low. i might be stretching- but to me it implies hes been in this situation before. charged yellow guy doesnt become smarter out of nowhere, he simply understands his already existing memories better, meaning he wouldve already known what low blood sugar was and how to deal with it before his batteries getting replaced. this implies to me that yellow guy has helped duck with his low blood sugar before, though i dont think him or duck actually understands whats going on. im not a diabetes expert or anything, but i know that low blood sugar is not nice, and you feel much better after grabbing a snack. which is funny, because in the past the creators have really driven it home that duck enjoys sweets and just food in general. in the “Its Nice That” QNA back in like 2016, half of ducks answers were about snacks and foods he liked. he said he finds yogurt exciting, and that his blood type is cream, etc. again, maybe im stretching, but it makes sense for him to enjoy these foods so much, because they’d probably make him feel better even if he doesn’t understand why. he probs thinks he just really fucking likes yogurt but in reality his blood sugar is literal ass.

moving on though, in the death episode he mentions forgetting to drink water, which is the cause of his literal death. dehydration is not a nice feeling, and its canon that the puppets experience pain like we do to an extent, so how long was duck feeling miserable without noticing? when the coffin cuts his finger he doesnt react at all, saying it “doesnt hurt that much” but pain is pain even if its small. he didnt even flinch to his finger being cut off. i dont think its the pain thats small, i think his pain tolerance is just too high for his own good. he probably didnt notice the pain of dehydration, or the pains of low blood pressure, or the pain of his insides being removed. he felt it, but he just didnt register how bad it really was. when he sees yellow guy being tore up in jobs he starts freaking out, obviously understanding that it must hurt, but if he was in the same situation he would be laughing. it makes me kind of sad in a way

there’s three ways i think this can be interpreted:

1: hes so desensitized to his own pain after eternity of being ripped apart that he doesnt even register when hes in pain anymore

2: hes so determined to be big and strong (like the military) that he refuses to acknowledge his pain because its a weakness he needs to get over

or 3: a mixture of both that is so bad it causes him to literally die of his own self-neglect. and even when his body tries to shut down and rest(die), he still refuses even that.

(plus, to add on to my runt-duck post, runts often have life-long health issues if they do live past infancy. i will die on the runt-duck hill. he is just like me.)

#‘what do you mean living isnt supposed to hurt? of course it is!’ #‘its a war and im winning!’ (in excruciating pain but will not admit it/thinks its normal) #dhmis duck #duck dhmis #duck guy #dont hug me im scared #dhmis analysis #dhmis tv series #dhmis tv show #dhmis theory

[brisquad-unit-4402]

luxiem as bad sex

don’t worry about it this is mostly for the lolz. might fuck around and do this for other livers next time i feel restless. make sure to properly communicate with your partner

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, smut, humor/crack, chatfic in shu’s entry, public sex, uki violeta cameo, cheating/ntr mention, just imagine the baldur’s gate 3 scene with the luxiem guy of your choice you know what i’m talking about

⚠️ nsfw under the cut. content not intended for minors.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

🖋 Ike Eveland: anatomy

there is a chance that, when you sleep with ike, despite his title, it’s his first time.

25% chance says that he fully does not know what he’s doing, and asks you for a full-blown tutorial on how to stick part a into part b.

25% chance says that he fully does not know what he’s doing but he doesn’t even admit to it. it’s a lot of trial and error and insistence that no, don’t worry, i got this when he very clearly does not.

25% chance that, for the first time in his life, eroge has come in clutch. he understands! kind of. it’s more like as he penetrates you he tries to compare your sounds to the moans of eroge characters. the more you sound like a hentai protagonist the better. it’s also worth noting he pumps into you to the beat of a huniepop song that worked its way into his head while he was trying to figure out what’s a good or bad sound.

and finally 25% chance that it’s just fine.

but let it be known that he 100% does not know how to find the clit. barely knows how to find the prostate either. ike won’t admit to either of these things

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

🦁 Luca Kaneshiro: openness

never let it be said luca is solitary. he’s social and likes to explore different spaces. it means dates happen often, and so does getting dragged off to give him head in public.

this would be fine if it was a bathroom stall. you know, the standard couple spots. what you didn’t expect was in a fairly open alley. or an amusement park ride with automatic souvenir pictures. or on the shady side of a beach full of people.

hell, even when you get into a changing room while shopping there’s still a risk. he’s gotten you to jack him off while wearing not-yet-purchased jeans more than once and as exciting as it was you have no clue what happened to the poor retail workers that had to find them hanging on the return-to-hanger rack.

at home he leaves doors open since it’s just the two of you, including when he goes down on you. he leaves them open when there’s guests, too, and guides you into your bedroom when he needs a break from talking to people. the doors are still open. you’re a master at being quiet but sometimes his puppy wanders around looking for his owner, and…

(side note: not about sex but i just know he would leave the door open or walk in on you using the bathroom and that terrifies me)

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👟 Shu Yamino: attentiveness

Me: hey

Me: hey

Me: are you awake??

taro_twink: abt to sleep

taro_twink: what do you want shu

Me: idk c:

taro_twink: so you blew up my phone??? bitch??

Me: fjakajsjsldj i wanted to talk to my friend!

taro_twink: wish granted

taro_twink: wyd?

Me: reader

taro_twink: don’t text on a date

Me: we’re at home

taro_twink: go spend time with reader then ffs

Me: i am

Me: reader feels really nice c:

taro_twink: wait

Me: and i like making reader say my name too

taro_twink: SHSKDKLSJA

taro_twink: WHAT FHE FUXK

taro_twink: ARE YOU SERIOUSLY TEXTINF ME RIFHT NOW

taro_twink: SHU YAMINO WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU

Me: dw reader hasn’t noticed my phone yet

taro_twink: THIS ISNT ABOUT READER ITS ABOUT ME

Me: my phone is by the pillow so it’s hard to see

taro_twink: ARE YOU SERIOUSLY TEXTING WHILE SCREWING SOMEONE????????????

Me: yea :homiekiss:

taro_twink: you are fucked up and i’m going to bed

taro_twink: so done with you jfc

taro_twink: gn

taro_twink: bye

taro_twink: if you say anything else i’m blocking your number

Me: you’re no fun

taro_twink: you are literally texting me while you’re doing your partner i don’t want to hear it

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👹 Vox Akuma: names

vox is noisy. delightfully so. it’s easy to communicate with him because he’s unconsciously vocal whenever he likes something.

these sounds, however, are usually limited to grunts, moans and cries. all well and good, but when things get more intense, he’s more inclined to scream your name.

and when his dick is in your mouth he can’t think straight, in the worst way.

this is just to say that even when you’re not roleplaying, he’s cried out a lot of names that aren’t yours. usually celebrities or fictional characters. you’ve lost count of how many tall/dark/handsome guys with long hair he’s cum to, or sassy women. hell, his celebrity crushes don’t even look like you.

if you have cheating fantasies this is excellent. if you have ntr fantasies, excellent as well. what isn’t excellent, however, is how last time you poured wax on him while fucking him from behind, he buried his face into the pillow and whimpered out your coworker’s name.

he was very lucky you didn’t have more wax to splash him with

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

#ike eveland #ike eveland x reader #luca kaneshiro #luca kaneshiro x reader #shu yamino #shu yamino x reader #vox akuma #vox akuma x reader #luxiem x reader #luxiem #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji en #ike eveland smut #luca kaneshiro smut #shu yamino smut #vox akuma smut #4402 writes #hear me out i just KNOW he can’t find the c/it

[em-harlsnow]

part 2 of my tattoo speed write, find part 1 here.

Tattoo date!!

so mickey goes in to get his tattoo with ian. he’s been for a consultation already because believe it or not he doesn’t want someone to do a shoddy job of it.

he’s drawn a cross between a serpent and dragon and shown the person doing it what size he wants and where he wants it.

ian asked him to draw his ‘MM’ tattoo as well so it’s sort of cursive, or at least has some swirly patterns ingrained into it because he doesn’t just want it printed on.

the guy doing it is just covered in tattoos and piercings. mickey thinks they look sort of cool, but the piercings look way too painful for him to ever consider it. the guy sits him down in the chair and starts running through the process, even if they already talked about it in the consultation. Ian’s sitting on a chair next to him, out of the way of the tattoo artist.

“I can see you’ve already got some ink, but i still have to go through everything.” Mickey nods. “So what you want is big, so it’ll take a couple of hours. Just a reminder: it is permanent. It’s not gonna rub out or wash off.” Mickey snorts, looking down at his knuckles and the guy laughs. “Yeah, i know you know that. I’ll draw it out first so you can confirm it’s what you want. But when we actually start just let me know any time you want to take a break. It’s also common for people to faint, so let me know if you feel lightheaded.”

He makes Mickey sign some stuff which he hardly reads because he understands that a tattoo is permanent thank you very much, and he is also familiar with the healing process and the pain.

So the guy starts to draw it out and that only takes like twenty minutes, during which him and ian just have a conversation about the next gallagher family thing. Then the guy asks Mickey to check if it’s okay, and Mickey’s pleased with it.

The tattoo artist (I’ve decided his name is Zyler) leaves the room to get the ink and prepare the needles.

“are u nervous?” Ian asks him, to which mickey rolls his eyes fondly.

“no, copper cock, i’m not nervous.” Except he is a little bit because tattoos still hurt and he’s never gotten one with this much fucking preparation before.

Ian just smiles at him and grabs his hand (on the side not getting tattooed) and mickey sighs but allows him to think he’s helping (which he definitely is)

Zyler returns and starts and yep, that fucking hurts. It’s not too bad after a while, and it’s the shoulder so it’s not close to the bone. he may have been drunk and it may have been a while ago but his knuckles hurt more by miles.

Zyler talks to them, asking about how long they’ve been married. ian answers most of the questions because Mickey’s not one to chit chat with strangers when he’s not being stabbed over and over by said stranger, never mind when he is.

Around half way through, Zyler says they’ll take a 30 minute break, because they’ve been there for like an hour already.

Ian reaches over to see how it is, and Mickey yells out.

“don’t touch it, idiot!”

“I’m not going to touch it, Mick, just let me have a look.”

Mickey twists to show him the progress and Ian smiles, telling him something like ‘looks good’.

Zyler talks to Mickey some more, asking about his current tattoos. Obviously, he’s had to take his shirt off for the procedure because even with sleeveless shirts it’s just easier to take it off entirely. Mickey tells him how he got his knuckles when he was like 14, to which Zyler looks surprised but not entirely shocked. Mickey explains how he designed the one on his forearm and got some unlicensed guy in Mexico to do it for him. He explains how he gave the ‘Ian Galager’ one to himself in prison, but doesn’t elaborate.

Zyler states that the nature of his previous tattoos makes sense considering his clearly high pain tolerance.

“I mean, i’ve been shot twice, so that probably has something to do with it as well.” Mickey laughs.

Zyler looks surprised again, because he may run a tattoo studio so he meets a lot of characters, but this is a lot.

“You’ve been shot twice?”

“Yup - all of ‘em his fault.” Mickey jabs a finger at Ian, which he snorts at.

“They aren’t my fault, they’re your fault. I was just in the vicinity.”

“In the vicinity my ass, Gallagher. Your fault.”

“You were the one who got too cocky and showed off to Kash, then got too cocky again and tried to steal a fuckin’ Grandfather clock, Mick. None of that was my fault.” Ian’s laughing and Zyler laughs too, although he looks somewhat puzzled. “Also - I was the one who got someone to patch up your ass the last time you got shot.”

“Yeah, i’m so fuckin’ grateful for your kitchen table and a grandpa with a pair of pliers”

“Better than your kitchen table with all the guns and knives on it and two dirty fuckin’ forks held by your high brothers.”

Mickey just does a little eye roll, and Zyler looks all the more intrigued as he cleans the equipment to continue.

“You got shot in the ass?” Is the bit he focuses on, too interested to maintain professionalism.

“Yup. All because of him.” Ian just rolls his eyes.

“The first one was in the leg, and both were because of your stealing habits.”

“Stealing habits- I don’t? I don’t have fuckin’ stealing habits, Gallagher. You’re making be sound like a klepto.”

Ian just rolls his eyes and smiles, squeezing his hand has Zyler starts up again.

“So… how long have you been together?” He asks, because all this lore he’s learning doesn’t sound like people who’ve been married for just two years.

“Better part of eleven years.” Ian answers.

“Jesus- how old are you two?”

“I’m 26. So, I was 15 when we first got together and he was 16.”

“Wow, real high school sweethearts.”

Mickey scoffs at the term.

“Yeah, I mean. We went to the same school so technically we’ve known each other since like elementary.”

Zyler raises his eyebrows again.

“But he looked like a dork in elementary so i didn’t go near him.” Mickey adds, voice somewhat strained.

Ian slaps his arm lightly.

When they’re finished, him and ian switch positions. Mickey’s shirt is back on, but he now has a plastic plaster-thing over the new ink. He keeps looking at it, almost touching it, and Ian slaps his hand away in warning not to.

Ian doesn’t even have to ask for Mickey to hold his hand during his tattoo, because he just does it anyway.

“Any meaning behind this one?” Zyler asks as he draws out the patterned ‘MM’ on his wrist.

“His initials.” Ian gestures towards Mickey with his head. “Mikhailo Milkovich.” And Mickey chides him for saying his full name because that wasn’t necessary, Gallagher. “He drew it, too.”

“That’s sweet.” Zyler tells them. “Usually I feel like people who get each others names tattooed aren’t gonna last, but I gotta say I think you guys might be the exception.” Ian beams and Mickey grumbles around a smile.

Ian squeezes Mickey’s hand tight throughout the whole thing, much the same as how Mickey had. He gets a matching plastic wrap and they both get some care-gel thing they need to put on each night as well as a reminder to put more sunscreen on areas with ink.

Ian waves a friendly goodbye to Zyler, and Zyler has a great story to tell his coworker Sasha, who he’s been hoping to ask out soon, when she gets back from her sister’s wedding.

#shameless #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #gallavich fic #shameless fanfiction