#this writing is like years old at this point but its fine

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

Feeling very violent rn so here's a very controversial opinion:

Everything after season one of Young Justice sucked.

Look, I know I'm obsessed with the show but that doesn't mean it's good, it means that I'm too deep into it at this point to get out. There are good moments within the other seasons but in general? They were not good.

I'm sorry. I understand that they wanted to be creative and have a neat narrative and deep lore and all that. And they do! The narrative and lore is extremely deep.

But the plot? The characters??

Season one was an actual functional show that balanced character development, plot and dialogue with world building, lore and messaging.

The other seasons do not do that.

Season two bounced back and forth between like 16 characters. We got some development for some characters but even that was minimal compared to the character development in S1. And this isn't me complaining that the og group wasn't in S2 enough. That's not my issue. I would've loved to focus on a new group and I think that Jaime, Bart, Ed and Gar would've been super cool to focus on. I loved what character development they did have and I craved more.

But the problem? The problem is when you have 16 fucking characters that you are trying to develop and shove into a coherent plot and have actual meaningful scenes. There just wasn't enough focus on S2. Imo, S2 was meh because the characters got left by the wayside. The plot, dialogue, world building, lore and messaging was fine, there just seemed to be a lack of heart/warmth in the show because of the characters. It's hard to get invested.

Then holy shit. S3 introduced more characters. And the plot got more contrived and 'big picture' to the point that it started to abstract. It felt like nothing mattered. There were no stakes, you were just watching things happen. There was 50 fucking things happening an episode and 80% of it was lore/world building. It felt like I was studying for a fictional history exam.

I'm pretty sure the main character in S3 was earth 16. Just the entire universe. Because goddamn. We checked in on almost every living being and EVERYTHING was a plot point. Most of it wasn't even relevant to anything happening in the season. Man it was.... it was bad.

And at that point it just wasn't enjoyable at all to watch. I probably should've stopped watching but at that point the sunk cost fallacy had already kicked in. I knew it could be good. Maybe it could be good again. And people were constantly praising it as cinematic genius so I was like 'okay well maybe I'm missing the point? Maybe you aren't supposed to enjoy shows? Maybe this is fine?'

But season four broke me.

The creators heard that people were frustrated by the lack of character focus and the episodes following 72 characters and the episodes switching between 50 different subplots every episode and their solution? Their solution was to take allllllll the different unconnected plots and, instead of evenly spreading them throughout the season, jam them all into 'arcs'. So you had a bunch of mini seasons consisting of 3-5 episodes dedicated to a cast of ~5-8 characters (some of them new). And each of these episodes had unconnected a plots, b plots and c plots.

THAT IS NOT A SOLUTION

Holy shit that is not a solution.

Not to mention the overarching plot of the season, in which we had no fucking clue what was happening until the final episodes where everything became a speedrun to wrap everything up. We literally had no idea what the main plot was until it was ending.

Good god it was bad. It's bad writing!

I know people liked it and good for them. You should like what you like and you don't have to justify it. But for me it was insanity. I'm sorry I actually don't want a season long subplot where Beast Boy is depressed and sleeps all day. I would be cool with it if it had anything to do with the larger story but, surprisingly, spending five minutes watching Beast Boy sleep every episode didn't make for compelling storytelling.

I'm still not over how we didn't even know who the main villain was until the end of the season. And then all of a sudden he does a villain monologue to tell everyone his evil plan and his motives. Super cool actually. I love it when I have no idea what the stakes are for the majority of a show. It's incredibly good storytelling when you leave the audience in the dark about a major player in the plot for all of the plot. And then doing an info dump evil monologue in the final episodes to rush through the explanation??? Fucking fantastic and not a sign of terrible pacing at all.

I'm just so frustrated. The show isn't about being a show anymore. The show is an entire cinematic universe shoved into 20 something episodes. It's desperate to tell every single story at once, audience, pacing and good writing be damned.

I'm so tired of the constant praising of Greg. His whole 'i don't write endings because life doesn't have endings' and 'i don't write cliffhangers, I just leave things open ended' thing is pretentious bullshit. I'm tired of pretending it's not. A good story has an ending. Stories are not life! Some of the best shows I've ever watched had planned endings. And oh my god. The cliffhanger thing... that's just semantics my guy. Greg you write cliffhangers. You can insist they aren't but I'm going to call a spade a spade.

It's also.... I'm fine with explaining things, in fact I love it because it's an excuse to talk about the stuff I love, and I have a fairly decent knowledge of comic book lore. So, I could not only understand what was happening in the show but I was also super enthusiastic about explaining it to people. But hey Greg? Hey buddy? If 90% of your audience doesn't know what the fuck is going on and needs to be familiar with super specific obscure comic characters from the 70's then you might have a problem.

I think I realized halfway through s4 that the most enjoyment I got from an episode was when an obscure comic character would cameo in it. But then I realized that a) they generally weren't explained at all and b) 50% of the time they weren't just hanging out in the background and they were vital to the plot. So to understand who the fuck they were and what the fuck was happening you had to be familiar with... well all of DC comics actually.

Anyway this rant is getting long and unhinged and I don't think there's a point so I'm going to cut myself off even though I have so much more to say on the topic. I think my general point is just that I didn't enjoy watching the later seasons and it's chill if you did and we should all respect each other's opinions ✌️

#rant #oh also the messaging sucked #the messages itself were fine. like 'you should go to therapy if you are depressed' and 'respect people's religions' and #'figuring out your gender/sexual identity is chill af' #those are great messages. the content is great and i don't disagree #BUT HOLY FUCK #yo Zatara ranting about his religion to Fate for 15 minutes is not how you get a message across #messages are supposed to be like themes and subtle points of the narrative #it's not supposed to be a fucking psa where the characters just talk for half the episode and say the message verbatim to the audience #itd be like if in season one M'gann stood up and spent ten minutes talking about the damaging psychological effects of body image issues #and everyone else just sat there and nothing happened and M'gann just kinda spoke about it #or if Artemis was just like 'im going to do a presentation on why child abuse is bad' #its just. thats not. thats not how messages in a plot work #but they didn't develop the characters enough. so instead of s1 where the messages were blatantly obvious #we just had side character zatara who we know nothing about talk about religion like he was doing a PSA for kindergartners #because we don't know his character and he had zero focus so that was literally the only way to get the message across #and im sorry but that's bad writing. if you are sacrificing character plot and narrative for a message then maybe scrap the message #or you know actually have a developed character do the message. like write the message through a developed character so it doesn't #need to be spoonfed to the audience like we're five year olds learning different shapes from a teacher

[tokyoteddywolf]

22 isn't very much at all, I think.

#5am rambles #anyways ignore this as per usual im just thinking in a post that i'll delete soon. i just worry and writing it helps. #you ever wonder when you'll “grow up'? and then realize youre not even fully grown? #that theres still more to learn in life and that the mistakes you make are just that? mistakes? #that you are still so very very young in a world that is so very very old? #im almost 23. barely a quarter of my lifespan. im still a child in a way- my brain not fully formed. #you ever wonder how many mistakes you can make before you figure something out? #I dont know much of anything really. that's the sad part. and the adults who were supposed to help me learn... didnt. #i was failed. and now im a failure. at almost not quite 23 years old. Maybe i wont be a failure in another few years. #i still have a while to go before I die. I'm not going to waste time thinking about it. im just going to try my best. #I have time. I can learn. Grace and patience are not endless but damn if i dont try to figure things out #first step though is meds and therapy tho. we're done with the pity party. some things you just have to accept are okay #cuz my whole life i was taught that being emotional is a weakness. its pathetic and stupid to be upset or angry about anything. #any time i wanted to show i was upset or angry i was 'wrong'. i was 'selfish' and 'dramatic' #so i suppressed and pretended i was fine. that i wasnt weak and pathetic. that i was good and not an annoyance or burden. #i am not weak. i am not pathetic. i am fine i am fine i am fine you dont need to worry about the inconvenience at your door. #sometimes the shame is so much that i cant look at myself or even think i deserve help. that therapy is for people with real problems. #that i feel like ill just be told im like this for attention or dramatics. that im such a disappointment and selfish too. #ive been a “problem” my whole life to the point i dunno if i CAN be fixed. that anxiety eats me alive every day. #therapy is supposed to give you methods to cope #i dunno if it'll work though. I forget my appointments a lot. i struggle to talk sometimes. i may be autistic but its hard to get diagnosed. #emotions are so hard to figure out.

[mejomonster]

Reminding myself at least im not writing a story about a 30-40 year old guy still hung up over a lost lover he varely knew/ex wife/missing wife who he idolizes to the point she's an object barely a person and when she is a person it clashes with the ideal hes longing for, and he thinks hes this rebel poor guy but hes got mega cash and can afford an LA/San Francisco/New York home AND a vacation because hes Got vacation time(?) Or just so money secure he can afford 1+ months not working, oh and he's probably a self employed artist who "has no ideas" and is lamenting it even though hes got enough money to indulge his trip to the Weird Scary Rural place so clearly the situation isnt dire. Oh and he has a drinking problem. He doesnt know whats real or not, but since hes alread deluding himself about his Imaginary Idolized Woman and Pretending Hes Poor... who can really say if hes seeing any scary wild shit at all or hes just dramaticizing the mundane (or lying)

At least im not writing a guy like that

#rant #dhdhfh okay look. i like House of Leaves. in fact i love the concept i love experimental rule breaking shit #but ive found this EXACT character mold in like 5 horror stories!!!!! #its practicallh EXPECTED im shocked when its not a 30-40 year old rich man thinking hes a poor loner hung up on a woman whos Not actually #in the story much. #i prefer my horror protagonists to be lesbians thanks #anyway at least. in the stories i write my protagonists are a plethora of bisexual dorks to suave dangers #but none are like. This. #im just a bit sick of the mold? it reeks of guy Author Self Insert #and whike thats fine. its fine to do. its like do yalk ALL have these same problems??? i hope not #i hope ur just using the same trope due to the references and synbolism of This Trope by this point #like. at least in the case of alan wake im like. i Know its a stephen king reference #in IT like... okay bill clearly fits this bill. but he has to MEET beverly so shes not an offscreen presence so much as a pedestal that #is forcibly confronted. at leasyly #and house of leaves i HOPE picked yhe trope to reference other horrors. so far its the least creative #most basic bitch thing about tbe novel

[ourdreamsareneon]

I hate when fanfics say "the blonde" or "the younger one" to distinguish characters without saying their names. If you're good at writing, the reader should be able to tell who you're referring to with just pronouns.

"The blonde walked over and put his hands on the younger one's hips" is so clunky.

You can say "he walked over to him and placed his hands on his hips" without your reader being confused about who's hands are on who's hips. It comes of as insecure and that you're thinking "shit what if they don't understand what I mean" instead of being confident that your writing makes sense. Either that or you're adding unnecessary flourish, I don't know which is worse.

#fanfic #fanfiction #writing tips #idk i only write poetry and smut so like #take what i say with a grain of salt #its just very ammature and when i read it i feel like a 13 year old is writinf #which is fine everyone has to start somewhere i just #dont have a point #to this

[pathologicalreid]

doctor and doctor | S.R.

in which you add a degree to your repertoire

who? spencer reid x fem!reader

category: fluff

content warning: i tried my best and the process described is pretty accurate to my graduate school but there might be some discrepancies. mentions of marriage and anxiety.

word count: 470

a/n: my brain has been rotting this finals week so i just needed some good academic validation fluff to write. i also got in a car accident this morning (I'm fine lol someone hit my car) so fluff was mandatory. hoping to get a lot of writing done over the school break.

There was an old joke that only five people would ever read your dissertation, you, your supervisor, your two examiners, and your unlucky partner or spouse who has to act as an unpaid proofreader for you. It was something you had heard for the past four years.

Of course, in your case, your boyfriend had three PhDs of his own and was more than happy to read through your dissertation, even though it was pushing five hundred pages.

The BAU’s jet had just landed after a three-day case in Georgia, and you had just hung up after talking with Spencer. You complained about feeling like a sitting duck, waiting to hear from your doctoral advisor to see if your thesis was accepted, and he told you he imagined it wouldn’t be long now.

You had been offered a teaching position starting in the new semester, but it was contingent on your dissertation being approved.

That all led to the email sitting in your inbox, you left your laptop open on the kitchen counter, leaving the email unopened, which is how Spencer found you when he got home.

“Angel?” He said, slightly alarmed, you stood still in the kitchen, watching your laptop like it was going to combust.

Pointing at the device, you took a deep breath, “I got the email.”

Hastily, he set his bag on the couch of your shared apartment before joining you in the kitchen. “Did you look at it?” He asked, leaning over and looking at the screen that displayed your still unopened email. You shook your head, “Were you going to?”

“What if they didn’t accept it?” You whispered, not moving your eyes from the screen.

He waited a moment, “Do you want me to open it?”

You shook your head again, “No, I’ll do it.” You told him, in a sudden surge of bravery, you leaned forward and clicked on the email. Automatically, the email popped up with a burst of confetti – an effect from your email browser recognizing the word ‘congratulations.’ You gasped and Spencer wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight.

It all faded away. The nerves from the past four years, because you had done it.

“I’m so proud of you,” Spencer murmured. “So, so proud.”

You twisted in his arms to look at the screen and read the email in its entirety. “My degree will be officially conferred on the next date designated by the university. Oh, my goodness,” you said, overwhelmed. “I really got my PhD!” You said excitedly, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“So, when we get married, we’ll both be Dr. Reid,” Spencer said, glancing over at the email before looking down at you fondly.

Your smile spanned from ear to ear, “Yeah!” You said excitedly, the smile dropping from your face, “Wait, what?”

#criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fluff #written by margot #emily prentiss #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Hey love I absolutely love your fics 🥰 I was wondering if you could write a dark toxic romance for Lando or Charles or even Logan where she’s the girl next door??? I love you keep it up ❤️

Crazy For You || LN4

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, implied smut, gaslighting, dub/con, dark themes WC: 4k Part one || part two || part three || part four

It had been two months since you moved into your apartment in Monaco and you still hadn’t managed to introduce yourself to your neighbour. He kept strange hours and seemed to be away more than he was there. From what you had glimpsed, you had been delighted to see he was probably around your age and quite handsome in an innocent way. Mr Riley on the other hand was a stoic old man who only spoke to you when your cat climbed over the balcony and into his space.

Known for its year-round beauty and calm climate, Monaco had welcomed you with a comfortable breeze and enough sun to warrant leaving the house without a jacket, even at dusk on a winter's night. If you had checked the weather reports you would have seen that a storm was quickly blowing in from the coast - arriving by the time you had finished having a few cocktails with your new friends. 

Christmas lights twinkled around the shop fronts as you exited the bar and nutcrackers stood proud in doorways. You always loved Christmas and seeing the smiles it put on children’s faces but there were no children out this late. 

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” Luke asked as he twirled his keys around his finger. “It’s about to start raining.”

“She’s good,” someone answered for you and you looked over to see your elusive neighbour at your side, his hand coming to rest in the small of your back. “I can take her home.”

“You didn’t tell us Lando was picking you up.”

Your mouth was dry and you didn’t know what to say as the liquor, or his presence, left you confused. Lando, you stored that piece of information away and tried to figure out why it sounded so familiar. 

“I was just out doing some Christmas shopping and about to head home,” he said with a smile. “Ready?”

“Uh, yeah,” you mumbled as you let him guide you away from your friends.

“Are you sure?” Luke asked with a frown. “You don’t look comfortable. Do you even know him?”

“Kind of, I’m just surprised,” you assured him. “Lando is my neighbour.”

“Okay, well, text me when you get home.”

You gave Luke a nod and waved to the others before going your separate ways.

“Are you cold?” Lando asked, already slipping his arms out of the jacket he wore over a dark hoodie. 

The alcohol had made you numb to the temperature but you let him drape it over your shoulders anyway, wrapping you in the decadent scent that came along with it. 

“Thanks.”

“Any time, it’s what neighbours do.”

“I don’t think Mr Riley would,” you teased.

“The grumpy old guy in 4C? We just call him Carl, like the movie Up.”

You smiled awkwardly and toyed with the zip on the jacked. “I’ve never seen it.”

“What?” He pulled you to a stop and grabbed your shoulders with a serious look on his face. “This just won’t do. I cannot be seen with someone who hasn’t watched Up!”

“Oh,” you mumbled as you started to take off his jacket and hand it back. 

“What are you doing, you muppet?” He grabbed the jacket and put it back on your shoulders before opening the door to a very expensive looking car. 

“I thought you meant…”

“It’s fine, I have tinted windows,” he teased. “As soon as we get home though, we’re watching the movie.”

Lando followed you inside without an invitation but you could hardly turn him away with his boyish smile and mop of curly hair that sprung out of his hoodie when he pushed it back. “This makes sense,” he chuckled as he stuck his head in the bedroom, pointing to the wall that your bed was pushed against. “Our apartments are mirrored. I thought I woke up to a voice a few times. Do you watch Friends?”

Your head tilted at the odd question. “Why do you ask?”

“You sing ‘smelly cat’ a lot.”

Mortification hit you and you felt your face burn as you turned to the culprit walking through your house with a loud purr. “That’s Eddie. Do you have any pets?”

“No, I’m always travelling for work and I’m not very good at looking after myself let alone another living thing. Do you actually know how to use those things?”

You looked at the kitchen where he was pointing to the appliances. You had planned to make some Christmas cookies over the weekend and had the stand mixer ready on the benchtop. You thought he was joking but he was genuinely intrigued by the inquisitive look of wonder on his face. “Cooking relaxes me,” you said with a shrug. “You probably have plans already but if you want to come over and-”

“Absolutely, say no more, I’m in.” He crossed the living room and dropped into the middle cushion of the three seater sofa and patted the space beside him with one hand, the other reaching for the remote. “You do have Disney+, right?”

 “You really do like to make yourself comfortable, don’t you,” you joked as you took a seat beside him. 

“I’ve been told I can be a bit much,” he said with a small frown, placing the remote down. “Should I go?”

“No, no, I appreciate the company,” you said as you caught his arm to stop him from going. “Being alone in a new country is a little isolating, it’s nice having someone here.”

He settled back into the seat and sent you a grin as he searched for the movie. “Anytime you need someone to talk to, you can just knock three times.”

The weeks before Christmas were a madhouse. Work kept you busy as well as the many requests to go home for the holidays, but it just wasn’t going to be feasible to take leave so soon after starting. You knew your parents were going to be disappointed but you promised them you weren’t going to be alone for Christmas.

You had eventually found out why Lando’s name was so familiar when Luke explained who he was and why he was away so often. But since the race season was over he had plenty of time to spend at home, yours and his.

Just like every other evening, you knocked three times on the living room wall knowing Lando would be able to hear it despite the special Christmas Eve stream he was on. It was the last one of the year and he wished everyone a Merry Christmas before the live feed of him playing Counter Strike came to an end. 

“Ouch, Eddie, fuck,” Lando swore a few minutes later as he knocked at your door. “Stop it.”

You opened the door to the frequent occurrence and took the hissing Eddie from his outstretched arms before he could get clawed again. Your ginger cat seemed to hate Lando for some reason, or maybe it was because he was always bringing the escapee back home to you.

“I think you should just move in with me,” Lando joked as he followed the mouthwatering scent into your kitchen. He came to your house for dinner most nights after finding Eddie on his balcony and usually stayed for a movie. That routine had changed slightly when the movie he chose one night was Friends With Benefits. There had been a moment after a sex scene when you both looked across at each other and the idea had passed between your eyes. 

He cleared his throat and you realised you had been staring at him for too long. “Eddie likes my place better.”

It clicked, he wasn’t actually asking you to move in with him. But for a moment you had considered it.

“Right, Eddie,” you laughed at your idiocracy. “I really don’t know how he keeps getting out. I must be going crazy because I’m sure I locked the window this morning.”

You both looked at the window that opened onto the balcony, the skies dark with another storm. “Maybe your cat is a genius and learned how to open it?”

You rolled your eyes but managed a laugh at his attempt to make you feel better while you readied two plates and took them to the table where he sat. “Maybe I should change his name to Houdini.”

“Better than Ed the Ginger.” Lando grinned as he pulled you onto his lap and scooped up a dollop of creamy mash potato with his forefinger, holding it up to your mouth. You sealed your lips around his finger and swirled your tongue around the tip, watching the blue of his eyes be swallowed by his pupils. “Naughty girl, you’ll be getting coal this year.”

Your head fell back with a laugh.“Who are you? Santa Claus?”

“Well, you are sitting on my lap, aren’t you?” He winked and his tongue rolled across his bottom lip. “Wanna see my North Pole?”

“Oh my god, eat your dinner,” you giggled. “We still have to watch A Christmas Carol and Nightmare Before Christmas!”

You had both written a list of all the Christmas movies you wanted to watch and they were the last two left. It was just in time as midnight was going to come all too soon and you wanted to be tucked up warm in bed when the storm hit.

A loud crash had you jolting awake and you blindly reached across the bed in search of Lando to find it empty. Panic gripped you as you wondered if you were being broken into and a scream almost erupted when your light flipped on and Lando rushed in soaking wet. 

“Holy shit, you’ll never believe what just happened!”

You stumbled into the living room where Lando threw an arm out to save you from stepping on the glass that covered the floor. The doors that opened out onto your balcony had been completely shattered during the storm and you shivered as the cold wind and rain blew straight into your home. A huge puddle was quickly spreading across the carpet and it was making its way to the Christmas tree in the far corner while you were still in shock. 

“The presents!” 

Lando twisted away from the pot plant that had been on your balcony wall, now it lay on the floor with the dirt turning to mud. Seeing the urge you had to cut across the glass, he shook his head and pointed to the kitchen where you would remain safe. “I’ll get them.”

Lando carefully navigated his way to the tree, turning off the power to the glittering lights, and bundled the gifts up before hopping his way back with a wince. The wrapping paper on some of the presents were splattered with rain drops but most seemed in perfect condition when he placed them on the kitchen bench.

“You’re bleeding,” you gasped as he balanced on one foot and you wrapped an arm around his waist to help him. “There’s a first aid kit in my bathroom. Can you make it there?”

He nodded and limped with your help away from the mess. “I think you should come and stay at my place until the doors can be fixed.”

“Are you sure?” you asked as you carefully used a pair of tweezers to pull out the small sliver of glass in his foot. “I can just get a hotel.”

“Ouch,” he groaned as it came free and blood welled at the site. “Not on Christmas Day, everywhere will be fully booked. I really don’t mind. It would save you from having to pack a bag.”

“If you’re sure…”

He smiled at the silly Spider-Man bandaid you placed over the wound before running the back of his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I am.”

You shivered at his cold touch and remembered how wet he was when you woke up. “What were you doing up anyway?”

He bit his lip and looked away sheepishly. “I was putting a present under the tree when a flower pot blew through the door.”

“Oh, wow, that wind must be insane. I hope all the boats are safe out there,” you mused, knowing some people lived on the mariner. “Wait, you got me another present? Lando, there’s already too many.”

“I wanted to spoil you,” he said with an unapologetic shrug. “You have single handedly kept me fed for weeks. You may have put a few restaurants out of business too.”

“You weren’t that bad were you?”

“You have no idea,” he chuckled. After testing his foot he took your hand and led you back to the presents to find a thin box that hadn’t been under the tree when you went to bed. “It’s after midnight, you know, you could open it.”

You took the box, surprised by the weight it had, and untied the pretty bow on top. The delicate silver writing drew a gasp and you looked at Lando with wide eyes. “Tiffany? I can’t open this, it’s too much.”

“Go on,” he urged as he placed your hand on top of the lid and gave it a squeeze. “Please, for me.”

Your fingers slipped twice as you tried to open the hinge and Lando’s hand enveloped yours, lifting it open to reveal the beautiful necklace within. The teardrop gemstone was the same shade as his eyes and it hung from a white gold chain that was polished to shine impossibly bright, even in the dim light. 

“Lando, it’s beautiful,” you whispered in awe as he lifted it up and stepped behind you to drape it around your neck. The weight of the stone settled in the centre of your chest and you turned to face him with a sincere, “Thank you.”

“So..?” He bit his lip as he showed you the empty box, a question written in the silk lining. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

It wasn’t until the week after New Years that a glazier would be able to fix your doors. The holidays had left a backlog of people needing repairs but supply chains had been delayed too. Once the doors were finally fixed you realised the carpet was beyond repair and that took another week to have done.

It was strange to go back home after nearly three weeks of living in Lando’s apartment. It was too quiet.

“Babe, have you seen my hairbrush?” You had looked through the bathroom drawers he had cleared out for you to use but there was nothing left. You went back to your apartment and did another search but it wasn’t there either. It wasn’t the first thing you had lost going back and forth and you were beginning to worry.

“I’m sure it will turn up somewhere, love,” Lando said as he paused his game and turned to his friend in the simulator behind him. “Max probably used it.”

“Did not,” his friend replied with an indignant splutter. “Didn’t I see you singing into a hairbrush?”

“You’ve been experimenting with drugs again,” Lando snorted. With a resigned sigh, you decided your hair was decent enough to get away with at work and Lando tipped his head back so you could give him a kiss goodbye. “I’ll order dinner tonight. Chinese?”

“Sounds good,” you said as you gave Max a wave on the way to the door. “Try not to let him sit there all day, you know how his back gets.”

“Yes, yes, Lando has an old man’s back. I’ll make sure he moves his ass at some point,” Max joked. “Have fun at work.”

You screwed up your face at the sarcasm and their laughs followed you out of the apartment. You weren’t sure they had actually moved all day as they were still in the same spots when you got home. You had crossed paths with the delivery man in the lobby and your arms were laden with the takeaway Lando had ordered.

“How many spring rolls did you order?” you murmured as you kept unpacking more and more of the small styrofoam boxes with the treat.

“He’s going for a record,” Max said with a roll of his eyes. Ten minutes later Lando groaned, holding his stomach tightly. “I told you to stop.”

You had quickly showered and changed into some comfortable clothes and found most of the boxes empty when you joined them at the table. “How many has he had?”

“18, and he’s got no chance,” Max bet, reaching over to steal a spring roll for himself and swiping it through the sweet chilli sauce. “You’ll thank me later. Ah, fuck.” Max looked down at the red blotch on his white Quadrant shirt before sauntering off down the hall. “Mate, do you have any more stain remover? This one’s empty.”

“Yeah, under the sink there should be another bottle,” Lando yelled back, dropping his fork onto his plate in defeat. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Why the hell do you have cat food?” Max appeared in the living room with the same brand of pet food you bought for your cat. 

“That’s not mine, obviously.”

You looked at Lando, who was rubbing his full stomach and as reclined back as much as the chair would allow. “It’s not mine.”

“You brought it over during the storm, remember?”

“No I didn’t.” You hadn’t wanted to disrupt Eddie’s routine and fed him at home each morning before work.

“Yes, you did.” He laughed as he tapped your temple gently. “You have a terrible memory, love. You can’t even remember where you left your hairbrush.”

You didn’t have an argument for that, since you still hadn’t found it. You were sure you hadn’t brought any cat food over, but maybe he was right. You did seem to be a little confused lately.

“I think I need an early night,” you admitted as you cleaned up the dishes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You’re not staying?” Lando asked with a pout as he joined you at the sink, wrapping his arms around your waist and peppered your neck with soft kisses. “Who am I going to cuddle with?”

“I’m sure Max wouldn’t mind a snuggle,” you teased him as you turned in his arms. “I have an early start tomorrow but I can stay tomorrow night.”

He groaned at the thought of sleeping alone and held you tighter so he could have you in his arms a little longer. “Fine,” he huffed, relinquishing his hold on you and filling the kettle. “I’ll make you a chamomile tea so you sleep better.”

You smiled at his sweetness and savoured a few more minutes of kisses before the water boiled and he scooped out a few spoons of some boutique tea leaf mix he swore was the best sleep tea money could buy. Given how rich he was, you believed him.

Placing the hot mug in your hand, he bit his swollen lip and nodded to the front door. “Go before I tie you to my bed and never let you leave.”

“You wouldn’t,” you laughed, rolling your eyes as he winked. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight, love, sweet dreams.”

Something disturbed your sleep and you rubbed your eyes as you woke up well before your alarm. You reached for the lamp beside your bed and accidently knocked into the cup of tea you hadn’t finished before falling asleep, the cold liquid sloshing over the side before you caught it and froze. 

Your bedroom door creaked open but it was too dark to see who it was. Your heart hammered in your chest as you tried to think of what to do before the shadow reached the edge of your bed. Your throat was so clogged with fear you couldn’t even scream, your hands trembled and closed them into fists before banging on the wall behind you, begging Lando would wake up at the sound.

Bang, bang, bang.

The figure lunged onto the bed, pinning you down with their weight and slamming your fists into the mattress. “Shh, love, it’s me.”

You relaxed as Lando’s voice soothed you, but the fear soon crept back up your spine with an icy shiver. “How did you get in here?”

“You forgot to lock your door,” he whispered as your wrists began to ache from the hold he had. “I was coming to check in on you.”

“No, I didn’t,” you said as you tried to shake him off. “I know I locked it. I know…I…I’m not crazy. Get off me, get off me right now.”

“You were meant to be asleep, love,” he groaned as his hands tightened to the point a pained cry escaped your gritted teeth. 

“Why are you doing this?” you whimpered as he kissed your neck, but you couldn’t feel anything but repulsion. 

“You should have just moved in with me, we are meant to be together.”

“You’re crazy,” you spat as you tried to buck your hips and throw him off but he was too strong. “Help! Somebody, help!”

His hand clamped over your mouth and you bit him as hard as you could before kicking and climbing away. 

“I’m not the crazy one, that’s you, love,” he laughed. “You’re my girlfriend, you’re sick, but I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

“You are fucking insane!”

“No, no, sweetheart, I’m trying to help you, remember?” 

You froze in the doorway as you saw a cutout of your key on the kitchen bench, along with your hairbrush, phone, a negligee and dressing gown. All things you had been convinced you had lost in the last few weeks.

“Why are you doing this?” you repeated as you backed away from your boyfriend. He was someone you had trusted, someone you thought had fit perfectly into your new life - but he had been messing with you this whole time. Max and the cat food came to mind. “Eddie…he used to go to Mr Riley’s house.”

“Couldn’t have that,” Lando tutted with a shake of his head as he took a step closer, “not when he was going to help me get close to you.”

“Don’t! Don’t come any closer to me!”

“Baby, don’t be like that, let’s just go back to bed. You’re under a lot of stress, let me make you a chamomile tea.”

You swiped your phone up as you bolted but he was quicker and blocked the front door, holding his hand out. “Give that to me, you don’t want to do that.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I do,” you hissed as you started to dial the emergency number.

“It’s you they will take away,” he said with a blase shrug that made you pause. “Everyone knows how unstable you have become.”

“Me?” you shrieked.

“You’re barely holding it together now. They aren’t going to believe anything you say.” He opened his arms as if to say, I’m famous and you are no one. Unfortunately, he was right. “Come on, love, let’s go back to bed.”

He took the phone from your limp hand and locked it before slipping it into his pocket. You were so confused that you had no idea what to do when he guided you back to the bed, turning the sheets down before tucking you in gently. “I love you,” he whispered as he kissed your forehead and handed you the cold mug. “Drink up, baby, this is all just a bad dream.”

Click here for the next morning.

#dark!lando #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1 rpf

[cy-cyborg]

Tips for Writing and Drawing Amputees: Bandaged Stumps

When writing and drawing amputee characters, unless your character only just lost their limb, they don't need to wear a bandage over their stumps.

to be clear, eda's depiction in the show was fine, since she'd only just lost her arm and went (presumably) without any medical attention, but because the show didn't have much time to show her afterwards, I've noticed a tendency of the fandom to draw her wearing the bandage permanently, so that's why I'm picking on her for my example lol.

It's a bit of a trope at this point, and I think it comes from one of a few different places:

Amputees do wear bandages on their stumps, but usually only for the first 6-12 weeks post-amputation, sometimes longer if the amputation was a result of a burn. It's possible people saw this though and assumed it was permanent.

Most amputees wear a sock made of either cotton or silicone under their prosthetics to provide them with some extra padding. These socks, called liners, often stick out from the top of the prosthetic socket and could possibly be mistaken for a bandage from a distance.

Some amputees will wear compression garments for a few months to a few years after their amputations which could also be mistaken for a bandage from a distance. These garments are designed to stop swelling and reduce phantom pain, but they aren't bandages.

Stumps get cold easier because their circulation typically isn't as good as the rest of the body, so some amputees will wear socks over them even if they aren't wearing a prosthetic to keep warm, which again could be mistaken for a bandage from a distance.

This one is funny, but in my experience unfortunately, it's the most common: people think the end of an amputee's stump is just a perpetual open wound that never heals. Meaning to avoid "gore" it needs to be covered. I've met fully grown adults who believed this until I showed up to work/uni without my prosthetics or socks on.

People are uncomfortable with seeing an uncovered stump and so put bandages over it to avoid confronting their biases.

Some combination of these points.

But yeah, unless your amputee has only just lost their limb in the last few weeks, they don't need a bandage.

The ironic thing too, is that for most amputees, bandaging a stump is nearly impossible. I've been in and out of hospital since I was 1 year old and only ever met 3 nurses and no doctors/surgeons who could successfully bandage my stump in a way that the bandage would even stay on. This is because stumps are usually tapered in shape (meaning they are wider at the top, closer to the body, and thinner at the bottom), so gravity will pull the bandage off 9 times out of 10.

On a final note: it's ok to show your amputee's stump, it's not gore, there's no blood, it just looks like a regular limb that just stops early. In fact, if you are writing/creating anything for kids or that is likely to be seen by kids, I encourage you to show your amputee's stumps at least once. I used to work on a disability awareness program for kids, and I lost count of the amount of times kids were terrified of me, because they all expected my leg to be bloody and gory. For a lot of kids, I was their first real-life exposure to an amputee, meaning they'd never even heard of people like me, or they had seen an amputee on TV, but because the show went out of its way to avoid showing the person's stump, they assumed it must have been because there was "something scary at the end" that they weren't supposed to see (kids are surprisingly perceptive, they will pick up on stuff like that without you realising). And scared kids aren't good at articulating why they're scared, and would often say really mean or hurtful things to me. I knew not to take it personally and learned how to handle those situations, but not everyone is used to dealing with kids. For a new amputee (or anyone who's less confident in their disability), the kinds of things those kids would say could be absolutely confidence destroying. I never blame the kids, it's not their fault, but the whole situation could have been avoided if they had seen people like us before they had the chance to hear the wrong info. Good representation like this can be the difference between a kid crying, making throw-up sounds and calling an amputee "disgusting monsters" (all things I've had kids do/say) and them just being like "oh ok, cool."

#Writing Disability with Cy Cyborg #writing disability #disability representation #disabled #writing advice #writeblr #authors of tumblr #writing #authors #writer #on writing #writers on tumblr #writblr #writerblr #creative writing #character design #amputee #amputee representation #artists on tumblr #designing disabled characters #oc #oc art #ocs #original character #artists #character design tips #art tips #art resources #art reference

[wosoamazing]

Sick

Summary: You get sick at training and no one can get a hold of Leah

Warnings: Sick, angst??, IDK

A/N: decided to give you all another fic. I hope you like this one, I don't know how good it is.... also please do send requests in, I want to make sure I'm writing things people will enjoy.

Training today just felt harder than usual, yes you had off days, but something was different, it wasn’t just that you weren’t playing as well, you were hotter, you were running out of breath quicker than usual, you head hurt slightly. Everyone around you noticed but didn’t want to say anything, your teenage hormones were at their peak currently, as Leah put it and you were quick to snap at anyone for no real reason. You stayed quite about it though and just tried to push through, that was until you felt like you were going to pass out and you decided you should probably sit down. So, you went up to Jonas.

“Y/N, how can I help you?”

“Umm, I’m just feeling a little hot, was just wondering if I could sit down for a bit,” “yeah sure why don’t you go inside to the dining room and sit down there, it will be cooler in there than out here, lunch is only 25 or so away anyway,” “Thanks Jonas,” you said, and you turned around, probably a little too fast as everything spun, you stumbled a little and shut your eyes, hoping that no one noticed you continued to make your way into the dining room and sat on one of the chairs, everything was still slightly spinning but it wasn’t too bad. Just as you were about to rest your head on the table you heard footsteps which grew louder, until they stopped, and Katie was standing next to you.

“Hey,” you mumbled.

“Hey, Jonas sent me in here to check on you. You okay?”

“No, I feel like crap” you replied. It was the truth. In an effort to feel better, you shut your eyes and rested your head on the table, it was cool to touch, Katie put her hand on the back of your neck, and she winced at the heat that was radiating off you.

“I think you need to go see a medic.”

“No, I’m fine.” you snapped.

“Okay, well I’ll leave you to it then,” she stood up starting to walk out.

“Katie,” you softly cried out, she looked back at you “can you stay?”

“Only if you let me get a medic to look at you,” she tried compromising.

“Fine.” You sighed. Katie messaged someone on her phone and a few minutes later one of the medics came in. “38.7, not too bad, get her to take two of these and try and see if you can get her sister to take her home, if she is still here in about 45 minutes, we will come check on her again. Also get her to drink the rest of that and another one at least” The medic said to Katie pointing at your water bottle, Katie nodded. “Oh, and have one of these,” Katie screwed her face up at the sight of the emesis bag she really couldn’t handle that type of sick, “look she shouldn’t need it but it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Katie nodded agreeing with that statement. She got you to take two Panadol and to drink some water before you fell asleep. She did wake you every ten minutes to drink some more water however you didn’t really remember that.

“Hey, can you sit up for just a sec,” you look up to see the medic, she takes your temperature and checks your breathing. “39.1” the medic and Katie look at each other you place your head back on the table, and whimper slightly at the movement of your head, however the table felt nice on your head as it was cool.

“Where the fuck is Leah! Why isn’t she answering her phone,” Katie yelled becoming more furious with Leah by the second.

“Why don’t you just take her home?” Kim asked.

“Because Leah is a genius. Who doesn’t give their 16-year-old sister a key? and she refuses to let me take her to mine.” Katie replies

“You could call Sarina,” you decided to chime in.

“What’s her number though?” “Give it here,” you put Sarina’s number into Katies phone, Katie quickly pressed the call button and to her amusement Sarina picked up.

“Hi Sarina, its Katie McCabe, I am really sorry to be calling but we have Y/F/N here and she isn’t feeling well at all, and we have been trying to get a hold of Leah for 45 minutes but she won’t answer, and we understand she is doing important media duties however Y/N does have a temperature of 39.1C, and we think it would be best if she went home.” There was a pause, Sarina must’ve been talking “Okay, thank you so much, so sorry again. Bye”

“She’s coming,” everyone let out a sigh of relief, they hated seeing you so sick and helpless knowing that Leah was the one thing that might make you feel better.

“Leah?” you questioned, starting to cry.

“Yeah, she’s coming, like 10 minutes,” Katie said as she started to rub your back, you placed your head back on the table and continued to cry, you just felt so sick and wanted your sister.

“Hey, I’m here.” Leah said as she rounded the corner, her heart melting at the scene in front of her. You were still crying head on the table, Katie was still rubbing your back looking like she might cry at any moment, she just wanted to help, and she couldn’t.

“Oh, bug.” Leah cooed at the sight, and she continued towards you, you lifted you head up tears still falling. She kneeled down beside you and put her hand on your forehead, she winced and looked at Katie, “39.1 last we checked.”

“Bug, I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.” She said, ready to cry herself.

“Can we go home?” you whimpered, as she pulled you in for a hug, she noticed the slight dampness of your skin.

“Let me go talk to the medic first,” she said as she stood up.

“I’ll go get her stuff for you,” Lia said as she went to the locker room. The girls remaining all looked at each other, you couldn’t resist a smirk.

“Why do you have two bags Lia?” your sister questioned.

“Le, don’t do this, I’ve spoken to Jonas, and he agrees that you’re going to need help, come on I’ll drive you home.” She replied.

“Carry me?” you whined looking at your sister who sighed before picking you up and taking you home, the girls all made eyes at each other as the three of you walked out.

_______

“Le, I’m back” Lia said as she walked through the door. “We’re still in here.” Leah replied, she was sitting up against the head board of her bed, you had your head in her lap and your body laid parallel to the headboard, your training top was on the end of the bed and you were just in your crop top and training shorts, Leah had taken your shirt off in hopes of cooling you down, your sweaty body was making the sheets slightly damp, as she rain her fingers through your hair.

“Hey” Lia said softly as she walked into the room, carrying the bag of items she bought to help you. “What you got in there” Leah asked looking at the quite full bag.

“Just the essentials,” Lia pulled out some medicine first, then some hydrolyte, followed by a thermometer “I guessed you didn’t have one of these,” she pulled some more items out “Oh and I got some of these,” Leah’s brow furrowed at the sight of the emesis bags, “they might come in handy one day” Lia said as she shrugged.

“Thank you, Lia for everything not just for today” your sister replied.

“It’s no problem, how is she?”

“I don’t really know, she never gets sick it’s been years, I’m just really worried. Should we check her temperature again?” with of nod of Lia’s head they pulled the thermometer out of its packing and checked your temperature. “Shit,” Lia’s brow furrowed “39.5, what do we do Li, do we take her to the hospital, the doctor?” Leah said heartbroken a tear rolling down her check.

“She hasn’t had any medicine yet has she?” Lia questioned.

“I think they gave her some Panadol at the colony but other than that no”

“Okay well we’ll give her some ibuprofen, and help her take a lukewarm bath, and if her temperature hasn’t gone down or if it goes up after 30 minutes, we can take her to the hospital, how does that sound?” Leah just nodded agreeing with Lia, she just wanted to help you but in this moment she felt helpless. “You give her the medicine and I’ll start the bath”.

“Bug, can you wake up for me?” Leah said softly shaking you. You sat up, leaning against the headboard, resting you head on the wall.

“Here can you take this, it will help you feel better,” Leah said handing you two tablets and your water bottle, you took them and then went to lay back down on Leah, but she stopped you, as the bath was now ready.

“Bug we’re going to put you in the bath for a little while,” you groan at Leah’s words, she helps you up and places you in the bath still clothed. She let you sit there while she went to get the pair of you new clothes, nothing fancy of course, just some PJs. After your bath Leah helped you get changed before carrying you back to the bedroom.

“Oh, you didn’t have to Lia,” she said noticing Lia was just finishing off changing the sheets on the bed.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s all good, here have this” she said as she placed a pillow down for you and Leah. You laid between the two girls with your head resting on Leah’s arm, they rechecked your temperature and it was now back to 39.1, they weren’t super happy with it but happy enough not to take you to the hospital, you spent the next four days in bed sick, Leah and Lia both trying to help you get better.

#woso x reader #woso community #arsenal wfc #woso #woso fanfics #katie mccabe #leah williamson #lia walti #woso imagine

[leahsgf]

Looove Lucy taking care of reader.

Could I have more? Maybe Lucy is the worried older sister who makes sure reader doesn't get separated from the group when they go out, or that she ends up spending her money on too many sweets. Thanks <3

reins

lucy bronze x sister!reader

pure fluff about lucy being an overprotective older sister to you

her role as your big sister was one that lucy arguably took the most pride in out of all of her duties in her life - and that had always been the case, even back in the days when she was a teenager, and would often forgo going out with her friends in order to play and spend time with you.

even when it meant clinging onto the reins that were attached to your backpack to prevent you from running off for dear life in worry as you toddled around giggling - finding it hilarious.

the pair of you had always been inseparable, and all you had ever wanted to be was like her, having decided the instant you were able to grasp the concept of her job - that you were going to be a footballer too.

so that’s exactly what you did, and lucy’s protectiveness over you only increased as you did so, especially when you received your first call up to the lionesses alongside her.

you were more than a decade younger than her, freshly faced and new to every part of what you were experiencing - being the youngest on the squad by a considerable amount, meaning that lucy worried about you constantly, even more than usual, and watched over you like a hawk.

-

a team day out exploring the city in a country you’d never been to before had the older girl as pale as a sheet just thinking about all of the different possibilities.

“stay with me - or one of the girls at all time, okay? please be careful. if anyone, and i mean anyone tries anything or makes you uncomfortable in any way you need to tell me immediately. this is a new place to us all so just be extra war-” you cut off her rambling before she talked herself to death, playfully rolling your eyes, insides secretly warming at how much she cared for you.

“luce, it’s okay. i know. i won’t wander off. i’m a big girl”

“okay.” she breathes, giving up on the remainder of her speech, instead settling for “i just remember you being so tiny you could fit in one of my hands like it was yesterday, and i just want you to be safe.”

“i promise. i’ll be fine.” you linked pinkies with her, knowing you’d be glued to her side regardless.

“don’t make me get the reins back out. i remember how much of a menace you were, running off all over the place!”

she pointed at you warningly, and if it weren’t for the stern expression across her features you would’ve laughed.

“that was when i was three!”

“i’m just saying! the threat remains!”

-

no matter how old you got, or how far you progressed in your career, lucy still would refuse to let you pay for anything, slipping you money with a wink and a finger held to her lips, like you were six again and giggling behind your parents back.

“you’re my baby sister, don’t be silly. absolutely not.” she would insist, playfully slapping your hand away as you reached for your purse, sticking a pile of notes or in its place.

“make sure you don’t spend it all at once, kay? i expect to see some change when you come out!” she called after you as you were pulled into the sweet shop by ella and alessia, who’s playful grins told lucy that she’d be very unlikely to see you return with any money to spare.

not that it mattered in the slightest really, she just loved teasing you and treasured looking after you, not quite ready to give it up, it being one of her favourite parts of her life, even when you were nearing being an adult yourself.

-

tried to fit in everything that you requested! thank you for it i enjoyed writing it - and happy new year!

not proof read so i apologise if there’s any mistakes

#lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze #lucy bronze imagine #lionesses x reader #lionesses #alessia russo x reader #ella toone x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 7)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 6, Part 8

summary: You spend some time with Miguel.

warnings: smut. f receiving oral, fingering, grinding, switchy behaviour from both sides, angst. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: this chapter beat my ass icl

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.3k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

all-consuming grief,

It’s going to be a warm night. It's ushered in by the kind of dawn that bleeds red and gold, tawny and autumnal in the waning light. Like the washy colours of a Renoir, and he doesn’t even notice that he’s doing the thing he swore black-and-blue he wouldn’t. Reminiscing and romanticising; for the first time in a while, Miguel is able to see the sun set, legs splayed on the brick of his front steps. 

Sitting by worn metal railing, he’s still in his work clothes. He chucked his rucksack on the step above, leaning long legs onto the ones below. They don’t ache as much as they used to, well-trained by a couple months of running and spending more time in the gym. There’s a shake in the fridge, labelled ‘Tuesday, PM’ that he’ll gulp down before bed, and one labelled ‘Wednesday, AM’ that he’ll take before setting off in the morning. In the morning, with cloudy skies and street cars to keep him company. There’s too much pollution, light or otherwise, for him to see some stars. He hasn’t seen stars in a while, now.

Long days seem to have turned into just days somewhere along the way. He can’t quite pinpoint when, and doesn’t really care to, but he thinks his brother would call it “progress”. There’s a grimace on his face as he thinks about it; a word that tastes like mud and feels like swirling cement in his mouth. It’s all bullshit, really. Gabi’s paltry attempt at therapising him, one which he would usually nip in the bud - taking metaphorical shears to slash at weeds and dense conversation. Catch-up calls about how he feels, how he’s doing – when he’s fine, he always is – as if Gabi is waiting for a shoe to drop. 

He’s waiting for Miguel to have an epiphany, a breakdown the size of a collapsing star. It’s not coming, he keeps telling his brother, and the sooner the younger O’Hara realises – without the wide eyes and the pity – the better for the both of them. After all, Gabriel is his baby brother, and he’s spent his whole life worrying on his behalf: playing hide-and-seek in little closets and putting back together broken toys. Trying to drown out the sound of shouting and broken plates. They’re too old for all that, the worrying and gulping back tears, walking its well-travelled paths – and it doesn’t feel right that Gabi should do the same for him.

He sighs, deep and heavy and rolling down that quiet street. After what feels like forever, he’s tempted to lie down, to rest his head on the stone, close his eyes and think of something else. Of someone else - lots of someones, at this point in the day. He’s not the weepy type, but he is tired; shaking off the wear and tear, and fighting off sleep. 

Then he sees it; a figure walking towards him, all sandals and khaki shorts and smiles. Mr Estevez, donned in his year-round attire of a polo shirt, a little tight around the middle, and cargos cut off below the knee – finally appropriate, considering the weather. He’s strolling closer like he’s got all the time in the world. If Miguel wasn’t so exhausted; the bone-deep kind, the kind that seeps into skin and lines a casket; he would’ve been annoyed. Instead, he hisses, furrows quickly deepening. 

“Buenas, Miguelito!” Mr Estevez beams, scratching at scraggly facial hair. 

Miguel frowns, but greets him nonetheless: that politeness drilled into him during childhood rearing its head.

“Buenas tardes, tío.” He grits his teeth as he gets up from his seat, creaky joints and all.

His landlord, the building’s handyman, owner of half a dozen shops all over the city, and Miguel’s uncle-that’s-not-really-his-uncle; Mr Estevez wears many hats, staying bright and informal regardless. He’s known the older man since he was 6, so he can’t be too disappointed; his tío has been late for weddings, funerals, and his little boy’s birth – it’s not much of a surprise that he’d be late now, too. Miguel stretches out a rough palm, and the man stops just shy of his hand, completely ignoring it. Before he knows it, Miguelito is engulfed in a great big bear hug, with wet kisses pressed to the apples of his cheeks. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, as usual, so they hang limply; arms flailing to his sides like a t-rex.

They separate, and he coughs at the great big hand that slaps his back. Grumbling, he walks up to the door, bag over his back, and stands expectantly. Mr Estevez doesn’t follow, instead dusting himself down to sit on the steps.

“I just need to get into the building.” Miguel starts. “Forgot my keys, and I've been here for hours. M’tired, and I–”

“Let’s sit, Miguel.” He scoots over, making space. “Look at the stars.”

It’s clear the older man isn’t moving. Begrudgingly, he obliges.  “We’re in the middle of the city. You only see “stars” in the river – beer bottles and tinned crap reflecting the lights.” 

“Language.” He gets a sharp nudge to his ribs.

“Discúlpame, tío.”

They stew for a moment, bathing in the silence that follows. The man besides him is the first to speak.

“I spoke to your mother.”

He’s scoffing and moving to get up, before feeling a firm hand on his shoulder.

“She’s worried, Miguel. Says you haven’t called in a while.”

“She hasn’t called me either."

“She’s stubborn.” The man besides him chuckles, bringing gentle eyes to meet his own. "Pig-headed. Remind you of someone?"

Miguel rolls his eyes, he just can't help it. 

"She’s also the one that moved back home, so either way–”

"You know it's all been hard on her." 

" –on her? It's been hard for her, surrounded by family, after she abandoned me? A-After…" His voice gets dangerously hoarse, threatening to crack under the weight of those words. 

He can't stand the pitiful look sent his way: brows drawn, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Sorry. It's… It's nothing. I'm fine. Just fine."

"I didn't ask if you were fine, Miguel."

–even though you're definitely not okay. That part is left unsaid, spat onto the pavement like bitter backwash. 

Mr Estévez sighs, ruffling a hand through Miguel's hair. It makes him hiss and dart away from the hand, pouting like he's a little kid again. He doesn't like it; the way he feels like all this life he's lived has been for naught. Trials and tribulations, and yet he doesn't feel that ache of growth; still stuck in the shoes of an awkward teenager. 

"You think too much, Miguelito. Always have." He smiles, the kind that deepens the wrinkles around his mouth. It twists Miguel into knots, mouth dry as he tries to untangle himself from that feeling. "I'm worried about you, kid."

He sniffs, eyes trained towards the pavement. There it is again, worry; complicating and unravelling what was meant to be just another day. 

"It's today, isn't it?" 

All Miguel does is nod, shakily. It's been 2 years since his heart was ripped out of his chest. It heaves now, an erratic rise and fall he’s doing his best to control. Breathe, deeply and calmly; try not to think about his little girl in that hospital bed, and those blank eyes staring back. 

“M’fine.” It comes out more desperate than he intends it, and he curses under his breath. If Mr Estevez hears the crude language, he doesn’t react.

Miguel is tense, hunched over the bag on his lap and curled into himself like prey – spitting and prickly and clearly uncomfortable. He’s never been the weepy kind, but the older man can’t help but think it’s a shame; so much love, and nowhere to keep it but inside. Miguel's bottled it up; the memories of precious Gabriella, all that warmth she brought out in her father; and he's turned them to poison pills to keep himself sick. 

Miguel would never admit it, of course. He’s too stubborn. Pig-headed.

His tío sighs, moving to get up. He groans, in that dramatic sort of way he knows Miguel can’t stand, but still, there's a rush to help him up. Producing the door keys with a flourish, he pulls from the depths of cargo pockets, and unlocks the main door. Ushering in the younger man, who has grown so tall he needs to duck as he climbs the narrow stairs, there’s a finger prodded into the back of that cotton button-up.

“Miguel?” He starts, revving up a conversation he’s been meaning to have for a while now.

“Hmm?” 

They both wait by the entrance of the apartment. The keys jingle in Mr Estevez’s hand.

“If I open the door, will I find out that you’ve driven away another one of my tenants?”

Conveniently, there seems to be a rather interesting spot in the hardwood that Miguel pokes with a dress shoe. 

“...depends on your definition of 'driven out', tío.”

“That’s the third one this year! Not even 2 months– I knew there was something up. Not a single one of those little smiley faces to my messages, and–"

“I’ll make up for his side of the rent, you know I will.”

“I don’t like it. You should be saving up, to go get a house and settle down somewhere."

“I like living here, and I’ve said multiple times I’d pay the extra to live alone–”

“And then what? You rot in your room for the rest of your life?”

“I don’t– rot feels a little–”

“Nonsense. You’re lonely, Miguelito. If you don’t like it, you move out.”

They both know he won’t. It’s not really an option; the apartment is affordable and he likes living so close to his old neighbourhood, his old haunts. It’s like he’s tethered to that place with a bungee cord wrapped under his ribs, always snapping back.

“No promises, tío.”

“Doesn’t matter, Miguelito.” He sighs, scratching at stubble. “It’s been hard to find other tenants, with half the neighbourhood drying up. But as soon as I do–”

He points an accusatory finger at Miguel, and the sentence is finished for him.

“...best behaviour, I know.”

“Best behaviour.” Mr Estevez repeats, and starts to fumble with the keys. He throws a little comment over his shoulder. “I liked your lady friend, ages ago… the scary one, with the blue hair. She was–”

“Xina’s not scary, when you get to know her.”

“She was funny. Very pretty. Always paid rent on time, gave me food when I came to fix the heating…”

“It's out again, by the way.” Miguel chews his lip, with a strange expression. “And yeah, she was.”

The door swings open. Mr Estevez doesn’t let him off the hook, though, engulfing him in a warm hug. This time, in the doorway of his apartment, eyes screwed shut; he doesn’t try to wriggle out of it, melting into his tío’s arms. It feels different now that he’s not a kid: angry and hurting with a different sort of ache, but he leans into it, all the same.

~~~

There's a pressure released from the apartment, lately. Miguel feels… well, first of all, he feels ; thinks with his heart and not his head, sometimes. It's lighter, coming home with that weight on his shoulders and with someone there to distract him from it. Living life, he thinks, for the first time in a while. Vivid and vibrant and awake ; relishing the autumnal weather. It's always been his favourite season, despite how childish he thinks having a favourite season is; something you had asked him on a whim one morning. 

Normally, he wouldn't entertain it, and with all the shit Pete spews, sometimes, he's had plenty of practice ignoring it. A well-timed dirty look, and then he'd get his head down and work; occupy himself with something less frivolous. But when you say it, with half a piece of toast sticking out of your mouth, it doesn't feel like a chore to answer. It doesn't feel like a stupid question, and he finds his face growing warm at the thought of you caring about these little things – wanting to know him , however that comes. 

And so, his answer is Autumn. It's a little stilted; but catching him off guard after a run will do that to him. It's purely practical , he says, eyes tracing the slopes of your body in that shirt and shorts that stops at your thighs; high enough that he feels like a perv for looking. Autumn has temperate, even weather. Perfect for sweaters and hoodies. Warm enough that you don't need a jacket. Just right. You snort, nudging him. Bullshit, Mig. You flutter your eyelashes mockingly, your tone light. You just think it's the prettiest. 

And he hums, catching you off guard. You're both drawn towards that little window over the sink, the one that overlooks a fire escape and the street. He's had that view for three years, now. Sleeves always rolled to his elbows as he does his washing up, but never quite looking. The street just below is framed in its windowpane, quite the pretty picture. Crisp leaves scattered on the sidewalk, carpeted in red and honeyed amber. And he can feel it from the other side of the glass; smell it, touch it, taste it. Autumn: hot chocolate and giggles, the crunch of leaves underfoot, and cupping tiny palms to warm them up. Sunsets seen for the first time, watched through bus windows on the way back from school – he misses those the most. 

"You don't think it's beautiful?" You say, leaning your head towards the half-open window. 

You don't notice, but he looks over to you, swallowing roughly. He says it with a small voice.

"I…I do."

You're darting to the bathroom not too long after, breaking the spell. Frustrated, he resists the urge to curl up into a ball and scream into his palms. He's got what he wanted; a good fuck, a pretty face, a warm smile. Friends, at the most, who happen to get the other off after a long day. A welcome distraction, at the least. He's got what his body has been telling him he needs for the past few months. It makes him feel weird, so oddly settled; but, all things considered… 

Miguel is doing okay.

“...and I wouldn’t normally ask, but I swear , I left him…o-on read and he won’t stop texting me.”

Really, actually; he’s doing fine.

“It feels weird– mmffuck– but I can’t ignore him any longer.”

Maybe even… good. Better than okay.

“I still have a bunch of my stuff over there. At least half of it is clothes and books, a-and I’ve put it off for as long as I can…”

He hums in response, pulling quiet curses from you, above. Pressing the flat of his tongue onto your clit, your hips jump up and he purrs ; rearing up to dive even deeper into your pussy. Too quick for him, you catch on, hand in his hair to pull him up.

Sitting up on your haunches, he rests his head on your bare thigh – licking the taste of you off of his lips.

You tilt your head, looking at him with those eyes he can’t help but marvel at. A beat passes. 

“...so?” You start, expectantly. “Will you help me or not?”

His response comes in the form of teeth nipping at pillowy skin. You yelp, and swat him away whilst he chuckles.

“I’m serious , Mig. It’s too much to pick up by myself. And you’re the only person I know with a car…”

“ Ouch, hermosa. ” He frowns as you peter off. “Is that the only reason you’re fucking me? For my car?”

“If I say it’s because of your sparkling personality, will you help me?”

For a moment, it seems like he’s got his brows pressed together like he’s seriously considering it, but it ends up being just smoke and mirrors. He’s pretending , biding his time to hook a hand under your legs and force you to lie down onto the bed. Your head hits the covers with a gentle thump as he hikes up the lip of that big tee even further; squeezing your thighs around his head like earmuffs. 

It’s when he makes eye-contact, tongue circling your hole, that you realised you’re fucked. Up until now, he’s been toying with you – playing with his food, so to speak – lazily swirling his tongue around your clit and pressing buttons to see exactly where to push. And you'd welcomed it, a hand in his hair as you talked about your day – which he'd asked for, of course. 

Now, he's insatiable, eating you out like a man starved; all tongue and wet kisses to your swollen bud. You're slightly raised up on his shoulders, clamping around his tongue as he fucks into you fervently. Big palms spread you wider, and he hums into it, content.

"So pretty ," He sets you down, pupils blown as he studies the way your back arches and the way your legs shudder in the sheets. He slides upwards, sitting next to you, tracing a hand across the gentle curve of stomach that peeks out from your big t-shirt. 

Still coming down from your high, you're only just able to register it: he looks mesmerised, a dopey smile plastered on his face. 

"What?" You scoff when a moment passes, and his hand inches closer towards your lower lips. 

"M'just looking." He shrugs, with a little smile on his face. "I'm not allowed to look?" 

You scoff, but you're still shaky so it comes out a little more pathetic than you intend. Nevertheless, you start to sit up but he stops you with a gentle hand at your chest. 

"Call him." He says, pressing two fingers to your clit and then down to your gushing slit. 

Maybe it's the way he hunches over you, eyes flicking towards your lips, or the way he slips those fingers in; but your eyes go wide, and you're choking on your next words. 

"Call… Call who?" Playing dumb, dancing on a razor's edge, and Miguel only quirks up an eyebrow at the stupid question. 

"You know who." He says it low, smooth and dulcet as he curls his fingers at that sweet spot, experimenting. "I'll help you, fine. But I want you to call your ex, too. Let him know when to expect us. Is that okay, sweetheart ?" 

That last word comes with a twang, the lilting tone of what sounds like mockery. He twists the knife, nudging the flat of his palm onto your clit – still tender and throbbing from your last orgasm. 

Before you change your mind, you pick up the phone laid face down on the bedside table, pressing shaky fingers to its screen. You don't dare to look up, knowing Miguel is watching; dark eyes studying your every move. 

Flicking his wrist this way and that, he swallows roughly as your fingers stutter on the screen. Not completely satisfied, he still has the time to look smug, settling into a comfortable pace. Finally, your phone rings with a tell-tale dial tone. It rings once. It rings twice, and–

"Hello? " The voice is muffled as it says your name. Put it on speaker, Miguel mouths and you oblige.

"Hey, J-Jamie." The phone is shaky in your hands, so you lay it out next to you on the bed. 

"It's late, baby." You don't have time to be annoyed at his tone – or the unwarranted pet name – because Miguel speeds up, pumping in and out of you with a little more force. 

"I… I know. S-Sorry." You clamp down the moans that threaten to erupt, rocking your hips in time with the thrusts. 

Head lolling back into the sheets, you spend a good ten seconds in oblivious bliss, until Jamie breaks the silence. 

"You've been ignoring me for ages, baby… and then you call out of the blue. What is it?" He's tired, it sounds like. Irritated for sure. 

"Just w-wanted to–" Miguel presses his thumb to your clit and you jump. Once back down to earth he has to prompt you to answer. "-my stuff! Fuck , I just want to pick up my stuff."

"...now?" 

Tomorrow. Miguel mouths. 

"Tomorrow. " You repeat, wrapping a hand around his forearm to slow him down. It's too much, too fast; and he has the audacity to add another finger, scissoring out to stretch your cunt. 

"O-kay. " He clicks his tongue, with some things rustling in the background. "Okay. You're acting weird, but..."

You're conflicted. His tone makes you melt, reaching for your phone to answer when Miguel snakes a hand under your shirt, palming your tits. To your surprise, he presses shaky kisses to the skin, rolling around your nipple with the flat of his tongue. You keen, clamping a hand around your mouth to stop the noises that spill out. 

"...we still need to talk about what happened. About how we left things." 

Anger flares up at your chest; hot at the sheer gall. He wants to talk? Now, when you had been met with a brick wall of silence; begging and begging for even a simple explanation? 

What made it sting even more was that even after the breakup, everything happened on Jamie's terms. He broke up with you, providing little warning. He completely ghosted you, refusing to answer countless calls and messages. And now, he wants to talk; to make himself feel better and wank off his own ego, no doubt. It's not bitterness that makes you press Miguel closer, to revel in the pleasure that he gives you, you convince yourself. It's for you ; finally, unabashedly, just for you. 

You don't bother to answer, hanging up the call with a click. Tugging at his hair, you pull him off with a wet pop; slick-soaked fingers slipping out of your cunt.

He cradles your chin, angling you upwards. 

"You okay? Too much?" It barely registers; you're too focused on the tangle of curls framing his face, and the rosy pout of messy lips. 

You shake your head, writhing against the sheets. 

"More." You move his hand over to rest between your legs. "Please, Miguel."

His eyes flutter, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

“Eyes on me, baby.” 

He says it with sobering clarity, bolstered by just how precisely he slots against your bare pussy. You can feel it, the full length of his cock; pressed up against you as he slips it out of his sweats. Head spinning, it slaps onto your stomach. Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. Oh fuck. He's big. 

"Just like that." He coos, spitting into his palm and pumping his cock. “Wanna see how pretty you look when I make you cum.”

~~~

When tomorrow comes, you’re still sore from the litany of bruises and hickeys littered. It’s a Saturday, and you’re up bright and early. Well, Miguel is up bright and early, clattering around in the kitchen as you wake up. 

He seems energised, mug of coffee in hand whilst you rub the sleep from your eyes.  You waltz into the kitchen through the open doorway, morning breath and all. 

"Morning," You say, soft and giggly at the way he jumps ten feet in the air, too wrapped up in himself to notice at first. 

"Morning." He breathes, melting when he sees you in the shirt he had picked out for you last night. He shakes himself out of it. "Hungry? I can make something."

"No, no. M'good." You sidle up to the counter, head clocked at the fancy machine on the heavy slab. There's a question on the tip of your tongue, one you roll between your teeth. "Could I have some coffee? I mean… could you show me how?" 

Where you expect laughter, mockery, or surprise that you've lived here for months and can't figure out the coffee machine; he nods, patient and calm. You ask him more questions; curious with every flick of a switch, and the way he lights up when talking about it. To your surprise, you want to know more – anyway that comes. 

He's talking about expensive beans, and his favourite roasts – and a place across town that sells the exact kind he likes, but it's too fucking gentrified for him to go there more than two or three times a year. That makes you giggle: his little pout, the press of brow; and he looks up in surprise before joining you in light laughter. 

You finish, pouring cream into his special mug with a flourish, and he steals a sip before you can. You elbow him away, angling for that stolen taste. When you do, it is deep and rich; sweet in a way that reminds you of Miguel, grounded and balanced and silky. In short, it's the perfect cup of coffee. More than content, you hum. 

"Is it good?" He asks because he's already making mental notes, planning to greet you with a hot flask of the stuff in the mornings – if it means he gets that smile, of course. 

"Very." Fervently you nod, lips curved to the ceramic as you blow; and Miguel is trying really hard not to stare. Maybe it's the fact that he's seen you in a way not everyone gets to; pretty and vulnerable and writhing on the tip of his cock; but it has him fending off vivid daydreams. Your lips wrapped around his length, his hand pressing you further down, feeling that warmth as you choke on his–

He blinks and you're gone, padding off to your room with that mug of coffee. You return not too long after, phone in hand and tapping away at the screen. Miguel ignores the way it makes him feel, having your attention and then losing it just as quickly. Like a kicked puppy, he resists the urge to beg for more – of your time, of your attention – turning away to clean up instead. 

"I spoke to Jamie," You start, leaning with your back to the counter as he rolls up the sleeves of a comfy sweater. "He said he'll be around later in the evening, after his shift. Around 10. Is that okay?" 

He shrugs, not caring either way. You're a friend, and he's helping you because that's what friends do. He can still taste you on his lips, but it doesn't mean anything. Not in a way you'd want, anyways. 

"Sure." He doesn't turn around, stealing glances at the open window whilst he clatters around. "I've got a session later on anyways."

He catches a flash of something on your face, and you're pushing it away; prickly and uncomfortable. In his defence, he's stopped bringing people over for faux chemistry tutoring and there's less banging coming from across the wall. Less , but not completely gone, because you've learnt he has a penchant for dropping shit and cursing like someone's Dad. 

But you can't help but think about Sarah , and Jia …. and how close he would get to Sita on the dining table. Fuck . 

You're sighing now, tracing the curve of his jaw as he settles in front of the window: jaw set, arms crossed, and distant. He does that sometimes, goes off somewhere else – all teeth and claws. Tense, brows drawn up in a way that makes you want to smooth them out.  

You put your phone down and mug away, sliding across linoleum to gently nudge his shoulder with your own. 

"Are we…" He starts, and you track his line of sight to a quiet street below. He hums, without looking away. "Are we good?" 

It makes you turn. You blink, as if out of all the nonsense you bicker about daily, that was the most ridiculous. Good? Good? Of course we are, of course we always will be. How could we be anything else? You shut it down before it spills out of your mouth, overzealous and desperate. 

He clarifies with a nervous cough. "Last night. Was it… good?" 

His frown deepens, and you wonder if it's just you that hears it in his tone. His real question, the one that makes you splinter and creak like a felled oak tree: Was I good? Am I good enough?

"Yeah. " You say it like the most obvious thing in the world – and to you, it is. For all his flaws; assholery and its trimmings aside; Miguel has never been a bad lay. You don't even think he has it in him; he couldn't half-ass it if he tried.

"It was–" Fucking amazing . The kind of thing you'll fuck yourself to for the foreseeable future. Cathartic and breath-taking and hot . All of the above. 

Miguel finishes your sentence with something a little less… horny. "It was a lot, wasn't it? I wasn't really thinking, how uncomfortable it could be for you, and–" 

Gently, you laugh and cut him off. "I've been having mediocre sex for basically the whole of my adult life, Mig. This is… exciting and new. I like it, I really do."

Exciting and new. It brings him crashing back down to earth. You're enjoying the way he makes you feel, the thrill . Not… him. Not really, anyways. That pang of disappointment feels different, for some reason. He's never liked the song and dance of flirting, but he cherishes its rewards: of being wanted, and someone wanting him . So that fiery flame of need; deep and heady; is unfamiliar under his skin. 

"We can slow down, if you'd like." You bring a hand to his arm, warm and gentle. "I don't mind. We can go back to just messing around on the couch…."

You've got a cheeky smile when you say it; a vague memory of a different time, when you had gotten a little too comfortable on the sofa, leading to hands stuffed in trousers and pressed up against one another. Quick and desperate, you had wanted to see him fall apart; like he did your first night together, and the next, and the next. 

He gets closer, sandwiching you between the counter and his body. With a gentle hand, he strokes your hip, bunching up the fabric to get a peek of thigh.

“What do you like?” He’s deadly serious, red-brown eyes searching your face for something he can’t quite place. And just like that, the air is thick with tension. All you can manage is a limp shrug. 

“I don’t know, really.” It comes out as a croak , as you’re much too occupied with the shrinking gap between you both. “I haven’t done the things you’ve done.”

You’re making assumptions, of course. Filling in the gaps of what you’ve learnt in the past few months; of alleged threesomes and a laundry list of women at his feet. He’s an asshole; pretty and gruff and sarcastic; but God , he knows how to touch you just right.

“I could show you.” He slots a knee between your thighs and your head spins. “Make you feel good. ”

Before you can think, you’re nodding; chewing at your lip to bite back moans when he rucks up your shirt. He nudges your legs apart, both hands on your waist as he slots himself between them. You can feel it; quickly hardening, loose underneath sweats. Miguel slides wide palms to your ass, kneading its globes. With one hand, he picks up your leg by the thigh, and snakes the other to your pussy. Bare, because you’re trying to kill him, of course, and he groans at the feeling of his hand at your cunt; already wet and pliant for him. 

After a few wet taps to your hole, obscene, he slips himself out and you heave; pussy fluttering at just the thought of him inside you. Gathering up your slick on his palm, Miguel pumps his weeping cock, pressing its tip to your hole. 

"Still sore, Miguel." You hiss, looking down at where you both meet with the prettiest pout he thinks he's ever seen. 

It has you clawing at his back for purchase as he finally sinks in, stretching you out in that wonderful way he did last night. Except this time, he's slow and careful; steeling himself with shaky breaths. 

"Oh, fuck. " He settles in about halfway, stopping to hike up your leg just a bit higher. "Want me to make you feel better?" 

He says it breathless and crooning, forehead comes to rest on yours. With that other hand flat on the counter, you're lifted up to only toes on the floor, and he angles himself to buck up; filling you deep, and cock sliding past that sweet spot inside. He sets a pace, grinding into you, rather than fucking. If last night was dirty ; taboo, quick and primal; then this morning feels different. Intimate and reverent, he rolls his hips perfectly ; sending flashes of that first night down your spine. 

With the moans that spill out of your mouth, it takes all of Miguel's willpower not to swallow them in a kiss. Impossibly close, he traces up your thigh with a large palm; eventually pressing into the small of your back. Arching into him, your lips barely brush together, and you're both panting into open mouths; drunk on pleasure. 

"Miguel." There's a warning somewhere in your tone; underneath the layers of lust, you remind him of your previous agreement. 

"I… I know. " He swallows, nose pressed to yours, eyes screwed shut. He thinks if he opens them, he might spill into you right then and there. 

He's trying, he really is, tracing your cheek with his nose and mouthing at your neck – light kisses against the skin. He smells like coffee, bittersweet and heady, and you groan, rocking into him in a way that rubs up against your clit – before finding an ounce of restraint and putting a hand to his neck. 

You apply a little pressure, intending to push him away, but he likes it: eyes fluttering open, and mouth curved into a little O. It's a pretty sight that has you drooling, tits pressed against him as he practically purrs . And so, you pull him closer; nails dancing underneath his shirt, whispering filth into the shell of his ear. You're close, grinding into him like the push and pull of waves, merely waiting for the crescendo of orgasm to take you out to sea. 

"I'm close, Miguel." All he can do is hum, pulling you closer. "Fuck, I feel so good. You make me feel so good."

"Yeah? " He asks, needy in a way you haven't quite seen before. 

"M'gonna cum," You nod. "...because of you, baby. You did good. So good. Shit, ohh –g-god–" 

You clamp down on him, gushing around him with shaky legs. And Miguel is good; patient as he watches you fuck yourself through the aftermath. When it finally slows, he slips out with an obscene squelch clamping a hand to the base of his cock and leaning heavily on the counter. 

"It's okay," As if on cue, you kneel in front of him as best you can, tugging down your shirt to expose collarbone and the swell of tits. 

Miguel growls, grunting as he splatters thick cum across your chest, pumping his poor cock through it. 

He wouldn't have lasted a second longer, not with that smile across your face; smug as you swipe fingers across your chest and lick up the mess he's made. 

He's sighing, tucking himself back into gray sweats and pulling you up with a hand in yours; grumbling as you absentmindedly follow him to the sofa. 

You're leaning back onto the arm of the tattered material, and he settles to sit so your legs lay in his lap. He's frowning, again, and it makes you giggle, still licking up what's left on your fingers. 

He rolls his eyes, tapping a spot on your chin. A fat glob of his cum, dripping from your jaw to your neck. You miss it on the first swipe, and he gets impatient on the second, grabbing your hands and clambering over you. He drags the flat of his tongue to your skin, licking it up for you – and your eyes go wide. That… that felt good. 

You giggle at the sensation, so attuned to your roommate that you can hear it: his eyes clattering into the back of his skull, as he rolls his eyes a second time. 

"Is that okay?" He says it into the skin, pausing over a particularly tender spot. "Not too far?" 

"Feels nice, Mig." You sigh, content. Sun streams in on a lazy morning, and you're sore in the kind of way that feels good; fucked out and blissful. 

You lean into it, and then he sucks , teeth clashing onto the skin as he gives you a hickey and the juncture of your jaw. You wriggle, and he pins you down with one big hand holding down your arm, nipping and kissing and soothing it with a flash of tongue. This time he smiles, wrapping around your middle, tugging down your shirt to decorate your chest with hickeys. You play with his hair, wrapping soft curls between your fingers. 

You spend a little too long like that; curved into him, spines moulded to the shape of each other. It feels nicer than either of you would care to admit; the pretense of sex wrapped around you both like a thin veil. Before he leaves, Miguel indulges himself just this once; head on your chest and sinking into those arms wrapped around him. You smell like coffee and sweat and Autumn, somehow. He presses kisses wherever he can reach, for a bit longer. 

Miguel is okay. He's doing just fine. 

_

_

-

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[saatorubby]

the lakes

synopsis: you won’t die, not on their watch.

a/n: hi hi, i’m starting to write for jjk too! so i hope to you all like this. and i’m trying a new style? actually putting in effort? I’m actually so ill about these two divorced gay boys who broke up in front of kfc. also bunch of different taylor swift song references, bear with me, it has consumed my soul.

genre: angst to fluff.

pairing: satosugu x reader

warnings: gore (mild), death and murder (in reference to hidden inventory arc), depression (lowkey).

I: 2008

You were dying. It was the plain and simple fact.

You might’ve tried to convince yourself that it’d turn out fine if it wasn’t for the gaping wound in your stomach. It was less a wound and more a hole.

You think you saw your rib cage poking out.

You were already feeling light headed, on the verge of passing out. If it went like this, you reckon you don’t have more than half an hour.

You pull out your phone, taking a minute to linger on the photo set as your Lock Screen. It was of you and your lovers, Gojo Satoru and Suguru Geto, often dubbed as the strongest. If you’d had a dying wish, it would be to see them once more. But the world was a cruel, cruel place.

You slumped back on the wall as your mind flashed back to when everything went so wrong.

You were sitting in the backseat of the car, which was being driven by one of your old friends, ichiji, making small talk with him. Lately you hadn’t had time to devote to your friends. It had been a busy year.

“y/n-san?” Ichiji called after he saw you zone out, looking outside the window of the car, absent-mindedly admiring the scenic view of the countryside Tokyo. “We’re here.” He stated.

You zoned back in and nodded to Ichiji, thanking him for taking you out on this far, almost a half-day trip. You stepped out of the sleek black car.

You faced the apperent ‘haunted’ house. It was fairly big, could’ve passed as a mansion, if it wasn’t in such a shabby shape.

It was battered as if no one had lived in it for decades, which they probably hadn’t. The wood that would’ve been previously stately, were now rotten and unsightly.

You scrunched your nose in disgust, the smell of the dead never really leaves the house.

With a heavy sigh, you entered, ready to get this done and over with so you could go back to your stupid dumbasses and give them the date you promised.

You entered, the creek of the door was as ominous as ever. It was surprising that it was even hanging from from the hinges, judging by the condition. The inside of house was no better.

The walls were mossy, damp, and rotting. There was rubble in the ground from some places, with no roof, indicating the fallen ceiling.

This is one of the worst place you’ve worked in. But you’ve worked in worse. So you closed your eyes and sensed for its cursed energy. Everyone leaves residual, some people can hide it -like Suguru- but most can’t, and considering it’s a first grade, it probably can’t.

And bingo, you found-

A splatter sound was heard and something collided with your head, you pushed your arm, towards your head, and there it was, the red sticky substance of life, pouring out of your head

You turned around, eyes widened in surprise. It was not just the first grade.

Shit.

Now, you’ve somehow managed to defeat it, slumped on the same mossy and damp wall the one you scrunched your nose at earlier, with your legs splayed out, one hand clutching on your wound -the one on your stomach- holding it tightly, and in the other hand, your phone, displaying the picture of your two loves.

Ah, you really wished you could see them.

The picture was of a late-night adventure where all of you went to get ice cream. Satoru is grinning widely, with his signature peace sign and Suguru has an annoyed expression, no doubt due to some stupid comment passed by Satoru, though the softness of his eyes betrayed him, with a middle finger pointed at the camera. You were between them, taking the picture, with a smile on your face.

You smiled at them, tracing their faces on your phone before you felt the black spots appearing in your vision.

You had a feeling it’d end up like this. It always does, for people in your line of work. You just wished for what everyone wished for, a little more time.

Oh how you wished to go to the lakes where all the poet’s went to die. But as you thought, the world was a cruel, cruel place.

The phone in your hand slipped.

And so did you.

II: 2007

It’s been more than a year since you got to know those weirdos in your grade and the pretty girl. Satoru, Suguru and Ieiri.

Blue eyes and bangs. That’s what you called them. Or well, used to until it turned into a pretty, soft-spoken, Satoru and Suguru. The journey from former to latter wasn't a long one but you sometimes wonder whether you've known them for twenty seconds or twenty years.

Satoru was an exhilarating fresh breeze on your face on a windy day, full of adventure and new experiences and Suguru was the warmth of soft sun on a beach, relaxing and familiar. Satoru was your twenty seconds and Suguru was twenty years.

it had been a month since Riko Amanai died.

You think something in you died when you saw that child die. And those claps, that fucking sound haunted your ears still. The booming sound of the gun fired by toji fushiguro, the claps, and the innocent trip to the beach just a day before, it makes you sick to your stomach.

Because it wasn't just a child who had died, that child was your friend.

You think you're spiraling.

Every day is a routine. You wake up, greet your friends half-heartedly, go exorcise curses, come back late, and go straight to bed, not having enough energy to deal with anything or anyone.

You know Suguru is not well. You think you should talk to him. Satoru, he'll survive.

Maybe you're being too harsh, but this is all Satoru has ever known, what he was ever taught. He doesn't know how normal people live, or the joys of having a normal life. He won't do anything stupid.

Suguru knows how normal people live. And in their lives, children aren't murdered brutally.

But you want Satoru to explore normal life. Coffee in the morning, sweet spoken, sleepy mumbles, sunlight through the window pouring in the room, and writing their names on each other's backs.

You want him to explore all that. With you and Suguru.

So you've decided. Enough is enough. No more moping. You will do anything to keep this small family you've built with your friends.

I: 2008

Blinding white lights, thats all you saw as you first felt conscious. Maybe, you died for real this time, no second chances huh? But as it seems, eternal rest was not what destiny planned for you.

You open your eyes, blinking to get used to the flash of light. It was already giving you a headache. You groaned.

You heard panicked shouts and bustling, as a melodious female voice entered your ears to calm the other two distressed male ones.

You recognized them. Also, it means that you're in deep shit.

Regretting your choices and foreboding sleeping on the couch for a week, you open your eyes.

"Water." Croaking out that, sent you to a fit of cough, though, your savior appeared in the form of a rough set of hands that were holding you up, strong and tanned. Other, fairer, a bit lanky, but just as strong, held up a glass of after to your mouth, cupping your cheek to keep you in place.

You gulp down the water, reveling in the feeling of soothing cold water going down your dry throat.

You blink your eyes fully open, seeing the distraught faces of your lovers. Satoru, who was in front of you, holding an empty glass, looked like he'd been crying. His pretty eyes lined red.

Suguru, who after making sure you were sitting on the bed comfortably, came in front of you and sat down opposite Satoru. He didn't look much better, his face was unhealthy pale and he had bags under his eye.

You couldn't help but smile. Maybe the world isn't that cruel yet

"Hi." You croaked out, not being able to help a small bashful smile that made its way over to your face despite the graveness of the situation.

You were just so happy to see them.

"Hi, pretty." Satoru smiled in your direction. It was strained and wobbly, but even he couldn't hide the relief in his voice. He raised his hand and rested it on your cheek, caressing it.

Suguru came up and took your hands in his, softly squeezing them. "You scared us, baby." He said, gazing into your eyes with his misty ones.

"I'm sorry." Your hoarse voice groaned out, the smile was still ever-present on your face, though the feeling of remorse was there as well.

When you look at their faces, relieved and ridden of all the darkness, you think that maybe, maybe, you were able to save your family.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #suguru geto #geto suguru #satoru gojo x reader #suguru geto x reader #satosugu x reader #satosugu #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #poly satosugu #gojo x reader x geto #poly satosugu x reader

[cheapshrimpysheep]

For the request thing, might be dark but holing it's more angst/scary -> Fluff. NRC First years (or any boy you wanna write about) get a phone call from Fem!reader in the night, they think they hear someone breaking into Ramshackle and are scared, the boys' rush in to rescue/protect reader. (Up to you if there is actually someone breaking in or its just old house noises/Grim or ghosts rummaging around etc) thank you for your lovely work thus far!

COMMENTS: Hi! Thank you. 😊 First I just wanted to say that the way I wrote it doesn't make any difference if it's a Fem Reader, so I did it for a GN Reader like I always do. I also apologize that Ace and Deuce's parts are the shortest, it just happened. 😔

More recently I also have less time to write, which is why this one took so long to finish. But I hope you and all like it.❤️

BTW: I used Bard to help me with Epel's dialect. 😜

CHARACTERS: Freshmen (Ace Trappola; Deuce Spade; Jack Howl; Epel Felmier; Sebek Zigvolt)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader

WORD COUNT: An average of 490 words per character.

CONTEXT: You had stayed in the bedroom while Grim went downstairs to do something. Probably for a snack. But then you hear him shouting your name as if asking for help.

Knowing that without magic you could be in even more danger than Grim, you pick up your cell phone and call the first contact that appears.

“What's your deal calling so late, hum?” Ace says when he answers you. “It can be off with my head for this, you know?” You explain to him what happened. “Ah, so you called me to come and protect you, is that it?” he says smugly. “You're probably just exaggerating. Maybe Grim is asking for help because he realized he already ate all the-” he noticed that the call was suddenly cut. “Oi, Prefect?... (Y/N)?... (Y/N)?!”

Ace ran out of Heartslabyul without passing anyone who could stop him. Even though he knew he would have problems when he returned.

When he arrived at Ramshackle Dorm, he cautiously approached the door, trying to listen for something to know what state things were in and what situation you were in. But he can't hear anything.

Until you scream! He tries to open the door but it is locked. So he decides to break it in with magic, and runs to the lounge where you were.

“(Y/N)!” He runs to the lounge instinctively, automatically pointing his magic pen at whoever is there with you. Grim and the ghosts scream at being surprised by Ace and he realizes it's just you and them in the dorm.

“Wha- What is going on?!” He asks “You called me because you thought someone was breaking into the dorm. And I come running here to find out that nothing happened?”

You tell Ace that technically you never talked about someone breaking into the dorm, and that after all he was right and Grim was melodramatically asking for help because he had nothing to snack on.

“So what was that about the call hanging up while we were talking?” Your cell phone has run out of battery. “And the scream just now?” The ghosts had decided to take advantage of the situation to prank on you.

Ace was upset, probably as much as you were.

“Serious? All this rush for nothing. How am I going to explain this to the housewarden? I'm going to lose my head at this hour.” He looks at you with that sly smile. “You know, this is your fault. I came running here because you hinted that you were in danger. I think I deserve compensation. What if you let me sleep here tonight?

“If you get in charge of fixing the door that you just broke into.” Grim says.

“I did it because I thought it was an emergency!”

“Oh yeah? We can always settle this in Heartslabyul's court.”

“Fine, fine, I'll fix the door.” He looks at you “Can I sleep here tonight then?”

“Hi (Y/N). It's really late for you to be calling, is something wrong?” You explain to Deuce what happened. “Don't leave your room! Stay safe there, I'm on my way!” He hangs up the call and runs out of Heartslabyul without passing anyone who could stop him. He doesn't think twice because you wouldn't be the type to play a prank like that on him. Right?

When Deuce arrives at Ramshackle, he calls your cell phone. But you don't answer. Which worries him even more. He runs to the front door and tries to open it. Obviously it was locked. So he breaks it open with a mix of brute force and magic... or maybe a cauldron.

“(Y/N)! GRIM!” He calls.

“DEUCE?!” He hears the incredulous voice of you and Grim in unison. They were coming from the lounge, so he runs there. To find you, Grim and the ghosts safe and sound.

“Are you guys okay? What happened?”

You explain to him that after all, Grim was just melodramatically asking for help because he had nothing to snack on.

“Oh... That's a relief, I think. But why didn't you answer me then? I called you before I came in.” Your cell phone had run out of battery. He sighs and smiles at you. “Well, I'm glad it was just a misunderstanding and that you're okay.” All of his priorities at that moment were knowing that you were safe, so much so that it didn't even occur to him to ask any more questions.

You hear the door that Deuce had just broken down creaking in the wind. “I am so sorry!” he says “I can fix the door, don't worry.”

But the wind starts to get stronger, and thinking about the problems he will have when he returns, you invite him to sleep in Ramshackle Dorm that night.

“Are you sure?” He asks, as if he also said he didn't want to bother. It's the least you can do for him. And you will talk to Riddle to explain what happened and stop him from cutting off Deuce's head.

“Thank you so much (Y/N).” He smiles at you. “I promise I'll fix the door tomorrow.”

“Hello (Y/N). Is something wrong?” Jack knew that for you to be calling at that time there was little chance of it being for a simple conversation. You explain to him what happened. “Did you hear any other strange noises?” You say there was absolutely nothing else, which also worries you. And at that moment you start to hear the wood on the floor creak as if someone was climbing the stairs. “Stay safe in your room! I’m on my way!”

The thing is that when you called him, he was already getting ready for bed. So he quickly changed his clothes with the help of magic and ran out of Savanaclaw right to Ramshackle Dorm. Making sure not to wake up any of the Savanaclaw students who might already be asleep, especially Leona.

When he arrives, he uses his signature spell to transform into a wolf and sniff the outside of the dorm to try to notice if there was any different smell, from someone other than you and Grim perhaps. But he doesn't notice anything strange in the air. Which meant that either there was nothing strange going on or whoever showed up was really good at hiding their tracks.

He approaches the front door and tries to listen inside. And that's when he hears you scream. He wastes no more time, breaks down the door in his wolf form and follows the trail of your scent to you. Upstairs. In your bedroom.

As soon as a huge white wolf appears at the door of your bedroom, Grim and the ghosts are the ones who scream this time. No one else was there with you. Jack returns to his beastman form.

“What happened? Did someone break into the dorm? Have they already run away?” He still had his defensive and ready to attack posture.

You apologize to him and explain that Grim's cry for help was nothing more than him being melodramatic when he discovered he was out of snacks.

“So who was coming up the stairs when you called me?”

After Grimm screams, the ghosts appear and they thought it was an excellent opportunity to scare you. They had just jump-scared you before Jack showed up. Up until then they had been making strange noises to build the suspense.

“And did you find that funny?!” Jack shouts at them. “This could have been an emergency! You shouldn't joke about something like that!” He starts to calm down as the ghosts apologize and Grim says it wasn't out of spite. And he remembers one thing. He puts his hand on the back of his neck and rubs it. “Oh, um... I... I ended up breaking down your door to get in. I'm sorry. I'll fix it.”

After all that and at a time like that, you invite Jack to sleep in Ramshackle Dorm. It's the least you can do for getting him into all that mess.

“Well, that would be very helpful. Especially because I don't want to risk waking up anyone in my dorm when I get back. But... are you sure?” You could see his tail starting to wag a little.

“Good evening (Y/N).” Epel greets you “Is everything alright?” You explain to him what happened. “Hmm?! M-Maybe it's nothing serious. D-Do you have any way of knowing what happened safely? You know, without you being noticed if someone is there I mean?”

You say you'll try and Epel hears you walking and leaving the door of your bedroom but then he stops hearing anything.

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?... (Y/N)?!” He looks at his cell phone and sees that the call has disconnected. “Land sakes alive, what have I done now? I gotta get on over there right this minute!” AKA: "AH! What have I done? I have to go there! NOW!"

He changes his clothes as quickly as possible with the help of magic and runs out of Pomefiore. Praying that no one spots him and stops him. The part about someone stopping him didn't happen, now the part about being seen or noticed could be another story.

When he arrives at Ramshackle Dorm he tries to call you again, but it seems like your cell phone is turned off. He prepares his magic pen and thinks about breaking the door with magic. But then he realizes that he can make your situation worse, since he doesn't know what's happening inside.

Until he hears you scream and then he forgets all his pacifist options and breaks down the door as his instinct was telling him to do.

“(Y/N)?!” he calls for you.

“EPEL?!” He hears your incredulous voice. It was coming from the lounge, so he runs there. To find you, Grim and the ghosts safe and sound.

"What in tarnation happened? Y'all alright?"

You explain to him that after all, Grim was just melodramatically asking for help because he had nothing to snack on.

“You're pulling my leg, ain't you? All this hullabaloo over a little snack?” You, Grim and the ghosts look at him confused. He clears his throat. “I mean, all this fuss for a late night snack?” He looks at Grim in annoyance. “Wait!” He looks at you. “What about your cell phone? The call dropped and I couldn't call you anymore.”

You explain that you ran out of battery on it.

“And your scream just now?”

The ghosts had decided to take advantage of the situation to prank on you. He looks at the ghosts with the same look of annoyance that he looked at Grim. Epel takes a deep breath and sighs. You all heard the wind making the now broken door creak.

“Ah! The door!” He realizes. “I’m so sorry. I break it to get in. I can fix it, I promise. I can make it as good as new. I can make it look like new. Since you'll probably need a new one anyway. I´m sorry... again.”

After all that, at a time like that, and thinking about the problems he will have when he returns, you invite Epel to sleep in Ramshackle Dorm. And you say that you will explain everything to Vil, especially the fact that Epel did that because he thought you were in danger.

“R-Really?! Um, but are you sure it's okay for me to sleep here tonight?”

“HUMAN!” Sebek shout at your ear. “What is your business calling me at an unacceptable hour like this?” You explain to him what happened. “Don't be ridiculous! I'm sure nothing serious could be happening.” You hear footsteps coming up the stairs and approaching your bedroom. You tell him this. “Are you saying those footsteps sound like a human and not Grim?” The call hangs up. “Human?... (Y/N)! I DEMAND THAT YOU ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW IF YOU ARE LISTENING TO ME!” But he doesn't hear anything else.

Under normal circumstances he would notify Lilia and ask for permission to leave Diasomnia at an hour like that. But he was also trained to act in emergencies and this was one of those times. He cannot waste any time and must leave immediately for Ramshackle Dorm.

Despite his temperament, he was trained to know how to act in these types of situations. He must first analyze what is happening and only then create a plan. Otherwise he takes the risk of making things even worse and in the worst case scenario, your life will end because of his irresponsibility. He approaches the door and listens. Things were calm, too calm. Until he hears you scream!

He immediately breaks down the door with just his strength and takes out his magic pen. He hears movement upstairs. In your room. He runs there and when he arrives, his warning shout gives a heart-stopping scare to everyone there with you. Which is just Grim and the ghosts.

“WHAT HAPPENED? I REQUEST A REPORT IMMEDIATELY!”

You explain to him that after all, Grim was just melodramatically asking for help because he had nothing to snack on. And then he and the ghosts decided to take advantage of the situation to play a trick on you.

“Was that why you screamed before I came in?” He asks. You confirm. “What about your cell phone? The call ended after you told me you heard someone coming up the stairs.” Your cell phone ran out of battery.

“HOW CAN YOU BE SO CARELESS? You should always have your greatest means of communication ready for an emergency!” He then looks at Grim. “AND YOU! You should redefine your priorities! Asking for help over a snack is unacceptable!” Before Grim can complain, he finally looks at the ghosts, but still referring to Grim as well. “And what you did, from what I know, humans call it a prank. I always found them unnecessary and ridiculous. And look how right I am! UNACCEPTABLE TO BE USED IN A SITUATION LIKE THIS!”

Grim starts arguing with Sebek until the ghosts say he's right. That was a mean joke at a bad time and they apologize to both you and Sebek. Which brings a smug to his face.

You hear a creak, the wind passing through the broken door.

“Do you see where your joke took you? You made me break down the door thinking it was a rescue.”

“You broke her because you wanted to!” Grim responds. “We didn't force you into anything!”

Sebek sighs, annoyed. “Very well, I'll find a way to fix the door. BUT MAY THIS BE THE LAST TIME YOU TRICK (Y/N) TO THE POINT OF CALLING ME TO COME HERE!”

After all that and at a time like that, you invite Sebek to sleep in Ramshackle Dorm.

“Don't worry.” He says “There will be no such need. Just as I came here, I can easily return without any problems.” But if you say that you feel bad about making him go to Ramshackle Dorm for nothing and that it is the least you can do for the inconvenience, he might reconsider. “Oh, I see. You're still scared, are you not? Very well, I can keep you company tonight.”

If you dropped in here out of the blue and want to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#1000 followers #1K followers #1000 followers milestone #1K followers milestone #1000 followers celebration #1K followers celebration #Twisted Wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst wonderland #twst fluff #Twisted Wonderland Fluff #twst requests #Twisted Wonderland requests #requests #Ace Trappola #Ace Trappola x Reader #Ace x Reader #Deuce Spade #Deuce Spade x Reader #Deuce x Reader #Jack Howl #Jack Howl x Reader #Jack x Reader #Epel Felmier #Epel Felmier x Reader #Epel x Reader

[dixons-sunshine]

hi I just wanted to start with I really love your writing its just so good. I do have a request and if your not interested its okay it is angst but with a possible happy ending.

so its a daryl x reader where before the apocalypse r and daryl were together and they ended things right before everything went to shit and then when the group gets to Alexandria r is there and she has kid/s (maybe twins?? boy and girl??) so turns out r found out she was pregnant right when everything started happening so daryl didn't know and idk he like puts two and two together yk? and if you're okay with it can she be hispanic/ latin (maybe that can be one of the reasons they broke up bc yk merl is an ass to POC)

anyways sorry if that was a lot or didn't make sense

anyways have a good day/night much love <3

Two Plus Two Makes Four | Daryl Dixon x Hispanic!Fem!Reader

Summary: A week before the apocalypse, Daryl was forced to break up with you by Merle, leaving you heartbroken, but not alone—soon after he left, you found out you were pregnant. Now, two years later, you come face to face again with the man that broke your heart, and he finds out something shocking.

Genre: Angst, some fluff towards the end.

Era: Alexandria, pre Saviour arc.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth.

Word count: 1.3k

A/n: Sorry this took so long to finish. I hope this is good enough to make up for the wait! Please note that I used Google translate for this, so the translations may be incorrect or awkward! Feel free to correct me if you spot any mistakes! (Translations will be at the bottom.)

—

“Kids?! Ya were pregnant and ya didn't fuckin' tell me?!” Daryl bellowed angrily, grabbing your arm to halt you from walking away from him.

You ripped your hand from his grip. “¡No me toques!” You spun around, furiously pointing a finger in your ex boyfriend's direction. “Don't you even dare put this on me, Dixon! You left. You walked out because you cared more about your brother's opinion than you did me! I'm sorry I wasn't gonna baby trap a man who didn't wanna be with me!”

“I deserved to know! I missed two years of their lives 'cause ya didn't tell me! I could of been there fer 'em, for ya, but ya chose to keep it from me!” Daryl exclaimed angrily, following you as you walked into your kitchen. “How could ya keep tha' from me?!”

“You chose to run to your brother the first chance you got! Four years down the drain in an instant for that racist asshole. I didn't owe you anything after that, maldito idiota!”

Daryl stopped in his tracks, instantly regretting starting up this particular argument. You spoke nothing but the truth. You didn't owe him anything. After all, it was him who walked out on you. He chose to let Merle's judgement get to him and influence his relationship. Hell, if it weren't for Merle, he would have proposed to you. He already had a ring picked out and everything back then, but he let Merle ruin everything. It was his own stupidity that cost him two years of his children's lives.

“Mama?”

At the sound of a small, timid voice coming from behind you, both you and Daryl turned and came face to face with your kids, your two year old twins. Your son, Luka, was nervously looking up at you and Daryl while your daughter, Camilla, was standing behind him, holding his hand.

Daryl was struck by the similarities both children shared with him. They both had his eyes, and his hair colour. They were spitting images of him. There was no doubt in his mind that these two children were his. He wasn't blind. He could see they were.

“Everything's fine, amores. I'm just having a conversation with Mr Dixon.”

Camilla stepped forward, her eyes lighting up with wonder. She looked up at Daryl, a smile spreading across her chubby cheeks. “Dixon?” she asked, pointing up at him. “Papa?”

Daryl was surprised. He looked up at you in confusion, silently asking for an explanation. You sent him a strained smile, forcing a relaxed look in front of your children.

“I always talk about you. They deserve to know who their father is. Well, who he was before he left me,” you explained, looking back down at Camilla and Luka.

“Papa?” Luka asked as he stepped forward, his blue eyes that reflected Daryl's sparkling with wonder. “Our papa?”

Daryl looked at you for permission, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. You nodded, silently giving him permission. He was their dad, after all, and he had just as much right to have a relationship with them as you, even if he did leave you. However, that was between him and you, and your children didn't deserve to be denied a relationship with their dad because of it.

The archer bent down, looking between Luka and Camilla as they stared at him in wonder. “Yeah, m'yer papa. M'sorry I wasn't here before, but m'here now. I ain't goin' nowhere.”

Daryl wasn't sure how much of his speech they understood, if they understood anything at all, but it didn't matter. The speech was mainly meant for you. It was to let you know that he wanted to be a part of their lives, and there was just about nothing that could stop him from that.

Camilla and Luka, as if having some sort of twin power, both simultaneously rushed forward and into his arms. Daryl wasted no time in hugging them back, somehow managing to pick them both up and rest them comfortably in his arms. It was relatively late, nearly eight at night and well past their bed times, so they rested their heads on his shoulders, making Daryl's heart swell with fondness. They didn't even know him, only having heard of him through the stories you told them, but they already trusted him. And even though he just found out he had kids, he would kill for them.

“We need to talk, sunshine. This ain't somethin' we can just sweep under the rug,” he told you, allowing you to take Luka from his arms to lighten the load. He adjusted his hold on Camilla, letting out a fond chuckle when he heard her yawn and nuzzle her face deeper into his shoulder.

You let out a sigh and nodded. “I know. But let's get these dormilones to bed first.”

Approximately half an hour later, the twins were tucked into bed and asleep. You and Daryl were back in the kitchen, both having a glass of wine in your hands—liquid courage for the conversation you were about to have.

“M'sorry fer leavin' ya,” Daryl broke the silence first, nervously sloshing the liquid around in his glass. “I dun' even know why I did. Merle's opinions should've never influenced our relationship. I loved ya. I still do. I regret leavin' ya more than anythin' else in my life.”

You inhaled deeply, willing the tears away. For two years you had wanted an explanation, and now you were finally getting one. However, hearing him admit that he still loved you, that you weren't stupid for still loving the man who broke your heart, was both relieving and hurtful.

“You hurt me, Daryl,” you whispered, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I get that Merle was your brother, but you should've never let him influence you like that. I had to go through everything alone. Do you know how hard it was being pregnant and fighting for my life against the dead out there? Do you know how terrified I was? I was lucky enough to find Alexandria a couple of days before I gave birth. If I didn't, I would've given birth out there with the walkers. I probably would've died. Camilla and Luka too.”

Daryl felt the guilt gnawing at his insides. He really hated himself at that moment. “M'sorry, sweetheart. I really fuckin' am. I promise I won't leave again. I dun' expect you to give me a second chance. God knows I dun' deserve it, but I promise I'll be here fer ya and the lil ones. I ain't ever gon' let ya down again, I promise.”

You gave him a small smile, reaching over to take his hand in yours. You rubbed your thumb over his knuckles, something you always did whenever the two of you had a serious talk. “Give me some time, Daryl. I still love you, but I need some time to adjust to the idea of 'us' again. It's been just me and the twins for two years. As far as I knew before today, I thought I wouldn't see you ever again. Just focus on the kids for now, okay? They deserve to know their daddy.”

Daryl's lips twitched up into a smile, and he nodded. “I'll wait as long as ya need me to. I ain't ever gon' let anyone influence us ever again, I can assure ya of tha'. And I ain't ever gon' leave ya to raise 'em alone, never.”

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

¡No me toques!: Don't touch me!

Translations (May be incorrect! Please feel free to correct me if they are!):

maldito idiota!: fucking idiot!

amores: loves.

dormilones: sleepyheads.

#krys writes .ೃ࿐ #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #twd daryl #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #the walking dead #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader

[deathbyathousandspiders]

Hi elle! I was wondering if you could do some angst in where reader is tony's daughter but shes the forgotten one and tony shows a lot of affection to peter and one day she just loses it. Its ok if you don't want to.

Stay safe and drink water!

i’ve never felt so motivated to write something–

content warnings (18+) — immense swearing, mentions of insecurity and negative outlook, yelling, author possibly projecting?, maybe too many italicized words/phrases.

✨masterlist✨.

3.5k.

You knew your dad loved you. He had to. He said it to you a million times before, and made it a point to remind you of it once a day. However, there were moments nowadays where you began to question it. You didn’t really question whether he loved you or not, but rather, whether he loved Peter Parker more than you.

Tony had referred to Peter as the son he’d never had. He’d taken Peter on retreats and to expos when he hadn’t taken you out on a trip since you were nine years old. He’d bought things for Peter, and fixed things for Peter, and every meme or video or cat picture you found on the internet to show to your father would automatically get the response: “send that to me, i want to show it to Peter.”

Peter this and Peter that. It sent you into a spiral of insecurity that you’d never known existed. You truly felt like Tony was trying to tell you something subliminally. You tried to drown yourself in coursework, go to engineering camps, and help out with the Avengers just to try and gain a better understanding of their bond. Of what you lacked. Nothing seemed to help. It jabbed at your feelings like a knife to the back, presumably left by Peter Parker himself.

And the worst part? You’d never even met the guy. You’d never been introduced to Peter Parker, despite how many times Tony mentioned the fact that he’d “love for you two to meet,” and “you two would get along great.” Yeah, sure. And he’s probably some gross ass dude with an untamed beard in his mid–twenties that your father took pity on. So much pity, in fact, that he’d invited Peter to stay over for the weekend in your penthouse apartment.

Fantastic.

It was such a sudden proposition, and a last second invite, but it happened. And Tony insisted, despite every protest you attempted to give, that you’d both greet him in the lobby.

So when you were face to face with a surprisingly attractive boy your age who had the deepest brown eyes you’d ever seen and barely packed a duffel bag, you were thrown off your rocker. You hardly had the composure to speak. Thus, your father did for you, smiling wider than you’d ever seen him smile before.

He was barely showing teeth, but you hadn’t seen your father this excited about something in a while. “Kid, this is my daughter, Y/N.” He stated proudly, grasping Peter’s shoulder as he started introductions. “And sweetheart,” Tony addressed you, turning his full focus to you as he gave Peter’s introduction. “This is Peter Parker.”

There was something about him that caused for you to detest him. It wasn’t seen on his clothes, or in his eyes. It wasn’t dangling in the tension between you, or whispered through his silent stares, but it was there. Perhaps, it came from the depths of your subconscious, and the land of your imagination. You shoved that proposition deeper into your subconscious, too.

Because you were certain that you had a hatred for Peter Parker, and his little staycation with the Stark’s would prove it.

The first night was fine. Your dad didn’t make you do any activities together, thank God, but he did surprise you with the news that he had to leave the next morning for a last second Avengers emergency. He didn’t know when he’d be back, but Tony assigned you and Peter with the task of rewiring a circuit board in his lab before he returned.

Being the daughter of Tony Stark, you’d taken the initiative to finish the project yourself. It was your house, anyways. It was a request that your father had made to you, so you intended to do it. You just hated the fact that Peter persisted in being with you in the room while you finished it. You hated the silence he left in the room, and the way he kept checking over your shoulder. God, you just hated him. You were sure of it.

You could feel his presence watching over your hands as they worked. You could feel the weight of his judgment, his breath catching in hesitation. You could smell the fumes of his cologne, and the aroma of his hair products. It was infuriating. It was pressuring. It felt mocking, taunting.

He stepped closer, hands reaching over to where yours were tinkering, yet they didn’t dare to touch your project. “A–actually, you should move the circuit focus closer to the–”

The audacity he had to question you. The nerve he struck with his comment, it filled you with rage.

Wrench and wire were thrown to the table, clanking and clamoring as they caved to gravity’s pull. Their sound was the only thing keeping you and Peter from shared silence. The shared silence of your anger. You turned your head to look at him, hoping that you weren’t physically exhaling flames like you imagined you were.

“Can you just.. not?” The question almost came out as a laugh. You nearly laughed, in disbelief that Peter Parker thought he had any say in how you built a robotic contraption. “Can you just fucking not?”

Walls had been building up inside you, livid and rageful feelings clouding your judgment as you glared at him. You couldn’t see just how shocked he was, thrown off at your irritation. You couldn’t see how puzzled he was, or panicked that he’d done something to upset you so much. You just stared into the eyes of what felt like your replacement. You felt empty, worthless, as your figure reflected back at you through the glistening of his eyes.

“Can I not what? Did I– Did I upset you?” Just the sound of his voice crawled beneath your skin. It felt worse than the sleek of humidity, or nails on a chalkboard. It sounded teasing, coy.

It was the final straw.

Nails dug into your palm as your hands formed fists. One fist pressed to your forehead, almost speaking as a warning to tell you to keep composure, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t fucking stand it anymore. “Can you stop being so fucking perfect all the time?” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

There were several things that you’d been wanting to say to Peter Parker. You’d wanted to tell him off for a long time, but you’d never gotten the chance. Now, you’d given yourself the opportunity to let the floodgates open and your tongue run wild.

“You’re always making shit competitive and iT’S NOT OKAY. It’s not my fault that my own father loves yOU MORE THAN ME! Doesn’t mean you have to fucking rub it in my face every gODDAMN FUCKING HOUR!!” God, this felt good. “You can just do my job for me!! Fucking move into my rOOM at this point, Tony won’t know the difference!!” You scoffed, “In fact, he’d probably be tHRILLED that you FINALLY REPLACED ME!!”

Peter Parker blinked a few times at you. His mouth hung agape, too scared to say anything and interrupt what looked like things you had been needing to say. The look infuriated you.

“Build the circuit board by your goddamn fucking self and leave me the fuck alone!!” And as you made the final statement, you turned to make your leave. The subtle breeze caught your face, and you felt the air hit your cheeks cold; you hadn’t noticed that you’d started crying.

You also hadn’t noticed the fact that your dad entered the room. You froze dead in your tracks at the sight of him, tears brimming your eyes again when you saw how upset he looked.

Shit.

It wasn’t your intention for him to hear all of that, but you couldn’t take back the truth once it’d gotten out. You took a staggered breath, choking back a sob as you rushed out. You didn’t know which hurt more: to hear your father’s footsteps tread further from you, or to hear him ask Peter about what was happening rather than you directly.

Either way, it was an added punch right to the gut.

It felt like ten minutes of sobbing in your room went by before a knock was placed on your door. You were about to answer, but you weren’t given the chance; your father opened the door as soon as he’d placed the knock, a solemn look coating his face as he looked at you from the doorframe. It was a solemn look that resembled disappointment.

He was disappointed in you.

Your dad was disappointed that you’d blown a fuse in front of your house guest. Disappointed that you’d ruined your chance at a good first impression. Disappointed that you’d shown such weakness. He was disappointed that you didn’t meet his expectations. He was disappointed in you for not making his honorary son feel more welcomed. Your father was disappointed in you for fucking it all up. You could tell.

Tony took careful steps towards your bed, sitting next to you as you stifled your sobs down a bit. “Do.. You want to talk about what happened back there?” His tone was softer than you’d anticipated for someone who was disappointed in you. It almost sounded apologetic, sympathetic; you were certain that your mind was reaching for a false reality.

A sniffle caught your breath as you looked at him, fresh tears framing your face. “How much of that did you hear?” You were almost too scared to ask, but you needed to know. You had to know which bit of air to clear first.

“All of it.” Tony started, “From the part where you asked Peter not to be so fucking perfect all the time..” His tone got a little sharper, almost witty. It sounded like he was trying to make humor of your meltdown. As though he were trying to find a way to cheer you up, or tell you to grow up and get over yourself. You couldn’t tell.

You averted eye contact for a moment, trying not to blow up again. Luckily, most of the anger in your system was boiling down to melancholia. Your tears ran rivers down your face as you tried to find the words to say. “I just don’t understand..” You started, keeping your voice from breaking.

Every speck of humor fled from his face at how upset you were getting. Tony’s brows pressed together, graveness and concern bleeding through his tone of voice. “Don’t understand what, honey?” The gentleness of his tone reminded you of when he’d comfort you in childhood. It took you back to when he’d snapped at you and wanted to apologize, or when you’d scraped your knee and he rushed to patch you up. It started to ease the narrative in your head that Tony was angry with you for your little tantrum.

“I, uh.. I don’t—” A shaky breath cut you off. You weren’t sure how to communicate this feeling lightly. It’d been bottled up and growing inside you for a couple months now. You knew you’d have to tell him at some point, you just despised how raw it was. It was pure vulnerability. “I don’t understand what I did to not be good enough–” You couldn’t even get through the sentence before your lip quivered.

That was when Tony looked at you like the entire world shattered. His entire world shattered. The disappointment flooded his expression once again, but it hit you that it was never directed at you — Tony was disappointed in himself. His eyes held the weight of failing as a father, of making you feel this rejected. He failed by making you feel rejected in the first place. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a suffocating hug; you weren’t sure if he’d ever actually be able to let go of it, yet it was the kind of hug you didn’t want to part from. A hug that shielded you from the entire world.

His lips pressed to your temple, along with a few stray tears he couldn’t catch beforehand. It was rare to catch your father tearful, yet you seemed to lower that guard when you started the conversation. He held you close, letting you cry out the feelings you’d locked away for so long.

“Y/N, you’re more than enough..” He lulled, voice breaking ever so slightly, “It’s my fault you ever felt like you weren’t..” His words were everything you’d hoped to hear. You’d began to believe the possibility that actually hearing them wasn’t actuality. This insecurity had driven you beyond wild, to the point where you believed that your father’s intentions were pinned against you.

They never were.

Tony held you in his arms for the next hour, letting you talk out your growing anxiety. You talked about everything from your fomo towards their retreats and trips, to how thrown off you were that Peter was your age.

“I actually think you two would make a cute couple.” Tony started, laughing at how quick you were to throw a punch at his bicep. The melancholy had worn off both of you, and the room started to fill with laughter. “I’m serious!” Tony threw his arms up to mock defeat before changing the topic a little. “But really, I think he wants to apologize to you for what happened.”

Your face drew a blank, mixing shock and confusion as you blinked at your father a few times. “Parker wants to apologize to me? For my meltdown?”

A shrug caught in your father’s posture. “You two are more similar than you think, hon.” His tone was light and sincere as he chuckled, quietly, “You both put the weight of other people’s mistakes on your shoulders.” His words draped a blanket of guilt over your body. Your own words from said meltdown began to replay through your brain like a broken record; the blame you’d thrown at Peter was wrongfully served.

You knew you needed to apologize.

After rebuilding trust with your father, and mentally rehearsing how to apologize to Peter, you made your way across the apartment to the guest room.

The door was already open, and gave you the perfect view of Peter seated on the edge of the bed. He was reading, fidgeting fingers at the edge of his pages, and chocolate curls shadowing his focused expression.

Now that you’d been able to release the steam of your self–consciousness, you realized that hatred wasn’t the actual feeling you had towards Peter; it was envy. And once you had talked things out with your father, the clouds of your judgment cleared from your vision and you could finally see Peter Parker for who he really was: a boy. A boy your age who needed a place to crash for the weekend.

You felt guilty for interrupting his reading, but at this point, the feeling was a tiny speck to add to your growing pile of culpability. The knock was gentle, and immediately pulled his eyes to meet yours.

“Mind if I come in for a minute?” You had to croak the words out, but still managed to keep a softness to your tone. You didn’t want to yell at him again, or come across like you were about to.

The look he gave you wasn’t one you weren’t expecting; he eyed you like he’d committed an unforgivable crime, or like you’d break if he didn’t hold you together. It gave you reassurance that this apology definitely needed to come out sooner than later.

Peter book–marked his place without looking, keeping his stare fixed on you while he nodded. “Please,” He gestured to the foot of the bed beside him, “Sit. I– uh, I was planning to find you and see if you were alright, but I didn’t want to interrupt your space.”

As you sat down beside him, a smile touched your lips at how thoughtful he was. “I appreciate that, but I–I owe you an apology, Peter..” You never broke your eye contact, but the look in your eyes grew more urgent, pleading. “I am so sorry for speaking to you that way, and–”

You cut yourself off at the sight of Peter waving his hands in dismissal. He mirrored the look in your eyes, “No, Y/N, I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way. I don’t want you to feel like I’m here to replace you.” His words held a direness that yours should have. Your dad was right, Peter really was putting the gravity of this into his hands.

To stop his spiral, you touched his arm for a minute, “Peter, that wasn’t your fault. It was mine for assuming and unloading all of that shit onto you. And I’m sorry for that.”

His eyes alone begged you to let him win the argument. “I still could have–”

You cut him off, “Peter, it’s not your fault.” You tried to emphasize your point, noticing the way he read your expression. His eyes scanned every inch of your face, searching for what looked like a sign of your uncertainty. His lips parted to contribute his side of the argument, but one look from you shut his trap pretty quickly.

Peter’s shoulder’s eased, but his eyes still glistened with ambition. He wanted you to understand his perspective a little. “Did your dad tell you how nervous I was to meet you?”

That wasn’t what you were expecting. Your eyes widened a little, shaking your head in response. Peter Parker? Nervous to meet you? The way your dad talked about him didn’t set him up to be that way. Of course, seeing him in front of you changed your perception a little. “No, he didn’t.” You were honest.

He wet his lips, parting them with the warmest smile you’d ever set your eyes on. The laugh that spilt from them was melodic, laced with a bit of nerves. He rubbed a muscle on the back of his neck, suddenly choking up. “Yeah, I was pretty nervous.” His brow arched slightly, complimenting his grin photogenically. “I was nervous ‘cause Mister Stark’s always talking the world to me about his amazing daughter.” Peter’s smile grew in your direction, stirring a hurricane of butterflies through your stomach.

It felt like the two of you were in the midst of a staring contest; though, instead of the intense anticipation glistening in each other’s eyes, you mutually stared at each other in security. You’d both had the immense pressure of making good impressions toward the other on your shoulders.

Peter repositioned himself on the bed, now seated facing you. His legs were crossed beneath him, his knee a hair from touching yours. “You, Y/N, are not only his greatest accomplishment, but you’re his best friend.” His words spread like butter over every worry you’d had, melting away that crippling insecurity with it. “I think he wants to be you when he grows up.”

The laughs that bubbled up your throat brought attention to the tears brimming your eyes. You blinked them away, mirroring Peter’s earnest expression. “I can tell why my dad’s always talking about you.” You told him, “And here I was thinking you’d be some old ass dude living in his mother’s basement, but here we are.”

“And here I was thinking you wouldn’t be drop–dead gorgeous.” His cheeks were ablaze with crimson, sending a pink glow of your own to your complexion. “But, here we are.”

Your smile grew, rolling your eyes playfully at him. “Alright, casanova. Save it for the love letters.” It felt nice to share laughter like this with Peter. You were glad that you gave him a second chance. Not breaking eye contact, you slid off the bed and rose to your feet. “I’ll let you get back to your reading”

Peter watched you get up to go, looking a little disappointed. You were almost surprised, but likewise, both you and Peter hid the honesty of your feelings behind the curtains of a smile.

“You don’t have to. You could stay if you want.” He started, but a look flashed behind his eyes that was rather telling; he seemed to panic over his eagerness for your company. “Unless you don’t want to–”

Biting the inside of your cheek hurt, but it was the only way to hide how wide your smile grew. “I’d love to, but I need to finish that circuit board.” And thus, the idea struck you. “You doing anything later though?”

His brows pressed together in a curious way. “Not really. You planning something?”

“Yeah. My dad and I usually have movie nights tonight.” You took paces backwards towards the door, but stalled from the moment you’d have to part ways. “You should join us! It’s my turn to pick.”

The sight of his dimples made you realize just how much you’d grown fond of his smile. It was already getting difficult to leave his presence; you knew if you didn’t leave now, you probably never would.

“Well, then you better pick a good one, just for me.” He challenged. You’d make it your goal to satisfy his request.

If even possible, it felt like your grin grew. “I plan to.”

And that said, the three of you met in the home–theater and watched Jurassic Park together. You had Tony on your left geeking out over the CGI technology from the 80s, and Peter on his left geeking out about how accurate the movie was from the book. It made your film decision that much better. It also was the best movie night you’d had in a long while.

Perhaps your dad was right: you and Peter Parker really would get along great.

#🕊️ .゜ 𝕰𝐋𝐋𝐄 𝕽𝐄𝐐. #imagine #marvel imagines #mcu #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker canon #peter parker angst #tony stark #tony stark and peter parker #tony stark angst #stark daughter #mcu peter parker #mcu imagine #mcu peter parker x reader #mcu x you #mcu x reader #mcu peter x reader #mcu angst #mcu peter parker angst #mcu fluff #peter parker mcu #peter parker fluff #angst #angst with a happy ending #daddy issues #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland

[bueckerssturns]

tag, you’re it - m. sturniolo

pairing: stalker ! Matt x OC

warnings: stalking, cursing, pictures being taken without consent.

summary: daisy just moved to a new home in a new town what happens when matt takes interest in her?

the triplets live in boston and aren���t famous during this.

ALL OF THIS IS FAKE! THIS IS PURE FICTION! matt will never do anything that is written in this.

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

LOG IN:

USERNAME:matt******

PASSWORD: ********

open up file 5521?

yes no

FILE OPENED

NAME: Daisy Rose Larson

BIRTHDAY: July 10th, 2004

SIBLINGS: one sister. Alison Larson(12 years old)

PARENTS: Violet and James Larson

Daisy just moved a few houses down from me, she currently lives alone and moved here for college. She is nineteen years old, she loves to read and write she graduated from high school as a valedictorian. from what I could gather she has never had a boyfriend, she takes her studies very seriously.

matt looked away from his screen just in time to see her running around the block like she usually did every day in the afternoons, he ducked down a little to keep a closer look at her without letting her see him.

“MATT!” screamed Nick from the kitchen making matt quickly get up close his laptop and get out of his room “what?” he said looking at nick “i realized that we never properly introduced ourselves to the new girl that moved in a few houses down so we were wondering if you wanted to join us on saying hi” spoke chris while putting on his shoes “yea, i’ll go” replied matt putting his shoes on.

knock knock

the knocking grabs the girls attention as she pauses the show she’s currently watching and heads to the door to check who’s there, three figures are standing outside.

“hello?” she said softly as she opened the door to the three boys in front of her “hi, sorry to show up like this but we’re your neighbors we live a few houses down” nick spoke as he stretched out his hand for her to shake “hi, im daisy nice to meet you…” “nick!” he finished with a smile “these are my brothers matt and chris” he continued pointing at each one “nice to meet you guys come in!” she said opening her door more for the boys to walk in “your house is nice” spoke matt as he took in the layout of the house.

“thank you, i’m still decorating and what not but i’m glad you like it. would you guys like water? lemonade?” the girl asked making her way to the kitchen. “water is fine” matt and nick spoke at the same time “do you have pepsi by any chance?” asked chris getting a glance from matt and nick “what i really want a pepsi right now!” whisper chris to his brothers.

the girl made her way back to them with two waters and two pepsis giving them a smile “here you go water and pepsi”

-

friday march 16.

her house is beautiful she said she needed to decorate more but i genuinely think it looks fine the way she has it right now.

matt added more and more information about the girl as he progressively learned more about her. always keeping his eyes on her every time she left her house he would follow her “to make sure she was safe.”

he would also constantly take pictures of her, she went out for a walk? he was a few steps behind with his camera in hand snapping a photo, she was checking her mail? he was by his window sneaking pictures of her and looking around to make sure nick and chris didn’t catch him.

-

matt quickly made his way into his room locking the door behind him as he made his way into the foot of his bed pushing the floorboard down making it pop up, he pulled out a box with all the pictures he’s taken of her and the pictures of things she’s showed interest in. he added a few more photos he had taken earlier that week before placing it back to its original place.

as the girl opened her door about to leave for work she saw a box no mailing address and no sign from who it was from just her name on the top. she brought it inside deciding she’ll open it after her shift.

i have a spare minute she thought as she grabbed some scissors to open up the box. she gasped once she saw what was inside, a perfume she saw at the mall the week before. but who would buy this for me? i didn’t even mention it to anyone.. she thought. she let it go thinking maybe she let it slip awhile ago. she put it on and headed to work.

and that’s how it was for weeks any time she saw something she liked a week later it will show up on her doorstep. it weirded her out at first but she thought it was probably her parents sending her those things.

april 15.

she seems to really enjoy the gifts i’ve been giving her, she obviously doesn’t know it’s me who is giving them to her. she can’t know. no matter how much i want to tell her it can’t happen. i don’t need another incident like eliana. she seems different tho i don’t think i’ll have a problem with her.

daisy was taking one of her usual afternoon walks when suddenly matt’s car appeared next to her slowing down “hey, i was going out for ice cream wanna join?” he ask her as he kept looking to the road and back to her “um sure todays my cheat day anyway!” she laughed as he stopped for her to get in.

“so where are we going?” she asked as she paused her music “we’re going to tipping cow” “holy shit i’ve heard about that place but never had the opportunity to go!” she said with a smile.

the time they spent together the girl had a smile the whole time making the boy fall even more obsessed in love with her.

during that night once she got dropped off by matt she realized she needed to go grocery shopping. the clock read 10:30pm there’s nothing like going grocery shopping at night. she made her way to the grocery store since it was just a few blocks away from her neighborhood.

she was walking out of the grocery shop with a few bags worth of groceries when she heard footsteps behind her, ignoring them thinking it was her own she continued walking. but her gut feeling made her look behind her to see a man in all black following her. she ran as fast as she could throughout the whole parking lot until she got home.

-

weeks passed and she always had the feeling of being followed even if she wasn’t being followed. things stopped after weeks she finally felt free and not paranoid about constantly being watched.

or so she thought one certain day she was taking one of her usual walks around the neighborhood when she saw him again, the man in all black in front of her she quickly turned around and started running towards her house that was a couple blocks away. as she got in she locked her door and closed her curtains hoping that it would make her invisible.

ring ring

“h-hello?” she hesitantly answered

“you think you could run away from me? think again daisy you can never run away from me.” he spoke his voice deep and hoarse.

before going to sleep she made sure all her doors and windows were locked, she had her curtains closed. she took out the bat her dad had given her as a ‘safety weapon’ in case of emergencies like these.

that night everything was normal. the next morning she went out to check her mailbox when looking at them a certain envelope caught her attention “Daisy Larson” was in bolded letters when she opened it she found weeks worth of pictures of her. from her going on her daily walks to her being in class. she flipped the polaroid and in the bottom was written in red ink “say cheese”.

“say cheese?” she repeated in a whisper when suddenly she felt someone grab her from behind and put a cloth into her mouth. she struggled for a moment before knocking out.

DELETE FILE 5521?

DELETE SAVE

LOG OUT

YES NO

when daisy woke up she couldn’t move her arms and legs were tied up she tried screaming for help but the bandanna tied around her mouth prevented her from making any noise. she looked around the area analyzing it, it looked like an old basement or something similar to that she looked around for anything that could help her get out when her eyes landed on the wall in front of her in thick red bold letters was written:

TAG, YOU’RE IT. ;)

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hope y’all enjoy this um it was based off tag you’re it by melanie martinez (love her to death)

and hopefully this was good idek i feel like it’s rushed iddkkkk 😣😣😣

tags 🏷️: @breeloveschris @sturniolobendystrawsposts @hearts4chris @patscorner @lexisecretaccx @tubl-mc @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloblogs

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #nathan doe #nate doe #chris x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo imagine #melanie martinez #tag youre it