#crank it up to fuck tunes
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"Please please baby don't you want to hear the truth
I can't deny, I was stolen by you
Harsh I know but I really got to help myself
I come right down, now you're giving me hell"
#sons of the east#lost cause#sunday morning coffee tunes#vibe tunes#first mug of coffee tunes#crank it up to fuck tunes#Spotify
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"Lookin' for to save my save my soul
Lookin' in the places where no flowers grow
Lookin' for to fill that God shaped hole
Mother
Mother sucking rock and roll"
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one thing about me is that I will just listen to like dnb when i draw
#what about all of you. what are your drawing tunes#i think when u imagine an artist at work you imagine like… strauss or lofi beats usually so this is funny to me#i crank it up pop a ritty make it a real party#it sounds so fucking lit and all i am doing is actually just sitting on a couch with an ipad#personal#uni gave me dnb Stockholm syndrome#🕺🕺🕺#i do listen to my reg tunes as well but yea
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there should be a rule that if you have Incurable Must Be The Main Character Of The Office Syndrome you are forced to work in the supply closet
#dude is annoying the hell out of me today#boss finally intervened and told him to stop shouting GOOD MORNING like 5 times at top volume when he comes into the office#so now he like. looney tunes style fake sneaks into the office and only speaks in an overdramatic stage whisper#and now hes muttering to himself and smashing his keyboard ao loud that i have to crank my music up all the way#im going to go fucking insane
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Hey I have an idea for "Get Off My Screen" what if Y/N starts talking to Vox less and less and he is so confused so he goes through her phone to try and figure it out and sees her Instagram announcing a new bf and Vox is soooo jealous but she basically ignores his protests and so life goes on as normal for them both until one day he gets nosy and checks her texts on her phone with her bf and finds nudes from her and then he gets annoyed and lectures her about it which leads to her getting angry and ignoring him but then a few weeks later he checks Y/N and the bf's chats again and sees him threatening her
On a completely unrelated note I luv this series and also definitely need a Vox of my own in my phone cause I can't write or spell for shit lol
You Could Do Better(With Me)
Protective!Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader
WARNINGS: Mentions of Alcohol, Nudes, Blackmail, Manipulation
A/N: Okay this was actually pretty angsty, more on Vox's side because he's just dealing with a lot of emotional whiplash- most of which he doesn't really deal with well but he powers through it to be there for you. At this point in time he's kind of certain he likes you, but not that he loves you. Kind of like the: "Oh I'm really fond of this person, I want to make sure they're safe and happy." Without realizing the romantic implications nor how deep the level of attachment really is. So far, Reader's only kind of had a puppy-love crush on Vox but has blatantly disregarded it because well- Vox is fucking dead so what the hell are you supposed to do?? That and Vox constantly gets on Reader's nerves with his shenanigans so even if she gets the Cupid valentines filter when he cranks up the charisma- his stupid hijinks quickly do away with it and make him seem idiotic(cutely) again. The story also has a lot of emotional stuff so if you'd rather stick to the comedy feel free to skip this interlude and the one directly after it.
A/N: Either way, that's currently the pace these two are at- and this is a songfic! If you want to listen to the tune while reading- here it is! "Need You Now" by Lady Antebellum. The story itself is slightly different from the prompt since I made it centered around how Vox perceived things were going. As always, I hope y'all have fun and enjoy! Happy Reading!
youtube
Vox wanted to pretend everything was okay.
Walking through the halls of the Vee tower, he really wanted to play it off like nothing was bothering him.
And still, he found himself checking his phone for any updates or messages from you.
Day by day you were starting to slowly disappear from his routine.
He didn't notice it at first, how you were pulling away-
It was just the little things initially.
One word replies, emoji spam-
Vox figured you just weren't in the mood to listen or talk.
Did he do something that hurt you?
Up until the point that you both didn't really have any meaningful conversations anymore.
Which, as much as he tried to start anything proper-
It would always fall flat.
Were you still even trying?
He woke up one morning and followed his routine, shooting you a greeting before he started the day.
It just so happened that once he was finally able to check his phone to shoot you a wish goodnight-
You hadn't even replied to his morning message.
He was busy throughout the day, so he wasn't given the opportunity to worry about you.
But now, worry he did.
Vox quickly made his way towards his monitor room despite how late it was.
He went through your files, your pictures-
Wait.
Wait a goddamn minute.
Who the fuck was that?
He glitched slightly when he saw how that guy grinned in the picture.
It reminded him of his own, just so fucking fake.
Not to mention the air the person had around them.
They just exuded a great sense of showmanship and arrogance.
One Vox was all too familiar with.
That wasn't even the first picture you had with that person recently.
And the more the overlord looked, the more worked up he got.
He wasn't sure if it was anger, envy, irritation, or just a mix of everything under the sun.
Holding your waist, hugging you close, in some pictures your faces were so close together that you were almost kissing.
He was glitching in his chair from the emotional overload.
Who did this guy think he was to be able to treat you like that?!
Vox definitely punched a few screens from fury and jealousy.
Come the next day when he confronted you about it-
More like became a clear pain in the ass that you really couldn't ignore-
Making your computer practically unusable even-
Was when you revealed to him that you didn't mean to hide something like this.
You just simply forgot to say anything.
Vox didn't know if that was worse than if you tried to deceive him.
"Geez, so you have a boyfriend now?"
"Oh come on, you act like I'm not allowed to date. I'm a responsible adult Vox, not a kid."
The tech overlord only stared at the screen.
Was that really all you saw him as?
A digital guardian?
Just... someone who treated you like a kid?
He scoffed, he could count more times where he was the childish one.
That was stupid.
Besides that, he had more pressing matters to deal with.
What was this... horrible sinking feeling that was running through his systems?
It was like a weight that made him struggle breathing.
"Vox?"
"I'm still here. Can't believe you would forget to tell me something as important as this."
His claws dug into his armrests, he should've been happy you found yourself a partner.
If that partner just didn't remind him so much of himself.
"I'm sorry okay? I was really busy the last few days."
"The last few days? How long have you even been talking to this guy dollface?"
"Months? Probably? I've known him for a while now, he was the school crush when I was back in high school."
Vox wanted to convince you that this guy was bad news.
A walking red flag if you will.
He... should know.
Vox was at least aware of himself that much.
Still, he swallowed it all back and just replied to you again.
"I don't mind the fact you're off the market, hell- congratulations even! Just don't get into any sketchy shit. You know, anything that could be used against you as blackmail."
"Yeah yeah, I know what I'm doing Vox. Seriously, don't worry about it!"
You simply brushed off his worry, typical.
That just made the suffocating feeling even worse.
He didn't even know where it came from, or why.
"Oh yeah! I've got a boyfriend now!"
Those words replayed in his head like a bullet to the skull.
The day hadn't even started.
And Vox already wished it was over.
This just continued for a while, your presence in his schedule became negligible and Vox was falling back into his old vices.
He became snappy, irritable, just downright intolerable to be around.
The employees were feeling it, the Vees were collateral-
Not even Valentino could placate Vox's current horrid state.
It's been a week.
Vox stopped bothering to message you in the morning.
But he didn't stop checking if you would message him even once or twice.
It was pathetic.
And another.
Vox broke more than a dozen phones from just throwing them around.
He drank himself to sleep every night.
Valentino and Velvette were getting tired of having to dump his wasted ass on his bed every time.
And another.
Vox holed himself up in his monitor room whenever he wasn't needed.
No one could get him to come out.
Not even for food or water.
If he needed anything he would get it himself.
It was a long day of broadcasts and meetings, another monotonous cycle in his fast-paced life.
Vox intended to just drink until he passed out again, but he somehow found himself drunkenly stumbling through the halls of the Vee Tower into his monitor room.
He honestly didn't even know what he was doing this time.
The overlord fought to keep his own head up as he collapsed in his chair.
He glanced over to the side your computer's screen was connected to and let out a shaky sigh.
God, he fucking missed you.
Against his better judgement, Vox connected himself to your devices again.
He went straight to your playlist and just pressed start.
Picture perfect memories, scattered all around the floor~
Vox spun around in his chair, letting the music ebb and flow into his brain.
He took another swig from the bottle of alcohol in his other hand, squinting at the screens.
Everything was just kind of fuzzy.
Reaching for the phone cause, I can't fight it anymore...
It took him by surprise when one of the screens showed your living room.
Had you connected him to your TV again?
"Vox...? Are you there?"
And I wonder if I've ever crossed your mind?
He was too out of it to properly say anything, Vox couldn't recall if the words that stumbled out of him were even coherent.
"Dude... you look like shit."
Listening to your voice gave him a slight moment of sobriety.
"Likewise dollface."
For me it happens all the time...
"Are you wasted??"
"Erm, not really. Just buzzed."
He was able to take a good look at you then, your eyes were red and puffy like you'd just been crying.
It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now...
"What the hell happened to you?"
"Uh... well... you know that guy I was dating?"
Vox took a swig of alcohol before he replied, there was no way he was making it through his conversation unless he was drunk out of his circuits.
"My personality copycat? Yeah, what about?"
Said I wouldn't call, but I've lost all control-
"Your personality- what??"
"Dollface, do you seriously think I wouldn't notice how much of a walking red flag that asshole was?"
You paused as he took another swig of his drink, Vox didn't miss that look of guilt and pity in your eyes.
"But you just called him your copy."
"And? I know I'm a piece of shit. Takes one to know one."
And I need you now...
"Whatever, I don't think you'd stoop as low as he did."
"That's for me to judge, what did the bastard do?"
He saw the slight tremble in your posture, your voice cracked as if you were holding back sobs.
And I don't know how I can do without-
"I- I knew I should've listened to you. I sent him compromising pictures and he... he-"
"You sent him nudes and he used them to blackmail you didn't he?"
You flopped back down on the couch and his unfocused eyes met your watery ones.
So that's why you'd been crying.
I just need you now...
"It doesn't feel good to have your trust broken by someone you gave your heart to I'd reckon."
You scoffed at him, wiping away your tears as they continued to fall.
Vox so badly wanted to make it stop, but he didn't trust himself to be lucid enough to say the right words.
"Well wouldn't you know? I'd bet the women over there would throw themselves at your feet."
Another shot of whisky, can't stop looking at the door...
Vox couldn't tell if it was his imagination or not that made it seem like he heard jealousy in your voice.
There wasn't any reason for you to feel envious anyway.
He took another swig of alcohol before meeting your gaze once again.
Wishing you'd come sweeping, in the way you did before~
"So what if there are? I'm too busy to pursue a dedicated relationship. I mean- have you seen the amount of shit I have to deal with every day?"
You looked dejected by his answer, or at least that's what Vox thought.
Yeah, he was absolutely wasted.
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?
"So what did you do? Did you break up with the guy?"
"Can't. If I do, he'll release all my pictures online."
Vox hummed, pulling up a window on your computer for you to interact with.
He was a paranoid man as is, but this just proved it didn't hurt to have precautions in place.
For me it happens all the time...
"What is that?"
"Something I made for all your files months ago."
"What does it do?"
Vox took another swig from his bottle.
It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now...
"A safeguard, all files you send from your devices can be irreversibly corrupted remotely. An encryption thing, I tried to tell you about it but you didn't respond."
He wasn't surprised that you pressed the prompt to start the file corruption process on those pictures you'd sent.
Hell, everything you sent the rat bastard that broke your heart.
Honestly, the fucker didn't even deserve you.
Neither did Vox if he had to be honest with himself.
Said I wouldn't call, but I lost all control-
The overlord stayed silent as he drank once more from his bottle of booze.
It was nearly empty at this point, not that he cared.
He could only assume you were watching the progress bar load which was why you didn't say anything.
And I need you now...
Vox just watched as you eventually got up and used your phone to call someone.
A smug smile worked onto his face when he realized who you were talking to.
After all, you'd only curse like a sailor when you were genuinely mad.
And I don't know how I can do without-
"You're kind of hot when you get angry you know?"
"Pfft, is that why you like to piss me off then?"
"Maybe, though I usually do just to get a reaction out of you anyways."
I just need you now...
Vox saw you roll your eyes, a smile finally gracing your face and he couldn't help but return it.
"I just became single again and you're already hitting on me huh?"
"Whaaaaat? I would never."
Vox humored you well into the morning hours.
The both of you talking once again like old times.
Like nothing even happened.
Eventually it got to the point you had fallen asleep on the couch right in front of the TV during one of Vox's stories.
The overlord let a soft genuine smile appear on his face at the sight.
At least you were okay again.
He swirled the remaining alcohol in the bottle and threw his head back as he downed the rest of it.
Finally feeling the exhaustion catch up to him, both emotionally and physically-
Vox's screen dimmed as he succumbed to slumber right alongside you in his chair.
A/N: HOOOOLY SHIT THIS CHAPTER IS LONG- this was an absolute UNIT of a segment but it gets better in the next one I promise, besides- I don't want to doom Vox and Reader by the narrative, that would just be a sucky ending. We'll still have more emotionally vulnerable stuff in the next interlude so if that's not your cup of tea feel free to skip it too.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin vox#vox#vox x reader#hazbin hotel vox x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin vox x reader#vox x you#Get Off My Screen Series
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Thinking about Price on deployment 18+
Thinking about walking in on Price while he’s doing his weekly shaving routine, dressed in a pair of black boxers and a white tank top to go along with it.
He doesn’t seem to notice your presence at first, too engulfed with lathering shaving cream onto his face and humming a tune to himself.
But he jolts in surprise when he suddenly feels a pair of arms around his waist.
“Fuck’s sake, scared me half way to death, love” he says, while clutching his chest, the other hand still holding the lathering brush to his face.
“I’m sorry” you say while chuckling at him, for an army soldier, he sure gets scared easily “I couldn’t find you when I woke up and wanted to see where you went”
As he cranks his neck to meet your gaze you take in the sight of his bleary eyes, the wet hair falling messily across his forehead and the soft smile painted on his lips.
If his face wasn’t lathered up in shaving cream you’d probably kiss him right then and there.
“I’m here” he says as he squeezes your hand with his free one “ just got up to shave, thought I’d get it done before I headed back to base”
You just hum in response, smile slightly fading at the reminder that he’s going back to work.
However you try to not let your disappointment show and instead watch him as he picks up the razor he’d neatly placed on the sink, before shaving a stripe down his chin.
For a moment there are no words exchanged as he continues to shave his face, once again humming a foreign tune to himself, while relaxing in your embrace.
“Want to help me?” He says after he’s managed to do half his face.
“Mm no” you say while sliding your hand lower down his abdomen, fingers playfully tugging at the waistband of his boxers “want to help you with something else”
“Yeah and what’s that?” He says, voice steady but you can feel the way he shudders at your touch.
Your hand slips past the waistband of his boxers , before kneading the soft flesh of his thigh . “This alright?”
He hums out in response, head lolling back onto your shoulder as his eyes flutter shut.
But you’re quick to nudge him away, a playful look on your face as you meet his confused gaze. “Ah ah ah finish up with what you’re doing first”
He’s about to say something but cuts himself off as he feels you squeeze his thigh in warning. Without any sort of complaint he returns to what he’d been doing. “Atta boy” you say with a chuckle as you continue to knead the soft flesh.
This time he’s much less focused on his task, hands slightly shaking as he drags the razor along his face, and even squirming in place as you continue to tease him.
At last you decide to take him out of his misery, fingers swiping through his slick folds before whispering “This alright?”
“Oh fuck” he grunts out, razor carelessly falling into the sink as his fingers clutch onto the edge of the tile. “More than alright, please - please need more”
“Don’t worry love” you say with a chuckle while grinding up against his ass“I won’t leave you hanging, you know I won’t”
#I know I haven’t posted in a minute so I wanted to give y’all something at least#just a simple lidle Drabble#also I love price sm#call of duty#john price#john price x reader#john price x male reader#captain john price#captain john price x male reader#captain john price x reader#dom male reader#sub male character#trans male character
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lil seb and davesprite is the funniest fucking duo ever
seb watching "chicken feather removing" because the visuals are stimulating and ds taking it as a threat "oh thats...so cool lil bud.."
is it because lil seb is like an autistic kid that ate a battery or does he want to kill you? the world will nevrr know..
imagine growing up with bro being your guardian (ROUGH) and like 6 years later you end up living with a genetic identical kid who keeps getting himself in trouble and you keep having to get him out of these looney tunes ass scenarios. he would watch the video because its 1. cool, 2. information he could use for hunting and consuming animals, and 3. tangentially related to one of the people he likes most. this DOES NOT SOOTH DOVE WHATSOEVER.
they go to the park and he disappears freaking dove tf out but shows up dragging a dead racoon behind him to share with dove for a meal or if she wants to stuff it in a jar. doves all-
i swear to god we can get you a hunting license but you cannot be rounding up wild animals like they're the 101 dalmatians with your bare hands. we can never come back to this park anymore oh my god.
trying to deal with this herself because everyone else can handle sebastian. but he honestly cranks it up a few notches when they're together to try and impress her.
#she does captchalogue and put the racoon in a jar. what is she gonna do waste it? all striders r freaks#d talks#d draws#ask#real boy seb#hs.dove#crockerbert house
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Boy fucking howdy, the BG3 obsession is real, and so is being unable to sleep. I cranked this out in 20 minutes in an absolute fervor because I’m OBSESSED, as we all are. Please forgive my absence, but let us rejoice that I have been possessed enough to write again.
—————
Admittedly, you all have had better days on the road to Baldur’s Gate. There have been close calls and hard fights, but today has decidedly been the worst. What started as a hopeful descent into the Githyanki Crèche ended in most of your party downed, and watching Laezel’s eyes lose light as she died. Shadowheart thankfully still had the wherewithal to walk you through the scroll you said you’d never had to use, hand in shaky hand. It took you about an hour to detach yourself from her side once you all made it back to camp.
Quiet nods and looks of understanding were sent all around you as you commanded your feet their last few steps to your tent. Gale would take over dinner tonight. Karlach would take care of the owlbear and Scratch. Others would take other duties. You would take care of sitting down on your cot and disassociating before you could unclip both straps of your armor. That’s how Astarion found you anyways.
You had been close, today. Despite the looming threats, you both woke up in cheery spirits. You had gossiped about how Raphael was a scumbag, but a hot one, how Shadowheart and Laezel would definitely make out by the end of this journey, among other things. Once battles had started, you had even found a nice flow physically. Shooting arrows over each others shoulders, stabbing enemies before they could get to the other. Something went wrong along the way. Discussions didn’t seem to go your way. No one you all encountered seemed very convinced of your decisions or leadership. You felt that it had started to infiltrate your team, despite their objections.
But someone had died on your watch. And for that, you’d never forgive yourself.
“Sweetheart, armor comes off before bed, you know.” A little less smug than usual. “He’s worried,” you think in passing. It seemed that his voice came from farther away, until you felt the whisper of his fingers on your shoulder. His way of not wanting to scare you. He’s very familiar with the look in your eyes right now. You have enough energy to finish unbuckling the second clasp before the chest piece falls to the floor with a dull thud. As you extend your torso to stretch properly for the first time today, both sets of eyes fall to a particularly dark red patch in your torso, right underneath your heart. Seems you’ve been stabbed. How long ago is anyone’s guess, but the armor seemed to hold as the worlds worst tourniquet. The volume of voices tune back out as you hear Astarions call for help, the pitch of panic sending you deeper into… something. Not quite nothingness. Not quite enough of something to call it anything. A general state of pain and emptiness.
Two sets of hands lift you enough to lay down on your cot. Voices mill around, but you feel the large hands of Halsin gingerly lift your shirt to begin healing. He leaves you in your bra as he begins his work. He has a way of making his deep booming voice so soothing when he knows you’re in pain. Astarion sits down closer to your face, and has one hand on the side of your cheek. His thumb runs across your cheekbone a little faster than usual, trying to comfort you as well as himself. Halsin has been around this enough that both men don’t seem to be phased, but Astarion starts his mix of worry and chastisement and care. Funny how he can speak so softly and so cutting at the same time.
“How many times have I told you to tell me when you’re hurt? You’re not holding up your end of the bargain,” he says, with no real seriousness. You look over long enough to see his creased brows, but in them, something new. He’s angry at you, for compromising the plan. For compromising his journey. For compromising the trust he put in you for being a team. He’s also mad at himself for not being in front of you to catch the blade.
“You’re no good to me dead, you know. I need you… I need you here.” He says, voice shaky, as Halsin finishes his spell. The newly connected skin is always itchy, so he puts a salve on before he leaves. He puts a large hand on Astarions shoulder and exchange a few words before he leans over and kisses you gently on the temple. He whispers, between the three of you “We’re here to take care of you, my heart. Please allow us to.”
Now that the physical pain has started to subside, the emotions you’ve been pushing down through the day start to bubble up. You start to feel the dirt, the blood, the viscera on your skin. How compressed everything is starting to get. You lean up and start to breathe. A little too fast, a little too heavy. Astarions eyes get wide, he’s seen you stressed but this is something different. You hurry to a nearby abandoned building near camp while he stays behind a step, a little stunned.
Normally this would be the time he freezes, unsure of emotions, unsure how to help. But it’s usually him that’s going through something like this. It’s usually you who calms him down, brings him back to center. What has he done to make you feel like this?
You sit in the corner of a decrepit old rampart. Panic attacks haven’t been prevalent for quite some time. You don’t hear him, once again until he’s next to you. You notice your cot and some creature comforts set up a few feet away. A few curtains strewn to block out the inevitable morning sun. Some candles for light.
“Thought you might like some alone time tonight.” He says, voice deep and steady and sure of himself. For someone so lithe and nimble, you forget he can lift you in his arms. And he does settling you in bed, sitting while you feel him taking his shirt off and leaning you against his chest. The skin on skin contact, you’ve found, comforts him as much as it comforts you.
The shock of Astarion moving with such assuredness brings you a little bit back to surface. You clear your throat and say “I’m sorry for troubling everyone. Today was a little hard for me.” Your voice breaks a little at the end, and so does your resolve as you cry, letting the emotions of the day out.
He runs fingers through your hair and turns you into his chest as you release all your worry from the day. “You know, I honestly don’t know how you’ve kept it together this far, my sweet.” He brings his face to the side of yours, steadying your breathing and letting his breath warm your neck. “I haven’t had to be strong for anyone… well, other than myself. But I didn’t even do a good job then. You’re so much more than you know. To them. To me.” He lays a field of kisses to the side of your face and neck while his arms surround you, fingers lacing together. “I… don’t know how to do this part. I don’t know how to be good at this. To comfort. But I do know I’ve never been more torn apart when you’re in pain. Please. Let me… try. Let me try to be good at this.”
Chest heaving, you look up and take his mouth into yours. You kiss deeply, letting it say all the things you’re too tired to say. Too tired to thank him for. He seems to understand, as he cradles your face in his palm. A kiss that’s said more than you’ve said to each other for weeks.
As sleep overtakes you, he brings you into his chest, arm circling your shoulder.
The last burst of energy wouldn’t allow your mouth to say it, but Astarion felt the tadpole twitch with the three words you two had been dancing around for some time. If his heart still beat it would keep him up for the rest of the night. In hope. In anticipation to say it back. But you two were together. Alive. There would be time for I love yous in the morning.
#astarion#astarion x reader#halsin#baldurs gate tav#bg3#bg3 spoilers#oh hell don’t read this#baldurs gate astarion
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❥Ꮺ 𝑪𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒆 𝑫𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉
characters: Miguel O'Hara x Reader
content warnings: mostly fluff!, slight suggestiveness, a tinge of tension between Miguel and reader 👀
a/n; this was suppose to be a Chsritmas themed fluff...but my mind decided to twist it a bit. still like it tho! and honestly...I wrote this while indulging in a bit of cookie dough myself lmao. so, yeah incredibly self indulgent with this one rofl!
"What do you think you're doing?"
The stern tone of Miguel's voice bellowed deep into your ringing ears, immediately tensing and freezing up your body, you tried your absolute best not to turn around and display your current appearance. You simply stood there, spatula in one hand as a opened roll of cookie dough in the other (some, still greedily sprawled across your stuffed cheeks).
Fuck.
"Mm?!" you could only muffle a silly grumble, feeling the sheer intensity of his darting eyes pin onto the back of your head. A dark over towering shadow casting over you, every muscle in your body twitches and stiffens even more.
Fuck fuck fuck!
"Are you seriously eating the cookie dough?! oh por dios!" he scowls down over you, pinching the bridge of his nose as he twirls you fully around to see the splattered mess you had made along the kitchen counter and your face.
"You're going to get sick eating that! plus those are for this stupid Christmas party" he grumbles deeply, hastily snatching the spatula from your grasp along with the half eaten roll of cookie dough.
You whine at the loss of both, brows furrowing as you wipe the remains uncooked pastry smeared across your lips.
"They should've known better to put me in charge of baking cookies!" you barked back with a imminent pout on your face, Miguel simply rolled his heavy eyes and groaned in growing annoyance.
"No, it's just common sense not to devour the damn dough, Y/n" he scolds lifting the cookie dough in his from your greedy reach, secretly admiring the adorable pout still stretched amongst your sweet messy face. His eyes begin to ponder a bit too long.
"I was just...hungry" you sigh in defeat, slouching your shoulders, leaning back against the kitchen counter.
He inaudibly snorts to your childish tune, his heart puttering lightly to your cute behavior.
"So you decide to eat the uncooked treats for tonight's party?" his voice softens, as does his expression, watching you roll your head and meeting his tender gaze.
"I一" Your heart batters against your chest from the sudden look, a soft faint of heat creeping into your puff cheeks.
You watch him carefully place the half eaten roll of cookie dough to the side, along with the spatula as he took a step forward to you. Caging you with his looming figure and the kitchens counter, eyes still intently connected with yours.
Your mind going hazy, your hands shakily trying to grasp onto the edge of the kitchens counter that stood behind you, as your body stumbles on your own two feet. Watching the soaring, careful man finally sturdily encase you with his height and the solidity of the counter.
You swallowed a hard gulp, the burning intensity of his gorgeous cardinal irises insinuating estranged feelings. Illuminating the forming butterflies fluttering wildly deep within your warm belly.
He stops his movements, places one hand on the counter next to you, leans down to meet your face and delicately uses his free hands thumb to brush off the remaining small smudges of the cookie dough stuck at the corner of your parted, plush lips.
OH.
His weighted eyes softly leers down to meet your lulling, painted lips. Thoughts beginning to stir around in his cranking brain, as his stiff body stills all movement.
The swift, gentle caress of his thumb felt like it lingered on forever. Almost lasting to what seemed like a life time, especially holding that intent, unwavering eye contact with you. Nothing but your low, shaky breaths could be heard between the two of you within the vast kitchen.
Your eyes are quick to find his thumb pull away from you subtly, watching the pad of his dough covered thumb meet his slick tongue, hums softly as the sweet substance melts against his hot muscle. You part your lips a bit, trying to collect words to formulate but was quickly silenced once more as you listen to upcoming boisterous cackling approach from the door opening of the kitchen. Watching Miguel inaudibly sigh in what to seem like disappointment, and groans, rolling his eyes as he abruptly pulls away from you.
Freeing you from your temporary imprisonment of his stocked body and the counter against your mid back.
"Oh...I thought the kitchen was in the clear...sorry to disrupt kiddo's, carry on~" the sound of Peter's coy tone wafted through the air, fishing out a prolong grunt from Miguel's chest and a soft, awkward chuckle from you.
#lol merry late christmas! ;w;#i was eating cookie dough a bit earlier and immediately thought of this lol#miguel o'hara x reader#atsv
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"You are my angel
Come from way above
To bring me love "
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"Take your baby by the hair
And pull her close and there, there, there
And take your baby by the ears
And play upon her darkest fears"
#wang chung#dance hall days#friday vibe tunes#vibe tunes#funky spunky donkey tunes#crank it up to fuck tunes#Spotify#pulse tunes
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The shower is where ACTUAL looney tunes sex takes place like yeah let’s try and fuck while knocking 400 bottles everywhere and slipping and sliding and falling over eachother as if there’s banana peels on the floor. At some point some form of water boarding will also accidentally happen. Bonus is that every girl I’ve ever met cranks the water up to 5000 degrees so you get boiled alive while everything else is happening litral saw trap luv
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I HAVE NOT SEEN THIS MENTIONED YET AT ALL HELLO
I’ve been thinking about this nonstop since the episode came out so I wanna point it out in a long rant about it.
There’s a leitmotif in mammon’s musical episode! To clarify, a leitmotif is a recurring tune associated with a particular character or idea. This one in particular is an excellent musical representation of Fizz’s character growth, and I’d like to explain why, because I’ve been obsessed with this and I tear up every time I hear this theme. IT MAKES ME WANT TO CRY
The leitmotif plays thrice in the episode. The first two are the same track, while the third is a variation of it.
The first time:
When Fizz is gushing about his passion and his dream to work with Mammon. There’s not much else going on, but Fizz is clearly in awe of his idol, as to be expected. He’s starstruck by the idea that he could have a chance to meet someone he admires so much. It’s a scene full of the wonder and excitement little Fizz encompasses.
And then the second:
When Fizz is communicating with the deaf fan! Oh god, oh god. I cried at this part, as I know a lot of people did too, because this part is so sweet and it’s so so important.
This is the reason Fizz kept doing his job. Because I think he realized that this fan looked up to him the same way Fizz did to Mammon. And, looking at him— the little guy has broken horns too. Just like Fizz.
Fizz sees himself in that kid.
Fizz has always wanted to put a smile on people’s faces, has always wanted to be the person kids look up to. And when he sees that happen, it’s probably what inspires him to keep going.
Now, what do these two instances have in common for the exact same track to play? I think that it’s a good emphasis on the kindness Fizz has when he’s a kid, and then, as an adult, the quieter gentleness underneath his stage persona.
Fizz is a kind person by nature, but the image that he has to maintain for Mammon’s brand is like— horniness and innuendos and sneering bravado cranked up to 11. So his audience never really sees the real side of him. The only time he gets to be more like himself is probably when a younger fan approaches him, which likely doesn’t happen a lot, considering the boatload of money you have to pay to even meet the performers, which I assume is added to what you’d have to scrape together to attend the event in the first place.
Another thing I noticed these two scenes have in common: The creepy fan’s appearance.
If you listen, Fizz’s leitmotif is overturned by an ominous shift in tone when the same obsessive fan shows up. I think it’s saying that even though there are undoubtedly positive experiences, they can very easily be overcome by the negative ones. Our brains are essentially hardwired to fixate on the negative experiences because of the possibility of the threat to safety. It wouldn’t be surprising if that’s what happened to Fizz.
Okay. Now, for the third and final time Fizz’s leitmotif plays:
Right after Fizz’s two minute notice. Right after he tells Mammon to go fuck himself.
This time, instead of the sweet and small melody with the subtle isolated instrumentation, it’s a fanfare. A full-force, fully orchestrated, trumpets blazing fanfare version of Fizz’s leitmotif. It’s kicking you right in the feels and it’s not hiding anymore.
It’s representing Fizz finally stepping into his own. Representing him standing up for himself. Representing his pride and his courage and him finally believing in his own self-worth.
And no one can tell me that it is pure coincidence that the music swells right at this moment.
Another beautiful thing is that the music is indeed cut off, just like the prior two scenes mentioned, but it’s by Fizz himself.
It happens when he finally announces what he’s been wanting to do after so many years of being manipulated, abused, and controlled. And for once, the decision he makes is all of his own accord.
And that’s because of the sheer amount of self-confidence and the courage he’s built throughout this entire episode.
Isn’t that such a beautiful thing?
#fizzarolli#helluva boss#fizzaroli helluva boss#mammons magnificent musical mid season special#character development#character growth#people do NOT pay enough attention to how important music is you guys#they put so many itty bitty details in the background#small details#they always get me#i am sobbing
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Loose Lips Sink Ships - Part 1
Dean Winchester x GN S/O
AN: Hey guys! I know that I disappeared for a bit, but I promise that I'm still alive and kicking!
I've just been really consumed by the SoapGhost fics that I've been writing/planning for ao3 and that made it hard for me to find time to write for Tumblr in between irl things when all of my free time seemed to be dedicated to COD. But I finally decided to just sit down and work on one of my numerous WIP's which led to me cranking this bad boy out! Hope you like it!
Word Count: 2,118
You moved your hands out of your jacket pocket, revealing your well-loved wallet that you’d had for years, and pulled the card with your current alias printed onto it out of its assigned slot in a practiced motion.
You tapped the chip against the screen of the card reader in order to pay for the obscenely greasy food that you’d ordered for yourself and Dean –who you had left fast asleep in your shared motel room– watching with a keen eye as the payment processed and then was accepted with a little innocuous green check mark, the receipt printing with a soft whir.
You startled a little as a phone suddenly began to ring, the tune echoing loudly in the store, and it took you an embarrassing amount of time to realize that it was actually your cell that was going off, your free hand –which wasn’t currently juggling both your card and wallet– darted down to the back pocket of your jeans in order to collect the device with a sheepish smile.
You swiped your thumb across the screen and answered the phone without looking at the caller ID, quickly wedging the device between your ear and shoulder in order to take the receipt that the bored looking cashier was impatiently holding out toward you with your newly freed hand.
“Hey, where the hell did you run off to?” Dean was already talking before you could even manage to get a greeting out, his voice rough in a way that it only was immediately after waking up, which told you that he most likely called after rousing from sleep and noticing that you were no longer in the motel with him.
“Just figured that I’d treat your lazy ass to some breakfast since you didn’t look like you were getting up anytime soon.” You said as you took the long strip of paper from the cashier with a small nod of thanks before stepping off to the side in order to make way for the next customer to step forward and be assisted, folding up the receipt and carelessly cramming it into your wallet before shoving it back into your jeans.
You had wanted to let Dean sleep in for once since it was technically your fault that you were both up so late last night, the two of you having been all wound up after running around all day asking anyone and everyone about the suspicious deaths that had been happening around town only to come up with fuck all, so you and Dean had decided to dispel all that pent up energy and frustration by testing Dean’s so-called ‘endless stamina’ that he constantly bragged about.
Needless to say, you had put him through the wringer and managed to come out the other side a little less worse for wear than Dean had.
You settled in with your phone now comfortably resting against the side of your head as you waited for your order to be called, and you bit your lip in an attempt to repress the love-sick smile that wanted to overtake your neutral expression when you heard the telltale shift of blankets over the line.
You could see Dean carelessly sprawl his limbs out across the bed in your mind's eye, your fingers twitching with the urge to brush your fingers through his –no doubt– adorable bedhead, the impulse always bubbling up without fail when you saw his hair sticking up at all sorts of odd angles.
“Rough night?” You asked, your voice practically dripping with faux-concern as you idly watched the people milling about the pop fountain, and Dean let loose a distinctly unattractive snort that had a smug grin spreading across your lips, your salacious smile earning you a dirty look from a woman who had just finished filling a large cup with cola that you unfortunately just so happened to make eye contact with.
“You’d know.” Dean groused, the sound of him moving about restlessly nearly drowning out his petulant response as he heaved himself upright with a groan that had him sounding like he was an old man rather than a spry twenty-six year old, and you winced in sympathy.
As hunters, your line of work was unforgiving and you yourself were subject to the various aches and pains that came from such a physically demanding job on more than one occasion.
“You order yet?” Dean asked suddenly and you blinked rapidly, his voice abruptly pulling you from the aimless staring that you’d been unknowingly doing as you recalled how stiff and sore you were when you woke up this morning. Though, if you were being honest with yourself, that was definitely a byproduct of last night's rigorous activities rather than having to fight for your life against some bloodthirsty creature or another for once, which was admittedly a nice change of pace.
“Yup. Got you a bacon breakfast burrito, hash browns, and a slice of cherry pie.” You replied with a wide grin, a bark of laughter erupting from your chest and startling the few people standing near you when Dean let out a truly sinful moan of appreciation.
“I love you so fucking much.” Dean declared, the mattress springs creaking as he pushed to his feet and walked across the small room before clicking on a lightswitch, his voice taking on a distinct echo as he entered the borderline claustrophobic motel bathroom.
“I know.” You said smugly before suddenly remembering the woman that you had run into on your way to the restaurant, causing you to be out longer than you’d originally intended, which was the whole reason why you were back with breakfast before Dean woke up.
“Also, while I was out, I happened to run into a friend of the ex-wife of the last victim and I may have found a lead on this case.” You stated after briefly glancing around and taking a couple of steps back in order to make sure that no one would be overhearing your conversation.
The most that you’d been able to get out of the shell-shocked woman when you and Dean had went to interrogate her the previous day was that her ex-husband had broken into the house while she was home alone and, after saying some shit that made no sense at all whatsoever, had dropped dead right there in the dining room before she could even process what had happened.
And that wasn’t even the weirdest thing that had happened, the person before that had slumped over dead in a church confessional booth after saying about three words to the priest and the one before that had just randomly collapsed to the ground in the middle of a crosswalk after angrily yelling at a reckless driver that had almost ran her over.
“Alright, hit me.” Dean said, sounding much more awake now but, before you could say a word, one of the employees called out your order number over the general chatter of the restaurant. You snapped to attention, muttering a quick warning to Dean that the food was done and you were gonna go grab it, before moving forward and maneuvering your way through the small crowd that had accumulated between you and the front desk.
You took the grease-stained brown paper bag with a grateful smile and a polite nod before turning on your heel in order to make your way over to the exit. You shamelessly used your foot to bully the door open –since your hands were full– before stepping outside and squinting when the sun made your eyes ache, unused to the intense brightness after having spent so much time under the fluorescent lights that they had installed indoors.
“As I was saying, apparently there’s an old legend–” You began as you trotted over to the nearby sidewalk in order to begin the long walk back to the motel, only to be almost immediately interrupted by Dean.
“There always is.” Dean muttered to himself through a muffled yawn, but you expertly ignored him –a talent that had been born from being around the older Winchester for several years– and continued on as if he had never even uttered a word.
“–that a witch used to terrorize the area way back when this place used to be just a tiny trading town and, considering that there is definitely some kind of curse involved here, I figured that a witch –if not the very same witch from the story– is most likely our culprit rather than a cursed object, like we initially suspected.” You continued explaining your findings, lifting a hand to wave at the driver of a pick up that had slowed to a stop and motioned to the street in front of them, allowing you to quickly jog across the crosswalk.
“Fucking witches man.” Dean growled, the deep sound sending the wrong kind of signals to your brain and making your core heat up in anticipation as images of last night came to the forefront of your mind, an overwhelming sense of smug satisfaction blooming in your chest when you recalled the plethora of possessive marks that you’d shamelessly left all over his body.
The deafening blare of a car horn unceremoniously yanked you from your internal musings and you gave Dean a noncommital hum as your gaze scanned over the street in an effort to find the origin of the noise, pausing your search and freezing mid step when you noticed a man and a woman standing stock still on the other side of the busy road, both of them just staring at you as passersby gave them a wide berth.
“Hello? You still there?” You heard Dean’s voice as he called out over the phone, but your attention was firmly locked onto the pair on the opposite sidewalk who were very openly watching you with an intensity that made your gut churn, your eyes widening when you made the mistake of making eye contact with the woman and she shot you a mean grin.
“Uh, yeah. It’s just– There’s a man and a woman staring at me… and I have a feeling that they’re not coming over here for a friendly chat.” You relayed warily as the two finally moved, the woman taking the lead as they stepped off the curb and began making their way across the road toward you.
And, no sooner than the words had left your mouth, you heard the telltale sound of Dean grabbing his keys and jacket before the rhythmic thump of rapid footsteps and the heavy slam of a door signaled his rushed exit from the motel room, the relative silence of the room being replaced by the whistle of the wind and general bustle of the city as Dean climbed into the Impala.
“Don’t hang up and don’t move, I’m coming to you.” Dean snapped furiously –though you didn’t take his harsh tone to heart since you knew that he was just worried– and you winced when you heard the deafening squeal of tires on asphalt from Dean’s end of the line, the commotion promptly being followed by a flurry of irritated honking as he drove like a mad man.
“The not moving thing probably won’t be an option, but you can access my location from your own phone and use that to track my movements. I’ll keep the call connected if I can.” You said quickly before acting as if you dropped the call and stashing your cell into the right pocket of your jacket moments before the woman came to a halt about a foot away from you, her companion not too far behind.
“Hello. You’ll have to forgive my rudeness, it’s been awhile since I’ve come across a hunter. Especially one who is brave or stupid enough to travel with someone as infamous and recognizable as a Winchester.” The woman –who you assumed was in charge– greeted with faux-remorse, and you swallowed nervously as her red lips stretched into a wide smile that showed off too many teeth to be strictly friendly.
You scrambled for something to focus on as you began to panic at the realization that the mystery woman –who you strongly suspected was the very witch that you’d been looking for– not only knew who you were but also why you were there, your brain stupidly choosing to latch onto the fact that the pair were going to cause you to be delayed even longer, which meant that it was becoming more than likely that your food was going to be stone cold by the time you made it back to the motel.
If you managed to come out of the confrontation alive, that is.
#supernatural#spn#pre series#pre season one#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean x reader#protective dean#hunter reader#established relationship#shameless flirting#banter#case fic#hunt gone wrong#witches#curses
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I don’t know if your asleep or not, but I’m here to haunt you with the daily price brainrot.
okay, so- price w/ a small cock and a more chubby smaller body who’s always been uncomfortable with it and self conscious about it to the point of even going to the showers after anyone has left, then one day younger recruit reader finds price crying over his body and decides to fuck some sense into his captain in front of the mirror
-⚰️
Let’s imagine price in the communal showers, sneaking in once everyone gone’s out, soaping himself up fully relaxed because he’s waited so long for this chance.
See Price knows it’s silly, he’s in the army he should be used to taking shower with other men and he is that doesn’t mean that he enjoys it.
So he’ll take the first best opportunity to shower alone, almost sneaking inside into the communal showers which is embarrassing, but he doesn’t allow himself to think too much about it as he lathers soap into his body.
He feels so relaxed like this, humming a tune while letting the hot sprays hit his tense muscles.
“Captain!” Price almost jumps 10 feet into the air, awkwardly bumping into the soap stand as he cranks his neck to meet your gaze.
“Thought I’d find you here” you say with a smirk on your face, fully aware you’d scared the man half way to death.
Price’s looks away from your face down to your body instead, noting the shower products in your hand and the towel hanging dangerous low around your waist.
“What’s so urgent that you had to look for me here?” He says as he discretely turns his body away, enough so that you only get a view of his bare behind.
“Nothing” you say smirk still ever so present on your face as you drop your towel onto the floor “just wanted to see you”
And although price is feeling rather uncomfortable he can’t help but snort at your comment but doesn’t respond.
You quickly make your way over to the shower head next to him, humming a tune of your own while pouring shampoo into the palm of your hand.
As you lather up your hair and body you notice just how tense Price seems to be, keeping his head turned to face the wall, hands close to his chest as if an attempt at covering up every part of his body he can.
“Don’t tell me you’re feeling shy captain” you say in an attempt to tease.
“I’m not” he grunts out but you can still hear the slight discomfort in his voice and can’t help but feel concerned.
You fully turn to him now, soap rinsing off your body as you stand under the hot spray. As if feeling you burn holes into his neck, he turns around to meet your gaze.
“What?” He says, attempting to sound more harsh but looking even more vulnerable with the way he subtly tries to hide himself.
“Are you alright?” You say, concern now prominent in your tone.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
You keep staring at him, silently telling him you don’t believe him, silently telling him that it’s clear as day something is up especially the way he keeps trying to cover himself up as if it’s his first time showering with another man.
Price has never been one to give up easily so it’s only natural that he turns towards you, body in full view while trying to hold your gaze.
Your lips twitch at the corner of your mouth and you desperately try to suppress a smile “Good” you say, licking your lips as your eyes wander down his body “because I don’t see a reason as to why you should feel shy” you say, now sporting a big smile on your face and as price’s own eyes start to wonder, he ends up seeing just how honest you were being.
#I remade it a wee bit just bc I have a hard time seeing price in this exact scenario#I hope it’s ok🥹#scribbles#Alec answers#⚰️ anon#John price#John price x reader#John price x male reader#captain John price#captain john price x male reader#captain john price x reader#call of duty#x male reader#dom male reader#sub male character#I wasn’t planning on tagging this but it came out dent?#*decent?
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Pick-Me-Up
Stan Marsh x Reader
Summary: When Stan gets too drunk at a party, he calls on the only person he knows who can help.
Warnings: Underage drinking (characters are 16-17), vomit mention
A/N: Been a while since I've written. Didn't edit this one too much, just wanted to get something out there. Read my pinned if you'd like to request something!
It’s a late Friday night. There are no sounds in the house save for the buzzing of utilities downstairs. It’s still outside, late enough that even the owls have seemingly turned in for the night. It’s a perfect night to catch up on sleep lost from early weekday mornings.
You hold your phone in landscape mode as the video you’re watching comes to an end. The silence wraps itself around you like a soft, fluffy blanket. Your eyelids droop, feeling like they weigh a thousand pounds. Maybe it’s time to finally get some shut-eye. Your hand scrapes along the floor for a second before you find your phone’s charging cord. You plug the device in and lay it face down on your bedside table, so the light from any notification won’t disturb your slumber. Slipping deeper under the covers, you roll over and close your eyes, waiting for the thick, sweet silence to lull you to sleep.
BZZT.
The phone’s vibrations against the nightstand ring out like a gunshot. Your eyelids shoot up and your heart jumps in your chest at the sound. It only takes a second for you to relax again. It was probably just a notification from a game, demanding that you spend a few more dollars for this week’s too-good-to-be-true microtransaction discounts. You snuggle your face deeper into your pillow.
BZZT.
Another clap of thunder rings in your ear. You squeeze your eyes shut and tuck yourself deeper under your blanket, as though you can hide from the sound. You’ll check it tomorrow. It’s probably a group chat that you’re in but don’t care about, like one for a class. Whoever it is that’s begging for homework answers this late at night can take their pleas and shove it up their–
BZZT. BZZT. BZZT.
Your arm shoots out from under the toasty covers and your palm slaps against the back of your phone. You drag the little black box of nightmares off of your nightstand, and you crack your bleary eyes open. The screen is bright, too bright. You look at it through squinted eyes, trying to make out the blur on the screen. All you can comprehend is the tiny SMS app icon in the corner of the notification. Blinking the exhaustion away, you focus your eyes on the screen until the little jittery line of black becomes legible, and the small square of bold, capital letters above the message forms a name.
“Fuck.”
You rub your eyes and prop yourself up on your bed, quickly swiping open your phone. It continues to buzz in your hand.
STAN: heey
STAN: r u awake
STAN: can u pick me ip
STAN: ip
STAN: up
STAN: im at clyde
You have half a mind to mute your phone and put it right back down on your nightstand, but your apathy loses the fight against your empathy. You curse a few more obscenities under your breath as you push the covers off your body. The cold air rushes in and seeps into your skin, taking shelter where warmth once occupied. After a simple “omw” text sent back to Stan, you plant your feet on the carpet and heft up your exhausted body.
You don’t care enough to get dressed, opting instead for throwing on a jacket and sweatpants over your nightwear. Grabbing your keys and finding your license, you set out. You pull on your shoes and yawn, not worrying too much about waking anyone in the house. If your parents ask, you’ll say it was a munchies run.
The nighttime air has a chilly bite to it, and you shiver as you step outside and slump into your car. Pulling out of the driveway, you set out down the street to the next neighborhood over, cranking some banging tunes in an attempt to wake yourself up.
You had told Stan not to go to Clyde’s party. You had warned him that he’s notorious for spiking any and all drinks — even if they were already alcoholic to begin with. His dad has enough alcohol lying around in their extravagant kitchen to tranquilize an elephant. But of course, nobody listens to lil ol’ you.
“Oh, I’ll be fine, dude,” you mutter, mimicking Stan’s intonation as you come to a stop at a crosswalk. “I can control myself, dude. Stop acting like my mom, dude.”
After a few minutes of veering through empty streets, you pull up to Clyde’s house. It’s an impressively big place. The windows are lit up from the inside, and you can see the silhouettes of your classmates chatting and laughing. You can hear the party through your rolled up windows, and you’re surprised there hasn’t been a noise complaint yet. The distant thumping bass alone is enough to give you a migraine and a sour mood.
Rolling slowly past his house, your foot primed to press the brake pedal, you scour the area for a place to park so you can bust in and rescue Stan. There are already a few cars aligning the street, so you almost miss it as you’re looking for a gap. You press on the brakes when you do see it. There, hunched over on the curb, is a rather pathetic looking lump of drunk teenage boy.
Stan’s knees are drawn up to his chest, and his face rests in the palms of his hands. He doesn’t react as you roll down the window and call his name. He just flicks his eyes up to your car, then sinks his face down until his head falls out of his palms and his chin slumps against his chest. He mumbles something, but you can’t hear it over the sound of the car’s engine.
“Come on, dude,” you repeat, wishing you had something to throw at him, because from here it looks like he’s totally ignoring you.
Stan still doesn’t react. His hands slip behind his legs, and you can see them twitch with a little bit of movement.
BZZT.
Your phone buzzes in the passenger seat.
STAN: legs dont work
“Oh, for fuck’s—“ You groan and put the car into park.
You step out of your car, grab Stan by the wrists, and heft him to his feet. He wobbles around with all the grace of a newborn deer, nearly taking you down when he leans most of his weight onto your shoulders. You secure an arm around his back and anchor him to your side. You start moving forward, patiently helping Stan along as he stumbles along. By the time you make it to the passenger door, however, you’re practically dragging him like a tired dog on a leash.
You open the car door and Stan slumps inside with a groan. He tilts his chin up and leans against the headrest as you run around to the driver’s side. You start the car and rest your hand on the shift stick, then glance over to the helpless drunk on your right. His eyes are closed, and a deep frown is etched on his face, his lips slightly parted and his eyebrows knit together. You reach across his body and buckle him in before driving away.
The drive is quiet. Houses with dark windows and illuminated streetlights whisk past the vehicle until there are none left. Slowly, the city lights bleed away behind you, and houses are replaced with snow-covered pines. It’s only when the bumpy asphalt beneath your tires turns to crunching gravel that Stan finally speaks.
“‘m sorry.”
It’s nothing but a soft mumble under his breath as he turns his aimless gaze down from the horizon through the windshield to stare sullenly at his beat up, dirty shoes. He can’t bring himself to look at you. He’s scared of what he might see.
“For what?”
“Makin’ you come get me.”
Your sleep-deprived brain considers making a grumpy remark at the situation, but you can’t. Not to him. You let out a sigh. “I’ll always come, dude.”
Stan doesn’t say anything back, but his jaw relaxes and his eyelids rise from their fallen state.
Through a field of wavering green, a house comes into view. You pull up to the quaint porch and park the car. A rustic lantern with a fake candle inside glows warmly next to the door, and an old rocking chair sits stoic next to it. The house is a lot more friendly on the outside.
You ask if Stan’s parents are home, and you receive in response a denying hum and a shake of his head.
Stan fumbles with his seat belt, weakly pushing at the button to release the clasp. You step out of the car and walk over to his side, opening the door for him so you can help drag him to his room. Upon wrenching the door open, Stan, who was leaning on it for support, tumbles over. His palm meets the dusty floor of the car as he catches himself. He’s about to bitch and moan about how much his head hurts, but he finds that impossible to do when he finally, finally fully looks at you.
As Stan lifts his heavy, pounding head up to lift himself from the car seat, his legs suddenly feel about as load-bearing as pudding. Hazy blue eyes meet yours, and his heart lurches straight up into his throat. The lantern on the porch fans out across your back, lighting the contour of your body up in a halo of light. The soft, flickering yellow of the faux flame casts its soft glow across your cheeks, and the harsh burn of the car’s interior ceiling light reflects in your glossy, sharp eyes. Standing before Stan isn’t one of his closest friends. It’s not the same person he got into the car with. It’s an angel.
Stan takes a shaky breath and opens his mouth to speak. To arrange and tell you the words that have been plucking at his vocal cords the whole ride home. To somehow communicate through his stupor how starstruck he suddenly feels as you shift on your feet and make the light glimmer through the strands of your hair like rays of sunshine dappling through leaves. His heart beats harder than the pulsing in his head as he tries to push something, anything, out of his now stupidly open mouth.
Stan is able to spout out a fraction of a syllable before he empties the contents of his stomach on the ground in front of your feet.
You jump back with a curt ‘dude!’ as he vomits. Thankfully, he was able to just narrowly miss getting any in or on your car. Stan coughs and spits and thanks his lucky stars that he’s too drunk to let the mortification of almost showering you in cheap, once-consumed beer set in.
You swiftly help him out of the car, avoiding the puddle, and wordlessly move up to the house and, after a quick shot of water in the bathroom, into his room. You flip on the dusty old lamp that sits at his bedside table as you lower Stan into the messy, unkempt sheets of his bed. He croaks out something akin to a ‘thank you’ as you slip his shoes off and toss them somewhere into the dark corners of his room. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as you move around and make sure he’s comfortable. You sit on the edge of his bed for a second as he finally seems to relax, his eyes drooping shut and his breathing steady. However, weak fingers tug at the sleeve of your jacket as you begin to stand.
“Stay.”
Those sad blues are looking at you again. Though his raspy voice asks a quiet and withdrawn request, his eyes plead and beg like you’re his last lifeline.
You nod. “Okay.”
Stan’s hand slips from your sleeve and falls over your fingers. Those hands, calloused from picking at his old guitar, are so gentle. Careful, even, as his fingers wrap loosely around yours and his thumb strokes your palm. At first, he worries that you’ll comment on how slick with sweat his hands are. He worries that you can feel his thumping heartbeat through the mattress. He worries that you’re disgusted by his actions, or – god forbid – disappointed in him.
But mostly, as you squeeze his hand and shrug off your jacket and kick off your shoes, he worries that you can read exactly what he feels is written plainly across his heart.
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