#does anyone know what i’m talking about or is it just me?
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a helping hand*
in which y/n can't orgasm and harry is a helpful ex-friend with benefits.
word count: 3.3k
content warnings: mentions of depression/mental health and anti-depressants, discussions of reduced libido, smut (phone sex, mentions of sex toys, dirty talk, description of group sex and mmf threesomes)
this one goes out to all the besties on anti-depressants
masterlist | talk to me
. . .
“No.”
“But—”
“No.”
Harry sighs in frustration before crossing his arms over his chest. If he pursed his raspberry lips into a pout, he’d look more like a petulant child than the young adult Y/N’s known for the past few years. With a roll of her eyes, she lifts her glass to her mouth and takes a healthy swig of her coke and rum. She allows herself to scan the interior of the bar — it’s just barely 6 pm on a Wednesday so she’s not surprised that it’s primarily filled with locals and teams of corporate offices decompressing after a long day.
“I could always make you come when we hooked up and I bet you I could still do it.”
“Christ, Harry, give it a rest,” Y/N replies, narrowing her eyes at the curly haired brunette. “It’s not just with partners, it’s me, too.”
He quirks an eyebrow and settles his elbows on the sticky table. She huffs when she realizes she’s only piqued his attention even more now that she’s revealed another inkling of her… problem.
“Can you just tell me what’s going on, then? You know, when I texted you for our semiannual catch up, I didn’t think we’d be getting into your sudden inability to orgasm, but—”
“Can you lower your voice?” Y/N hisses with wide eyes. “I didn’t think we would talk about this either but you’re the one who asked if I’m seeing anyone—”
“Yeah, seeing anyone, not coming for anyone—”
“Just shut up!” she mutters, nearly knocking over her almost-finished drink. “If I tell you, you have to drop it.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“Harry…”
“As your ex-friend with benefits, I have no duty to keep secrets that aren’t about our bedroom-related rendezvouses.”
“There hasn’t been a ‘rendezvous’ in five years.”
“There could be.”
She sighs and presses her fingertips to her temples. This is why she and Harry never worked out. They’re total opposites — he has the energy of a rowdy golden retriever and she exudes a calm, monotone nature. (She thinks she’s borderline boring if you ask her, but that’s something she’s been saving for therapy.)
At parties in college, he was always the one working the room, chatting with everyone while she stood in the corner and clutched her solo cup for dear life.
He had a million contacts in his phone and people remembered him, even if they knew each other from something as small as working together on a project in a class three semesters ago.
Meanwhile, Y/N could spend two years straight working in the same office and someone would still ask her when she started working there because she looked “new”.
(Seriously. It happened last month, and she had to rush to the bathroom to cry.)
Despite their opposing personalities, they did work for a while, but only as friends with benefits. To begin with, Y/N never wanted anything more — when they started hooking up, they were nearing their senior year of college, and she didn’t want to be tied down to anyone or anything when making decisions about her future. But secretly, she knew feelings for Harry would inevitably pop up. How could they not? Although he was an annoying ball of energy sometimes, bouncing off the walls of her apartment before they even made it to her bedroom, he was kind. He had a good heart — he still does after all these years, otherwise Y/N would never bother meeting up with him without the intention of hooking up — and he was funny, and he made Y/N feel all warm and gooey inside. He was a good fuck, too, and as much as she wanted to widdle his presence down to being purely physical, she wasn’t strong enough for that.
She was grateful, albeit heartbroken, when six months after their arrangement began, Harry very sweetly told her he had a crush on a girl in his advanced sculpture class and wanted to go for it. As she swallowed a lump in her throat, she told him that was perfectly fine, that she was glad he told her, and that she hoped things worked out between him and Emily.
(They did. For two and a half years. Y/N had never been so thankful when graduation arrived and she could run as far away as possible from the couple.)
Harry tried his best to keep in touch, even after graduating while he was dating Emily — always commenting on her Instagram posts and responding to her stories, even occasionally texting her to wish her well on her birthday or major holidays. Y/N kept him at an arm’s length for as long as she could. That is, until he moved to her city last year.
The only reason why Y/N had a heads up is because of an Instagram story he posted. In his typical overly excited way, he posted a picture of his dog in his new apartment with one of those tacky, premade location tags. (She’s allowed to think they’re ugly — she’s a graphic designer.) So, it didn’t come as a surprise when a week or two later, a text popped up from an unknown number: Hey Y/N! Not sure if this is still your number or if you still have mine, but it’s Harry :) I just moved to your city and was wondering if we could get together! It would be great to see you.
Thus began the tradition of Harry and Y/N’s semiannual meetups.
It was an unsaid routine they followed — every six months or so, one of them would text the other for drinks or coffee or lunch. They only ever met up in public and they didn’t talk much outside of their scheduled hangouts, though Harry was much more prone to messaging her stupid memes and, on occasion, a picture of his dog, a husky named Fish.
Much to Y/N’s dismay, the chemistry between her and Harry was still very much there. It had been apparent from their first meetup last February. It was difficult not to flirt, especially when he brought up their past (she would happily pretend none of it ever happened if it meant Harry Styles never made her blush ever again). The thing is, though, is it was fine as long as nothing ever came of it.
Until now.
Because as Y/N sits across from Harry in the worn booth of a dive bar a block away from her apartment, she can’t believe she’s seriously considering letting him back in her bed.
“Can you just tell me what you think the problem is?” Harry asks. He slides his elbow onto the table and presses his knuckles up against his cheek, like they’re best friends giggling over some silly gossip. It makes Y/N want to elbow him in the ribs.
“It’s a biological issue,” she mutters, “Like I said, nothing you could fix. Even if I wanted you to.”
“Just spit it out, blossom.”
She narrows her eyes, though she finds it difficult to ignore the way her stomach flips at the familiar nickname. “You’re not allowed to call me that anymore.”
“Tell me what the issue is and I won’t call you that,” he replies easily. “C’mon, it’s me. Remember all the times I helped you pee when you were too drunk to sit up straight? We’ve definitely seen each other in more embarrassing situations before.”
Y/N sighs loudly. He has a point — there was a time where Harry knew her better than anyone else in the world. And frankly, she hasn’t talked to anyone about her problem.
Scooching her body forward, she attempts to close most of the gap between them. Harry leans closer and she rolls her eyes. To an outsider's perspective, they probably looked like they were performing some kind of sketchy drug deal or like little girls swapping secrets at a slumber party.
“Remember how I struggled with, um… getting pretty sad?”
Harry’s eyebrows draw together and he nods.
“Right, so it got… worse when I moved here. And I needed to find help, so I started seeing a psychiatrist who put me on antidepressants. They’ve helped a ton — I feel better, and the depression that I do feel is a lot less intense.”
“That’s great, Y/N,” he says, and she can tell he means it by the genuine tone to his voice. “What does that have to do with you not orgasming, though?”
She swallows tightly. “Well, my doctor increased my medication over the winter, and one of the side effects is…y’know. Decreased libido and whatnot.”
His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah,” she snorts, leaning back against the cracked leather of the seat. “Oh, shit.”
“And you’ve tried vibrators and stuff?”
“Of course I have, I’m not an idiot.”
“So how long has it been?”
She nibbles on her bottom lip as she thinks. Even with flings that she’s had over the past few months, they all gave up at a certain point. The sex was still fun, but she was just the only one who wasn’t coming.
“Well, I can give them to myself if I… work at it,” she mumbles, folding her hands in her lap. “But with a partner? Probably… six months.”
“Six months?!”
The look on Harry’s face is dramatic and theatrical, as if she just told him she was moving halfway across the world and participating in some kind of 90 Day Fiance situation.
“Shut. Up.” she says through grit teeth, sending him a harsh look. “I don’t need a reminder of how shitty it is.”
“Who the hell are you letting in your bed?” he demands sharply.
“It can take me an hour, Harry, I don’t expect every person I sleep with to be that patient.”
“They should be, Y/N.”
With a shake of her head, she glances down at her phone on the table. Everything has always seemed so simple for Harry — he’s one of those people where things just come easily for him, no pun intended. A part of her wishes they never delved into the subject matter. Vulnerability somehow always bit her in the ass and this instance was no exception.
“I’m gonna get going,” she says, pushing her empty glass to the center of the table. “Thank you for the drink, H. It was good to see you.”
His eyes soften as she begins to scooch her way out of the booth. Quickly, he throws a few bills down on the table and gets up to follow her.
“Can I walk you out, please?” he asks, swallowing as his stomach brims with nerves. She nods, though he’s unsure if it’s a reluctant response. Silently, they leave the bar together, and he nibbles on his bottom lip as she pushes the front door open. The spring air is a welcomed breeze from the sticky interior of the establishment, and she shifts on her feet as she turns around to face him. She parts her lips as if she’s readying herself to bid him a final goodbye, but he beats her to it.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he says as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “I just meant— like, you deserve better, is all. Someone who will be patient and care to learn your body.”
Y/N nods slowly. “Right. And you’re that person.”
Her tone teeters on mocking and it sends a harsh hit straight to Harry’s chest. He shrugs.
“If you wanted me to be.”
She doesn’t reply to that, but she doesn’t make a move to leave, either.
“I’ll think about it,” she finally says, and Harry’s eyebrows shoot up in shock. “My hand cramps up when I’ve been at it for too long. Maybe it’ll be nice to have someone else try.”
He huffs out a breathy laugh. “Just let me know and I’m there.”
. . .
A few days later, when Harry is at a friend’s house, he receives a text from Y/N: Are you free right now?
In all honesty, he’s surprised that she’s — assumingly — taking him up on his offer. Y/N remains to be one of the most stubborn people he’s ever known (one time she spent an entire week trying to put together a desk she’d purchased before asking anyone for help. The only reason why Harry was able to do it for her is because she’d called him over for a “destress fuck” and he finished it while she slept).
He swipes down on her message, his other hand occupied by some shitty IPA Lizzy’s new boyfriend had bought. He keeps asking Harry if he likes it and he has to lie about tasting the hints of citrus, even though it tastes like every other crappy beer he’s consumed.
At a friend’s house, he quickly types back, Why? Is your hand cramping?
He can basically feel her rolling her eyes as he bites back a smile, watching as the three dots appear to signal her impending response.
Yes. I was wondering if you wanted to come over.
He’s unsurprised by the casual invitation on a Friday night at 9:40 p.m. (it seems that, as far as hookups go, Y/N hasn’t changed much since college). Nibbling on his bottom lip, he uses his free hand to type a response.
I’m sorry, I would if I could. I’m trapped at this “apartment-warming” party for my friend. Apparently people host housewarmings even if they’re just renting a new place.
Y/N immediately types back: As much as I’d love to debate that with you, I’m really just looking for an orgasm. So if you’re busy, I’ll go back to buzzing at my numb clit.
Harry snorts at that before placing his beer on a coaster and excusing himself to the bathroom. Once he’s locked the door, he’s quick to pull up Y/N’s contact and press the pad of his thumb to her number.
“Hello?”
She sounds confused and frustrated when she answers and Harry smirks at that.
“Hey,” he greets, leaning back against the white porcelain sink. “I’m calling about your orgasm.”
“You’re seriously not trying to have phone sex with me right now.”
Her tone is as deadpan as it gets, and the monotone nature is enough to make a small bit of insecurity crawl into Harry’s stomach.
“Well, I was planning on talking you through it. ‘S not really phone sex if only one person’s getting off, I think.”
She lets out a noisy sigh and there’s some rustling on the other side. He waits for her response and is surprised when she agrees.
“Fine,” she huffs, and he can envision the way her eyebrow raises just slightly when she’s decided to give into something, “Let’s give it a try. Porn is getting boring anyway.”
“What were you watching?”
“Well, when you’ve been trying to come for 40 minutes, you end up in some… odd places,” she says. “I started out with lesbian porn, then found my way into threesomes, and somehow I ended up at double penetration.”
“Ah,” Harry nods, “Sounds like you’re having some sort of craving for group sex, then?”
A pause. And then: “I guess. I’ve never tried it, I just think it’s hot.”
“What’s hot about it for you?”
He thinks he hears her swallow, but he can’t be completely sure.
“I just like the idea of pleasing more than one person. I think that’s how I got to double penetration stuff.”
“Oh, I see. You want to be used.”
It’s blunt and it’s to the point, but he’s not wrong — he knows he’s not, because he slept with her for six months straight.
“I guess,” she replies non-committedly, “I guess it’s like… a fantasy of getting two people off and them feeling that way because of me. Through oral or… being inside of me, or whatever.”
“So what’s your threesome fantasy, then?” Harry pushes, though his tone teeters are near carelessness at this point, “Girl/boy? Boy/boy? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Who do you want to be between?”
Y/N exhales shakily, “I’ve never thought about it.”
“Well, now you are.”
She doesn’t immediately reply, but he knows she responds well to the calloused persona he suddenly obtains. She’s always been this way — submissive and good, always looking to please him intimately. It’s too easy for him to put the pieces together and solve the puzzle.
“I guess I like the idea of being with two guys, but it doesn’t matter much to me.” she eventually decides.
“Okay. And in your deepest fantasies, what are these two men doing to you?”
Another pause, though he thinks he hears a shuttered sigh on the line. He doesn’t mention it — not yet at least.
“Maybe… maybe one’s inside of me and the other one’s in my mouth.”
“And how is he fucking you? Is he on top of you, missionary style, or are you on your hands and knees while he fucks you from behind?”
A breathy whimper departs Y/N’s lips and this time it’s loud enough for both of them to hear. He smirks at the sound of it.
“I like the idea of him behind me. A-and the other one fucking my mouth.”
Harry hums, almost as if he’s praising her. “Close your eyes and envision it, then. Think about how you’re letting two men take advantage of you and use your body, just so they can get off. One’s fucking into you from behind, spanking your ass and grabbing your hips like you’re just some kind of toy to him. And the other one is thrusting deep into your mouth, making you choke, getting you all drooly for him. You’re nothing but a set of holes for them, honey. Isn’t that sweet?”
On the other line, all Harry hears is a series of shattered moans and low curses. Even though it’s been years, he can imagine the way her muscles are all tensed up, her pussy clenching around a dildo or her fingers. He wishes he would’ve asked so he could envision it, too.
“I-I think I’m gonna cum,” she whimpers out, and Harry palms himself through his trousers at the sound of her high-pitched mewls.
“There you go, blossom. Atta girl, just let go. ‘S easy, let it go for me,” his voice is a near coo and it makes Y/N’s eyes roll back into her skull. It’s like he knows how easy it is for her brain to ping pong to other far less sexier thoughts — like the dirty plates in the dishwasher or the unfolded laundry in the corner of her bedroom — so he continues crooning through the receiver, his low, soft voice guiding her through every bump and ridge of her impending orgasm.
When she comes, she comes hard, considering it’s been a solid two weeks since she’s been able to give herself an orgasm. It shoots through her entire body and, even with her eyes shut tight, the fantasy she created still plays through her brain — except now, it’s not two mystery men. Now, it’s just Harry fucking into her, all tan muscles and sweat pearling at his hairline.
She’s boneless and exhausted when she finishes, her throat dry from the involuntary moans she let go. She only remembers she’s still on the phone with Harry when she hears him clear his throat, followed by a call of her name.
“Hey, sorry,” she mumbles as her cheeks flush a deep red hue, “T-that was good. Thank you.”
“Yeah? You finished?”
If she had more energy, she would roll her eyes. Of course she finished. The entire neighborhood knows she finished.
“Yeah.” she mutters shortly. “Have a good time at your apartment-warming party.”
Harry huffs a laugh, “Yeah, ‘cos that’s what I’ll be thinking about for the rest of the night.”
She doesn’t have a chance to ask him what he means before he’s bidding her goodbye: “Let me know when you wanna do this again. I’m around this weekend.”
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It's That Simple
Day 16: Praise Kink (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)
(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)
CW: Light angst, kinda (Bob gets deflated); talk of panic attacks and self-doubt; smut (handjob); 18+ only.
Word Count: 5656
AN: This was requested by an anon!
AN2: If you've been around a bit, you know the drill: this isn't edited or re-read or beta'ed.
It’s another terrible first date.
Bob struggles to even snag a first date. He’s unassuming; he lacks the swagger and extroversion to stroll up to a woman and talk her up. Most of his dates are obtained from other members of the Daggers—double dates, set-ups, stuff like that.
The latest one was set up by Fanboy, a friend of his sister. Within moments of meeting his date, Bob knows it’ll be a mess: she makes a face when she greets him at the door, and it goes downhill from there.
It ends when she gets a text. An emergency, she tells him, and Bob is too smart and perceptive to buy the lie. But he’s a gentleman, so he nods seriously and offers to drive her home or wherever she’s needed, which she declines. He pays the bill of their abortive dinner, and he pretends not to notice how his date practically skips out of the restaurant and into the waiting car of a friend.
He should go home to lick his wounds. Another failed date, another night alone. He sees the stretch of his life in front of him and despairs that he’ll ever meet someone, and he should go home to sulk, but he goes to the Hard Deck instead.
He might as well break the news to Fanboy, at least, and maybe Nat can cheer him up with her usual sarcastic humor.
-----
The Hard Deck is as packed as always, and Bob—in his date clothes of dress pants and a button down shirt—stands out among the uniformed pilots and fellow wizzos. He finds the Dagger Squad, confesses his failure to Fanboy, then settles into a stool near Nat and Rooster.
Nat puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry, Bob,” she says.
“Her loss,” Rooster offers.
Bob shrugs. It’s not anyone’s loss but his, but he offers them a weak smile that fools neither of them.
It’s Hangman who sidles up to Bob, and in an uncharacteristic moment of thoughtfulness, the cocky pilot offers to be his wingman—which makes Bob laugh, and it comes out laced with some bitterness.
“No offense, Bagman, but you’d be a terrible wingman,” Bob says.
“What? Why?”
Bob lifts his hands in a helpless shrug. “Because you’re….you. And I’m not like you at all.”
“So?”
He scoffs in frustration at Bagman being so obtuse. As if any woman would look at Bob if he walked up to them with Jake at his side. It’d be like an Aston Martin rolling up alongside an old Honda Civic, and that’s the analogy he uses to make Jake understand. But Jake shakes his head, clasps him on his shoulders and gives him a friendly shake.
“Nah, Baby on Board. You got it all wrong. You just need some confidence.” Another teeth-rattling shake. “Trust me, there’s a girl out there for you. C’mon.”
Bob finds himself powerless to resist as Jake pushes him off of his stool, then shoves him gently in the direction of the crowded bar.
-----
The first pair that Jake sidles up to is a bust, but it’s not Bob’s fault: Jake had hooked up with the one woman before, forgotten about it completely. He’s moments from getting a drink tossed in his face when Bob tugs him away from the danger and they pull back, reevaluate.
The second pair is a bust too. The first woman doesn’t even let Jake get the full sentence out before she’s wagging her ring finger in his face.
“Married,” she says, her words clipped. “Move along, sailor.”
The third pair? The third pair works out. Jake hones in on one immediately, a blonde with big doe eyes, but the second one—you—rolls her eyes at him.
But when you turn to study Bob, you don’t roll your eyes. You hold out a hand, introduce yourself, ask for his rank, then pat the empty chair beside you.
“Settle in, Lieutenant,” and your smile is easy. “Let’s chat while we watch your friend strike out, huh?”
-----
It turns out you’re drunk, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
For one, you’ve fallen in with Bob Floyd, the most gentlemanly man a drunk, single girl could come across. He’d never take advantage, and in fact, he’ll end up driving you home at the end of the night, getting you into your apartment. He will take your shoes off of you, tuck you into your bed, and press a glass of water and a couple of ibuprofen on you before he sees himself out.
For another thing, Bob Floyd has fallen in with you, the most fiercely sweet drunk that a down-on-himself man could come across. You’re one of those loud cheerleader types when you drink; the kind of woman who chats up other women in the bathroom, who tells them they’re beautiful, that you love them. With your friend and Jake otherwise engaged, Bob finds himself caught in the tractor beam of your charm.
“You look sad,” you tell him around the rim of your glass. “Are you sad?”
You’re drunk and Bob is sad, and you’re staring at him with wide eyes that glitter in the low light of the bar, so he tells you. He tells you about his terrible date, the latest in a string of terrible dates, that he’s been single for so long and he’s not entirely convinced he’ll ever meet someone, that he’s too scrawny, that his glasses are terrible (one date called them serial killer glasses), that he’s too reserved to ever catch the eye of a woman, too unremarkable looking, let alone—
“No!” You cut him off by exclaiming it, a near-shout, and your hand finds his forearm and grips him there. “You’re gorgeous, Bill! Don’t even say you aren’t!”
He grins despite himself. “It’s Bob. But thanks. I mean, it’s nice of you to say—”
“Bob. Yes. Sorry. Bob, not Bill. I say it because it’s true.” You release your hold on his arm and sit back in your chair, your eyes narrowed now as you study him closer. You’re quiet for a long beat, and Bob squirms under your attention, but then you tell him more and he swears he breaks out in a full-body blush.
“You’re gorgeous, really,” you tell him. “It’s just that you have a sneakier handsomeness, you know? Like, that one there—” You gesture broadly at Jake. “—He’s, like, Ken-doll handsome. Like, he catches your eye because it’s all symmetrical and stuff, and he’s fine, but symmetry can be boring and someone like you, it’s sneaky. You have a nice face, and these nice blue eyes, and nice hair, and I bet people think about you after the fact like, ‘oh, that Bob guy, he’s not bad at all,’ and then even later it’s like, ‘oh, Bob, he’s pretty handsome.’ Because you’re that sneaky sort of handsome and that’s the worst damned kind.”
Bob isn’t entirely tracking what you mean, but he shakes his head at the unearned praise, and he can’t stop the smile that’s plastered on his face. He probably looks like a dope.
“Why’s that the worst kind?” he asks.
“Because it’s deadly!” You lean forward again, put your hand on his arm again. “Sneaky-handsome guys are like a virus because by the time you realize they’ve infected you, it’s too late.”
Bob chuckles. “I’m a virus? Suddenly my night has gotten worse, somehow.”
“No, not at all. It’s just…” You trail off, polish off your drink. You wave down Penny for another. “It’s just that you sneaky-handsome types never understand the power you have. Ken-doll over there knows he’s hot, and by the mere fact of him knowing he’s hot, he loses a considerable amount of hotness. But you have no idea you’re handsome, and that makes you even hotter.”
“I think there’s a string of women in the San Diego area that would disagree with your assessment,” Bob replies. “But I appreciate the compliment, nonetheless.”
“Oh, them.” You flap a hand, a dismissive wave. “There’s a lot of idiots in the world, Bob. You can’t let a string of women in the San Diego area make you feel bad.”
“I guess I just need to find someone who isn’t an idiot.”
“Ah, well!” You set your drink down and wave your hands in front of yourself in a ta-da sort of flourish. “Cal Tech graduate, Bobby. I work for NASA.”
He feels a warm flush at you calling him Bobby. “You’re a rocket scientist? Definitely not an idiot, then.”
“Astrobiologist, actually. And only an idiot sometimes, but never when it comes to the sneaky-handsome men here at the Hard Deck.”
Bob shakes his head, a little embarrassed at how much he likes you, a drunk stranger, talking him up. He tries to dial it back, afraid he’s going to fall in love before last call.
“You’re way too smart for me, then,” he tells you.
That makes you arch an eyebrow at him. “You afraid of smart women, Bobby?”
“Not at all. It’s just that smart, beautiful, and sweet? Do you understand the power you have?” He keeps his tone light, teasing, but he’s in over his head with this: he’s definitely going to fall in love before last call.
Of course he is. His question makes you laugh, a warm sound that knocks free the lump in his chest from his earlier failed date. Your laughter makes him feel drunk even though he hasn’t touched a drop; he feels warm and light and big-headed at how kind you’ve been to him, how sweet, but your laughter is the sound that makes him fall in love with you.
-----
The two of you stay until last call. Bagman and your friend disappear hours before then, and you shrug at Bob, say you called it all wrong, that you didn’t think Jake was your friend’s type.
Bob drives you home. You’re unsteady on your feet, so he hovers near you, but you manage reasonably well until it’s time to unlock your door. He watches you try it, then he reaches out and takes the keys from your hand.
It’s the first time he touches you.
He gets you inside. He gets you to your bedroom, and you flop gracelessly across the mattress, and Bob immediately goes into caretaker mode. He slides your shoes off of you, sets them in a neat row by your closet. He makes his way to your kitchen, gets you a glass of water, then stops in the bathroom. He rummages through your medicine cabinet—you use the same brand of toothpaste as he does, the same type of toothbrush, and Bob marvels at the strange intimacy of learning these things, the everyday things that not everyone is privy to about you. He finds some ibuprofen and shakes two out, then takes them and the water back to you.
You’re already drifting off to sleep, and Bob has to cajole you into sitting up. He gets you perched on the side of the bed and gives you the pills and water, which you take without complaints. He takes the empty glass back from you, and then there’s a moment—
—you sit on the edge of your bed and Bob stands over you, and you look up at him with your bleary eyes and he sees fear. You’re understanding what you’ve done, maybe: you’ve invited a strange man back to your place and you’re drunk, and he could do anything, and Bob sees the flicker of uncertainty, the beginning of fear in your eyes. It makes him feel sick because he’d never take advantage. It makes him sick that the world, being what the world is, makes this fear lance through the whiskey fumes in your head.
He reaches down to the foot of your bed where there’s a blanket neatly folded. He shakes it out, urges you to lie down, and when you do, he covers you up.
“Be sure to drink more water when you wake up,” he tells you softly.
The nascent fear fades out of your expression, and it’s replaced by a loose, goofy grin. You free a hand from under the blanket and give him a sloppy salute. “Aye, aye, captain.”
Bob sees himself out but not before he’s struck with a bit of brave optimism. He sees the little whiteboard by your refrigerator, and he writes out his name and his number. He drives home and sends up a silent prayer that his sneaky-handsome virus has already infected you, charmed as he is by your earnestly drunken (albeit clunky) analogy from earlier in the evening.
He wakes up the next morning and feels less hopeful. He queues up a playlist and sets out on his morning run, but his morning pessimism is misplaced: you call him a mile into his run, and Bob stutters in his steps to hear your voice—a little rough, but sunny nonetheless.
“I’m looking for a guy named Bobby,” you tell him over the phone, and he can hear the smile in your voice. “Lieutenant Blue Eyes.”
-----
The two of you make plans to meet up at the Hard Deck, but you don’t call it a date so Bob doesn’t either. He’s in unfamiliar territory: things have always been a date or not a date in the past, but he’s noticed that many of his Dagger teammates speak in looser terms—meeting up, hanging out—with potential partners. He’s unsure how to handle it; if he seems too casual, you might miss his interest. If he comes on too strong, he might scare you off.
He decides to just turn up in his uniform, as he usually does, and when he arrives at the Hard Deck, you are already there. You’re perched in a bar stool and chatting to Penny, but when he strolls in, you see him.
You smile at him as he walks over to you, but then you shake your head in a mock-rueful way.
“Oh, no,” you say as you hop off of your stool. You open your arms and Bob steps into them, and you hug him warmly like you’re old friends. “I thought maybe it was just whiskey-goggles that night, but you really are cute.”
Bob chuckles. He releases you, then takes the stool beside yours. “Well, I’ve been downgraded. You called me handsome that night,” he points out.
“Sneaky-handsome, actually.”
“There seems to be a whole spectrum here that I was never privy to.”
You wave down Penny who comes and takes your orders. Once your drinks are in front of you—a hard cider for you, a shandy for Bob—you click your glass against his.
“Here’s to the sneaky-handsome men of the world,” you say.
Bob ducks his head and grins “And to the rocket scientists,” he adds.
A date or not a date…the evening passes in a blink, and you leave Bob that night entirely sober after long conversations and a lot of easy laughter. You pull him in for another hug before you part, and this hug lingers longer than the hug you gave him as a greeting. When you pull away, though, you gaze at him with a somber expression.
“I wanted to thank you for the other night,” you tell him. “For being a gentleman when you took me home.”
“Of course.”
“No, I mean it.” Your hands on his upper arms squeeze him a little firmer. “You could have taken advantage, and you didn’t. You’re a good one, Bob.”
He shakes his head, tries to wave you off, but you squeeze him again. You don’t let him shrug off your thanks. You don’t let him downplay his goodness.
“You are a good man, Bob,” you repeat, and you stare at him, like you’re daring him to disagree.
Bob, who finds that you’re something of a force to be reckoned with, wouldn’t dare to disagree.
-----
He’s still not entirely clear if this is dating or not. Neither of you actually says the word. You text each other steadily, and you meet up sometimes at the Hard Deck, but your schedule isn’t great and Bob’s is even worse. He worries that he’s missed his chance. When he talks about it to the other Daggers, Hangman rolls his eyes and tells Bob he should have taken his shot earlier, that Bob is pretty much friend-zoned now, but Nat rolls her eyes at that and says he’s overthinking it.
Of course Bob overthinks it. Bob overthinks everything.
He doesn’t know yet that you overthink everything too. That you are going through your own pangs of regret, that you think you’ve missed your chance too, that your friends circle around you too and give you tough-love pep talks to build up your courage to take the lead on this burgeoning thing with Bob.
And ultimately, Bob’s hunch that you’re a force to be reckoned with is correct. In the end, you take charge.
-----
You end up inviting him over for dinner on a night when your schedules align, and Bob overthinks that too.
What if it’s a date-date, and he turns up too casual, with nothing in his hands—no wine, no flowers? Or the opposite—what if he dresses up a little, brings you a mixed bouquet, and it’s just a casual friends-type thing?
Bob has no idea how he can manage the systems on a sophisticated plane because his brain grinds to a painful halt the moment he starts to contemplate this dinner at your place. It’s Nat—it’s always Nat, with her no-nonsense lens into the mystique of her fellow women—who smacks some sense into him.
“Wear a nice shirt, shower beforehand, and take a bottle of wine,” she tells him.
“But what if—”
“It’s always polite to take a gift, Bob.” She rolls her eyes, heaves a sigh. “And it’s always polite to, you know. Shower. Show up fresh-smelling and neat. Jesus Christ. Just go.”
So Bob turns up at your apartment, a mid-tier bottle of wine in his sweaty hand. Freshly showered, a daub of cologne behind his ears, and a nice blue button-down that brings out his eyes.
And it’s a good thing he took Nat’s advice too, because you open the door in the sweetest sundress, and there’s music softly playing and the most heavenly smells wafting from your kitchen. Bob realizes all at once that it’s a date-date after all, and his heart does an alarming little stutter in his chest, enough to stun him until you take his hand and gently pull him inside.
-----
Part of Bob’s issue with women is his inability to pick up on subtle, sometimes invisible cues. He has always fallen in with the sort of women who play mind games, who play coy and say one thing while meaning another. He always feels back on his heels; it feels like women speak a language he’s only slightly fluent in, so he’s always playing catch-up to translate what they mean.
But it’s refreshing with you, in this moment, because as you both sit down to the feast you’ve prepared, you just talk with him. The two of you chat about your lives, you catch each other up since the last time you’ve talked, and Bob almost forgets to be nervous.
Almost. A pair of tapered candles flicker between you and cast your lovely face in a golden glow, and low, bluesy music sets the soundtrack as you eat. You sip at the wine he brought, and he eats your home-cooking, and Bob imagines an entire life like this…and he almost misses the way you keep swiping your palms along your thighs, like you’re nervous.
Almost. He leans into his WSO work, studies you closely like you’re a dashboard of lights and alarms and switches. He watches you a little closer, and he sees the way your throat bobs when you swallow a mouthful of wine, like you’re swallowing past a lump or going all dry-mouthed on him. He sees the deep breaths you take, the way you press the back of your hand to your neck, like you’re flushed and trying to calm yourself.
“You’re nervous,” he blurts out when he realizes it for sure, and you pause in where you’re lifting the wine glass to your mouth and stare at him.
“I am.” It’s that simple. No mind games, no coy pretending.
“It’s just me,” Bob says.
You smile at him, and it trembles a little at the corners. He can feel the nerves in you now, and he reaches out a hand across the table, palm up. He makes a grabby motion with it until your smile firms up and you lay your hand in his, and he grasps you lightly.
“It’s just me,” he repeats.
“And I like just-you,” you tell him. “Like-like, I mean. I wanted to tell you so tonight.”
His heart does that wicked little stutter in his chest, but he squeezes your hand. “Sounds like you just told me then.”
“Guess so.” You watch him, and your smile seems tremulous again, so Bob replies, “I like you too.”
It’s that simple. After you each put yourself through your own overthinking hell, each suffering through your own sleepless nights and needless worrying about dumb things like friend zones, it comes down to a moment so simple that it’s stupid: just the two of you holding hands as you confess your mutual feelings matter-of-factly.
-----
It feels too easy. After months (years) of struggling to even land the occasional first date, suddenly Bob’s dream girl turns up just like that. It feels too easy, and so Bob slips into his overthinking almost immediately.
It goes fine after dinner, when the two of you trade nervous kisses on your couch until the nerves burn off enough that your mouth slotted over his feels natural, that you move in concert with each other—your head tilting one way, his tilting the other, no longer bumping noses or knocking his glasses askew.
It goes fine as you climb into his lap, the solid weight of you a welcome sensation because Bob’s head feels like it’s filled with helium, drunk and fizzy from the feel of your lips against his, your tongue against his own.
It goes fine when you climb off of him, shaky-legged like a newborn foal. When you hold out your hand and take his to lead him back to your bedroom.
The moment he finds himself stripped down to his boxers and lying on your bed is the moment it falls apart.
It’s like every mean comment, every brush-off and ghosting, every roll of the eyes and beleaguered sigh and overheard commentary about him crowds into the room and leaves no space for this moment with you. Bob thinks of all the feedback he’s ever gotten on dates—the serial killer eye glasses, the lack of muscles, the lack of game. He tries to take a deep breath and finds he can barely pull in a lungful, and his throat feels like it’s closing on him—
And he can’t get hard. His near-erection from making out on the couch deflates, and even though you are perched over him—you’ve shed your sundress, and you’re in the sexiest, sweetest lingerie set, powder pink, like the underside of a cloud at sunrise—he cannot coax himself back to attention.
The panic that floods him—he recognizes the feeling. He’s felt it a million times. He feels the hot, splotchy redness as it breaks out across his chest and neck, and his face flushes furiously bright, and you notice it all in real time. The sultry, heavy-lidded look on your face disappears and is replaced by pure concern.
“Bob? Bobby? Are you…okay?” You reach a hand out and cup his face, and your palm had felt warm earlier but now it feels cool….which proves how hot he’s flushed, how feverish his panic makes him feel.
“I’m sorry. Shit, honey. I’m…I gotta go.” He tries to sit up but your mattress is soft and he flails a moment, and if Bob were just a bit younger he’d burst into tears at how sideways this has all gone so suddenly. You served him up the perfect evening, you’re kneeling right beside him in the hottest fucking lingerie, and he’s been reduced to a stuttering, red-face idiot who can’t even get hard—
“Hey.” You lay your hand on his bare chest, steady him. “Hey, hey, hey. Take a second. Just breathe, Bobby.”
“I gotta—”
“Just relax.” You press against his chest, tap your forefinger against his skin. “Breathe for me, okay? Everything’s fine.”
“It’s not. Fuck, it’s not!” He raises his voice, winces at how shrill he sounds, and the dam in him breaks. Something in him dislodges, and it all spills out: every mean, rotten thing he’s ever thought about himself. Every bit of unfair criticism, every insult and slight and how his own insecurity has twisted it all into a crippling imposter syndrome. How he only ever feels competent at his job but how he struggles with everything else, and now how he’s fucked it all up with you because he’s overthinking, always trapped in the own tangled maze of his mind, always waiting for the other shoe to drop because he’s not good enough, he can’t even get hard even with you looking like a dream—
“Hey. Whoa.” You remove your hand from his chest, but you scoot over to sit beside him, turned to face him, your expression very similar to the night he met you—the same easy smile, the same studious eyes.
“Nothing’s ruined. You haven’t fucked anything up. Take a breath. Is this because of that bad first date you had the night we met?”
He nods. “A little bit.”
“There’s been other bad first dates, I guess?”
Another nod.
“And now you’re worried this is just another bad first date?”
“Yeah.” It comes out a croak, a roughness in his throat.
“Hmm.” You lean forward, press a soft kiss to his forehead. “You wanna hear about my worst first date ever?”
“No, honey, it’s okay—”
“His name was Justin.” Another soft kiss, this one to his temple. “Good job, good looking.” Another kiss, to the other temple, right at his hairline. “Picked me up and gave me flowers, took me out to San Diego’s most exclusive restaurant that has a reservation list a mile long.”
Bob chuckles weakly. “Sounds awful,” he says, wry.
You hum again, kiss his flushed cheek. “He was charming at dinner.” A kiss on his other cheek. “Said all the right things. Asked about my life and listened to my answers.” The lightest of kisses on the tip of his nose, and it makes him smile despite himself.
“Halfway through dessert, a woman comes up to our table.” Bob feels the gentle press of your lips at the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head to kiss you back, but you pull away.
“It was Justin’s wife.” A flurry of kisses now, to his chin, along his jawline, near his ear.
“He was cheating,” Bob says.
“Nope.” A kiss, this one lingering, under his jaw, on his neck. “Turns out, this was a little game he and his wife play. Some weird cheating, cuckolding fantasy.” Your lips skate over his pulse point. “He takes a girl out, his wife pretends to catch them, and then they go to a nearby hotel to fuck each other senseless.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Oh, shit is right.” You lift your head to gaze at him. “Asshole left me with the bill for dinner too. So Bobby….you’re not my worst first date. You’re not even close.”
“Honey—”
“You have no idea how hard you’re gonna have to work to really, honestly fuck this up.” You grin at him, and then you straddle his lap again, and he lays his hands on your hips and stares up at you.
“Because you’re, like, exactly the sort of man I’ve always been looking for. You’re that sneaky-handsome sort, and you’re smart and sweet, and you took care of me that first night when I was too drunk to make good choices.” You cup his face in your hands, and you stare at him hard, that sweet forcefulness on full display, like you dare him to disagree with you.
“It’s already a sure thing, Bobby.” You lean forward, kiss him gently. “There’s no pressure to do anything tonight. Don’t even think about needing to do anything. How about you just let me love on you, and you just relax, and if you can keep your secret wife from busting in and turning this into a cuckolding fantasy, we’ll end the night just fine, okay?”
That makes him laugh, and it breaks the spell of his terrible ruminating. Bob laughs, and he slides his hands from your hips up to your waist to feel your soft skin.
“I didn’t even think of getting a secret wife before I came here,” he confesses.
“See? It’s a sure thing, then.” You lean forward again, whisper in his ear, your warm breath making him break out in goosebumps as you tell him to just relax and let you love on him.
-----
The antidote to Bob’s awful overthinking, as it turns out, is your care and praise.
As far as first dates go, this is the one where Bob learns something new about his own sexuality. He learns, thanks to you, that he has a praise kink, because your hands and mouth and body on his feels amazing, but it’s your words that make him hard.
Loving on him means you touch him everywhere. You kiss him everywhere. You stroke him, press your soft lips to him, lick against parts of him until he feels like he’s on fire in a way that is completely different than his panic attack. You kiss every inch of his face and neck. You trail your mouth over his shoulders and collarbones, across every bit of his chest and belly, and you praise him whenever your mouth isn’t otherwise occupied.
Look at you, Bobby. Hiding this body away under that uniform.
You praise his arms, the muscles of his chest and abs. You praise his shoulders and back, the smattering of chest hair, the trail of hair that leads down and disappears under the waistband of his boxers, and you glance up at him, the question in your eyes as you toy with the elastic.
“Can I?” you ask, and Bob nods, swallows hard, and you go lower, you push his boxers down and his cock is there, hard from your honied words.
“Holy shit,” you blurt out. “Bob, are you for real with this?”
It probably seems like a cliché, like the pretty girl in a movie who somehow never realized she was pretty, but Bob has never really considered his size. He’s been around plenty of other penises through the course of his career, but he’s never exactly eyed up other men and measured himself against them. The handful of women he’s slept with never said anything so he assumed he was average, but you praise him here too—you tell him he has a beautiful cock, and Bob blushes at the compliment. He’d never call it beautiful, but when you wrap your palm around his shaft and grip him gently, he’d agree to any adjective you might offer, so long as you never let him go.
This feels too easy too, but the panic never claws at Bob’s throat again. You’ve chosen him, you’ve made it a sure thing for him, and you’ve cut through his awkward moment of near-flight to get him to this: your body stretched alongside his, your breasts pressed against his arm, your hand working against his cock while you whisper praise in his ear.
And every time doubt starts to creep in—he should be touching you too, he should be making you feel good too—you hush him, you still his mouth by kissing him, and you tell him that he has all the time in the world for touching you, but he should let you take care of him now.
His orgasm creeps up in fits and starts, and it seems to ratchet closer with each bit of praise you lavish on him, more so than each movement of your hand working against his cock.
“I want you to come for me, Bobby,” you whisper against his neck. You kiss his pulse point, a plush, open-mouth kiss that makes him shiver as you grip him tighter, work a faster rhythm with your hand. “Come for me like a good boy.”
He wants to be good for you; he wants to do as you say. Some not-so-small part of him craves your approval, and maybe the two of you will play around with that sort of dynamic in the future, but for now, he just wants to obey you. He wants to do his part to salvage the night he thinks he almost ruined, so he breathes in time to your strokes, focuses on every sensation—the softness of your breasts pressed against him, your wet, hot mouth kissing him, the light scent of your perfume. The tension in his belly is a coil, and it tightens and tightens until it snaps, and his hips stutter against your grasping hand. He gasps out your name, warns you, and then a beat later, he comes. He spills over your hand, thick ropes of cum coating your fingers and wrist, spilling over onto his belly.
“Just like that, baby.” You kiss his panting mouth, and he feels the curve of your lips as you give a pleased smile. “It’s that simple.”
#bob floyd#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x you#top gun maverick#kinktober 2023#tropes and tales
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First Date
Summary: Harry and YN are set up on a date.
2019
Jonny had separately nagged YN and Harry to let him set them up on a date. Harry’s argument was that he was in the middle of writing his second album, and wanted to be on his own after his last break up. YN’s protest was that she was a single working Mum who didn’t have the time, and added “nobody wants to date a single mum”.
After what felt like months of constant begging, Harry and YN both gave in to their friend and agreed to go on a date. Jonny had arranged for them to meet at a small quiet restaurant on the outskirts of London, knowing Harry would want to stay under the radar.
YN had been nervous all day. She had messaged Jonny several times to try and cancel but he insisted that it was just nerves and she should give it a chance. Harry felt mixed emotions, part of him was nervous, he was meeting someone new but the other part of him was excited because he knew Jonny wouldn’t set him up with just anyone.
Harry arrived at the restaurant first, being fifteen minutes early. He was shown to their table which he was grateful was tucked into a corner away from other tables. He knew that was down to Jonny’s request. Wanting to calm his nervous, Harry ordered a bottle of wine for them, hoping YN liked it too.
He had just taken a small sip from his glass, when he saw the waiter walking towards him with a woman following behind. Harry stood from his chair, ready to greet her. “Hi, it’s nice to finally meet you”. Harry spoke first, bringing YN in for a hug.
“Jonny and his persuasive ways huh?”. YN joked, causing Harry to smile knowing Jonny must have nagged YN as much as he had nagged him.
Harry pulled YN’s chair out for her to sit before taking his place back in her own. “I ordered wine, I can get you something else if you’d prefer”.
“No…wine is perfect, thank you”. YN smiled with appreciation, showing her little dimples. “I like your tattoos”. She complimented as she noticed them on his arm, that was exposed due to his short sleeved shirt.
Harry glanced down as he looked at his arm, smiling slightly at the mixture of ink that covered his skin. “Uh thanks…I have too many to count”. He giggled. “Do you have any?”. He gestured to his tattoos.
YN hesitated before explaining. “I have one…on my wrist”. She turned her hand over to reveal the delicate ink on her right wrist. “It’s my son’s name”. YN watched for a change in Harry’s response or how he may end the date now.
But what surprised YN was Harry’s genuine grin as he looked down at her wrist. “What’s his name?”. His question was genuine, YN could tell by how he looked at her directly in the eye which a soft look.
“Jacob”. YN smiled as she thought about her favourite person. The little boy who saved her in more ways than he would ever know. “He’s five and a real sweetheart.”. Harry noticed how YN’s whole face lit up as she spoke about him. “Does me having a son not bother you?”. YN couldn’t help but ask.
Harry frowned at her question before shaking his head. “Of course not…I don’t date people based on if they’re a parent, or if they have a certain job or x amount of money in the bank…I date people for them.”.
“I’m sorry…I couldn’t help but ask, I’m not used to people being so understanding when it comes to Jacob”. YN apologised, hoping she hadn’t ruined the date before it had started properly.
“Hey…it’s fine, you can be yourself tonight…there’s no judgement from me.” Harry reassured her, knowing how it felt for someone not to get to know you and having a false opinion.
“Thank you…that really means a lot”. YN smiled before taking a sip from her glass, needing to treat her dry throat.
“So tell me about you and Jacob…I can see he’s your life and I want to know more”. The sentence caused a spark in YN’s chest at how interested Harry was in not only her but the one person who mattered the most.
Harry and YN had talked, laughed and smiled all evening. YN couldn’t remember the last time she felt like herself and was able to be just YN and not just a Mum. Harry wondered how he hadn’t met YN sooner because for once someone didn’t want to speak to him because he was Harry Styles, he could see that YN was genuinely interested in getting to know him as just Harry.
Harry had learnt that YN was in university studying business when she fell pregnant but had to drop out before graduating. But now owned her own florist in London. He noticed that she hasn’t mentioned her family apart from Jacob, but decided it was best to leave it that way for now. She didn’t ask one question related to the band or his music, she asked questions about his family, where he grew up, his childhood memories and all the little things that built up who he is today.
After they had finished their meals and nicely argued about how the bill was going to be paid, they found themselves walking through a quieter part of town, still chatting and giggling like two teenagers. They wanted to blame the wine but deep down they both knew it was from the excitement of each other.
Harry had arranged for a taxi to drop them both back home. They were both supposed to realise that YN didn’t live far from Harry’s Hampstead house. He walked YN up to her door to make sure she was home safe. They both stood staring at each other, waiting for the other to break the silence. Smirks covering their smiles.
“I had a really nice time tonight”. Harry broke first, meaning what he had said.
“Me too!”. YN felt shy for the first time all evening.
“Can I see you again?”. Harry was bold, he hadn’t felt like this after a date before and he wasn’t willing to lose his chance.
YN smiled, she felt special and chosen for once and inside she was screaming with happiness. Harry really wanted to see her again. “I’d love that”.
They quickly swapped numbers and Harry was eager to arrange to see YN again. Before making his way back to the taxi that was waiting patiently, he leaned in to hug YN goodbye. It was like neither of them wanted to let go but the feeling of Harry’s lips leaving a peck on her cheek is what caused YN to jump around in happiness once she closed the door behind her that night.
Taglist:
@ell0ra-br3kk3r
#harry styles x reader#harry styles#harry styles x y/n#harrystyles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x you#harry styles fanfic#harry styles series#harry styles writing#one direction#harry styles x fem!reader#harry styles x oc#harry x reader#harry x yn#harry x y/n#harry x you#harry styles fic#harry styles series masterlist#harry styles masterlist#harry styles imagines#harry styles imagine#louis tomlinson#niall horan#zayn malik#liam payne#harry 1d#one direction imagine#one direction fanfiction#harry edward styles#dadrry
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I’m sorry I need to talk about this for a second
This part right here. When Nirvana tries to use Thought Infection on Kim Dokja. And this ability that absolutely neutralized Yoo Joonghyuk, Min Jiwon, and Yoo Sangah…
just…
bounces right off.
and it’s set up like this big badass moment. Kim Dokja saves the day again. Kim Dokja can face down anyone. He’s more powerful than every other incarnation and constellation, no matter how much foreknowledge they have.
But honestly?
It kinda just makes me sad.
yjh is incapacitated by the Eternal Nightmare ability because of all the awful things he’s seen and experienced, yes.
But as we know from 1863, happy memories can be much more debilitating for him than sad ones. And while he’s only got 1-2’s memories right know, we know that 2 had some incredibly happy memories to pass on, memories that make the losses that much harder to take.
And Min Jiwon?
Of course she doesn’t actually want to visit a spa while her friends and troops are dying. But can you blame her for having some deep craving for comfort and relaxation right now?
But for Kim Dokja…
The Fourth Wall isn’t just protecting kdj from the negative effects of the skill. It’s not hiding his secret desires, or absorbing his emotions.
It is literally preventing him from experiencing the world around him as reality. Not just because it feels improbable or surreal, but because it is literally keeping him separate from the world around him. On a fundamental level, he does not believe he is truly present in this time and space.
This is derealization and dissociation on an unbelievably intense scale.
“If we’re just characters, why did you die for us so many times?”
Why wouldn’t he? He’s not here, not really. He’s just Reading this story, no matter how much sway he’s been having over what has happened. All of that is just his work as a Reader hoping to see the Epilogue of his favorite novel.
“It was a really great story, isn’t that right?”
Narratively satisfying. A twist ending. A fate that subverted expectations.
An Epilogue worth Reading. Not touching, not feeling, not joining, not creating. Just watching. From a distance away. From behind glass. Through the cracks in a wall.
After all, a story can’t exist without a writer, a protagonist, and a reader. Only two of them truly participate in creating the story. But when you’re the Reader, it’s always worth reading the story again. And again. And again. And again. And again ,
#orv#DONT MIND ME IM TOTALLY FINE OVER HERE#DONT WORRY ABOUT ME I JUST READ 73 DEMON KING AGAIN AND IM JUST#FINE#FUCK#orv spoilers#omniscient reader's viewpoint#omniscient reader webtoon#orv novel#orv novel spoilers#kim dokja#the fourth wall#hnnnngngnnggngngngn#do you like my comma I’m v proud of it
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thinking about modern au Kabru
ivy league college student, probably studying law and political science on a full scholarship. first time living away from Milsiril so he has to promise her, yes mom i’ll call you at least four times a week, no mom i don’t need your amex black card, yes mom the normal credit card is fine i need to learn how to budget like a Normal Person (it has a limit of $20k — that’s not normal Kabru).
Milsiril insists for a long time that she’ll just get him a house off campus so he can have his own space (aka a place she can drop by anytime and possibly live a few months out of the year just to be close to him) but Kabru puts his foot down and tells her the best way he’s gonna make friends is by living with other students (bye mom).
his floor in the coed dorms is the party floor and he always makes sure to invite everybody (his nightmare is accidentally leaving anyone out and having them think that he doesn’t like them). somehow it’s always a good time, everyone leaves with more friends than they came with, it never gets totally out of control, and plenty of girls who are interested in him (and a lot of guys too tbh) bring tons of baked treats so there’s always free food. Kabru is the RA’s favourite person to have in the building (even though Kabru himself is messy but most of the people he’s friends with are nice and clean up after themselves).
he has a porsche (Milsiril gift for his 16th bday) but he’s adamant about not driving it unless he absolutely has to (because he doesn’t wanna look like a douche). BUT he never says no when his friends ask for rides (so he ends up driving all the time anyway). he actually contemplates selling the porsche and going for a more practical car but Mickbell is like ‘dude you are not taking this away from me.’ Kabru sighs and decides to keep it because his friends (Mickbell) like being chauffeured around in a fancy convertible (Rin, Holm, and Dia don’t care, they’re just glad they don’t have to walk to the grocery store).
he’s probably on a casual texting basis with most of his professors and you know he’s going to all their office hours, grabbing beer with them just to keep chatting about life outside of school. and that’s how he winds up in some super secret faculty group chat where he’s now privy to all the college administration gossip.
Kabru is elected for student council during his freshman year and he’s probably the favourite to be sc president one day.
he doesn’t really date (gets too in his head about how he doesn’t wanna ruin any friendships) but he does hang out one on one with a lot of girls and treats them all really well. he probably goes so far out of his way to be platonic that he flies a little too close to the ‘Just Like One of the Girlies’ sun, he kinda forgets that most people interpret it as flirting coming from him. which leads to a few awkward conversations. people feeling led on, a few angry jealous boyfriends, scathing dms about him being a girl stealing homewrecker.
it’s such a nightmare for him and he needs it to end right now. so he begs Rin to ‘date’ him for a week or two and then publicly dump him just so the entire student body gets the message that he is Just A Friend.
Rin stares at him for a few seconds. then she laughs. she laughs and laughs. she laughs for a crazy long time. and then eventually she goes, ‘wow you’re an asshole, Kabru. no i won’t be your fake girlfriend. you’re gonna suffer and i’m going to enjoy it.’
and that’s when Kabru has a moment of enlightenment. ok yeah. asking for that is probably really selfish and mean. maybe he needs to think about girls’ feelings more and that’s maybe more important than his deep seated need to be liked, and when has Rin ever been wrong about anything.
he apologizes. and so begins one of the more serious talks he’s ever had with Rin about being okay with not being liked.
he thinks he can really turn over a new leaf. the whole ‘not worrying about what other people think’ thing goes pretty well — up until Kabru meets the aloof professor for his Monsters and Myths class who keeps forgetting and mispronouncing his name.
Kabru has never needed someone to like him So Bad, he needs Prof. Touden to like him as a matter of life and death, and he’s willing to look stupid for it (fails a midterm on purpose to justify begging for one on one tutoring)
#wow if you made it to the end of this post here’s some surprise labru#kabru says fuck my gpa i need this white boy to like me#i am plagued by demons (labru professor/student situationship)#dungeon meshi modern au#ok but the Kabru Milsiril dynamic is my new favourite chew toy#especially them in a modern setting#all of the lavish gifts and expensive lifestyle that Milsiril would want Kabru to have#perhaps even as a way of depending on her forever (love to an unhealthy degree)#but Kabru is more interested in people than material things#so perhaps he’s a little out of touch financially (thinks a jug of milk costs $12)#but he’s still very much socially aware#enough to know that he can’t just be another annoying trust fund kid with a dumb car and designer clothes and zero fucks about academics#so his social and academic excellence is probably in large part overcompensation for his privileged upbringing#and even the thought of someone not liking him gives him stomach cramps LOL#kabru my love you will always be famous#kabru of utaya#kabru#wasabi rambles#labru#dungeon meshi#delicious in dungeon
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starting our forever, baby
9-1-1 on ABC | Buddie | 2.1k words | s7 spec, prev bucktommy, getting together, love confessions, love is stored in the kitchen
Eddie wakes up to a surprise visit from Buck and they finally talk about forever.
Read on AO3
Eddie wakes up to the sound of pans clanging in the kitchen and the smell of pancake batter and hot butter. Neither of these things is cause for alarm nor out of the ordinary but he is ninety-eight percent certain he went to sleep in an empty house.
He rolls out of bed, shrugging on a sweatshirt and grabbing a pair of soft socks out of his drawer on the way past and to no surprise finds Buck in the kitchen.
“Hey! Eddie,” Buck smiles brightly at him as Eddie cautiously perches himself on a kitchen stool. “Good morning.”
Buck is bathed in sunlight from the kitchen window behind him, a halo of gold filtering through his soft curls, gel-free and touseled on the top of Buck’s head in a way that Eddie wishes he would let them be more often. “Morning, Buck. You’re here early.”
Buck bustles around the kitchen, pulling milk out of the fridge and grabbing a mug from the top cupboard, his body moving around Eddie’s kitchen as if it has been programmed with an innate sense of where to find anything and everything. He could be convinced that Buck knows his way around Eddie’s kitchen better than Eddie does. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just–it’s been a while, yeah? And I feel like I haven’t seen Chris in ages–I miss the kid–and I figured he was probably, if not missing me, at least missing my pancakes. I hope he hasn’t been letting you make them.”
Buck pours coffee from the pot into the mug, tops it off with the precise amount of milk that Eddie prefers, and sets it in front of Eddie before turning to the frying pan and flipping the pancake. “I know you’ve been improving in the cooking department–I can see it, Eddie, and I’m proud of you,” Eddie’s heart squeezes in his chest. “But pancakes are my department.”
“I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder.” Eddie quips and Buck whips around to wave the spatula at him.
“Exactly!”
“Buck,” Eddie presses carefully because there’s a frantic energy fizzing beneath Buck’s skin, he can see it in the way he moves, the line of his shoulders, and the exaggerated way he swings his arms. “Christopher isn’t here. He’s on school camp until Friday.”
“Oh, right, I knew that.” Buck’s whole body joints to a stop like a record skipping on a turntable and then just as soon he’s back in motion again. “That’s okay! I brought lemon juice for on your pancakes, we can save the bacon for the weekend when he gets back.”
Eddie’s heart grows three sizes in his chest, threatening to burst out all over his kitchen and cover Buck and the bench top in a flood of emotions he’s spent the last month and a half trying to fold smaller and smaller until he can safely tuck them away beneath his ribs where it can’t hurt anyone but himself.
“Buck?” The other man glances at him before turning back to the stove, giving a soft hum in response. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Buck grins at him again but it doesn’t reach his eyes this time.
“You’re buzzing, and not the good kind.” Eddie stands and rounds the counter, he leans against the other side while still giving Buck as much space as he needs. He presses again, softer this time. “Buck? What’s going on?”
Buck deflates and turns the stove off, removing the pan from the element and leaning against the other counter opposite Eddie. “Tommy and I broke up. I broke up with him, or we broke up with each other, I guess.”
Eddie isn’t sure what to say. As far as he knew Buck and Tommy’s relationship had been going smoothly. They were a good fit, even Eddie could tell, as much as it sometimes pained him to admit. But he was happy for them. Seeing them dance together at Maddie and Chimney’s wedding had filled Eddie with a sense of pride even when it also left him feeling like he was walking with a permanent rock in his shoe—a phenomenon he could finally put a name to after a few long talks with Frank and an enlightening if not nervewracking night at a bar called the Peacock that Hen had suggested he visit for ‘research purposes’.
“I thought you really liked Tommy?” Is what he finally manages to say once he unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth.
“I do,” Buck says. His arms are still full of static as he gestures with his hands in that way that Buck does when he’s nervous or overwhelmed and he’s not looking Eddie in the eyes. Buck shakes his head. “I did. I did, and Tommy is wonderful but I think we both realized that it wasn’t going to last. He got offered a job, down in Mexico.” Buck pushes away from the bench, pulls two plates out of the drawer, and starts dividing the stack of pancakes between them.
“After the whole fiasco with the cruise ship, the LAFD decided they wanted someone on the ground down there as a sort of link between the Los Angeles rescue helicopters and the team down in Mexico City. They’re going to put him in charge of his own team and he’s been working towards some sort of promotion for ages so he’s really excited about it.”
“He didn’t ask you to go with him did he?” Eddie can’t help but let the question burst out of him. The thought of Buck leaving already feels like tearing out a lung but he also knows he’s in no position to ask Buck to stay, certainly not for Eddie’s sake.
“He did, sort of.” Buck shrugs. “I think he already knew I wouldn’t say yes. L.A. is my home, I couldn’t leave the 118, I couldn’t leave Maddie and Jee-yun. Christopher, the thought of being anywhere that kid isn’t is just—and I know he’s not—but I still couldn’t. I won’t. Tommy knows that. He also knew that I wouldn’t leave you.”
“Me?” Now Eddie has to swallow down a lump of surprise. Eddie doesn't think that little of himself, he knows he’s important to Buck, they are important to each other, but important enough to be the reason Buck stays in Los Angeles while his boyfriend moves to another country?
Buck turns to place two plates, carefully stacked with fluffy, golden pancakes, each drizzled in lemon juice and sprinkled with sugar—Eddie’s favorite—on the kitchen island, and then he’s facing Eddie again only feet away in all his early morning glory and Eddie dares to hope.
“You.” Buck rests one hip against the counter and turns the full power of those bright blue eyes on Eddie as he finally makes eye contact for the first time all morning. “Yes, you, Eddie. Tommy is lovely and sweet and he has been so, so good to me for the last two months, we’ve been good for each other, I think.”
Eddie breaks the eye contact, he’s heard all about how wonderful and lovely Tommy is for the last two months and while he has been so happy for Buck, truly, it has also been agony. But then Buck is stepping up into Eddie’s space and gripping his elbow. Buck ducks his head until he can catch Eddie’s eyes again and follows his gaze until Eddie gives up on trying to hide from him.
“But it was never going to work long-term, I don’t think it was ever meant to. He’s very sweet and we get along well but it never got any deeper than that. We made better friends than anything else.”
“Okay, so you ended it on mutual terms and he’s moving to Mexico?”
“Not for a few months but eventually he is yes.”
“A few months?”
“Next February.”
“February? Next year? Buck that ages away, why break up now if he’s not leaving until–.”
“Because it was time.”
“Time for what?”
“To stop lying to myself, to you.”
Eddie almost bites his tongue. “Lying to me? Buck, I am so confused right now. Did you hit your head? You do remember coming out to me right? You’ve been dating a man for the last two months. You brought a man to your sister’s wedding. Honestly, I am still living off of the high that I got from seeing your mother’s face when you kissed Tommy on the dance floor, that was—.”
“Eddie!” Buck laughs around his name and it’s the sweetest sound Eddie has ever heard. “Would you let me finish talking? Please?”
Eddie nods. “Right, yes. Sorry. Proceed.” He swings his arm out dramatically and Buck pinches the skin on the back of Eddie’s arm and rolls his eyes.
“Eddie,” There’s a seriousness to Buck’s tone that Eddie doesn’t hear often. “I don’t want to presume anything okay, so if I’ve been reading this wrong then please tell me because I don’t want to make this weird, the last thing I want to do is hurt you or make you uncomfortable but—.” Eddie watches the tick in Buck's jaw tighten. “There’s something here, right? You and me?”
“Do you think there is?” Eddie whispers into the space between them, barely getting the words out past where his heart sits in his throat.
“I dare to hope there is,” Buck whispers back. “I would like there to be. Eddie, you’re my best friend, you’ve been my rock for years and I love you more than anything but I also—I also think I might be in love with you, and I think I have been for a long time.”
“You think?”
“Like pretty God damn certain actually.”
“Good, good.” Eddie nods, barely keeping the grin from breaking across his face. He can feel his lips twitching with the effort to suppress it. “That’s good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He steps into Buck’s space and leans forward until he can press their foreheads together. Buck’s arm slides from Eddie’s elbow to around his waist and Eddie rests his palm against Buck’s chest, sliding it up until he can wrap his fingers over the swell of Buck’s shoulder and press his thumb into that divet in Buck’s throat where Eddie can feel the heat of him and the pulse of his heartbeat beneath the pad of his thumb. “Because I am definitely in love with you.”
“You never said anything.”
“I didn’t know and then I did but you were with Tommy and you were happy. I was happy for you.”
Buck breathes deeply and Eddie reveals in the way it rushes past his cheek. “What about you?”
“I’m happy now,” Eddie says and it’s true, and realizing that only multiples the happiness tenfold. “I’m so happy I could burst.”
“Happy that I got dumped again?”
“You didn’t get dumped, you said it was mutual.” Eddie squeezes his shoulder. “But yes, happy that you might finally be mine, that I might finally get to be yours.”
Buck leans back and when Eddie opens his eyes he finds Buck’s eyes glassy and brimming with tears.
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Buck says and Eddie pulls him into his arms until they are chest to chest, chins hooked over each other’s shoulders and wrapped up in each other so completely that Eddie could not tell you where one of them ends and the other begins and it feels so right, so right to have Buck so close to him, for them to be one and the same. They breathe together for a long time, squeezing each other closer whenever the micro fraction of an inch between them begins to field like football fields of distance.
“We take this slow, we do it right,” Eddie says carefully, pulling back just far enough to cup his hand around Buck’s cheek and hold his gaze. A niggly part of his brain tries to remind him of everything that could go wrong, of everything they have to lose, but a bigger part of him can only hope for everything that could go so beautifully right.
“We have the rest of forever, after all.” Buck’s smile is soft at the edges and it smoothes the jagged parts of Eddie’s worry.
Eddie leans up and presses one gentle kiss to the corner of Buck’s mouth, allowing himself that much for now. The rest will come, he is in no rush for the rest of his life. On Friday Christopher will be home and they can make pancakes again. At the end of the month, Buck’s lease will expire and Eddie will finally have an excuse to never let Buck leave his house again. In February they will wave Tommy off at the airport and Eddie will get the chance to thank him properly. Soon enough they might get to dance at another wedding, maybe their own, definitely together, for the rest of forever.
“Forever and a day.” He promises.
#buddie#buddie fic#911#season 7 spec#prev bucktommy#meegs writes stuff#911 on abc#buck x eddie#eddie diaz#evan 'buck' buckley#911fic#911 fic#eddie x buck#911 fox
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OC Deep Dive Questionnaire
💛Atlas & Asher🩵
✨TYSM for the tag @raiiny-bay, @zosa95, @dandylion240, @sirianasims, and @hannahssimblr 🤗💖
Of course, I went overboard with this, so grab your favorite beverage and let's dive right in, shall we? ☕💕
-what common/uncommon fear do they have?
💛Atlas: [Pointing to Asher] Water.
🩵Asher: You can’t just leave it at that. It’s not like if you set a glass of water on the table, I’ll run screaming. I have a fear of drowning, so I don’t like to be submerged in water. You’re never going to catch me out swimming. Probably not on a boat either, while we’re at it. Not taking any chances.
💛Atlas: Fair enough. But you won’t even put your face under the water in the shower.
🩵Asher: That’s because it reminds me of being submerged in water. Anyway, this conversation is making me sweaty, and there just happens to be water on the other side of this fence, so let's change the subject. Next question.
-do they have any pet peeves?
🩵Asher: Oh, Atlas fuckin’ hates mindless small talk, like the kind you use just to fill the silence, or because you awkwardly feel like you need to talk to the person next to you. Seriously, he’ll like you a lot more if you just sit next to him in silence for an hour.
💛Atlas: Very true. And yet, your record for silence is, what, twenty minutes?
🩵Asher: Maybe. But I don’t make mindless small talk.
💛Atlas: Yeah, I do like listening to you ramble on about your latest obsessions. You get all animated and excited, it’s really cute.
🩵Asher: You’re really cute.
-what are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?
💛Atlas: Uh, I don’t know, what’s in our room besides the obvious? Probably too many electronics.
🩵Asher: Right, between the computer and the switch and my drawing tablet and our phones...
💛Atlas: And your sketchbooks and pencils. How many pencils does someone need?
🩵Asher: I don’t have enough; I’ll tell you that much. Count yourself lucky that most of my art supplies are scattered between Lex’s place and my parents’ house. One day I’ll get it all organized in one place, but that day is not today.
-what do they notice first in a person?
🩵Asher: Hm. That's a good question. What did you notice about me first?
💛Atlas: Your hair, obviously.
🩵Asher: [laughs]
💛Atlas: But no, I would say your eyes. I’d never met anyone with such pure gray eyes before, they’re striking. Your eyes are very expressive too. And you make eye contact with people more than anyone else I know. Like, whenever I talk to you, I always feel like you’re really listening.
🩵Asher: [smiles] I am.
-on a scale of 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?
🩵Asher: Oh god, mine is probably like a 5, and Atlas’s is probably a fuckin’ 8 or 9.
💛Atlas: I would’ve said 7, but we can go with 8.
-do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?
💛Atlas: I think my first instinct is freeze, but then probably flight. Depending on the situation, I’ll walk away or hide away.
🩵Asher: Mostly. But with James, you definitely went to fight.
💛Atlas: That was different. I don’t care if people hurt me, but I’m not going to let them hurt the people I love. Ash is definitely more of a fighter than I am.
-do they come from a big family/are they a family person?
🩵Asher: I don’t come from a big family, it’s just my parents, me, my sister, and my niece, but we are very close. But honestly, family isn’t just about relatives. Chosen family is just as important. When I say my family is the most important thing to me, I don’t just mean them, I also mean Atlas and Lex and Dawn and Phoenix and Aspen too. And Jasper, obviously.
💛Atlas: Exactly. If we’re talking about relatives, I come from a very large family, but I will never see or speak to any of them again, except for Dawn, of course. A few years ago, I never would’ve considered myself a family person, but Ash’s family taking me in changed all that. I’d definitely say I am now.
🩵Asher: I love that.
-what animal represents them best?
💛Atlas: Oh, that’s easy. Ash is just like Jasper, his border collie. Playful and energetic, friendly, intelligent, hardworking, and he loves to snuggle.
🩵Asher: Hm. I think for Atlas, I’d say a deer.
💛Atlas: A deer?
🩵Asher: Yeah, like, you’re quiet and cautious, a bit anxious with a tendency to hide, but you’re also beautiful and sweet.
💛Atlas: You make me sound more like a bunny.
🩵Asher: No, definitely not a bunny. Have you ever come upon a big buck deer? They’re majestic and intimidating, and they’ll kick your ass if they have to. They’re… survivors.
-what is a smell that they dislike?
💛Atlas: Ammonia.
🩵Asher: No one likes the smell of ammonia.
💛Atlas: I know, but when I was a kid, at the end of every school year, we’d have to clean our desks with this ammonia spray. Twenty kids spraying ammonia in an enclosed room. It was awful. I’m sure they had the windows open, but even still, that smell is seared into my brain, makes me want to gag just thinking of it.
-have they broken any bones? if so, how?
🩵Asher: Okay, story time! So, when I was ten? Eleven? Something like that. Anyway, I was dancing around in my room, as one does, and I tripped on a book, one of many scattered around my disaster of a room, and tried to catch myself as I went down. Bad decision. I’ll spare you the details, but the pain I felt in my wrist was horrible. I literally saw stars. And then I almost puked when I looked at it. So, of course, I started screaming for my mom. She came running in, and I told her that I’d broken my wrist. And what did she do? She yanked on it and snapped it back into place! Because apparently, I’d just dislocated it. But, fuck, it hurt. If a broken bone is worse than that, then I hope I never break one.
💛Atlas: I broke a toe once. Stubbed it on the corner of my bed when I was in college. I wasn’t good about taping it up or anything either, so it healed a little crooked.
-how would a stranger likely describe them?
🩵Asher: For Atlas? One word: quiet. How they interpret that quietness varies though. Some people think he’s really shy, others think he’s just aloof. But he’s actually neither. He’s introverted and pensive, sure, but he’s also very warm and enjoys chatting with people if it’s a more meaningful conversation, y’know. Like, when we first met, we would talk for hours and hours.
💛Atlas: That’s true, but you’re such an easy person to talk to. I think that’s what people would say about Ash. He’s just very relaxed and friendly and has a way of putting people at ease. He’s good at connecting with people and getting them talking and making them laugh.
-are they a night owl or a morning bird?
🩵Asher: Probably night owls, I’d say. Atlas prefers starting his day later and working late, if he has the option.
💛Atlas: Yeah, but these days, it feels like I’m working all the time. But even still, Ash starts his day earlier. I don’t know. I think he’s somehow both. He has no issues with mornings, but he also gets a burst of energy in the evening and sometimes it’s hard to get him to come to bed.
🩵Asher: To sleep, anyway.
💛Atlas: [laughs] Right.
-what is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?
💛Atlas: Ah, Ash hates vinegar and anything pickled. And he loves warm spices like cinnamon and cardamom.
🩵Asher: Oh my god, and Atlas is fuckin’ backwards when it comes to this. He likes bitter flavors to a strange degree, like super bitter beer and strong coffee and he’ll only eat chocolate if it’s the super dark stuff, otherwise he hates it. He doesn’t like sweets. No sugary drinks or candy or even pastries.
-do they have any hobbies?
🩵Asher: We both love gaming and dancing. Otherwise, I like to draw and spend time with my dog. My favorite is taking him down to the beach to play fetch, he loves it there.
💛Atlas: Yeah, and I don’t know, I like to stay active because I feel like I’m constantly at a desk otherwise. I used to rock climb a lot, but since we climbed Mt. Komorebi, we took a break and never really got back to it, so I pretty much just run and work out at the gym occasionally. And I like to sing.
🩵Asher: Seriously, I wish you could hear him. He has the most incredible voice.
💛Atlas: Aw, thank you.
-boom, surprise birthday party! how do they react to surprises?
💛Atlas: Ash would love it! He’d be so stoked that everyone showed up for him like that.
🩵Asher: And Atlas would probably dump me on the spot if I ever did that to him.
💛Atlas: I don’t know if I’d dump you, but… okay, yeah, I probably would.
-do they like to wear jewelry? if so, what is their favorite piece?
🩵Asher: I don’t think I’ve ever seen Atlas wear any jewelry.
💛Atlas: No, I’ve tried, but I could never get used to it. I’d always end up taking it off by midday.
🩵Asher: I can see that. I wear earrings, but that’s it. I used to wear a necklace that an ex gave me, but I threw it out when we broke up. I wanted to throw it into the ocean, but I didn’t dare to walk out on the dock [laughs] so I tossed it in a dumpster instead.
💛Atlas: I didn’t know that. Which ex?
🩵Asher: Elias.
💛Atlas: Ahh. Yikes.
🩵Asher: Yeah. Anyway. Next question.
-do they have neat or messy handwriting?
💛Atlas: I think we both write fairly neat.
🩵Asher: I think so too. Yours is all sharp angles, but it’s not sloppy.
💛Atlas: Yeah, and you have a strong preference for uppercase letters. Sometimes it’s rushed, but it’s never messy. Actually, I’ve never thought about it before, but I really like your handwriting.
🩵Asher: I like yours too.
-what are two emotions they feel the most?
🩵Asher: [points to Atlas] Anxious.
💛Atlas: All of the time.
🩵Asher: And, hm, we can only pick two? I’d probably go with either introspective or focused.
💛Atlas: That’s probably right. For you, I’d say, passionate or inspired and then maybe playful or energetic or something like that. Okay yeah, passionate and playful.
-do they have a favorite fabric?
💛Atlas: Probably cotton, I guess.
🩵Asher: Yeah, same. I don't know. Never really thought about it, to be honest.
-what kind of accent do they have?
🩵Asher: I don’t know. Do we have accents? I mean, I guess Atlas gets a hint of a drawl when he drinks, it’s pretty cute.
💛Atlas: I do not.
🩵Asher: You do! I never told you because I didn’t want you to get self-conscious and try to stop.
💛Atlas: It’s a good thing I don’t drink often, I guess.
🩵Asher: Whatever. I love it.
💛Atlas: And I love you.
🩵Asher: I love you too.
And I love them too!! 🥹
Okay, whew! What are the chances anyone actually read all that?
I really can't just be normal about these things, can I?
Oh well...
Now it's your turn!!
I'm gonna tag @madebysimblr, @crownsofesha, @xldkx, @honeyjars-sims, aaaaaaaaaaand @igotsnothing 🤸🏻♀️💖
Answer them normally, or have a little fun with it, or ignore me completely, that's fine too (no it's not) 🫶🏻
#seriously tho#if you read all that i love you forever#and i offer you cookies 🍪🍪🍪 and hugs 🤗🤗🤗#tag game#oc tag game#atlas stephens#asher goode#aries outtakes
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per aspera ad inferi ; chapter one
[aka: the university ghouls fic]
aeon & dew (ghost band)
general | gen | 1.7k words | alternate universe (university), transmasc aeon, slow burn, general domestic niceness
tagging @midnight-moth for the biscuit tin idea that makes an appearance in this chapter and also for cheering this au on <3 same goes for @divine-misfortune and @ghoultrifle, thank you for indulging me in my university ghouls rambles and adding to the brainrot <3 i hope this first chapter lives up to your expectations :)
snippet and ao3 link under the cut !!
He smiles awkwardly and looks down at his lap. “Thanks, Mum…” He tightens his grip on the biscuit tin that’s resting on his knees. The two of them spent all of yesterday afternoon in the kitchen together baking batches upon batches of his favourite chocolate biscuits to take with him. The tin on his lap is filled to the brim but it’s barely half of what they made together, the rest are in a selection of reusable plastic containers, the idea being that once Aeon has eaten the biscuits he’ll be able to use the containers for storing things or bringing his own lunch to places instead of buying it. He takes the lid off of the tin on his lap and brings it to his nose, sniffing deeply. Chocolate. He’s sure over the next few weeks, he’ll come to associate the smell and taste of these biscuits with home and his mum but he doesn’t mind, there are much worse scents to associate with home, he reasons. He picks one of the biscuits up and silently offers it to his mum without looking away from the tin.
He doesn’t need to hear the smile in her voice to know that she’s glancing over at him briefly with that ever-knowing look in her eye. “Thank you, love. You should have one too, chase those nerves away with chocolate-y goodness.”
“I’m not nervous,” he lies, pointedly ignoring the weight of his mum’s gaze—the heaviness thankfully lessened due to the fact that she’s mostly focussing on the road. “...Okay fine, I’m a little nervous,” he admits, not that he needed to, given that the two of them already knew it, but it’s nice to speak the words out loud to an actual human for once. Up until now the only ‘person’ he’s admitted it to has been his favourite stuffed toy in the nights leading up to his departure, which, no matter how many different ways he thinks about, makes him feel ridiculously childish, despite the fact that he’s currently on his way to start university. He knows that lots of people his age and older still have stuffed animals and plushies of all varieties but he’s never met anyone that still talks to them in the way that he does. It doesn’t bother him much usually, but the fact that he’s going to be sharing a room with someone he’s never met before—someone who might judge him—is beginning to affect him more and more the closer he gets to campus.
“I can hear you thinking over there.” His mum’s voice breaks through the beginnings of his internal spiralling. “What’s going on, hun? Talk to me.”
“I’m just nervous about meeting my roommate,” he says quietly. “It’s nothing serious.”
[read the rest on ao3 !!]
#IT'S HERE IT'S HERE IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEEE#university ghouls#aeon ghoul#phantom ghoul#nameless ghouls#the band ghost#husband writes
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Angel Dust Redesign! (7/7)
FINALLY I AM DONE WITH THE MAIN 7 FREAKS.
Depending how I feel I might throw in some bonuses but these guys are your only guarantees! Going to be posting the full lineup separately because I don’t want to clutter this post!!
God okay where to start. I was talking about them in Husk’s post so let’s go with that. Angel’s clothing restrictions are his necklace and shoes. I might go on a bit of a tangent with this so forgive me 💔
For the necklace let me get this out of the way: yes it is a BDSM thing! I’m terrified people are going to take this as me being a weirdo but please as an adult content creator give me some space to explain before anyone jumps on me and hits me with a metal pipe. The intentions behind symbolism matter HEAVILY. I am against Vivzie’s portrayal of Angel’s abuse and the chain/collar imagery because it is blatantly either her being incredibly uncreative or her inserting her kinks into her shows. I think it is completely fine to use suggestive items in this way as long as the intentions are clear and not just there for no reason.
I would’ve probably done something else like a corset as a restriction, but I’d like to stop being so shy about Angel’s actual job. He is a pornstar and removing that outward aspect of him is taking a big chunk of his character away. I need more people to acknowledge that Angel enjoys sex and actively wanted to explore this side of himself. With the slip chain however, I would also like to portray how things Angel enjoys in his job have been used against him and made him come to resent what he does when he is forced into it. I think thats a pretty understandable thing to show.
This is harder to explain but the gist of it is just don’t be afraid to acknowledge Angel’s job. It’s okay to use sexual things as metaphors. Have you heard any christian song ever/hj
Alright with that out of the way, with the shoes. Angel’s feet are a large insecurity and discomfort of his which already makes his shoes some sort of restriction on their own, however if controlled, they can be made to stumble forward, fall over, etc. I wanted to show how Angel has freedom to go mostly wherever he pleases, though once again, that free will can be taken away very quickly.
I hated his suit so all suiting is gone entirely. He’s supposed to look attractive or eye catching at the very least. I’ve also added back the outer fangs he had in my first redesign!
I am much happier with the new one in comparison to this old guy. I know it’s only a few months old but you can really see how differently I draw him and the details I pay attention to more like the shape of his hair. Aside from the old one! I wanted Angel himself to still keep the reddish pink to show wrath and destain being masked as lust, except now his clothing is actually the pinkish-purple lust colour and it covers more eye grabbing parts of his body like the chest, hands, hips, and so on.
I don’t think I’ve ever outwardly mentioned Angel having polycoria but he does and it’s probably my favourite feature to draw aside from his hair. About the hair and fur: Angel used to have spots and basic stripes before his contract with Valentino, where afterwards they began to curl into their cordiform shapes. Most physical overlord changes with hair and skin tend to not go away, so depending on who you make a contract with it’s either a fun perk or a sort of scar.
Once again, not sure if I will be continuing with anymore in this specific lineup, but if I do end up posting more of these I really hope you like those too! 💣
#hazbin hotel#hazbin critical#hazbin hotel criticism#hazbin hotel critical#angel dust#hazbin angel dust#hazbin angel#angel dust hazbin#angel dust hazbin hotel#my art#hazbin rewrite#hazbin redesign#hazbin rework#hazbin hotel rework#hazbin hotel rewrite#hazbin hotel redesign#anti vivziepop#tw valentino#cw valentino#tw sa implied#cw sa implied
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Dove Cameron’s Alchemical album is so fucking bat coded I feel like a conspiracy theorist.
(This went off the rails at one point, so WARNING: vague mentions of sexual assault and being drugged without consent)
First song: Lethal Woman.
Cass, all over, right? The bridge is “she walks like a saint, floats like an angel, sharp like a knife under the table”
c o m e o n
Second song: Still.
“Man on the screen, they only see whatever you want them to see” and “Supernova self-erasing, hourglass is always draining”
Could be either Tim or Bruce, but I lean toward Tim because of “how dare you, dare me to love you, if you jump I will too” because whenever Tim decides he loves someone, he’s the ride or die, ends of the earth type, even if they don’t even know who he is. A) how and why he became Robin in the first place, B) The Cloning Thing, C) an argument could be made for the Captain Boomerang thing (but now that I think of it, I think I’m mostly basing this off fanon oh well ontotgenextone).
Song Three: Breakfast.
I will admit out the gate that this one’s a reach, so I’m just going to leave Selina here.
Song Four: Sand.
For this I’m thinking Tim or Jason, for different reasons.
For Tim;
“I saw the end when we began, you couldn’t love the way I can, I tried to bargain with the stars, for more than half your heart but you have more pieces of me than the dessert has sand, and I have less pieces of you than I could hold in my hand” and “our love’s misaligned, ‘cause you’re on my mind every night, I stretch out the time, and now I know why.”
I’m just making it obvious I read the Red Robin run, aren’t I?
For Jason:
“What's worse, being wanted but not loved, or loved but not wanted? What's worse, hearing what you wanna hear, or hearing what's honest?” And “What hurts, is the one thing that you wanna do, is the one thing that you shouldn’t do”
Pre-death Jason, but like, right after the Garzonas thing.
Song five: White Glove.
Okay hear me out.
This is part one of the Dick Grayson saga; the persona he shows to the public. This is Richie Wayne. This is every honeypot mission he went on too young, every woman he’s had to seduce for information (it’s one hundred percent happened before don’t fight me) every source of sexual trauma (that one I’m ninety percent sure is canon) that keeps him up at night.
And this guy’s been a vigilante for over twenty years, he can absolutely recognize drugs by sight, smell, and how they feel when he’s too late to notice something slipped in his drink. He’s felt nearly every strain of fear toxin and every one of Ivy’s pollens. If anyone knows their drugs it’s pretty boy Richie Wayne and Robin.
Song six: God’s Game
This one I’m definitely taking some lines out of context, but for Jason, “Just a boy with a man's face, playin' God's game” is when he’s taking over Crime Alley, pit-mad and trigger happy. “I prepare with so much care, I was runnin', it was stunnin', I am desperate from delusions, not much of a solution, never knowin' what the truth is, oh, God” is when hid plans start to fall apart, when Bruce slits his throat with a batarang, when eventually the pit-madness eventually starts to wear off and he realizes what all he did to Tim, who was a child at the time, not to mention Robin.
He nearly became what the Joker was to him to the next Robin, and I feel like at some point that would occur to him.
Song seven: Boyfriend.
(…Admittedly, I don’t think this one has any grounding in canon and if it does, feel free to educate me.)
So, obviously I could mention Kate Kane at this point, but I know basically nothing about her, so instead I’m going to talk about Steph.
So Steph has definitely had some shitty experiences with guys, right? Like, her dad to begin with, but also the guy who got her pregnant (at like fourteen? Maybe I’m just sheltered, but I don’t think anything about that relationship was heathy—again, I haven’t read many of the comics, so correct me if I’m wrong), then Tim, which, I love him as a character, but didn’t he date her in the mask for like, months, and I have some vague recollections of some dickish things he said (i know i know i need to read more comics)—whatever. Men are shitty.
I have a scene in my head. Like, Steph’s in college, at a bar with friends or something, maybe it’s an under cover op, idk, and there’s this girl she’s been lowkey watching all night. She doesn’t quite know why, but she just keeps catching her eye, and okay, it’s not like she’s never questioned her sexuality, she knows Cass. There have been Extensive conversations with Babs on the subject.
Anyway, so at some point, there’s obviously some sort of argument between the girl and the guy she came with and the girl’s crying, and Steph just Can’t Handle That.
She goes up to her, comforts her, makes a new friend, listens to the whole story.
And at some point, she has the thought.
“I could be a better boyfriend than him.”
She doesn’t necessarily do anything about it that night, but now that she’s had the thought, it won’t leave her alone.
Yeah. So. Maybe I’ll write that story later.
Song eight (last song): FRAGILE THINGS.
Dick Grayson part two; So your mentor (dad) just died, leaving you an angry murder child, another one hanging on by a thread after losing eighty percent of his support system, a grieving butler (grandfather), and a mantle the size of the Most Dangerous City in America. Any direction you move is going to hurt someone, and one kid is more likely to snap and murder people than the other, and hey, if you have to be Batman anyway, might as well let your brilliant kid brother be Nightwing, right? Except, whoops, you forgot to mention that last part and now Timmy thinks you just replaced him without telling him and fuck you knew you were forgetting something and now there’s a goddamned imposter Bruce and—
“Love is like a house of fragile things, where hearts can be broken as easy as antiques, and now there’s glass all shattered at my feet, what we built together, you left in smithereens.”
Anyway. This got kind of incoherent (or maybe it was from the start?)
I accidentally added a poll at the bottom and can’t figure out how to remove it, so.
#batfam#batman#cassandra cain#tim drake#jason todd#dick grayson#stephanie brown headcanon#stephanie brown#damian not included bc he’s baby#dick has so much trauma that just never comes up what must his brain be like#is he on meds? he probably should be#actually all the bats should be but we all knew that#it was so tempting to put tim for breakfast for gender reasons but i think i’ll do that on ao3 instead#this is so long#im so tired#im sorry#is this was a shitpost is? nobody asked for this#i didn’t ask for this#also i maybe running a fever#im going to bed now
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You know what?
I get it, ok? I understand the concept of Rhysand being a morally grey character. I understand that SJM wanted him to be an anti-hero of sorts. I would be totally okay with him doing everything that he did and standing by his actions if he simply said “The only thing that concerns me is myself, my circle and my people. I’m here to protect my interests first and everything else second. I am no hero, I am just someone who puts himself and his sphere first. I am a selfish person and I’m totally okay with that. I do not need anyone’s approval.” I still wouldn’t be his biggest fan, because I do not tend to admire self serving people, but I would totally understand him. In fact, I might have done the same thing. I guess you can never know for sure what your reaction to something would be unless you actually end up in that situation. I get that the average person would protect themselves (themselves = them and their loved ones) but I do believe that admiration should be saved for people who go against the norm. People who actually put their foot down, say no, protest, fight back, risk their lives, experience loss for a greater good. That’s why I admire Khalias, Tarquin, Helion, Tamlin etc. Because they stood up to Amarantha while knowing the consequences of their actions. I wouldn’t admire Rhysand, but I’d support him if he just owned up to his shit and said “Yup, I’m your average person, I don’t care if I come off as the bad guy!”.
But he does not! He wants everyone to applaud him and thank him and feel like they owe him and appreciate him and and and and… Jesus Christ man, you did the bare minimum and you did it all when you had nothing to lose! Thank you so much that you convinced that frigid bitch to murder two dozens of children instead of me and my family, of course I am now forever in your debt! Relax. You were able to talk Amarantha out of directly harming the other High Lords only after you harmed others to gain her favour and you saved the High Lords only because it served you better to keep them alive instead of some irrelevant children fae. I’m sure that your people should be thanking you because you did it all for them after all, but count me the fuck out of it.
Last but not least: ACOTAR Feyre was, obviously, a hero. She was a morally good character. She sacrificed herself for people she didn’t even know. I’m not gonna debate that. I actually loved her in the first book. However, I think she went through a drastic change after her metamorphosis. Her “human heart” is actually no longer human to say the least. I’m not even gonna elaborate on how she became this cruel, unforgiving person that only cared about how people treated her, or how disrespectful she is towards other people like Tarquin because Rhysand made her feel entitled to do so, or how she is responsible for the destruction of two courts that simply seemed like collateral damage if it meant that she would get her revenge on Tamlin. I’m simply going to say that logically speaking, since Feyre stands 100% besides Rhys and everything he did and supports him, she’s also a morally grey person AT BEST, though I do tend to think of both of them as villains because after all, the very definition of a villain is “someone defined by their acts of selfishness, evilness, arrogance, cruelty, and cunning” and like, come on, this screams Feysand.
The term morally grey is so overused. Someone who’s selfish and cunning and cares mostly about themselves is, at least partially, a bad person. A morally grey character is at least half a villain. When did we actually start to equate anti heros with heros?
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✨Chris Sturniolo Headcanons✨
For Black Girls✊🏽✊🏾✊🏿
💋 Chris loves black girls
I’m sorry but in my head Chris prefers black girls. Like Atlanta Georgia black girls… thick, dark, dressed to the nines, hair done, acrylic nails 💅🏽💅🏾💅🏿absolute fucking queens. Like I don’t describe Y/N in any way but best believe if it’s a Chris fic she’s black to me.
💋 He sees fucking hates racists
This doesn’t actually need to be said but I figured We’d get this out of the way first. Chris definitely listens to you when you talk about race issues so he knows all about micro aggressions. He always notices them and stands up for you every time. “Baby, if anyone says that shit to you again I’m gonna catch an assault charge!”
💋 He owns silk sheets
This man most definitely would buy a full set of silk sheets after you sleep over his house for the first time and he notices you brought your own satin/silk pillowcase. He doesn’t realize it’s for your hair until he surprises you with them the next time you sleep over and you tell him. “Oh, I just thought you were being bougie.” Then he buys more sets of them because he decides to throw away all his cotton sheets.
💋 He learns your hair care routine
Chris is the only white person you trust to touch your hair. He makes taking care of your hair into a really loving and intimate experience. If you’re in the bath he adds epsom salts, sets up candles, and does a bunch of stuff to set the mood. “You have any music requests, Mama? If not I’m probably just gonna put on the sexy time playlist.” He sits out side of the bath and takes his time washing and conditioning your hair making sure to detangle and section it the way you taught him. He does the same thing when you’re in the shower except he stops occasionally to pull you close and feel you up. “Come here, Baby. You’re so fuckin’ pretty and you smell so nice and clean. I just can’t resist.”
💋 He sits with you when you’re getting your hair braided and brings you snacks
Before your appointment he packs you a lunch bag full of snacks for the both of you because of course he’s coming with you. “Alright, Baby, we’ve got Doritos, McDonald’s chicken nuggets, and a shit ton of candy. We’re all set to go.” If you think he’s not gonna come when you’re gonna be in the chair unable to get away from his yapping you are sorely mistaken. He’s always keeping everyone entertained and happy. “What’s up ladies! You have any tea for me today.” It’s just him feeding you snacks and having silly conversations with you and the person doing your hair. If you ever show up to your appointment without him everyone misses him.
💋 He pays for your acrylics
He insists on giving you the money every two weeks because he’s just “helping to keep his princess feeling pretty” He also likes to help you figure out designs and themes nails. He sends you random texts with nail inspo all the time. “I know a zoo theme seems extra, but let me cook, Mama!” I’m certain that he makes you get a C for Chris on one of your nails every time you get new set. This probably isn’t exclusive to black girls but like as a black person who gets their nails done I like to go all out on the designs and shit gets expensive.
💋 You convince him to wear a durag
He only agrees to do it one time in the house. You use the situation to teach him its use and significance in black hair care. It takes him a few tries and you have to demonstrate it a lot but eventually he is able to put it on correctly and he looks super cute. Not cute in a “this is a good look for you” kind of way, but in an aww “the little white boy is engaging in cultural appreciation” type of way. “I think if anyone saw me like this I would get cancelled.”
Taglist
Masterlist
Idk if people put their tag lists on headcanon posts??? Pls advise
@daddyslilchickenfingers2 @mrsmiagreer @rafecameronsbitch @lovergirl4387 @gdsvhtwa @ashley9282828 @j-worlds-blog @stephanienwf @achrisgirly @draculaura123 @abbypost @cind2224 @crazychrisl0v3r @ryli3sworld @bkwrld @chrattstromboli @pinkishpearls @pepsienthusiasts @stunza @sturnssmuts @angelic-sturniolos111 @69isabella69 @maryx2xx @sturniolo04 @bigbeefybitch @klaus223492 @r93339 @sturnzsblog @spotconlon55 @robins-scoop @junovrsmp4 @sturnlover4eva @blahbel668 @lilahnowheretobefound @luxy-nyx @tuffsturns @m0r94n @sturnstvs @pepsicolapussy333 @maddyslifesstuff @dogblof @honeymoonxxz @xplr-sturns-e-m @hayhjelmstad15
#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo fanfic#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo#chris x reader#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo#sturniolo#matt sturniolo fanfic#nick sturniolo x reader#nick sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x you#matthew bernard sturniolo#nick sturniolo smut#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo fluff#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo triplets smut#sturniolo triplets x reader
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can you rate the scale of yandere levels for each heelead? Like from least to most dangerous thanks. I am so obsessed with heeleads being so down bad for me in each series and I just gotta know what there scale is.
Gladly!
Softest
Starting from the least or the softest yandere heelead, I will say it’s probably (believe it or not) heeler. Bro if give caught up to the current chapters of TO, you’ll already know the backstory of Heeseung in that series. I’m going to explain this without exposing spoilers, but prior to meeting you, he’s a serial killer. He did terrible things to his victims, and yes, while he did kill a man to protect you (nothing out of the ordinary for a yandere) his actions henceforth has been very traditional yandere and nothing too extraordinary. He’s done the whole thing where he kidnaps you, subjects you to noncon sessions, holds you against your will and suppresses you by keeping you with him, but with you by his side, it sort of…..tames him. *hint hint*
2. Heebros: the twins are generally pretty calm because all they care about is living a fruitful life with you. Like heeler, they’ve done some messed up stuff and pretty much trained you to stay and ‘love’ them. I would say that they’re not the type that would resort in killing or getting too out of hand for just any old reason. Someone would have to literally try to take you away or really hurt you in order for them to murder. Unlike some heeleads, where they will kill if someone so much as looks at you, these guys won’t bother unless they feel it is required. There is a line, and once that line is crossed, that’s it. But that line is far up…but not by much lol.
3. Heelel. Now the devil is very yandere and you couldn’t ask for a worse tyoe to be obsessed with you. He is crazy about you and the fact that he took away your mortality and gave you immortality, dragged you to hell and forced you in chains until you fully submitted and gave up, says so much about him. He’s very dangerous. So this is going to be kind of confusing because I would say he’s obviously the most dangerous yandere out of all the heeleads, but he’s very in control of his emotions. He’s the devil, he won’t necessarily act like a crazed lunatic because he is in control of his rage and is soooooo intelligent. He willl (and has) kill for you…he’s tortured and cause brutal deaths all for your name, but he only does it if he considers it necessary. He’s calculating and his insanity mainly shows when he ‘plays’ with you. He loves you and has his beautiful heartwarming moments but also is such a menace. I would say that under general circumstances, he’s pretty calm but if anyone gets him angry, he is the most dangerous and no one can escape from him. At this point, the ONLY thing that will get him angry, is if anyone hurts or tries to take you away from him.
4. Heedam. So heedam was like my first real hard yandere. Heethan is also a hard yandere but he started out as somewhat mild, and it grew the more he interacted with you. But heedam? Man went down a dark path the moment he shook your hand. It’s in his blood. He got hooked on you and had nonstop been thinking about you. I didn’t go into detail in the earlier chapters (though I wish I did…but it will be saved for another Drabble) but I wanted to write out a page where it solely is based off of heedams perspective, from the moment he first met you to when he got you. I’m telling you right now, be prepared for some off the wall crazed obsession. I’m talking having a mural or shrine with a thousand photos sneakily took of you by a hired private investigator, and red markings that are written on a wall saying “you’re mine. You will be the mother of my children. I will get you. I love you. I will not rest until you’re here with me.” Yeah…there is a side of heedam that yall haven’t seen yet because in the series, he’s drafted as a composed and cool gentleman but hidden behind closed doors, up until he finally caught you, he was losing his mind and growing more and more insane for you. *spoiler hint*
….”what are you doing? Sleeping? Thinking? I wonder how you lay when you’re in bed. Do you rest on your stomach? Or do you sleep on your side? God…what I wouldn’t give to witness it…to experience you. Soon…soon. Go ahead and keep living per your usual routine…keep being unaware of the hunter who is watching and planning your capture. Once I shoot that arrow, you’re mine.”
Yeah…you guys thought you had heedam figured out lol. There’s a whole side of him that will be exposed, taking place right after he first met you.
And this man murdered his own grandfather just so he could have you. And trust me….hes done a lot worse for reasons that were so minuscule…remember that young man who bumped into you at Brewery’s cafe? No? Well there’s a reason for that. *hint hint*
1. Heethan. Oooookay. The one with the most character development, leading to a very insane psychopath. Again, you guys haven’t seen the worst and there are sooooo much that will be exposed in the final chapters of HHp….heethan seems cool, calm, and collected but Im telling you….if you’ve read every single chapter of Heethan’s story…all I can say is it’s not what it seems. You guys have not seen the very bad and insane side of Heethan yet, just only got a taste of it. He loves you so much, and….its just crazy how he is. It’s what’s causing the delay in the final chapters because drafting him is a huge chore, I’m trying to perfect it so that way you get a detailed image of his nature. Everything that he’s done is sincere and genuine but let’s just say you’ll be shocked when the final chapter releases. But I rated him as number one because the moment he first met you in MgR, he went downhill. And by the time he got you I the last chapter of MGR, he was so far gone (again he didn’t seem like it because he’s so cool and calm and rational but…trust me….just trust me…he’s not a man you want to mess with) and if anyone gets too close to you, man gets triggered. It doesn’t take a lot for him to give you some sleepy time tea, sneak out at night, smash skulls and bury bodies. That, or, grind a corpse into burger bits and feed it to the pigs at that lovely farm he takes you to…you know, the one from the first chapter in MRE…the one he’s taken you to a handful of times…yeah. That one.
“Heeseung…did you go somewhere? Why are you covered in dirt….are you bleeding?”
“Hm? Oh, nah. Just had to help Jake with some car issues, must have cut my finger or something. Don’t worry about me baby, go back to sleep.”
😊
“But—“
“Shhh….go…back….to sleep….pretty baby.”
😀
“Daddy’s here, so don’t you worry about a thing.”
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Hi! I’m sorry if my question seems to be silly, but I really was wondering.
Have you ever saw and/or heard you deities? How do you do that? I’ve never experienced something like that, but I see people sharing this sort of experience. Like… they can describe appearance, voice etc of their deities. How? I fully rely on my gut in my journey, but I do wish to see, hear and know my deities in face. So, if my question doesn’t bother you, could you share your experience and tips, please?
Thank you!
Hello there, lovely!! Your question isn't silly at all, don't worry. Thanks for asking. 🤍🌼
I indeed have! I've seen/felt and heard my deities before. And, the process to be able to do this is different for everyone.
But, for me, it took countless hours of meditation with them, I was spending so much time focusing on my already existing abilities. Like my active imagination, my sense of visualization that came from that, and so on and so forth which would eventually allow me to begin to see my beloved deities. Being able to recognize their energy soon led me to being able to comprehend their voices and feel their touches. Then that got me into the process of being able to see them.
Gut feelings are actually one of the ways you can get to learn your deities appearance as well. You could try and picture them from whatever comes to mind. A pop culture artwork of them, maybe a livened version of their statue, someone pretty on Pinterest with a few extra features, ect. Deity appearances are very fluid, and can change depending on any factor, so there's no pressure on finding out what they "exactly" look like. Because, they have no exact look. Just take whatever feels best for you. That's what it will come down to most of the time, anyway. What resonates. Like always, lol.
Actually, for about 6 months of being able to see them at first, I couldn't register their voices outside of when they would speak. If that makes sense, lol. Like, I'd understand it when they'd talk to me, but when they weren't speaking, I couldn't recall their voice, just what they had said. Sometimes, their appearance will do the same. You'll see it in the moment, you'll feel or hear them in the moment, then whenever that interaction/meditation ends - so does the...sensation? of them. You know?
For some part of my time with Apollon at first, I'd simply spend my time scrolling through Pinterest for pictures that reminded me of him. I kept them in a sort of e-altar board for him so I could go back and refresh my mind if I was having trouble seeing him in my imagination. Since, sometimes, it helps to simply - daydream of their appearances. At least for me. Getting more used to their eye colors, their body languages, imagine them speaking to you every now and then to try and have their voice be easier to comprehend, stuff like that.
Don't rush it, I can almost guarantee that you'll see and sense your deities in these ways eventually. However, they know what's best in the end. Seeing deities, feeling them, hearing them, ect - can be quite the energy drainer because of how high frequency they are and whatnot. Even if they lower themselves to some extreme degrees to be able to show themselves to us in these ways. So, if you aren't experiencing it just yet, that's probably because you aren't ready for it. Comprehending deities is a difficult task for anyone at first, and can be a persistent struggle even over months. And that's perfectly fine. Because these are celestial beings of the stars and all that other universe-y stuff, we as humans are conditioned not to believe these astral realm things because of how unlimited it all is. Of how... Ironically unbelievable the experience is.
So, even when you're sensing them, your brain will be like "mm...no" most of the time when you're first getting the hang of it. Out of the want to protect you and whatnot.
Deities will 9/10 times try their darndest to help you comprehend them by coming in appearances of like... TV characters, like I've heard some people see Loki as the Loki from the marvel series. Or, how you see book characters. There's been a few times where Aphroditus has appeared to me as a fanart of Lucien from ACOTAR that I loved and made the way I see him whenever he's present in the book. Their voices just the same. They might sound like a singer you very much enjoy, or like a comfort character of yours. I could go on, but I think you get the point, haha.
I saw Apollon as the Apollo from Blood of Zeus without ever having watched or have had heard of it, I only noticed he was taking that form after I looked up his name on Pinterest, and I just went with it. Same with Dionysus. Point is, let them show themselves to you however your brain allows them. I put so much tremendous pressure on myself to perfectly memorize how my higher self looked or how my deities looked, just to be reminded how their forms are infinite. How - they don't want you to stress over that.
They don't want you to feel less because you cannot experience them in the way another devotee can, because that's them, this is you. And they love you. And they'll meet you where you're at to help you progress and grow.
My motto for this? It'll happen when it happens, and when it does - I know they'll be refreshingly, ravishingly beautiful.
I never liked surprises, but, hey. When your deity pops out with a new look entirely and it takes the breath out of you to see it - you get more accustomed to it over time, haha.
Sorry if I dragged this on, I love questions like these lol. I hope it helped!! Blessed be. 💛🤍💛
#witchcraft#deities#deity work#witch advice#deity witch#helpol#hellenic deities#hellenic polytheism#deity#deity advice#hellenic worship#deity worship#deity witchcraft#deity sensing#clairsenses#mother witch advice
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All That She Wants Chapter 3: Let's Talk
Series: All That She Wants
Fandom: The Royal Romance
Pairings for this chapter: Riley x Drake
Word Count: 1,264
Rating: M
Warnings for this chapter: tiny flakes of lemon
My other stuff: Master List.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, matting his hair and dripping onto the glistening skin of the woman writhing underneath him.
It had been a month since Drake had taken Riley back to his room and done all the things he’d fantasized about for so long. She’d come back the next day and the day after that.
And then she’d gone back to being friendly and polite, but nothing more.
Until tonight.
Though he had been determined to demand a conversation, all his resolve had crumbled the moment he’d opened his door to find her standing on the other side.
He had given in to her so easily, and now her legs were wrapped around his waist, her nails sunk into the tanned flesh of his shoulder blades, and his cock was buried deep inside her.
His name fell from her lips as she shuddered beneath him, and he slammed into her one last time, sending streams of milky hot liquid erupting into her.
He nuzzled into the side of her neck as he caught his breath, unwilling to move off her just yet.
He wasn’t ready for this to be over.
He breathed in the scent of lilac and lavender mingled with sweat and sex. His tongue and lips trailed down her supple skin, the taste salty and sweet.
She made approving noises at first, but then she pushed at him to get him to roll off her. “It’s hot and you’re sweaty.”
“So are you.” He countered, but he complied by dropping his body onto the mattress next to her.
“Yes, I know. I need to borrow your shower.”
The unspoken part hung in the air between them. She couldn’t go back to her husband reeking of sex.
They lay side by side for several long minutes; him searching her face for something he couldn’t quite find.
Part of him was afraid of scaring her away, but a bigger part needed to know what was going on. He couldn’t face the prospect of her leaving and him not knowing if or when he’d see her again. “Listen, Riley. We need to talk.”
“About?”
“What we’re doing here.”
“I thought that was obvious.”
“Haha. Seriously. Listen. I know I have a reputation, Riley, but—”
She cut him off with an incredulous laugh. “You say that like it’s not a well-deserved reputation. You’ve been with a lot of women!”
He blew out a breath of frustration. “I have been with a lot of women, but—”
“It’s okay, Drake. You’re safe.” She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I know you don’t do relationships, and I’m not asking you for one. I get it.”
“No, you don’t!” He shot upright, grabbed her arm, and pulled her back. “I want a relationship, Riley!”
She gave him a puzzled look as she shifted her body into the same cross-legged sitting position he had settled into. “No, you don’t. In the entire time I’ve known you, you’ve never dated the same woman for more than a few weeks. And it’s not for lack of opportunity. They throw themselves at you. I’ve seen it.”
His eyes searched her face for any trace of jealousy. “Does that bother you?”
Her brows furrowed momentarily. “What?”
“The women, Riley!” He exploded. “Do you care, even a little, when you see me with someone else?”
He read nothing but confusion in her eyes as she shook her head, “Why would you think—”
“Because it fucking kills me every time I see you with Liam, that’s why! I thought it was just me, all one-sided, but then you… this happened…” he gestured between them.
“What are you saying, Drake?”
“I’m saying that I want a fucking relationship, Riley, but the woman I want it with married my best friend!”
“I…I didn’t know…” she looked stricken.
His voice went quiet as he asked, “Is that why you didn’t give me the courtesy of a heads-up before you got engaged?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh my god, Drake! I had no idea that you ever had feelings like that for anyone, much less for me!”
“Yeah, well, I am in ample possession of plenty of feelings… I just don’t see the point of sharing them with most people.”
“I don’t know what to say. I never knew you felt that way.”
“Why did you think that night happened?”
“Um…. Because you’re Drake Walker and you sleep with anyone and everyone?”
“I do not!”
She arched her eyebrows.
“Okay, I have been around the block a time or two, but do you really think I would have slept with someone Liam was interested in if I didn’t have genuine feelings for them?”
She twirled a loose strand of hair around a fingertip as she considered that. “I mean…we had been drinking, so I chalked it up to that.”
“Would it have made a difference if I’d told you how I felt?”
“Back then? No.” She had been too in love with Liam to give serious consideration to anyone else.
“And now?”
“Drake…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on or anything. I assumed this was just fun and games for you. You know I love Liam. I married him!”
His eyes squeezed shut, pain swirling through him. His voice was clipped as he bit out, “Then why are you here?”
Her gaze drank him in as she considered whether or not to confide in him. One look into his misery-filled eyes convinced her that he was never going to use anything she told him against her.
She could trust him.
Her eyes were trained on her fingers as they twisted the edge of the sheet. Drawing a shaky breath, she admitted, “I can’t remember the last time Liam touched me.”
Drake went still as a soft, “Ah.” slipped from his lips.
She looked up, stunned at the tone she detected in his voice. “You’re not surprised.”
He sighed, unwilling to divulge Liam’s secrets no matter how in love he was with Riley. He hadn’t known they weren’t sleeping together, but in light of the information, he did know exactly why.
Seeing a possible way out without lying, he opted for a truth that wasn’t the whole truth. “I didn’t realize that you two weren’t…. I mean…” a crimson flush crawled up his neck and spread across his face as he stumbled over his words.
For the first time since they started this serious conversation, Riley laughed. It was a short, ironic laugh. She reached for his hand. “Geeze, Drake, after what we just did, are you really afraid to use words like sleeping together? Having sex?” She leaned closer with a hint of provocation lacing her voice. “Fucking?”
The flush went a shade deeper. “Riley!”
Her eyes traced across his face in pleased astonishment. Drake Walker, a known lothario, had somehow regressed into a skittish schoolboy because of her.
She couldn’t repress the smile or the soft laugh that burst out of her at the realization. Her fingers flew to her lips to try to cover it, but he noticed.
“Fuck!” He dropped his face into his hands to hide it from her. “I’m sorry for acting like an idiot.”
“No,” she reached out and gently pried his hands away from his face. “I like this new side of you.”
“Really?” He lifted his head and gazed at her with such tender hope and tortured longing that her heart stuttered in her chest, and butterflies exploded through her.
Well, shit.
That hadn’t been part of the plan.
#the royal romance#trr#drake walker#the royal romance fanfic#drake x mc#drake x riley#angelasscribbles#choices#choices fic writers creations#cfwc fics of the week#choices stories you play#choices trr#trr au#trr au fanfic
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The night when these stars sigh
Joel Miller x Male Reader
Request - pedro pascal characters but if u do i was wondering if i could request a male reader x the mandalorian or joel miller (up to you) that’s based on the song open arms (solo version) by sza. the request wouldn’t be a song fic it would just be the story the song is telling.
•
if u follow the song exactly it’s mostly angsty but u can do whatever u want with the request, fluff, smut, etc. i don’t mind. thank u any way 🫶
You and Joel started dating three years ago, and you and Joel fell for each other fast. You never had strong feelings for anyone before and you opened up to him and told stuff about yourself that you never told anyone. Joel did open up to you and he felt happy when you were next to him. You and Joel always spend time together, learning everything about each other then you and Joel say those three words to each other.
You and Joel went to the cabin in the woods for the weekend. But you notice he is acting strange again, but you ignore the signs because you are in love. He isn't affectionate like before, but you figured he was having an off day. You sit next to him and hold his hand but seconds later he gets up and moves and you don't say anything. You watch him go outside towards the lake. Joel wanted to say something but hesitated to tell you. He doesn't know how to start the conversation and he just becomes more distant.
Hours later, Joel did notice you stopped being affectionate with him.
“Whatever is bothering you, you can talk to me about it,” You said.
“Nothing is bothering me, Y/N,” Joel said.
“Joel, I know when you are lying but okay we won't talk about it,” You said.
You and Joel know each other very well. During dinner, you and Joel didn't say a word to each other. You went to bed early but he didn't sleep next to you, he fell asleep in the living room.
———-
The next day, you and Joel started to have a good time by the lake. But you didn't mention yesterday because you didn’t want to ruin the moment. Joel kissed you on the lips then you and Joel went into the water.
“Are you having a good time?” Joel asked.
“Yeah, I’m having fun today. What about you? I thought you weren't going to get in the water” You said.
“I changed my mind, Y/N,” Joel said.
“Yeah,” You said.
Later, you and Joel sat on the dock to watch the lake. You wanted to hold his hand but he moved it away and you didn't say anything. Joel feels bad for moving his hand away but he had to do it, he noticed you are acting different around him but he doesn't blame you.
While walking back to the cabin, Joel doesn't walk next to you. He is walking in front of you and you sigh, the good time went away. While at the cabin, you tried to kiss him but he moved away.
“Joel, what is wrong with you?” You asked.
“Y/N, I-”
“Tell me the truth, Joel! You are different around me, why” You said.
“Y/N, we can't be together anymore. You should be with someone else, this won't work between us” Joel said.
“Are you fucking serious? Why did you make me open up to you? Or why say I love you!?” You said.
“I’m sorry, Y/N but this has to end between us. You deserve to be happy with someone else” Joel said.
“We have been together for three years going on four. If you didn't want this then why you didn't leave me alone from the beginning. You knew that I been hurt before in the past. Out of all the people in the world, i didn't expect you to hurt me, Joel Miller” You said.
You are doing everything to hold back your tears, but he did notice your tears. His eyes are watery and he does care about you.
“I thought I could make you happy and give you what you wanted but I can't. I’m sorry for hurting you, Y/N I’m really sorry. But we don't belong together” Joel said.
“Screw you. I fell in love with you but now I see that you never truly loved me. I’m so stupid to actually think someone would truly love me” You said.
“You deserve to be loved -”
“Save it! Don’t give me that fucking speech, how I deserve to be loved. I gave everything of myself to you. And you do this to me after three fucking years!” You yelled.
“Y/N… I’m sorry. I don't want to lose you, I still want you in my life. I want to be your friend” Joel said.
“Go to hell, Joel. I have enough friends” You cried.
You walk away and he doesn't go after you. He heard the bedroom door slam hard and you sat on the bed and cried. Joel sits on the chair and wipes the tears away.
An hour later, you packed your clothes. You take out your cell phone and block his phone number. You struggled to delete every picture of you and him together, but you did it. You sighed and you tried to hold back your tears again. You grab all your clothes and put them in the duffle bag, now you hate yourself for falling in love and opening up to someone. It was your first time falling in love and opening up to someone.
You left through the back door in the kitchen. Joel didn't notice that you left and you didn't bother to say goodbye. You walked towards the highway and a stranger gave you a ride to the bus station. Joel gets and heads upstairs and he doesn't see you. He started to look for by the lake then back to the cabin and he cried again. Now he knows that he lost you forever and you would never forgive him.
✯ ✫ ✯ ✫
Joel hasn't seen you since that day at the cabin. He did search for you but he had no luck finding you. He just wants to make sure you are okay and he felt sad when you blocked his phone number. You and Joel don't have the same friends and he went to your apartment, but the landlord told him that you moved away. But he started to panic because there was a post-outbreak virus in town and everywhere else. He is hoping that you are safe and he starts to wish, that he could contact you.
#joel miller x male reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller imagine#x male reader#male!reader#male reader#male reader fanfic#male reader insert#the last of us imagine
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