Hes A 10 But He Broke His Penis Once And Wont Shut The Fuck Up About It

he’s a 10 but he broke his penis once and won’t shut the fuck up about it

Absolutely in love with this fan art 😍😍

Angel Torres x reader

Notes: hey guys. I waited like over two weeks but because almost nobody else is interested in writing some nope fanfictions, i’ m gonna do it. Be aware, my writing is Not Good. And if your also waiting for nope ffs pls Write some. I look at these tags daily!!!! These characters deserve some love! Maybe if I‘m not totally depressed again, I’m gonna write another one.

Warnings: english isnt my First Language, blood, spoilers, some swearing

„Fuck“

Dust and sand had mixed with your tears. Once again you rubbed your eyes and looked up.

No matter how many times OJ had told you that you should not look up.

Jean Jacket was no longer visible. In front of you was only a cloudless sky. In another context it would have been the perfect day. Blue sky, nothing but space.The sun was shining in the afternoon heat. But right now you only felt fear.

Slowly you began to stand up. Your ankle hurt. You remembered that while running you had tripped over one of the wires. Weeks ago you wanted to help the Haywood siblings to remove the wires behind the old barn. But there had always been too much to do at the horse ranch. It had only been 6 months since Mr. Otis Haywood had died in a strange way. It was still unexplainable. He had taught you to ride as a child. He was a kind man and a good teacher. His children always following him around, trying to help as much as they could. You remember OJ standing on the edge of the gate laughing. You hadn't really been very skilled. Emerald, who was only two years older, was standing next to him. She knew how difficult some horses could be. She started cheering you on. While her big brother just rolled his eyes.

Even today, the two had a similar dynamic. Em was loud and cheerful, she loved to play pranks with you on the other farm workers, but especially on her brother. Often you would stay with her long after work hours and you would cook together and sing loudly in the kitchen to Mr haywood's old records. She has always been your friend but you two got really close after what had happend with her father. She talked about it, when it was just the two of you sitting on the porch drinking a glass of wine on a Sunday evening.

Her brother was different. OJ was quiet instead. Most of the time he watched situations rather than get involved in them. He was the silent observer. But never in such a way that it was uncomfortable. He was more like a protector watching over you. A big brother. It was difficult for him to open up. He didnt really talk about what happend. But you could see it in his face, he was thinking about it all the time. And when we all found about Jean Jacket. He didnt want to run away. He wanted to face the animal that killed his father. And he was gonna protect his horses, his home, his friends and his sister. That's why he was so annoyed at first that you and Em wanted to be part of the whole Jean Jacket plan. He thought it was too dangerous. But the farm and the horses were his whole life. And it had always been a second home to you, so it was clear that you would do anything to make the plan work.

You freed your foot from the wire and took a closer look. It was smeared with blood and your pants were torn open, but it probably looked worse than it actually was. You could still feel your foot. It hurt when you started standing up. You tried to move slowly. The house in front of you still red and bloodied. The remnants of the previous nights lay around the porch. You tried not to look too closely, the fear of catching parts of your friends on the roof above the door was to big. You had not yet been able to think further about what exactly had happened. The crazy movie maker that was Antlers Holst had run right into Jean Jacket's arms. That was the last thing you could consciously remember. After that you ran and woke up unconscious next to the horse paddock. A horrible feeling spread in your stomach. "What if... no. I can't even think like that."

Angel was safe. You were sure of that. No one had as much useless knowledge about alien attacks and UFOs as Angel. If anyone could survive something like that, it would be him. You couldn't think anything else. Tears welled up in your eyes and the nauseating feeling spread throughout your body. It almost felt like your throat was closing up. Angel couldn’t be hurt. You wouldn’t know what to do. Last night you had been talking to him. He was afraid and still he didnt think twice about helping you. You wished you could have just grabbed his stupid face and gave him a kiss. Maybe this could have been the last chance to do so. But you were too nervous. The handsome man with his way to goodlooking smile would never be interested in you. And maybe he was dead now. You didnt see him after all that happend. Jean Jacket could have eaten him. That was the new life you had to make sense now. The guy you had a massive crush on got eaten by an alien that looked like a fucking eye. You were sure you wouldnt find a support group for something like that. You started crying even more. The tears were running down your cheeks. He needs to be alive. Everything around you started spinning. You were ready to puke but instead you collapse in front of the Haywoods door.

Its about two Hours later when Angel finally reaches the house. Its already dark outside. The aching pain in his Body is distrecting him from his enviroment. He doesn’t remember what truly happend. Stuff was laying around and he was trying hard not to trip over it. A small Body was laying on the Front portch. He would recognise this face anywhere. It was in his mind and in his dreams for the last weeks. He wanted to shout your name but his voice was to croaky. He reached the porch and sat down next to you. His hands were cold and sprinkled with his own blood. He reached up to your head and started stroking your hair. He let out a rough chuckle. Even though you just fought an alien and survived you still looked really nice. You always looked nice. And pretty. He had thought about telling you before the whole plan, but somehow he was too nervous. Normally he was outgoing and loud,often annoying the people around him. He really liked talking and so he was doing it most of the day. But every time he spent alone with you he didnt know what to say. He was suddenly quiet. His mind was racing at the same time trying to come up with the perfect thing to say. And his hands where fidgeting with the nearest object. You were also smart and interested in the things he was rambling to OJ and Em about. And sometimes you looked at him. It felt like you could truly see him. Looking through him, into his soul. Finding his deepest darkest secrets but not being able to look away. Angel knew he adored you the first time he saw you walking towards him. And now here you where laying in his arm. But not exactly in the way he had dreamed about it. Your hair was soft against his chapped fingers. He saw your eyes open.

„ hey, are you alright? Can you hear me?“

The first thing you saw where his bleached hair and that handsome smirk. His arms where wrapped around you, securing your weak body. One hand was caressing your cheek the other was holding you tightly against his chest. His body was covered in bloody wounds and cuts. It was probably hurting him holding you that way but he didnt really seemed to care.

„ i thought i lost you.“

You started crying. He was alive.

„ that stupid fucking filmmaker. He could have gotten you killed.“

Angel was trying to hold it in, but started quietly crying too.

„ I am alright. We both survived. We will be alright.“

Tears where running down both of your faces. Your hand was touching his cheek. You were leaning into him. His eyes were darting to your mouth. And before you could really think about it your hands where both cupping his face and he closed the proximity between you too. It was a short and soft kiss. You were pressing your foreheads against each other. Softly mumbling with closed eyes and a lowered voice.

„Yes. I think so too. We will be alright, Angel.“

I feel like they confirmed Andrew‘s Peter is bi, because no straight man would use peace signs unironically.

I had a dream about this tv show without really knowing about it. Afterwards I binged the whole show and crushed on yet another man. Why ?!

Babe wake up new pathetic wet dog of a man just dropped

Riff x artist!reader

Notes: hey yo Friends, i m back. Took me Long enough. Here you have a ff that nobody asked for. Lol. This is just the First Part of a series. Hopefully i can finish it this time. Also pls don’t be angry Riff isnt really in this Part but he for sure will be in the second Part of this Story, so this is more like a prologue. Kinda. I take requests. And you cure my depression ( at least a tiny bit ) if you text me something nice. Hope you like it. Love, Mai 🍄

Warnings: none, capitalism?!, not perfect english

Summary: Reader likes to draw buildings and her ever changing neighbourhood. After she meets a certain Gang leader, she now really wants to draw the mysterious guy with the beautiful eyes.

The warm afternoon sun was shining on my skin as I walked through the streets of New York's West Side. A thick sheet of paper in one hand, my watercolor box in the other. I ran excitedly to the next street corner, trying to avoid the shadows of the buildings. It was the beginning of spring, so it was only really pleasant in the sun. In the shade, however, I felt like I was freezing to death in my thin dress. I had begged my overprotective brother not to have to wear the thick winter clothes. He had first been of the opinion that I would catch cold in this weather, but then had agreed after he saw the first rays of sunlight shining through the large window onto the fire escape. After that my face was radiateing like the sun, „it is almost a competition“he said, whereupon he could only say yes to me wearing my favorite dress.

It was Sunday and I had gotten up early to set up my drawing supplies in front of a nearby church in the neighborhood and then to be able to paint when everyone would go to mass. I had only started a few weeks ago with the painting of people. I had seen a young man in the subway. He had the most beautiful blue eyes. I had wished very much that I could have drawn him right at that moment. But as soon as he got off the train and jogged down the stairs of the station, I had forgotten his face.

With a building this would never have happened to me. Ever since I was little, I had memorized the windows, towers and facades of the buildings around me. They were burned into my brain. So it was easier for me to later bring the straight lines and dark colors perfectly on paper. Since I had seen the young man, there was a new need in me. I wanted to paint something that was not rigid and straight like the skyscrapers of the West side.

That's exactly why I had tried to draw the people going to church that morning. But somehow I didn't quite succeed. I was dissatisfied with my painting. Nothing looked the way I wanted it to. The happy faces of the young girls in their pretty Sunday dresses looked lifeless and gray. The old people leaning on each other to climb the stairs of the church together did not look lovingly and kind but rather as if they were arguing in front of the house of God.

My newest plan was to draw the small Irish pub on the next street corner. My brother went there often with his friends. He had told that even in the afternoon the small tables already were filled with empty beer bottles and some drunkard even spend sunday not leaving his seat.

I set my things down next to me while I studied the building opposite me carefully. I had no problem drawing the masonry in a few strokes. As I was about to start detailing the dark green front door with the blurry windows, I was disturbed by an unwelcome shouting. A group of young men had gotten into a fight with the owner of the pub. Something in me felt the need to draw the event in front of me. But before I could think about whether it would be morally compatible to draw a possibly escalating fight, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Y/N? What are you doing here. Come on, we shouldn't be around when the jets are doing something illegal," the voice said, matching the hand on my shoulder. It was Tommy, my brother John's best friend. If Tommy was here, my brother couldn't be far either. I didn't like it when the two of them came together. I always have the feeling that my brother wants to bring me and Tommy together. I'm surprised because John still doesn't accept that I've been a grown woman for a while now. He always sees me only as his little sister who definitely should not waste any thoughts on boys and relationships. But with Tommy he was different. Tommy was the only son of a rich merchant from Manhattan. He and John knew each other from college. John probably wanted me to marry him so that I would have a secure life. Definitely not the plan I had for myself. It's not that I didn't like Tommy, he was usually friendly and always had a compliment for me. But he was a coward. The only conversations I had with him were about the fear that someone might steal his expensive new watch or about how his favorite topic in the world was finance.

Not really what I was interested in. He probably thought he could impress me with his father's money. But what I would have been really happy about would have been a few words about my paintings or if he admired New York at sunrise as much as I did. But he had not answered either one and had returned his attention to the fortune on his wrist.

He also wore the watch today, it was cold on my shoulder. I was still thinking about what to answer when John also entered my field of vision.

"If it isn`t my baby sister. How many times have I told you not to go down this street. It's not for young ladies like you. And look at you. Your hands are full of charcoal and paint. What will people think? Come on, let's go, see you tomorrow Tommy" instantly he had pulled me up from my seat and ran with me in the opposite direction of the pub. I quickly grabbed my art supplies. "Walk faster Y/N , dad will be upset if he sees you like this so you better hurry so we get home on time.

I know my brother was only strict with me because he was afraid something could happen to me. Our father had taught him to be strict. After our mother passed away, there wasn't much warmth in our family. And John was always under observation. Father was almost never at home because of his job and sometimes I didn't see him for several days. John, on the other hand, was always there for me. When we were alone he was very caring and loving to me, but as soon as other people were around he showed his strength and severity. Too big was the fear that someone could confess to my father how soft and loving he had been.

When I arrived at our apartment, I immediately ran to the bathroom and began to wash the stains off my hands. The paint came off easily, but the charcoal stains on the back of my hands just wouldn't come off. Only now I noticed that there was also a small spot of blue paint on my light dress. I mentally cursed myself. Why hadn't I been more careful? For me, but also for John. I couldn't imagine what his punishment would be if father found out that I had been hanging around painting all day instead of sitting at the sewing machine or standing behind the stove. He had very old-fashioned views about the place of a woman. But still I could not be angry with him, he was my father after all and only thanks to him I could have the money to paint and the beautiful clothes I loved to wear.

But although me and John waited all evening long for our father to return, he did not come back to the apartment that night. And even though I had struggled all evening, I decided to paint again the next morning while lying between my silk sheets and slowly falling asleep.