#ouch the glow up

[strifethedestroyer]

Защо не светят пак звездите? Защо и слънцето угасна?...

#text #vent #lyrics are from спасение (spasenie) by б.т.р (be-t-er) #translation: why do the stars not glow anymore? why did the sun go out/die? #ouch this song hurts me every time every fucking time #as you can tell im writing this at 23:35 aka late night hours where those who know me know that at these hours im not okay lmao #this whole song was made becuase one of the band members killed himself #and the lyrics were made by the band after he died and they're meant to be from his pov after he died telling his friends to not follow #his path #im trying god fuck im trying #i wouldnt go to his length i wouldnt kill myself but i dont want to hit rock bottom #im close and im trying to crawl my way back up but also just fucking. falling down #-ти казваше аз помня тогава не повярвах че изходът съвсем не е това...- #<- more lyrics from the same song #translation: i remember you telling me but i didnt believe back then that the exit was not at all this #those are probably my favorite lyrics together with these ones in the post #and the pain the singer's voice too #please listen to it even if you dont understand the language #strife говоритъ по чужди езици

[senseichaos]

IMAGINE...

FULL LENGTH IMAGINE!!

Alastor is low-key a psychopathic sadist in this so you've been warned

un-edited

Alastor predator / prey play.

In episode 3 you can see his room which half of is a forest-swamp-like interior. But what if it was a forest?

"Alright dear.. I'm going to ask you to run into this forest," he begins, teeth so largely grinning you can see his gums poking in it. His eyes glow darkly and he leans in slightly closer "And I'll chase after you, and when I catch you.."

His scleras turn a black and his horns begin to grow. You shiver, shirnking away from him as he speaks. His words come out distorted, a thin crackling accompanying them:

"I'll delight in your body, no matter if you scream and cry.. I'll tear every piece of innocence from your pliant figure many times until you admit that I own every piece of you.." he trails a single claw down my chin, causing you to gulp. His eyes send you into a sort of trance, their deep red shine making your knees weak.

"Sound good, my fawn?" He asks, eyes softening as he brushes his hands through your locks.

You nod. You shouldn't have. But you did.

And then he lets go of you, smiling manically as you shiver under his gaze. Alastor licks his lips, black tongue poking from his lips. You cry beneath your breath, already feeling a sort of terror go though your body even though he hasn't commanded you yet.

And then he does

"Run" he growls, and you're off.

You run despite your shaky legs and aching feet. You jump over logs and rake yourself through bushes. You don't once look behind you, and Alastor doesn't seem close by, anyway. So you take a sharp turn, almost tripping in the process as you run in that direction; I hope that this decision means that he'll be far behind. Perhaps you could even find a place to hide.

A sudden rustling comes from a bush to your left, and this stupidity causes you to look towards it as you run; with this uncaring look comes a consequence: you trip over a root on the swampy forest floor, making your body shoot forward and fall into the grass. You cough rather loudly, shaking your face as you attempt to get up.

Ouch.

Fuck. Your ankle is twisted to shit. How are you supposed to run? You look around wearily, dragging yourself across the ground by your arms to try to find any sort of hiding place in this barren wasteland of trees and small bushes.

Then your ears catch a noise.

It's stomping. You hear stomping.

"Little fawn? Come out for daddy.." Alastor says, walking nearby.

You feel a terror shoot from my body, and you shuffle away as fast as you can. To get behind anything. You see his silhouette to your left, so with a determination you crawl (or rather shimmy) behind the nearby bush.

Fuck, the bush rustles as your body passes by it, and Alastor is now looking in your direction completely. From his silhouette you can see that he isn't in his regular form. No. He has those large deer horns poking from his head, and his upper body is larger as is the rest of his body.

And there's that glow. That glow of his red irises and Yellow smile as he looks. As he looks in your direction. As he looks in your eyes.

You are suddenly appreciative that Alastor isn't in his full demon form. Or he may rip you shreds by his claws. He doesn't stalk towards you yet. He just smiles wider, not breaking his eye contact whatsoever as he just stands.

But before you could even pry yourself from his gaze, he's running.

You scream, trying to stand but your ankle buckles beneath you; this makes you fall on your chest as you glance wearily backwards. Just as you glance backwards, he's on top of you.

You scream rips through the air again, feeling searing pain go through you as he rips your clothes up to shreds. He doesn't care for the fact his claws leave scratches and marks against your back, all he cares for is ruining that innocence you harbour. When you whimper he aggressively pushes you down so your face hits the ground and your arms lay splayed next to you, laughing to himself as he tears your panties off of your mound harshly. He flips you over again, wanting to see your dirty face after it's been shoved into the ground.

"Little fawn.. how drenched you are~" Alastor purrs, dragging a clawed finger through your wetness. The sharpness of it just barely stimulates your clit, causing you to moan as you attempt to close your legs. Alastor doesn't like that. As soon as he sees you attempt this he forces his hands around your thighs, pushing them open until you cry out in pain from the force.

"Don't test me, little fawn.." He growls, his gums showing from his manic smile. It makes you aroused in a way you can't describe. For a moment he looks at your ankle, which is bruised from the fall you took. What you didn't expect is for him to grin at this, before shifting his eyes back to your own teary ones.

"you seemed to have twisted your ankle my dear!" He leans down his nose barely brushing against your own as his claws dig into your plush thighs. "That means you can't run away.. how convenient for me," Alastor growls, finally moving one of his hands from your thigh so he can wrap his hands around your neck, forcing you to tilt your head backwards. This gives him the opportunity to bite into the area where your neck meets your shoulder.

First he just licked the area with his black tongue, causing you to shiver at the way his gaunt body leans over you. Then he barely nibbles the area, making you squirm in a way that Alastor doesn't like. He digs his claws further into your thigh as a punishment.

And then without warning, he bites down, his teeth sinking completely into your shoulder. You scream out, tears falling down your cheeks as you shake from the sheer pain of it all. When he starts to withdraw his teeth you scream again, sobbing loudly as the pain shoots through your entire body.

When he fully withdraws, he just smiles, admiring his work. Blood pours from the wound quickly, and you could feel yourself losing a lot of blood.

Thankfully, Alastor loves you enough to not kill you. So he withdraws his hands from your neck and clicks his fingers, the blood moving back into your body before a bandage appears on it.

"Can't have my fawn bleed out, can i? What would Charlie say!?" He laughs, his black sclera darkening as he wipes away your tears. You whimper like a dog, lower lip wobbling as you open your eyes. You and Alastor just stare into each other's eyes for a moment, taking in each other and each other's flaws. He is smiling, you are crying.

What you fail to notice in this moment is Alastor unbuckling his pants, pulling his cock from the confines of his boxers and pants so his tip barely kisses against your entrance. When you notice this you whimper, trying to draw yourself away from him. Though Alastor just pulls you back by your twisted ankle, causing you to gasp in pain from the way he does it.

"Little fawn, there is no use in running away from me," he tilts his head, licking his lips as he presses the tip of his cock flush at your entrance. "You've been caught already, my dear!" He laughs, and without warning plunging his cock into your entrance.

You scream his name, moving your hands to cover your mouth. Alastor laughs, his black tentacles appearing from the ground to pry your hands from your mouth, holding them down. "It's much more fun when I can hear you scream for me, isn't it dear?" He laughs, drawing his hips back before thrusting harshly into your core again. You moan, teary eyes rolling backwards with a sort of agonizing pleasure.

"How tight you are, Little fawn," He says, pushing your thighs into your chest so he has better access to your holes. Each thrust he gives you makes you moan loudly, though Alastor doesn't even so much as grunt. He just grins as he watches your innocence leave you with a prideful gaze.

"S'too much! Fuck!" You yell, feeling his tip brush against your cervix painfully. Though Alastor only laughs, closing his eyes and laughing as he speeds up his thrusts. The tentacles around your arms tighten as you attempt to move them, Alastor's brows furrowing with his laughter.

You couldn't even understand his motive anymore. Is he enjoying having you beneath him? To the point where he humors it?

"Oh, how funny you are my little fawn," He says, moving one of his left hand from your thigh to wipe away a tear of laughter. As he puts his hand back on your thigh he tilts his head, speaking: "But I already said I don't care if you want to stop,"

"You already agreed to this, didn't you?" He says, and you scream with a painful pleasure.

"You wanted this."

His thrusts become manic in pace and you can't help but give up on moving. He's in complete control of you now. He's in control of your feelings, he's in control of your thoughts, he's in control of your body, he's in control of your pleasure. He owns you now. And there's nothing you can do but take it.

You'd take anything he'd give you.

With a whimper and a sob you cum on his cock, walls clamping around his length as he bites his lip. He watches your face the entire time, a snarky and prideful look on his features as you come loose around him.

Once you finish, here comes that horrible overstimulation that makes you gasp for air. How has he not came yet? You had no answer.

"My little fawn, too bad I cannot breed you. I guess this will just have to do.." he says, serving you one last harsh thrust as he empties his load inside of you. And he cums a lot, like- a lot a lot. You can feel your stomach bulging every so slightly with his cum as he leans down, kissing your cheek.

"Oh thank God," you sigh, happy that the sex is finally over.

"God!? Ha!" He laughs pulling out of you.

You begin to sit up, but Alastor's tentacles hold you down. He tuts, grinning as he presses his cock head against your anus.

"Who said we were done, Little Fawn?

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

#proship #senseichaos #antishippers dni #senseichaosdrabbles #proship fanfiction #alastor x reader smut #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor #alastor smut #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel smut

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. i

purely just some fun and games putting big grumpy joel miller slap bang in the middle of a romcom. i hope you guys enjoy. dedicated to big sis @mrsmando, who is the light of my life, let herself be completely swept away by this idea into unhinged, whimsical mania with me, and who inspired so many lil details for this story. love u, zhort x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you strike up a deal to attend a wedding with your neighbor as his date. what could go wrong?

warnings: age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), grumpy!joel initially finds reader mildly infuriating, cursing, alcohol consumption, discussion of a car accident (non-graphic) & dead parents, softdom!joel as per, fingering, handjob, comeplay, spitting, drunk unprotected one night stand, creampie, praise kink, one mention of nausea (but nothing happens, my little emetophobic angels), someone falls pregnant and it's not joel miller i'll tell you that much. honk if you love cats!!!

word count: 9.8k 

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

It’s just gone seven on a Saturday night when his knuckles rap on your door.

The sun casts tall, angled shapes on your living room wall. Lights the pages before you in a glow of tangerine. Refracts through the glass tumbler on your coffee table and bleeds the amber liquid onto the pale wood surface. Everything lit in some variation of gold, everything bowing its head quietly as the day begins to turn its back.

The house is still. The world feels still, as though transitioning. Like you’re sat in a waiting room, leg bouncing, anticipating something you don’t know to look for yet.

Perfect, comfortable, still – until he’s on your porch. And he knocks again.

You snap your book shut and slide it across the table, nudging the heavy glass. The ice clinks, irritated.

“You mind fastenin’ your…delicates to your clothesline a little better?”

His voice shoulders its way into your hallway before you’ve even pulled the door back enough to see him. Not that you need to see him to know who it is. You’ve lived in Austin three years now and met only one person with a voice as low and toneless as Joel Miller’s. Slung in sarcasm, dripping with disdain. All that.

You cross your arms and slant against the doorframe, unable to mask your amusement. “Excuse me?”

He answers by lifting his left hand. From his pointer finger hang a tiny pair of white panties, lace pattern fluttering in the late summer breeze. You glance over his shoulder as you steal them from his grasp, balling them in your fist.

“Uhuh. They were sitting on my back lawn. I have company tonight, y’know. I can’t have women’s underwear just – lyin’ in my damn yard.”

Your head tilts. Ears prick. “Company? You hostin’ somethin’?”

His shoulders drop with a sigh. “No. I am not hostin’ anythin’.”

“Good. ‘cause I’d want an invite.”

“If I were hostin’, you’d be the last person I would invite. And you know that.”

“Ouch,” you pout, “that hurts, Miller. I watered your plants while you were off visiting your brother last month. They woulda died without me there.”

“And I am grateful to you,” Joel grumbles, “but that doesn’t mean I need those anywhere in view of my kitchen window.” He throws a pointed finger to your elbow, where your panties sit scrunched in your fist.

You look down to the froth of frill spilling between your knuckles, and back up to his dark features – his glower casting a shadow over the hazel eyes and deepening the creases between his brows. You smirk, a realization dawning.

Company – that he doesn’t want seeing a pair of someone else’s underwear.

“You have a date.”

Joel’s tongue flicks across the inside of his cheek. He glances over his shoulder and speaks through his teeth. “No, not a date,” he quietly tells the street.

“But you have a lady comin’ over. Or at least – someone you don’t want seeing these.” You unfold your arms and twirl your fist. The gentle wind lifts the lace.

He grunts. A low hmph. Agreement, you think.

“Sounds like a date.”

He hisses, “’s not a date.”

Your stare doesn’t slip from his. Not when his brows tighten, not when his jaw does, too. Not even when he sucks a breath between gritted teeth. Your smile widens.

Finally, with a sigh, he concedes. “It’s…it’s somebody Tommy ‘n Maria are tryna set me up with. Alright?”

“So – a date.”

“If you don’t –” Joel’s head flicks over to his own driveway at the same time his hand lifts, a pointed gesture you read as – shut the fuck up. “We’re just having a few drinks. Just – hangin’ out.”

“Just hangin’ out,” you repeat, eyes widening. “One-on-one. With some woman who – Wait, Tommy’s in Wyoming. How the hell do he and his wife know someone way the hell down here?”

“From before they moved. And – Maria ain’t his wife. Yet. They’re getting married next month.”

Suddenly the sun reappears over the dark horizon. The evening begins to clear up, make sense again. You lift your chin, nodding.

“Right, right. So, she gonna be your plus one, or…?”

The understanding raises his heckles again. Exasperated, he asks, “How many damn questions are you gonna –? I’m only here to – to return your –” He nods once more to the pale fabric in your hand.

A laugh shoots from your nostrils. “What’s the matter? You don’t like – whatever her name is?”

“Laura.”

“Laura,” you breathe.

“And there ain’t nothin’ wrong with her. She just – she…”

“She…?”

“She has, like, five cats, and it’s just…hair, everywhere. And at their engagement party, she spilled an entire margarita down me. Right down my –” He sweeps a hand down his front, balling his fists again once they reach the hem of his shirt.

Your lips turn, amused. “Five cats. Cat lady Laura. Well. Have fun, I guess. Thanks for these.”

He acknowledges your raised fist with a bashful glance. He’s already halfway down your front steps when he says, “Keep an eye on your laundry from now on,” and strides off back to his own place.

Joel has lived here his whole life. In Austin. You’ve no idea when he moved in next door, just that he was here when you did. You don’t know much about him at all – the fact he even filled you in enough to tell you about his date is shocking enough.

The day you first arrived, U-Haul truck squealing to a halt by the curb, he found himself unlucky enough to be stood in his front yard watering the blond patches of his grass. He saw you struggling to open the rear door of the truck, and with a grumble and a glance across the street for a more eager rescuer, he tossed his hose and came over to help.

He unclicked the heavy latch and pushed the door up with enough ease to put you to shame. And he seemed to feel some obligation when he saw the mass of belongings stuffed in the back, to help you unload them. Didn’t seem overjoyed by the thought, mind you, what with the sigh he let slip when you hopped up and held out the first box.

He indulged you for no more than one hour. Answered every question you had about the neighborhood, dodged every one about himself. He told you about the couple across the street with the newborn baby, told you about your neighbor on the other side who pretends to garden just so she can snoop on everyone else’s business. And as soon as the last box thudded down on your gleaming living room floor, he nodded, and paced back over to his own property.

He's a good guy. You know this much. He’s a dick to you most days, but he’s honest, and he’s kind when you catch him in the right light. He takes deliveries for you when you’re not home; he once drove Diane to the vets when she showed up on his doorstep in the dead of night, Fred the Jack Russell ailing in her arms.

He’s observant. Noticed just this summer the three different plumbers who showed up to your house in the space of two days, and came over as the third guy was leaving – his shining bald head low between his shoulders.

‘s the matter? Joel asked, watching the navy overalls sink into the rusted vehicle.

Kitchen sink’s leakin’. Fuckin’ – nobody can fix it.

He shouldered you out of the way with his then-trademark sigh and left twenty minutes later, your kitchen finally free of the dripdripdrip you’d been plagued with for a week straight.

He’s good. He’s a good neighbor. But, man, is he private.

You’ve never seen the inside of his place. His body blocks it anytime you’re on his doorstep. He has a brother, you know that – though, only since last month, when he asked you to keep an eye on his garden – and you know, now, that the brother is getting married.

You know that he likes country music, know he plays guitar – accidentally. You heard him one day in the spring, when he left his window open and you were lounging by your pool. When he looked out and noticed how you’d angled your sunbed to listen, really listen, he slammed it shut.

You know he’s single and childless and has been for at least the three years you’ve lived next door to him.

You know little fucking else.

The words on the curled pages seep into one another. You’re staring through the book now back in your hands, the shape of your living room blurring around you: the brick fireplace, the still, red light of the TV. The lulling sway of the sheer curtains, pushed like the tides by the air through the open window.

You cross your ankles on the coffee table. Your lips purse. Tongue dabs at the smoky-sweet singe of whiskey on the flesh of your cheeks. From here, you can see the street outside Joel’s house. If – when – Laura pulls up, you’ll know. And you’ll be here to watch. Survey. Observe.

See what kind of woman a guy like Joel Miller takes to his brother’s wedding.

It’s nine fifty-two when she eventually leaves.

She’s been in there two hours and seventeen minutes. Her car – a kind of rotten green Chevrolet with one tail light out – sits patiently out front, like even it can’t wait to help her fucking disappear.

You’re hoisting a swollen black bag down your drive when his porch light flickers on and his front door opens. The glossy plastic exhales as it slumps against the trashcan. You dust your hands. Joel hasn’t noticed you yet.

“…so nice gettin’ to properly know you,” Laura’s crooning, sidestepping as Joel walks calmly down to her car. Ushering her. You hold back a laugh.

“Thanks for comin’,” he says, his voice falling flat in the windless evening. He’s a step ahead of her, like a parent leading their child away from the park. She’s still babbling about his six-string.

“Maybe next time I can hear a little somethin’…” she says, and you know from the way he halts that Joel hears the same questioning tone you do, the way somethin’ curls up at its end.

“Maybe,” he says, curtly. His words curl down. And then nothing else, and Laura – who, now that she’s a little closer, stood on the curb by her car door, you notice has sweeping golden hair which flicks away from her plump cheeks, and bright eyes which dazzle in the dusky glow – is forced to cough up one last chance.

“I gave you my number,” she says, then, “I didn’t get yours?” and this time, it’s definitely a question.

Joel pretends to pat down his pockets. “I musta left my phone in the house.”

You can’t help it. A scoff bursts from your lips. But he still doesn’t look over.

“Well,” Laura tugs on the handle, “thank you for a lovely evenin’. I’ll hear from ya.”

Joel smiles but puts a hand on the door, like he might slam it shut for her if she tried to backtrack. But she doesn’t. She swings both legs in, pulls it closed, and the engine spurts to life.

As she pulls off, Chevrolet jolting a little, you notice the bright yellow bumper sticker plastered squint beneath the license plate. You walk silently over to Joel, grass prickly under your socks.

“Honk If You Love…Cats,” you murmur, shoulder brushing off his bicep.

He sniffs. Tightens the grip his arms have on his chest. His eyes are fixed on the one red light, slowly shrinking into the distance. “Don’t even.”

“Good date?”

“I said don’t.”

“She talk much about her cats?”

“Goodnight.”

“Did you ask their names, at least?”

He’s backing up, crossing the dark lawn towards his front steps. He looks you up and down, his lips a flat line. Your sweat shorts. Your bare legs. The tight vest top molded around your breasts. His eyes shoot back up. “No more questions. No more pesterin’ me.”

“Nothin’ about the cats? Seriously, dude?” You lift your arms, grinning after his dark figure, swaggering up the porch steps.

Joel ignores you. He disappears through his front door and the light is snuffed. You slink back up to your house, grateful for the blanket of darkness covering the skip in your step.

Eleven hours later, you’re stood in front of your bedroom mirror.

The day melts against your window. Brilliant blue sky, cradling soft puffs of snow-white clouds. Crows on Diane’s roof cawing, slowly yellowing trees rustling. The bright, hot square across your front where the sun forces her way in.

You turn, taking the loose hem of your sleepshirt in your fingers, and pull it over your body, tossing it to the foot of the bed as you examine the pattern of colors hanging from inside your closet.

You take them one by one, tug them free, slot them back in. Eventually you settle for a gray hoodie, cropped and loose. As you haul it from its hanger, there’s a whine from the wooden cabinet. A squeal. The top shelf rips from either side, dropping to the closet floor and taking the pole with it.

“What the f–? You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you growl, stepping forward to run your fingers along the splintered wood where the nails have ripped themselves free. Four black holes, jagged insides of the closet pricking your fingertips.

The crumple of clothes and hangers sulks up at you pathetically. You fall back onto your bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The fan whirs slowly, scooping your gaze and throwing it in lazy circles.

The closet was old, anyways. Was here when you moved. It’s probably about time you had some new ones built. But fuck, that’s gonna cost. Ripping the old ones out, building them from scratch. The fan pulls your eyes back around to twelve o’clock.

Joel’s a contractor. He could do ‘em. Might give you a discounted rate, too, for all the times you move his newspaper from his front lawn to his doorstep for him. Either that, or he’d want something in return. And what handy skills do you have? You once knitted a scarf for you grandma for Christmas. Maybe not Joel’s thing. You can cook mac ‘n cheese – though one lousy meal isn’t payment enough for an entire wall of solid wood, two panes of glass and two days’ labor.

A favor, maybe. An IOU. What the fuck kinda favor does Joel Miller need–?

You’re hopping over the tiny burst of hedge between his yard and yours before the thought is finished, bending to scoop his newspaper up and slotting it under your arm. He answers just as you lift your fist to pound on his door for a second time.

You slap the rolled paper into his chest. “I have an idea.”

He squints at you in the summer light. “Wh–? Didn’t I tell you not to p–?”

“I’ll be your date.”

Joel blinks.

“I’ll be your date,” you repeat. “I got a wardrobe needs replacing. You do it, for free, and I’ll be your date.”

“Your wardrobe?”

“Crapped out on me this mornin’. I don’t want to pay for some stranger who’ll overcharge me ‘n do a half-assed job. Fix it, ‘n you don’t have to take cat lady Laura to Tommy’s wedding. And you can fix my kitchen sink, too.”

“I already fixed your kitchen sink.”

“It’s back at it. Drippin’ all through the damn night. Drip drip drip –”

“Alright.” Joel’s palm is up again. He does that a lot when he’s talking to you. “Alright. Wardrobe ‘n sink.”

“We have a deal?” you ask, extending your hand.

His chest fills with a thoughtful breath. His eyes scan you up and down, lingering somewhere a little lower than your jaw for a second. And then, the heavy weight of his palm against yours. The tightening of his fingers around your wrist. One sure shake.

Deal.

Two weeks before the wedding, you’re at Joel’s door again.

He’s in a black tee, dark sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair is damp, fringe still dripping onto his forehead. He runs a hand through the gray-singed brown and stares at the tangle of fabric slung over your arm. “The hell is this?”

“Do you know what you’re wearin’?”

His eyes roll up to meet yours. “Do I know what I’m wearin’?”

You nod. “You’re the best man. Guessing Tommy has you covered?”

“Black suit,” he says, after a beat.

“That’s it? He ain’t got no theme?”

Joel’s head cocks. “I don’t do themes.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under his arm fixed against the doorpost. He manages three words of protest and then shuts the door in resignation, turning to watch as you take his stairs two at a time.

“You are so damn annoyin’, you know that?” his voice echoes behind you.

“You want this date or not, Miller?” you call over your shoulder, following the route through the identical house to your own bedroom – thankful when you nudge the door and it opens to reveal his bland, colorless decor. “Very…gray,” you note, feeling the shadow of him over your shoulder.

You throw the dresses down on his bed, satin and lace and pink and green swimming between one another on his sheets.

“I’m not wearin’ a dress.”

You glower at him. “Ha. We have to match.”

He rubs the towel against the back of his head, drying the dark hair. “Match how?”

“Y’know, your suit ‘n my dress. If I’m your date, we have to match.”

“Already told you. I’m wearin’ a black suit.”

“Right. But, like – what color tie? And can it be any of these colors?” You hold your hands out, surfing over the sea of shades. “Maybe,” you lift your eyebrows, eyes darting to the pale teal color, “this one?”

Joel entertains you for all of five seconds, lifting his cheeks in a false grin before they deflate. “No. Black.”

“Joel.”

He slings the towel over his folded arms, and looks at you plainly. “Black,” he says again, in a tone of voice which sounds something like a door being slammed shut.

Your eyes thin, and you gather your dresses up in one swipe. “Can you just –? Will you make sure that you match my corsage, at least?”

“Why the hell are you so hung up on this?”

“I’m not. I’m just tryna make it believable. You turned down cat lady Laura, this is what you get.”

He sighs, tossing the towel over to his laundry basket. “I will make sure I match your corsage. Happy?”

“Happy. Are you ready?”

“Give me five minutes.”

You huff, head rolling back. “You are so prima-donna, Joel Miller.”

With a sarcastic chuckle, he shoves you out of his bedroom to get dressed. You saunter down his stairs, drinking in every detail of his home as though it’s the only chance you’ll get to see it.

It probably is, when you think about it. You don’t imagine he’ll be inviting you over for drinks anytime soon.

Your eyes move along the wall as you slowly thump down his stairs, thrown from framed photo to framed photo – a black and white photo of a man with a tousle-haired boy on his lap, the kid’s tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth as he wraps his small hand around the neck of a guitar; an out-of-focus Christmas photo, a family of four sat in front of a million multicolored orbs dotted along the branches of a tree; a kid with skinned knees crouched by a German shepherd, his lanky arms hooked around the dog’s thick neck.

One brown suede jacket hangs from a coat peg at the bottom, Joel’s boots sat loose and unlaced beneath. A dark blue blanket draped over the back of his couch. A painting of a moose over his fireplace. Shelves lining one entire wall decorated with carved-wood animals, with more photographs of times gone and memories made, with books and DVDs that lend your fingertip with a heap of white dust as you drag it across their spines.

Enough to paint a picture, not quite enough to show you the colors. The tones, the depth. Despite your best efforts, the man remains a mystery. You settle with the fact he will never be fully revealed.

The creak of his stairs turns your attention from the guitar on the wall around to his tall figure, fixing the collar of the loose flannel over his shoulders.

“You ready?” Joel asks, bending with a groan to reach for his boots.

“Yep,” you reply, leaning forward to glance into his kitchen while his head’s down. The most you manage to observe are the light drapes, the sunlight shooting through and bouncing off of a white-topped island.

“’s go,” he says, keys dangling from his finger.

It takes twenty minutes to drive to Home Depot.

You chitter in Joel’s ear the entire time, reading from his handwritten list of measurements and supplies needed for your new closet. ‘n how do you know this is all enough? Because I know. What if you get started and it’s not? I won’t; it’s enough. You sound so sure. That’s ‘cause I’ve done it before, kid. You take many closetless girls out on fake wedding dates, Joel?

“What’s our story, then?” you ask in the store, fiddling with hanging packets of door hinges while Joel reads thrice over his note. Your hand dives into the bag of M&M’s he begrudgingly bought you at a gas station on the way.

“Our story?” he mumbles back, the words slipping under the mental math you can see going on behind his eyes.

“Like, when people ask how we met. What’s our meet-cute? Both reached for the same door hinge, our hands touched and lit aflame? That kinda thing?”

He doesn’t laugh. Your smile dampens instantly. You kick his boot. “Joel.”

“’sec,” he frowns, “I’m focusing.”

You lean close, pushing on your toes to study the folded slip. His scrawled numbers, the pencil lines blunt and smudged in the creases of the paper.

“Twentytwofortysixeightyninetyfivesixhundredelevenfourtwelvenineteen–”

Joel’s lips seep a maddened sigh; he glances down the aisle like a store attendant might separate you from him if he demanded with enough passion, or maybe if he slipped them a twenty.

“Do you mind?” he barks, his expression a brick wall for your giggles to fall flat to the floor against.

“Home Depot’s your stomping ground. Why the hell do I gotta come watch you pick hinges and timber?”

“Because it’s your damn closet I’m fittin’. Just –” he swipes two packets from their peg, tossing them into the shopping cart, “– come on.”

Joel makes off down the muck-colored floor, the overhead lights reflecting harshly in the shiny surface. The front right wheel of the cart trembles as it rolls, nervously leading the two of you down an aisle lined with cylinder tins and pamphlets on Choosing the right finish.

“So, are your parents gonna be at this wedding?” you ask, taking the cart from Joel’s hands when he drifts off to study a shelf of wood varnish.

His jaw turns towards you, and then back to the tin in his hand. “Yeah. Why?”

“Do I get to meet ‘em?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not gonna introduce your date to your mom and dad?”

He scoffs, stealing a handful of candy. “My fake date?”

“They don’t know that. Let me meet Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”

He holds two tins up, offering them to you like answer to your question. “Matt or gloss? Guess it don’t really matter if I’m painting ‘em after.”

“Stop fuckin’ ignoring me. I hate when you do that.”

He leans in close, lowering the matt varnish into the cart. “You think I’m gonna introduce you ‘n your potty mouth to my mom?”

You smirk, eyes narrow. “Dick.”

“Funny. What color paint you want? You said something about duck egg?”

“Planning on repainting my room that color, yeah. Hey, you could –”

He swats your pointed finger away, taking the cart back. “We shook on new wardrobe. No changin’ the deal,” he mutters, wandering over to the rainbow of paint tins on the opposite side of the aisle.

You follow him over, eyes moving from blue over to green, the tins plastered with the fake smiles of families and fluffy pet dogs on the front. “Where are your mom and dad from?” you ask.

“Austin,” he replies, eyes squinting to read the small print on the back of one vibrant shade. You shake your head and guide his wrist back to the shelf, where he obediently sets the heavy tin back. “Never known anywhere else,” he adds. “What about you? Where’s Mr. and Mrs. Potty Mouth?”

“Uh,” you swipe at your nose awkwardly, “they’re up in Allandale. That’s where I grew up.”

“That so? I got a cousin who used to live that way. Used to take my bike up every Saturday. He lived right by this old car shop, all these old classics they used to fix up ‘n resell.”

“Yeah,” you say, “right next to the cemetery, right?”

“That’s the one,” Joel says, lifting paint tins to the light and setting them down again. “They live nearby?”

Your breathing shifts, starts to claw its way up your throat. Your chest heats, skin lighting with an irritating anxiety. “They’re, um,” you gulp, “they’re in the cemetery.”

Joel pauses, letting the tin slip from his grasp with an echoing thud against the wooden shelf which reverberates in your ears a second too long. “Oh,” he says, set on your expression.

“It’s okay – I don’t mind. It’s – it was a car accident, back when I was eight. I wasn’t in it, or anything. I grew up with my grandma. Really, Joel, I don’t mind,” you add, when his face falls and he begins to apologize.

“I had no idea,” he says, and you break the eye contact before you break a fucking sweat.

“’s all good,” you murmur, lifting paint tins of your own now, focusing on deblurring your glossy vision, “I got to buy a big house with the money they left.”

It thaws him a little. He snorts, and taps the lid of the tin you’re holding. “That one’s nice. You, uh – you okay?”

You finally turn back, the world clearer, colors no longer bleeding into one another through sharp tears. “Yeah. I’m fine. We got everything?”

Joel nods, and wheels the cart around. “You can meet her, if you want. My mom. She’s a little full on, but I reckon you can handle her.”

You smile, following him down the aisle.

A month after he delivered your underwear back to you, you’re back on Joel’s doorstep.

Your hand flicks nervously at your side as you wait for him to answer, petals of your corsage quivering. The clip of his footsteps echoes down the stairs, a deep sound growing louder and louder until the door clinks open and you’re separated only by air.

Joel’s eyes scan down your body at the same time yours scan down his. Black suit, sure enough, just without the jacket, and with his tie slung around his loose collar. You both freeze when your eyes meet again, your lips silently forming the shape of an avalanche of words that refuse to sound until Joel’s do.

“Wow, you –”

“– look great, I –”

“– nice dress, is that –? Sorry –”

“– no, I’m sorry, you were – sorry.” A laugh pushes from your throat. “You look – you look good. Scrub up well, ‘n all that.”

“You too. You – Yeah. That’s a nice color, after all. You suit it.” His eyes linger on your chest, your breasts draped in lustrous silk, decorated with the glint of golden jewelry. You notice.

“Thanks. After all?” You snort, and Joel’s exterior seems to crack a little.

He steps back, ushering you in. “Alright,” he says, taking the tote with your change of clothes from your wrist. He watches across the street as you step over the threshold, his fingertips light on your back as you pass by, like little shocks of lightning up your spine. “You know what I meant.”

Your dress swishes around your ankles, your heels clicking along his varnished floor. Your arms lock around your torso, holding your pashmina in place while Joel totters around, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. His shirt stretches from his tight waistband, fabric flattening against his tummy. Your eyes shoot north again when he speaks.

“You mind doin’ my tie? It’ll end up squint if I do.”

“Sure,” you reply, stepping forward.

He buttons the top of his shirt and lifts his chin, staring at the wall behind you as you tug on the black fabric, the silk slipping through your fingers. You steal glances at the trim of his beard, his pink lips beneath the dark bristles; the slope of his nose, the lines on his worn skin.

He’s rough around the edges, sure, a man in his late forties. But there’s something soft about him, something familiar and…comfortable. The pages of a used sketchbook, the lived-in material of a favorite dress.

You pull the knot higher until it’s sitting in the notch below his Adam’s apple, smoothing it down and giving his chest a light pat before stepping back again.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he mumbles, and a spark lights in your chest. “Oh,” he says, holding a finger up and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a little white box, holding it out for you to see.

Your cheeks swell, eyes flitting up to acknowledge the proud look on his face. “Very nice. Good job.”

“You can do the honors,” Joel says, handing you the boutonniere by the stem.

You pin it through his lapel, straightening it with a focused glance. Joel’s eyes are on you, watching the flutter of your eyelashes, the tilt of your head. “There,” you whisper, leaning back.

He extends his elbow, something of a smile on his lips. You don’t see it often. It beckons a mirrored expression.

Arm in arm, Joel leads you out to the truck, where he helps you up and waits for you to scoop your dress into the footwell before closing the door. You watch patiently as he locks the front door, slings both your bags over his shoulder and jogs back to the truck, tossing them in the backseat before joining you in the front.

“How come he didn’t send a limousine? Or a Jag, or somethin’?”

“You think we’re made a’ money?” Joel asks, smirking.

You return the smile, wrapping your shawl over your body. “Can I pick the music?” you ask, earnestly, a tinge of sweetness to your voice.

Joel glances over again, reaches behind your headrest to reverse out of the drive. He runs his tongue along his top teeth. “No,” he says.

Three hours later, Tommy and Maria are married.

The wedding is…big. Joel’s family is big. The venue – a rustic hotel suite, fairy lights draped from the rafters, blooming flowers sprouting from crystal vases, lace tablecloths and tied chair cushions and wax dripping from thick, naked candles – is big.

Joel’s been good about it – that friendly neighbor you see all too little has been kicked into high gear. He delivered you by hand straight to his mom – a small woman with silver hair neatly twisted into an updo at the back of her head – who took your hand and held it tightly all the way to your seats.

Kind and warm, she asked where you were from, how you met Joel, how long you’d been dating. She offered you some tissues before the ceremony started, then winked and nodded in Joel’s direction as the bridesmaids swept down the aisle.

You lingered behind the photographer while he took photos of the wedding party, instructing them to shuffle a little closer, that’s it; ma’am, with the red hair, lower your bouquet a little; alright, now, everyone: big smiles!

You worried that Joel had kept the same placated smile frozen on his face for so long that it might never melt away, might never return to the stoic scowl you’re so used to seeing on him. You didn’t even realize you were staring at him, until he waved you down, flicked his hand, and beckoned you over to the group.

You hesitated. I don’t know if I –

Get over here, girl, Tommy had called, grinning alongside his big brother.

The two Millers slotted you in like a jigsaw piece between their bodies, two arms wrapped around your back – Tommy’s, loose on your shoulders, and Joel’s, tight around your waist. He held you close, squeezing you into his side while the photographer praised the party and snapped photo after photo, the flash burning into your eyes by the time he clapped his hands and thanked you all for your patience.

Drink? Joel had asked, and you’d responded with one thumb up, the other massaging your eyelids. He squeezed your shoulder and disappeared into the crowd of bodies.

He’s still over there – by the bar, a wooden structure draped in ivy and studded by steel bolts. His beer in one hand and your wine in the other. A lean, poised figure stood opposite him – her dress a royal purple, her hair a wave of brown spilling over her bare shoulders.

She’s beautiful – a striking charm which draws your eye to her like an arrow directly through the sea of bodies between here and there. Her languid movements, the slow roll of her neck to sweep the hair from one side of her body to the other.

Her head falls back in laugher, her bejeweled hand falls softly on his arm. Your throat closes sharply. Joel nods, angling as if to make off, but she holds onto him and leans in. He laughs, then, at whatever her full lips whisper into his ear, and he finally breaks off from her and returns to you.

He pushes the glass by its base across the smooth tablecloth. Your fingers brush over one another as you trade, the stem sitting between your index and middle. He’s warm, his knuckles kissing yours.

“How was it, then, talkin’ to my mom?” Joel asks.

You smile, propping your chin on the heel of your palm. “I like her. She’s funny.” And then, when he tosses his head in response, “Who were you talkin’ to?”

Joel follows your eyeline over to the woman in the purple dress. The glint of white crystal on her neck. The drama of dark hair on pale skin. “Uh,” he wanders around your back to his chair, “we used to work together.”

Your nails tap against the glass. “Oh, yeah?”

He sniffs. Doesn’t meet your eye. “Yep.”

“You were talking to her for a long time.”

He watches a blue orb dance over your head on the wall, a spot of light from the disco ball over the dancefloor. “Lotta memories.”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

His eyes plummet. Fall from the string bulbs straight to your face, sparkling in the rainbow lights. “You want me to look at you? There.”

You grin. “’s better. If you stare up there long enough, they might stick.”

“Safer to have ‘em stuck on you, is it?”

“Mhm,” your voice echoes around the curve of your wine glass, “better view. So, who is she?”

Joel shifts uncomfortably. He twirls the bottle in his fingers. “We…we were together for some time. A few years.”

“An ex,” you muse, stain of lipstick left on the rim of your glass. “How many years?”

“Eight.”

You almost choke on your drink. “Eight – eight years?”

Joel nods, waiting for you to catch your breath. Expression never changing. Bottle still twirling. “Haven’t seen her in a while. We were just catchin’ up.”

“Eight fucking years. Why the fuck aren’t you married?”

He scoffs. “That’s a fifth-date question.” He lifts the bottle to his lips, tongue pushes against the glass.

“I don’t need five fuckin’ wardrobes,” you quip, and he laughs. Like, genuinely laughs. His head tips back, his teeth show. Your chest swells, confidence and relief blooming there. She didn’t make him laugh like that – not from where you were watching.

It becomes something of a mission in the back of your mind – tallying up how many times you can make his chest shudder, his shoulders jerk. How many times he leans in closer and repeats whatever you said, eyes closing over and hand hitting his thigh. How many times he looks at you and your stomach flutters, the blood cartwheels through your veins, the bones of your ribcage readjust and make room for the swelling of your heart.

Within four rounds, you’ve lost count.

The thudding beat of the music muffles in your drunken ears, like it’s coming from the next room. Your gaze fixes on the vase in the center of the table, the bouquet spilling over the glass. The wide burst of speckled lilies, the humble blush of tulips between. The colors soften and blur the longer you stare at them.

The jerk of Joel’s shoulders stirs you from your daydream. That’s one more.

“What?” you ask, head rolling to look over to him.

“You still in there?” he asks, one word slurring into the next like waves lapping.

You scoff, looking back to the pink flowers. “You know who has tulips?” you ask him.

He lifts his eyebrows. Who?

“Alice.”

“Brown?”

Your head nods heavily. “One time, she was out getting her mail, and I had just pulled up in my car on the phone to my best friend – he’d just broken up with his girlfriend, it was a whole thing…” You bat your hand. “Anyway. She pretended to tend to her tulips for forty-five minutes while I sat talkin’ to him in the driveway.”

Joel’s head tilts back with a burst of laughter. “She hear every word?”

“Every – damn – word. Stood by the fence listenin’.”

“That woman is som’ else,” Joel says, shaking his head. He stares down at the bottle between his fingers. His thumbs play with the curled corner of the label. “Didn’t I warn you about her?”

“Mhm.” You smile, realizing he has the same memory that you do, locked up somewhere in his mind. The sweat running down his temple, the dark patch between his shoulder blades. His hands gripping the heavier boxes, leaving you to carry the linen, the base of a lamp. Nodding as he wandered back over to his own porch, calling back for you to Holler if you need anythin’.

The high squeal of the Sweet Child O’ Mine intro snaps you back to the wedding reception. Tommy and Maria are playing air guitar on the dancefloor over Joel’s shoulder. You unstick your gaze from his white shirt, unsure how long you’ve been fucking staring.

Joel sits forward, drags his chair across the polished floor closer to you. He fixes the strap on your dress, untwisting it before settling back again. Your eyes follow his fingers as they leave your shoulder and sit back on the curve of his thigh, lifting when his voice breaks through to your eardrums.

“What room number did you say you were, again?”

Your shoulders roll. “Thirty-four, I think.”

Joel nods. Points to himself. “Thirty-six.” And then he glances over his shoulder, watches as Tommy kneels before Maria and rocks his head, his messy mop of hair tossed across his shoulders. The older Miller brother turns back. “Think they’ll miss us if we call it a night?”

“We’re callin’ it a night?”

“Figure if I’m headin’ off then you won’t wanna be sat here by yourself,” Joel says, and he’s right. He stands up, sets the half-empty bottle on the tablecloth and stares down at you. “I’m callin’ it a night,” he tells you. “You comin’?”

The colors in the room spin like the reels of a slot machine. Your fingers sit lightly in his outstretched palm, and you pull yourself up alongside him.

“’s a good girl,” he mutters, looking over your shoulder to the doorway, and your eyes sober up long enough to catch the flicker in his eye.

You totter along the hallway, arm in arm, anchoring yourselves together. Whichever way one sways, the other inevitably follows. You’re laughing, and Joel’s hushing you, warning that there are folks tryna – tryna sleep, we’re in a fancy place, hey, da-rlin’, no – you gotta shhhut up.

“Great party,” you decide, finally docking against your door.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, leaning a little on the wall. The gentle glow of the hallway lights him perfectly; the strong angle of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones. The hazel pools that make up his irises, the swollen circles of black in the middle. And the twinkle in them, like the moon reflecting on dark water, every time his gaze lifts to you.

He’s different tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol. The way it colors everything in a peachy film, all objects softened and rosy and shapeless. But he feels different, too. You suddenly realize, shoulder pressed hard against the cold doorframe, that you’ve never touched one another more than you have today. His elbow in yours, his arm around your waist, his hand through yours as you danced together.

“Are you tired?” you ask, head rolling.

“Tired? No. Drunk, yeah. Not tired.” He laughs again. It’s infectious.

“You wanna come inside?” you ask, words leaping from your giggle.

He takes ten seconds to consider it. Slumps into the wall, steadied only by his forearm pushing him back upright. His watch face catches the light behind him.

“Yeah. Fuck yeah, I do.”

Your hand fumbles in your clutch for the keycard, swiping the handle and pushing down heavily. You spill into the dark room, light sneaking in from the sconce outside your window, and spin back to face him, his hand locked tight with yours.

Joel follows you slowly as you back towards the bed, kicking your heels off and tripping over the skirt of your dress. When your legs hit the plush mattress, his body leans into yours. Your lips ghost across his, your words pushing them apart one by one.

“This ain’t – part of the – agreement,” you murmur, the coarse hair of his beard scratching your chin. You pull apart his tie, loosening the knot.

“Changed my mind,” he replies, collapsing on top of you on the bed.

Your head rolls back when his lips suck into your neck. You wrestle with his belt, with the waist of his suit trousers. “No changin’ the deal, remember?”

“Tell me to stop.”

If you had any intention of answering him, your body overrides it. Words lassoed and dragged back down where they came from, your throat opening only to gasp when Joel’s teeth graze the flesh of your breast. His fingers tug on the straps of your dress, letting them fall from your shoulders until your chest sits exposed.

He drags his tongue along your skin, dipping between your tits while his hands massage them, fingers pinching your nipples. Your back lifts and his hands move beneath, following the curve of your spine to where your dress pools loose around your waist. He pushes down, slinking the smooth fabric from your body.

“You fuckin’…” He clicks his teeth, laughing behind them. Another flush of heat washes over your skin.

You giggle, bending your knees to cover the lace panties he knows all too fucking well. Joel stops you, pushes your legs back down with two heavy hands.

“Don’t get shy now, baby,” he murmurs, opening your body up again. “You were so happy about me seein’ ‘em a few weeks ago, no?”

“’s different,” you reply, tang of alcohol fueling your words, “now I just want you to take them off me.”

He cocks his head, drinking every word you’re handing over like it’s water from an oasis. “Such a dirty girl, ain’t you?”

You pull him closer by the collar and line your mouth against his, the tip of your tongue wetting the inside of his lips. “You got no fucking idea,” you whisper, whipping the shirt from his torso.

Joel growls, flipping you over and pulling you by the shoulders flush against his chest. You hook an arm around his neck, turn to grant him access to your lips. He kisses you like a starved animal, savoring every taste, teeth nipping at your tingling lips.

His hand curves around your hips, pushing beneath your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger pushing on the spongey hood of your clit. Your head falls limp against his collarbone, back arching as Joel holds you steady with an arm around your waist.

“’s alright, baby,” he coos, his tongue licking the shell of your ear. “I’m gonna take good care of ya. Gonna give you what you need, alright?”

A strangled moan unravels across your tongue, echoing into Joel’s mouth. Your hips begin to gyrate, meeting the rhythm of his hand, his finger massaging rough circles into your clit. He smirks, peeling the panties down your thighs.

“Attagirl,” he breathes, “you want it bad, huh? Gettin’ so worked up so fast. Here.”

He removes his hand from between your legs, ignoring your moan of protest and replacing it with two fingers on your bottom lip. “Open,” he instructs, and you obey like a fucking dog. He slips them in, thick and heavy, and waits for you to coat them with your wine-stained tongue.

Joel pushes down, forcing a muffled gag from your throat which lifts the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head lightly, whispering, “You got it, ‘s okay.”

A thread of saliva strings between his fingers and your lips when he lowers his hand again, trailing his fingers through your folds until he’s dancing along the seam of your cunt. You jolt forward; Joel hauls you back.

“Just fucking – do it,” you whimper, your walls clenching around nothing.

He holds his fingers together, curling and inserting them in a painfully slow motion. Your knees widen on the mattress, body sinking down by instinct to meet his fist, to feel his thick fingers and wide knuckles as deep as they’ll go.

You gasp when Joel begins hooking them inside you, nudging against your walls like your heartbeat against your clit. Your hand lowers, slipping beneath his loose waistband, beneath the elastic of his boxers and around his already solid cock.

Joel groans, fucking you harder on his hand. “Fuck, just like that, baby. You feel what you do to me?”

“Uhuh,” you reply, voice wanton and broken.

You squeeze him, your fist moving up and down, his warm skin following the movements of your tight grip. His tip is already soaked, precome staining his underwear, dribbling down your thumb.

Joel uses his free hand to shove his pants down, crumpling on the floor at his feet when they free his cock. You carve your mouth around his, the two of you exchanging breath and flicking your tongues together as you fuck one another’s hands, the room slowly filling with the hot, muggy smell of sex.

Joel’s the first to cave. With a jerk of his hips, he takes you by the wrist and frees himself from your clutches.

“You’re gonna make me come, darlin’,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers from your cunt.

“That’s kinda the point here,” you reply, teeth bumping into his in a grin.

Joel shakes his head, lifting his hand, glistening with your arousal. “Gotta feel this fucking pussy first.”

You smile, parting your lips for him for the second time, suckling on his fingers and licking them clean of your own salty slick. His cock draws sticky trails on the seam of your thigh.

“Yeah,” Joel breathes, eyes fixed on the place where you close around him, “that good, baby? You gonna let me taste you?”

You release his fingers and he pulls you in, tongue slipping against yours with a groan which vibrates against your jaw. When your lips part, you hold your mouth open, your tongue sat on your bottom lip.

Joel reacts instantly, collecting a bead of saliva in front of his teeth and letting it drop into your mouth. You moan and swallow it, a cocktail of beer and whiskey and slick. Joel watches as you lick your lips, the stained-pink coated in a thick, white shine.

“Alright,” he says, letting you fall forward onto the bed. He jacks himself a few times, spitting into his hand and using it to coat his cock.

“Want you to come in it,” you whine, wiggling your ass for him as he lines up at your slit. You can feel the arousal gathered on his tip, dripping down your cunt.

“Yeah, baby,” Joel growls, a smirk on his lips as he watches himself slowly disappear inside you. And then –

You both fall silent, mouths hanging wide open as you each feel the width of his cock and the tightness of your cunt. The way your body opens up to accommodate his size, the direct pain and ethereal pleasure of Joel pushing into you.

“Fuck,” he groans, your pussy drawing him in with a sweet, wet sound. “Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. So damn gorgeous in that dress.”

You slowly move your hips back to meet him at the base of his cock; dark, trimmed hair bristling against your lips. Joel’s hands lock around your waist, holding you steady with his entirety buried inside, letting you adjust to him.

He’s so fucking big, so wide and deep that your breath tears rugged from your lungs, barreling up your windpipe. Your walls squeeze tight as he pulls out like your body refuses to let him go, like your cells understand better than you do that you were made for this – made for him. Like the only place in the world that he belongs, is somewhere deep inside you.

So big that it hurts, each time he fills you up and stretches you wide open. The pain an eye-rolling, lung-closing, limb-shaking sensation.

Your elbows give, falling chest-first onto the mattress while Joel fucks you hard, his hands gripping your hips. Your cheek and breasts flat against the sheets, your back arched. He slams into you, edging you closer and closer with each meeting of his warm skin against yours, each sopping slap of come and saliva.

The mattress shifts above your head, two valleys where his palms push down heavily, then the weight of his body at the back of your thighs. He towers over you, hips hammering so hard that you’re forced to hook your fingers around his wrists just to stay on the same fucking planet.

“Gonna – fuckin’ – come – baby,” he spits, his jaw locked tight. “You want it in this little pussy? You think she can take it all?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, the edges of your words rounded by the silk sheets. “Joel, I – fuck –”

“Yeah, she can,” he agrees, playing with the hair spilling across your shoulders and taking it in a fistful.

The hazy drunken blur begins to turn over in favor of something sharper, something electric pulsing through your veins. Every part of your body alive, everything rising to meet the same high, the same release. You cling onto him, body beginning to melt beneath his.

Joel’s lips press between your shoulder blades. “Don’t fight it, baby, let go. I got you.”

You moan his name in one last pathetic attempt before the world whitens. You clench around him as a deafening orgasm shocks through your body, curling your back and forcing your nails deep into Joel’s wrists.

“Fuck, baby, fuck me,” Joel gasps. He slams into you one final time before you feel the staggered pump of his come flooding between your walls. “Ahh,” he groans, pushing apart your ass cheeks to watch the trickle seep from your cunt. “Good fucking girl. Take it, baby. That’s my girl.”

He turns you over onto your back and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him against your body as he thrusts into you again, tenderly pushing his spend deeper inside. It draws a strained moan from your throat.

“’s alright,” he coos, hips slowing against yours, “just feel it, baby. You feel how deep I am?”

“Uhuh,” you cry, nails digging into his skin, damp with sweat.

“So fuckin’ full of me,” he says, more to himself, before collapsing alongside you, holding your thigh on his hip, his tip still sheathed inside you.

You lie like that for a while, listening to the distant hum of music from downstairs, the party still raving in the belly of the hotel while you two lay in content bliss somewhere in its ribcage. Tracing one another’s features, learning the lines on Joel’s face, the flecks of gray in his eyebrows – all the parts you’re never close nor brave enough to get to know.

His right hand massages your plush waist, his left arm a pillow to rest your heavy, dizzy, drunk head on.

“I wanna do it again,” you whisper, the words sneaking out between heavy breaths.

Joel nods. His bottom lip sticks with sweat to yours. His hips push a little neater into you. “I wanna do it again, too.”

“I wanna do it all night.”

He hasn’t stopped nodding. He shrugs, tightens his grip around your shoulders, and tilts his head. “Then let’s do it all fucking night,” he says, and his lips slam back into yours.

The morning after the wedding, Joel drives you home. The truck soars down the highway, the two of you an uncomfortable distance apart. The same sobering distance you’ve kept all morning – the unreal aftermath of sex.

The rolling waves of bedsheets between your bodies; the sun sifting her long fingers through his hair as she peered through the curtains. The way you’d silently pushed yourself from the mattress, fragmenting your movements and allowing the spring to dip a fraction at a time so not to wake him. The spongey feel of the hotel carpet under the balls of your feet as you’d tottered to the bathroom. The sharp shot of the lock sliding into place, echoing like a bullet.

He waited until you finished showering to get ready himself. Sat on the edge of the bed patiently and watched your shadow beneath the door, the to-and-fro of your silhouette breaking the sliver of golden light as you dressed your sticky body. When you pulled on the metal lock again, he was sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose. His bare shoulders were curved, and tanned. You blinked twice to store the image and turned away as he stood.

He says he feels hungover. You say you do, too. It’s the closest you come to talking about it. You hop out of the truck in his drive, your tote bag hooked on your shoulder. The canvas gnawing at the silk inside. Joel tells you he’ll see his end of the deal through in a couple weeks.

“Real busy with work,” he mutters apologetically, his wrists still balancing on the steering wheel.

“That’s good,” you tell him, nodding. “I ain’t in any rush. I know where you live, so.”

A relieved laugh pushes from his lips. “I will get to it,” he assures you.

You shrug casually. “Whenever, Joel.”

You don’t talk for a few days. A few days bleeds into three weeks. You find yourself stood by his front tires, throwing his newspaper onto the porch and scampering when it lands. The noise like a bomb dropping.

Slowly, as the month draws on, you become braver and braver – daring closer and closer to his front door, until you’re back to marching up the steps like you own the place, depositing the roll on his doormat. Rubbing your thumbs against your fingers to feel the ink like satin.

The door cracks open as you make your way back down his steps one bright morning.

“Hey, kid,” Joel murmurs, reaching down for the paper with a groan.

“Hey.”

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, leaning his forearm against the door.

Your head tilts back and forth, your hand lifting to shield your eyes from the sun. “Think I ate som’ bad, maybe. Weird stomach this mornin’.”

Joel’s chin angles. “Hope it ain’t contagious. Was thinkin’ I could get that closet started for you, maybe tomorrow?”

The offer takes you off guard. You buffer for a few seconds before answering, “Sure. Sure, just, uh – just come over whenever, I guess.”

“Nine work for you?”

You nod. “Nine’s good. See ya then.”

It’s something like nine when you find out.

You wake feeling groggy. Tired, sluggish. A heavy ache pulling on your breasts as you rise from bed, tender and swollen. You stand in the bathroom, milky morning light filtering in through the doorway, and your stomach lurches. Waves of nausea deep in your belly, rocking back and forth, swirling and spiraling.

You’ve a box under your sink. It makes sense. Before Joel was some date from Hinge, who fucked you against the wall of his living room and who snored so loud that you left before the sun came up. Negative. Like always.

But it never hurts to be sure.

The pack tears like it’s liquid in your hands. Peels back to reveal the plastic white test, the bubblegum pink cap – like it’s something fun and sweet to place the direction of your future into this little device. A clinical compass needle.

Three to five minutes. You set it down on the counter and drag yourself back through to your room, lifting your bedsheets, tucking them under the mattress, heaving your pillows back into place against the headboard. An uncomfortable heat boiling under the surface of your skin, a prickle of sweat clinging to the nape of your neck.

A sickly taste harboring on your tongue, you pad back to the bathroom and swipe the test up. Your eyes scan past the result window to the counter as you reach for your toothbrush – and then snap abruptly back to the tiny oval. Your outstretched hand freezes in midair. There’s no fucking w–

Your arm swings back to reach for the light cord. The bulb hesitates – flickers, like it’s unsure whether to reveal the truth to you. It knows something you don’t. It’s seen something it doesn’t want to show you. You stare at the pregnancy test.

Two little pink lines stare back. And Joel knocks at your door.

#forgive me for it not being clm or sof #they're coming very soon i promise #this was too fun an idea not to chase #i have the attention span of my labrador retrievers (nil) #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel miller #neighbor!joel #babydaddy!joel miller

[harmonysanreads]

Idée Fixe

yandere!lyney x reader

cw(s) : yandere, lyney

wc : 2.6k+

two dorks psychoanalyze each other. might kiss out of spite.

“For as many hearts as you steal, how many do you keep?”

The smooth texture from designed cards is felt across the tips of your fingers, your eyes capture the patterns printed on them through the filter of silvery moonlight and the sound of steps falling in sync with yours assure you of the verity of this encounter.

You don't even need to look up to picture the twinkling amethysts, the widening curve of lips that never convey anything concrete and a sudden bounce in the magician's steps ; the visage painted in your subconscious like the motifs on the cards your fingers fiddle with in intrigue.

The chilly night breeze are but twirls of playful edge,“You make it sound like something else,”

If you cared to look up, you would've noticed the subtle dance of his brows. Lyney begins to walk a step ahead of you in the midst of his short speech, through prolonged scrutiny that'd rival that of the most skilled jeweler's ; you've associated this change of pace to either be in preparation for his usual trickery — or, in the few sparse occasions that go as soon as they come, a casual introduction of another subject to eliminate the previous one. While one could accuse you of reading too much into things, you've long since learned that when it concerns the eccentric magician, the tell-tale details will reveal what he will not.

“Oh really? Perhaps it's your mind imagining insinuations that do not exist, you do have a creative brain.”

“Ouch, only you could insult and praise me in the same sentence.” Lyney places a hand over his heart to cradle it from the jab, though his choice of words should indicate offense, the delivery makes it clear he wouldn't have it any other way.

“Why, thank you, though you're gravely mistaken if you think that will change the subject.” with a swivel of his cape, Lyney spins to walk facing you, his strides (albeit backwards) unchanging in confidence and only when your lift your head to lock eyes, does his expression lighten.

“Well, to answer your question, the ones that are worth keeping, of course.”

The magician chuckles at your eye-roll, “Don't play coy, you know precisely how I meant that question.”

Lyney hums in pretend contemplation, gaze still fixated on your moonlit form, the beat of both of your steps grazing against the pavement and making it seem like a strange parade. Your question holds substance unknown to the rest of the world, but translucent to the magician.

It is both his frustration and delight that you're never bent by his charming words and theatrics. Your firm stare and insistence on the topic confirm his suspicions that you're searching for something particular, something uprooted from the very depths of his soul and he could bet his entire career that you won't stop until you've wrung it out. The answer you seek is nothing he can't give, it'd be simple as well, but precisely due to this knowledge the magician opts instead to test the limitations of your patience.

Truth be told, Lyney never likes it easy and neither do you.

For a miniscule lapse in the boundless confines of time, it's as though both of your world has separated from the existing one. For an amount that'd otherwise be uncomfortable, all exchange is made through your locked eyes. Like a secret shared between no other soul — despite your better judgement, the realization sends a jolt of thrill through your veins and you cannot help but wonder if the magician feels the same.

Seemingly out of thin air, Lyney twirls his magic wand in a wanton pattern, small sparks of light clash with the moon's glow before waltzing past your hair — you pause for not a second, knowing their goal lies in catching you off-guard. If Lyney was given the chance, he'd spend the rest of the night in determining whether you looking back to the cards in your hands was merely an expression of boredom or a brag of how accustomed you are to his theatrics.

Lyney dabbles between the lines of reality and illusion as a profession, blurring them without his audience's notice to make them believe a miracle. It's a simple trick he's succeeded in transforming into an art, so he was confident you'd be privy to the delusion as well. Whether it's due to you doing the same as him or the opposite entirely, Lyney's persistence in solving the puzzle piece named you only grows more tenacious day-by-day.

Sensing the magician's uncharacteristic quietude, you abandon the cards to his backwards marching form and the cheeky grin plastered on his face has you wishing you hadn't at all.

“Ah, but you see, the information you seek is confidential and I fear for prying ears. How about you come a little closer, and I'll tell you the amount?”

Lyney's face is a perfect replica of the grin-malkin cat he adores using as prop, a cloud obscures the moon's vision from seeing the act down earth and the shimmer of Lyney's eyes become pronounced in contrast to the shadow. In comparison, your visage that'd scream ‘preposterous!’ if it could looks nothing short of a circus.

Your steps come to a halt in unison, a breathy chuckle echoes throughout the dead of the night, “Aw, why that face? I don't bite~”

You blink in surprise and suddenly the magician's presence is way too closer than you recall ; he bows down to your ear and the heat of his breath almost makes a shiver run down your spine.

“... but, I might nibble.”

You catch his impish smirk from the corner of your eye and if Lyney notices how you choke in the formation of words, he could snag an award for acting like he didn't.

“Are you that fixated on creating a scandal? Must you always be so shameless?”

At that, Lyney leans away with a pout, hands folded behind his back and swaying back and forth on the heels of his shoes like a reprimanded child.

“Come on now, don't be such a killjoy. I went through all that trouble to whisk you from that boring party and this is how I'm thanked?”

The magician's words are a drawl, each one competing to be more irritating than the last. You have to take a deep breath and hold your tongue from reminding him that the escapade had been without your choice. The world places limitations on all sorts of things and you're not morbidly curious enough tonight to know the extent of the magician's good graces. A beat of tense silence passes, Lyney takes note of your averted gaze and it positively irks him.

Lack of eye-contact means a number of things ; nervousness, insecurity, hesitancy, guilt. For a performer like him whose pride resides in keeping his audience's eyes hooked on his every move, such a gesture is bitter tasting. But when it concerns you, it pricks and wounds his very soul. Lyney's sigh is one of weight and it inclines you to raise your head.

“By asking how many hearts I keep, you hope to know how many matters to me.”

The magician takes his hat off and moves forward to place it atop your head, his speech is not an assumption, nor an inquiry, but a statement. You straighten your posture when you notice the absence of a smile on his face, the sight so alien it has you on edge. While his gesture may be plain to an inexperienced eye, you know that he does it as an extension of his affection. For all the valued items he keeps dangling by the rim of that hat, he surrenders it all to you in a heartbeat.

But you still hold your breath and as expected, the solemn expression of his proves to be transient. Just before the hat grazes your locks, he tips it back, gives the vacancy of its inside an inspecting look and does an emptying gesture as if to prove its.. well, emptiness. There's a flicker in his eyes you're not given the time to catch as he brings his hat just above your head and does the same depleting motion again ; the scent of fresh roses engulf your senses as a thousand petals cascade down from the hat. As if on cue, the winds pick up and waltz them down upon your form.

Here's the thing ; while you may pride yourself in being experienced in discerning Lyney's tricks, it becomes a task to maintain a straight face as he never repeats his previous sleight of hand. What you can try to do instead is search for patterns, patterns reveal genres and genres reveal intentions. Lyney is a celebrated magician of the Court, his capabilities lie far from simple card tricks, so for him to resort to elementary jugglery instead of some grand spectacle, it can only mean he's trying to distract you yet again.

You feel the weight of his hat on your head at last, shifting all the cards on your left hand, you raise your right to adjust its position slightly.

Your encouragement for him to elaborate comes in the form of confirmation, “That'd be correct,”

The magician's lips curve up in fondness, a playful hum escapes him as you resume your walk, him returning to stride facing you again. It's a skill he's mastered in the duration of your acquaintance, for the purpose of stunts apparently. You have your suspicions — but then again, who doesn't when it concerns Lyney?

“Very well. You accuse me of being such a thief, yet, I think you are the guiltier one between us two.” the errant strands of the magician's hair sway, his eyes keep you captive.

He takes the inquisitive tilt of your head as incentive to conclude, “On the topic of hearts and all, I must ask first, when do you intend to return mine?”

The night winds pause, your brain processes Lyney's question until it blanks upon realization. Your eyes dart across his face that is void of all teasing cues, his eyes glazed over and you can tell he's holding his breath. Any consideration of his behavior aligning with trickery is eliminated just as quickly, because if anyone were to want to understand Lyney as intricately as you, they'd first need to learn to be able to distinguish his flirtation from fact.

“... Do I have to?”

You find yourself half concerned and half entertained as the magician narrowly avoids being hit by a pole, him having to maneuver to regain his footing. Both of your steps come to a halt as your laugh echoes throughout the dead of the night. Lyney sheepishly places a hand on the back of his neck but that sight is all too evanescent. The signature smirk of his returns with enthusiasm.

“Not at all,” he purrs, eyes flickering towards your restless ones that have settled on his magic cards again.

“In fact, mold it to your will, toss it to your whim and hold it captive as though it's a supplement of your own, if you may.”

Your ears hang onto each of Lyney's words but your eyes find no courage to look at the mirth that you're certain is plastered on his face, you take the moment to properly inspect the motifs on the cards with some distraction from the shadows of the night : the grin-malkin cat, a miniature Lyney sticking out his tongue, a tea cup, a penguin and—

You're left stupified as the card is abruptly snatched from your grasp, Lyney bounces back a few steps and confirms to be the culprit. You brisk walk to reach the magician and that turns out to be your biggest mistake.

The card is at first held between two of Lyney's fingers, him shaking it left and right in provocation and in the spur of the moment, you take a leap. You feel the wind of the card being propelled upward, the magician holding it out of your reach. Your desire to obtain the piece of paper exceeds your awareness of the sudden decrease in proximity between you both. You shift to your tiptoes and feel the surface of the card, one look through your peripheral at the magician's smile and you realize a little too late that you've fallen right into his trap.

“Now, let's see, the question that started this all : the number of hearts this magician holds dear is the answer to this riddle—”

You expected Lyney to make the card disappear or shift higher if possible, but instead his hand wraps around yours and you find yourself twirled a full circle. The motion catches you off-guard but the magician stabilizes you by placing a firm hand on your waist and pulling you to his eye-level. You find yourself out-of-breath and unable to look away as the moon shines its light on you two again.

“—Placed above, it makes greater things small. Placed beside, it makes small things greater. ” the magician tilts your chin up in his preferred angle with the card, the cool temperature of its margin contradicting the heat of your skin.

“In matters that count, it always comes first.”

The faint rustle of your garbs against his is resounding, your own reflection stares back through amethyst lenses.

Lyney's voice is but a whisper against your cheek as he concludes, “Where others increase, it keeps all things the same. What is it?”

Your frenzied mind momentarily dreads the scenario wherein someone catches you two in the midst of this rendezvous, from incipiency to this apparent climax ; it's built up to be nothing short of scandalous. But the magician has no care for that outcome, inching closer, closer and closer. As if sensing the new wave of worries that fill your mind, he halts but makes no attempt to lean back, his eyes regain their usual shine.

“Quite easy, don't you think? But, if you believe it to be so, you'll be mislead. After all, that is how the simplest magic bewilders the audience. Blink, and you might miss it.”

The magician dives in and your breath hitches. Your eyes are forced open when you feel yourself stumble forward. The first second is wasted with no action, the second one you register that you have the card in your hand — pressed to your lips, on the third you notice the absence of Lyney's presence and the forth brings down all the embarrassment crashing down on your poor heart.

You pull away the condemned card from your lips, heavens know what anyone would think if they saw you kissing a piece of paper in the middle of nowhere. Your face flushes in the lovely shades of pink, heart hammering against your ribcage.

I could've sworn that I felt...!

The magic card crumbles slightly by the edges because of your grip, the prickle of its corners remind you to take deep breaths and calm your raging thoughts. You shake your head with vigour, but you're unsure if it's to recollect the memory or to brush it off. You're left alone to ruminate the aftermath of the bizarre encounter in the cold winds of midnight and you almost want to drown yourself in the darkest depths of the sea as recollections of your reactions rapidly pass through your mind — you can practically hear Lyney's snickers in your head.

Your attention is then grabbed by the catalyst of your current predicament, you turn over the card and finally inspect the motif printed on the card ; two hearts, bounded by a shackle and a lock. You trace your thumb across the hearts and your mind retraces Lyney's cryptic words. If all interactions, encounters and memories you share with the eccentric magician of Fontaine would form a pinnacle for you to see the truth from ; you'd know that behind the veneer of charisma and humor, Lyney hides something far less innocent. And yet, regardless of the foreboding creeping up your spine, you find yourself unable to snap the tether of connection.

Because as it is, that which is mysterious, captivates us all.

may all lyney wanters be lyney havers<3

#enjoy the whimsy until i (probably) give him the venti treatment(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠) #this is so self-indulgent and i'm not going to apologize for it #yandere #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere lyney #yandere lyney x reader #lyney x reader #lyney x you #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x you #yandere x reader imagine #male yandere #genshin impact #yandere genshin #genshin x reader #lyney fluff #lyney

[slu7formen]

MDNI. luke x drunk!reader

luke decides to take care of you when he notices how drunk you are a party, you didn’t know how much you needed him until he showed you so.

warnings: drunk!reader, protective!luke, lil violence, use of yn, allusion to s3x

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

The melody from a stolen radio emerged through the humid night air, barely audible over the loud laughter and shouted conversations of the older campers reunited in the woods. The stars offered little illumination, replaced by the flickering glow of a bonfire fueled by firewood. The air was heavy and hot, filled with the scent of chips, spilled beer, and teenage rebellion. This was a rare ocasion for the senior campers, a chance to forget about monstrous threats and drakon training for a night.

Luke nestled in the shadows of a nearby oak tree, holding a way too warm can of beer to drink now, and listened to his friends, trade their usual brand of mischievous gossip. A comfortable camaraderie settled over him, a welcome respite from the weight of responsibility that pressed down on him as a counselor.

"Did you see Lucy practically drooling over Malcolm after Ally dumped him?" Travis snickered, nudging Connor with his elbow.

Connor snorted, barely containing his laughter. "Ouch, sister drama. Ally must be thinking about drowning her in cheap perfume"

Luke chuckled, shaking his head. The Aphrodite cabin drama was always entertaining, even if a little predictable. He glanced around the clearing, his gaze sweeping over the other campers. A group of Ares cabin warriors were engaged in a play-fight, throwing each other to the ground as they groaned and laughed. He spotted Katie Gardner, daughter of Demeter, tending to a small patch of wildflowers. Even at a forbidden party, Katie couldn't resist nurturing something green.

"Hey, Luke" Chris nudged him, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You gonna tell us your big secret yet? We all know there's something going on between you and yn"

Luke's smile faltered slightly. "There's nothing to tell" he replied noncommittally, taking a swig of his warm beer, the taste bitter in his tongue. “We’re just friends”

"Oh, come on" Connor pressed, a sly smirk spreading across his face. "We see the way you look at her. Like she's the only girl alive."

Luke rolled his eyes, but a blush crept up his neck under the teasing of his friends. Suddenly, a melodic laugh cut through the din, a sound that sent a jolt through him. It was your laugh, bright and carefree, a stark contrast to the usual reserved demeanor you displayed around camp. He followed the sound, his gaze landing on you amidst a group of campers near the edge of the clearing. But it wasn't your presence that triggered a tightening in his chest. It was the hulking figure of Ares cabin resident, Mark, who stood far too close to you, his arm draped around your shoulder as he leaned in to whisper something that caused another burst of laughter from you.

A sting of jealousy pierced Luke´s insides. He knew it was silly. He and you were nothing more than friends. But still, that doesn’t mean he’s gonna like it when he sees you with some other guy. He watched as you swayed slightly, the red plastic cup clutched loosely in your hand a clear indication of your intoxicated state. Your usually sharp eyes held a glazed look, a vulnerability that made his protective instincts flare.

He saw you and Mark detach from the group, heading deeper into the shadowy woods. There was a part of him that urged him to let you be, to let you enjoy your night. But another, more primal part couldn't shake the image of you, intoxicated and unaware, disappearing into the woods with someone like Mark.

Sighing, Luke pushed himself off the tree trunk. “I´ll be back in a minute” he says to his friends, leaving his can on Travis´ hand. He weaved through the tight and large group of campers, his purpose hardening with each step. You stumbled on a protruding root, giggling at your own clumsiness. Mark steadied you, his hand lingering on your waist in a way that made Luke’s right eye twitch.

"Hey, yn" Luke's voice cut through the air, catching your attention. You turned, your face splitting into a wide, drunken smile.

"Luuuke!" you slurred, swaying towards him with open arms, nearly knocking him over with the force of your hug. Ignoring the glare Mark shot his way, Luke enveloped you in a hug, his nose crinkling at the distinct scent of fruit punch and something a little stronger.

"Whoa there" he chuckled as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He could smell the sugary sweetness of your lip gloss. "Easy, tiger."

You giggled, your head lolling against his shoulder. You mumbled something nonsensical, giggling at a private joke only you seemed to understand. Your mascara, usually neatly applied, had smudged slightly at the corners of your eyes. Despite the obvious effects of the alcohol, you were undeniably beautiful, the firelight casting warm shadows on your face. "M'so happpy you´re here! Dance with me!" you yelled as you lift your arms, your voice thick with intoxication. Luke felt a pang of worry. You were far too drunk to be alone in the woods with a boy you barely knew.

"Seems like you've had a few too many tonight, huh?"

"Just having a little fun, Luke" you pouted, the way you said his name sounded funny. "Don't be a all couns-, counselor"

He glanced over your shoulder towards Mark, whose jaw was clenched tight. "Yeah, well, maybe a little too much fun" Luke countered, his voice gaining a hint of firmness, but as softly as possible. "Maybe it's time for you to head back to your cabin, yeah?”

"But Mark was showing me…" you began, but were cut off by Mark's snide voice.

"Mind your own business, Castellan" He growled. Luke narrowed his eyes at the Ares camper, a dangerous glint flickering within them. “This doesn´t concern you”

"She's clearly not in control of herself" Luke retorted, his voice low and cold. "Someone needs to make sure she gets back safely. And it won't be you."

Mark scoffed, a humorless sound. "Says who? Why don't you worry about yourself, Castellan?"

The barb hit a nerve. Luke wasn't drunk, but the implication stung. He wasn't about to get into a debate about his tolerance with this ridiculously big guy.

"Look," Luke said tightly, trying to keep his voice calm, "I'm not trying to cause any trouble. I just—"

"Just what?" Mark interrupted, stepping forward, his chest puffing out in a show of dominance. "Going to swoop in and save the damsel in distress? You think she needs rescuing?"

He shot a pointed look at you, who seemed to be lost in your own world, giggling at some private joke as you covered your mouth. The sight of it only fueled Luke's simmering anger.

"Whether she needs help or not isn't the point" Luke growled, his voice strained. "The point is, she's clearly intoxicated and shouldn't be alone with someone she barely knows."

"Barely knows?" Mark echoed, a sneer twisting his lips. "We were just getting to know each other, weren't we, yn?"

He turned to you, his voice dripping with false sweetness. You blinked at him owlishly, then shrugged, a nonsensical answer escaping your lips.

The sight of it was too much for Luke. His fists clenched at his sides. He knew Mark was deliberately trying to get a rise out of him, but it was working. The implication that his concern was fueled by jealousy rather than genuine care was infuriating.

“Now if you excuse us…” Mark pointed out, pulling you to him by your hip as he tried to walk away with you.

But Luke´s had enough. That was the last straw. In a blur of motion, Luke lashed out. He lunged forward, his fist connecting with Mark's nose with a satisfying crunch. Mark stumbled back, roaring in pain, a hand flying up to his now-bleeding nose.

You, however, seemed oblivious to the sudden violence. You blinked at the scene in confusion, your brow creased in a frown as you looked at Mark. "What the-…" your words slurred, lost in the midst of your intoxication.

But before you could form a complete sentence, a wave of fury washed over you. You turned around, shoving Luke hard in the chest, sending him stumbling back a step. "What the fuck, Luke!" you shrieked, your voice laced with a venom that startled him. "Why do you always have to be all over me!?"

The words hit Luke like a physical blow. He wasn't angry at you, not truly. You were clearly out of it, the world a dizzy sight because of whatever it is that you drank. But the accusation stung. Here he was, trying to protect you from a situation you couldn't navigate in your current state, and you saw it as him controlling you.

"yn," he started again, trying to choose his words carefully. "I just-"

"Just what?" you shot back, your voice thick with slurred defiance. "Just what gives you the right to decide what I do?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. Luke's heart ached. You were upset, confused, and vulnerable – a dangerous combination amplified by the alcohol coursing through your veins.

You crossed your arms over your chest as you sniffed, walking past him fast, head down and all pouty. “You ruined everything” you mumbled, more to yourself than directly to him, but he still heard. Luke watched you go, a wave of despair washing over him. He'd messed up.

He glanced back at Mark, who was clutching his nose and glaring at him with a mixture of fury and grudging respect. "Look, man" Luke sighed, the fight momentarily draining out of him. "That was a cheap shot, I´m sorry"

Mark grunted, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand. "Yeah, well, you got a nice fist, I must say."

There was a hint of grudging respect in his voice, perhaps because he couldn't deny that Luke's concern for you seemed genuine, or because if he recieved another punch, he'd need his nose surgically reattached.

"I wasn´t gonna do much either" he tried to defend himself. “She can´t even walk straight” Mark mumbled, ponting at you, then he turned away and disappeard into the shadows.

Luke glanced back at your retreating figure. He knew he needed to fix things with you, but for now, all he could do was hope you wouldn't hold his overprotective actions against him. He took a deep breath and started following you, determined to apologize and explain his actions once you were sober enough to listen.

Your walk was more of a drunken sashay, hips swaying precariously with each wobbly step. Luke watched you stumble away, a knot of frustration tightening in his gut. He knew you weren't thinking straight, the alcohol muddling your judgment and turning his concern into a controlling act in your eyes.

"yn" he called after you, his voice laced with a pleading he rarely used. "Wait a minute, please."

You ignored him, your focus solely on putting distance between you and Luke. He quickened his pace, catching up beside you.

"Seriously, stop it" Luke's voice was closer now. "You're going to fall on your face if you keep walking like that."

You stopped short, whirling around to face him. “Will you stop following me? This is embarrasing enough, Luke”

"Embarrassing?" Luke echoed, his voice rising in exasperation. "You're practically falling over drunk! You can't just walk around like this."

"I can handle myself" you slurred, puffing out your chest in a show of false bravery. You wobbled slightly, proving his point.

Luke sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look…" he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I'm not trying to be a jerk. I'm just worried about you. You're clearly hammered, and it's not safe for you to be alone."

You scoffed. "Safe? I'm not a little girl, Luke. I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, well, right now you can't even take care of your balance!" he retorted, his patience wearing thin. You wobbled again, nearly toppling over before catching yourself on a nearby tree trunk.

"Just stop following me, okay?" you slurred, your voice thick with a pout. "I don't need this from you"

He sighed as your trembling body swayed precariously, threatening to topple over at any moment. Luke knew arguing with you further would be pointless. You were a force of nature in your current state, fueled by both alcohol and indignation. He needed to take a different approach.

With a resigned sigh, he whipped his denim jacket off in one swift motion. Kneeling before you, he draped it around your waist, the familiar scent of him momentarily grounding you. You blinked at him, a flicker of confusion replacing the anger in your eyes.

"What are you—woah!" you yelped before you could finish your question. In a smooth, practiced motion honed from years of wrestling monstrous opponents, Luke scooped you up effortlessly, hoisting you over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

A surprised shriek erupted from your lips. The world tilted on its axis as you found yourself dangling upside down. The clearing erupted in laughter. A few of the campers who had been watching the whole scene unfold hooted and hollered, their amusement evident. "Careful with that one, Luke!" one of them called out, a wide grin plastered on his face. "Looks like she bites!"

Luke shot him a withering look, his jaw clenched. "Very funny" he muttered, ignoring the whistles and catcalls from the others. His focus was solely on you, the warmth of your body radiating against his back.

“You better put me down!" you shrieked, kicking your legs in the air in a futile attempt to dislodge yourself.

"Not a chance, Short Stuff" Luke called back.

"But I don't want to go back to my cabin yet! The party's just getting started!" You pounded your fists against his back, a feeble attempt at protest. "Seriously, Luke, put me down! I can walk perfectly fine!"

"Uh-huh, you´re right" he said sarcastically, walking down with your full weight on one shoulder as if you were as light as a feather.

You let out a frustrated groan, burying your face on his back. “This so embarrasing!” you cried. You hated that he was right. You were a mess, and the last thing you needed was to stumble around the woods in this state, potentially attracting unwanted attention.

Despite your annoyance, a strange sense of security settled over you as Luke carried you. The rhythmic thud of his footsteps against the earth and the warmth of his hands radiating against your legs as he held you were oddly comforting.

The walk to your cabin, however, was far from peaceful. You continued to mumble incoherent protests, punctuated by occasional swats at his back and what felt like an eternity of "Put me down!"s. But Luke remained undeterred, his jaw set in a determined line.

Finally, after what felt like an hour —but was probably closer to five minutes—, you reached your cabin. Relief washed over Luke as he gently lowered you onto the porch, careful not to jostle you too much.

You glared at Luke, your arms crossed defiantly across your chest. He couldn’t tell if your eyes were truly filled with anger of constantly trying to focus on his face so your world wouldn’t keep spinning.

"Well, aren't you prince charming himself, Mr. Castellan" you huffed, voice thick with a playful slur. "Kidnapping girls and all"

Luke, however, seemed unfazed. He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine despite yourself. "Just get in, sleepyhead" he countered, his eyes gleaming under the moonlight as he opened the unlocked door to your cabin.

You pouted, a childish expression along with the stomping of your feet on the wooden porch. "I could have walked!" you protested weakly, knowing full well it was a lie.

He ignored your protest, stepping past you and gently maneuvering you towards your bed, placing his hand on your lower back as you walked. The cabin was, as expected, empty. Your half-siblings, ever the social butterflies, were undoubtedly wreaking havoc at the party you were now forbidden to attend.

You felt lonely for a second, but it was quickly overshadowed by the warmth that spread through you as Luke helped you onto the bed. You wanted to be furious with him, to unleash the full force of your drunken anger. But the lingering warmth of his touch on your legs and back, the way he so effortlessly hoisted you like a defiant princess, somehow muddled your outrage. The thought was absurd and yet undeniably attractive.

He knelt down in front of you once you sat at the edge of your bed. You could smell the faint scent of woodsmoke and pine needles clinging to his clothes, a comforting aroma that filled your nosestrils instantly.

With a gentle hand, he reached out your calve and started unlacing your boots, his touch surprisingly tender. You watched him in a daze, your head spinning slightly. The world seemed to tilt on its axis again, everything blurring at the edges except for Luke's face. You watched him in fascination as he repeated the process with your other foot.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea washed over you. You squeezed your eyes shut and groaned, a weak sound that escaped your lips.

Luke, sensing your distress, immediately stopped what he was doing. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern as he placed one hand on your knee.

You opened your eyes, blinking slowly. "Yeah, just a little…" you trailed off, searching for the right word. "Woozy" you finally managed.

Then, he stood up and looked around. His gaze landed on a package of makeup wipes on your bedside table. Without a word, he picked them up and returned to kneel before you.

"You might want to clean some of this off" he said, holding up a wipe and gesturing to the smudged mascara beneath your eye.

You were speechless. No one had ever offered to do something like this for you before. A warmth bloomed in your chest, chasing away the remnants of your anger.

He held the wipe out to you, but you didn't take it. Instead, you found yourself blurting out; "Can you do it for me?"

He didn't hesitate. He fully unfolded the wipe as he lowered to you just a little to continue the process of taking care of you, his touch tender.

He was wiping the makeup from your face with a meticulousness that surprised you. You sat there, mesmerized, feeling strangely vulnerable under his watchful gaze even though you kept your eyes closed. The alcohol, combined with the unexpected intimacy of the moment, had rendered you uncharacteristically quiet.

"You didn't have to punch him, you know" you mumbled, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

He kept as concentraded in his task as he was before. "Who?" he asked, though you both knew exactly who you were talking about.

"Mark" you clarified.

Luke sighed, going for your other eye. "He was… well, he was clearly taking advantage of your state" he explained patiently.

"How do you know?" you challenged, a sliver of defiance still clinging to your voice.

"Because I know you, yn" he said softly, his gaze locking with yours. "You think I would´ve done what I did if you were sober?"

His words hit you like a wave of realization. Shame washed over you, hot and prickly. You hadn't realized how vulnerable you were, how easily manipulated under the influence of your drink. “There we go” He stopped his movements eyes. “All clean” he announced as he placed the dirty wipes over your bedside table.

"I-, I'm sorry" you mumbled, looking down at your lap, playing with the edges of your miniskirt. "I shouldn't have pushed you like that."

He knelt down again, this time untangling his denim jacket from around your waist. As he spoke, his voice was laced with a quiet understanding. "Listen, I know you might be mad at me for… well, everything. But I wasn't trying to ruin your night. I was just worried about you. You were drunk… you are drunk” he said playfully, reaching out and squeezing your cheek as if you were a little kid. “and that Ares guy –, didn't exactly seem like he wanted to be nice, and I can’t handle that. You can´t go around with people you don´t know, you know better than that" his voice dropped again.

He was right, of course. You were a demigod, trained to be aware of your surroundings and the dangers that lurked in the shadows. Yet, tonight, you'd thrown all caution to the wind, blinded by the effects of vodka and fruit juice and the fleeting attention of a stranger.

A pang of guilt washed over you. You squeezed his hand, a silent apology for your earlier outburst.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze in return, his lips curving into a small smile. “Besides, we´re friends, right?”

The word felt cold, heavy with unspoken meaning. Friends. You and Luke. The idea was both familiar and exhilarating, a spark igniting somewhere deep within you. You didn´t say anything, but Luke didn´t need you to.

He stood up again and leaned down, surprising you by brushing a light kiss on your forehead. It was a chaste gesture, meant to be comforting, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through you.

"Go get some sleep" he said, his voice a low rumble. "I'll check on you in the morning."

He started to turn away, but before he could take a step, you reached out and grabbed his arm. "Wait" you stammered, your cheeks flushing crimson.

Luke turned back, a questioning eyebrow raised. In that moment, the alcohol-fueled bravado that had propelled you through the night seemed to evaporate. You were left with a newfound shyness, a sudden awareness of the intimate atmosphere that had settled between you.

"Can you..." you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "can you stay a little?"

Luke stared at you for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He didn't answer immediately. He stood there for a long moment, studying your face, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken emotions.

Emboldened by a newfound courage, you stood up from the bed. You were still a little unsteady on your feet, the remnants of alcohol making your movements slightly wobbly.

Reaching out, you stopped in front of him, his height suddenly a towering presence. You closed the gap between you two in a second. Now you were standing impossibly close, your body brushing against his.

Looking up at him, you were struck by how tall he seemed, how broad his shoulders were. A wave of dizziness washed over you as you registered the clean scent of his cologne, one that you hadn’t noticed before, a scent that suddenly seemed incredibly appealing.

"Luke" you whispered, your voice barely a breath, your eyes tracing the outline of his lips. "When did you get so tall?"

He chuckled softly, a low rumble that sent a delicious shiver down your spine. "Maybe you just haven't noticed before" he replied, his voice a husky murmur.

The playful banter momentarily broke the tension, but the air between you still crackled as heavy as it could. Your gaze drifted back to his lips, now so close you could almost feel the warmth of his breath on your skin.

They were full, inviting, and in a moment of drunken bravery, you found yourself leaning closer, your lips hovering just a breath away from his. "You smell good" you mumbled, your voice slurred but filled with a newfound confidence.

Luke swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. He was dangerously close to you, the heat radiating from your body a tangible thing in the cool cabin air. His muscles tensed, a battle raging within him between concern and a growing desire.

You reached out and toched his thigh, your fingers brushing against the worn fabric of his jean. Slowly, teasingly, you trailed your hand upward, until you reached his belt, hooking one finger to it, and you pulled him even closer to you. The movement was subtle but undeniably provocative, sending a jolt of electricity through Luke's body.

He stood frozen, mesmerized by the sudden boldness you exuded. This wasn't the girl he knew, the playful friend who teased him mercilessly. This was a stranger cloaked in the familiar, and the effect was intoxicating.

His own breath came out in a ragged sigh. Every rational part of him screamed at him to step away, to put some distance between the two of you. You were clearly inebriated, and taking advantage of that wouldn't be right.

But another part of him, a more primal part, yearned to close the gap between you, just a breath away. He had always found you attractive, drawn to your quick wit and fiery spirit. But the line between friendship and something more had always felt too blurry to cross.

Now, with the inhibitions lowered by alcohol, that line seemed to have vanished entirely.

He leaned in closer, the space between your faces shrinking with each passing moment. The scent of your coconut perfume and something uniquely you filled his senses, further muddling his already clouded judgment.

"yn" he began, his voice husky, a warning more for himself than for you.

"Stay" you whispered, your lips still hovering tantalizingly close to his. The raw need in your eyes mirrored the war raging within him. “Stay and make me yours, Luke. Please”

His hand reached up, cupping your jaw as his gaze locked with yours. You tilted your head into his touch, a silent invitation.

"We can't do this, gorgeous” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "You're not sober”

"I don't care" you interrupted, your voice thick with a desperation that surprised even you.

Luke felt his resolve crumble. He wanted this, just as much as you did. The idea of kissing you, of finally exploring the feelings that had simmered beneath the surface for so long, of touching you, feeling you, was undeniably tempting.

But a sliver of sanity remained. He knew that taking advantage of you in this state would be a betrayal of your trust, something he wouldn't be able to forgive himself for.

"But I do" he countered, his voice firm yet gentle. "If I'm doing this with you, I want to do it right. When you're sober and can make a real choice. When you can remember"

A wave of disappointment washed over you, but a tiny voice in the back of your head, untouched by the alcohol's haze, whispered its thanks. He was right. This wasn't the way you wanted things to happen.

So you nodded slowly, a small pout forming on your lips.

"Alright" you mumbled, letting go of his belt loop. “Can you still stay a little longer, though?”

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. He leaned down and brushed a soft kiss to your cheek, the touch feather-light, sending another wave of warmth through you.

"Go to sleep, trouble" he chuckled, the sound warm and familiar.

You walked back onto the bed, a strange mix of disappointment and relief swirling within you. As you drifted off to sleep, Luke pulled a chair beside the bed and settled down, keeping a silent vigil over you.

You immediately fell asleep, your mind could be running as fast as it could, but your body told another story. He watched you sleep for a moment, then left and went back to the party.

On his way back, he couldn’t help it but smirk to himself, a gushing and warm feeling rushing on his chest as he realized how close he had you. How his feeling were not so oblivious to you, and now that he knew, he wouldn’t have to work so hard to have you, or hide any longer.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan smut #pjo series #pjo #luke castellan x you #aphrodite #luke x reader #luke castellan one shot #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #pjo x reader #pjo x you #pjo smut #charlie bushnell #luke castellan x female reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan imagines

[maplleaf]

《 Spark 》

[Boothill (HSR) x GN! Reader]

Boothill is a leaked char, but no story spoilers. Just his general vibes from the leaked pics I saw.

Very short too lol, I'm trying to get my motivation back for the dr ratio fic

"Ouch, can't ya' be a bit gentle, Spark?"

Your brows furrowed at the remark and nickname. The sound of mechanical parts malfunctioning is heard clearly, all due to the work of your hands.

"For the last time, I'm not a fucking mechanic. You just keep on insisting I fix you up," you scoffed, but still trying your best to somehow fix his arm. "And what does Spark even mean?! I told you I don't know any of your slang."

Boothill laughed, "why don't you ask your family fellas?"

The half cyborg could see the shudder that went down your spine as you attempted to fix his robotic arm. "They'd kill me. Even touching you would make me lose my upcoming projects."

"Ya' wound me, Spark..." Boothill remarked, feigning a wound on his heart, despite him placing his hand on his right chest.

The sentiment made your roll your eyes, going back to the task at hand.

Both of you remained in a blissful silence after, your whole focus on Boothill's arm, not even realizing the pair of grey eyes staring at you under the shadow of his hat.

A small chuckle escaped his lips, 'a sight better than any dreams,' he thought. Shamelessly staring at you, leaning back against the chair and enjoying his view.

Your focused face brought him glee. The way your lips pout as another error came up in your attempt to fix his arm, the brief moment where he could see stars in your eyes, only to be shrouded in dissapointment once more as another failure struck.

He relished in your... everything. The way you agreed to help him despite knowing barely anything about his robotic parts made his heart melt, knowing that you just want to help him.

Just looking at you made him giddy inside, the thought that you're touching his arm can motivate him to fight the entire Bloodhound Family on his own.

He didn't care if he got roughed up in the fight, any losses he might've gotten in any fight is a win if it means he'll be seeing this.

Before he knew it, you noticed his gaze fixed on you. "Your sharp-ass teeth isn't making the staring comforting..."

Hearing that made the latter laugh again, taking off his hat and using it to cover his mouth, but his vision still locked onto you. "This' better, Darlin'?"

The sudden nickname made you stop in your track, Boothill's frustrating smirk hidden behind the hat. With a scoff, you grabbed his hat, throwing it right at his face before standing up from the chair.

"Fix this arm by yourself. I'm heading back to the Golden Hour," you spat out, dropping the tools on the table, walking over to the glowing blue 'pond' that became the entrance to the dreamscape.

"What? A nickname ruffled ya' up?" Boothill teased, seeing you lay down and close your eyes. His words were met with a middle finger coming from you, right before you drifted off to the dreamscape. The furrowed and irritated face turned into a peaceful slumber.

Seeing you asleep, Boothill sighed, wearing the hat back on his head. Mechanical sounds could be heard from his arm, and a few moments later; he stretched the robotic arm, as if nothing was wrong in the first place.

He walked over to you, making sure you were truly sleep.

The cold mettalic hand went to your face, moving away the strands of hair on your face.

He smiled, his sharp teeth showing faintly beneath the smile. "Good dreams, Spark," he murmured softly.

"... one day I'll tell you what it means."

--------------------------------------------

Spark – A lover, a beau.

#boothill #boothill hsr #honkai starrail #hsr #penacony #boothill x male reader #boothill x gn reader #boothill x reader #hsr x gn reader #save a horse ride a cowboy

[monzabee]

short stack (social media au) - ln4

masterlist

Summary: The one where the internet is obsessed about the height difference between you and your boyfriend, Lando.

Pairing: lando norris x reader (model used: lisa from blackpink)

Warnings: google translate korean, cursing, internet, lando slander but not really, apparently i can't spell tattoo, i know lisa is not taller than lando, but for the purposes of this post she is, thank you🤞

Request: "hello love xx i was wondering if you could do a lando norris social media au i can't stop thinking about where landos girlfriend is about 4cm taller than lando and the fans just adore it x thank you"

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

yourusername tagged location: venice, italy

Liked by bulgari, voguekorea, f1wagss and 654,983 others

yourusername: 감사합니다, @bulgari, 마법 같은 밤

lightlysdarling: look at her🤩 look at how she glows🤩

kjsbtch: @yninyourarea wake up she's blessing us again !!

yninyourarea: i love that this is the first thing i've seen this morning🤭 계속 죽여!

landobrazil: bella menina!!

zendaya: 🩷🩷

view all 345,635 comments

ynbrazil: not her blessing us on the main😶‍🌫️

landonorris: i think i lost my phone number, can i get yours?

yourusername: boo, i have a boyfriend👎

lando.jpg

Liked by daniel3.jpg, f1gossippreserva, yourusername and 123,847 others

lando.jpg: looking camp right in the eye

lusciouslando: the biggest simp for his girlfriend, as he should😭😭

marliegloss: THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT WHEN I SAID I NEEDED A CROSSOVER🫣

view all 465 comments

yourusername: we're going to get sued big time😐😐

lando.jpg: do you know a good lawyer @daniel3.jpg daniel3.jpg: what am i doing here yourusername: i'm calling my lawyer🙃 lando.jpg: come oooon yourusername: 난 당신을 차단 해요

yourusername tagged location: london, uk

Liked by blinkarea, landonorris, britishvogue and 564,938 others

yourusername: 해? 영국에서? 🤭

isapizza: queen of posing awkwardly to fit in the frame😭

view all 2,456 comments

landonorris: how tall are you, again?🫠

yourusername: taller than you🤭

landonorris: ouch

georgerussel63: now that's just sad, mate

alex_albon: i call that a burn🔥

orange_papaya: IS THAT A TATTOO?? ON MOM??

ynyesrizz: no stop🫣 no it's actually there🫣

yourusername just posted a story!

landonorris

Liked by landonorris, f1wagnews, danielricciardo and 493,847 others

landonorris: short stack for the short stack tagged users: yourusername

tomholland2013: short kings club

zendaya: boy...

yourusername: z has spoken 🫣🫣

papayuh: i love my height difference couple🫶

view all 1,456 comments

noriastri: imma need to be adopted ASAP

georgerussel63: where are our pancakes?? @alex_albon

alex_albon: yeah, where are our short stacks??

yourusername: you're not short🤷‍♀️

landonorris: burn baby burn

#monzabee #formula 1 x reader #paddock #social media au #f1 social media au #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #formula one x reader #lando norris social media au

[ayeyolooo]

Roommates!

1000 + words 😓(please excuse my grammatical errors!)

YOU LAID IN YOUR BED BOO BOO CRYING. Your boyfriend just broke up with you. Did you know why? Absolutely not. You stopped crying before sniffing and you started boo boo crying again. Connie walked by your bedroom and his eyes furrowed. He knocked on the door with his knuckles and called out your name softly. "Y/n?" His soft voice rang on the other side of the door. You just sniffed and ignored him. Connie just sighed before he went to go and get eren and armin. Connie walked downstairs to see armin on the game with his headphones on. His back muscles glowed in the sun as the curtain was open,shooting the natural light on his back.

His piercings shimmered in the sunlight as he threw his head back in annoyance. "Bro yall big goofy asses cheating." Armin's deep voice rang throughout the house. Eren just leaned on the counter and laughed at armin. Armin sucked his teeth before turning towards eren and pointing towards the tv. "Nahh cause they asses double teaming." Armin said with a lil attitude.

Eren just laughed and popped a blueberry in his mouth. He took the fruit out and he began mixing him some fruit in a glass white bowl. His fruit mixture was watermelon,cantaloupe, strawberries,mango, grapes and pineapple. He placed the fruit back in the refrigerator and walked over to the couch and plopped down on the seat next to armin. Armin looked over to eren and seen him scrolling through his Instagram feed. He took his opportunity to dig in his bowl and take some of his fruit before eating all of them.

Eren looked up from his phone with furrowed eyebrows. "Bro.. why are you digging your hands in my fucking bowl ion know where your nasty ass hands been." Eren said popping armin on the nose.Armin's hand quickly went up as he clutched his now red nose. "Ouch dickhead,you hit my piercing." Armin's voice muffled from his hands covering his mouth.

Eren just smirked before going back on his phone. Armin just rolled his eyes before he began playing the game again. Connie just stood on the stairs and watched the whole thing unfold. He laughed and walked to the kitchen. "Okay whenever y'all done with y'all lil arguing and shit. We got something else to worry bout?" Connie said taking the pancake mix out of the cabinet. Armin and erens face screwed up in confusion as they turned to Connie. "What's wrong??" Armin asked as his tatted hand began to take the ps5 headphones off.

"mama up there crying."Connie replied taking the ingredients for pancakes out of the refrigerator. Armin placed his headphones back on as he spoke into the mic. "Aye I gotta go imma talk to y'all later." Armin said before turning the game off and walking in the kitchen. "What's wrong with n/n?" Eren asked standing up and making his way to the kitchen. "Beats me." Connie said shrugging as he mixed the ingredients in the bowl. "You asked mikasa?" Eren asked. Connie just shook his head no.

"Did you try asking her?" Armin asked taking out the pots to help Connie. Connie and eren just looked at him like he was stupid. "Well no shit." Connie sarcastically responded. "Okay my bad damn." Armin mean mugged everyone before he began getting the butter out of the refrigerator and spreading it into the pot. Eren took the turkey bacon from the freezer and stood to the side of armin turning the oven on and placing it on 350°.

He cleared the oven out making sure that it was nothing in there. He took a baking pan and he placed some bacon strips on the pan. He slid the pan into the oven and he closed it back. "I'm thinking about changing my tongue piercing." Eren said breaking the silence. "For what? Isn't the one you got good already??" Armin asked. "Yeah,but I want a bigger one..I don't know yet though." Eren said licking his lips and rubbing his two tatted hands together making his muscles flex against his tight dry fit shirt.

"Okay we have to make her cheer up." Connie said pouring some of the batter on the hot sizzling pan and cleaning up the sides so that it'll be clean. "Yeah." Armin and eren both replied with a sad tone. "But mikasa I don't know what I did wrong." Your voice cracked at the end. "Girl fuck him.. he wasn't shit anyways." She said. She despised your boyfriend. She couldn't stand him.

She hated him so badly that she didn't even want to breathe the same air as him. You just tucked your head into your arms and you cried and cried. Mikasa felt bad for you. Since she didn't know how to comfort anyone. And she wasn't anywhere near you. "Girl his dick better have been that good to where you crying like that." Mikasa said looking at you. "It wasn't but I loved him." You said sipping your eyes. Your white acrylics could be seen as mikasa just shook her head in dissapointment.

"Stinka,that wasn't no man..I mean look at the way he talked to you Ma." Mikasa's raspy voice rang throughout the phone. You just sniffed as you tried to wipe your eyes. But the tears kept coming out. Your Nose was running and you were starting to get hot.

You sniffed and stood up. When you stood up your head felt dizzy . It was from you crying so much. You walked to the mirror and looked at your face. Your puffy eyes ,your red tipped nose. All of this for someone you loved.

But did he love you back..?

You kept your light off,but turned on your fan. You removed your jacket and made your way back underneath the covers to sulk some more.

You got into the bed and continued to cry. Mikasa whispred sweet nothings over the phone as you cried. She was trying her best,but you kept crying.

She just sighed out in defeat. "I'm so sorry ma that he's making you feel this way." Mikasa pouted over the phone.

You just shrugged. "Maybe it's cause I'm too fat?" You admitted. "Woahhh hold your motherfucking horses." Mikasa placed one finger up in the camera as a 'wait.' Signal.

"Girl you are a real female. You didn't get surgery..and you're naturally thick.. okay??" She asked you. "But.." you muttered. "But nothing y/n shut the fuck up and listen to me." Mikasa's stern voice said to you as you immediately shut up.

"You have a pudge, so what? You have cellulite? So what? You have stretch marks,so what??  You have lower belly fat,so what??All of that make you human y/n." Mikasa's voice turned soft as she explained.

"You're not putting all of this plastic and shit in your body. Your body is perfect for the person who you're meant for." Mikasa said. "Okay? Now stop crying pretty girl." Mikasa said.

"Wipe your tears, ion wanna see you crying anymore." Mikasa said as you nodded and wiped your eyes. "Sasha wants me to go and cuddle with her..I'll speak to you later pretty girl." Mikasa said smiling at you.

Your lil phat ma throbbed but you played it off since it wasn't the right moment for that. "Love you n/nnn."Mikasa drug out there last letter of your name. "I love you too kasaaaa." You said bringing the phone to your lips and making kissy noises.

Mikasa did the same thing before saying bye to you and hanging up.

You laid on your back as you scrolled through your feed. You checked your dm's and it was a client. She wanted you to do her daughters hair and nails,for her 16th birthday.

Hello! Ms.y/n would you be available today by any chance? It's my daughters 16 th birthday today and I was wondering if you could do her hair and nails?

You sat up and turned your light on.

'Yeah sure! Read the information in my highlights🤍. Can you please bring her by 12:00?' You sent it said that she seen it.

'Yes sure,would you like your $15 deposit on cash app or in person?'

'On cash app ma'am.' You replied. She said okay and sent it. She showed you the way she wanted her hair.

You told her what she needed,and you sent her your address. You kept on erens sweatpants, and they were able to fit due to your thick thighs.

You had on one of armin's white tee shirts and you had on Connie's 'euphoric' hoodie. You made your way downstairs to see the boys all in the kitchen making food.

All of their backs were turned. So when they all turned around to place a piece of food on the plate. They all shrieked when they seen you.

Your eyelashes off, your eyes puffy,the tip of your nose red. And your eyes glossy.

"You okay?" Armin asked walking over to you and giving you a warm hug. Your eyes started to water as he  kissed your head. Eren just walked over and pulled you off of armin. He turned you around and he wiped your tears.

"What's wrong pretty girl?" He whispred and leaned down so that he could face you. "Nothing." You turned your head so that he couldn't see you crying.

He gently grabbed your chin and faces you towards him. He used both of his thumbs and wiped your eyes. "You crying doesn't seem like nothing." He whispred lowly.

You just sighed. "I'm okay,and I have a client today." You said giving all of them a closed smile. "Oh that's cool. Come eat." Connie said placing your plate on the table.

You hesitated before making your way to the table. They all made their plates before coming to sit next to you. "You okay ma?" Connie asked looking at you with his hazel green eyes.

"Yeah I'm fine." You said messing with your earring. "I call bullshit." Armin said. You just rolled your eyes as eren laughed.

"Yeah y/n you ain't a good liar." Eren motioned to you playing with your earring. "Hop off okay?" You said with a lil attitude.

"You and markeshia broke up??" Connie asked breaking the ice. You just mean mugged him at the name. "His name was Marcus and yes,we unfortunately separated.. why did you call him markeshia?" You asked picking up a strawberry and biting into it.

"Cause he acted more like a lil girl than he did a man,so why not?" Connie asked shrugging and taking a bite of his pancake. You just laughed at the name. Armin seen you laughing and he broke out into a smile.

You started to die of laughter as the three boys joined in from your laugh.

Them three didn't fail you. When you were sad they found out a way to cheer you up.

When you were  hungry or needed money they had no problem paying for you. Mikasa thinks that you have a crush on them. But you denied her,even though it was true.

I mean how could you not? Here lemme explain to you.

Eren okay ,Greek God. Slim waist. Tattoos,tall?? Not fine??

Armin, messy undercut,pink lips,nose ring?? Tattoos? Taller than you but shorter than eren. Still not fine???

Connie,green eyes. Nose piercing? Eyebrow piercing?? Tattoos?? Shorter than armin and eren but taller than you. You lying if you say they ain't fine ass hell.

You continued eating. You finished and placed your plate in the sink so that you'll be able to wash it later. "N/n you need us to help you?" Eren asked as all of their eyes shot towards you.

They just wanted an excuse to go and watch you do hair.

"Yeah y'all can come in and help if you'd like." You said showing them a beautiful smile and walking to your little hair salon.

"Y'all seen that sexy ass smileeee??" Connie whispered as eren and armin's face went red. They all dabbed eachother up before finding their faces and making their way to your hair room.

"Y'all go put on some clothesss,I can't have y'all looking like that when my clients over here." You said looking them up and down.

"What's wrong with what we got on?? This out house too n/n." Armin mean mugged you. You just rolled your eyes before you started separating the hair and placing it on the stands.

Armin has on a white wife beater with some black jordan basketball shorts. Connie had on a white tee shirt,with some grey sweatpants and a black beanie on.

Eren had on a black fitted dryfit shirt with some black sweatpants and his hair was in a messy bun to the back.

All of them looked delicious.

"Find whatever." You said rolling your eyes. Armin walked over to you "you need us to help you?" He asked with an innocent smile as he looked down at you,with low lidded eyes.

"Yeah,you can help separate the hair for me?" You asked handing him the hair. He took it from you and began to separate the hair.

The boy all knew how to work your salon. On days you were sick,they'd take your place and they'll give you all of the money when they were done.

Connie did the nails,armin and eren did the hair. They were able to do this because they watched you every single time you'd have a client.

Pt 2🤔??

#ayeyolooo #black y/n #aot x black reader #aot x reader #black reader #x black fem reader #aot x black y/n #connie x black reader #armin x black y/n #eren x black fem!reader

[cambion-companion]

Infernal Cuddles

OKAY so I was cuddling with my cat last night and while he was dreaming his tail was waving around in his dream which got me thinking! haha you know exactly where I am going with this. So please indulge me in this drabble cause it is rotting my brain.

Raphael x reader (gn)

This wasn't your first visit to Raphael's home, nor even close to the first time you'd warmed his bed.

However, he had never before allowed you to fall asleep next to him.

At first you'd thought it a mistake. A momentary lapse soon to be corrected when he sent you careening back through some portal to the material plane.

Your muscles had tensed as his hand met your waist and pulled you a bit forcefully against him, his body bending around yours and his whispered words in your ear, "Don't move, little mouse. And don't stray. Those who skitter and creep these halls at night are not kind to flesh so soft as yours."

His nails dug briefly into your bare hip, his wing draping down over your flushed body like an eldritch blanket.

You were caught between fear and comfort. Anticipation mixing with the utter exhaustion only derived from being a devil's favorite plaything. Despite the trepidation, you slowly began to relax. Your weight easing back against Raphael, his hand still hot upon the dip of your waist.

Healing sleep enveloped you, your dreams betraying nothing of the hellscape you rested in, nestled in the arms of a quite literal cambion. In your subconscious you could feel the rumble of Raphael's chest as he snored, and you woke only slightly when he adjusted his position to face away from you.

Your limbs tangled in the soft sheets as you stretched, sliding to find a more comfortable place under the black silk. Your eyelashes fluttered, images of what the morning could possibly bring flitting out of thought and worry as you snuggled back down to sleep.

You felt a sharp blow to your backside. A squeak of pain left you, your eyes snapping back open with sudden alertness.

"Ouch!" You complained, massaging where you'd been struck and rolling onto your back. "Hey!"

Raphael had landed another blow, this time across the top of your thigh. You sat up, blearily squinting in his direction.

The room was dim, but you could still make out Raphael's still sleeping form with his back to you, the tip of his long tail twitching before arcing up and landing with a soft thud against the bedspread.

The long devil's tail rose once more but this time you caught it in your hand before it could smack you again. Raphael made a soft noise, the most vulnerable sound you'd heard from him. He seemed to wake, rolling over and sitting up, his tail sliding through your palm until it dropped away.

"You were dreaming." You tried to explain, a little unnerved by his silent glowing stare. "Your tail was moving."

Raphael didn't speak for a moment, taking his time to languidly stretch his limbs and wings, almost catching you in the face as he did so.

You hesitated. Then you scooted over a couple inches toward him, inexplicably seeking the warmth of his touch.

"The hazards of sleeping with a devil." Raphael's voice was husky, it sent a pleasant shiver up your spine.

He reclined on his back and extended his arm to you, his lips twitching slightly when you eagerly cozied up by his side. "Such a good little thing. Eager as a pup."

You didn't argue, not wanting to spoil the moment you'd likely never get to relive.

Raphael didn't apologize. You got the feeling he found the whole situation rather amusing. In the days and months that followed, whenever the two of you were sharing a moment of passion, his tail would often smack against your bare skin. Your answering gasp and flinch would be followed by the familiar low chuckle of your infernal lover.

#raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #raphael baldur's gate 3 #bg3 drabble #no haarlep sorry #he was sent to the dog house for this one #the demon hut

[wonwoosstuff]

Inspired by in the soop: bf wonu x gf reader (Drabble)

Summary: Wonwoo prepares a bonfire to cook for you next to the tour camping site and you approach him cutely.

Warning: none; just fluff, established relationship, physical affection, kisses, reader is shorter than wonu, short mention of the other members, slight crack at the end (w/ Dino and Dokyeom lmao)

☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆ *:.｡. ☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the tranquil Airbnb backyard, you found Wonwoo diligently arranging logs for a bonfire. His focused expression softened as you approached, captivated by the flickering flames in his eyes.

"You're turning into quite the bonfire expert," you teased, wrapping your arms sideways around his waist.

Wonwoo chuckled, his hands pausing in their task. "Well, I have the best motivation—making it special for you."

You nuzzled into his neck while hugging him. Standing on your tiptoes you planted a soft kiss on his cheek."You're already special."

He resumed his work, and you couldn't resist adding, "Almost as special as this marshmallow I have here." You dangled a marshmallow on a stick in front of him, earning a-typical-wonwoo-grin.

"You're incorrigible," he laughed, taking the marshmallow and skewering it himself.

You watched as he expertly toasted it over the emerging flames. "You know, you're my favorite bonfire companion," you said, savoring the warmth both from the fire and his presence.

Wonwoo smirked, handing you the perfectly toasted marshmallow. "And you're my favorite marshmallow connoisseur."

You smiled at him blushing slightly at his comment. Teasingly he exclaimed: “Look who’s now blushing over my comment.” You responded with a playful slap on his chest muscle receiving a dramatic groan: “Ouch. That hurt!”

“Then stop teasing me.” You pouted. Wonwoo, ever the charmer, wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “Okay, okay, no more teasing, I promise.”

You admired everything about your boyfriend. The way he is good at everything and anything made you feel things you’ve never felt for a man before.

“Love, maybe you should sit down.” Wonwoo said and pointed his finger at the chairs surrounding the bonfire. “Okay, sir.” You added jokingly.

It was pretty stupid of you to wear shorts and a light shirt in the evening when it was freezing outside. Luckily Wonwoo could easily decipher your mind. It’s like he had a sixth sense for you.

“Thank you, baby.” You said after he handed you a warm blanket that smelled frankly like him.

The atmosphere you experienced was indescribable. It was just you focusing on your boyfriend looking illegally handsome while lighting up the fire and being so into the activity. You loved him so much. In fact your feelings were mutual. Being with Wonwoo meant being comfortable, safe and loved.

The flickering flames cast a gentle glow on Wonwoo’s face, highlighting the affectionate smile that mirrored your smile.

As the fire got smaller, your boyfriend took a seat next to you and you leaned on his shoulder. The night was quiet, and the stars above you were increasing making the night sky look bright. You looked up at Wonwoo. His eyes held a softness that matched the peaceful night. Without words, you enjoyed the quiet together, the leaves rustling and the night sounds soothing you.

Breaking the silence, Wonwoo said, "I could stay like this forever, just being with you.” You agreed, shifting even closer. "Me too. These moments make everything feel perfect."

You hugged your boyfriend’s arm, creating a warm embrace. Then you chatted about everything and nothing, the night unfolded into a canvas painted with shared laughter and whispered conversations. Wonwoo shared stories about his childhood adventures, and you playfully recounted embarrassing moments.

Unexpectedly, a loud burst of laughter pierced the serenity of the moment, and you both turned to see none other than Dino, whose infectious laughter echoed through the quiet night.

“SAWRY FOR INTERRUPTING YOUR DATE BUT THIS GUY IS SO HAHAH-“

Dokyeom quickly intervened, covering Dino’s mouth. “Shh! Let them enjoy their night, you punk.”

Dino, still laughing under Dokyeom’s hand, tried to speak. “I just wanted to say—”

With Dino’s laughter now silenced, the night regained its quiet charm. Wonwoo chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“Yeah, right.” You chuckled. “It’s 2 am. Maybe we should go to bed.” Wonwoo stated.

You rose from your seats and linked your fingers with your boyfriend's, making your way toward the bedroom together.

☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆ *:.｡. ☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆

Pledis we need in the soop season 3… pleaseeee

©️ wonwoosstuff do not copy or translate!

#svt x reader #seventeen x reader #wonwoo fluff #seventeen #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo drabble #wonwoo imagines #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #in the soop #wonwoosstuff

[sassycheesecake]

Iwaizumi returns to the locker room, after having forgotten his textbooks in his gym locker of the Aoba Johsai volleyball club.

As he enters the club room, he hears a shower running.

Frowning in confusion, he thought that his team members have already left after practice.

"Is anyone still here?" He calls out.

"Uh… yeah, it’s me Iwa-chan." Oikawa, the Setter of Aoba Johsai’s volleyball club answers back.

But his voice sounds a little shaken up, like he is scared or hurt.

"You good? Did you overdo it again after practice? And what are you still doing here? I thought you hated the gym showers." The Ace raises an eyebrow in suspicion and walks towards the shower stall.

The sliding door of the shower opens up a bit and Oikawa partly pops his head out, the shower still running and flattening his usual fluffy brown hair to his head.

Another thing Iwaizumi also notices, is that his best friend is panting a little bit and his cheeks are glowing in a reddish color.

"I uh… have a date… yeah a date! You know, just wanted to smell fresh for them!" The Setter grins awkwardly.

"Uh huh. Well, hurry up I need to lock up. I'll give you two minutes to be out of here."

Oikawa, who looks a bit panicked, quickly glances to his right in the shower before he flinches in pain about something.

"Is it your knee again?"

"Yeah, it’s been bothering me again. A real pain in the ass sometimes. Ouch! Why don’t you leave the keys on the bench? I’ll lock up when I am out." Oikawa offers with a tight smile as he hopes his teammate will do as he says.

Iwaizumi looks at him for a moment, sighing heavily and leaving the keys on the bench. He’s tired and just wants to go home.

"Fine Trashykawa, it better not be messy when we get here tomorrow morning." Stuffing the books in his bag, the spiky-haired brunette leaves without another look back, closing the door behind him.

Oikawa closes the door again and starts giggling like crazy as he stares down at you, who is leaning against the shower wall, equally as wet as your lover.

"A date? Who do you have a date with?" You wrap your arms around his neck and the Setter grins down at you mischievously, pressing wet kisses against your neck.

"Oh, no one you need to worry about. They’re in my health class and sit right behind me. When they lent me their pen three weeks ago, I just had to ask them out. They go by the name (Y/N)." Oikawa leans his forehead against yours, rubbing his nose affectionately against your own.

You lean forward catch his lips with yours and it quickly turns into a heated make-out session again, which was interrupted earlier when Iwaizumi walked in.

The sound of smacking lips echo in the shower, one of Oikawa’s hands is grabbing your neck while the other wanders all over your wet body, grabbing your ass and squeezing it occasionally.

You on the other hand have to stand a bit on your toes to be able to reach him, wrapping your arms around his neck, while your hands scratch a bit against his skull, making the brunette moan in delight.

Later on, when you both exit the shower, Oikawa sees a few missed texts from Iwaizumi.

He sits down on the bench, a towel wrapped around his waist as he unlocks his phone.

And after each text, Oikawa pales a little bit more.

'ANGRY BIRD 🤪'

'Do you really think I am that stupid?!' Sent 16:36

'I know you were having company in that shower. Next time, I am kicking BOTH OF YOU OUT!' Sent 16:37

'AND IN OUR GYM SHOWER OUT OF ALL PLACES???' Sent 16:40

Before he can read the next text though, he feels your head leaning on his shoulder and the Setter smiles at the action.

"Iwa-chan knows that I wasn’t alone in the shower." He snickers and you nearly pass out at what he said.

"WHAT?!"

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyū!! #hq x reader #hq fluff #oikawa #oikawa torū #oikawa x you #oikawa x reader #oikawa fluff #hq oikawa #oikawa tōru #oikawa tooru #haikyuu oikawa #hajime iwaizumi #aoba josai x reader #aoba johsai

[goldenhypen]

; ⎯ mornings with you .

synopsis. riki loves the mornings with you.

pairing. ni-ki x reader ⋅ genres. fluff, domestic ⋅ wc. 0.9k ⋅ warnings. mentions of food

prompts 5. giving them a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed ; 10. sitting in comfortable silence while eating a meal ; 26. doing a chore for them that you know they aren’t fond of ; 38. letting them warm their cold hands under your shirt ⋅ requested ⋅ dark blood event

a/n. ended up combining a whopping five requests for this one so sjsjjdjddj :’> enjoy!

opening your eyes to the bright sun shining through the windows of the bedroom, you squinted, looking around at your surroundings before noticing riki lying asleep beside you. he looked so peaceful, head laying relaxed on his pillow, turned to face you subconsciously.

you admired his features, from the way his hair was dishevelled and bangs hung over his eyes, to the point of his nose and shape of his lips, all the way down to the moles that marked his chin and neck.

the golden sunlight emphasised his already angelic glow, making you think, how could a night’s sleep leave one looking so effortlessly stunning in the morning?

snapping yourself out of your daze and back to reality, it was time to get ready for work.

carefully, you snuck out of bed.

you and riki had quite different schedules, you being involved in an occupation with more ‘typical’ working hours, and riki—being the idol he was—having the more extreme schedule, often staying up, practising late into the night, and even early into the morning.

you let him get his much-needed rest. but before leaving the room, you walked over to his side of the bed, leaning down and pressing a soft, delicate kiss to the side of his head, but perhaps not gentle enough, as at the moment of contact, he began stirring in his sleep, and immediately, you noticed his eyes were opening.

with an inhale followed by a smile, he let out a puff of air through his nose, content, you being the first thing he got to see in the morning.

no words needed to be exchanged as you two just stared into each other’s eyes, both still attempting to fully wake up.

“come sleep for a little longer,” he said, arms now stretched out for you.

“as tempting as that sounds, no, you know i have to get ready to go,” you told him. “you go back to sleep though. you have a long day ahead of you.”

with your last words, you leaned down, holding the side of his face softly in your palm before leaving a short and sweet kiss on his lips. but in doing so, it left him craving more.

so as you were pulling away, he brought you right back with one of his ice cold hands on your skin as they unintentionally made their way under your shirt.

“riki!” you screamed at the sudden freezing sensation, instinctually backing away, and in turn, removing his hand from your body. “you’re freezing!”

“i’d be more warmed up if you came back for a few more minutes of cuddles,” he justified.

you scoffed playfully, “since you’re suddenly all awake now, get out of bed. let’s eat.”

and at those words, in an instant, his eyes were shut closed, and the fakest snores you’ve ever heard were leaving the boy in front of you.

you jokingly rolled your eyes and left the bedroom to go to the kitchen where you were going to be preparing breakfast—by yourself, apparently.

many minutes passed, and the food was finally about done.

“mmm, smells so good—” riki complimented as he entered the kitchen, circling his arms around your waist from behind, nose digging into your hair as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “—you, that is.”

there must have been something in the morning air that seemed to make him more flirty at this time of the day; this wasn’t the first time—not that you were complaining though.

you were flustered, but you couldn’t let him know that because from past experience, along with the flirting came much teasing if your reactions went noticed.

so you resorted to a light nudge to his ribs instead.

“ack!” he exclaimed. “ouch?!”

“stop being so dramatic, you big baby.”

eventually, you two made it to the dining table and started eating in comfortable silence, quite the contrast from the many playful remarks you two couldn’t help but make just seconds earlier.

from where he was originally focused on his plate, his eyes travelled up and watched you, just thinking about how much he loved waking up to you, sharing breakfast like this in the morning that you cooked for the both of you yourself. he was utterly in love with you to say the least.

after you and riki cleared the food on your plates, you stood up, but riki stopped you, “sit back down and relax for a bit. i’ll do the dishes.”

and this shocked you because no one likes doing the dishes, especially nishimura riki!

he stood up and walked over to you, planting a kiss on the side of your head before gathering the plates and cutlery and bringing them to the sink.

“what did you do, riki?”

“what?” he questioned, confused.

“why are you acting all responsible all of a sudden? did you do something wrong?” you interrogated half jokingly.

“i am responsible! and no, nothing is wrong,” he answered, playfully offended.

“wow,” you let out, almost speechless. “well then you must just be really in love with me.”

“yeah, i am.” and he loved mornings like these he got to spend with you too, even if there weren’t many, but maybe that just made these moments all the more special. and he loved every second of it.

a/n. this was a v fun one to write :’> sigh i love domestic fics they make me so soft :’> if you enjoyed, pls feel free to lmk <3 your lovely words truly make my day! <3 thanks for reading !!

event masterlist.

taglist (open). @raimbows4u @sultrybaby @kpop-nct @beans-and-jeanes @enhacolor @enhasfever @nokacchan @yizhoutv @xiaoderrrr @soobin-chois @tyunni @shinsou-rii @liikno @softkpopplace @belle643 @nar-nia @pshchives @sunjakes @ethereal-engene @yeosayang @4ri-ki @sunoksunny @jaeyunjakesim @tnyhees @enaus @hoes4hoseok @palajae @clarakyunisageek @annoyingbitch83 @4vonly @wonswondrland @rcrystallocks @stepout-09-15 @zeraaax @enhasengene @ktttwwn @pistachiophobia @svnoofy @sweetjaemss @vatterie @mnsnts @chacottone @yeseoist @azurez @milisabunny @wonniestars @iamliacamila @rikislady

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen reactions #enhypen scenarios #enhypen oneshots #enhypen drabbles #niki x reader #niki fluff #niki imagines #niki reactions #niki scenarios #riki x reader #riki fluff #nishimura riki #niki #riki #niki drabbles #niki oneshots

[demonic-charcuterie]

Alastor X technology obsessed reader

Alastor continued to wrapped his arms around and and sigh as he felt the warm bath water slosh around him. A drop of water landed directly onto his nose as you shook gently on top of him as you giggled at your phone. “Hehe what a fucking idiot!” You cackled as the video continued to play.

“Doe, that is the 4th time you’ve played that damned video.”

“Oh I know baby but it gets better every FffFUCKING time!” You snickered. Alastor gently slide his hands down to your inner thighs and gave them a gentle squeeze but nuzzling his face into your neck. You and Alastor had been sitting in this bath for more than hour to the point that the water was barely lukewarm.

You and Alastor! Talk about an unlikely marriage. You spawned in hell many years after Alastor started killing overlords. You were scrolling on your phone when you bumped into him. “Oh sorry- Oh. My. God!”

“Well hello dar- what are you doing?”

“What’s up guys! It’s me,Y/n you’re favorite burning bitch and you’ll never guess you I just ran into. Alastor the radio de- ouch!” You yelled as Alastor’s cane came down on your hand and knocked your phone out of it. “Sorry my dear but this face was made for radio.” He said as he smiled down at you. Swiftly,he turned as his heel and began to walk away but paused as he felt your arm slipped interlocking with his.

After that you seemed to always find him or maybe he was finding you? You turned a corner- there he was. “Oh well hello my dear!”

“Alastor!” You would squeal and ran into his arms…we’ll actually you ran into and wrapped your arms around him and he just let you. After that you just started actually planning hangouts. “Hey what’s your social? What do you mean you don’t have a phone? H-how do you talk to people?” You asked him you brain seemed to almost be breaking. Alastor simply chucked an patted your head. You looked up at him shocked before smiling and grabbing his wrist to move his hand down to your cheek and nuzzled into it. “You know this would make a great Sinstagram story-“ you said while pulling your phone from your pocket but Alastor quickly pushed your hand down and placed a kiss to your lips. “Don’t ruin it…” he whispered.

Your eyes widened before you pulled him closer by his shirt and kissing him harder fighting for dominance.

You and Alastor actually didn’t take that long to get married surprisingly. You just ran up to Rosie and she said you could have a small ceremony in the town hall with one of Alastor’s servants performed the ceremony. You made a big mistake letting him take photos because his face was almost in none of them and they were all shaky as if he didn’t know how to work a camera but you know he did. You were heartbroken when he left for all those years. He did give you a warning unlike with any of his other friends.

“Darling I just need you to know I love you and will never stop…” he said while running a hand through your hair. “Yeah I know silly hehe.” You answered.

“Good…we’ll I’m afraid I’ll be gone for a good while. I’ll seen soon…” All you did was lay on the bed while scrolling and waving him off. “Shoo shoo” you said like you always did. It was a joke you would later regret making. When you got word that your husband chilling at this lame as hAZbiN HoTEl you nearly broke the door down. You eyes were glowing red and your were snarling. “What the FUCK?!” Angeldust screamed as you burst threw the door. “W-WHERE THE FUCK IS MY GODDAMNED HUSHAND?” For some reason everyone’s head turned to Angeldust. “What!? I ain’t never been high enough to get married and forget about it!”

Your nose twitched in anger. “ALASTOR!” You barked. Alastor at that moment appeared around the corner. “Oh Charlie a new guest- y/n?” He said his smile going down to a grin as it seemed to falter. “My love is that you?” He said as he ran to you clutching his staff tight in hand. “Alastor! You cried before running into his arms and beating your hands on his chest. “You bitch! Y-your left me you left me! I-I hate you!” You screamed but all Alastor did was hold you tighter. “I-I missed you so much.” You cried as you both sunk down to the floor.

“Ummmm Alastor who is that?” Vaggie said breaking the silence.

“Everyone this is my wife Y/n”

#hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor #the radio demon #alastor the radio demon

[deltaharrington]

RED PT 1.

PAIRING: Jeremiah Fisher x Fem! Reader

SUMMARY: The reader is convinced that Jeremiah is in love with Belly. Is he?

WARNINGS: NOT EDITED, a bit of angst

Loving Jeremiah was like falling in love with a celebrity. It was almost as if he didn’t know you existed. That’s what it felt like to you.

The Fisher House in Cousins was an oasis for you. Your family had lived next door for years and you practically lived with Susannah, Laurel, and their kids.

You and Jeremiah had become particularly close. He was your best friend. As you two grew up, however, he began to get distant. You thought you understood why.

He was in love with Belly.

You had spent years dreaming about what it would be like to be his, silently loving him while he listed after someone else.

You eventually became numb to him, distancing yourself helped you as well.

After Belly broke Jeremiah’s heart, you wanted to be there for him. But you knew your heart would break as well, so you saved yourself. That was your biggest regret.

Returning to Cousins wasn’t something you’d thought you’d be doing, let alone with Jeremiah. You had called him in a half drunken haze because you missed him, only for the blonde to tell you that his brother was MIA.

That sobered you up fast.

Only living a few minutes from Brown, you offered to help him check on Conrad. You cared about them both.

When you met up, his eyes were cold. You didn’t like that, not one bit.

It didn’t take you both long to find out that Conrad was in Cousins, and Jeremiah intended to find him.

“I’m coming with you” You said and he looked at you with disgust. Ouch.

“No-“ He started, but you were over his attitude.

“I care about Conrad too.” You said and he sighed, knowing you wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Fuck!” Jeremiah yelled, frustrated, after you had hit a large pothole, resulting in a flat tire.

“I can help you change-“

“No, I’ve got it” He said, but you got out anyways.

He didn’t know what he was doing and you tried to guide him, but he just kept getting angry.

“Just stop! Y/n! Goddammit!” He screamed, his angry eyes meeting yours. and you weren’t phased.

“Listen to me, Jeremiah” You said, your voice becoming more angered “I don’t know what the fuck happened between you and Belly, but you don’t need to take it out on me.” You said and his eyes softened a bit.

“I know I should have been there for you, but I was hurting too” You said and he looked shocked. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I should have been, but seeing you hurting and then your mom- I couldn’t…” You trailed off and leaned against the car as you felt a panic attack begin.

“Woah, Y/n, breathe for me” He said and let you fall into his arms, “In and out…” He started “Just like that, there you go…” He walked you through.

“Get off me” You said to him and he shook his head, holding you close.

“I’m sorry I’ve been an ass” He said “I ended things with Belly before she told me about Conrad, I wasn’t hurting because of her” He whispered and you were confused.

“You wouldn’t even look at me, and I realized I had lost the person I had been in love with since we were kids” Jeremiah explained and you were shocked.

“I didn’t think you felt that way about me” You said “When Belly had her glow up, you just pushed me away” You spoke, your tears welling again.

“You were my best friend Jeremiah, and you pushed me to the side” You spoke and he began to tear up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what I was doing, what I was losing” He said and you reached up to caress his cheek.

You could tell he was trying to resist, being stubborn. “Do you still…?” You asked, wondering if he still loved you, as more than a friend.

Jeremiah tried to look away, but he couldn’t, his eyes locking on yours as he finally gave into his temptation. “Yes…I still” He whispered before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours desperately.

He pushed you up against the side of the Jeep, his arms wrapped around your waist.

Your lips loved together in sync, as all the love you had held for each other was unleashed.

Pulling away, you pressed four forehead against his, he smiled a bit.

“I love you, Y/n, I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear before” He explained and you nodded your head.

“I love you too, it’s okay, Jeremiah” You said and he smiled a bit.

“Can you help me change this tire now?” He asked and you laughed.

“Only if I get a kiss first” You said and he rolled his eyes, complying to your request.

PART 2?

#jeremiah x reader #jeremiah fisher #jeremiah fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher x y/n #tsitp conrad #tsitp s2 #tsitp jeremiah #the summer i turned pretty #jeremiah fisher x you #conrad fisher #tsitpedit #x y/n

[mrchiipchrome]

Sixth Sense

W.C.- 1.4 k

Not very long but oh well

---------------------------

“-And so she was all like…Less? Alessia, are you listening to me?” Katie taps the shoulder of the taller girl, seemingly zoned out fully.

“Hmm? Uhm, you’ll have to tell me later Macca, my Y/n-tingle just went off and I have to make sure she doesn’t lose a limb.” Jogging towards the dining room at the training ground, Alessia can soon feel Katie’s presence right beside her.

“What’s the Y/n-tingle?” She questions the younger forward, whom she had taken under her wing.

“When Y/n does anything stupid, dangerous, or the dreaded 2-in-1, I get a…feeling. It’s like my spidey-sense…” Alessia’s words trail off as they reach the lunch room, being met with the dreaded 2-in-1.

For you were standing on top of a table, decked out in a full bear costume, one foot high in the air and hands high above your head. The ski goggles didn’t do you much favor, cutting off your breathing slightly.

“Y/N Y/L/N GET DOWN!” The loud, unexpected voice startles you, the single foot on the table slipping. 

The resulting fall feels like one happening in slowmo, your back hitting the table and fully knocking all the wind out of your lungs.

“Ouch” Is the only thing you��re able to say as soon as you can get some air into your lungs, hand coming up to rest over your chest. 

“Holy shit, that was awesome Y/n!” Your partner in crime says, the girl is also known as one of your bestfriends in the entire world.

“Did you get it on film?” You ask excitedly, seeing Alessia shaking her head disappointedly in your peripheral vision. With the same enthusiasm as before, you waved her over.

“Less! Did you see that!?” The girl drags her feet over to where you’re now sitting on the table, standing in between your thighs.

“I sure did baby, it was very dangerous.” She tells you matter of factly, brushing her thumb over your cheek lightly.

“Well, when you get triple dog dared to do something, you do it.” With a quick kiss to her cheek and an even quicker slap to her butt, you jump off the table and run out the room. 

It doesn’t take long for your girlfriend to follow your lead, running out of the room to seemingly catch you.

The remaining women in the room look to Kyra, who’d been the one to film.

“Hey, don’t look at me! I wasn’t the one to triple dog dare her, Caitlin was!” And with that, two more people were running out of the room.

—-------

“What would happen if I theoretically jumped off a trampoline and into a pool?” You whisper to the girl laying in your arms, the early morning sun painting the room with its gorgeous orange glow.

“You’d probably hurt yourself, don’t even think about doing it.” She mumbles sleepily, but firmly at the same time.

“I wasn’t thinking about doing i-” You get interrupted before you can even finish your lie.

“Stop lying, I know you better than you know yourself my love.” Alessia shoves her face deeper into the crook of your neck, exhaling loudly.

“Let’s say I hypothetically-”

“No Y/n, that’s dangerous.” Her voice holds a tone of finality, signaling the end of the conversation.

“But you haven’t even-” 

“I know you Y/n, it’s dangerous.” She presses her fingers into your ribs, the feeling making you giggle.

“Okay, okay, I won’t.” You tighten your arms around her, the girl not having noticed the way your fingers were crossed behind her back.

“Uncross your fingers and tell me.” The disappointed girlfriend voice was switched on again, the striker barely having enough patience to deal with you.

“How do you always know?” She quite obviously rolls her eyes at you, kneeing you in the thigh softly.

“Because we’ve been together for years.” You hum in agreement, muttering a quiet ‘fair enough’ into the damp London air.

—--------

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” Kyra’s voice carries throughout the hallway, mixing with the voices of Gio and the rest of the youngsters.

That combined with Alessia’s gut feeling of you doing something stupid again makes for an uncomfortable situation.

Turning the corner, Alessia can see you standing beside Jen, chugging what looked to be sparkling water out of a plastic bottle.

“What is going on!?” Alessia’s booming voice turns a few heads, and apparently it surprises you enough for you to choke on the beverage, trying to cough it back up when more water flows down your throat. It ends with a Jen Beattie trying to pat your back and water dripping painfully from your nose as Alessia cusses you out.

“We were just having a contest to see who could chug-” Jen starts off, her powerful frame cowering behind yours slightly. No one liked to face Alessia’s protective side.

“I don’t care. I mean I get Y/n doing this, I could not stop her if i tried, but you? Jen you’re 32 for fuck’s sake, you shouldn’t be encouraging this behaviour.” Alessia rips into the older woman, leaving you to try to come to her defense.

“Baby, it was my idea. They were just convinced to help me, I promise-” 

“I know it was your idea love, therefore you are sleeping on the couch tonight.” ‘Oohhhhs’ spread throughout the room at Alessia’s delivered judgment.

“No, I’m sorry baby. It won’t happen again!” You stalk after her as she makes her way out of the room, feeling your teammates pat your back every so often.

—------------

The only thing Alessia can hear when she gets home from training is a soft pitter patter sound, like something scratching against the ground repeatedly. She had been a little worried at training when her stupid-o-meter had gone off, but when she had called you everything had seemed fine.

Oh how foolish she was to believe you.

“Shhhh Fanta, don’t ruin the surprise for Mommy now.” Alessia moves towards the kitchen with tentative steps, leaning against the doorframe. She sees your crouched over body, one knee planted firmly on the ground and one pulled up to your chest.

“Y/n?” Hearing your name fall from her lips makes you stand up abruptly, the puppy in your hands hidden behind your back.

“Lessi, hi! Let me give you a quick hypothetical, what would you do if I brought home a golden retriever puppy named Fanta?” She can barely understand the rushed words coming out of your lips, but somehow she manages to decipher them well enough.

“That depends, is this scenario real?” Her eyebrow raises in your direction as a shrill bark comes from behind you.

“Right, funny story, we have a dog now. Meet Fanta!” The fluffy puppy you hold out towards her barks once again, Alessia’s gaze softening even more at the sight of it.

“I know I should be mad at you for buying a puppy, but I can’t possibly be mad at this adorable baby.” You hand her the puppy, who takes the opportunity to lick at Alessia’s cheek, giving her kisses.

“Hey, Fanta be careful, that’s my girl!” You call out jokingly, getting an amazing photo of Alessia smiling with the newest addition to your family.

“Oh, hi sweetness. I love you so much, yes I do” Alessia kisses Fanta’s head softly, the dog starting to squirm in her grasp. She lowers her body down to the floor, letting the squirming puppy jump out of her arms. 

Alessia wraps her arms around your waist in a strong grip, leaning up to kiss your temple. The two of you watch fondly as the puppy slips around on the slippery floor, likening a deer on ice.

“This might be your best stupid idea ever love.” She places her head on your shoulder, leaning back into your body.

You use your pointer finger to tilt her chin up, pressing a loving kiss to her lips.

“I take it that you like my surprise?” She hums tiredly in response, her beautiful eyes closed as you sway the blonde in your arms to the tune of an imaginary song.

“Does this mean you’ll let Katie throw darts around me like they do in the movies?” You whisper in her ear, not wanting to break the moment.

“Absolutely not.”

#woso #alessia russo #unc soccer #woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #lionesses #arsenal wfc #woso imagines

[bitterchocoo]

Hello,I am have been reading your work for quite sometime :), I really am loving them so far 😭💗 .I saw that your requests were open, so may I be able to ask for Dazai or Fyodor with male reader who are like Sunday from HSR, and could be in a enemies to lovers type relationship :D, the plot can be upto you :>

A Seraphim or..

Osamu Dazai | M. Reader as Sunday [Honkai Star Rail]

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"Who are you..? An Angel.."

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The Charmony Festival.

A once-in-an-era event held in the Country of Festivities, Penacony.

Members of the five great families, which together make up "The Family" on Penacony. As well as staff members of the Reverie, are united in welcoming the world to their home.

The Oak Family.

The Alfalfa Family.

The Bloodhound Family.

The Iris Family.

The Nightingale Family.

All important figures in Penacony.

But one stood out the most...

The man with a halo and wings. [Name].

The leader of the Oak Family. The organizer of the Charmony Festival and a representative of The Family of Penacony. The most important figure amongst them and the one holding the most power.

Who wouldn't be interested in a man like him?

With a charming smile and a soft voice, paired with his unique appearance... he's like an Angel.. no..

A Seraphim.

----------

The first time he laid eyes on him was at the Golden Hour. The moment he saw the man himself he thought he saw the heavens itself.

A Seraphim.

He thought.

But upon further observation... Dazai soon found a different answer..

His vibe seems a little.. sinister..

His smile barely even reaches his eyes.

His voice is soft and yet his tone is firm.

Either way, [Name] had caught his interest.

.

.

.

.

.

"Your radiant glow illuminates me! Your voice is as soft as an angel! I can't believe that I've met such an angelic being! Please make me the happiest man and kill me with these holy hands of yours."

What.

What did he just said.

What in Harmony's name did he just say?

[Name] can't help but chuckle as he pulls his hand away from Dazai's hold. What was that? A proposal?

"Aha.. you're quite funny, Mr. Dazai.. but I believe you've drank too many SoulGlad." He replied, trying to keep it casual and professional.

This man, this suicidal prick..

He's all talk and flattery. It never fails to get under his skin with how buddy-buddy he is. They're only acquainted and yet this bandaged man acts as if they're old friends. Does he even know who he's speaking to? He's [Name]! Leader of the Oak Family! The very mention of his name could silence a whole room and this man dared do such things to him!

"Now now~ I only drank a few~" Dazai reassured with a smile on his face. "Don't you want to go back home to heaven with me~?"

"I believe you'll be sending me down to the fiery pit instead of going up."

"Ouch! How cruel! Then how about we go to your manor?"

"Don't make me turn you down twice."

This.. man child.. what does his agency even see in him..

----------

"Oh, Triple-Faced Soul, please sear his tongue and palm with a hot iron, so he will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows."

"...What have you done?"

"Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed. I implore THEM to shed THEIR light, and I'll ask you questions on THEIR behalf. Next... you have 113 seconds to prove your innocence and gain my trust."

"And if I refuse to answer?"

"You can try — and we'll see if the Harmony rejects you."

It had finally led to this.

Both of them had taken off their masks. Revealing the true wickedness underneath. The suicidal maniac and the so-called leader of the Family.

Oh how he hated that man.

Acting like a child who believes he could get away with everything. It's time where [Name] to put his foot down and stand his ground. This entitlement will not go unnoticed by him and with THEIR radiant light.. he will find the truth..

And judge him as the Harmony see fit.

"Question: Do you have an ability?"

"Yes."

"What a simple answer. You, too, understand that idle chatter leads only to poverty."

"Did you neutralize your ability when you entered Penacony?"

"No. My ability nullifies others."

He already figured that out.. which is why he's holding this "trial" with THEM. For the power of the Aeon is far more powerful than any ability in the world. "Does the page of the Book you handed over to The Family belong to the agency?"

Honestly, he never would have thought the Armed Detective Agency would use such an item to bargain their way into Penacony. Something as powerful as the Book. A page of the Book.

It's a given why he allowed them to enter the dreamscape when they bargained such an item.

"Yes."

"Is the Page of the Book in this room right now?"

"Yes."

"Is your memory free from any kind of tampering or deletion, encompassing but not restricted to the techniques of the Garden of Recollection?"

"Yes."

"Are you a former executive from Port Mafia?"

[Name] continues to ruthlessly question him without missing a beat. Dazai furrowed his eyebrows at the question. Something that doesn't make sense. How could [Name] know such things? "Yes. You even know about that?"

"Does your agency and the Port Mafia have any ability to read, tamper with, or manipulate one's own or another's mind?"

"No. Does it matter?"

"Do you love your family more than yourself?"

Okay where is he getting at here... the questions are getting more and more personal. "Yes."

"...Do you hate and wish to destroy this world with your own hands?" [Name]'s expression turned serious as he narrowed his eyes, his perpetual smile seemed to widen slightly. "...I don't know."

"Interesting. Now, the final question..." [Name] breath out, putting his hands behind his back. "Can you swear that at this very moment, the page of the Book is safe and sound in this box?"

Dazai seems to hesitate a little, thinking of a way to get around this. He always has a plan after all. "...Of course."

[Name] hums as his smile turns a little more sincere. "Looks like we can get an answer."

"Open it, Mr. Dazai... It's your last chance to defend your honor."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Aren't you happy, Mr. Dazai? You'll finally get your wish in seventeen system hours, the end that you desire so much. Off you go, Mr. Dazai. You are free. I will wait here for your good news."

"Maybe one day.. no.."

"In another universe..."

"I can learn how to love you too.."

#seme male reader #top male reader #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x male reader #bsd #bsd x reader #bsd x male reader #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai x male reader #x male reader #x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr sunday