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shanastoryteller · 7 months

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Happy Fall Season! 🍁🍂🌻🎃👻🧛🏻‍♀️ … Three faced goddess continuation 👉🏻👈🏻? God dammit shana i fucking loved this prompt, 2012 Tony is the only version that has rights and I’ve had such a problem with him ever since aou, but your writing took me back to when I actually loved his character

a continuations of 1

Rhodey heads to the smith, unsurprised to see a line of people outside of it, waiting for the man inside to succumb to his need to eat or sleep and pounce on him for whatever issue they believe needs his immediate attention. Peter is among them, the closest to an apprentice that exists, but he can’t enter the forge without everyone else pushing in too, so he waits with all the rest of them.

When they see him coming, they groan, knowing their chances have been destroyed, except for Peter, who just looks relieved.

He remembers a time when Edward belonged to him alone. Edward exists because of him, after all, and needs must, but sometimes he can’t help but resent that this is another piece that he’s had to share.

“When I walk back out, it better be to an empty hallway,” he says blandly.

He receives a chorus of, “Yes, General,” and a jaunty wave from Peter before he’s opening the door and then shutting it firmly behind him.

In the beginning, the alchemy lab and the forge had occupied the same space, the outpost not yet big enough to have the rooms to spare. It had been quickly remedied once Rhodey had found about it, because the last thing any of them needed was losing him to an explosion of his own making, but he can’t say he’s surprised to see a cauldron bubbling ominously in the center of the room. “You have a lab for a reason.”

Surprised brown eyes snap up to meet his, and then there’s that familiar grin that always causes tension to unspool from his spine, even when it really shouldn’t. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. How goes the battle on the Eastern border?”

As if he doesn’t know. “They’re retreating. Our soldiers are holding the line and it looks like they’ve given up attacking us on that front. For now.”

“Sounds like something you should tell the king,” he says, frowning down into the cauldron as if it’s personally disappointed him.

Rhodey closes the distance between them, grabbing his chin and tilting his head to the side, frowning at the bruising mostly hidden by his hairline. “I am. But it’s a bit of wasted effort, considering the king is half the reason for their retreat.”

“Just half?” he pouts. “I really think that I deserve more credit-”

Rhodey kisses him to shut him up, a strategy that he’s been employing since they were teenagers, the whole reason necessitating Edward in the first place.

The second prince could not be scene dallying with someone so below him in station, the fact they were known to be friendly was a fluke of a broken wagon and much derision to all who heard of it. But Edward was no one, an educated fifth son of some nameless noble with a talent for metalwork, and no one cared if he kissed a commoner.

Then war had come knocking and a king could not do what needed to be done and so Edward had shifted from Rhodey’s to the country’s overnight.

Tony hums happily against his mouth and Rhodey pulls back rather than deepening it. Half the trick with was not letting him get distracted. “You need to get some sleep. Have you slept at all since getting back from the battle?”

The deep bruises under his eyes already tells him the answer, but it’s still worth asking.

“Need to figure this out,” he says, tilting his head to the cauldron. “It’s a coating for the blades to get them sharp enough to cut through armor. Not our armor, obviously, but other people’s.”

“A day,” he says, because Tony is needed everywhere at all times in all ways, and someone has to keep him from running himself into an early grave, and at the outpost, that’s him. “Just a day at home. I know you miss it. It’s been a while.”

Tony’s eyes go distant and fond. “Yes,” he agrees, and that one word has all the exhaustion that he won’t let show.

“You disappear all the time, no one will question it,” he murmurs, “I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’ll go if you will,” he returns. “You haven’t been home in even longer than I have.”

“Less of a need,” he argues, and he should argue against this too, when it’s unnecessary and dangerous, but he’s tired too. “Fine. We’ll need to sneak out to the woods if you don’t want to get caught.”

Tony clearly hadn’t expected him to agree that easily. “You hate flying.”

He hates how much pain it puts Tony in, but since he’s flying either way to get home, it doesn’t matter. “I’ll deal.”

Tony kisses him again, writes down some notes, douses the cauldron, and then they’re using the secret entrances that had actually been the whole point of building a lab near the forge. When they’re far enough away, Tony’s chest glows, the light and sparks spreading out from his chest to effulge his body and liquid gold and mercury sliding down his limbs. Rhodey has to close his eyes against the light, but Tony’s arms around him are always welcome, even when they burn almost too hot to stand.

The Iron Mage flying to the castle is a common enough sight that it raises no alarm and the brightness of Tony in flight means no one can tell he has a passenger, seen as nothing more than their own personal shooting star.

Tony melts the iron shutters back with a wave of his hand, likely reforming it behind them with a more intricate pattern than they’d been wrought with, because he always had such opinions about anything he hadn’t crafted himself.

He’s barely set Rhodey back onto his feet and folded the star back inside himself when there’s the running of little feet coming straight for them. Rhodey’s not surprised.

She’s always watching the stars, looking for her father.

Tony bends to pick up Morgan as she rounds the corner, barreling towards him with single minded intensity. “Daddy!”

“Hey, buttercup,” he says, hoisting her into her arms and settling her on his hip. “Miss me?”

“Yes,” she answers, wrapping her arms around Tony’s neck in a hug. She turns her head to grin at him, Tony’s eyes shining in her face. “Hi Rhodey. I missed you too.”

“Hi, Princess,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. She frees one arm from Tony to grab onto the front of his jacket, keeping him in place. He settled a hand on her back and that seems to satisfy her.

The door pushes open and Pepper is standing there, still with hair up and braided around a circlet and in a deep blue silk gown. “Someone here is supposed to be asleep.”

Tony and Morgan’s innocent faces are identical and equally unconvincing.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Rhodey asks.

“It’s all three of you, really,” she answers, striding forward. She squeezes his shoulder, then uses it as balance to push herself to her tip toes.

Tony bends to meet her in a kiss, chaste enough that Rhodey doesn’t feel the need to pull away but long enough that he assumes Tony’s sleep might end up experiencing a delay.

“I don’t want to go bed,” Morgan says. “Daddy’s home.”

“I’ll be here in the morning,” Tony says and Pepper’s face relaxes. “Come on, I’ll put you to bed myself, okay? And then you can tell me about all the new things you learned over breakfast.”

“I’m not tired,” she insists, but only waves at him when Tony pulls away to take her to her room.

Rhodey waves back, almost goes with them, but having the two of them there will just make her twice as riled up.

“I could have another, you know.”

He looks down at Pepper, blinking. “I thought – after the war?”

After the cave, after swallowing a star rather than being swallowed by it, Tony couldn’t justify staying on the sidelines, couldn’t justify only contributing to the war as Edward. Besides, being captured in the first place had shown him that he wasn’t safe as Edward anyway, but even Tony couldn’t justify taking to the battlefield without an heir, without a child of Stark blood to inherit, without a queen who could rule both while he fought and invented and in the event of his death.

Prince Gregory had been ten years older than Tony, he’d been the boy everyone knew would be king. Tony was just the spare, and not even one had on purpose. It’s why he’d had the freedom to meet Rhodey in the first place, to take on the name Edward and poke and prod his way through universities and labs and harassing blacksmiths into teaching him a craft a prince was never supposed to know. They’d assumed his father would arrange his marriage to some foreign noble for political reasons and Tony would install her onto an estate and do what was necessary to add a couple kids to the royal line and that would be that, he would then be free to spend his time on pursuits he enjoyed and with the man he loved. He was just the second prince, after all, it’s not like what he did really mattered, and he and Prince Gregory had never gotten along anyway.

Lots of people hadn’t gotten along with Prince Gregory, lots of people had thought his temper and his cruelty and several other attributes made him unsuitable as king. Maybe, on their own, they wouldn’t have mattered much – Rhodey thought Prince Gregory was not so much worse than King Howard – but he was constantly compared to the brother ten years his junior and found lacking.

They never found out who was behind the attack that killed Tony’s parents and brother. With their enemies sensing weakness and declaring war soon after, it was easy to pin the blame on them. But there were persistent rumors that it’d been someone, or several someones, that wanted Tony on the throne over his brother.

Rhodey doesn’t know if it’s true. All he knows is that relief rippled through the country far heavier than mourning.

The relationship he and Tony had, the future they’d mapped out, had been possible for a snubbed second prince and utterly impossible for a king. Tony had put off marriage for longer than he should have, but he couldn’t forever, and his urge to get out and fight now that he could pressed down on him.

Pepper had been his friend first. Their friend first. A noble, but only barely, and utterly unsuitable for the title of queen according to her pedigree and also the only one Tony would agree to marry so the rest hadn’t mattered.

If she were anyone else, he thinks he would have hated her. But Pepper had come to him after Tony had asked her and said, “I love him,” like throwing down a gauntlet.

He’d known. Who couldn’t help but love Tony, once they got to know him? And Pepper was beautiful and competent and trustworthy, could have Tony’s children and lead his country and keep all his secrets. And Tony might be able to resist falling in love with Pepper when she was only his friend and confidant, but as his wife, the mother of his children, his queen? He would fall.

“I want what’s best for him,” she’d continued in what he thought was going to be the worst conversation of his life, “and that’s me and you. He would never give you up. You know that. You should have a little more faith in him.”

“He needs you,” he’d said quietly. What Tony needed is something he couldn’t be, he wasn’t a noble or a woman.

Pepper had lifted her chin in defiance, every inch the queen she was going to become. “He needs us.”

That had been years ago. They made it work, awkwardly and painfully at first, but much smoother these days, warmer and easier. When the war ends, he thinks things might even be easy.

Tony and Pepper had needed to have a child and quickly, to secure the succession. She’d been pregnant within four months of their marriage and Princess Morgan’s birth had been greeted with relief by the country. Still, more heirs are better, especially with Starks being thin on the ground, but Tony resisted the idea of having another child in the midst of war, another child that he might die on and abandon.

Which is what makes Pepper’s statement so confusing.

“I didn’t mean right this second,” she says, lips turning up at the corners. “I know I’m not exactly your type, but I certainly wouldn’t mind the process myself. Morgan’s yours, of course, but if you wanted – I wouldn’t mind. Tony wouldn’t either.”

He understands what she’s offering and he’s shaking his head before she’s even finished talking. “We can’t – they’d know.”

“Maybe the next one will take after my genes,” she says. “Goddess knows Morgan’s all her father.”

She is, so clearly Stark, from her eyes to her intelligence to her love of trouble. But there’s no way a child of his could pass as a child Tony’s, which is what any child of the queen’s would have to be. Even if they came out pale enough to pass as a Stark, which isn’t any sort of risk they could take, it wouldn’t be worth the risk of anyone finding out that a child in line for the throne was not of the Goddess blessed bloodline.

“Tony’s children are my children,” he says, and means it. Pepper and Tony had always been clear about that and it had been a relief, to not have to be so close and yet so far, to be able to love Morgan as his daughter even if it was nothing he could ever say out loud. “Go and help him with her. I know you have a lot to catch up on.”

He’ll go to his room, with the bed and comforts that he’s missed quiet a lot, and get the sleep that he’s also missed.

She sighs, squeezing his arm. “Don’t wander. I get up early and Tony never sleeps through it.”

Tony will get up with her, and kiss her as she heads to the hall, then go down to his room and crawl into bed with him, still sleep warm, until he has to get up and put in an appearance as King Anthony.

Rhodey smiles and nudges her towards the hall. “Go on, your husband is waiting.”

“Our husband,” she corrects imperiously and doesn’t move until he laughs and nods and repeats her words back to her.

#i actually think everyone's characterizations in aou onward were utter garbage lol #like i think tony gets shafted a lot because i love him but also they really just made everyone unlikable #the last marvel movie that was real to me was catws #damn this is so long #i'm just having a lot of fun with this au #asks #anon #prompt answers #prompts are closed #avengers

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iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin · 3 months

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bully⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

monday, kim jiwoong — advanced drama

⋆˙⟡ zbully1 smut series masterlist! hanbin, jiwoong, hao, matthew, and taerae included. game day (group) chapter here. all 7 endings here.

⋆˙⟡ wc: 2.8k ⋆˙⟡ reader: femme afab (listed first, she/her are used a couple times) // gender neutral (alternate version listed second, no pronouns used at all to describe reader— scroll down) ⋆˙⟡ series summary: five bullies. six days. it's gonna be a hell of a week, babe. stay hydrated. ⋆˙⟡ monday summary: it's monday, the first day of the school week. you're excited for your advanced drama class, but not too keen on the person you're always forced to run into there. suave, charismatic, repulsively arrogant: kim jiwoong lives to make your life just a bit harder. and lucky you: today he's your scene partner. ⋆˙⟡ warnings: explicit smut. 18+. minors do not interact. please read specific warnings under the cut! angst. lighttt dub-con. bullying. jiwoong plays romeo, that should be a warning for the faint of heart. the smut is fairly light in general. it's only monday guys, we have to survive six consecutive days so let's pace ourselves, ya know? ⋆˙⟡ bully scale: ★★★☆☆ (3)

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: fingering/heavy petting (reader receiving), dub-con kind of sort of idk better safe than sorry, bullying, degrading sexual names.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

“an exciting day today, as always,” professor lee announces from the center of your chair circle. “we’ll be performing a series of famous two-character scenes in the second half of the class and you’ll have the first half to prepare with your scene partner.”

all of your classmates begin to whisper loudly. several two-character scenes would undoubtedly include some romance. the thought made your head spin with anxiety.

your best friend mina softly kicks your foot with her’s. you turn to look at her, a stunning grin shining back at you.

“i hope i get paired with jiwoong oppa,” she says, giggling quietly.

you scowl. even knowing all the hell that kim jiwoong and his rat bastard friends have caused you this entire year, mina persistently eyes the inconveniently beautiful man with googly eyes through every class.

curious as to how the man himself is reacting to today’s assignment, you steal a glance in his direction: a terrible mistake. jiwoong is leaned back in his chair, one shoe resting on the opposite knee in a cocky, relaxed position. his hair is pushed neatly behind his ears, fashionable brown slacks and a cream-colored sweater tucked into his belt— arms crossed over his chest.

skin perfect and glowing under his black, wire-framed glasses. tongue poking at his cheek in an arrogant smile.

staring right at you.

you immediately look back down at your lap, trying your best to appear unbothered by the bait that jiwoong’s hooked for you.

“i’ll be picking names out of this jar to assign parts at random and, from there, we’ll just jump right in,” professor lee explains as the chatter comes to a halt. “there’s props and minimal costume pieces in the storage closet at your disposal as usual.”

mina bounces her leg happily beside you, fingers crossed behind her chair for good luck. you shake your head sadly. the thing she’s wishing for is the thing you dread most.

“the first scene will be from bonnie and clyde. caroline-sshi will be reading for bonnie,” professor lee calls as he pulls the first slip of paper out of the jar, followed by the second. “and ichan-sshi will read for clyde.”

there’s a chorus of teasing oooooh’s throughout the room, caroline and ichan shyly waving to each other until your professor holds up his hand for silence.

“for our second scene, we have an excerpt from medea,” professor lee says, reaching into the glass jar. “the role of medea will be played by… mina-sshi. and the role of jason will be played by…”

mina’s eyes light up at both the meaty assignment and the anticipation of who her scene partner will be.

“yijin-sshi,” he finishes.

the class giggles at the two sweet girls playing such contentious ex-lovers. mina sighs disappointedly and returns her attention to her shoes.

“our third scene will be from romeo and juliet,” professor lee calls, two slips of paper between his fingers. “reading for romeo, we’ll have… jiwoong-sshi.”

nearly everyone gasps in awe at the casting. how fitting of an actor for such a part! how did jiwoong always manage to get assigned the best roles? who will get to read for juliet?

you dare to steal another glimpse at jiwoong. he’s sitting forward now, legs spread apart with his forearms resting on his thighs— focusing on his hands as he waits. you truly feel sorry for the chump that has to spend the next forty minutes alone with him.

“and the role of juliet will be played by… (y/n)-sshi.”

oh for f*ck’s sake. out of 19 possible partners, of course you’d end up having the terrible luck of being paired with kim jiwoong.

he licks his tongue lightly across his teeth like a predator taunting his prey. you were, for all intents and purposes, fucked.

“while the romantic blocking written in several of these scenes is technically optional,” professor lee says, holding up his hands as if to calm the nervous energy in the room. “it plays an important part in the emotional integrity of the character dynamics. only do what you’re comfortable with, but consider why a stage direction is written and do take it seriously.”

professor lee finishes announcing the rest of the pairings before dismissing you to get to work on your scenes.

“i’m so jealous,” mina whines, stamping her foot cutely as she stands up from her chair. “are you gonna kiss him? if it’s in the scene?”

“KISS HIM!?” you shout, driven by pure shock and disgust. nearly everyone in your class turns to look at you, but you’re too disturbed to care. it was a ridiculous question. there’s no way jiwoong would ever lower himself to kiss you. besides, he’ll be too busy using his mouth to insult you the whole time.

but mina did raise a good question that you hadn’t fully considered yet. just how romantic would the scene you’re assigned be?

“thinking about me?”

the voice comes from behind you, so close in proximity that it makes you jump. you stumble backwards, your back tapping against a solid surface.

looking over your shoulder, you recoil at the sight of kim jiwoong hovering over you, a shaky denial leaving your lips, “i w-wasn’t...”

“explain to me again how you made it into advanced drama with those piss-poor acting skills?” jiwoong huffs, knocking into your shoulder with his as he brushes past you towards the door. when you don’t follow him, he turns around and glares at you expectantly. “did you forget how to walk or something?”

you shake your head silently and run after him out the door. a gap of at least a couple feet forms between you and jiwoong as you struggle to match his determined stride. “um, where are we going?”

“stage. duh,” jiwoong answers plainly, rounding the corner. “if we get there first, we get it all to ourselves and everyone else can fuck off.”

you gulp. you could barely survive jiwoong’s bullying in a crowded room. all alone with jiwoong— no witnesses to keep him at bay… you didn’t like the sound of it.

as you finally reach the side door to the auditorium, jiwoong opens it and lets it swing before you can step inside. it nearly slams into your nose until you catch it with your elbow at the very last second.

“look at you,” jiwoong says with a dark chuckle. “maybe you’re more coordinated than matthew lets on. should we keep testing that theory?”

you inhale deeply, trying your damnedest to not let him get to you yet. you still had thirty-nine long minutes to go. shaking your head in response, you follow him up the stairs and onto the stage. there’s some larger set pieces currently in use in preparation for the winter play; a corner tableau with walls occupies stage right.

jiwoong tosses your script (at your face) and it falls delicately to the ground in front of your feet. “aren’t you gonna pick that up?”

bending down carefully in your short skirt, you pick up your script and flip to the first page of dialogue. your hands are starting to tremble under the pressure of jiwoong’s piercing gaze.

“come here, we can do a cold read first,” he instructs, flipping open his own script. “follow stage directions, but we’ll iron them out later.”

you nod in complacency but stay exactly where you are beside the wall of the corner set— six safe feet away from kim jiwoong.

“seriously?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you incredulously. “scared i’m gonna bite you?”

your lips part slightly at this remark. you hadn’t been scared of this before, but under the circumstances...

“or maybe you’re scared you’ll bite me,” jiwoong hums smugly. “think you might fall for me during our love scene? that’s almost unbearably pathetic.”

“please just read the script,” you reply quietly, gaze returning to your script. i am unbothered. i am in control of my own destiny, your therapist’s stupid affirmations ring through your head.

jiwoong stares at you for a moment and then, much to your surprise, he obliges.

you take advantage of this, reading through the script carefully and marking the blocking lightly from your fixed position on the stage. as you recite your lines, your ears burn red at what becomes clear to you: the scene is, for lack of a better word, sexy. juliet is a young virgin who is absolutely taken with the charismatic, handsome romeo. he desperately wants to kiss her and then some and juliet wants the same— though she has to feign that she doesn’t because of female fragility or some other bullshit, antiquated principle.

“if i profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss,” jiwoong reads, your heart dropping to your stomach. he makes an agonizingly convincing romeo: charming, witty... gorgeous.

why was this scene beginning to feel kind of... real?

“good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,” you read your next line softly, attempting to steady your nerves as your script shakes between your fingers. “and palm to palm is holy palmers’… k—... kiss.”

jiwoong feeds off of your hesitation, a dangerous smirk darkening his features. this scene is evoking a visible reaction out of you and he’s as aware of it as you are. setting his script down on the hardwood stage floor, jiwoong recites perfectly, “have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

“stop it,” you say through gritted teeth as he unsubtly eyes you up and down. you don’t care if he’s in character or not— he’s just trying to get under your skin. “stop doing that.”

he steps towards you, the air souring from the magnitude of his arrogance. “i don’t think that’s your line, now is it?”

“don’t come any closer,” you warn again, a little more conviction this time but still not enough to stop his perpetual motion. you try to move, but your feet are frozen to the floor. at least, you assume they are. that’s the reason you’re not moving, right?

it has to be.

jiwoong takes another step and then another, the distance between you diminishing rapidly.

“if you come any closer, i’ll—… i’ll tell professor lee,” you threaten in panic. he’s just a few inches from you now and you can smell his sharp, spiced cologne. “i’ll tell him everything you’ve ever said to me, you absolute... TWAT ROCKET!”

“ooh, i like the creativity. but it’s still not your line,” he whispers, clucking his tongue in disappointment. “shouldn’t you be taking this a little more seriously, (y/n)-sshi? where’s my stick-up-her-ass, goody two-shoes when i need her, hm? do you want us to both fail today’s assignment or something?”

you did not want to fail today’s assignment. jiwoong bullying you through your whole rehearsal wasn’t exactly helping your chances, but there was hardly an available remedy for that. the only way forward was to just try to be the bigger, more professional actor. sighing resignedly, you read your next line: “ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”

jiwoong somehow comes closer still, hovering over you like you’re a moth he plans to ensnare in his deadly flame. he raises his hand to your cheek and you flinch, expecting some sort of dull impact. you open your eyes when there is none. when your eyes meet his, jiwoong lifts his index finger— brushing it against your bottom lip as you stand there, unblinking in your shock. “o, then, dear saint... let lips do what hands do.”

he tugs your bottom lip down slightly, running the tip of his thumb gently across the soft, wet inside. you’re screaming inside your head, but not a single sound makes its way out of your mouth. jiwoong has called you names, pulled your hair, left red rashes from twisting the skin on your arms for two years now...

but this is easily the meanest thing he’s ever done.

“they pray, grant thou,” he continues his line, thumb trailing from your lips, past your chin and down your neck. you gasp when he stops at the collar of your shirt, not sure if you’re more disturbed by his audacity to do this or his audacity to suddenly stop. you curse the aching feeling that you now realize has been radiating from your heat since you stepped on this stage. how could your body betray you like this?

jiwoong exhales a mean laugh as he searches your eyes and easily finds what you’re so poorly trying to hide. maybe you really didn’t belong in advanced drama after all.

continuing his trail down the center of your chest and over the curve of your stomach, he breathes, “lest faith turn to despair.”

“jiwoongie,” you whisper, eyes locked on his hand just a couple inches from your clothed core. begging for him to stop; begging for him to start— it’s anyone’s guess. “you—... i—...”

“how thick is your skull that i have to keep reminding you to read your fucking line,” he hisses, the harsh insult sounds just like honey to you. his eyes appear almost black, daring you to disobey him.

you want to run away. you need to stay exactly where you are.

“saints—... saints do not move,” you manage to squeak. “though grant for prayers’ sake.”

“then move not,” jiwoong recites, his left hand finding your hip as he presses you up against the set piece behind you, “while my prayer’s effect i take.”

you don’t know how you’re still breathing as jiwoong’s middle and ring fingers find their way under your skirt and between your legs. a whimper escapes you as he finds the sensitive bud, bucking your hips slightly into his hand at the wave of arousal.

“that easy, baby? feel good?” jiwoong asks rhetorically, as if the growing volume of your mewls isn’t enough proof for him. “fuck, i’ve wanted to do this forever.”

“but—...y-you hate me,” you counter, grinding into his fingers again. jiwoong moans softly at your assertiveness, biting his bottom lip as he works you over.

“i don’t know what that has to do with wanting to fuck you,” he replies, attaching his lips to your collarbone as he shoves the damp fabric of your panties to the side. “really wanna fuck you.”

“jiwoongie,” you whine again, script falling from your hand and onto the floor. your arms wrap around his neck for support as your legs start to weaken. “i—… i think you were just supposed to kiss me.”

“huh. is that right?” he asks, grinning at your adorably innocent protest as he takes his hand off your hip and starts to fool with his belt buckle. “well, professor lee always says to lean into the scene. and you looked like you could use some leaning into.”

“i c-can’t believe i’m letting you do this,” you rasp, biting your bottom lip as the top button of jiwoong’s slacks comes undone.

“i can,” he grunts, flipping you around so that your chest is squished against the wall. his gruff hands push up your skirt and knead into your hips and ass as he admires your form. “fucking insufferable little angel. was hoping you’d secretly be a filthy slut. just for me though, right?”

though hearing jiwoong demean you would normally bring tears to your eyes, it’s intoxicating to you in this moment. it’s a scary, complicated feeling and the only truth you know falls from your lips: “i... hate you.”

“mm, whatever you say baby,” he coos mockingly, the sounds of your arousal growing louder and wetter against his fingers. he flips you back over to face him eagerly. “but you want my cock in you, yeah?”

your lips part as you stare at the bulge in his pants, mouth watering slightly. to your surprise and horror, you really do want it. if you let this happen, the consequences you’ll face could be detrimental.

but in this moment, watching a wavy lock of jiwoong’s hair fall across his forehead as his middle finger starts to prod at your entrance: you want him— need him inside you. your brain is clouded; vision lustful and hazy. how much does jiwoong’s past treatment of you really matter?

“(y/n)!” a voice rings out from the house of the auditorium.

“come fucking on,” jiwoong groans in frustration, your eyes wide like a deer in headlights. somehow it hadn’t even crossed your mind that you might get caught in the act. you start to struggle in jiwoong’s grasp, looking everywhere for a quick exit. he throws a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, shimmying your skirt back back down over your ass with the other.

“jiwoong-sshi! (y/n)-sshi! time to get ready for performances!”

after running a smoothing hand through your hair for you, jiwoong suddenly pushes you out from behind the set piece you’re pressed up against. you stumble nervously onto center stage.

“oh my god, (y/n)!” mina calls excitedly, running over to you. “how did it go!? where’s jiwoong oppa? did he kiss you? was it amazing? does he taste like smoke and cinnamon? are his lips soft like clouds?”

“mina, that’s enough,” you shush awkwardly, knowing full well jiwoong can hear everything she’s saying— undoubtedly smirking like a wild hyena, that bastard. coming out of your spell of lust, you shudder as the reality of what just happened starts to sink in. how could you let an asshole like him put his hands all over you— almost put himself inside of you? the only answer to all of mina’s questions you can manage is a truthful one: “we didn’t kiss.”

“oh,” mina replies with a small smile, probably happy that there’s still hope for her. “that’s too bad.”

“what’s too bad?” jiwoong asks, stepping out on stage next to you. he hands you your script, tucking his own under his arm. you notice his belt is buckled again. “sorry, i was getting our scripts.”

“nothing!” mina answers much too enthusiastically. “everything’s so, so good actually. now that you’re here. i mean, because professor lee sent me here to find you. and i found you! so everything’s great. perfect, even.”

jiwoong chuckles, turning to you: a malicious glint in his eye. he bites his lip, one corner of his mouth upturning in a mocking smile. then, he turns back to mina before sitting down on the edge of the stage and hopping off. “you know, i really wish we could’ve worked together on this one, mona.”

“it’s mina,” you correct, tears prickling the corners of your eyes. yes, you could see very clearly now. this had all been a sick little game to jiwoong. and you’d fallen right into his trap. he knew you would.

“sure, whatever,” he says, dismissing you with a passive wave of his hand. throwing an arm around mina’s shoulder, jiwoong leads your best friend toward the side door of the auditorium that you’d entered through. “but, like i was saying... i think we’d have a lot of chemistry, muna. maybe you’d like to work more on developing that with me... outside of class?”

the door slams behind them, leaving you standing alone in the spotlight of center stage. your underwear is wet and uncomfortable; your heart races as you blink back tears. of course jiwoong would be cruel enough to use your best friend to deal the final blow.

and, though jiwoong had apparently studied this scene before, you hadn’t even memorized any of your lines.

yes, you’d let your guard down. but how were you supposed to know that something like that would happen? though jiwoong and his friends often made disparaging sexual remarks towards you, he wasn’t someone you thought would want to act on them. the biggest fear crosses your mind now: would he tell his stupid fucking friends about how much of a desperate whore you’d been for him just now?

mondays, you think. at least jiwoong would be out of your sight for another week after today. you walk to the steps at the side of the stage, following jiwoong and mina’s exit route.

at least you can hope that tuesday will be better.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

gender neutral version below

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: heavy petting (reader receiving), dub-con kind of sort of idk better safe than sorry, bullying, degrading sexual names.

*also want to say that reader plays juliet in a RANDOMLY ASSIGNED scene during class. other people in the fic are assigned parts that are a different gender than they are. just wanted to mention this just in case it makes anyone uncomfy!!

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

all of your classmates begin to whisper loudly. several two-character scenes would undoubtedly include some romance. the thought made your head spin with anxiety.

your best friend mina softly kicks your foot with her’s. you turn to look at her, a stunning grin shining back at you.

“i hope i get paired with jiwoong oppa,” she says, giggling quietly.

skin perfect and glowing under his black, wire-framed glasses. tongue poking at his cheek in an arrogant smile.

staring right at you.

you immediately look back down at your lap, trying your best to appear unbothered by the bait that jiwoong’s hooked for you.

“i’ll be picking names out of this jar to assign parts completely at random and, from there, we’ll just jump right in,” professor lee explains as the chatter comes to a halt. “there’s props and minimal costume pieces in the storage closet at your disposal as usual.”

mina bounces her leg happily beside you, fingers crossed behind her chair for good luck. you shake your head sadly. the thing she’s wishing for is the thing you dread most.

there’s a chorus of teasing oooooh’s throughout the room, caroline and ichan shyly waving to each other until your professor holds up his hand for silence.

mina’s eyes light up at both the meaty assignment and the anticipation of who her scene partner will be.

“yijin-sshi,” he finishes.

the class giggles at the two sweet girls playing such contentious ex-lovers. mina sighs disappointedly and returns her attention to her shoes.

“our third scene will be from romeo and juliet,” professor lee calls, two slips of paper between his fingers. “reading for romeo, we’ll have… jiwoong-sshi.”

nearly everyone gasps in awe at the casting. how fitting of an actor for such a part! how did jiwoong always manage to get assigned the best roles? who will get to read for juliet?

“and the role of juliet will be played by… (y/n)-sshi.”

oh for f*ck’s sake. out of 19 possible partners, of course you’d end up having the terrible luck of being paired with kim jiwoong.

he licks his tongue lightly across his teeth like a predator taunting his prey. you were, for all intents and purposes, fucked.

professor lee finishes announcing the rest of the pairings before dismissing you to get to work on your scenes.

“i’m so jealous,” mina whines, stamping her foot cutely as she stands up from her chair. “are you gonna kiss him? if it’s in the scene?”

but mina did raise a good question that you hadn’t fully considered yet. just how romantic would the scene you’re assigned be?

“thinking about me?”

the voice comes from behind you, so close in proximity that it makes you jump. you stumble backwards, your back tapping against a solid surface.

looking over your shoulder, you recoil at the sight of kim jiwoong hovering over you, a shaky denial leaving your lips, “i w-wasn’t...”

“stage. duh,” jiwoong answers plainly, rounding the corner. “if we get there first, we get it all to ourselves and everyone else can fuck off.”

you gulp. you could barely survive jiwoong’s bullying in a crowded room. all alone with jiwoong— no witnesses to keep him at bay… you didn’t like the sound of it.

“look at you,” jiwoong says with a dark chuckle. “maybe you’re more coordinated than matthew lets on. should we keep testing that theory?”

jiwoong tosses your script (at your face) and it falls delicately to the ground in front of your feet. “aren’t you gonna pick that up?”

bending down carefully, you pick up your script and flip to the first page of dialogue. your hands are starting to tremble under the pressure of jiwoong’s piercing gaze.

“come here, we can do a cold read first,” he instructs, flipping open his own script. “follow stage directions, but we’ll iron them out later.”

you nod in complacency but stay exactly where you are beside the wall of the corner set— six safe feet away from kim jiwoong.

“seriously?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you incredulously. “scared i’m gonna bite you?”

your lips part slightly at this remark. you hadn’t been scared of this before, but under the circumstances...

“or maybe you’re scared you’ll bite me,” jiwoong hums smugly. “think you might fall for me during our love scene? that’s almost unbearably pathetic.”

“please just read the script,” you reply quietly, gaze returning to your script. i am unbothered. i am in control of my own destiny, your therapist’s stupid affirmations ring through your head.

jiwoong stares at you for a moment and then, much to your surprise, he obliges.

why was this scene beginning to feel kind of... real?

“stop it,” you say through gritted teeth as he unsubtly eyes you up and down. you don’t care if he’s in character or not— he’s just trying to get under your skin. “stop doing that.”

he steps towards you, the air souring from the magnitude of his arrogance. “i don’t think that’s your line, now is it?”

it has to be.

jiwoong takes another step and then another, the distance between you diminishing rapidly.

“ooh, i like the creativity. but it’s still not your line,” he whispers, clucking his tongue in disappointment. “shouldn’t you be taking this a little more seriously, (y/n)-sshi? do you want us to both fail today’s assignment or something?”

but this is easily the meanest thing he’s ever done.

jiwoong exhales a mean laugh as he searches your eyes and easily finds what you’re so poorly trying to hide. maybe you really didn’t belong in advanced drama after all.

continuing his trail down the center of your chest and over your stomach, he breathes, “lest faith turn to despair.”

“jiwoongie,” you whisper, eyes locked on his hand just a couple inches from your clothed core. begging for him to stop; begging for him to start— it’s anyone’s guess. “you—... i—...”

you want to run away. you need to stay exactly where you are.

“saints—... saints do not move,” you manage to squeak. “though grant for prayers’ sake.”

“then move not,” jiwoong recites, his left hand finding your hip as he presses you up against the set piece behind you, “while my prayer’s effect i take.”

you don’t know how you’re still breathing as jiwoong’s hand finds it’s way between your legs. a whimper escapes you as you buck your hips slightly into his palm at the wave of arousal.

“that easy, baby? feel good?” jiwoong asks rhetorically, as if the growing volume of your mewls isn’t enough proof for him. “fuck, i’ve wanted to do this forever.”

“but—...y-you hate me,” you counter, grinding against his fingers again. jiwoong moans softly at your assertiveness, biting his bottom lip as he works you over.

“i don’t know what that has to do with wanting to fuck you,” he replies, attaching his lips to your collarbone as he starts to tug at your waistband. “really wanna fuck you.”

“huh. is that right?” he asks, grinning at your adorably innocent protest as he brings his left hand to fool with his belt buckle. “well, professor lee always says to lean into the scene. and you looked like you could use some leaning into.”

“i c-can’t believe i’m letting you do this,” you rasp, biting your bottom lip as the top button of jiwoong’s slacks comes undone.

“i can,” he grunts, gruff fingers pulling down his zipper. “fucking insufferable angel. was hoping you’d secretly be filthy like this. just for me though, right?”

“mm, whatever you say baby,” he coos mockingly, the sound of your moaning growing less concealable. “but you want my cock in you, yeah?”

“(y/n)!” a voice rings out from the house of the auditorium.

“jiwoong-sshi! (y/n)-sshi! time to get ready for performances!”

after running a smoothing hand across the top of your head for you, jiwoong suddenly pushes you out from behind the set piece you’re pressed up against. you stumble nervously onto center stage.

“oh,” mina replies with a small smile, probably happy that there’s still hope for her. “that’s too bad.”

and, though jiwoong had apparently studied this scene before, you hadn’t even memorized any of your lines.

mondays, you think. at least jiwoong would be out of your sight for another week after today. you walk to the steps at the side of the stage, following jiwoong and mina’s exit route.

at least you can hope that tuesday will be better.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

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dwonfilm · 2 months

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There’s no life after you. | Dean Winchester x Reader (one-shot)

Summary: Dean felt like he had no other option than to push [Y/N] out of his life completely. When he and Sam find a case in her hometown, he’s hit with all of the emotions he’d tried for so long to bury.

Warnings: swearing, mild-angst, mostly sadness and ending with fluff.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Flashbacks are in bold.

Dean and Sam had found a case in Reno, Nevada—a city that had a lot of memories particularly for the older Winchester. Sure they’d worked a dozen or more cases around here over the years but that wasn’t the type of memories that kept playing on his mind. He only wished it was that simple. Sam had opted to take the backseat, needing some extra rest on the drive and Dean usually drove his precious ‘67 impala anyway. Ever since they’d found this case, the eldest Winchester was uneasy. Not because it was anything special, from the details online it seemed like it was just another vamps nest—maybe even just a handful travelling together.

No, what began to plague his mind was something that cut much deeper than that. All he could think about was you.

It had been roughly two years since he’d last seen you. Every other second of the last year and half had been him fighting the urge to reach out, knowing two things for certain. One: you’d be far better off without him holding you down. Two: even if that wasn’t the case, he’d really hurt you the last time you spoke and despite how much he missed you.. you’d likely never speak to him again—but that’s what he’d wanted right? You to move on, you to live a life that wasn’t plagued by the dangers of all things supernatural. Find a good man, a normal man, settle down.. get married and have kids. Not have to worry about tending to someone who had spent his entire life broken. Shaking his head to try and rid himself of these thoughts, it seemed the universe had other plans.

It seemed at some point in the drive his playlist had changed and delved into the ‘divorced dad rock’ side of things—the first few notes of what he recognized as a Daughtry song began to play. Seemingly just as they’d finally crossed the state lines into Nevada, the lyrics began..

“Ten miles from town and I just broke down, spitting out smoke on the side of the road. I’m out here alone, just trying to get home to tell you I was wrong but you already know. Believe me I won’t stop at nothing to see you so I’ve started running.”

Now Dean knew exactly what song this was and it damn sure wasn’t helping with his desperate need to stop thinking about you. He reached out to change the song but when the chorus hit, he stopped and his finger merely hovered above the button.

“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter, as long as I’m laughing with you—and I think that all that still matters is love ever after, after the life we’ve been through. ‘Cause I know there’s no life after you.”

It was as if the song was delivered down by the hand of God himself, which only made the ache in Dean’s heart that much worse. He’d been in pain ever since he left two years prior, but he had no right to be—he knew that. After all, the reason he didn’t have you by his side was because he left. It was because he walked away. Deeply he’d sigh as the next verse again would line up with the exact thought in his head.

“Last time we talked, the night that I walked burns like an iron in the back of my mind. I must have been high, to say you and I, weren’t meant to be and just wasting my time. Oh why did I ever doubt you? You know I would die here without you.”

Death had truly paled in comparison to how he felt seeing the look in your eyes. All of the pain, the hurt as he watched you break in front of his very eyes. You’d been together three years in total, but what you didn’t know—what he refused to tell you is that his worst fear was becoming a reality. Lucifer had threatened you in order to make Dean comply with his demand. He’d figured out the only way to get to the elder Winchester was through you, seeing as Lucifer himself needed Sam for his own personal vendettas. It wasn’t long after this that Dean knew he had to get as far away from you as possible. All the pain and suffering he’d endured in his lifetime would be nothing if your death was due to him. He couldn’t live with that and more importantly, you deserved more than that out of this life.

Sam began to stir in the backseat, which he’s caught sight of through the rear view mirror and so Dean quickly changed the station. He’d use Metallica specifically to shift the mood before his brother woke up and started asking too many questions. Questions that Dean wouldn’t have the answers to and he was already battling his mind to keep it all at bay.

Gripping Baby’s wheel tightly in his hands, he’d continue to path to Reno. About fifteen minutes later was when Sam’s eyes actually opened. “Mornin’ sleeping beauty.” Dean said with a (fake) smile on his face. “Ha-ha, very funny. Wait.. how long was I out? Are we in Nevada already?” He asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and noting their desert-like surroundings. “I don’t know, hours Sammy. Yeah we’re in Nevada—about an hour or two ‘til Reno.” Just saying the name of the city was enough to have him nervous again. There was a brief bit of silence between the brothers, Sam had a thought on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t know whether he should say it. Dean’s eyes had fixated on the road ahead and he sensed that his younger brother was gonna bring it up—bring you up, he’d always really liked you. Besides that, he could always seem to tell when things were troubling Dean despite his best efforts to hide it. “You know you could-“ Sam started but knowing it was coming, the elder brother immediately shut it down. “Sam, don’t. Please. I can’t and you know that.” Dean’s voice was shaky and that let him know that he’d already been thinking about things far too long. “You’ve been thinking about it. I know you, man. You think I didn’t see the look on your face when I told you we had something in Reno?” He sighed, knowing that his older brother was struggling with this didn’t make him feel good but he also knew it was making Dean feel worse. “Sammy, please.. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

Sam would shake his head but he let it go, rehashing this with Dean while he was attempting to drive wasn’t gonna end well for either of them. Not to mention an hour and a half of odd tension in such a small place wasn’t ideal either. Instead, the younger brother’s eyes averted from the front of the car altogether as he turned to gaze out the window next to him. Sighing partially in relief and partially from the lingering thoughts, Dean would fully place his attention on the road and on the directions to this particular motel. They needed to get in, solve this case and get out before he did something he’d been trying for quite some time not to do.

Surprisingly this case was a little more difficult to follow through on, these vampires were incredibly elusive and their nest wasn’t the easiest to find. However, after a couple days lingering around they finally located the nest and were able to kill the three vamps that had been killing the locals. As it had become part of the job, Sam and Dean went out to a local dive bar to celebrate the victory—but Dean was trying to do more than that. He was trying to drown the lingering thoughts of you with whiskey, swallowing the liquid and letting it gently burn his throat. This would end up having the opposite effect and only made him think of you more. Over the first hour and change the brothers spent at the bar, three separate girls tried to hit on Dean but he didn’t really pay them any mind. Around the two hour mark the elder of the brothers decided he needed some air, getting up and walking outside. Dragging his dominant hand over his face he was doing anything to cling to that last bit of pride that he had. You were better off and he knew that, but every day that had been lost it was eating at him slowly. He needed a distraction and so he walked over to his precious car, getting into the driver’s seat and sighing. One flick of the wrist and the lights would come on, the radio coming in clear as day: it was that goddamn song again.

“You and I, right or wrong, there’s no other one. After this time spent alone it’s hard to believe that a man with sight could be so blind, thinking about the better times.. must’ve been out of my mind. So I’m running back to tell you.”

Again it seemed like the universe had intervened and Dean Winchester was far too drunk to fight it. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes and right now, all that he needed was you. He opened up the driver’s side door and got out just to come face to face with Sam, who had been worried when he couldn’t locate his brother in the bar. “What is it Dean?” He asked, noting the emotional state it was clear he was in—confused but not entirely. It wasn’t like him to be so open with his emotions, but you’d helped him with that. “I need to see her, Sammy. I can’t do this anymore.” There was enough emotion in his voice for his younger brother to know what he meant. Nodding Sam would approach the driver’s side door. “I’m driving, we’re not risking it with you.” Dean normally would protest but right now? All he needed to do was get to you. It didn’t matter how, he just needed to fill the void that he’d put there himself.

“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter, without you god knows what I’d do.”

Dean’s eyes were technically gazing out the window, but that’s not what he saw. His mind was flashing different images in rotation—one happy memory with you followed up by something he’d done to chase your memory away after he’d run away.

“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter, as long as I’m laughing with you and I think that all that still matters is love ever after—after the life we’ve been through. I know there’s no life after you.”

It seemed fast, but it had probably been about thirty minutes of time that had passed. Not that you lived very far at all, if you were even still at the last address the Winchesters had for you—Sam took a longer route hoping that Dean would sober up a little more before talking with you. Anyone would be able to smell the whiskey on him at this moment, but his words needed to be coherent if there was any chance of you hearing him out. It seemed that he had sort of the same idea because even when the impala had pulled into the driveway, he just sat there. “What if she doesn’t wanna talk?” Dean asked, somber tone to his voice as his eyes remained fixated on the front door of what he hoped was still your home. Mind racing almost as fast as his heart. “Dean, if I know anything about [Y/N], she’ll at least listen—even if she’s incredibly pissed and still hurt.” Sam reassured his older brother. Dean sighed again, not wanting to waste another second and also wanting to see have some alcohol in his system for this conversation. Slowly he opened the passenger side door and stepped out onto the asphalt driveway. Gently closing the door, it had still alerted a dog inside the home who was barking just a little bit every couple of seconds. He carried himself up the few cement steps, turning to see the front door closer than ever. Now more memories of the last time he was here were coming back.

“Dean, please.. why are you doing this? You can’t possibly just have stopped loving me, that’s not..” Her sobs were breaking his heart but he knew this was something he had to do. “Why are you walking away from this? From us? After everything we’ve been through.. after the life we’ve built from the ground up.. you’re just throwing it all away.” She felt as if there was a fire in your chest, she’d been sobbing so intensely for what seemed like forever. Mascara and eyeliner were smudged and made a mess of the space underneath her eyes. “Say something, Dean—please.. why are you pushing me away? What did I do?!” Every word became far more intense and the actual words were hard to discern from the sobs. Dean had just been staring at the floor since the words left his mouth. Three years next to her and he never imagined this day would come, but if you died just so Lucifer could get one up on him? He’d never survive. He’d never be able to carry the weight of your death or your blood on his hands—so this was the only way you got to live a long and happy life without him putting you in harm’s way. “[Y/N/N] I.. I just don’t think we were meant to work out. I’m sorry, I just-“ he was cut off by her intense sobs hearing him saying it again. “Please Dean.. don’t do this.. whatever I did wrong, whatever’s not working we can fix it. Please..” She pleaded, voice already hoarse from the crying and the wailing. “Sweetheart you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me, I’m just, not made out for this relationship stuff.” He’d barely lifted his gaze again to meet her own, but only for a second. Seeing her like that was too hard for his heart to bare. “Why Dean.. please.. it’s been three years. Three years of this and we can talk about it. Whatever it is we can move past it together, don’t you love me anymore?” She sobbed out, arms wrapped around her own chest as Dean looked up to her face and met her gaze one last time. “Honey, I’ll love you ‘til the day I die.” Sighing he turned to walk out the front door, closing it and never looking back. He couldn’t look—his heart had already shattered.

Now here he was again, roughly two years later, taking the last few steps to fully stand at your front door. Lifting his hand which had formed a loose fist, he’d knock three times upon the wooden material of the door. There was no answer and no sign that anyone was home other than the dog barking that he’d heard moments prior. Dean was about to turn and walk back down the pathway when he heard the doorknob turning after the lock clicked out of position. “Do you know how late it is, what do you nee—“ her eyes widened when she realized who had just knocked at her door. “D-Dean.. what are you..” she felt her bottom lip quivering. Dean could tell this was the last thing she’d ever thought would happen. “Hi, sweetheart. I-“ before he could get another word out of his mouth, he was met with a harsh slap to the side of his face. His eyes fell as he collected his thoughts, waiting before speaking again. “I deserve that. I deserve that and so much more. [Y/N/N] I’m so sorry.. I’m so fucking sorry.” He got out, not being able to look back up at her just yet. “You’ve got some kind of nerve showing up here, this late at night.. Dean you broke my heart and you stomped on it to boot. Why do you think after two whole years that I’d listen to whatever the hell you have to say?” It was obvious that there was sadness and hurt laced within her voice, more so than the anger she’s trying to push forward. Slowly his head tilted back into its usual position and his eyes found hers again. “I know there’s no life after you.” It was all he could say in that second and her expression softened, before she’d built the wall back up. “You came all the way to quote a Daughtry song?”

“No, I’m quoting that damn song because for the three days Sam and I have been in Reno I’ve heard it everywhere. My car, in a store, hell in my head—[Y/N] I’ve been trying every day since I left to push your memory from my mind. I wanted so badly to forget about you and know that you were free to have a normal life. I also know that I’ve got no right to stand on your doorstep telling you how much pain I’ve been in since the second I walked out this door two years ago when this whole fucking thing is my fault.” He paused, tears slowly falling as he tried to blink them away. “[Y/N] I was afraid. I was so afraid.. I couldn’t lose you like that-“ Again he was cut off but just by her words this time. “Dean you did lose me, you pushed me away—fuck you pushed me out of your life altogether. You’re absolutely correct, you don’t have any right to stand here talking about your pain. I didn’t eat, I barely slept, for weeks after you left. All I did was lay on that couch and sob. Endlessly. After I couldn’t physically sob any more I thought, there has to be some kind of monster or witch doing this and so I researched for weeks and still barely ate and slept only a fraction more. All I came up with was dead end after dead end and so I finally had to realize the truth.” She sobbed out, pausing to try and steady her own voice. “You chose to leave on your own.” She’d opened her mouth to continue talking but now it was his turn to sob out, which caught her completely off guard. “He made me feel like I had no other choice..”

Now you stood with a perplexed look on your face as tears were streaming down your cheeks. “What.. who-“ before the question could even fully leave her lips, the man she loved began to speak again. “Lucifer. He needed Sammy, you know all that one true vessel shit, so he couldn’t hurt me that way. He knew any threat he put to Sam wouldn’t stick because deep down I knew that Lucifer needed Sam alive and well to complete whatever sick and twisted plan he had thought out.” She felt both her heart and her stomach drop, figuring out exactly where this was going. “[Y/N] he said he’d kill you and not think twice. I couldn’t.. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you died all because I love you. I wouldn’t be able to breathe knowing that your death was my fault and I’d never get your blood off my hands.” His confidence had wavered, the alcohol mostly wearing off. You sighed, a silence falling over the two of you as you attempted to process what he’d just said. “Dean.. why didn’t you just talk to me? Tell me what he said and we could’ve talked about it.” She asked, the venom gone from her words and a sadness settling over them. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to admit that I was scared especially to you, I’m the one that was supposed to keep you safe. I know that’s not an excuse and I’m not trying to excuse me hurting you like I did—that image of you hugging yourself and crying the hardest I’d ever seen someone cry has haunted me all this time. I never wanna hurt anyone but I damn sure never wanted to hurt you.. at all—let alone like that..”

Again a silence fell between them, it felt like a lifetime between their words and the action she’d finally take. Stepping forward she used both of her hands to cup his face, both having glassy hues due to all the tears. “I forgive you, Dean.” She said almost in a whisper. He felt his heart racing and he eyes searched hers for any sign that this might not be true. Seconds felt like hours but he couldn’t find any sign of deception and instinctively, he plunged forward to connect his lips with her own. It had caught her off guard but she was returning the kiss with an explosion of passion. They chased the other’s lips in a back and forth motion until they both couldn’t breathe. After pushing the limit a little further they’d separate but remain forehead-to-forehead. “I know there’s no life after you.” She spoke in a soft tone before pulling Dean inside of her home and re-locking the door.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #fanfic #supernatural #dean winchester imagines #spn #spn imagines #dean winchester x reader #fanfics

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judeswhore · 1 year

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i wanna get stuck in your head; jude bellingham

summary: lazy days with jude always include pancakes and kisses

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: none this is just pure fluff

notes: you can find my masterlist here. need you all to listen to the chorus of pancakes for dinner by lizzy mcalpine to feel the fic bc i had it on repeat while writing

jude hadn't heard your alarm go off and you scrambled to switch it off within seconds, not wanting to force him out of bed early on one of his rare days off. he didn't even shift beside you, besides the slight scrunch of his nose as he buried his face a little further into the pillow. he was on his stomach, one arm crooked beneath the pillow, his other thrown across your body and the heat from him was comforting in the winter morning air. after silencing your alarm you twisted on to your side to face him.

you shuffled in closer to him, lifted your hand to softly graze your fingers across his jaw, brush your thumb over the stubble on his chin. he looked extra peaceful, lips parted as he let out the quietest snores, the constant smirk he's always wearing, gone. his mouth still seemed kiss bitten from the night before and your eyes snagged on the marks your nails had made over his shoulders, heat flushing your body.

it was unfair how effortlessly pretty he was, even while sleeping. the smoothness of his skin, the slope of his nose and the dusting of hair across the lower half of his face making him completely irresistible. he hadn't cut his hair in a while (per your request) and it was slightly longer, the tight curls a little messy from your fingers. he had lines cut into one of his cheeks from where he'd been pressed into the pillow and you smoothed your thumb over them, following them down to trace his bottom lip. he blew out a soft sigh that tickled the palm of your hand.

pressing even closer, jude's arm wound tighter around your waist, tugged your lower half firmly against his. his eyes were still closed but his lips had tilted into a lazy half smile. your hand slid around the back of his head, nails scratching gently over his scalp and he made a low noise, bumped his nose against yours.

"mornin', pretty girl." the rough, sleep coated tone of his voice made you shiver, tugged at something deep inside of you. his leg slipped between both of yours until you were a tangled mess of limbs, pressed so close together you were unsure where he ended and you started. you kissed a spot above his collarbone.

"did i wake you up?"

"mhm, your pervy staring creeped me out." this made you roll your eyes, teeth sinking lightly into his shoulder as a retort. he huffed, his breath tickling across your skin before he kissed the side of your head. "why're you up so early anyway?"

"forgot to turn my alarm off last night." jude gave a little grunt of disapproval, slid his palm down your thigh to hook behind your knee and pull your leg up over his hip. the action pressed you impossibly closer to him, closed the tiny gap between you and you were practically glued to his chest when you curled your arm a little further around his neck, fingers reaching up to toy with his curls. "go back to sleep."

"gimme a kiss first." he grinned sleepily at you, brushed his nose over yours and puckered his lips dramatically. with a soft giggle you pressed a single kiss to his pouted lips, pulled back far too quickly for jude's liking. he made a noise low in his throat, gripped at the back of your neck to pull you in to him as he chased your mouth. he kissed you slowly, a gentle, loving drag of his lips against yours, his thumb stroking lightly over the back of your neck.

your heart thumped unsteadily in your chest and you let him kiss you until you couldn't breathe, until your head spun and he was all you could think about. everything about it was lazy, from the way his tongue lulled over yours to how his thumb had started to massage a spot just behind your ear. as his kisses tapered off, grew slower until his mouth was simply hovering an inch from yours, you tugged the sheets up and over yours heads, kissed him one last time before burying your face into his chest.

jude settled quietly down into his pillow, his hand still against the back of your head, finger tips pushing softly into your scalp in the most soothing way. your own hand fell from his hair to instead press over his back, your nails grazing over his soft skin. it was warm and cozy, your bodies tucked as close as possible, the duvet over your heads creating a dark cocoon. your boyfriend pushed a kiss to the top of your head as sleep started to fog your senses again.

"i love you, y'know." it was a statement, a fact and he sounded so sure you simply hummed in reply, kissed the space over his heart to relay your own confession of love. he knew you loved him, he didn't need to hear you say it back.

it was almost four hours later before the two of you woke up properly and it took another thirty minutes to pry yourselves from the warm comfort of jude's sheets. the sky beyond his curtains was a dark grey, dull with clouds that dropped large sheets of rain. it fell fell so heavily it was difficult to see out of the kitchen window once you made your way downstairs, the loud sound of it against the roof lulling in a way. paired with the occasional rumble of thunder and flash of lightning it was the perfect storm day.

"pancakes." jude shook a bag of flour he'd pulled from the cupboard, the gesture a quiet question of whether you wanted the pancakes or not.

he looked adorably rumpled, eyes still a little heavy with sleep, lips extra plump from your eager kisses. the cold weather called for hoodies and while you'd matched yours with a pair of joggers for extra warmth, he'd simply gone without. his upper body was covered by an oversized brown jumper, the hood pulled up over his hair (he'd complained and said his ears were cold) but his bottom half was bare save for some unnecessarily tight black boxers and a pair of pink fluffy socks. your socks, they had definitely been yours at one point.

"if we've got eggs." you crossed to the other side of the kitchen in search of the egg box, grinning triumphantly when you found it almost full. you could hear jude riffling through the fridge and cupboards as you grabbed the whisk and mixing bowl, balancing the frying pan on top with shaky hands. "babe, will you grab the ladle from the middle drawer?" his hummed reply was soft.

you placed everything on the middle island, jude's arms reaching around your body so he could set the milk and flour down, the ladle following behind. his chest was warm against your back and he dipped his head to press a chaste kiss to your temple before stepping away again.

"y'wanna make them into shapes?"

"hm?" you were pushing yourself up onto the counter top when he asked, brows drawing together in confusion. thunder rumbled over the roof and the rain started to fall a little harder. jude was fiddling with his phone with one hand, his free hand pulling open one of the top cupboards.

"my mum got these cookie cutter things when she was in her crazy baking phase and i'm sure she has a love heart one in here." he flashed you a toothy grin that made your stomach flip. "wanna show you how much i love you." music started playing softly from his phone, dominic fike's voice making your own lips tilt into a smile, and jude finally pulled a red heart shaped cookie cutter from a box.

"we can use that and it won't melt or anything, right?"

"nah, should be fine." he padded across to you, settled himself beside your dangling legs from where you were perched on the counter top and passed you the cutter while he reached for the bowl. "y'got everything we need?"

"think so, i didn't look for anything to measure the stuff out with though."

"s'all good, we'll wing it. i know we need two eggs, we'll just guess the rest." jude set the bowl down in front of him and started on cracking the eggs, the look of concentration on his face tugging at your chest. he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and furrowed his brows, head tilted to one side and it was impossible not to lean forward and kiss him.

your fingers pushed his hood down, thumb grazing softly over the nape of his neck as you pressed forward and landed a kiss against his jaw. his lips immediately kicked into a lazy smile, an appreciative hum rumbling in his throat. your mouth brushed the curve of his jaw and then you were pressing light kisses down his neck, paying extra attention to the soft spot behind his ear.

using your pointer finger on your free hand, you gently turned his face towards yours. he complied easily even as he tried to keep his eyes on the bowl and the egg he'd just cracked. his attention wavered however when you kissed him. his lips parted instantly, tongue meeting yours in slow, lazy movements and you gripped his chin, tried to kiss him a little deeper. he let you for a few moments, his soft moan making your head spin and you were tempted to tell him to leave the pancakes and just kiss you properly. his chin suddenly dipped so he could pull away from your next kiss, head turning back to focus on the bowl.

"baby, c'mon, y'know i can't do it if you keep kissin' me like that." you huffed a soft laugh and muttered an apology into his skin, kissed his cheek one last time before sitting back. "pour the milk in for me, i'm gonna switch the hob on."

a chill swept over you when jude moved away, the space where his thigh had been glued to yours suddenly extra cold. you slid down off the counter and got to adding the milk into the bowl, making your best guess based on the past times you'd made pancakes. the rain was still pattering against the window and behind you jude was singing softly along to the music coming from his phone. his voice cracked a little and you giggled, throwing a look over your shoulder to see him glaring playfully at you.

he switched the hob on before making his way back over to you, sliding up behind you so his chest was flush to your back. he threw his arms around you and reached for the flour, started shaking it into the bowl to join the milk and eggs. holding the whisk up ready you watched the veins in his hand flex as he shook the bag a little quicker.

"that looks like enough, right?"

"i reckon so. let me.." you tugged the bowl a little closer and got to whisking the mixture, glowering at the tiny lumps that refused to break down. you pushed a little faster, arm starting to ache before tipping your head towards your boyfriend with an overdramatic pout. "why's it so lumpy?"

"y'just not whisking it properly, gimme it here." jude flashed his annoying smug smile as he took the bowl and whisk from you, holding it in the crook of his arm to mix. eyes rolling, you reached for the pan and the oil, tipped the smallest bit in before taking it over and setting it on the hob. you waved the cookie cutter over your shoulder to get jude's attention.

"so do we just put this in the pan and pour the mixture inside?"

"yeah. then leave it for a few seconds till the bottom of the pancake is cooking and just lift it off. need to be careful though, if we lift it too early the mixture won't have set and it'll just spill over." a grin tipped your lips and you turned to face him as he wandered over, arm working the whisk around the bowl. you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your hoodie to stop yourself from reaching for him.

"you're hot when you get all chef on me." his laugh was more a snort and he dropped a kiss to your forehead before setting the bowl down on the counter top beside the oven. "'kay, i'll like hold the cutter down and you pour the mixture in."

for the next few minutes you worked quietly, you carefully holding the cutter in place, jude repeatedly muttering at you to be careful not to burn yourself as he used the ladle to pour the mix inside the shape. the mix took a few seconds to set on the bottom and then you were taking the cutter away, an excited noise leaving your lips at the little heart pancake that was left behind.

"look how cute it is."

"i didn't think it would work actually."

"we could so win if we did bake off." with your hands now free, jude having insisted on being the one to flip, you moved into his space, settled against his chest with your arms around his waist. your cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his hoodie and he wrapped his own arms around your shoulders, spatula dangling from his fingers. he was warm and soft, comforting in a way you never thought possible and you wanted to be stuck in the safety of his love forever.

"we'd burn the tent down and you know it." jude kissed the top of your head, let his lips linger as he shuffled the two of you around so he could flip the pancake. you knew it was a slightly awkward position but he said nothing about you clinging to him, just settled his chin against your hair and watched the pancake cook.

"since the weathers shit we can watch a couple more episodes of criminal minds, we might finish season ten." you nodded, eyes closed as you let steady rise and fall of his chest and the patter of rain soothe you. you'd both been ridiculously busy the past few weeks, a lazy day of rest was exactly what you needed. "oi, stop falling asleep on me."

jude had clocked the way you'd gone half limp against him and shook his head, used the spatula to scoop the pancake from the pan and onto a waiting plate. he was gentle in untangling you from his body, purposely ignoring your pout and grumbled complaint as he led you to the stools at the kitchen island.

"sit here while i finish making these then we'll go cuddle on the sofa, yeah?"

"y'gonna make them all into hearts?"

"nah, just that one. here." he went over to rifle through the cupboards again and brought out a bottle of syrup, squeezed some onto your pancake in the shape of the letter j. he grinned adoringly at you. "cause i love you."

"you're ridiculous." jude only rolled his eyes at that, handed you a knife and fork from the drawer behind him but before he could go back to the oven you were stopping him. "wait, i wanna.." your fingers wrapped around the strings of his hoodie to tug him towards to you, his palms settling against the counter top on either side of your body and effectively caging you in. he eyed you curiously. "i want you to kiss me." and really he couldn't pass that up.

his mouth slotted carefully over yours, lips soft and loving as he urged yours open. he licked into your mouth with a slow kind of neediness, his movements lazy and just a little messy. you fisted at his hoodie and pulled him closer, gave a quiet whimper when one of his hands slid around the back of your neck and tipped you further into him. you’re not sure how long he kissed you, you got lost in the drag and pull of his mouth, in the way his thumb was brushing gently just behind your ear and then you were pulling apart to breathe. jude kept his forehead against yours, let your lips hover only inches apart as you fought to clear the fog in your head.

“your pancake’s gonna be cold.”

“oh.” you blinked and he laughed, kissed your forehead and pulled away from you, stepped back towards the oven. he was grinning, a glow to his skin and a sparkle in his eyes, an expression that was nothing but unfiltered adoration. he swiped his thumb across his bottom lip.

shying away from this gaze you let your own trail over the heart shaped pancake and the now soaked up j, a grin lifting your own lips. another rumble of thunder sounded outside and you wondered when it had started up so aggressively again, the rain lashing hard over the windows. it was still grey and miserable outside but for once you were more than thankful for the storm.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham one shot

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tiktaalic · 11 days

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tortured poets review. by song

fortnight: fine. sounds like a song. one of the lana drag ones. the actual lyrical content is nothing special. i would not have made this track one. 6/10

tortured poets department: kind of exactly what you would expect from a taylor swift album called tortured poets department. it's silly. it's got references. it makes you go. girl? already less distinct musically. 3/10

my boy only breaks his favorite toys: the consequence of doing lana drag is that you listen to songs and go this would be a lot better if lana got her chords on it. fundamentally not a song that i can enjoy from taylor allison swift. a song i would respect in lana of video games fame catalogue once she strips it down. not like head turningly strange like tpd just plain and simple middle of the road. 4/10

down bad: this one is unlistenable for me. cant explain why. probably the chorus of down bad. i think it's tooooooo silly too silly by far when taylor swift does how do you do fellow teens vocabulary. 2/10

so long london: i can see the place that this takes on my spotify wrapped. lyrics are fine. good even. this + backing + doing something even the littlest bit different from soft monotone talk singing makes it one of the most memorable on this album by miles. probably not near the top of most memorable in her hundreds deep bench though. can't think of anything to dock it for but it's no belter. 8/10.

but daddy i love him: yeah okay. i love when she does a silly one. i think the instrumentals are nice. i'm having his baby. no i'm not! but you should see your face. easily i would listen to an album that was full of songs to this theme / musicality. points docked because i dont think she knows it's as silly as it is. 7/10.

fresh out the slammer: bored. i just looked at the lyrics and they're passable but they're performed in the most boring possible manner. stupidest name imaginable. i actually might bump it a point or two if the name was different. 4/10

florida: makes me go yaaaaaay florence every time i hear it. taylor's part halsey 2014 core. could have been worse! if i was in charge of cutting tracks i would keep this one. 6/10

guilty as sin: started it went oh i'm docking this one for boring. read the first quarter of lyrics and went oh this is fine? got to second half and went oh i don't care for this. can imagine a world where it's a better song with different backing and emphasis. 5/10

whose afraid of little old me: i dont think it's good necessarily but i love every song where shes like im craaaazy im insane. i think for the concept it's going for it could have been put together differently. 6/10

i can fix him: i like the way it sounds. but could use more oomph. it's so nice to hear guitars though. don't care for the subject matter. 5/10

loml: snooze. boring lyrics. boring performance. 4/10

i can do it with a broken heart: BAFFLING. easily the me / karma of the album. the tonal mismatch is the point but . well. it is what it is. i would like this more if it WAS a barbie soundtrack release i think. then it would have an extra layer of silly. i think this might make my wrapped. unfortunately. 5/10.

smallest man who ever lived: who gives a shit about matty healy. 4/10

the alchemy: head in my hands. head in my hands. football song. it's so over. and we are never going to be so back. 3/10

clara bow: i like the intro. i can't see myself ever doing more than half humming this. lyrics are whatever. fine, passable. 6/10

the black dog: yeah it's fine. no complaints. guitar 👍. 6/10

getyouback: why would you EVER tee yourself up perfectly to be compared to a better song. 3/10

albatross: oh i liked this one on first listen. 7/10.

chloe sam sophia marcus: outing song ‼️‼️‼️divorce music‼️‼️‼️. nothing too exciting or groundbreaking musically. 5.5?

how did it end: um. it gets points for being #real but not much else. 5/10.

so high school: i think i would like it if it was even a TOUCH less heterosexual. i would cut 3 lines that would turn it into a 6. i can see this song in someone else's hands dominating the radio and me loving that. in taylor's hands i'm giving it a 5/10.

i hate it here: not interesting. next. 4/10

thank you aimee: out of respect for taylor swift's struggles i will withhold comment and rating. -_-

look in people's windows: lyrics aren't bad but it's another one that's not really. doing anything. 4/10

the prophecy: yeah i'll give this one a 7/10. i would have one (1) greige complaint if this was on folkevermore but that's pretty damn solid.

cassandra: passing it and moving on. that's as much as it deserves. 5/10

peter: lyrics get a thumbs up. another 5.5? i could be talked into a six.

the bolter: yes girl commitment issues. 6/10. actually. 7/10.

robin: jesus god this album is too long. i have listened to too much taylor swift tpd to give this any kind of rating.

the manuscript: 5/10. like if woulda coulda shoulda had no beat

thank you for sharing this journey. with me and also taylor swift

#etxt #t swift

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kaciidubs · 4 months

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Christmas Playlist | 8 Days of SKZcember 2023

Prompt: sweetly singing Christmas songs to one another

❣ Summary: Rocking around the Christmas tree with your favorite singer was always your favorite part of the holidays. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 935 ❣ Warnings: Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Christmas songs galore, mistletoe, a singular kiss ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Seungmin is referred to as Minnie, Bubs, and Baby, Reader is referred to as Bub ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ SKZcember 2023

“I don't want a lot for Christmas…”

Seungmin froze on the couch, the speakers in the living room of your shared apartment suddenly coming to life with the sound of Mariah Carey - his head snapping up when you slipped your way in through the hallway wearing a Santa hat and using your phone as a fake microphone.

“Bub,” he laughed incredulously, eyes sparkling with amusement, “it’s December 1st, you can’t be serious right now.”

Ignoring him with a bright smile, you sang the words as if your life depended on it in the most dramatic way possible until you got to the infamous line;

“All I want for Christmas... is... you!”

You pointed at him before bursting into an overexcited dance, no doubt making a fool of yourself as you shuffled over to your grinning boyfriend, “Come on, Minnie, I know you know the words!”

“You’re not dragging me into this!”

“Yes I am!” Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you tugged him up from the couch - though, it wasn’t that much of a hassle as he pushed himself up half of the way. “You know you want to, you can’t play coy with me, baby.”

He rolled his eyes, though whatever annoyance he tried showing was nowhere to be found as the first chorus hit, luring you both into a duet filled with over exaggerated dance moves from you, and nearly perfect vocals from him - ruined only by his laughter at your antics.

The following weekend was filled with your full Christmas playlist as you and Seungmin dutifully unpacked the decorations for your Christmas theme for this year; purple and gold, with small silver snowflakes as accents.

“Bubs, have you seen the bag with the snowflake ornaments inside?” You mused, elbow deep in a container of gold bulbs while Let it Snow by Boyz II Men played in the background.

Seungmin huffed a breath, trying to blow his bangs out of his face as he unraveled a strip of sheer gold ribbon, “I think I left it in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?”

“Yeah, cause I needed the scissors so I just took the whole bag with me-” He cut his sentence short to mimic a riff from the song, singing the ad libs as if it were his second nature and making you laugh in the process.

“Alright, alright,” pushing yourself up from the floor, you dusted your hands off on your pajama pants, “I’ll go get them, you start putting the purple ornaments on.”

His only confirmation toward you was a hearty nod as he kept singing, completely entranced by the velvety vocals playing through the speakers while you went to retrieve the missing decorations.

By the time you made your way back to the partially decorated tree, a new song faded its way onto the shuffle; Ariana Grande’s light tone floating through the air as Santa Tell Me began playing.

“Santa tell me, if you’re really there - don’t make me fall in love again if he won’t be here next year.”

Rocking to the beat, you easily melted into decorating mode as you began putting the snowflakes in strategically random spots, breaking your focus only to sing parts of the song to a delightfully amused Seungmin as he hung his portions of the ornaments.

Through the passing of This Christmas, and Christmas EveL - a song that nearly made you drop the personal ornament in your hand in order to have a spontaneous dance battle, which your boyfriend humbly bowed out of - the green tree was fully decorated in purple, gold, and silver ornaments, curly gold ribbon, and personal ornaments sprinkled in here and there; topped off with a simple gold star to complete the look.

Seungmin hummed happily, stepping back to get a full look of the unlit tree, “It looks great, but I think it’s missing something…”

You frowned, tilting your head to the side as if getting a second angle to try to see what he’s getting at, “Do you? I think we used all the ornaments - you think we need more ribbon?”

“I think so, yeah - can you plug the tree in while I grab the scissors? I wanna see it in better lighting first.”

“Mm, sure!”

Kneeling on the floor, you reached around for the plug before plugging it into the socket; warm lights illuminating the tree in an instant and basking you in a warm glow before you crawled back to stand once more.

By the time you made it back to your feet, a new song was now playing through the speakers; Mistletoe by Justin Bieber, a not-so-secret favorite of your boyfriend’s that quickly grew on you as well.

“Does it look any different, Minnie?”

“I dunno.”

Scoffing out a laugh, you turned around to face him, “What do you mean you don’t-”

Your words escaped you as you stared at him, a smug smile on his lips despite the faint blush turning his ears pink; your eyes trailing up his right arm held high above you both and landing on a certain plant pinched between his fingers.

Mistletoe.

“I should be playing in the winter snow, but I’ma be under the mistletoe.” He sang softly, smugness melting away to a bashful smile that had your heart growing three sizes.

A breathless laugh floated through you before you stepped forward to close the small gap; placing your hands on his cheeks and pulling him down for a soft, sweet kiss that he happily reciprocated.

Pulling away just enough to brush your nose against his, you hummed lightly, “I love you, Seungmin.”

“I love you too, bub.”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @dancerachaslut, @junglyric, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz fluff #stray kids fluff #kim seungmin fluff #kim seungmin x reader

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rubydubydoo122 · 15 days

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What's a song that reminds you of Jason, Bruce, Dick and Damian?

For Damian, definitely "Love Like You" From Steven Universe, especially the line "I always thought I might be bad now I'm sure that it's true, cus, I think you're so good, and I'm nothing like you"

for Dick, I would say "Look After You" By the Fray, specifically to his siblings and specifically the line "What's mine is yours to leave or take, what's mine is yours to make your own" also, "Seven" by Taylor Swift, Idk, I just feel like that song would remind him of his time in the circus.

For Bruce "Fine Line" by Harry Styles. I have a whole Band AU planned out Just so that for the final song, Bruce sings this to all the kids.

and for Jason.... Wooo doggie, I hAve A LOt. I'll just give you the main ones

"Would've Could've Should've" by Taylor Swift. I could copy paste the entire song in here and It would be like pulling a page out of Jason's Diary. Same with "Right Where You Left Me" "My Tear Ricochet" "THE GREAT WAR" and I could go on and on and on "Haunted" "Back to December" "Nothing New" "Mr. Perfectly Fine" Is Taylor Swift Jason Todd?

Then there's "The Grudge" by Olivia Rodrigo "I have nightmares each week about that friday in may" "Trust that you betrayed confusion that still lingers, took everything I loved and crushed it in betweeen your fingers" and "and I know in my heart, hurt people, hurt people, and We both drew blood but man those cuts were never equal"

SO MANY CONAN GRAY SONGS. "Winner" ("my heart that once was beating, bleeding the palm of your hand. yet you have the nerve to miss me how do I somehow feel guilty, WHEN YOU'RE THE ONE WHO LET IT GET THIS BAD; you don't really wanna hear the truth, do you? it's obvious to anyone who ever knew you. That all you ever wanted was to fight. I was only trying to survive your chaos") "Astronomy" "FAMILY LINE" "Memories" "jigsaw" "THE EXIT" ("Feels like, we had matching wounds but mine's still black and bruised and yours is perfectly fine. Feel like WE BURRIED ALIVE something that NEVER DIED so god it HURT when I FOUND OUT. You love her, it's over, do you even doubt it on your lips. You love her. It's over. You already found someone to miss while I'm still standing at the exit." Maturing is realizing it's the second half of the chorus that's more important to Jason Todd's character than the first)

Afraid by the Neighborhood, but this could really go for any of the Batboys

I KNOW THE END by Phoebe Bridgers. I just feel like if there was ever a show depicting Jason's run as Robin, and that song played as he was getting beat up by the joker and the Bridge hit as the timer was counting down, I would ABSOLUTELY LOSE IT. IF THAT HAPPENS I WOULD HAVE TO BE SENT TO ARKHAM HOLY SHIT EVERY TIME I HEAR THAT SONG I THINK OF JASON"S DEATH

anywho, thanks for coming to my ted talk

#jason todd #batman #batfam #dc comics #red hood #dick grayson #bruce wayne #damian wayne #music stuff #character music #I don't think they would listen to those songs #but those songs remind me of them #ask me anything #ask me questions #asks #ask

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milgram-tournament · 3 months

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MILGRAM Best Song Tournament, Round 2, Match 1 WEAKNESS vs. THE PURGE MARCH

Propaganda for both options under the cut!

Propaganda for WEAKNESS:

"This is definitely more of a personal anecdote. However, I’m neurodivergent (like Haruka) and struggle with knowing it causes quite a bit of disappointment for my mother. I cry about it a lot. But I find that putting on Weakness is soothing for me. Knowing that there’s a character out there with the same issues…. I don’t know. Just my experience."

---

"why weakness should win over umbilical: - THE SINGING THE HIGH NOTES - this song set the tone to what to expect for the trial songs to come (or what we expected) - the part where the song gets all slow paced and then picks up louder at the end it just done beautifully - it's haruka. - the singing sounds like a mix between of course singing and crying. the 'AHahA' sounds like manic laughing until the end when he's crying and it almost feels like he's sobbing while laughing. - the guitar and the drums complement his soft/sad-ish voice perfectly, especially at the beginning - very emotional, even if you didn't see the music video you can tell he's crying and mentally unwell I'm bad a propaganda, but vote for WEAKNESS!!!!"

Propaganda for THE PURGE MARCH:

"Despite the shorter length, the Purge March has several distinct sections in its structure.

It starts with a rolloff, and then… they don’t follow it. Amane isn’t here to follow the beat.

There’s the spoken-word intro and the upbeat first verse listing the tenets. The prechorus (“dou shiyou mo nai…”) has an amen break. The most-sampled four-bar drum beat. Well, there’s half of it. Is it supposed to mean something? Can I get an amen?

The chorus is so, so cheerful… unless you’re actually listening to the lyrics (“I’ll crush your throat too”) or watching the video. And it’s super catchy.

The second part of the verse dials things back. Now we’re in reality. This is how Amane breaks her tenets. All the while, those tenets are spoken into both ears over the singing. Get some good headphones. She sounds different in each ear.

The music picks up again with the amen break as Amane happily strolls back home, and then-

Oh.

The somber second chorus, with Amane’s lower singing voice and mournful spoken words, leads into the final chorus, with new lyrics and a more forceful tone. The once-meaningless chanting now has real words. “You’re sorry? I don’t care! Please go ahead and die already.” You can hear Amane’s anger despite the cheerful melody. She harmonizes in the final phrase, as if to say “we’re in this together, me and my little color guard troop.” And finally, it’s just her. Speaking. "Oboetemasuka?" Accompanied by only a single drum.

She is both Amane Momose and not. She upholds the doctrines that she was raised with, but she can’t."

---

"Purge March is geniunaly one of my favorite pieces of fiction both in and out of the context of trauma. Its fantastically directed and composed. The batton twirling is spetacular and energetic, the set and character design of Amane conveys a lot about the world she’s in and the story she’s telling. Purge March contextulizes a lot of Magic in both expected and unexpected ways (insert the entire cat symbolism thesis here) Purge March casts Amane in the role of a scary child. The glowing eyes, the framing of Amane as Above the viewer, the brutality and catharsis of it all. It seems tailored made to make you Scared of her. It’s a continuation of the cycle of abuse that we the audience repeated in T1 when we gave her that verdict. A red flashing warning sign about the Inhumanity and Monsterous qualities of Amane Momose. But Amane as a monster is fufilling and freeing. Again, its deeply cathartic. I would write more if I wasnt so sleepy at the moment but its just some Fantastic work overall. Purge March is also just fantasitic vocally and also hids electricity sounds in the instrumental which I think is evil and awesome."

---

-Amane’s vocals and how they slowly get more and more off the deep end is both really sad and cool to watch.

-The symbolism of the marching band and the flags. Ifykyk

-The beginning where it sounds like a propaganda TV show… really shows just how far Amane’s thinking is rooted in her cult and how that’s shaped her perception.

-The LYRICS. They work so well but it’s also creepy AF considering it’s a child who’s singing it.

-“So there is no second time, I’ll give back the judgment that you gave to me!”

-The overlapping part… gives me chills everytime.

-Building off the last point, the last “I’ll crush your throat too.” Ouch.

-“Remember MY cries, MY repents, MY words of “I’m sorry” that I said to you?”

-The song also does a great job of showing how much the guilty verdict messed with her.

#milgramtournament #milgram #haruka sakurai #sakurai haruka #amane momose #momose amane

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love-toxin · 2 years

Text

burn me down to ashes - steve harrington & billy hargrove

volume II

plot: shy, socially awkward little you, the resident nobody of Hawkins High, is caught between a rock and a hard place in the span of a day. the rock being Steve Harrington, the guy you've had a crush on forever and who just might like you back, and the hard place being Billy Hargrove--the guy who just can't seem to keep his eyes, or hands, off you.

cws: bullied!angelface, angel has low self-esteem/intrusive thoughts, 80s movie references, crushes, smoking, slight violence/roughousing, jealousy, drinking, angel makes friends, nicknames, angsty fluff but it goes up from here, non-canon character appearances, fem reader.

a/n: vol II coming soon! this is a longer fic i cut in half ♡

word count: 5.4k

You've never really thought there was anything wrong with you, at least not until you got into high school. The last four–five, now, since you had to repeat your last year–have been the most hellish years of your life.

You've been knocked around, had your books thrown in the fountain, your locker vandalized, your desk kicked by people walking by…every which way you could be tortured, you have. Even graduation served to be an opportunity for people to get their licks in, one of the girls that tortured you the most sticking her foot out when you went to walk the stage and tripping you in front of the whole school, resulting in a bellowing chorus of mocking laughter that you're certain you'll hear in your nightmares for the rest of your life.

But there's a life you've dreamed of, one you know you would never attain in this lifetime, but you fantasize about nonetheless. One where you're maybe not popular, or even liked, but one where you're at least protected. His name reads out in the scribbles at the margins of your notebook, and the smell of his cologne sticks in your mind and draws your thoughts to him whenever you pass by the scented section of the department store. Your protector, your saviour, at least in your mind–it's none other than Steve Harrington, the most popular guy in school and the one guy you know you would never have a chance with.

For one, he's widely adored–you wouldn't be able to work your way through all his fans if you tried, and most of them are far prettier, smarter, and more popular than you anyways. Two, Steve himself is objectively gorgeous, at least to you, and there's no way he would go for a…for someone like you, someone that looks or sounds or smells like you. Three, you don't even have friends, much less a relationship, so you really would have no idea what you were doing in the first place. Four, you can't even work up the courage to talk to him, or even look in his direction, even though you sat right next to each other all through chem class in your senior year and he asked to borrow your textbook on several occasions. And you now see him at Family Video at least once a week to rent a new movie. That's pretty much the extent of your interactions, and that's where the dream stops and real life slaps you in the face.

But it's on that day that you step into the store and hear excited chattering that you don't realize that might just change, Robin and Steve exchanging words and gestures that look like they're trying to agree on something.

"Welcome to Fa–oh, hey! You're just in time!" Robin waves to you as you walk in, dropping the corporate greeting the second her eyes meet yours. She's always been so nice to you, kind in a way you feel like you don't deserve, but it would be impossible to try and convince her otherwise so you simply go along with whatever she says. You're not really sure how else to be friends…if that's even what you are. Maybe, maybe not. It's a little difficult for you to figure out, even though you desperately want to call Robin your friend. She leans over the counter on her elbows as you walk up, and pats her hands on it as she bounces on the balls of her feet, clearly excited about something.

"You wanna go to a house party with me? Harrington here is chickening out last minute, and I really don't want to go alone."

"I'm not chickening out! I just don't want to hang out with a bunch of dickheads I knew in high school." Steve huffs, certainly because knowing them they've been arguing about it for a while before you stopped by, and he looks so good today, even though you say the same to yourself every time you see him. His hair is a little crazy from him running his hands through it, but it still looks good, fluffy, like every sway of his locks is intentionally beautiful and not accidental.

"I've never been to a house party before! I want the full, uninterrupted experience." You're not even thinking straight when you're distracted by him, and find your mouth running before you can catch it.

"Me neither, um…it sounds like fun, though. I'll go." You say rather meekly, some part of you wondering perversely if Robin's lips will stretch into a smirk as she reveals that she was just teasing, and how dumb do you have to be to think anyone would actually invite you to a party?

"Really? Sick, I don't feel so alone now!" She does a little victory dance, celebrating her triumph with a few fist pumps and the sound of her shoes clacking against the linoleum behind the counter. Safe. Everything is safe, now, you're sure, and you take a deep breath to try and steady your thumping heart.

"Well…okay, if you're both going, I'll come with you." Steve tightens his arms, still crossed over that broad chest that you've only ever seen in its full glory during those basketball games you've snuck out of class to go watch.

"Wow! Changing your mind on a dime just cause Buttercup is coming–I feel like chopped liver, seriously!" She's joking, but it still flusters you. "Buttercup" is one of the few nicknames they've dubbed you with, on account of how many times you've rented out The Princess Bride since they've started working there. As far as you know you're their most frequent customer, so it's somewhat of a game for them to find movies you haven't seen that you might like–and to be brutally honest, it's about the fullest extent of any friendship you have. "Alright, alright, Stevie, you can come keep us safe. But don't you dare be a buzzkill!"

Robin turns back to you after prodding Steve in the chest, and her eyes are brighter than they were before. Even if the realization of what you just agreed to is only hitting you now, and the anxiety is slowly starting to creep in, the fact that you made her so happy by saying yes is all that's keeping you on your feet right now.

"Just come by after we close and we'll drive you there, okay?" You nod in agreement, and that's when Robin climbs up and slides herself across the counter, dropping down beside you on the other side to wave you over to the rows of shelved movies. "Now, what movie are we going with this week? Romcom, horror?"

You place the VHS on the counter, just as pristine as when you picked it up. The Breakfast Club is always a classic for you, you'd watched it a couple times over the week–you always tend to see yourself in Ally, while you see so much of Steve in Andrew, which might be why you've watched it so many times with your pillow hugged to your chest, your eyes glued to the screen. Somehow, though, the sight of John parading around the library tables always stirs something within you, something that reminds you of someone you know, but can't put your finger on.

Either way, you shake the thought from your head as you follow Robin down the aisles, her steps more of a skip as she saunters towards the newer tapes on the New Release rack. She picks up one after the other and chitters on about each one, which ones she thinks are bogus and which ones are diamonds in the rough–but your gaze keeps drifting back to Steve at the counter, his hips pressed against it as he leans back and steadies himself with those smooth, toned biceps, and fiddles with the tape you dropped off…and you have to force yourself to look away, to not meet his eyes when you feel them turn towards you, and focus back on your friend as your mind runs wild with thoughts about tonight.

When the time comes, it's very clear when you move through the front door that you don't belong here.

Hours after picking up your newest movie-The Neverending Story–you're trailing behind Steve and Robin with a new dress you picked out weeks ago and a bit of makeup smeared awkwardly over your eyes. You've never been sure how to do it, but Robin made a point of commenting on how cute you look when you slid into the backseat of Steve's car, so it at least calmed you down a little bit before you got there.

Bodies are packed in everywhere, laughing, talking, drinking. Further into the house you spot a living room down the hall, where the music is loudest and people are dancing so close together they almost look like one full unit. People are stumbling to and from each room with solo cups filled with coloured drinks, most of them drunk already–and you find yourself trying to stick close to Robin, except that she and Steve are hurrying down the hall to go talk to someone they know, and beckoning you after them. There's no going back now, especially since you'll have to walk home if you try to leave alone. And after what happened last time you did so, you just have to swallow the lump in your throat and start putting one foot in front of the other.

You move stiffly down the hallway they had weaved through, people leaning against the walls and moving in groups with their friends to get more drinks or migrate towards the dancing area. Alone, you feel like too many unfamiliar eyes are drawn towards you, you know you must stick out like a sore thumb–but there's one face you recognize, and it immediately makes you regret ever choosing this hallway to work your way down.

Billy Hargrove leans against the wall by his arm, jacket open to reveal a white wifebeater and a packed chest that must be an absolute nightmare to face in a fight, many of which you know he's been in. He's got such a reputation, despite not being in Hawkins for too long, and he was even present at the infamous Starcourt Mall fire–that in itself is evident by the burn scars you can see peeking out from the sides of his leather jacket. Some girl is flirting with him, or trying to, because he looks like he's not paying much attention. You don't even realize it's the girl that tripped you at graduation until you get close enough to sidle past them, but that's unfortunately close enough for Billy to lock eyes with you and stand up off the wall.

"Hey, pretty girl. I don't think we've been introduced." He turns completely towards you, fully engaged, and holds out a hand to you with half-lidded eyes. Thinking about it for more than a few seconds, which is about how long it takes for you to realize that he's actually talking to you, the thought that he must be drunk crosses your mind and your shoulders tense a little bit. He frightens you, and you know he has a temper even at the best of times–you don't even want to know what he might say or do if you piss him off. So you shut your mouth and tremble as you place your hand delicately into his, hoping nothing terrible comes out of the conversation, especially when the girl's eyes are burning a glare into you. Vanessa, you're sure her name is, even though you've tried so hard to forget it. "Billy. You can call me whatever you want, though."

"Hi…uh, I think we've met before." He squeezes your hand, not hard, just an inkling of pressure. The desire to reach out and grab those words to shove them back into your mouth is so strong, but you can't, and your chest tightens so much you might just collapse right then and there. But Billy, on the contrary to what you think he might do, just smiles enough that you can see a glimpse of those pearly teeth past his plush lips.

"I can't believe that," He winks, his thumb rubbing the the heel of your hand before he finally lets it go. Is he…is this what flirting really is? It feels like it's too much like the movies, but you've really got no frame of reference since you have no experience yourself, so you truly have no idea. Including whether he's being facetious or not. "I would've remembered a gorgeous girl like you. Or, more like, I wouldn't have forgotten you. No matter how hard I tried."

Now you're stuck. Dreaded small talk. You can't believe he's doing anything but trying to fuck with you, especially with Vanessa standing right next to both of you, so that's just how you end up thinking about it. But you would be such a liar if you thought his comments didn't raise a heat to your face that must be obvious even under your touch of makeup.

"Um…I, uh…we were…calculus partners.." You're trying to get it all out fast so you can try to catch up to Steve and Robin again, but the words just strangle themselves when they leave your mouth, much like any time you try to speak to someone you're not comfortable with.

"No shit," He breathes. "I do recognize you." He says it in a way that feels more sincere than anything else he's said leading up to this. "You've really changed since then. Really…filled out that figure. Or maybe this is the first time I'm seeing you in clothes like that. You look great."

Billy's eyes roam unapologetically, drinking you in from feet to forehead and every spot in between. It doesn't feel right to be looked at in such a way, it feels perverse–not like how a partner or a love interest would do it, but more like the creepy older men that try to pick you up when you're walking home from work. Even though Billy is far from that, and he's actually a little nicer than you thought he was, it just feels wrong for you to be looked at that way. Because you're not pretty, and you're not special. You're not the type of person that people look at like they want to see you naked, and treasure you while they do so. Not like how Billy's looking at you now, until something seems to strike him that makes him finally pipe up.

"Wasn't that the class that the ginger kid pulled your hair in?" He's right, and it couldn't be more humiliating for him to remember that above all else. Sam Dunner had grabbed your ponytail in third period calculus and yanked it hard, hard enough to sting, and earned himself a cacophony of laughter when you shrieked that you felt, at the time, would be the soundtrack to your entire life. Billy had been out that day, maybe sick, maybe late–but regardless, he hadn't been there to say a word and you had always figured he wouldn't. Up until now, at least, when you nod and mumble a quiet "Yes", and his brow furrows.

"That reminds me, actually." Billy turns to the girl he's been ignoring up until now, her face lighting up when he finally looks down at her. You're surprised she's kept quiet up until now.

"Vanessa, weren't you the one that tripped this nice girl at graduation?" What he says, and the way he says it, renders you completely shocked. You could never imagine talking to someone like her like he just did, because you know she would chew you up and spit you back out for all her friends to laugh at. But evidently Billy is a lot different, because she starts visibly floundering with a stutter when he calls her out right in the open.

"Y-Yeah, so? It was a joke. It was just…in good fun." She recovers quickly if nothing else, and says it with smug venom flicking off her tongue, and you just want to disappear so that she never looks at you with that expression again.

"I think you owe her an apology, actually." He leans into her ear and says it so quietly, almost gently, that your eyes widen as you wonder whether you actually heard that right.

"Are you serious? It was a joke, it's not my fault she got all upset."

"I'm dead fucking serious. Now, why don't you apologize, before I get really pissed off." The tension you feel between them would break a butcher's knife.

"O-Okay! I'm sorry, like…I'm sorry. Jesus." She mutters that last part under her breath.

"That was pathetic, but whatever. Get out of my face." She huffs in frustration but does as he says, pushing past you and knocking shoulders in a way that's definitely intentional–but for you, it's so much of the norm that it doesn't even really faze you. You also don't catch the harsh glare he shoots at the back of her head either, since it disappears as soon as you turn to look at him again and he's pulling out a cigarette from a pack with his teeth.

"You wanna puff, sweetheart?" He reaches into the pocket of his jacket to produce a lighter, but you're quick to shake your head as he cups a hand around the end and lights it up.

"N-No, I have to…get back to my friends. Um, thank you."

"Not a problem, princess. Anyone else gives you problems, you just come to me, mkay?" He winks at you over his burning cigarette, enthused over the way you trip over your words in front of him. You just nod, pseudo-politely, and move to take a step away.

"That's my girl." He breathes out a puff of smoke as he says it, eyes following you until you've moved into the main living room and presumably out of sight. It's a little dizzying when you finally get there, the familiar thumping beat of Love Shack resonating through the walls as you shuffle into what feels like a whole other world.

"Buttercup! Thought we lost you back there." Your one and only friend's voice rises above the crowd as she spots you, and she strolls over to rescue you from the rest of the party. Robin's smile lighting up when she takes hold of your hand soothes you at once, and you breathe deeply as she pulls you along to a more open area of the house where Steve and two other people are standing and chatting.

"Oh, hi! Is this your new friend?" Once she turns to look at you, you recognize both her and the guy standing next to her immediately. The brunette is Nancy Wheeler, one of the most popular girls when you were in school besides being Steve's ex-girlfriend. And standing next to her–

"I know her," Jonathan Byers cuts in, a soft smile tweaking his lips as he waves in your direction. "She and I were in gym together freshman year."

It does come as a surprise that he remembers, but then again, if anyone would, it would be Jonathan Byers. You two were famously bad in your class, constantly being overlooked by the more athletic students and criticized for your pathetic performance in any and all sports by the coach. But your saving grace had been that you were terrible together, even though you were both shy and socially awkward freshmen who could barely talk to each other, much less anyone else. He's the only other one that was really reaching the same level of an outcast as you in school, aside from the infamous Eddie Munson, whom you've only spoken to a handful of times when you've seen him at Family Video but has been one of the few to treat you with familiarity and kindness….two things you rarely find with people your age.

"Really? I feel like I should remember you…did we have any-?"

"No, uh, no we didn't." You don't have the heart to tell her you sat behind her in biology for two years straight, because she seems like a nice girl and you know it'll just make her feel bad and turn the conversation into an awkward mess. So it's easier just to avoid it. And it's already difficult for you to imagine her and Steve…it just hurts, even though it shouldn't. If they didn't last, what chance would you ever have?

"Aw, well, it's really nice to meet you! Steve's told me so much about you, so has Robin. You're a movie buff, huh?"

"I-I…yeah, I like movies."

She's so pretty that it's honestly kind of intimidating, not to mention you're stood in the same circle as not just four other people, but four very cool and charismatic people. You've got no chance, especially with Steve being one of those four, and so you know you just want to say as little as possible to minimize the inevitable embarrassment. But it soon becomes very apparent that you're just destined to be the center of attention.

"Like? She's seen like, every movie in existence." Robin backs you up, maybe intentionally or not, and the way she gushes about you makes you want to hide…but not in the bad way. It's flattering, genuinely flattering. Not something you're all that used to, at all. "She just dropped off Breakfast Club today. Classic."

"Ooh! Who's your favourite?" Nancy looks back at you, sincerity in her eyes. She really is so pretty.

"U-Um…An..Andrew…I like Andrew." That's not entirely a lie, but it also serves as a convenient enough answer to avoid drawing suspicion.

"I, uh, I like Ally." Steve pipes up from nowhere, shoulders shifting as he readjusts his jacket.

"I'm surprised you're not a Molly Ringwald fan, Steve." Jonathan pipes up, and Steve shakes his head with a laugh, but his eyes stick to yours and they don't flicker away this time. And he nibbles his lower lip between his teeth, bites down–oh, he bites down, and suddenly nothing that anyone else says makes it to your ears as you stop and stare. A warm feeling stirs within you, like the words you want to say are bubbling up to your throat–

"C'mon, let's dance! I love this song!" But before they have a chance to come out, Robin's tugging you by the hand over to the dance floor, leaving the other three looking on at the two dorks who have no idea how to function at a party. Robin pulls you to the center of the crowd and giggles as you shyly stick close to her, allowing her to take your other hand too and move them around as the two of you bounce along to the rhythm. You don't really know what you're doing, and neither does she, but the more you realize that nobody is really looking aside from the two of you at each other, it slowly becomes easier and easier to just let the beat move you and a smile to work its way on to your face as Robin twirls you around and laughs free-spiritedly. Song after song comes and goes, you occasionally get a glimpse of Steve watching you through the throng of people–and he looks like he's smiling. Some small, selfishly hopeful part of you prays he's smiling at you.

When you finally tear your eyes away and turn back, Robin's gone. Glancing around to try and find her, you only then distantly remember her speaking in your ear just loud enough over the music that she was gonna go get a drink, but you should've been paying more attention–without her around, you feel small, and scared again. Someone bumps you hard with their elbow and you squeak at the pain in your side, someone else cursing at you for bumping into them in the process, and once you have a chance after that you're slipping through the crowd to get out of the most concentrated area of people. And when you do, you still don't see her, not over by the kitchen or out by the front door.

You can't spot Robin over the crowd you just wormed your way out of, can't really see anyone with so many people in one place. Somebody jostles you as they shove past, and in the heat of the moment, the only option you have is the guy standing just a few feet away, who just pushed his way past a few people in his way–the one you've been too mortified to try and talk to one on one since you were fourteen years old.

"Steve?"

"What's up?" He's strangely alert, focused completely on you like nothing else about the party exists.

"I'm gonna walk home, I…I just need to go home."

"Already? Are you alright?" It's a little shocking to hear that, and to see how concern spells out across his pretty features as he reaches to touch your arm–your arm.

"I'm…I-I'm fine, I just…it's a little too much for me. I don't.." You can't get the words out. I don't belong here. They feel too painful to say in front of someone you admire so much, and you pull away from his touch despite wanting it so badly.

"Aw…okay, wait by the back door, I'll go tell Robin and I'll drive you home."

"It's fine. I'll walk." You're saying it as you're already heading towards the open back door, one that's sliding glass that leads out to the grassy backyard, because you'd much rather dart around the side of the house than fight your way back through to the front door. Plus, you seriously need a breath of fresh air right now. You've got no idea that he's hurrying after you, and has a full view of what's waiting for you when you get out the door.

The second you step out into the cool, airy night, the sloshing shhhh sound of running water hits your ears–and then it hits the rest of you, a spray of freezing cold water crashing into your whole body and catching you completely off guard. The grass beneath you is slippery, and you stumble back and hit the ground hard on your spine, and they're still spraying you with what feels like a fire hose of water with a cackling symphony of laughter until Steve's voice rises above the crowd.

"Hey! Knock that shit off!"

The tidal wave stops and leaves you shaking only when the garden hose drops from your ex-classmate's hands, and that's because Steve's grabbed hold of it and ripped it from his grasp before shoving him, his face so red with anger like you've never seen before. But it doesn't stop the laughing of the crowd gathered around, all of them clearly having waited for the perfect victim to come out to pull their little prank–and each and every face you recognize as someone who at one point tortured you in school.

It takes you one try, then another to get up, still shaky and cold from the water and trying not to slip on the wet grass–but when you do get to your feet you stumble out of the lit area of the yard and around the side of the house, tears welling in your eyes as they laugh even louder and jeer at you with mocking insults that make the sting of humiliation burn even harder. You just want to run as far away as you can, away from the house, the people, from Steve–he must think you're such an idiot–but you hit another wall, although this one catches you in two strong arms before you fall again.

"Hey–princess? Why are you soaked?"

It's the last person you want to see right now, the most likely guy in the entirety of Hawkins to mock you for your current state. But Billy's got confusion and concern written all over his face even so, his voice laced with something a little more…strained.

"Tell me what happened." The cigarette he must have come out to smoke dangles haphazardly from his lips, but he lets it fall and mindlessly grinds it into the dirt when he actually notices it does. Otherwise, his eyes are completely centered on yours.

"I wanna go home," You sniffle.

"Are you crying?" He pulls you into his arms, uncaring as to the fact that you're drenched and freezing. He seems more attentive towards warming you up. And he is warm.

"Who did this to you?"

"I d-dunno his name…"

"Describe him. Where is he?" You point weakly towards the back of the house, still sniveling like a crying baby. You can hear a voice in your head telling you to suck it up, that you're just trying to get attention. That you deserved that.

"Wait here." Whatever words you want to say can't squeeze around the lump in your throat. You just turn your eyes down as Billy steps around you, gait heavy and purposeful as he marches towards the back and collides with someone, yet doesn't stop.

"Watch it, man–hey! There you are," Steve's voice reaches you, but doesn't, at the same time. You don't even turn to look, just stand there staring at the grass and feeling the tears fall and hit the ground as he hurries over and moves in front of you to grip your shoulders.

"Oh, god, honey, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You brusquely wipe the tears away with your sleeve, and soon you have your arm pinned to your chest as Steve tugs you into his arms and squeezes you so tight against his shoulder.

"Shit, you're cold–come on, let's go inside and warm you up-"

"No!" You push against his chest, and he leans back but doesn't let go, hands loosely holding you still. Your voice is strong but your touch is weak, at least too weak to get away from him. "I don't want to, Steve! I don't want them to laugh at me! I'm fucking sick of it!"

He's struck speechless. You've ruined it all, just like always. Just like you and everyone else in the world knew you would. Stupid, you're so goddamn stupid.

"Then…Then let's not go through the house." He pulls you closer to the side of the house, near the edge of the roof–a sturdy, box-shaped pressure meter serves as the perfect thing for him to step up on, and when he pulls you up with him he clasps his hands together once he's close enough the the edge of the roof jutting out from the first floor. "Here, step on my hands. Climb up–but be careful!"

You don't have the energy to argue with him. And you don't want to subject yourself to anyone else seeing your tears, since you're sure that more of your bullies will be lying in wait near the front of the house to hurt you even worse. But sometimes, you hate how stubborn Steve can be, even as he's lifting you up to climb on to the roof and out of the way of more danger. Once you're kneeling on the tiles, he hauls himself up alongside you with a few groans of effort, before carefully moving towards the window that overlooks the rooftop and yanking it up and open. He ushers you to climb inside and drops inside after you, and once it's closed, you find yourself standing in some stranger's bedroom.

"Steve, we shouldn't be-" He hurries past you and turns his head to raise a finger to his lips, his hand shooting out to twist the lock to the bedroom door. And to make doubly sure that you won't be encroached on, he takes the chair sitting at the desk against the wall and props it underneath the door handle, ensuring that it's properly snug before he sighs in relief.

And now, against all odds, you're standing in a stranger's bedroom at a house party with Steve Harrington. Soaking wet, cold, and cheeks still tearstained from your outburst, wondering what in the world is going to come next–aside from more heartbreak.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #harringrove x reader #st 4 #stranger things #ellie writes #5k

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randomwriteronline · 2 months

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"Come dance with us, Takanuva," Kopaka says.

Takanuva startles: his eyes fall on the Toa before him for a moment before turning again to the Ko-Matoran festivities. Further away from them Nuju looks thoughtful.

"I never learned any Ko-Koro dances," he replies, quietly, sheepishly.

"They can be taught," Kopaka just says without batting an eye, his welcoming hand extended.

It's familiarly cold when Takanuva accepts it.

He is pulled to his feet, but does not yet join the celebrations. His brother takes him a little to the side so their slowness won't be bothersome to those much more confident in their dancing.

"Your right arm," Kopaka instructs, showing him the right movement; Takanuva mirrors him. The Toa of Ice's gaze turns half-lid. "Right arm."

The Toa of Light looks down.

He quickly changes limb.

His brother nods.

Ko-Koro dances are rhythmic, harsh, heavy, powerful, Takanuva finds out as he follows along - like breaking ice into enormous blocks: motions that in Onu-Koro are lighter become heavy enough to sink in the snow, strikes that in Ta-Koro are faster turn slower to build up momentum, swings that in Po-Koro are more calculated appear sharp enough to cut through stone; they maintain a certain minute grace despite it, like certain Le-Koro leaps or the ways they move their hands in Ga-Koro, and the Toa of Light tries his best to imitate it. The songs they dance to are instead thin and crystalline despite the strict pronunciation of their dialect, their pitch high and strong like wind through the icicles as the Matoran circle the bonfire.

The warm glow flicks across the spectacled white mask with a brilliant flicker, and as Takanuva watches it entranced a thought runs through him - are Ice and Light not the same element?

"Very well," Kopaka praises gently, "Very well."

He fixes his eyes on Takanuva and sees him.

It stuns the younger Toa when he realizes it, just for a second: he sees him. He doesn't see through him, past him, before him, he just sees him - he sees Takua, he sees Takanuva, when it would be so easy to superimpose someone else on him, someone whose armor was also grey and white, who was not quite as he seemed, who was much more than what he seemed, if one in a way so different from the other.

(But was it so different, in the end?)

"Very well," Kopaka repeats with the voice he has when he smiles without showing it.

Takanuva straightens his spine.

Nuju breaks their concentration, chittering and chirping and clawing at the air: Kopaka nods, whistles something that sounds in intention like 'coming, Turaga', and kindly pushes his brother among the cheering Matoran who welcome him without questioning his presence as another song commences and with it another dance.

Takanuva stumbles, unsure. Kopeke pulls his arm and shows him how to start before his Ice brother can do so himself; Ehrye yells out the chorus to the song, to teach it to him, but he messes up a line or two in his hurry before he gets it right, and so it has to start again.

Kopaka sings, too. His voice is powerful, rolling out of him like an avalanche.

Takanuva just listens at first, dancing as best as he can, slowly forgetting to look at his feet and arms and starting to have fun. He meets Nuju's eyes: the Turaga smiles calmly, content.

He starts off murmuring the chorus so softly that he can barely hear himself, volume rising slowly with each repeat; at last he's bellowing it out, syllables a little wrong but voice clear, by his brother's side, dancing just like him, singing just like him, in a crowd of whites and azures and greys that reflect the bonfire's shining light into a thousand stars like quartz prisms, until his throat feels sore and he's stumbling and laughing while holding onto the Toa of Ice's arms breathless and so very happy.

"You're a good dancer, Takanuva," Kopaka smiles at him.

"Thank you, brother," Takanuva replies, and among the dozens of things he is thanking him for on the forefront are welcoming him in his loneliness, and seeing him.

#bionicle #kopaka #takanuva #random writing #i think about takanuva being gently included in the ko matoran comunity by kopaka post-canon sometimes #mostly because he loves his little light brother very much and partially also because there is a matoro-shaped hole in there #yes tahu adores him yes gali has a mind link with him yes hes got lewas levity and pohatus stubborness and onuas oooh whats this attitude #but the others have little brothers turned toa and kopaka doesnt anymore. and the mahri have always had toa siblings but takua never could #loner by choice gently welcoming loner by circumstances beyond his power and will into his circle of affections #reassuring him hes not a replacement even though that chair that should not be empty still exists #but after all a chair is made for sitting and the table is large enough for him too #etcetera etcetera etcetera

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karistiltskin · 3 months

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i don’t care that the lakes is only now getting its recognition i just care that it’s about MERLIN and ARTHUR.

little teeny tiny analysis incoming:

“Is it romantic how all my elegies eulogize me

I’m not cut out for all these cynical clones

These hunters with cell phones”

First of all, this is set in Merlin’s POV. The first line talks about Merlin becoming a myth and how he’s praised as the most powerful wizard alive. He is a staple as the start of “magic” and “wizardry” after his legacy is passed on. The use of the term “romantic” seems sarcastic as if he’s saying “isn’t it romantic that after my kind was hunted down and killed for believing to be evil, now I’m the optimum of good? Shouldn’t i be over the moon from this appreciation?”

Moving on to the second and third verse, “cynical clones” and “hunters with cell phones” refers to modern time. These people have twisted Merlin’s story, didn’t get it right, missed out on details, and changed him. Because his history is not correct he feels uncomfortable but is also placed in a position where he cannot clarify or speak out on it because he’s supposed to be, well, dead. People are using his story for fame and no one is receiving the truth. It’s just been turned into a myth to be broken apart, analyzed, and criticized.

“Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die

I don’t belong, and my beloved, neither do you

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry

I’m setting off, but not without my muse”

(only doing the chorus once)

if the first line doesn’t speak for itself I don’t know what does. Merlin is a poet!! He is. A quick google search for the definition of poet reads: “a person possessing special powers of imagination or expression.” hello??? We all knew he was good with words whether it came from enchantments, comforting words to his friends, his followers, or when speaking about himself. “special powers”—he is magic. “imagination”—he creates, he is creation.

He is the original poet who went to the lakes, not necessarily to die, but the other half of his soul was taken from him there.

Now, Merlin of course believes Arthur was not meant to die. He doesn’t belong there. He belongs at Merlin’s side. The lakes = Avalon and Merlin did not ever want to go there in the situation that Arthur may die. The both of them weren’t meant to wait for their purpose to begin again at Avalon when “Camelot needed Arthur most.” They were supposed to stay together in the time of a human life span and their story was supposed to continue.

“Windermere peaks.” I’m not gonna dive too much into this so here’s one word: England

The last line is that Merlin could not have stayed at the lake forever. I mean he could’ve but, I don’t think he would. So he lives his life in the most physical sense he can. He does go to visit Avalon tho and his life, his soul, doesn’t restart until Arthur’s does. He carries Arthur with him everywhere at all times, and he doesn’t forget that as he leaves Avalon and he never forgets the reason why as he also goes BACK to Avalon. Also, Arthur being Merlin’s muse>>> I mean, the whole “my magic. i use it for you. it was supposed to be yours.” EVERYTHING Merlin did was for Arthur.

“What should be burrowed under my skin

In heart-stopping waves of hurt

I’ve come too far to watch some namedropping sleaze

Tell me what are my words worth”

The first two lines refer to his early life in Camelot. Moving there, making friends, growing in his magic, Arthur, trust, betrayal, his lessons. He thinks because so much time has passed (he’s immortal) he should at least be over it or it should stop hurting but it doesn’t. It stays with him. It’s a part of him and who he is.

Now for the next two lines. Although the past will linger in him, he does grow and become wiser over the years. He has so many experiences and has lived through so many lifetimes and is still finding the strength to continue. But he’s had to watch people get his life absolutely wrong, the narratives of his friends and enemies, his character, etc. I like to think Merlin dropped some real pieces of evidence of the truth in a manuscript or a symbol or anything but the ones who found it, abused it. Instead of appreciating art and life they looked for the income and how to profit off it.

“I want auroras and sad prose

I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet

‘Cause I haven’t moved in years

And I want you right here”

Merlin finds memories in the hurt. He finds comfort in it. He wants to stay in the past because as much as it pains him, it was a time where he was the most happy.

Wisteria = a plant that can live for centuries (symbolism: resilience and longevity)

“help i’m still at the restaurant.” is Merlin. He has not moved on at all, that poor soul. He wants Arthur forever but also ALIVE and physically, mentally, emotionally with him.

“A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground

With no one around to tweet it

While I bathe in cliffside pools

With my calamitous love and insurmountable grief”

Merlin has a shield around him. Actually, plural, shields. His pain, anger, and hurt made him become this shell. But the red rose, his love, it’s still there. Always there. His love for Arthur and his narrative is still ongoing and no one knows. It’s his to keep.

His “calamitous love” and insurmountable grief” although sounds horrid are both stemmed from the purest thing he has. His love. It’s so passionate because he feels and cares so much. So his love is used as a metaphor with cliffside pools and the water in it because it (his love) overflows and spills over (i think? do cliffside pools do that?)

OKAY I’M DONE. mostly cause im tired, it’s 3:26 am, and im fried. the keyboard has been smashed quite enough and this makes one lengthy tumblr post (i can write more). i don’t even know if most of it makes sense i just wanted to get it out there.

also don’t take this too literally of course there are a million interpretations to this song, i associate it far more than just an immortal warlock and a dead king, as well as my opinions. I just wanted to share a little bit of where my mind was going. just a little.

props to you if you read this, thank you, and thank you bbc merlin

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probably-writing-x · 1 year

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Rooting For You

Summary:

Warnings: Just a load of fluff I can't lie

Author's Note: This was so cute to write !! I'm sorry I had to make it a UK team, I'm originally from England so I know that soccer scene more, I hope that's okay <3

---

"Okay babe I'll speak to you later, they're calling for us so I gotta go," You say into the phone, a communication you'd grown overly used to.

"Yeah, okay, good luck darling, I'll speak to you later," Drew responds, his voice breaking when the connection breaks momentarily, "I'm rooting for you."

"Always," You smile in response, waiting for him to hang up first before you set the phone down.

The two of you had been long distance for a little over eight months, having been dating for six months beforehand. When you got offered the job to play for the Arsenal women's team in the UK, it was an impossible opportunity to turn down. It killed you when you had to tell Drew, but he'd done everything he could to make it work since you'd left. He flew over whenever his schedule had a break, he watched every single one of your games when he could get it, he was on the other end of the phone whenever possible. It felt like you'd won the lottery with this one, really.

"Ready to go (Y/N)?" Leah smiles at you, pulling up her socks one last time.

You tuck the tiny square photo of you and Drew into the elastic band of your own socks - a little good luck tradition he never let you forget about - and stand up to follow her, "Let's do it."

~~~

Two sweaty hours later and you manage to pull back a 2-1 win after being down at half time - the icing on the cake when you scored the winner. The crowd had been behind you but it always feels the strangest bit quieter when you know Drew isn't occupying one of the seats. You're back in the changing room and pick up your phone to see a notification that Drew has tagged you in an Instagram story.

It was a photo of his TV screen as your goal had just gone in, you celebrating with a tap to your sock, where his photo was kept, like you always did. He'd written the caption '@Y/N makes it so easy to be proud of her'

You were sure your heart just did a backflip, a blush rising to your cheeks to add to the blotchy redness after the workout of the game.

"Your boyfriend makes me sick," One of the girls calls out from the other side of the room, "He's too nice."

You laugh and look down at your phone again, "Yeah, he is."

He's texted you too - Knew you could do it x See you soon angel <3

The blush isn't disappearing any time soon.

~~~

"Okay, which looks like the better option?" You ask Drew, TV remote in hand as you flick between the choices, "Couple on the brink of divorce, or world on the brink of apocalypse?"

Drew's screen was currently just an awkward view of his couch as he'd left to go and get himself snacks for the movie.

"Apocalypse, always apocalypse," He shouts from the other side of the room as he comes back in, a mouthful of popcorn.

You glance down at the screen of your phone to see him just sitting back down onto the couch, picking up his phone as soon as his hands are free. You squint a little at the small display, a little pixelated as your connection cut off and returned.

"Babe, what are you wearing?" You frown at him, your face close to the screen as if you would see it any better.

He offers you a shit-eating grin in response, "Your jersey! Check it out."

Drew turns around to show you your name and number on the back of the red top.

"It's cool right?" He wiggles his brows, "I knew you'd like it."

You laugh at him, mainly for how blatantly proud of himself he was, "You're adorable."

He kisses the badge on the left side of the shirt, just over his heart, "I know."

For a few more seconds, you just sit there in awe of him a little more than normal (which felt generally impossible).

"Stop gawking, I know I'm handsome," He narrows his eyes at you, "Ready to press play?"

You speak in chorus as you both say "Three, two, one," and both press play on the film. There must be less than a second's delay between them but it works well enough as both of you settle down to watch it - continents and hours apart, but never too far.

~~~

You hadn't heard from Drew this morning, but you'd just assumed he wanted a lie in - after a busy week of work. It was your next game tonight, one you'd told him you were nervous for. For now, though, you were in your apartment getting ready for the day, blending together a concoction of fruit to make your smoothie. When the buzzer for your door goes, you almost miss it.

"Hello?"

"Let me up."

Three words. That's all you needed. You recognise his voice, the way he's smiling through them. Three words, three syllables, and your heart skipped a beat.

"Oh my god."

He's already gone from the other end as you're buzzing him up as fast as your hands can move. You open the door to your apartment and stand in the corridor, hearing the sound of the elevator opening, and him stepping out, a duffle bag in one hand.

"Oh my god," You repeat, a hand flying to your mouth.

As quick as your feet can catch up with your brain, you run down the length of the corridor and jump into his arms. A deep rumble of a laugh rises from his chest as he embraces you and spins you around. When he lowers you to the floor, you cup one hand to his cheek and and the other on his chest over his racing heartbeat.

"What are you doing here?" Your eyes flick between both of his like you're still trying to convince half of yourself that he is real.

"Little birdie told me you needed a bit more support tonight," He shrugs so nonchalantly, a smile tugging at his lips once again, "I got an overnight flight."

"You're crazy," There are tears brewing in your eyes like you're overwhelmed at the thought that a boy like this could even exist.

"Hey come on," He squeezes your waist, "Rooting for you."

"Always," You whisper in response, letting him dip down to kiss you slowly, like he's drawing the past month without seeing you into that little moment, savouring it.

~~~

Drew is by your side when you arrive at the stadium that day, and he's stood pitchside as you're warming up, watching your every movement.

"You flew all the way over for the game?" One of the news reporters comes up beside him, "Do you mind if we do a quick interview?"

"Yeah, of course, that's fine," He nods, tugging off his jacket so that they can see the jersey he's wearing beneath.

"Alright, some of you fans will notice we're here with a special guest, Arsenal star (Y/N)'s boyfriend, and actor, Drew Starkey."

"Boyfriend first, actor second," He jokes, his eyes crinkling when he smiles.

"So you have flown over from New York to be here, what does it mean to you to get to see (Y/N) playing here?"

He smiles once again at the mention of your name, "You know, it's incredible. I watch all of the games from the states anyway, no matter what time it is for us over there, but there's something so special about being here to experience it. She just has such an energy when she plays, it's electric."

"You're known amongst the team as a bit of a cheerleader for your girlfriend, will we be hearing you from the stands today Drew?"

"Always, I'm always rooting for her," His eyes drift away from the interviewer and towards you, where you were lining up to take a mock penalty.

When the ball hits the back of the net, he is sure his heart swells twice as big.

~~~

After you win again that night, the rest of the team are out to celebrate, but you can't think of anything better than going home and having a night with Drew, without thousands of miles of ocean between you, without having to squint to see him clearer.

"What do you want to order babe?" You call out to him, dragging a towel through your wet hair after a much needed shower.

You're met with the sight of Drew in the corridor between your bedroom and the lounge, setting up to kick a football at the mini soccer net you had in the room.

"What are you doing?" You laugh, throwing your towel back aimlessly into your room.

He turns to you and you're sure there's a blush in his cheeks, "I was bored waiting for you so I've been getting further and further away from the goal."

You look at the short distance between him and the net, no more than a few metres now, "And?"

"I think my legs are weak," He grimaces, "Like it doesn't look as cool as when you do it."

You can't help but laugh, trying to hide it behind your hand.

"Oi," He jabs at your side, "Don't laugh at me, help me."

"Okay, okay," You move your hands to his waist from behind him and turn them at an angle, moving your foot down to his foot and nudging it into place too, "Okay, one foot here, and you're going to swing this one in the direction you want it to do, don't think about the ball just think of it like swinging a golf club, okay?"

He looks down with each of your movements, trying to match up exactly as you tell him. When Drew swings his leg, he looks like he's all limbs and no real direction, lanky and his leg swinging wild like he's got much further to go than he does. The ball flies upwards and over the top of the net, bouncing into the lounge and hitting the back of your couch.

"See, if that was a real net, you'd have scored," You point out, leaning against the wall behind him.

Drew turns to you and rolls his eyes, "I'm thinking maybe I let you stick to football and I'll stick to reading lines on TV."

"Deal," You laugh.

He comes up to you and lifts you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist so that he can hold his hands beneath your thighs, "I'm so proud of you baby, you were the best out there tonight. Well, every night."

You blush and kiss both of his cheeks again and again, until he's laughing at you tickling his skin.

"Come on, it's your turn to pick the film," He comments, leaning in until his lips are centimetres from yours.

You hum and lean in to complete the contact quickly, "Rom com?"

"Obviously."

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