#suspended gold au

[wolf-of-stormwind]

"Go on, introduce yourselves."

"I-Im Anduin, Anduin Wrynn..."

"I'm An'ora! You're very pretty, Anduin!"

Although this isn't canon, I think this au where the sun well was never destroyed, and Anduin and An'ora met as kids and (eventually) Varian and Kael'thas realized how well they got along, and put them in an arrangement marriage.

#world of warcraft #wow #oc: an'ora sunstrider #anduin wrynn #anduin wrynn x oc #an'oradin #Suspended gold au #voided art tag

[ink-incorporated-official]

(Welcome to somehow my second Bendy au blog! Btw I know they revamp JDS in the second game or something but too bad cause I don’t know anything about that game)

Joey Drew studios has recently started back up with a new title: Ink Incorporated! We disown our previous name, owner, and reputation, and now strive to make Dreams Come True Ethically. This involves transparency, and, as such, this ask is open to all your questions about the new management, goals, family, or whatever else.

As heads of marketing, most questions not asked towards anyone in particular will be answered by Ms. Allison or Mr. Henry Stein.

Here’s some members up for asks (mostly)!

Main big boy blog: @rununcal

Image ID under cut!

(Image ID: A picture of six framed photos of different members of the BATIM cast. From right to left there is:

Henry Stein with his tie on properly. His photo is framed in wood, contrary to all the others framed with gold metal.

Ben D, aka the Ink Demon, who wears glasses and a suit and bowtie. Ink is dripping out of his photo and onto his plaque.

Sammy Lawrence. He wears a proper dress shirt, has starstruck eyes on his mask, and still has his classic suspenders. The glass over his photo is shattered, and wood is in place of some of the golden frame.

Alice Angel. She wears a blazer and has her hair tied into a bun. She looks angry, and her frame is a bit lopsided. A note hammered to her frame says “You GOT this!!”

Norman Polk. He has hearts painted onto the side of his projector. He wears a sweater vest and undershirt.

Allison, who wears a blouse and has her hair untied. End ID)

#bendy and the ink machine #batim au #batim #bendy au #bendy #bendy back in business #bbib #sammy lawrence #allison pendle #ink demon #norman polk #susie campbell #alice angel #sorry #office but scary oh no

[linddzz]

In Which Hob, a Shitty Wizard, Meets a Supposed Demon

Last week or so I made too many posts about what if Hob, still immortal, trying out occultism but kinda crap at it (which is some bullshit considering that Death is his drinking buddy), first meets Dream as the devil in the basement of The Magus Burgess. I called it "the shit-wizard Hob AU"

I still don't know if I'll finish it. But I couldn't stop it from starting.

No editing no betas we post on Tumblr like idiots.

EDIT: very mild editing still no betas we still stupid

********

In August of 1923, Hob Gadling - currently Rob Gedlen- is introduced to a demon.

It is, he has to admit, rather impressive. Or at least, the bonds keeping it tamed are. The prison space is everything a magus cellar should be. All arched, ancient stone and dim lighting that only barely illuminates the painted ceiling. Shadows so deep that even the electric bulbs only give the dark textures of colour. Green algae, the saturated grays and browns of rock, the faded blue and gold of the artificial night sky.

The oily glint of black iron chains. The sweeping ooze of the light over the curved iron scaffolding the chains held up, and the dizzying reflection off of the glass orb held within the iron like a gem clasped in dragon claws suspended over a small, mirror flat moat and an intricate golden circle.

Very impressive. Forboding even. The sort of thing a magus should have in his cellar.

The man inside of it looks for all the world like an ordinary naked man. Right number of limbs, hair and skin natural colors, everything in place where it should be. That's if one ignored the fact that he was sitting calm and clean in a fully airtight sphere of glass. Ordinary, if you were a dimwit and took human shape as a sign of humanity.

“This,” Burgess says with a wicked, bitter sort of pride, “is the Order’s secret of success.”

Hob whistles, because he thinks he should show some sort of appreciation. He's been working for Burgess for a few years now after all, and knows when to look suitably impressed. It is impressive, so he doesn't need to play it up too much when he follows Burgess past the wrought iron gate.

The man in the glass looks less like a mystical secret and more like he needs a coat. He's even sitting with his knees tucked to his chest, delicate ankles crossed in front of him, arms loosely draped forward and black haired head bowed down as if in deep thought.

With his nakedness, the curled position would look painfully vulnerable, were it not for the overwhelming sense that he's waiting.

“He's a demon of dreams. Or close enough to a demon.” Burgess explains. His cane tapping on the stone is the only other sound in that strange space. “I was attempting to summon Death itself, and failed at my task. But I did not come away empty handed.”

Yeah, that's probably for the best. If Hob had sauntered down here and seen Her displayed in a glass cage like a bauble, he would have done something stupid and violent. Best case scenario; She would just laugh at him for overreacting. Worst case; She'd do it with that sad little twist to Her mouth.

The entity Burgess did nab seems miniscule compared to the apparatus around him, to the manor towering over their heads. Yet even Hob and his absolute shit senses for magic can feel how everything is circling the center point of the man. They're all little marbles, orbiting the sphere and the mass within it.

“An incubus?” Hob asks, walking around the perimeter of the moat. His tone is mild, curious, intrigued. It's a talent of his to not exactly lie, but to use some of his feelings to mask others.

It’s a horrible thing, to take the freedom of another for your own benefit.

Her voice echoes in his head. That moment is never far from his head. The sad sweetness of her voice turned sour. The hard disappointment in her dark eyes. He will never forget the horrid, sickening twist of guilt of that meeting, and he feels it when he looks at the demon in the magus’ cellar.

The lights reflect oddly in the sphere, making it seem as if the man himself were the source of illumination. His skin is the sort of gleaming white that poets would froth over. Hob isn't a poet, but even he can tell that “white” hardly does it justice. The alabaster statues a floor above are going to appear dull and crude now when compared to the snow-under-moonlight of the man down here. The shadows of him are blue, violet, deepest velvet black.

Maybe not snow under moonlight, Hob thinks, reminded of the multi-hued winter twilight.

Now that he's closer, Hob can make out the sharply sculpted features of him. His curled body is a lean, hungry twist of muscle that reminds one less of actual flesh than of a tangled metal chord. His cheekbones are sharp and high, his eyes cast down with a sweep of raven wing lashes. The only hints of life are the faint flushes of seashell pink at his ears, his fingers, the still and plush lips.

“If you like.” Burgess says, which means the man isn't an incubus and Burgess thinks he's fucking clever again. The magus is watching Hob now, who is examining the circle, the iron chains, anything that will keep him from thinking too much about the thin form trapped within it.

“I attempted first to gain favors from it.” Burgess continues when Hob says nothing. “But it is stubbornly silent. No matter.”

Burgess has stepped past the moat, past the circle, to stand with his nose nearly touching the round glass wall. Hob stays outside of the barriers, but he is close enough that he can see the hate that always sits beneath his boss’ manners.

“No matter.” Burgess repeats, sneering at his captive. “Found a use for you anyway, didn't I? Just its presence brings power to this place. It amplifies the magic here, makes the spells wrought near it more solid.”

“Not much hope for me then, if I'm already by some magic booster.” Hob grins, and his boss chuckles almost fondly. It had been a whim that had Hob joining the Order. He’d never tried being a magician before, though he had gone to a few seances when they were at their peak. Occultism wasn't too fashionable anymore, so Hob thought it was best to try it out now before it got truly passe.

He's glad he's only been at it for a few years, because he's crap at it. All the costumes and chanting and intricate rituals seem silly, even when he's seen the true results of it. It was just a bunch of nonsense cobbled together from bad translations and old frauds that everyone knew were frauds back in the day! But if you followed the stupid made up rubbish perfectly, sometimes it would result in some actual magic.

That's one of the stupid things about magic. If all you can think about while doing a spell is that you must look like an utter berk, it won't work.

“We all have our talents, Mr. Gedlen.” Burgess says mildly, indulgently. “It's why I have brought you here, actually. You may not have the Gift,” he always referred to magic like that, you could hear the self important capitalized letters in it, “but you’re measured. Resilient. Notably unshakable.

Hob supposed that was true enough. Being in a house with a bunch of wizardy twats who were too busy going mad while practicing the perfect runes took a level head. Someone needed to have enough of a practical mindset to smother out all the fires that tended to happen, even if those fires had colors that gave you a headache.

“I've tried other magicians, promising acolytes, ruffian's from the street.” Burgess continues, sighing with remembered disappointment and gazing hard at the unmoving demon. “They would lose their nerve, complain of nightmares, or they would be too dimwitted to know the sorts of things to report on.”

Hob moves again, still keeping to the edges of the moat, until he is looking at Burgess’ back and into the lowered face of the demon. “You want me to be a guard?” He asks, voice mild because he isn't sure how he feels about that.

“An observer.” Burgess corrects. “You're sharp, though I've noticed that you try not to show it. You don't have a talent for magic, but you're quick to catch onto the supernatural.”

Hob should hope so, all things considered.

“I want you to take one of the guard shifts, yes. But I want to see what you observe compared to the thicker minds my son has hired. I want you to tell me when it moves, how it moved, if the light seemed different, if you felt tired despite the forced march pills you will be required to take. Any sign that it might be trying to wear away at the binds that hold it.

Do not be fooled by it's stillness or fair looks.” Burgess taps his cane on the sphere, making it ring like a perfect crystal. “This is a demon. If it ever breaks free, it will destroy all of us without a thought.”

The demon lifts its head then, and Hob wonders if his heart finally stops. The movement is slow, strange and dragged, a statue that can only mimic how a living thing would move. The raven wing lashes fly up. The demons eyes are shadowed. Far more deeply shadowed than they should be for the amount of light shining off his skin.

Within those shadows, the place where his eyes must be draw all the light in, refine it, refract it back in the distant twinkling of two dim, hateful, cold stars.

“Yeah. I don't doubt that.” Hob says quietly, and the demons eyes blaze in its beautiful, dead face.

#dreamling #new orb rescue mission au dropped #shit wizard hob #my fic

[spookwyrdie]

Call Waiting...

sub!Changbin x dom!reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: You haven’t been quite honest with him about your visit. Nothing makes Changbin more relaxed than a little play date, and it’s been a few weeks since he’s had the time and energy to get on his knees for you. You've decided to take matters into your own hands, literally.

genre: SMUT, office AU, gentle femdom

warnings: adult dialogue, sexual content, dom/sub dynamics, gentle femdom, semi-public sex, office sex, on-the-phone, mouth kink, handjobs, edging, mild choking

18+ only, minors DNI

a/n: This is shameless smut, I can't stop thinking about sub! Changbin tbh.

(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

I've only posted this here and on AO3 - user: spookwyrdie

Sharp heels click on the lovely marble floors as you saunter your way from the reception desk towards his office door. The space is a lovely mix of black and gold, the furniture sleek and the space tidy. You take your time, knowing that the sound of your heels will greet him before you get to his office door. You raise a perfectly manicured hand and rap your knuckles on his door. 

It swings open immediately, Changbin’s face beaming in surprise. “Y/n! To what do I owe the pleasure?”  

He swoops you into his space, closing the door quietly behind you. The smell of dark leather and a clean cologne greets you. The sleeves on his crisp white dress shirt are neatly rolled up, black suspenders in place, the top button of his collar undone. The definition of his wide shoulders is highlighted by his attire. His muscles bulge with every small movement he makes, your eyes are roaming all around his body before you realize he’s waiting for you to reply with a smirk on his face. 

You hold up the takeout bag in your hand, “I thought today would be a nice day for a lunch date. Don’t worry, I checked in with your assistant before I came over, I know you have a free hour or so to spend with me.” 

“I’m expecting a call in a little bit, but I can always make time for you,” he says as he drapes an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek lightly.  

You set the bag down on his desk and start taking out the little plastic trays arranged so artfully. “I made a special order to our favorite sushi place just for you. You deserve it.” 

He moves the scattered papers on his desk, placing them into a black folder. He was apparently hard at work before you came to surprise him with lunch. He moves to his chair and settles into it with a weary sigh. “I’m glad you’re here, my love. It’s been a tough one today with this client and you’re a wonderful distraction.” 

You hand him some chopsticks and put together his meal for him. “I could tell something has been off for a few days, sweets. You need something to help you relax, which is why I'm here.” You toss him a wink, for good measure. You eat together, comfortable chat about nothing in particular passes between you two, giving Changbin a small reprieve from the mental strain he’s been dealing with. 

You haven’t been quite honest with him about your visit. You love bringing him lunch on a particularly stressful day, but you have your own ulterior motives. Nothing makes Changbin more relaxed than a little play date, and it’s been a few weeks since he’s had the time and energy to get on his knees for you. You haven’t had him writhing and whining beneath you in an age and you’re beginning to miss it. You never press the issue but seeing how worked up he’s been getting from constant tasks, you have decided to take matters into your own hands, literally. 

After you both finish up, he leans back and pats his belly with a contented sigh. “Thanks love, I really needed that.” 

You stand and walk around his desk slowly, swaying your hips for good measure, stopping within inches of him at his chair. “You still look tense; I’ll give you a little shoulder rub before I go.” You put your hand out for him to pull him out of his chair and sit in his place. You pat your lap, gesturing for him to get comfortable. Changbin looks at you for a moment, you can watch the gears turning slowly in his head, trying to anticipate how this will go. In the end, he gingerly sits on your thighs.  

You wrap your arms around his midsection and pull him flush with your body. Changbin sits a little taller than you from this angle which is perfect for peppering the back of his neck with small kisses. He giggles and cranes his neck away; you love how ticklish he is. Your hands on his shoulders begin to knead slowly, finding all the knots and tension in his broad back, massaging them out and turning him into putty in your hands.  

Soon his head is lolling to the side, entranced by your fingers and your care. It gives you the perfect opportunity to scrape your teeth lightly at the junction between his neck and shoulder, drawing a whimper out of him as he rocks his hips forward. You latch down and give a light suck to his skin, not enough to leave a mark but enough to have him collapse back against you with his hands gripping the armrests of his chair hard. You chuckle into his neck, “Feeling a little sensitive today?” 

He whines at you poking fun at him as one hand snakes around his waist and the other wraps around his neck. He is pliant in your hands, a delicate squeeze has him moaning “Darling…” You smile against his skin at the use of your title, the little detail telling you he’s slipping into the deep neediness he’s been denying himself these past few weeks. You’re “Darling” when he wants you to take control, turn him into a babbling mess, and lose himself in you.  

He’s grinding subtly in your lap at the pressure you’re applying to his throat, seeking any sort of relief. Your hand around his waist wanders around his body, brushing up against one of his nipples and you feel his stomach muscles contract. He shudders a deep breath out as you slowly rub the sensitive bud, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink hue. The hand on his neck remains, barely applying any pressure, just a feeling of reassurance collaring him. Changbin grasps at your arm with his hands, an anchor for him, something to hold onto while his hips jolt upwards.  

Your hand abandons his nipple to slide down his torso, feeling his abdominal muscles jump at the contact. It travels further down to rest in between his thick thighs, muscles straining the material of his well-tailored pants. He’s already desperately hard, practically throbbing through all the layers of fabric as you drag a nail up his constrained cock. He picks his head up to from your shoulder to watch your hand dance around his length, mesmerized by your movements. Just when it seems like you’re about to grasp him fully, you move to tease him a little more by dragging your nails up his inner thigh. His cock twitches in his pants and he shudders against you with a whine frustration. 

“Shhhh…” you whisper in his ear as you squeeze a little tighter to the sides of his neck. “If you want to cum, you have to be good for your Darling, okay?” He presses his lips together and nods, a small mmmph noise huffing out of him. “Good.” 

When your hands leave his neck and his cock, he gasps at the loss - only to let out a strangled squeak when you grab his suspenders, pull them up, and snap them back down against his chest. The metal adjusters on the straps sting his pecs, so you smooth your hands under the straps and push them down his shoulders, making sure to pay careful attention to the sore skin underneath the metal. You press a kiss just beneath his ear and he melts back into you with a hiss.  

The crisp shirt tucked into his pants gets wrinkled when you pull it free from his waistband. Your fingers nimbly unbutton his pants, sliding the zipper down at an excruciatingly slow pace, making sure he feels the vibrations of every tug against his cock. Your hand slips down and you palm him over his tight boxer briefs, his hips shaking as he grinds into your hand. A small wet spot has already appeared on the fabric concealing his cock from your bare skin, his whimpers come out low and staccato as he lifts his head again to watch your hands again.  

You chuckle at his desperation, “I hardly need to do anything, I bet you could cum from just thrusting up against my hand like this.” 

“N-no-” he begs. “I can be good!” 

“Oh? Can you?” His hips are still gyrating into your hand. 

“Yes, Darling,” he stutters out, his hips halting beneath your touch, his thighs beginning to tremble from the effort to keep still.  

“Good job, sweets. You’re being so good today,” you murmur into his ear. Your palm leaves him, and you hear a protest start to rise in his throat, his breath hitching when your fingers dance along the elastic of his waistband. Gently, you trail them underneath the elastic, to the sensitive skin of his pelvis. His hips begin to shake again as he holds his breath, hungry for your approval more than he wants to chase his orgasm. Your pinky finger lifts the elastic away from his body slowly, pulling up inch by inch until - snap! You let it bounce back onto his hips again as he hisses at the slight sting. 

You push the elastic down his hips enough to let his cock spring free from its confines, slapping against his lower belly. It’s already red and weeping and you drag one finger through the wetness beading up from the tip of his cock. Bringing it to his lips, you press gently into his mouth. He sucks at your finger, groaning at the taste and you watch more pre-cum leak out of his pulsing head. 

"Feet up against the desk,” you say, tapping his thigh. He obliges, lifting his feet and bracing them against the edge of his desk. In this vulnerable position, his body is curled in, relying on you for most of his support. “If anyone walks in right now, they’ll see how much of a good little slut you are for me.” Your whisper in his ear has him shivering against you. “Say it, ‘I’m a good little slut.’” 

“I- I’m a good little slut,” he pants out. 

“Good boy.” You raise a cupped hand to his mouth. “Spit.” 

He drips saliva into your hand, coating your fingers.  

 You grip his cock in your hand lightly, spreading his saliva onto his cock, still teasing him with the barest contact. He mewls at your touch, throwing his head back against your shoulder. You clamp a hand over his mouth as you begin to stroke him, long and languid movements, letting him feel every inch of movement. He throbs in your hand as he moans through your fingers. “If you’re not quiet, I’ll have to shove something in your mouth.” 

He can’t help it, he’s already so fucked out, so deep inside his need for pleasure he can barely hear you. He whimpers as your hand leaves his mouth to reach down for the hem of his shirt. You lift it up, exposing his belly, a soft layer of flesh covering the thick muscles of his abdominals. Bringing the hem of his shirt to his mouth, you press it against his lips until he’s biting it between his teeth. “Good,” you murmur into his ear, as you take his earlobe between your teeth. His moan is muffled a bit by his shirt, and now your other hand is free to roam his torso again. 

With the fabric of his shirt lifted to his mouth, your fingers easily find his exposed nipple, grazing it softly. His abs lurch at the touch, “Oh fuck,” he muffles through his shirt. He leans back again, pressing into you, as he cautiously thrusts up into your hand with every stroke. There’s a fine sheen of sweat coating his forehead now, the effort it takes not to drive into your hand, to chase his high, shakes through his whole body. 

Just then, the shrill ring of the phone makes him gasp. Still at the mercy of your hands, he’s conflicted – ignore it and let you continue or do his job and pick up the phone. He’s already trembling, caught in the middle of his chaotic thoughts when you make the decision for him. Leaning forward, you take your hand off his nipple and reach for the phone. You pick it up gingerly, pulling the corded phone towards you as you lean back again, your other hand never leaving his cock. He turns to look at you, wide eyes and panic flooding his features. You place the receiver against your ear. 

“This is the office of Mr. Seo. Please wait a moment while I connect you,” you grin at him with mischief in your eyes. You hand him the phone.  

“H-hello, is this Mr. Lee?” His voice is remarkably steady for someone who was just panting through the cotton of his shirt a moment ago. A deeper blush erupts on his face at this twist.  

“Yes....I’ve got a draft of the contract drawn up for what we’ve discussed,” he continues. You marvel for a moment at his professionalism and the sadistic side of you wants to push him. Your hand begins to stroke him again slowly, squeezing around the base of his cock with every down thrust.  

“Yes....As per our agreement, the ffff-” his eyes slam shut, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration. “The forms should be f-faxed over later this afternoon...” He begins thrusting into your hand again, matching your unhurried pace. 

“What?...Oh, yes.... I’m fine. Could we schedule a follow-up later? I apologize, but I have... an urgent m-matter to.... attend to,” his breaths becoming fast and hitched again. “I appreciate your f-flexibility, Mr. Lee.” He yelps as you nip at his neck again. Turning towards you, his eyes lock onto yours with a mix of frenzied desire and frustration at this turn of events. “T-thank you. Good-bye." 

He lets the receiver drop to the floor once he hears the click and dial tone on the other end. Changbin turns to you, ready to scold you for that kind of move during a call, but you swoop in for a kiss and he melts. He whimpers into your mouth as your tongue caresses his and you start fisting his cock once again. You break the kiss and murmur against his lips, “You did such a good job, sweets. I think you deserve a reward for being such a professional.” 

That aching hunger is painted on his face again as he nods, “P-please, Darling.” 

You squeeze the base of his cock again, pre-cum trickling down his shaft, adding to the dripping wetness of his cock. A lewd slick noise fills the room as you pick up the pace. He starts to whimper again, eyes clamping shut and thrusting into your hand. You shove your hand into his mouth, gripping onto his lower jaw, to keep him from making too much noise. He moans again as he sucks hard on your fingers, the pitch of his whimpers getting higher. “I’m gonna c-” 

You stop and grip the base of his cock again, hard. He spasms, a wanton whine like gravel in his throat, protesting the loss of friction. He whines around your fingers again, this time in a pleading tone, his eyes wet and sparkly with unshed tears. He lurches forward in your grasp as you coo into his ear, not letting him reach his high just yet. “I said you deserved a reward; I didn’t say it was going to happen right away.”  

Changbin’s practically pulsating in your hand; you could feel his heartbeat twitching in the veins of his cock. You wait for his body to still, fighting to get control, to be good, because he knows nothing feels as good as your praise. As he relaxes into your arms again, you begin pumping his cock again, toying with it. You pop your fingers out of his mouth and grip his neck again. You apply a light hold to his neck, not constricting his airway, so his panting breaths still come freely. His hips start rocking again on their own accord, you know he’s in another headspace all together now, fully surrendered to you. 

His hips start stuttering again, grunting against your hand around his throat, pushing himself into your grasp. Your thumb and middle fingers squeeze a soothing pressure into the sides of his neck. He’s trying to string some words together and failing, fully babbling at your hands. “P-plea-please,” he tries to say. 

“Hmm? What was that, sweets?” 

“Please....m-may I cum?”  

“Please may I cum, who?” 

“PLEASE may I cum, D-” he’s losing his words again, thrusting full speed into your hand, gripping onto your arm, balls tightening as he tries to hold himself back. “DARLING.” 

“Of course, sweetheart. You just needed to ask politely.” You release your hold on his throat and bite down on the sensitive part between his neck and shoulder with that. 

Changbin cries out, cock twitching in your hand as his hips stutter, losing their rhythm. With a few more pumps, he’s gushing, spurting all over his stomach, his chest, even his desk. His hands come to grip the chair behind your head as his hips rock through his orgasm. You clamp a hand over his mouth again to keep his volume down, but he’s gone, groaning into your hand as his whole body shudders. You milk Changbin through his orgasm until his whines take on a painful edge and he starts pushing your hand away, kicking his legs up to get away from the stimulation. 

He collapses back onto you, totally spent. Your hands are the only thing keeping him in place or else he’d probably fall to the floor. You press small kisses to his face and neck as you bring him back down to earth. Your hands trail around his body, reviving him slowly with comfort. Your fingers card through his hair and he sighs into your touch. 

After a few moments, he chuckles. “I’m going to have to teach you proper phone etiquette.” 

You scoff in a mock horror, “Are you saying there’s something wrong with the way I answered?” 

“Yes,” he giggles, eyes crinkling up. “You answered.” 

“I was just helping you with work, my love.” You press a chaste kiss on his temple. He sits up to turn around. His body still shakes a little as he takes your face in his hands for a long kiss. As he pours emotion and gratitude into the kiss, you boil over with pride, a warm feeling erupting in your chest. He leans back, just a breath away from you, tenderness in his eyes and rubs little circles on your cheeks with his thumbs. 

“Well, Darling,” he says, putting a cheeky emphasis on your title. “You can help me with work in other ways.” 

His face grows serious and tender for a moment. “Thank you for this today, really. Only you can make me feel this relaxed when I’ve been having such a hard time.” 

You peck him on the lips again, smiling into your kiss. “I do it because I love you.” 

“Oh, only for that reason?” he says as he stands, pulling up his pants and readjusting his shirt and suspenders. He offers you a hand and pulls you up from the chair into his arms.  

He kisses your nose, and you blush. “I’ll see you at home,” he says. “And if you think I won’t be returning the favor because of work, you’ve got another thing coming.” 

#skz smut #stray kids smut #changbin x reader #changbin x y/n #seo changbin #changbin #stray kids #smut #changbin smut

[impcarcass]

Listen to him damnit!

[IMAGE ID: Sun and Moon standing together against a purple-grey background. Sun is leaning against Moon with a hand on his shoulder, small speech bubbles next to him read “*whispers* put that out. We have guests.” Sun is wearing a white button up dress shirt with a gold police badge on the left side of his chest. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, and he has yellow suspenders holding up his dark brown pants. His shirt is tucked into his belt. Moon is slouched over, glaring at Sun with a cigarette in hand. The text bubbles next to him read “no. Fuck off.” Moon is wearing a wide brimmed black hat, and his white dress shirt is slightly unbuttoned and untucked. He also has the same gold police badge as Sun. He has dark blue suspenders hanging down the sides of his dark blue pants with lighter blue patches on the knees. They are both wearing dress shoes, Sun’s are a light brown and Moon’s are a blackish blue. END ID]

Some goofy guys from my AU 💛 based on this sketch from a magma I was in vvv

[IMAGE ID: a light sketch of the previously described image. END ID]

#demons n detectives au #fnaf #fnaf daycare attendant #moondrop #fnaf moon #fnaf security breach #fnaf fanart #icarus draws #sundrop #fnaf sun and moon #detective!sun #detective!moon #fnaf sun #art #fnaf au #dca au #cw smoking #tw smoking #imp draws

[honey-minded-hivemind]

for a naga au, have you considered having the reader be a human, that the x-men thing is a baby who was born deformed so they got abandoned? So they’re like “poor little dude, abandoned. But I can help!”

and reader just here panicking

Oh h*ck yeah! And worry not, they have excellent healers and their own venom, which helps speed along growth of naga traits- Oh, Reader will be in for it, won't they? That being said, let's see:

You weren't sure how this happened.

You didn't think snake people existed. Yet here you were, in a large, hidden nest, full of smaller snake people, and being watched over by larger ones.

The largest of them are giant compared to you, their tails long and winding, splayed over the cavern hidden behind a waterfall you'd lived near. They keep making concerned noises, poking at your legs and making small hisses each time they bent or jerked. The smaller ones would have likely been your age if human, but their tails, while smaller than their elders', were still long, as thick as a small tree in some places. The colors among their scales ranged from lilacs and pinks to oranges and blacks, grays and browns to blues and golds. Every color you could think of was there, with some of them being iridescent or pearlescent.

Why were you there?

You made the mistake of rescuing one of the smaller ones. It had been caught in a trap, a large net that kept its form suspended and away from the ground or trees, tight enough in some places to cut through their scales. You'd found them, writhing in pain and hissing desperately, and while you knew it was likely deadly and might have venom... It was part human, it was a living being, sentient. It deserved to be free, to not be hurt or displayed as a trophy. And with that, you loosened the ropes from where they were tied, soon releasing the creature with a loud THUMP. For a moment it looked at you, eyes wide and curious, before it slithered off, back to wherever it came from.

The people who had set the trap found you, your hands stained with a bit of the blood that had been on the ropes, and had immediately chased you. It didn't matter how far you ran or where you tried to hide, they hunted you until you had nowhere left to run and nowhere left to hide. Just as you thought you were to be killed, tossed off the waterfall into a rocky pool below-

HIIIIISSSSSSSS!

Giant versions of the creature you saved came hurtling from the water, fangs flashing down as they tore into your would-be killers. You managed to hide in a tangled bush during the bloody fray, hunching yourself down and into a ball and staying as quiet and still as possible. The noises of the fight drifted over the rush of water, until it finally died out with a loud CRACK. Shivering, you buried yourself deeper in the dirt and leaves, praying to be left alone...

Only for large, clawed hands to snag you up from your hiding spot, a surprised hiss coming from a large snake thing. It had dark eyes, and orange and black scales dotting its face and shoulders. It's tongue flicked out, almost as though scenting you, only to immediately feel at your legs.

You kicked out at it, reflex more than anything.

It froze, eyes wide, and with the loudest cry, it called the other snakes over. Whatever the problem was... it had something to do with your... legs?

They just kept, poking at them, making sad and scared noises, while looking between each other and back at the waterfall. Eventually they seemed to reach an agreement, and forcibly brought you with them, kicking and crying out the whole way.

Which led to now, being tucked into their nest, alongside the smaller snake creature you saved and its companions, who were watching you carefully, all while hissing between each other and one of the adult creatures watching over you.

You'd lasted for two whole days without sleep before you were squeezed between the coils of the adult who first found you. It was trying to make gentle hisses, tapping lightly at your neck, then your knees. You weren't sure what it was trying to say, until one hand was holding your head still, the other holding your wrists together.

"No, nonononono," you mutter, trying to pull back, yet the creature just tightened both its tail and claws, and just as quick-

It bit you.

A pained yelp escaped you as you felt the rush of venom enter your veins, and tears entered your eyes as you struggled. All the creature did was press a kiss to the wound, using the hand previously steadying you to stroke your hair, making soft hisses and rubbing its cheek against yours. It was getting harder and harder to stay focused, the heat from its scales and the steady rhythm of its caresses and nuzzles soothing a part of you, while the other part felt hazier and hazier. Soon, your head felt stuffed, as though full of cotton, causing you to slump into the grip around you. A pleased noise comes from the bundle around you, further putting you at ease. Everything feels so warm... So calm... All sleepy and soft like a small bunny in its burrow. A relaxed sigh leaves your lips, being met with a rumbling purr from around you. And just as soon as your eyes slip closed, youre met by a soft, gentle darkness, sweeping you into quiet slumber...

(Can y'all guess which X-Teen they saved?)

(To answer which X-Teen they saved... it was Scott. And he was the first to think, "oh, wow, they're a deformed naga, poor little guy.. Aaaaaw, they saved me! So cute💕 Wait, I need to tell the Professor and Logan and Storm and-")

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere marvel x reader #platonic yandere xmen evolution #🐍naga💚 au

[manicpixiefelix]

Thinking of our fae AU and okay, I know it's assumed Reader is also Summer Court like the Cattons

But! What if they're actually Autumn Court?

Thankfully, the Cattons still basically adopt them and they and Nate are inseparable.

The Castle of Reader's family is similar yet so different from the Cattons, suspended in perpetual autumn bathed in that warm golden glow of the setting sun giving it a dreamy quality. Leaves a fiery tapestry making the trees seem to be ablaze in shades of red, orange and yellow.

Sometimes, when they pass by greenery on the Catton estate, it will briefly change. Demifey!Oliver is fascinated by it and the way shadows shift in their presence.

Obsessed Obsessed OBSESSED!!

Autumn Fae!Reader is absolutely a spectacular concept, I love all of this.

Also I think that the changes that happen on the Cattons land because of/around them are pretty cosmetic because it's not Their Land. Which means instead, the grass turns pale and gold beneath their feet but it's still just as lush as the grass around it. Leaves on trees they touch briefly become a rush of red and orange and gold, but they'll never fall in the summer court. Some smaller plants will seem to bow to them in the way they shrivel and shrink, but give it time and they'll bounce right back to their full glory.

The opposite can be said for the one time Felix visited the autumn court to support the reader. He grabbed one of the many falling leaves from right out of the air and it turned green between his fingers. The grass crunches beneath him, no matter how lush and lovely it may look when he steps on it. Because he's Summer Court & because he's Felix, I fully believe he has this weird affinity with plants, like a lot of royal fae I want to believe have certain powers or effects on the world that they don't fully understand or realise. Felix discovered his when he touched a flower and it began to immediately move to turn to him more directly in the moment of contact. What Felix and everyone else has failed to realise is that every single flower on the Saltburn Estate is growing in the direction of his bedroom (because of sleep it's where he statistically spends the most time on the property). The flowers of Saltburn don't grow to the sun they grow to Felix.

Anyways so I love this and I think Autumn!Reader & Summer!Felixs magic has bled into each other over the years, and that's most noticeable when they're doting on Oliver.

Wreathed in vines and laurels whose greenery is gold and almost brittle, with leaves in red,yellow,orange so vibrant they're like gems, but they flutter, healthy and strong, and never seem at risk of falling.

Chainmail carefully created with so much love by the reader and Felix together, the plants woven and grafted together with such great pains taken to make sure Oliver could wear it without himself getting pricked by thorns inside the garment. The garment itself has your trademark colouring, as if it had spent a long time cut from the roof, almost as pale as Oliver's skin, drawing little attention to itself when something is worn over it, even a plain t-shirt. Still, it's very much alive, cool, comfortable and flexible to wear and fight in. The thorns grow back on their own, but you have a hand in those too, as they grow in at the point of death; dehydrated and sharp as a tack. When he wins, and he always does, the whole crowd will see small roses bloom in triumph across whatever is left over and visible of the tunic, up his arms, across his back and chest, always just where the thorns are. It was Oliver's request specifically, to soften the spikes since he didn't want to hurt either of you in the excitement of his celebrating.

Other things Oliver has noted about the ways your two courts have effected you and Felix that neither of you seem to think about but that he finds endearing;

Sometimes he'll be stroking Felix's hair and he'll find a little autumn leaf in there. Not even because they'd been around Autumn leaves or rolled in any, being so close to you manifests leaves in Felix's hair. Oliver wonders with hope about when there will be leaves found in his hair.

Oliver has helped you garden before. You can only ever garden at Saltburn because you know that even if the plants look half dead when you place them, they'll be fine the next day on the grounds of the estate. Sometimes, however, you're surprised that a few of them look healthy and green and strong, even compared to the ones you did a few minutes before that. Oliver wonders how long it will take you to figure out that plants literally bloom in your hands when you talk so lovingly and fondly about Felix.

Anyways, enough rambling from me for this ask. Yes to Autumn Court Fae Reader is the point. 💖💖💖

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #head heart hand fic #fae au #it shouts back

[ideas-scattered-dreams]

My THRONE. My RULE.

fandoms : genshin impact AU: imposter au

IMAGINE THAT...

You sat on your throne a fist on your cheek and a lazy look displayed on your gorgeous face. you look down to your loyal acolytes .. they had their heads down in shame. shame, shame, shame. these loyal acolytes of yours are now begging for forgiveness. why..? isn't it their own fault for not knowing u were the real creator? isn't it their fault for not recognizing the false one? weren't they LOYAL and FAITHFUL to you? or are u just a JOKE! Those days u ran to not get killed by the Favonius knights, those milleths, the shogun's army and many many more acolytes that volunteered.. the days you were injured by swords, arrows, hurtful comments, the npcs hitting u with damn rocks... the only thing u luckily got yourself to be in your rightful throne is that u cut yourself Infront of them, gold and starry blood oozed out of your arm. then panic! Recalling those disgusting memories made you enraged. after all that, they confidently BEG for forgiveness.... the trauma u received... is unforgivable. you clenched your eyes shut, teeth clenched together, fist clenched tightly.. you felt sick just looking at these damn monsters that almost killed you, u felt utterly disgusted. Nahida was besides you, she looked at your shaken form and softly held your hand to calm you... you looked at her and smiled. but in the end you had someone here that actually believed you when u both first met. Afterall she was the archon of wisdom. You sat up, anger visible to see from the window of your soul, you knew u weren't gonna forgive these dumb monsters. why should you? would you really forgive the ones that gave you blunt and unforgiving trauma? its like forgiving the one that killed you so easily so... agh! You walked down the stairs, towards the archons infront. you lifted their chin, looking dead on the eyes of this pathetic and naïve archon. "your grace... please we beg of your--" snap! you punched it. you punched this archon infront of u. "y-your grace!" you kept going. to the left to the right, you kept punching it. kept going until it was black and blue. something u cant even recognized anymore. you didn't care, you didn't care anymore, this isn't even half of the things they have done to you! None of the archons besides it even batted an eye, they still had their head bowed so lowly.. oh how they wished to be in their fellow archons place.. after it stopped moving u laughed, laughed filled with pain and unsatisfied hunger. it felt amazing, you felt amazing punching the fuck out of this bug. You sat up, smiling down at your creation. you wanted more. you wanted to show these damn monsters how you FELT in those damn days that felt like years. you were sure that this will make u the horrible one but u didnt care. giving the things that happened to u is the right thing isnt it? karma bounces back.

You aren't the villain, you are just a victim.. oh how u wish this dream doesnt end...

A/N: omg omg, its been like 1 month since i last posted? dont know, it was a hectic week, exams were buzzing in, i got accused on cheating, school got suspended bc there was a weirdo infront of our school gates whistling at the poor girls, almost got involved into a car accident too! but anyways, i think ill be updating more? or just some days where my brain gives me ideas.

#➥🌙dreamer.ideas #genshin impact #sagau #sagau x male reader #sagau x female reader #sagau x gn reader #sagau x reader #sagau imagines #genshin #genshin x male reader #genshin x female reader #genshin x nb reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin impact x female reader #genshin impact x nb reader #genshin impact x gn reader

[asidian]

Another Path: Chapter 15

by: Asidian

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Astarion/Wyll

Warnings: trust issues, past abuse, past noncon, torture, AU, attempted seduction

Excerpt:

The gala is a glittering masterwork of light and color.

Duke Ravengard's grand hall has been transformed into a dazzling spectacle, beset with glowing candles that catch and reflect delicate hanging sculptures of crystal. They sway gently in the air, suspended from fine silk ribbons, and the light through the graceful facets of them sets little motes of liquid gold to dancing through the room in shimmering ovals.

Everywhere Astarion looks is a riot of color: silk gowns in butter yellow, and delicate chiffon sprays in deep ocean blue, and pressed linen all in ripe-plum purple.

At any other time, he might call it stunning – but Astarion can't appreciate it, just at the moment.

He's too busy feeling as though his long-dead heart has squirmed to panicked life in his chest, trying to claw its way up his throat. He's too busy feeling as though it's strangling him.

This is a terrible idea.

#fanfic #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 wyll #wyllstarion #bloodpact

[blue-rose-soul]

lucifer and alistair interactions in the kid alistair au?

"What in the unholy hell is that!?" Lucifer demanded, turning to the sinners for explanation.

Warped, darkened wood and animal skeletons stood in stark contrast to the elegant reds and golds that made up the rest of the hotel, the scent of rot and decay lingering around the bar. The unholy abomination looked like it had been sliced out of some backwoods horror show and plopped right in the middle of his building.

The voice that answered was not the voice he expected.

"Just some of the renovations we had done!"

Lucifer spun on his heel, thinking for a moment the voice had come from thin air before his eyes dropped to the lanky, scarlet-clad child standing in the middle of the lobby. The boy grinned up at him, hands tucked behind his back with a microphone-topped cane in his grasp.

For a moment, Lucifer felt a twinge of pity. It was a fact of life that, sometimes, children died. The clothes were polished but a bit dated; a red button up with black shorts held up by suspenders, socks that reached his knees and shiny black penny loafers, and a cute little black bow tie. The kid must have died quite a while ago. What had done him in, Lucifer wondered? Illness maybe? Abusive or neglectful parents? Perhaps a tragic accident? It didn't matter. He was in Hell. He was a sinner, no different than any other.

Sadly, even children weren't free of malice and cruelty.

"Wha- What is this? Who is this?" Lucifer asked, gesturing to the boy with his cane. "You an errand boy or something?"

"Goodness, no!" the child laughed, puffing his chest out proudly and tugging at his bow tie. "I just happen to be the host of this hotel!"

Lucifer turned to Charlie.

"This is a joke, right? Seriously, what's this kid doing here?"

He didn't miss the way the kid's eyebrow twitched, though that creepy smile never faltered.

"Uh, no, it's not a joke, Dad," Charlie said, stepping in and placing a hand on the kid's shoulder. "Alastor's been a huge help to us at the hotel."

There was a slight pause as the kid's eyes flit between Charlie and Lucifer and then... The boy's smile softened, his eyes became less severe. His cane vanished as he wrapped his arms around Charlie's, beaming.

"I saw Charlie's idea for the hotel on the picture show and I just knew I had to help! Being with Charlie is the most fun I've had in a long, long time!"

The expression on Charlie's face melted, her eyes swimming with emotion as she turned away from her father towards the brat.

"Oh, Alastor, that's so sweet!" With her free hand she patted him on the head, right between his little pronged horns.

Lucifer swore the kid shot him an impish smirk.

"Alastor's been a such huge help with the hotel," Charlie continued, gently extracting her arm from Alastor's grip so she could lead Lucifer over towards the parlor. "Without him, we'd never have been able to pretty it up this much, and we wouldn't have such a nice place to share stories and secrets and intimate feelings!"

Irritation bubbled in Lucifer's gut as Charlie gushed over the brat. He knew he was being a bit silly; it was just a kid after all. It was just... He hadn't seen Charlie in such a long time, and he couldn't help but be a bit greedy for her attention. He soaked in her affection as she wrapped him in a hug, forcing himself to relax a bit and then-

"Happy to be of service!"

Lucifer jumped as the kid appeared between him and Charlie in a plume of black fog. He stumbled, landing on his ass with an undignified yelp as the kid snickered.

"Charlie's ideas are strange, but that's what makes them wonderful!" the brat chirped, latching onto Charlie's newly freed arm. "Anyone would be lucky to be a part of her project from the very beginning like I was!"

Okay, that was definitely on purpose, and Lucifer definitely caught that snotty little smirk the brat shot him that time! With a growl, he pulled himself to his feet, openly glaring at the rotten little creep.

"Didn't your parents teach you any manners, you little brat!?" Lucifer snarled, jabbing a finger at the kid. The kid's eyes narrowed, lips curling into something resembling a snarl.

"Dad, relax!" Charlie cut in, and the kid's expression relaxed instantly. "He's just playing around. C'mon, why don't I introduce you to everyone else?"

As she turned towards the rest of her little gaggle of condemned souls, the little red-haired brat shot Lucifer a sharp glare over his shoulder.

Then the little shit stuck out his tongue.

Lucifer seethed.

Oh, it was on!

#ask #anonymous #Hazbin Hotel #Kid Alastor AU #Lucifer Morningstar #Charlie Morningstar #Alastor #my writing #ficlet #this is really more just the first meeting but I have some thoughts for a brief continuation #tomorrow though 'cause I really shoulda gone to sleep a while ago whoops

[wolf-of-stormwind]

Hello! I'm Kieran/Wolf/Herald! (any pronouns idc) This is my WoW sideblog, so likes and follows come from @herald-of-aurene!

Here's a quick run down of all my ocs + tags:

Princess Elizabeth Wrynn: Crown Princess of Stormwind, Scion of Goldrinn

Princess An'ora Sunstrider: Princess of Quel'thalas, married to Anduin Wrynn

Y'thenna: Deity / Avatar of the Blue Child

Dark Ranger Lord Lyndra'thel Darksong (previously Dawnstar) : Forsaken Dark ranger, best friend of Sylvanas Windrunner, and former Champion of the Banshee Queen.

Deathlord Starigosa: Azurewing Blue Wyrm / Frostwrym, Deathlord of the Ebon blade, daughter of Senegos & mate of Ebonhorn

Voiceclaim: Helga Sinclair from Atlantis: The Lost Empire

Thalia Trollbane: Half Witherbark Troll Princess of Stromguarde (needs story update)

Hymera (they/them) : a former aspirant that became a collector. They are soulbound to Kleia

Drozaka Emberforge: Orc Arms Warrior born of the Whiteclaw clan Voice Claim: Cassandra Jones: Rise of the TMNT

Kairesti: Dracthyr Evoker

Silesia: Half Elf Pirate

Zunagosa: Blue Whelp, daughter of Sindragosa and Malygos

Desnomia Blythe: (She/her & He/him) Former noble of Lordaeron, Shadow Ascendant rogue.

Violetta Blythe: The quiet daughter of Desnomia, manafests as a spirit due to her death from the plague of undeath

And a carrd for more info on my ocs:

-SHIP TAGS-

An'oradin: An'ora x Anduin

Sylvana'thel: Sylvanas x Lyndra'thel

Lyndraina: Lyndra'thel x Jaina

Sylvaina'thel: Sylvanas x Jaina x Lyndra'thel

Starissian: Starigosa x Ebyssian

Elizabeth x Taelia

Arthas x Desnomia

-AUS-

Suspended Gold Au: Universe where Arthas never became the lich king, and the world is much more united

Left Behind Au: universe where all my Ocs were abandoned/left behind/much more traumatized

Adopted Prince Au: AU where Starigosa stole Wrathion's egg, didn't get intercepted, and raised him as her own

#oc: an'ora sunstrider #oc: y'thenna #oc: elizabeth wrynn #oc: Starigosa #oc: lia Trollbane #oc: Hymera #Oc: Lyndra'thel Darksong #oc: Zunagosa #suspended gold au #left behind au #adopted prince au #an'oradin #sylvaina'thel #sylvana'thel #Lyndraina #oc: kairesti #oc: drozaka emberforge #oc: Silesia #oc: Desnomia Blythe #oc: Violetta Blythe #starissian

[atinylittlepain]

congrats!!!! im so happy for u! i love ur writing sm and u deserve every single follower!! for your celebration i'd love to request

I got love in my tummy and a tiny little pain with Joel with Royalty AU! king joel sitting on that throne mmmm lmao

hi my friend, thank you so much! i had way too much fun with this one lol

The Feast

king!joel x f!reader

join the celebration!

warnings | 18+ references to smut

a/n | in my brain, this is set in like, high medieval times, just fyi

............................

“His majesty requests your presence, milady.” 

“Tell him I will be in his chambers shortly.”

“In the banquet hall, milady, he requests your presence in the banquet hall.” Oh, it’s going to be like that tonight. She dismisses the page with a curt nod, finishing her ministrations, rich oils soaking into her skin beneath her shift. Tugging the heavy satin of her robe over her shoulders, she slips out of her bedchambers, candelabra in hand to light her way through the dim, drafty halls of the palace. It had taken much getting used to, the roaming expanse of his castle, the high-arched walls draped in lavish tapestries, threads woven of stories of his conquests. But it is the banquet hall that is the most extravagant room of the palace.

A table that could seat over two hundred guests, richly carved wood beneath the hazy glow of candlelight, glints and glimmers catching in the arcing, stained-glass windows. And at the head of the table, the throne, gilded and glittering, gemstones suspended in imposing gold and silver, spoils of his victories upon which he sits, slumped down, thighs spread wide, his head propped in his hand.

“What took you so long?” She pads silently across the room to him, clicking her tongue at his petulant question.

“Patience is a virtue, your highness, you would do well to remember it.” She steps between his legs, his hands immediately coming to her hips, fingers squeezing just a tad unkindly into the flesh. 

“I have no use for patience, my wife, not when it comes to you.” His wife, his queen, the woman he sent for across many seas. The woman he loves. It’s true what they say, what King Joel desires, he is sure to get.

She brings a hand to his cheek, nails scratching lightly at his scruff as he gazes up at her, dripping devotion and dominion all at once. Her other palm rests on his chest, laid bare by his loose shirt, his regalia long discarded for the evening. She can feel the thrum of his heartbeat, and though his eyes are dark, power in the set of his jaw, she revels in her ability to make his pulse quicken.

“You called for me, and I am here. What is it you want, husband?” She can feel the vibration of the grumble he lets out, more of a growl really, as he pulls her closer by her hips. 

“Something to eat.” His words crackle with his grin, and she can feel her own lips curling as she steps out of his hold, letting her robe fall from her shoulders. Her nipples harden in the cool draft of the room, the sheer material of her shift useless to the chill of the night, and his eyes darken at the sight. She knows how he wants her, and she is happy to give it to him, shifting back up onto the table, resting on her elbows as she draws her feet up to rest on the smooth wood, legs spread wide, her shift rucking up and bunching around her hips. 

Exposed to him, she can’t help the tremble that skitters up her spine as he leans forward, the heat of his breath washing over her cunt.

And now, when the court has all left, dinner long over, the real feast can begin.

#joel miller angst #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller au #joel miller one shot

[j4ystar]

the exit — park sunghoon

➞ sunghoon x gn!reader

➞ figureskater!au idol!au

➞ synopsis : sunghoon, your ex boyfriend, claims that he is over you yet he finds himself keeping up with your skating career three years after you break up. he figures that watching your competition will help him find closure.

➞ angst??????????

➞ word count : 3.7k

➞ tw : nothing i dont think, lmk if im missing anything

ᓚᘏᗢ aj — life makes my head hurt

there are several videos of sunghoon skating online for most of enhypen’s fans to watch. including the videos posted of sunghoon and his former pair, y/f/n, aka you. despite sunghoon moving on from skating and becoming an idol, you remained on the ice. moving on and leaving korea to train in canada. moving on and becoming a famous competitive skater to represent south korea in just a few years, even making it to the olympics to compete at such a young age. moving on with a different partner. his fans sometimes refuse to believe that he competed in a pair with someone at your level, often engenes wondered if he remained a skater, would he be competing in the olympics with you. 

sunghoon was admittedly watching your competition videos in his room, at night, with a blanket draped over him and the screen brightly illuminating his face. fans commented on his lives often, bringing it up on weverse. asking if he still keeps in touch with you, even asking for collabs like that of his collab with cha junhwan, another one of his former skating friends. 

in reality, it had hurt sunghoon to be reminded of you everywhere he went even two years after he stopped. he loved skating, even if by the end he wasn’t happy on the ice anymore. if there was one thing about being on the ice that made him happy, it was going through everything with you. the one truth suspended from enhypens fans was the fact you and sunghoon used to date. his last competition before he left for iland concluded with an outstanding gold medal for the best skating pair award, along with the gut wrenching feeling of having to tell you that he was going to be leaving and quitting skating to pursue his dream of becoming an idol.. not to mention the break up that he was in in tears after telling you. you couldn’t even be upset that he was leaving either, you respected his decisions even if that meant you two were going to be apart. if becoming an idol was truly what he wanted to do then how could you possibly get mad at him for that? the break up was understandable, yet messy, something not uncommon for two teenagers navigating their first relationship. if something tore him apart, it was probably that he was parting ways with both his first loves. 

he was wondering if you were watching him through a screen the same way he was with you. he’d watch you glide across the ice and perform tricks that his 12 year old self couldn’t imagine doing. he’d watch as your long time assigned partner would get to be with you 24/7, how their hands would circle around your waist and holster you up on the ice with such effortlessness and grace. sometimes he wishes he could say that that should’ve been him. but he feels different now, he’s no longer the figure skater that he once was, he was sunghoon from enhypen. 

sunghoon rubs his eyes, tired, he had an early schedule in the morning yet here he was watching the videos he swore he would shut off when jay came in and scolded him for not resting yet. 

you were sunghoon’s number one fan and his biggest supporter when he began his training to become an idol. though it clashed with skating practices, you were understanding. then, he told you about his admission into the survival show, i-land, where he was hoping to debut to become an idol full time. meaning leaving you behind. you were upset at the time of the break up, any sane person would be. especially if you loved the person. you continued to support sunghoon throughout i-land, watching the show and voting for him. you remembered his mother calling you and asking you to write a letter for him to read, despite sending a letter for him to read, his reaction was not added to the aired episode and you assumed that the show had either cut out the reaction or the letter wasn’t added to the list of mail in the first place. you never bothered to ask. after his confirmed debut, you congratulated him, and after that, you left to go to canada where you would be training with junhwan, the other figure skater that you and sunghoon were friends with. you were so occupied with practice that your calls and texts to sunghoon lessened and soon halted entirely. 

in the earlier days, you would watch enhypen’s comebacks, even staying up at ridiculous hours just to watch the release. you would contemplate shooting sunghoon a text telling him about how his comeback was great but you never managed to garner the courage to actually send it to him. as the months pass, you are swarmed with practice and schooling. reports of you and sunghoon in the past are replaced with you and your new skating partner and it's plastered over every form of social media that you have. 

you return to south korea after two years of training abroad in canada. you continue practicing in the rink for hours, though now you are a student in yonsei university in seoul. you and your partner become aware of your eligibility to compete in the 2022 olympics in beijing. 

–

“i’m going to have y/n and sunghoon pair up for this next competition.” you and sunghoon’s eyes widen in unison, your coaches almost chuckle at the sight of dismay written all over your faces. even the other members in the club you were in were shocked that sunghoon was competing in a category outside of individuals. but for good reason. sunghoon had never ventured out of individual performances. sunghoon liked being alone, he had never performed with a partner before. he knew of you, he knew you were one level higher than him but you still qualified for the junior category your pairs skate would be judged under. you on the other hand, never switched partners before. sunghoon was in the practice block before yours, you would arrive 30 minutes earlier to get dressed and then stretch, in those 30 minutes you would watch sunghoon dance on the ice. you were enamored and spent more time gawking than stretching. though you were positive that he never knew. 

the other members of the club scattered, their respective coaches giving them more detail on the pieces that they were assigned to be doing. you and sunghoon still frozen and your coach standing in front of you with her clipboard in her arms. 

“i know you’re not used to it yet but we are just trying something new. we promise if this doesn’t end up working then we can switch you back after the competition.” she tells you two. you both nod shyly, your hands clasped behind your back.

an hour later, you and sunghoon take a break to get water and just rest. but it’s still incredibly tense. you were beginning to miss your old partner, the two of you had competed in multiple competitions together, wins tethering from between first place gold and second place silver. you were thinking that things really weren’t going to work out between you and sunghoon. 

“you know, it’s going to be really hard to win first place when we can’t even talk to each other.” you tell him. his back is turned to you as he sets his bottle down on the rink wall. he doesn’t say anything in response so you continue. “you want to win right?” you ask. sunghoon turns around to look at you. 

“of course i want to win.” he tells you blatantly. “then why don’t you talk to me? we can’t be like this if we are partners.” you place your hand on your waist and look at him expectedly. “i didn’t want to be partners.” you roll your eyes at the 15 year old boy. “and you think i wanted to be partners? i want park jihoon back.” sunghoon hates park jihoon. hate is a strong word, he doesn’t hate jihoon, he just mildly dislikes him. he’s loud and annoying, and he disrupts the peace in sunghoons head. 

“why?” 

“why?! i don't know, he’s better than you!” you want to raise your voice, but knowing the rink, voices are amplified in there. “no he’s not, i’m so much better.” sunghoon understands he is far too old to be acting like this but he was getting frustrated trying to convince you that park jihoon was a menace and the bane of his existence and that park sunghoon was the better skater, he’ll show you. 

you thought that your plan to talk to sunghoon had immediately backfired with how much sunghoon expressed that he hated your former partner. but it in fact did help you get closer. within the month leading up to the competition, you and sunghoon had gotten so much closer than you and jihoon ever were. you were sure that sunghoon was going to be going up a level after this because of how hard he was practicing. you would arrive to practice and sunghoon would already be there. 

what you thought was your last performance with sunghoon turned out to just be the very beginning. after getting first place during that competition, your coach asks if you guys want to stay partners for the next competition coming up and the two of you agree that you should remain partners.

–

sunghoon remembers watching your skating performance in beijing on his phone during his break while practicing in the dance studio. he remembers watching you go on for the competitive pairs category, and then the singles free skate. he watches through the camera that follows you as you explore the big rink. you’re smiling. a big, bright, vibrant smile. your smile makes his heart clench in a hot pain. you were always very particular when skating, something that made sunghoon initially ticked off and bothered at first but he realized that was what made you such a disciplined and perfect skater. you were so confident in your strides. despite being the other half of a pair, you always seemed to stand out more than your partner. he remembered that as teenagers, you told him you never feared getting injured because you were careless and naive as a child and that helped you lose the fear of falling and getting hurt. sunghoon probably witness your naivety while practicing more times than not. sunghoon thought that he wasn’t very confident, his coaches would often point out his lack of motivation and confidence, which to outsiders from the skating community may seem harsh and unnecessary jabs, but to sunghoon it was normal because you had to have confidence to survive in figure skating. 

–

“are you alright?” you immediately glide over to sunghoon as he currently takes a fall after not being able to complete a spin. sunghoon brushes your concern aside and gets up nodding. he swipes the ice shavings off his pants and tells you to run it back one more time. 

“i think we should take a break.” you tell him worriedly. sunghoon shakes his head. “i’m fine. we can keep going.” you sigh at his persistence. “we’re taking a break, i’m calling it.” you grab his hand and begin leading him towards the door of the rink. you jump onto the cushioned floor, sitting on one of the hockey players benches and tap at the seat beside you for sunghoon to sit down and join you. he follows your lead, sitting beside you but a fair inches apart. 

“have you been getting enough sleep lately? are you feeling alright?” you barely give him space to talk before placing the back of your hand against his forehead. sunghoon feels himself reddening. he wants to swat at you to stop and he wants to complain about you pushing your boundaries again. but he doesn’t say anything as he lets you continue on with your alleged prognosis. 

“you don’t have a fever, i don’t think you’re sick.” you conclude, sitting back down but continuing to look at him. he feels weak under your suspecting gaze. he doesn’t want you to think somethings wrong with him when obviously nothing is wrong with him. just the undeniable feeling of his stomach doing acrobatics and his heart racing whenever you get close. at first sunghoon thought that perhaps he has fallen ill. but why does that feeling only bubble up when you’re around, or whenever he thinks about you? when he lays in his bed at night and stares at his ceilings until you start coming up in his mind and then he goes to kick his duvet off because he becomes a blushing mess. or when he has to hold your hand in the routine and suddenly he has to keep letting go because he has to wipe his hand on his training sweater before grabbing your hand again. or when he instinctively brings his arms out whenever you attempt to do jumps just in case you hurt yourself when you fall. or times where he has to remind you to put your blade guards on because of the amount of times you’d forget and have to buy a new pair. or when he would be at school and you text him dumb pictures of yourself at school since you two attended different schools. or when both your parents would be late picking you up from practice so you would go buy snacks at a nearby store and just talk. 

sunghoon is 16 years old and he is sure that he has feelings for you. it's an indescribable fuzzy feeling that he can’t seem to get rid of. he shakes himself out of his small recollection of memories, his vision clearing and seeing you again, curiously looking at him, semi bundled up in your training gear. 

“do you want to go to the store after practice? my treat.” he suggests. though his knees are wobbling as he proposes the idea to you. you give him a confused look and then nod, looking away from him and out to the rink, watching the other skaters around. sunghoon sits and stares at you with a soft smile, breathing in and out deeply.

“you never treat me.” 

“just this once.” 

–

your nerves always spiked before competitions. like any sane person would. in the back of your mind, you’d always remember how sunghoon would talk you out of your nerves and it would work because he always knew what to say. somehow sunghoon would never show his anxiousness to you, he’d only help you overcome yours. 

you and your partner are warming up on the ice after the short intermission after the individual category had finished up. you and your partner were the first pair performing. as you’re skating around, as if it were another normal day in the arena. you look up to look amongst the people. your eyes scanning the bleachers promptly before returning to your warm up routine. 

sunghoon watches from the bleachers, hidden behind a cap and a mask. a bouquet of flowers and a penguin plush in his lap, he gently grips the paper covered stems with one hand and his other hand lays on his knee as he trains his eyes onto your figure. you practice some loops here and there, you mainly focus on stretching out your legs and making sure you can maintain your flexibility. you haven’t changed much, physically, you had grown a tad bit taller, your hair coloured remained the same colour it had been since you were younger. he understood there wasn’t much leeway with hair colours in the industry. neither of you were teenagers anymore.

as the performance started, the lights around the rink dimmed and were replaced with much softer lights, along with two spotlights, one for you and one for your partner. somehow you were even more graceful, your technique had improved drastically, there was no way you couldn’t improve when you train with former olympic champions. he watched as you and your partner danced so fluidly on the ice.

he hoped that coming here would finally give him closure. he confesses that he is not over you. not after three painful years of not talking. not after the break up that he initiated for his sake. as the performance comes to a close, you and your partner return to the center of the rink to collect hollers and praise from around the arena. cue the multitudes of flowers and plush toys being thrown onto the ice for the maintenance crew to clean after. sunghoon stands up, hoping that the height would give him an advantage of getting the bouquet and the plush of a penguin onto the rink, close enough to you, for you to see. 

you clasp your hand into your partners and bow gratefully for those who cheer your performance. you decide to pick a plush among the rest, eyes landing on a giraffe a few feet away and skating over to grab it. as you come closer to it, a stuffed penguin bounces its way over to you and slides just by the tip of your skates. there is a ribbon around its neck and a small card attached to it that has a name written on it. you tuck the giraffe under your arm before bending down and crouching to grab the penguin plush. 

the staff begin ushering you and your partner off the stage but you move with their prodding words. sunghoon’s name is written in black ink on the card and you look up in attempt to find the familiar face. your eyes land on someone standing on the bleachers, ready to get up and leave, he stares back at you, the flowers in hand, before stepping down the steps. 

you quickly skate off the ice, uncomfortably waddling down the hallway trying to reach the lobby where you think he would exit. as you round the corner and push the double doors open to expose the cold arena air conditioning air. you find who you think is sunghoon walking towards the door, flowers still in hand. 

“sunghoon?” 

sunghoon turns at the sound of your voice. a hand coming to his mask to pull it down. you’re still in your costume getup and so obviously freezing as the adrenaline from the performance starts to wear down. sunghoon begins peeling his jacket off, worried you would catch a cold when he knows that you can’t afford to miss a day of practice. you bring the plushie to your chest, hugging it tightly with both arms. he walks with fast steps, his jacket ruffling as he comes to drape it over your shoulders. 

–

you sat down on one of the benches outside the girls changing room, sunghoon stands in front of you, head down, occasional sniffles coming from him as he struggled to get the words out his mouth. you felt helpless, watching your boyfriend attempt to grapple with the words he needed to convey the news he dreaded telling you. 

your hand comes to grab his, your thumb rubbing over his skin as you patiently wait for sunghoon to voice out his thoughts. 

“i’m not gonna be skating for a while, i’m going to start focusing on becoming an idol… i feel it would best benefit us if we took some time apart from one another.” 

sunghoon begs you to say something through the painful silence it takes for you to comprehend what he has just said. he feels awful just dropping the bomb on you right there. a day so glorious, rewarding and memorable for the both of you was just ruined by his need to tell you. 

“i don’t know what to say… i’m really proud of you sunghoon.” sunghoon knew you would be understanding. he hated that you weren’t mad at him. he wished that you had yelled at him, told him you hated him, anything to break his heart even more, something to seal and confirm that you didn’t love him anymore. but you were just happy, smiling, supportive as per usual. he had counted on you to push him in his skating career since you two were kids, now that he was pursuing his idol career, you were still there supporting him. 

you tell him you’re a bit bummed out that he had to leave, that he thought breaking up would be the best idea because it would cause less pain on both ends. 

sunghoon still received the letter you had written to him when he was in i-land, he received it in the lunch box his parents sent him, though he didn’t read it until he was hidden way from the cameras and the other occupants of the house. tucked under his blanket in the shared room, he read your letter. for the first time in the show, for the first time in a while, he had cried. 

–

“hey.” 

you and sunghoon sit beside each other on the loveseat of the lobby lounge room. you still have his jacket over you, the penguin squished into your lap. 

“it’s been a while.” you start, he nods, you watch as he plays with his fingers. “why’d you come here?” you ask him, adjusting the ribbon tied around the penguin's neck. 

“i had to see you,” he admits quietly. “i… don’t understand.” you whisper back. he looks at you, eyes glassy. 

“i wanted to say that i’m sorry,” he breathes in deeply “because i never moved on from you. and i was the one who ended us in the first place. you made skating bearable for me, you made me happy and when we broke up i thought that i was doing alright until i continued to keep up with what you were doing and suddenly i started missing you.”

“but you don’t love me anymore?” 

sunghoon sits there, mouth agape for a moment, thinking as if he had to calculate an answer. 

“i’ll always love you.”

butterflies didn’t erupt, not like they used to. of course you still loved sunghoon. but you were two different people at this point. you had your entire career ahead of you and sunghoon was the same. 

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #enha sunghoon #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon scenarios #park sunghoon #sunghoon x yn #park sunghoon fluff #park sunghoon angst #sunghoon angst #park sunghoon blurbs #sunghoon blurbs #sunghoon drabbles #sunghoon #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jongseong x reader #jake x reader #jaeyun x reader #sunoo x reader #jungwon x reader #niki x reader #engene #j4ystar #im so tired

[piedpiperslists]

Jungkook Drabbles (XLVI)

* s - contains smut

Silver and Gold by @sugaurora angst, athlete!Jungkook, exes au Summary: Jungkook promised he wouldn’t be there when you came to collect your things from his apartment. Jungkook was never very good at keeping promises.

Mine by @sugaurora angst, dragon!Jungkook, soulmates au Summary: Though you may fight against the inescapable bond between you and your mate Jungkook, it’s only as the lights are leaving your eyes that you realize: you truly never want to be without him.

11:11 PM by @likeastarstar established relationship

11:31 PM by @likeastarstar strangers to lovers

5:45 PM by @likeastarstar established relationship

11:48 AM by @likeastarstar established relationship, idol au

5:59 PM by @likeastarstar angst

12:21 PM by @likeastarstar established relationship, idol au

6:43 PM by @likeastarstar strangers to lovers, neighbors au

The Suspenders by @kpopfanfictrash Brooklyn 99 au Summary: A Brooklyn 99 inspired drabble, featuring Jungkook as Peralta, Namjoon as Holt, and I’ll let you guess the rest.

The Criminal by @kpopfanfictrash Brooklyn 99 au Summary: A follow-up drabble to my Brooklyn 99 drabble entitled The Suspenders. AKA we finally find out who Taehyung is in this BTS/B99 themed fic-verse.

9:24PM by @honeytae established relationship

You by @hazytaezy strangers to lovers Summary: Jungkook sets up a blind date that changed his whole life in an instant.

Careful by @ki-yomii s established relationship Summary: You should always be careful what you ask for.

[drabble] by @holdinbacksecrets established relationship, idol au

#jjk list #jungkook drabbles

[rosewaterandivy]

8. scarves of red

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, cursing, hospital mention, family medical crisis, sad girl hours continue, Meet Me in St. Louis call out, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance.

A/N: Hurt my own feelings with this one 😞😞😞 Here’s 5.9K of soft!Steve and conflicted!reader - reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated, let me know what you thought; enjoy! 💜

series masterlist | playlist

Trouble’s gift for Steve: rebel without a clue

previous || next

Then, December, Christmas day, Carmel-by-the-Sea, CA

It’s these moments you cherish the most. The quiet still of mornings when it feels like you’re the only person awake, able to catch auroras that break across the sky heralding a new day. Tangled up in shades of fading blue, rumpled sheets, and him. 

One arm thrown across his eyes to block the growing light, the other wound loosely around your waist having sought you out in deepest sleep. His warm right hand and fingertips. His pulse measuring itself in steady breaths, puffs of air that escape his lax lips. 

It’s in the liminal moments— when he’s suspended in between dreams and waking— that you face the truth. The one you’re so desperate to escape. A shadow drifting through a haze of incandescent light. Heart clenching at the thought—this is where you love him the most. You trace his outline with a finger, igniting the glorious gold shape of his body. It stirs him back to you.

“Mornin’.” Raspy and low, whispered into your ear and your very soul shivers. “Merry Christmas, honey.” He smiles when he looks at you, arm falling to his side.

Curling closer to the heat of his body, you smile. “Merry Christmas, Stevie.” 

Your palm pursues a dip of muscle, Steve presses his lips to the crown of your head before drawing you to him, as if you could fade into him like a band of light. Would that you could. Blinking the tears away before they can fall, you smile into the curve of his neck smothering the urge to taste and touch him.

Hushed tones and footfalls hint that you’re no longer the only ones awake. Steve squeezes you once more for good measure before rising from the bed, with a yawn and a stretch. You follow suit not long after, waiting until he’s left the room to get up. Treading carefully, you unzip his bag and your fingers happen upon his presents, hastily packed away before leaving.

With a small smile, you turn on your heel at the sound of your dad’s Christmas playlist blaring through the speakers. Cheered by the chorus of voices from the kitchen, you move to join them finding Steve ready with a mug of coffee for you as he leans against the counter.

He’s pulled on an ancient Hawkins Tigers shirt and dispensed the proper portion of creamer for your coffee. Trading barbs and jokes with your mother while she teases him about the competing cats of his outfit, tigers versus leopards, a tale as old as time.

Greeting your family, you make your way to the tree and stow Steve’s presents under it. Hearing that he’s been pulled into conversation with your dad, you take the slip of paper from your the pocket of your shorts and sneak it into his stocking, hung right beside yours.

A bump to your hips, a familiar chuckle as you turn to see your brother with a mug extended toward you. “Steve’s orders,” he says, sipping from his own mug. “Said you better not let it go cold.”

You clink your mugs together and settle on the couch, waiting for the festivities to begin. Someone passes a plate or cinnamon rolls your way and sets a champagne glass behind you on a table. Steve bullies his way onto the couch to sit with you, forcing you to the center of the sofa. 

“Well, that looks familiar,” your dad chuckles catching sight of you, nudging your mom to look on. “Trouble in the middle, like every road trip we ever took the three of you on.”

“Not for lack of trying,” you mutter, recalling the antics Steve and your brother would get up to on those long rides to campsites or out-of-state. Mostly them playing keep away with whatever book you’d brought along and making you play I-Spy, the license plate game, or your least favorite, punch buggy.

You roll your eyes at the ensuing laughter, your mom looking at you in sympathy with a pout. Steve taps his knee to yours as you dig into breakfast, an indignant huff when you elbow him back. “Not very nice of you,” he grouses, “Think we’ll have to move you to the naughty list.”

“White Winter Hymnal” is on, blaring through the house. Robin Pecknold croons sweetly, longingly, ethereally about a pack of foxes making their way in the snow in a dreamy cadence. Steve hears your voice as you carol along, impossibly cute. Catching your curious expression at what is most likely his prolonged staring at you, he gives a dramatic roll of his eyes to cover.

“Woah there, cowboy,” you say through a mouthful of pastry, “If you keep rolling your eyes like that, they’ll get stuck up there.”

“Yeah,” your brother chimes in, “Looked pretty impressive there, Steve-o.”

“Well, what can I say?” A waggle of his brow while he sips from his mug, “I learned from the best.”

Thankfully, your dad takes over and begins handing out stockings and presents from the tree, a trash bag at the ready for wrapping paper and paraphernalia. There are more gifts than you’d anticipated, what with this trip being a surprise, but lo-and-behold, you're given an expertly wrapped box from the Harringtons.

“Did you know about this?” 

Steve looks to you, confusion evident on his pretty face. He shrugs, eyes glancing to the package in your lap.

“Oh Steve, your mom had those sent over, we’ve been in touch,” you look at your mom as if she grew a second head. “What? We talk, not everything is about you,” she says casually.

“Mmm,” you say primly before your dad reminds the three of you to get the ‘shebang’ started, stockings first, naturally.

Finding a quiet moment, Steve steps away to call his parents. They exchange a few pleasantries and he thanks them for sending the gifts here rather than the loft. He dodges their question about his last gift for you, simply because he hasn’t found the right time to give it to you— knows how you can get about having all eyes on you in situations like this, not terribly fond of unwanted attention.

Before he can get back to the movie marathon you’d started in the living room, your mom steps into the room. She ducks her head with a smile mouthing ‘sorry’ seeing that he’s still on the phone, and he can see so much of you in her at that instant, Steve completely forgets what he was saying.

“Yeah, I gotta go,” he drawls, head devoid of thoughts about the previous conversation. “Talk later, love you too Ma.”

Comfy on the chair next to the windows, your mom turns to him with a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No worries,” Steve sits in the chair across from her, “They had to get going, anyway.”

She nods, knowing all too well the perpetual rush his parents were in, steeples her fingers and takes a breath. “So.”

Steve only appears slightly abashed at her tone, that needling you-know-better register it seems only mothers can access. He sighs and palms the back of his neck, “I know, I know.”

Another knowing smile. “You’re still planning to give it to her?”

“I mean, I was…” He leans forward slightly and rakes his hand through his hair frustratedly. “And then my dad got in my head about it, saying it’s too similar to a proposal—”

An inhalation of breath. She kisses her teeth with a shake of her head, “Steve, you know her better than that I’d wager.” 

She scoots forward in her seat and reaches to take his hand, thumb moving in comforting circles across his bruised knuckles. They’re still sore, and he hisses when she brushes a particularly tender spot.

“Sorry sweetie,” she soothes. Her eyes wandered to him, warm and maternal. “I heard about what happened, she told us after patching you up the other day.”

Steve finds it hard to meet her gaze in that moment. Clearly, you could hold your own and take care of yourself. There was no reason for him to get involved save for his own sense of pride. Regret roils like acid in his gut as he waits for the I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.

“I should thank you,” is what your mom ends up saying with a mischievous smile. “I’ve been wanting to pop him one for years now and you beat me to the punch, quite literally.”

Steve squints a little, understanding when he sees her trying to suppress her laughter. He cracks a smile and squeezes her hand, responding with a laugh.

“He just had such a punchable face, y’know?”

“Oh, do I.”

They fall into easy conversation after that, her confiding in him about your recent predicament and worries for you. He serves as her sounding board, offering up nods and reassurances that you’re doing well, anecdotes about work and the loft.

Eventually, she turns to glance out of the window. “You’ve always taken such good care of her Steve.” Her voice is thick with emotion, she frees her hand from his to wipe at her eyes. “We’ve never had to worry about her with you,” she laughs as if she can’t believe it and stands to face the ocean view. 

He rises slowly, knowing whatever she’s about to say is something she has held close; a private hope for her daughter, too fragile to be spoken aloud. “I know you would do anything for her,” her voice is barley whisper in the still of the room, “And she’d do the same for you,” a slow turn to face him once more, soft smiling tugging at the corner of her lips, “You have to know that. I mean, of course you do, you’re devoted to one another.”

Steve nods, hands grasping her shoulders and pulling her into a hug. She falls into him with a wet laugh, he perches his chin on the top of her head while she pulls herself together. Her arms wind about his waist squeezing him tightly, “All of this is to say,” her voice steady once more, “Would the two of you please get your shit together?”

His bark of laughter surprises him, “Sure, I’ll get right on that mom.”

She claps his shoulder and shoots him a rougish glance, “No pressure,” she goes to leave the room, “It’s not like we want grandkids or anything,” she teases.

He pouts petulantly and follows her out, “You,” he says with a sigh, “are trouble.”

“Mmm,” she agrees, leading him to the kitchen, “Well, the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree y’know.”

Steve listens to the playlist you’d curated for him as he walks to meet you at the beachfront. In your typical fashion, it was an incredibly thoughtful gift— a custom pressed splatter vinyl, a mix your favorite color and red, which is his— and he was speechless for a moment after unwrapping it.

“D’you like it?” You’d shyly asked when he hadn’t said anything or given a hint as to his reaction. “It’s a vinyl pressed with a playlist I made you.” You went on to explain that you had a Spotify version too, since there wasn’t a record player at the house for immediate use. He set the gift down carefully and pulled you into a bearhug, settling your legs on either side of his so you were seated in his lap facing each other. 

Coloring in embarrassment, you rest your forehead against his, bright eyes glancing up through long lashes to study him. The smile he gave you nearly split his face in two, “You’re amazing and I love it.” You teased him, pointing out that he couldn’t say that since he hadn’t heard it yet. Then frowned, spotting the flash of your dad’s camera going off, and attempted to clamber off of his lap.

Loud scoffs as you critiqued your dad’s photography skills, and your brother piped up that he got a shot of the pair of you as well, should the other picture not be sufficient. Steve let you slide back to the center of the sofa, one arm wrangled around your waist as you leant against him for the rest of the gift exchange, head tucked into his neck as his fingers ran through your hair.

Apparently, you’d gone out on a “sad girl” walk not long after Steve had gone to call his parents. Your dad was mindful to relay your sentiments, “Woke up from her sugar coma and said ‘peace out girl scout, time for sad girl hours.’ Whatever that means.”

Steve left soon after, added the playlist to this ‘likes’ and told them he’d be back with you soon. He shoves the phone in the pocket of his jacket and checks for the ring with his opposite hand. Fingers running over the crushed velvet, he reassures himself that it’s there and intact and begins his downhill trajectory.

His mind floods with memories with the opening songs, burned CDs and playlists you’d demand played at max volume as he drove around Hawkins while you sat shotgun in his car. You had a knack for this sort of thing, the ability to curate a playlist around any theme or request impeccably. There was a reason you threw together the soundtrack for any party he’d thrown since high school, why you were in charge of the AUX of every car he drove— much to Eddie’s chagrin.

Descending the hills of the suburbs, he walks through the nearly empty arcade of shops and restaurants of downtown. There are a few people milling around at the water’s edge, but not many. He treads the wood boards of stairs leading down to the sandy beach, head bobbing and singing along “Timberwolves at New Jersey.”

Steve smiles and nods at the various couples and families he passes by, wondering where you are. He’s about to text you after a few minutes of fruitless searching, when he spies you perched atop a hill, chin resting against your knees as you hug your legs to your chest. You’ve got your new headphones on and his raybans, because when are you not rifling through his shit and taking his stuff. 

He scrambles up the hill, feet sinking into the sand if he lingers in one spot for too long. Makes his way to your side with mumbled curses and something about being subjected to finding sand in his shoes for the rest of his life. Plops to the ground at your side with a forceful exhale and knocks a knee against yours.

“Hey,” he says after pausing the music and removing his ear buds. You nod at him, grimace pulling at your lips, and eyes red. 

Wordlessly, he drags you to his side and tucks your head under his chin as you take trembling breaths. Hears the unmistakable sound of Taylor Swift and decides that it’s time to put the headphones away for today. Hands gently lift the speakers from your ears and rest the band against your neck. You sniffle and wipe the tears from your face, moving to sit up. 

Steve cradles you to his chest, thumbs brushing errant tears you’d missed from your cheeks. You allow him to silently comfort you, hands winding under his jacket seeking warmth and touch. He settles you on his lap, arms holding you close. The scent of his aftershave wraps around you, a resounding sense of home as you cry.

How easy it would be if you could rid yourself of the memories and grief that torment you day and night. 

The waves crash against the shore, drowning out your thoughts of him and the life you almost had— a May wedding, a house and a dog, eventually children running through the yard, sprinklers, popsicles melting sticky sweet in the summertime.

How easy it would be if you could just move on. 

Your eyes slip close as you take slow breaths in and out, Steve whispering encouragements into your hair as it whips up in the sea breeze. Notes of salty brine mixing with the cypress of his cologne. His fingers slide down your jaw, moving you to stare up at him. Your best friend looks as if his heart is breaking in front of him and there’s nothing he can do to prevent it.

It’s enough to chasten you, tears drying on your face as you sit up straight. Thumbs running up and down the length of your arms and a small smile, eyes clouded with concern. A shake of  your head to let him know it’s okay, that you’re okay or at least trying to be.

Placated, for now, Steve offers you his hands to help you stand— fingers grasping his palms, you counter your weight against his and rise, dusting sand off as you go. Once he sees you’ve settled, he sits back on his heels and looks up to you. Pulling a box from his jacket pocket, he drops it your open palm, “One last present for you, Trouble.”

Curiosity piqued, you open it while he stands, grains of sand falling from his form. A gasp flies from your mouth. Nestled inside the box is a familiar ring, one that’s plagued you with guilt for the better part of a decade since you’d lost it.

“Steve, I—”

He shrugs, arms falling to his sides, “C’mon now, it’s not a big deal.”

“Of course it’s a big deal!” You smack his chest, “It’s a huge deal, how did you do this?!” You take the ring out of its box and marvel at it in the light: center stone of Alexandrite flanked by bright diamonds sparkling in the evening light.

“Your mom was huge help, actually.” He plucks the ring from you hand to slide it on the fourth finger of your left hand. “Had to use your uh, former ring for size, and some family pieces from your aunts and grandmothers, but we can change it up if you don’t like it.” 

Steve keeps his eyes on your hand, mindful not to meet your gaze, a blush creeping up his neck and face. And you’re too shocked to do anything but gape in awe at his sweet, thoughtful gesture from your charming and dearest friend.

“No Steve,” you breathe and echo his earlier sentiment, “You’re amazing, I love it.”

The two of you stand there, his hand holding yours for what you swear are eternities. Hazel eyes drawing up to meet you, more green in this light, and impossibly fond. With a pull of your arm, he falls toward you, quick to wrap his other arm around your hips and press a kiss to the crown of your head. “Merry Christmas, doll,” the timbre of his voice sending you into shivers.

“Oh.”

A brief, quizzical glance to Steve at the sound of someone approaching you. He turns slightly to see who’s there. An older woman pauses with her hand to her lips, as if she’d interrupted a private moment meant for the two of you.

“I’m so sorry,” she continues, voice light and apologetic, “But you just make such a beautiful couple.” You feel Steve bristle at her interpretation of events. “I just wanted to offer my heartfelt congratulations!” 

“Oh, we’re not–” he begins to say. You swat at him to get him to shut up, smile wide and bright when he turns to you confused. 

More footfalls through the beach grasses as her husband comes to a stop beside her. A comforting hand falling to her shoulder with familiar ease, “So, how long have you been together?” 

“Oh, feels like forever,” you say with a smile, discreetly elbowing Steve before he can correct you. “Childhood sweethearts, we grew up next door to each other.” 

His wife beams, “You don’t see a lot of that anymore.” And prattles on, chatting with you about young love while Steve steals ardent glances of you. 

The man observes him briefly, reminded of his own proposal in another lifetime. The undeniable look of a young man in love, infatuated with a girl and the shimmering promise of what’s to come. With a brief squeeze of his wife’s shoulder, he steps forward a few paces sending a nod to Steve. He catches the man’s meaning and walks away from you, arm extended back to hold your hand for as long as he can. 

His arm drops to his side with reluctance, finally out of earshot and admiring the sunset with the gentleman to his left. 

“A bit of advice, son?” the older man asks, catching your indulgent smile to Steve’s back. “From one old codger to a young whipper-snapper,” he drops a wink to Steve, who responds with a chuckle. “Relationships aren’t fifty-fifty and whoever said that was a colossal dumbass.” 

Steve laughs, brilliant peals of it lost against the crashing of waves on the shore. Shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels as the man continues.

“If all she can give is twenty percent, on bad day, take up the slack and bridge that eighty percent for the sake of the partnership.” The man looks him in the eye with a slight smile, claps a hand on his shoulder, “Just some advice from a thirty-year veteran of a good marriage; it’s not always fair and easy, but it’s worth it.” Steve nods politely, eyes flicking toward you at the sound of your laughter. “Though, I s’pose this might be something you already know.”

They shake hands and the man turns back to call for his bride; she blushes making her way back to him. You take Steve by surprise, looping your thumbs through his belt loops and pulling him back against your chest, chin resting on his shoulder. 

“C’mon buttercup,” you rasp, breath ticking the hairs on the back of his neck. “We got things to do and people to see!”

Waving goodbye to the well-wishers, you take Steve’s hand in yours and make your way back home. The receding sun colors the sky in bands of peach, pink, yellow and lilac. You comment on the cotton-candy hues turned back and facing him to take it in, small hands clasped in his larger ones as you walk backwards up the path. 

And he knows he should turn to sneak a glance, take a picture to remember this moment by. But he can’t tear his eyes from you— light and bright in the dark of the tree covered trail, eyes flitting this way and that taking in the scenery, tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip before you fix him with your signature grin.

And like a moth to a flame, Steve will circle and orbit your radiance until he’s torn asunder. It is enough to love you from afar, for it to bloom and unfurl in the secret, dark recesses where your light cannot reach.

It has to be.

That evening finds Steve in a mild panic. 

The walk back to your aunt and uncle’s place had been a vertical armageddon, just one brutal hill after the next, his thighs were still burning and he honestly didn’t know how you made it without your usual complaints. 

But no. Handling the rigorous climb with your usual nonsense, you’d pestered him with every thought that ran through your head.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

The question takes him by surprise. Rummaging in your pockets until you’d produced a granola bar, you chomp and chew, crumbs decorating your lips.

Steve frowns and extends his hand. “No. And gimme.”

A granola flake sticks to your chin. “Oh, well, that’s a shame.” A quirk of his brow to egg you on, train of thought having already left the station. All these years of knowing you and he still doesn’t know a damn thing.

“I’m it,” another bite before you hand it off. The wrapper slips in his hand, the bar near to tumbling on the pavement. “I’m your soulmate.”

A cough. Steve chokes on the granola in his mouth and it comes out of his nose. 

Footfalls approaching you at a quick pace, your brother jogging in place as he observes you thumping Steve on the back repeatedly to varying levels of success while he hacks and coughs. 

“Good god.” You older sibling complains before leaving on an evening run, “You idiots were made for each other.” 

And Steve doesn’t think he’s wrong. 

Especially after cycling through the playlist twice over now. He hadn’t thought much of it, at first. You did stuff like this all the time: “Here, this made me think of you,” said with a hastily wrapped gift, “Special delivery!” accompanied by your bright smile and a breakfast tray of his favorites, “Let me know when you get there,” thrown over your shoulder as he’s on his way out of the door.

You’re such a considerate dope, he’s lucky to have you.

But this feels different. More intentional. 

Not that you don’t put thought into things, you’re an English teacher for fuck’s sake; you can pick up on nuance and dissect a narrative like it’s nothing. Appreciating the varied layers and intentions of storytelling, teaching your students to do likewise— he hears it from them all the time (“I can’t read mindlessly anymore,” “I know, right?!”, “I’m so invested in these characters, it’s, like, bad.”).  

He’s probably overthinking this. 

It was just a kiss.

It’s just a Christmas present.

Albeit an incredibly thoughtful one.

Steve decides to cut his losses and stop wallowing. He grabs his things for a quick shower, hoping to wash off the last of the sand and sweat from earlier. The music continues to play, echoing against the tile in the bathroom.

“Tonight the headphones will deliver you the words that I can’t say.”

The refrain of “Homesick at Space Camp” mocks him.

Dinner was a catch-as-catch-can affair, you’d scored some cinnamon rolls from breakfast and whipped up a scramble as a quasi breakfast for dinner situation. Afterward, you joined your dad on the couch for the annual viewing of Meet Me in St. Louis. 

Grabbing the remote, you press ‘play’ and settle in beside him with a glass of wine. From the corner of your eye, you see him tilt his head to the side, gaze focused on your left hand.

“Is that…?”

You offer him a small smile, “Present from Steve.” Setting your glass on the table, you go to move the ring to your right hand. “He didn’t— we’re not—” You stumble over the words, your dad’s grin growing. “Mom helped him with a replica of Grandma’s ring, that’s all.”

“Ah.”

Sliding the ring home on your right hand, you feel his knee knock against yours. “Not for nothing,” he begins to say, “But there aren’t a lot of guys like Steve, are there?”

You hum and turn your focus to the film rather than answer that particular query. And you know he means well, everyone does. Besides, you have a history with Steve and it’s the sort of story people like to see wrapped up with a tidy bow. All that aside, he’s still your oldest friend, your partner in crime. Why would you risk fucking that up, ruining the longest relationship of your life?

The movie unfolds, a comforting silence falling between you and your dad. Not as verbose or vivacious as your mom, but sturdy and reliable all the same. The quiet traditions you share have only grown in meaning over the years, even more so after recovering from a stroke he suffered during your sophomore year of college.

You recall your mother calling you as you readied yourself for work, voice quiet and restrained. “Dad is in the hospital, he had a stroke, they were airlifting him to a larger hospital in Indianapolis— can you make it?”

A tension in your jaw as you grit your teeth, your ex had taken your car for work that day since his broke down (again) and you were carpooling to work with Nancy. 

You’d said yes before having a plan and told her you’d call her from the car. After a panicked call with Nance, you dialed the first number that came to mind— it’d been memorized for years, the Harrington landline.

He answered on the first ring, voice low and laden with sleep. “Hello?”

Steve was crashing at his parent's place for the weekend, something about overseeing pool maintenance for his dad while they were out of town. 

You couldn’t quell the rush of tears that flooded down your face and took in a trembling breath. “Stevie?”

“Trouble—” The rustling of bed sheets as he sat up. “Honey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“D-dad’s in the hospital, a stroke, I—” Your brain was short-circuiting, kept your cool through two phone calls and were now losing it on Steve. You needed to get your shit together instead of gaping like a fish.

“What do you need?” It sounded as if he’d moved the cordless, maybe cradling it between his face and shoulder as he pulled on his jeans. “I wanna help you, but you gotta say somethin’ here, honey.”

“A ride to Indianapolis, the University Medical Center.”

It would be an hour and a half drive and a huge imposition, midterms were coming up, and you knew he’d planned to study this weekend.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he intoned, “Take some breaths for me, okay?” You did as he requested, liable to hyperventilate otherwise. 

Mind racing, you braced yourself against the dresser and willed yourself to pull it together. He’d be fine, he has to be fine, he’s only fifty-four for fuck’s sake! Thoughts flew to your mother, alone and scared at the local hospital, having called 9-1-1 after your dad’s frantic warning (“I think I’m having a stroke,” because, of course, he's considerate enough to self-diagnose as he collapsed).

“Steve,” you choke out, “He can’t— It’s too soon.”

A garage door opening, car chirping when he unlocks it. “He won’t,” he assures you, voice level, “It won’t come to that, honey.” Steve then calls you from the car on his cell, staying on the line while you change from your work clothes into something comfortable.

You have half a mind to grab a few things for you mom, but that would only take up more time that you don’t have. He uses his key to let himself in as you race down the stairs and fall into Steve’s open arms, wetting his sweatshirt with your tears and snot.

A damp kiss to your temple, a sharp sniff as he grabs your duffle with one hand and leads you to the car. Of course. You were such a self-absorbed idiot, hadn’t even considered how this might affect Steve, who loved you dad as if he were his own.

Three squeezes from your hand to his, the sole thing linking the pair of you together, are you okay?

He pauses, sitting behind the wheel of his car, dreading letting go of you. A shake of his head as he starts the car, and shifts it into gear as the sound of your dad’s favorite song surges through the car.

Steve’s hand finds yours once more after pulling onto the freeway, you sniff back your tears, chancing a look toward him. Red-rimmed eyes and bedhead, impossibly handsome despite it all. Bitten and chapped lips mouthing along to the words, I have these pictures and I keep these photographs / To remind me of a time.

He’s been there, all this time.

“You alright?” Soft. Quiet. A language only for you.

A shake of your head, because you’re not. Even now, you’re crushed with a sense of something old, forgotten vestiges of a time long since past. You close your eyes and let the car lull you to sleep.

Something nudges against your knee, bringing you back to the present. Your dad’s comforting arm, drawing you to his side as Esther and Grandpa dance at the ball. “Hey kiddo,” he says with a slight rasp, “Lost you there for a minute, you okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, and blink away any tears, nuzzling into the warmth of his shoulder, “All better now.” He chuckles, hand falling to rest on your elbow.

He clears his throat briefly, preparing to say something important. “You’re doing fine, Trouble. With all of, well, this,” he gives you a hearty squeeze. “And I know it can’t be easy, but I’d like to let you in on secret, if you’ll let me.”

“Sure dad, lay it on me.”

He sits up slightly, taking you with him. You glance up to his kind, weathered face. “One day, you’re going to wake up and think, ‘I’m so thankful I didn’t end up with what I thought I wanted.’” He pauses, letting it sink in. “Right now, it’s the pits— it’s hard and it sucks, I’m sure, but you’ll pull through, we’ll pull you through if we have to.”

You find yourself becoming emotional once more.

“Just— trust me, kiddo.” He kisses your temple as Judy Garland sings about next year’s troubles being out of sight. “We love you and we’re so proud of you,” he whispers to into your hair, “You’ll build an amazing life for yourself, you just gotta have a little patience.”

“Thanks dad,” you sniff back your tears, reaching a hand to brush under your nose before turning back to the movie.

He looks at you lovingly, brushing back your hair, “Merry Christmas, my favorite daughter.” Your bark of laughter startles you out of your melancholy, a soft tread on the stairs alerts you to someone’s presence.

Steve.

Freshly showered and slightly damp, leaning against the bannister, a grin on his face. He nods to your dad in greeting, “Anyone need anything?”

It’s too much and not enough, your heart clenches and you attempt to school your features into a semblance of calm. It feels so foreign; you haven’t had to guard yourself in front of him like this for years. Sinks low and turbulent in your gut.

You try to ground yourself, but it’s hard when the very ground you stand on trembles at the thought of him. The more you’re around him, the more you slip. “Nope,” you finally respond, “All good here, should be up in a minute.”

Just once, he’d like to tell you how he really feels. How he loves you. Like storybooks write it—how kids describe it. 

Like pure, simple truth. Like the only truth he’ll ever know. 

He wants calls your name, sigh it out in a voice that’s pitched carefully, light and airy, yet the heaviest sound he’d ever make. He wants, desperately, to say it. Say it over and over until it stops making sense because it really doesn’t make any. If he’s in love, he should be able to say it. To shout it.

Instead, Steve sends you a soft smile and murmur of ‘okay,’ as he heads back upstairs. When the door shuts, you and your dad’s voices retreating in the distance, Steve’s too exhausted to hide it anymore. He stumbles into the bathroom, splashing cold water and soap over his face in a futile pursuit to get his shit together.

In the mirror, staring back, are his tired eyes, tracking every fraction of movement that gives him away. He can’t let those happen. He needs to be stronger than what he wants.

He closes his eyes. 

He whispers your name.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #reader insert #modern!steve #teacher!steve #the kids aren't alright - rosewaterandivy

[wanderingblindly]

i see landoscar in this image don’t ask me how or why! (also i promise i’ll get round to ur lovely ask for my prompt one day awagrgh)

LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS PHOTO OH MY GOD!! very much fits into this au i've been turning around in my head like a microwave, oscar as a photography student and lando as his muse (set at the university of washington for,,,, reasons)

pls feel free to submit more fun photo prompts!!

Strangers (Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri, 600 words, drabble)

Oscar pulls in a deep breath, the autumnal chill burning on the way down; it makes him cough, nearly knocking him off his unsteady, drunken feet. The green around him spins – it’s too fucking green in this state –, the forest in the distance black under the moonlight. It would be beautifully eerie if Oscar’s world didn’t feel tilted on its axis, if he couldn’t still hear the distant thumping of a club remix that would have been outdated in 2012. 

He walks away from the house slowly, shuddering as a damp breeze grazes his skin. That’s another thing, it’s never really dry here – constantly drizzling, constantly misting, constantly green. Spongey. Wrapping his arms around himself tightly, Oscar steps off the pavement and into the road, a quiet neighborhood street that’s wider than anything he ever saw back home. 

Nothing here is like what he’s seen back home, really. 

With a heaving sigh, breath ghostly white in the moonlight, Oscar sits down on the curb. He can see the gentle mist, nothing more than static suspended in the air, as it drifts in the beams of the moon, the warm glow of the streetlights. Like a mix of silver and gold, Oscar takes in the lights around him – dividing the night into two different worlds. 

It’s finally quiet, the rumblings from the house party just far enough away that he can tune it out. If he strains, he can hear the faint rustlings of evergreen needles in the woods, the gentle brushing of barren deciduous trees’ branches. And footsteps behind him. 

A man comes to stand in front of him, a soft head of curls and full, feathery white wings illuminated from behind – the golden light of the streetlamp like a halo, the full moon overhead like a wash of purity. Oscar stares up at him, the angel, and takes in the way the lights play with the sharp angle of his cheekbones, highlighting his collarbones through his sheer shirt – growing damp in the midnight mist.

He looks down at him as Oscar continues to look up, chin tilted back to take him in – mouth hanging slightly agape. 

“Youuuuu –” Oscar starts, the word coming out misshapen on his tongue. The angel smiles down at him, the sharp curve of his cupid's bow making it look like a heart. Oscar’s never seen anyone, even anything, look so ethereal. 

“Cat got your tongue?” He laughs, accent sounding closer to home than anything he’s heard since he moved. The angel reaches out with sure hands and plucks the cat ear headband off Oscar’s head, placing it on his own with a wink. It nestles perfectly in the home of his curls, that part of Oscar. 

“You – can I –” He tries again, eyes caught in the confusing kaleidoscope of the angel's eyes. “For class, can I? Pictures. Of you.”

“You an art kid?”

Oscar nods, words dying in his mouth as the angel raises a brow at him. His wings ruffle in the breeze, almost like he’s agitated at the suggestion. The moment of silence stretches on between them, Oscar desperately trying to remember the way the light casts delicate shadows under his eyes and the angel looking down at him. Contemplating, maybe. 

“Let’s make a deal.” He says, reaching his hand out again – running his fingers through Oscar’s hair like he’s done it before. “If you remember this, if you ask me again, then yes. Ok?”

Oscar lets his head lull back completely, like the angel’s hand snapped it back. “Anything.”

“Right, no need to be weird ‘bout it.”

#wrote this in one sitting based truly on vibes #this photo is IMMACULATE thank you my darling!!! #landoscar #f1 drabble #landoscar drabble #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #ask me :)