#There's something wrong with him and he needs to be put down I think

[adeptustemptations]

How do you think caleb or any of the others lads guys would react to their wife lactating? 👀 do you think that they'd be down to try it? I love your writing!! 💗💗

Honey, is that...? 🍼

(wc. 2.1k) How would the LADS boys react when they spot you, their wife, lactating?

featuring: rafayel x reader, sylus x reader, caleb x reader, zayne x reader, xavier x reader (all separate) warnings: mild smut, mdni.

a/n: first request down! i definitely think all of the boys would be down to try it LOL. i had so much fun writing this. hope you guys enjoy! c:

🧜 RAFAYEL:

At first, you think Rafayel’s being moody because of something work related. Probably just something about him not getting inspiration for his next piece.

He's quiet during dinner, pushing his food around with the fork, glancing at you between bites but saying nothing. Then he sighs. Dramatically. Like you’ve just told him the love of his life is marrying someone else.

“Do you need the tub prepared?” you ask, gently patting the baby's mouth with a cloth as your baby drifts off to sleep, full and milk-drunk in your arms.

He shrugs. “No.”

Another sigh. Even more dramatic this time.

You narrow your eyes. “Okay, what’s wrong with you?”

Silence.

You put the baby down in the bassinet, tiptoeing back to the couch where he’s brooding like a man personally victimized by your child. You sit beside him and poke his thigh.

“Rafayel. Talk.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Just shifts in his seat dramatically, like you should already know why he’s in a mood.

You raise a brow. “Raf?”

“…Why does he get to taste it?” he finally mutters.

You blink. “What?”

Rafayel lifts his gaze, eyes narrowed. “Your milk. The baby gets all of it. Meanwhile, I, your husband, don’t even get to try?”

You stare at him, baffled, amused, a little turned on by how offended he looks.

He shifts closer suddenly, tone softening like he’s trying to guilt you.

 “You used to let me suck on them all the time,” he mumbles, voice pitiful. “Now I get nothing.”

“Rafayel Qi,” you say, laughing despite yourself. “You’re jealous of your own child?”

“He doesn’t even appreciate it,” Rafayel huffs dramatically. “He’s just... drinking. No compliments. No praise. No loving gaze. No eye contact.” He places a hand over his heart. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“You want to flirt with my boobs while I’m nursing?”

He nods solemnly. “And after.”

You blink. “Raf.”

“No, no, go ahead. Ignore me. That’s fine.” He gestures grandly, flopping back on the couch like a neglected kid in a drama. 

“I mean, I get it,” Rafayel huffs, gesturing vaguely toward the baby now blissfully passed out at the bassinet. “He needs it. It’s nourishment. Bonding. Blah blah. But like, what about me? A stranger in my own marriage.”

You roll your eyes. “Then ask.”

He freezes. Turns to you slowly.

“…Seriously?”

You nod. “If you’re that curious, then fine. Go ahead.”

Wasting no moment, he immediately latches onto you, and his reaction is instant. His eyes roll back. A full-body shudder.

He suckles on your nipple with the eagerness of a thirsty man who had just found water after days of being dehydrated. When a bit of milk manages to escape from the side? He immediately laps it up, wasting no drop.

He pulls back, breathless. Dazed. “...Fuck."

Then he smirks.

“Alright. New plan. Let’s have six more kids.”

You shove him off the couch.

🐦‍⬛ SYLUS:

Everyone in the N109 Zone knows that Sylus doesn’t kneel.

He doesn’t plead.

He doesn’t repeat himself.

He doesn’t need to.

He gives orders, and people obey. His name alone strikes fear into civilians and corrupt officials alike. He's the kind of man who takes what he wants, and everyone bends at his will.

But you?

You’re the one thing he never commands.

Because with you, he never wants to.

And right now? He’s at your feet.

Literally.

It starts when you’re in the privacy of your home, in a soft robe, curled on the couch with your baby fast asleep in the bassinet. You’re drowsy and glowing, eyes heavy from the feeding, your robe slipping just slightly to reveal a glistening patch where you’ve started to leak again.

Sylus was reading some documents, possibly just about a new batch of weapons shipped to one of his armories. All that boring stuff. When he looks at you, his eyes immediately zero to your chest.

He freezes.

The documents clattered to the ground. 

You glance at him, confused. “Sylus?”

But he’s already closing the space between you. You see it, the desire in his eyes as he kneels before you, palms on your thighs, breath hot and uneven.

“Please.”

His voice is hoarse. Ragged. Barely a whisper.

You blink. “Huh?”

“I need to taste you, sweetie.” He says it like it physically hurts to admit, jaw clenched. 

“Can I try? Please?”

Your breath hitches. “Sylus—”

“I never beg,” he murmurs, leaning forward, brushing his lips against the skin of your breast. “But I’ll get on my knees for this. For you.”

He doesn’t ask again.

Just lowers his mouth to your breast and licks. The moment the white liquid hits his tongue, everything changes.

His lips part in stunned disbelief. Then, he groans, deep and guttural, like you just unlocked something feral in him.

“You taste sweet,” he rasps. He’s already latching on you again, open-mouthed, greedy. 

“Fuck. You taste better than anything.”

You gasp, clutching at his shoulders as he begins to devour you. There’s nothing classy about the way he sucks at you–it’s messy, hungry, possessive. Like he’s waited his whole life for this and didn’t even know it.

You try to say something, to make a joke; “You’re worse than the baby.”

But Sylus growls into your skin, low and dark: “I’ll give you another one. I’ll fill you up again, if that’s what it takes to keep you like this.”

Your breath stutters. “Sylus—”

“No one else gets this. No one else gets to taste you like this.” He presses his palm to your womb. “You hear me? Only me.”

And you believe him. Because when Sylus Qin finds something he likes?

He gets it.

🍎 CALEB:

It starts with the panties.

Caleb thinks he’s subtle about it. Volunteering to do your laundry in the pretense that he 'just wants to help', setting aside a pair that smells like you, worn, soft, intimate. The design doesn't matter too, the one with lace? Spectacular. The cotton ones he bought with the apple patterns? Give him 14 of them right now. He tells himself it’s harmless, just something to keep close when you're gone on long shifts or too tired to stay up with him after work from the Hunter's Association.

When you've caught him in the act, all he does is raise an eyebrow, as if you're the one being strange.

“What?” he says, with that deadpan tone of his, nose still pressed into the fabric. “You smell nice.”

You should be flustered, but you’ve been married to this man long enough to know how weirdly intense he can be. It's part of the Caleb experience. When you tried scolding him because some of your pairs have gone missing, all he does is shoot you his signature puppy-eyed look.

But then after giving birth to your baby, everything changes. Your underwear drawer's surprisingly complete, and none of the pairs have gone missing. You'd think that maybe Caleb had just become too busy tending to the baby to even focus on his needs.

But what you don't notice is how his touches linger longer during nighttime cuddles, especially around your chest, or the way he glances at your shirt when it dampens just a little.

It happens when you’re fresh out of the shower. You're drying your hair, not noticing at first that the front of your shirt is damp. A few minutes later, you glance down and–

Oh.

You’re leaking.

“Caleb?" you call out, not thinking much of it, “I think I’m lactating again. I forgot to pump.”

You don’t expect a reaction. You expect him to say something like, ‘Want me to grab the pump?’

What you don’t expect is for Caleb to freeze in the doorway, eyes locked on the wet patch spreading across the fabric.

“...Again?” he says quietly.

You blink at him. “Yeah? That’s usually how it works.”

His eyes narrow, his jaw clenches, and before you can respond, he’s across the room, pushing your shirt up to your chest with eagerness, hunger glinting in those beautiful purple eyes.

“Let me taste.”

Your brain short circuits. “Wha–Caleb–?”

But he’s already there, lips closing around your nipple, hand firmly planted at your waist like he owns you.

And when he moans? You swear it’s the dirtiest sound he’s ever made.

He drinks like he’s been deprived. Like this was what he needed all along, and nothing else compares. Not the panties. Not your bath soap. Not even the taste of your skin.

No–this. This is divine. This is yours.

Later, when you're sprawled on the bed, dazed and breathless, he kisses your stomach and murmurs softly:

"Maybe we should have another baby. Just so you don't run out."

You laugh. “You're a freak.”

“I’m serious.”

He looks up at you, utterly sincere, eyes dark with something that’s not quite lust–it’s obsession, devotion, need.

And you know then: he’s addicted.

Not just to you.

But to every part of you.

☃️ ZAYNE:

You already knew Zayne had a problem with sweets.

The bakery receipts stuffed in his lab coat. The way he always “accidentally” wanders into the dessert section at the grocery store. The time he got bribed by Dr. Greyson with macarons.

But this?

You hadn’t seen coming.

It starts innocently enough; he’s helping you undress after a long day, brushing his fingers along the curve of your side as he unclasps your bra. You’re a few weeks postpartum, still sore and soft in all the ways he loves. He’s kneeling in front of you, peppering lazy kisses along your stomach when he notices the damp spot on your breast.

"Hmm?" He hums, brows furrowing. He leans in closer.

"You're leaking."

You sigh. “Yeah. I forgot to pump again. I’ll go get–”

“No,” Zayne cuts in, already cupping your breast in his hand. “Let me.”

“Zayne–!”

But he’s already latched on before you can finish, mouth closing around you like it’s second nature.

The first taste hits him like a drug.

His eyes widen.

Then flutter shut.

He moans. Actually moans. Like he just took a bite out of the best dessert of his life.

“Dearest,” he breathes when he finally pulls back, his lips still wet. “Why didn’t you tell me it tastes like this?”

You blink, a little dazed. “Like… what?”

He licks his lips. “Sweet. Warm...”

Then his gaze flicks up, dark and hungry. “Better than any dessert I've ever tasted.”

Your face flushes. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he says, already nudging you backward onto the bed, crawling over you with sinful intent. “But you married me.”

And just like that, he’s latched on again, slow, thorough, absolutely obsessed. Like he’s savoring every drop. Like you’re his final meal, and he’s a man who’s starved.

When he finally pulls away, lips wet and pupils blown wide, he looks like he’s come undone.

Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he mutters:

“…I think I need to adjust my meal plan.”

You raise a brow. “You’re joking.”

He shakes his head, dead serious. “You’re my new dessert. Effective immediately.”

⭐ XAVIER:

It’s still dark out when Xavier stirs beside you.

He wakes like he always does. Quiet, warm, arms automatically reaching for your sleeping form. He pulls you close, breath brushing on your neck, his hand splaying across your waist under the covers.

That’s when he notices it.

A damp spot on your shirt. Right over your chest. You’re on your side, curled towards him, unaware.

He blinks once. Then twice. Brain still foggy from sleep.

But then he leans closer, nose brushing against the fabric, breathing in the scent that’s distinctly you. Warm and milky. Sweet.

Something stirs in him. Not lust, something gentler. Deeper.

An ache in his chest he can’t explain. Like he wants to be closer, somehow. Like he needs to feel it. Taste it.

He shifts beneath the blankets, carefully nudging the neckline of your shirt down. He presses a kiss just above your nipple, reverent, before wrapping his lips softly around it.

You stir, eyelids fluttering. “...Xavi?” you murmur, voice gravelly with sleep.

“Mm,” he hums against your skin, mouth still lazily suckling. “Just helping.”

You blink blearily at him. “That’s… not how the pump works.”

“Don’t care,” he whispers. “Tastes better this way.”

You huff a soft laugh, too tired to scold him, too warm to care. “You’re unbelievable.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark hair tousled, eyes still heavy lidded. 

“It’s comforting,” he says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You’re comforting.”

And with that, he tucks himself back into your arms, head resting on your chest, one hand lazily cupping your breast. You feel the occasional soft suckle as he drifts off again, slow and rhythmic, like a baby himself.

You close your eyes.

The room is quiet. The baby’s still asleep. And for now... just for now, there’s no need to move.

You both fall back into sleep, tangled together, Warm, safe, and full.

—

[MASTERLIST]

[brokenbough]

Thinking of mean!Ghost who just... does it wrong.

At first, you were into it. Yeah, maybe you liked being manhandled in bed, liked when he squeezed just a little too hard, liked when he put you where he wanted.

And yeah, maybe you liked being told what to do, liked challenging him only to lose in the most delicious way.

But you've had sort of a shitty day and being called dumb time and time again hasn't had the best effect on your already decaying sense of pride.

"Cmon doll." He sneers, the way you like, pulling your hair a little to get you to look at him.

You'd usually like it, but now it just hurts and you think it's giving you a headache.

He doesn't clock his mistake immediately, only realizing when your wrestling his hand away from you, mumbling about him being too mean.

He's confused, rightfully so, because usually you'd be pulling him closer, asking him what he'd do if you didn't listen.

"Can't hear ya, speak up." His says with his usual gruff tone. He tries putting his finger under your chin, making you look at him-- just the way you like it-- but you're pulling away and he just doesn't understand.

"You're being mean." You say again, unable to look at him.

He tilts his head, looking like you just told him the sky isn't blue.

"You-- huh? You said you liked that." He says, defensive. Like you're the problem. "That's what this whole thing was." He argues as if you're not just trying to have a conversation with him.

"Yeah, but you just..." you start, mulling over your next words. "I... just not right now." You explain.

His words aren't as reassuring as you would've hoped. The opposite in fact.

"So, you just pick and choose when you feel like being degraded and I'm supposed to read your mind?" He says more like a statement than a question. Blunt as ever. Something you usually like but now he's sounding like a dick.

"I didn't say that, I just--"

"That is exactly what you said." He scoffs, pulling away. "Come to me when you're in a better mood, yeah?" He states curtly before just leaving you there to sift and sort through your actions and his words.

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

You spend the rest of the day holed up in your room. You start to question most of everything, wondering if you were in the wrong and overreacting or if he was being a dick to you. You question if you even want to be around him anymore.

He doesn't give you much choice in the matter because he's at your door at the end of the day, incessantly knocking.

You open the door, much to your annoyance. "I thought you didn't want me around until I was in a 'better mood'." You say, immediately coming in with the venom.

He realized around noon that he was in the wrong and would take whatever you threw at him. He should've listened to you instead of painting you as the bad guy because you didn't stick to a set of rules he made up in his head.

You hadn't followed the agreement in his head, and he had blamed you for it.

He knows now you weren't something he could put in a mold and control. You had feelings too. You weren't a mind reader either.

The silence between the two of you stretches on before he sighs, shaking his head.

"I was being an asshole. Sorry."

"I don't accept your apology. You.." you quiet down. "You hurt my feelings." You admit barely above a whisper.

He sucks in another breath. "I know. I..." He mulls over his own words, looking at you properly now.

Your face was tear streaked, puffy, red eyes and cheeks. All accompanied by dark circles under your eyes.

It wasn't in him to feel bad, but it made his stomach churn and chest tighten in a way he wasn't used to.

"I was being mean, and you didn't like it. I understand that now." He finally says, forefinger under your chin. But he wasn't squeezing, he wasn't grabbing, he was... holding. "I'm sorry." He says again.

You stare at him for a long moment, not wanting to give in just yet, but it was exactly what you needed to hear. Accountability and an apology.

You huff, rolling your eyes at him and pulling away from his hand. It pains him in a way he can't describe. He isn't sure what to do as you take a step back, looking at him again.

His hand falls back down to his side but you haven't shut your door on him yet and that sliver of hope is carving its way up and up and over each vein, climbing higher and higher before burying itself in his chest. His very heart.

"I'll be nicer." He coos, looking at your reaction. You almost seem to recoil at the very thought.

"I don't want you nicer, Simon." You say quickly, the thought almost laughable. Almost.

"Then what do you want?" He says, his voice sounding more pleading than he intended.

"I- I don't know. I just... I don't want you nicer, but I don't want you mean right now." You explain looking at your fuzzy socks, wording it the best way you could.

"Alright. I can... I can do that." He answers as if he knows exactly what you mean.

A breath of relief flooding between the two of you at the same time.

"Don't cry over me though. 'M not worth your tears." He says, smoothing the pad of his thumb over your face again. You hadn't even noticed you started crying again. He doesn't know if he can live with himself knowing he made you cry.

When you start full on sobbing, he pulls you to his chest, walking the two of you backwards into your room, into your bed. You curl up to his side, clinging to his shirt. And despite how uncomfortable he is-- your tears wetting his shirt and all-- he lets you. Cause these tears aren't for him, they're for the shitty day or week or month you've had. That he can live with.

He doesn't question or prod. He just stays.

Plus, he's sure you'll tell him all about it in the morning.

[mooningningg]

ᴊᴊᴋ ʀᴏᴄᴋ ʙᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

Notes, this was a very cute request thank you anon!

★ Guitarist!Suguru when you show up in the middle of practice.

It was half past 10 when you stepped into the studio.

The air was thick with leftover smoke, crumpled water bottles, guitar cable coils, and the low buzz of Suguru’s amp humming as the band reset for another run.

You weren’t supposed to be there. Practice was “closed,” according to Gojo — which really just meant “don’t come in unless you’re ready to hear the same song looped twenty times while Sukuna screams at everyone.”

Still, you showed up anyway, holding a bag of takeout and slipping through the door mid-rehearsal.

“One, two—”

Crash.

Sukuna hit the drums too early.

“What the fuck, Choso?” he barked, glaring across the room.

Choso blinked from behind the keyboard, very much not present. “Huh?”

Gojo dramatically dropped the mic. “Bro. Again? Are you even on this planet?”

Toji leaned back on the amp he was sitting on, fingers idly plucking at his bass strings. “He’s high again.”

Choso lifted one shoulder. “Helps me connect to the notes.”

Sukuna slammed a drumstick on the snare. “If you ‘connect’ any harder I’m gonna put you through the fucking piano.”

“Relax,” Suguru muttered, adjusting his guitar strap, easy and calm like always. “It’s not that deep.”

“Don’t encourage him, Geto,” Sukuna snapped.

That’s when Suguru looked up — and froze.

You were there. In the corner of the room, lit by the string lights draped above the soundboard, looking tired but cute in your hoodie, holding food and smiling at him like you’d just found home.

For a second, his hand paused on the fretboard.

He didn’t say anything — just blinked, then exhaled slow, the corner of his mouth pulling into that quiet smile you knew too well.

Gojo, of course, noticed instantly.

He grinned, eyes lighting up. “Aww, would you look at that? Our lead guitarist’s girl showed up.”

“Shut up,” Suguru muttered, but didn’t stop smiling.

Sukuna scoffed, kicking a bottle across the room. “Yeah, fucking great. Maybe now he’ll play like he’s got balls.”

“Toji,” Gojo leaned over dramatically, “should we dim the lights? Set the mood?”

“Only if they fuck on the soundboard,” Toji said without looking up.

Suguru shot him a look. “Not in front of my amp.”

“Not in front of my drums,” Sukuna barked. “The hell is wrong with you people?”

You tried not to laugh, but your shoulders shook.

Suguru finally set his guitar down on the stand and walked over, ignoring every single comment from his bandmates. He took the bag from your hands, fingers brushing yours — slow, gentle, casual to anyone else, but you felt it. That quiet heat under his skin.

“You didn’t text,” he said softly.

“Wanted to surprise you.”

He leaned in. “You always do.”

God, the way he said it — low and smooth and teasing like he knew you’d think about it later when you were lying in bed.

“Can you two get a room?” Sukuna yelled from the back. “We’re trying to play music, not film softcore porn!”

Gojo cackled. “Let ‘em be, he’s been in a mood since the second set. Maybe he just needs a little—”

“Gojo,” Suguru warned without even turning around.

Toji just hummed under his breath. “Ten bucks says she’s the reason he shreds harder when we hit the bridge.”

Choso lifted his head like a confused cat. “Are we playing something?”

“OH MY GOD,” Sukuna groaned. “I’m gonna light you on fire.”

Suguru leaned in close to you, lips brushing your ear.

“I’ll be done in twenty,” he murmured. “Wait for me?”

You nodded, heart fluttering under your hoodie.

Then he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek — one that lingered just enough to shut everyone up for a full two seconds.

And when he walked back to his guitar, calm and unbothered, Sukuna shouted:

“I FUCKING HATE THIS BAND.”

You stayed for the rest of the set.

He played smoother than ever.

And yeah — that bridge? He played it for you.

[sunskisser]

simon ghost riley x sunshine!reader

summary: you were a specially brought in sergeant from the navy. sunshine personified, you start to break down simon’s walls.

a/n: um…. no one look at me 😭😭 i’m so behind on requests lol but i can’t stop thinking about this man!!! might write a part 2 hehe

The moment Simon laid eyes on you, he knew he was gone.

You came in like a whirlwind of warmth, like love itself had taken your name. You were everything he wasn’t, everything most seasoned soldiers had long lost — bright, affectionate, kind.

You introduced yourself as a Sergeant from the Navy, deployed to Task Force 141 for a few missions, just to gain exposure. It wasn’t like Simon had heard what you said, he was too busy staring at you, with all your pretty features and sweet smiles — but he did make sure to ask Johnny later.

Everytime he passed by you on base, you were busy chattering animatedly to someone else. And every single time you gave him a little wave, you had that damn smile on your face. 

It always sent a twinge of annoyance through him. Just how experienced were you — to be grinning in a dreary place like this? This was the military, for God’s sake. It wasn’t a place for smiles, or happiness, or anything remotely close to that.

But damn it, he would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel some kind of way. If you didn’t make his heart squeeze some kind of way.

Simon’s first private encounter with you happened about a week later. He was sat in his office, head in his hand and fingers ink-stained. The stacks of paperwork sprawled over the table didn’t seem to be getting any smaller, and it was frustrating. He grit his teeth, just about to give up and ask Price to get somebody else to do it, when he heard the knock. 

“Come in.”

You poke your head in, beaming. “Morning, Simon!”

He grunts in acknowledgment, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “What d’ya need, Sergeant?”

“Oh, please, just call me Y/n,” you smile, waving him off, because of course you didn’t know how many times he’d mentally repeated your name to himself. You walk all the way in and close the door behind you, almost skipping to his desk. 

“Anywho,” you say brightly as you hold out a plastic box to him, “I baked you cookies.”

Simon blinks, staring up at you suspiciously. “Cookies? For me?”

“Mhm!” you push the box into his hands, and he cautiously accepts it. “Johnny told me you loved chocolate chips, so I rolled in some extra for you.”

Simon looks up at your smiling face, and has no idea how to respond. He suddenly feels like he has a heart. You baked him cookies, for absolutely no reason at all. How could he say no?

“Uh,” he grunts, clearing his throat and shifting uncomfortably as he puts it down on his desk. It’s getting annoyingly hard to keep the frown on his face. “Thanks, lass. ‘Preciate it.”

“No problem,” you gush. And Simon thought that this would be the end of it, that you’d leave once you’d given him your cookies. But no, of course not.

You unpromptedly take a seat across his desk, eyes flitting all over it. 

“Paperwork?” you ask, so sympathetic that it tugs on Simon’s (apparently existent) heartstrings. “Seems like a lot of it. Do you need some help?”

You look up at him with those big, hopeful eyes, and Simon has to resist the urge to agree immediately. Price would kill him if he knew he was getting a specially brought-in Navy sergeant to help him with paperwork, but fuck Price.

“Well…” he scratches the back of his head, feigning hesitation. “If ye don’t mind, then yeah, I could use some help.”

You look almost delighted at that, and Simon wondered how anyone could be happy to do something as monotonous as paperwork. But you proved him wrong.

You helped him file, reorganize, and proofread everything on his desk, all while chatting his ear off. You told him all about your work back in the Navy, your family, your pet dogs, even about your favourite couch back home — whatever that meant. 

Nothing he needed to know, but everything he wanted to. He could feel himself softening more and more as the minutes passed, annoyance turning into a fonder shade.

So this is what it felt like to be on the receiving end of your liveliness. This is why you were already so popular around base, within just a week of your arrival.

Simon knew he’d be asking you for help again sometime soon.

[puck-luck]

hi, could i get a mocha with whipped cream: dom quinn/ sub reader with quinn hughes, thank ya happy 1 year!!

good news to you all!! i conglomerated this ask with another so i have an IDEA of an extended cut, but i'm currently pretty happy with the ending of this blurb. in future weeks/months, i MAY create a part two (or copy-paste these 700 words into a new doc and continue building the story) as a full fic.

i now present: brat tamer!quinn hughes.

Once upon a time, you heard a story in which your sweet, perfect, loving boyfriend Quinn ripped the braces off his brother’s teeth because Jack was bothering him on the ODR. It’s been a goal of yours ever since to make Quinn snap.

You don’t act like this often. At least, you don’t act like this often enough for Quinn to notice that you’re playing a game without his knowledge. The situations are so isolated that Quinn has no idea. He seems to think that you get into moods where his calm girlfriend disappears and his testy brat appears as the replacement. 

When Quinn left to make his tee time, he kissed his good girl goodbye. He returned home to an indifferent wedding planner with little patience for her boyfriend’s wandering hands. 

“Baby, stop ignoring me,” Quinn groans, stretching out on the couch like a cat and putting his head in your space. He’s trying to get his big ol’ cranium on your lap, but that’s currently occupied by your whirring computer. You have a billion (seven) tabs open, running shopping sites and spreadsheets and checklists for a friend’s wedding in several months. You need to buy a bridesmaid dress and you need to consult the requirements your friend listed and the links your other friends pasted in so that no one buys the same dress. 

In other words, you’re busy.

“I’m not ignoring you, Q,” you say absentmindedly, scrolling to the next page of dresses and letting your eyes wander over the styles. Nothing is quite you. “I’m just prioritizing things that matter.”

Quinn shoots up into a seated position, whipping his head around to face you. “‘Prioritizing things that matter?’” he repeats incredulously. “So you’re saying I don’t matter?”

“No, baby, you matter,” you tell him, although you don’t even look his way when you reach over to pat his thigh. “Think of it like this– you had to leave me for your round of golf, and now I have to shop for my friend’s wedding. It’s just priorities.”

“Are you mad that I left for golf?” Quinn questions, frowning deeply. “It was only for a couple of hours and I promised I’d be back before dinner. I’m back extra early, the guys wanted to grab a couple of beers but I turned them down.”

“Aww, I’m sorry. You should’ve gone with them,” you say. “I’m going to be doing this for a while.”

Quinn must catch the smirk tugging at your lips. He deadpans, “You’re messing with me.”

“No, honey, I’m not messing with you. I’m trying to get this done.”

Quinn snatches your computer from your lap and closes it. “Get it done later.”

You finally turn to look at him, holding your hands out for him to return your computer. 

Quinn shakes his head, raising an eyebrow and setting the computer aside. 

You lean forward to take it and Quinn seizes your wrists and overpowers you, laying you back on the couch with your hands above your head. His face is inches from yours, body solid on top of yours.

“It’s cute how you think you’re intimidating. Keep trying,” you tell Quinn. “Maybe I’ll even flinch.”

“You’re pushing the wrong buttons, little miss,” Quinn warns.

“The wrong buttons?” you laugh. “Maybe to you. I think I’m playing with you perfectly.”

“Oh, you’re playing with me, huh?” Quinn shifts your wrists into one hand and brings the other to your chest, pinching your nipples through your soft cotton t-shirt. There’s a bit of force behind it, a spark of pain, and you lean into it. Quinn smirks.

“Mhm, you’re like a broken toy,” you quip, mirroring the curve of his lips. “Still fun to mess with, just not useful.”

Quinn’s eyes flash with something dark, your words hitting a part of Quinn they haven’t before. He takes your words as what they are: a challenge, not the truth.

“Not useful?” Quinn muses, showing his teeth when he smiles next. “Is that so?”

Your skin starts to crawl with anticipation, with excitement. “That’s what I said.”

Quinn’s eyes bounce between your eyes and your mouth. “Not useful,” he repeats, a breath of a laugh making his right cheek twitch. “Let’s get you tied up and I’ll show you how useful I can be.”

[clarkeysbedchem]

heyyyy!! idk if you’ve done this yet w another character, but i was thinking maybe some buck x reader where buck is sick and tries to put on a brave face but reader takes care of him and it’s fluffy and sweet. thank youuuu!! <3

take care of you

evan buckley x fem reader

summary: buck is sick and you take care of him

a/n: this is my first 911 fic, so i do hope i’ve done it justice and i hope you enjoy it

masterlist | main masterlist

Buck has never been great at admitting when he’s was less than okay.

He has always been the type to brush off injuries, ignore fevers, and claim that he was fine. You always knew better.

So, when he walked into the firehouse with his shoulders hunched over and movements sluggish, like every step was an effort. You knew instantly that something was wrong. He clung to his hoodie pulling tight around him like a shield hiding the shivers racking through his body.

He nodded faintly at you as he walked in, his eyes rimmed with red, and skin void of colour beneath an unnatural flush.

You stood by your locker eyeing him suspicious. His hair was tousled like he hadn’t attempted to do it for the day, and the sleeves of his hoodie were pulled low over his hands. There was no bounding entrance, no joke cracked, no clapping Chim on the back. Just a quiet nod as he beelined for his locker.

“Hey, Buck,” you greeted softly, eyes lingering on the slight wobble in his step.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice hoarse and strained.

You arched a brow, watching him a moment longer. You saw it. The slight sway as he tied his boots, the subtle wince as he straightens up. You decided it was your job to keep an eye on him from that moment.

The morning passed by in a blur of routine: gear checks, equipment cleaning, reports to file. Buck moved through it all like a shadow. He hadn’t made one snarky comment, there was no bite back at Chim’s heckling, and no laughter when Eddie made a horrific joke.

The only time you saw a shift in his frown was when he’d because he caught you watching him, but it never reached his eyes.

You had caught him leaning against the engine more than once, eyes fluttering shut for just a second too long. When Eddie asked him to help hoist a ladder, Buck grunted something and complied, but you noticed how he winced, how his legs shook when he thought no one was looking.

He was trying so hard to pretend he was fine.

And maybe no one else seemed to notice that he wasn’t except you.

Then a call came in just after noon.

A non-emergency call thank God. It was a sweet elderly woman down in the suburbs whose cat had climbed onto the roof and decided that is where it would remain. No danger. Just a chance to help, reassure, and get some fresh air.

You arrived on scene with Hen and Eddie, and while they dealt with the ladder setup and calming the frantic homeowner, you scanned the street for Buck.

You found him beside the truck, half hidden in its shade. He was gripping the side of the engine with whitening knuckles, and his other hand pressed flat against his lower back like he was steadying himself. Sweat beaded on his forehead, soaking into the neck of his turnout gear, and when his eyes closed, he swayed slightly.

“Buck,” you said hesitantly as you approached, rummaging in your pocket. He startled slightly, eyes glassy.

“I’m good,” he rasped, “I just need a sec.”

“Uh-huh.” You held out a bottle of water and a protein bar, “Drink. Eat. Then sit.”

He looked at you like you were offering him gold, not snacks, “You’re a lifesaver,” he mumbled, uncapping the bottle with trembling fingers.

“Just don’t make me carry you back to the truck,” you teased gently.

He laughed for the first time all day, “Could be fun.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hand lingered on his.

The rest of the day went pretty uneventful. The team had returned back to the station, and went into their post-call clean-up, before settling into the calm between calls.

You had spent most of your down time pretending not to look at Buck, and failing miserably. He tried to carry on like usual, but he was fading fast. After lunch, you noticed he hadn’t touched his food, which was very unlike him considering his love for Bobby’s cooking, and instead just pushed it around with a fork before disappearing onto the sofa.

You waited for the rest of the crew to disappear back downstairs before joining him.

Sure enough, you found him on the sofa curled tightly under one of the many blankets you had left in the firehouse. His hoodie had scrunched around his neck, his boots were still on, and one of his arms draped over his eyes. His breathing was slow, congested, and soft.

You smiled crouching beside him and gently shaking his arm, “Hey, Buck,” you said softly.

He groaned and blinked up at you, “What time is it?”

“Time for you to go home.”

“I’m fine,” he murmured, already trying to sit up.

You stood quickly, hands out ready to steady him. He got to his feet and immediately swayed, blinking rapidly like the room was spinning.

“Okay,” he mumbled, grabbing onto your out stretched hands, “Maybe not one hundred percent.”

“That’s what I thought.” You nodded, snaking an arm around his waist letting him lean against you as you guided him downstairs and to the lockers.

You flagged Bobby with a small smile, “I’m gonna take Buck home,” you informed simply, trying to ignore the knowing smirk that played on your Captains face.

“Good. And maybe knock some sense into him while you’re at it.”

“Try not to burn the place down while we’re gone.”

Eddie followed behind a sluggish Buck with a raised eyebrow, “Wait, you’re taking him home?”

Hen looked between the two of you, then back at Chimney, “They’re seriously still not together?”

“I’m starting to think they’re doing it just to mess with us,” Chimney muttered.

“Dumbasses,” Hen sighed fondly.

You pretend not to hear them as a soft smile played on your lips, and you guided Buck to your car.

The warmth of Buck’s apartment wrapped around you the moment you stepped through the door, the dim light a stark contrast from the station and the faint scent of cedar wood lingered through the air. You guided Buck up to his room pushing him to sit on the bed despite his half-hearted grumbles of protest.

You stood between his legs tapping his biceps gently, he lifted them with a wince letting you pull the sweat soaked hoodie off his warm body. The tips of your fingers skimming over his skin making his shiver instinctively.

“You do know I’m not dying, right?” He mumbled sleepily, rubbing his sore eyes before peering up at you.

“Didn’t say you were,” you said, turning away from him to toss the hoodie in the hamper, “But you’re definitely out of the count tomorrow.”

He collapsed back onto bed with a dramatic sigh, “You’re bossy when you’re concerned.”

You pulled the duvet over him, then leaned down, “You like it.”

His smile was small, sleepy, “A little.”

You kissed his temple, soft enough that it barely even registered in the moment, and padded downstairs to the kitchen.

When you were younger, your mother had always made the same soup when you were sick. Sometimes you wished you’d get sick just to have some, and you carried on that tradition when you got older. Garlic, ginger, rice, chicken and carrots. A dish that was comforting, nostalgic, and medicinal all in one.

The apartment filled with the gentle bubbling of the pot and the scent of broth and herbs. You hummed quietly as you worked, feeling oddly at home in the situation. When the soup was ready, you ladled a generous portion into a bowl, and you poured the rest into a container labelling it with the date and slid it into his fridge with a note stuck to the lid: reheat this. Or I will come do it for you.

You walked up the stairs carefully, the warmth of the bowl warming your hands and when you spotted Buck it warmed your heart all the same. You found him exactly where you left him, curled on his side, chest rising and falling steadily.

You placed the soup on the nightstand, cautious not to wake him, then leaned over, brushing a few curls back from his forehead.

His skin was still burning against your touch.

You bent down and pressed a soft kiss to his damp temple, “Goodnight, Buck.”

You turned to go but was stopped by the feeling of fingers wrapping weakly around your wrist.

“Can you stay?” he mumbled, barely audible, “Just for a little longer.”

You looked at him, at his flushed cheeks and pleading eyes, and your heart splintered a little.

“Yeah,” you whispered, “Of course.”

You toed off your shoes, and shimmied out of your jeans, before climbing into the bed beside him. He immediately shifted closer, curling into your side, his nose tucked against your shoulder, breath warm against your collarbone.

Your fingers found the curls at the crown of his head twirling them softly, feeling him relax further into you with every minute.

“Good night, Buck.” you whispered again, letting your own eyes drift shut.

taglist: @sdmnpact @triplefrontierbabe

[brownblob]

He's A Monster

Jim Walters x GN!Reader

Summary: There's nothing wrong with you, you know it. No, you're not crazy. Then why does it seem like it? You're just paranoid, too distrustful of him who only has generosity in his heart and your best interest in mind. Even when his icy eyes linger where they shouldn't.

TW: Suggestive, creepy Jim, yandere, paranoia, angst(ish), mentions of blood, swearing

You swear there's nothing wrong with you. You're not going crazy, no, you're perfectly sane. You just keep having nightmares where something lurks in the void, wanting you as it's sacrifice. You tell Jim, you're not safe. Something's not right. He needs to listen at the warning, he said it himself beforehand "Sometimes though...I think dreams are doors" "You oughta be careful...what you invite in". So why doesn't he just agree and do the same as before, does he enjoy this? Your panic-stricken expression as you try and convince him that you're not safe. There's something out to get you, you even feel it on your skin at night as if you're not only being watched but devoured. You reassure him, you're not crazy. In hindsight you seem as anything but. "But dreams can just be dreams. Not real. You're safe here. It's safe here. He replies back, the southern drawl in his voice stretching, brow arched in frustration at your constant rebuttal. He sighs before bringing you breakfast, body leaning down behind you - caging you in. The scent of pinewood and musk engulfing you whole. Just as quickly the scent of iron hits your nose as you spot the blackberry preserve on your plate. It's completely normal, nothing wrong with it. But why does it taste metallic in your mouth then? The red seeping through the black hues of the jam. It's almost crimson and thick, as if...no. No that would be sick.

It's odd how he never takes any, heaping more onto your plate - feeling your pulse right after. There's something so wrong and you can feel it in the way he stares at you. Icy eyes stripping you down to nothing but the shell of yourself - predator and prey, like a game of cat and mouse. Biting his lips when he gets anxious, scared that he's going to get caught staring. He always does. At least, that's what you think - that you'll catch him in time. The sticky sweet stays on your plate making you rethink but you eat it anyways. The fork in your hand gently scooping up the portions one by one and into your mouth, on your tongue. He stares at it, not so subtly. Never subtly. His face heats up and his knee bounces up and down, up and down, again and again. His hand, now off your pulse, moving upwards to hold your hand and intertwine his fingers with yours. He shifts closer too, his eyes settled on you as if daring you to move, convinced you wouldn't anymore. And move you do. His mood visibly sours after that, brows furrowing as he looks at you like a kicked puppy. Fucking manipulator, making you feel so bad for being mean. Making feel so horrible for just wanting your space, to not be looked at like a piece of meat. He gets up after a while, taking away your dishes to the sink, eyes still on the fork that was just in your mouth as he grins softly. Repulsive.

"Here...hope you like it." He brings you a warm beverage afterwords, pushing it towards you gently as if ushering you to drink. His own mug sitting in front of him untouched. You don't wanna drink what he's put in front of you, the steaming beverage making you nauseous. You swear theres something in the drink, there can't not be. It's either here or in the food. Last time you complained he'd angrily gulped the contents down, proving you wrong and shutting you up. Seeing your discomfort he takes a sip of his own drink, his eyes shifting down as if to ease you. It works. You slowly pick the mug up before sipping the drink; the heat burning your tongue as you yelp. "Too hot?" He asks with a gentle smile before you nod as he looks away into the distance. And he suddenly seems so beautiful, a blush betraying you as you continue to look at him. Fuck. Blonde hair pooling around him in silky strands and tired eyes that droop downwards in a beautiful shade of blue. Pale skin too, that stands out against his rosy cheeks and his lips chapped yet so inviting. They must be warm too. Why do you feel this way for someone so vile. Yeah, you're delusional, he wouldn't mix something in your drink. Why would he? The pounding in your head must be a coincidence. And then you're second guessing yourself again and again. Is he really that bad? When he's been nothing but sweet to you? When he's done nothing wrong and for all you know, everything is just your overactive imagination. But the fear within you only grows, the distrust visible in your eyes.

The worst part is that you can't even accuse him of anything. He's been all gracious and welcoming after all, albeit in his own awkward manner. Letting you stay in his home, eating his food, sleeping in his extra room, warming up next to his fireplace. His. You're indebted to him and yet you still don't trust him. He who's protecting you from what's out there; the snow of course.

The weather so terrifying that could drive you off-course and injure you so badly that you'll bleed to death in the numbing cold. The freezing temperature, something your fragile body isn't accustomed to. Still it's hard to trust him, especially when his gaze lingers in places you know he shouldn't be staring at. When his hands brush yours just a little too long and when his breath hits the back of your nape as you shudder at the looming stranger behind you. But then again, you're judging him based off how he comes off - how shallow of you. It's not his fault that he isn't used to social cues and that he's a little shy. No, you're just being unappreciative. Maybe he doesn't know what he's doing. But he does, he a grown fucking man.

And if you dislike it so much then you should just leave. Why haven't you? You tried, really you did. Run away and discard yourself off this place and go as far as you could.

The first day he came in, knocking on hsi own door and dressed in black. The snow gear that obscured your vision alongside the way his eyes kept you in place. You didn't know him and nor did you want to. Not wanting to be indebt to him, and you should have done so in the beginning, you were about to leave. Stupid of you to come back inside on the first day, listening to his ragged words that persuaded you to come back into the warmth of his home when you got inside your car. "It's dangerous...you won't survive a minute" You stepped back inside, shivering. Easy. You shouldn't have. You should've drove off in your car, no matter the weather, when you had the chance. Now you can't even do that. The snow's piled up so high that you can't even see your car and you're damn sure the battery life had deteriorated by a mile. You're stuck with him, right where he wants you.

It's silly how he doesn't even have to actively entrap you, no, the climate does it for him. Not that he's completely clean, he'd do exactly that if he had to. Thankfully for him, the weather itself It cages you with him, trapping you like he does those rabbits in spring. Though he really doesn't want to scare you, unfortunately he doesn't know how to act. Not when you sit there so pretty and quiet, saccharine and sweet, skittish and scampering. He can't help but fumble his words then come off as deadpan to shut off any thoughts you may have about him as a creep. No, he doesn't care at all, let's keep you thinking that.

And then there you are, only seeing him as a threat when his mask slips, not even in the manner you should. The worst you think he'll do is poison you like some crazy lunatic or kill you, no he'd never. Not when he's so entranced with you. Not when the worse he can do is so much more revolting. Disgusting.

The necklace a reminder that you're in his domain. It's a beautiful delicate thing. Carved thinly with would that would splinter at the slightest pressure. A small rabbit tied to a leather chain. But then again, it's more similar to a leash than a necklace. It's a collar really. Makes you feel domesticated. It feels wrong. Yet the shy smile he had as he tied it to your neck, the blush on his cheeks. He was just so lovable and the gift around your neck so thoughtful. You should just stop being so pessimistic.

.

.

. You're going crazy aren't you? First the beast in your dreams, calling out to you and demanding you present yourself on an altar, and now icy eyes? No, he's a good person, Jim is the host who kindly took you in. He could've kicked you out - for all he knew, you were the threat as you showed up in his home with who knows what in mind. Or he could've been pure evil, letting you freeze to death. Yet he didn't. He gave you a warm bed and food too and everything else, merely asking for a little company in return.

Then why does it make you so uneasy? The fear that he's the one peeking through that door at night, heavy breathing as he watches you toss and turn in bed. No, you're going crazy. Insane. You must've left the door ajar, and those eyes must be a trick of the light. Then what about the hot breath on your collar? It's those dreams. The beast appearing again and again, making you believe that there's someone in your bed. Someone on top of you, pinning you down like a butterfly as they take you in with their eyes. If only you knew that the beast wasn't an illusion but the reality of Jim.

He's a monster, a motherfucking monster.

Note: I just had to write more about this GORGEOUS AMAZING BEAUTIFUL MAN RAHHHH. Ugh he's been on my mind 24/7 and I'm literally working on like 3 more fics about him. He deserves so much love and I love the complexity he has ughghghghgh. Again THANK YOU to the WONDERFUL author/creator @hereisremina of this game for giving us THIS MASTERPIECE to leech off (I'M SORRY I'M WRITING SO MUCH ABOUT HIM I JUST HAVE TOOOOOOOOO).

Note 2: So like I said before, I definitely am moving on from my usual content into more darker(?) content. And even if it's not "darker" it's certainly has heavy implications and is much different to what I usually write.

Note 3: Inspo from the song "Monster" by Dev.

Note 4: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!

[lonelyxoutcasts]

Zoe doesn’t understand what he’s doing, she nearly whines when he pulls her hand away, didn’t he want her to touch him? She had loved doing this, both touching each other it just felt so..right. She nearly says something, not sure if she wanted to ask what was wrong or beg him to let her keep touching him.

But she can’t, before she knows it she’s thrown onto her back and it shouldn’t she knows it shouldn’t but it made her want him even more if that was possible. He was kind and sweet but not weak, he was strong enough to put her in any position and it was the most exhilarating thing to realize it didn’t scare her

Speaking of putting her in any position, she can’t even try to stop him before both her legs are thrown over his back and her last piece of clothing is torn away. It hits her that she’s completely naked with him but he moves so fast again that she barely has time to think it before her legs are pushed open, his hands holding her thighs spread wide. There was no where to hide, and watching the way he drank in the sight of her, it was as if he couldn’t get enough.

She grips the blankets tightly when his fingers start to tease, her hips jerking up to try and chase the feeling, and she flushed so deeply it spread down over her neck to her collarbone and upper breasts when he called her beautiful.

She doesn’t react much to his hand cupping her at first, until his thumb moves to her clit. She lets out a low moan, one hand moving to slide through his hand to his horns and running her hand over it and wrapping her fingers round the base slowly.

When she sees him watching her, she brings her other hand, the one she’s touched him with that was still wet with his precum, up to her mouth to tentatively taste. It was a strong taste, heady but in a way that makes her a bit dizzy with want

“Loki..” she whimpers as he keeps teasing her, she was practically going mad, “i..” she blushes deeply again, “please..t..talk to me, tell me what..” she doesn’t even know what to ask for but she wanted him to talk to her through this, needed him too so she didn’t have to wonder what he was thinking or what he liked in this moment.

Necessary Alliance

“But Thor I don’t understand why..” Zoe’s voice is calm but clearly irritated, and she couldn’t stop fidgeting in her formalwear.

Thor cuts her off, “Zoe I don’t think we need to understand, Father never explained his decision to me. If I had to guess I think at the very least it’s to help build an alliance with Jotunheim,” he says firmly as they walk to the throne room.

Zoe scowls, “I’m not some pawn in father’s plans for peace with the realms, he should at the very least tell us what he’s planning. How do we know he isn’t some brute?”

Thor shakes his head, “regardless of father’s plans, I wouldn’t let him hurt you. I failed to protect you once, sister, I won’t do it again”

Zoe is silent as they finally walk into the throne room, she was grateful for her brother’s protection and he had taught her how to protect herself too. She just hated being forced into this, she wasn’t even given a chance to meet her betrothed until now, just days before the wedding. As she approaches the throne, her eyes are drawn to the group of Jotuns that were already there off to the side. Which was to be her husband? Her eyes are drawn immediately to a smaller one, still taller than her but shorter than the other giants. She can’t deny that he was handsome, her breath caught in her throat for just a moment, though she hides it well.

She doesn’t stare though, looking up to Odin at the throne as she curtsies, “Father,” she greets, bowing her head.

@broken-ice-puppets

[holoska]

after debating for weeks whether to stay very far away from the deltarune soriel discourse or let myself ramble about my faves like I want to, the latter has finally won out

I've had time to properly absorb the weight of all that happens at the end of chapter 4, and obviously I do feel for both kris and susie. that is The Point of the scenes being from their perspectives; after everything they just went through and all the worry they had for toriel's safety (for the second time in 24 hours!), the scene they come home to is maybe the most uncomfortable slap in the face possible. it sticks out to me that the last thing susie talks about before the dark fountain is sealed is her wanting tomorrow to be the same as yesterday and for everything to always be able to go back to how it was, and that's what greets them - a blatant, obnoxious sign that things are changing. even though the scene has a lighthearted side, its overall tone adds to the downcast feeling the chapter ends on.

having said that, as someone who has spent the past 9 and a half years being normal about sans and toriel, I'm still very very happy that this is a canon scene we got 💜

the fandom may be largely not considering their perspectives in the slightest (or worse, only viewing their perspectives from the most bad faith angles possible), but I for one love this for them!! as other very good posts have pointed out, toriel has been sorely in need of someone who's there for her - an awful lot of people in town saw the divorce play out and have something to say about it, the holiday family are closer to asgore than toriel, kris is her child and stuck in the middle of their parents' issues, and while she's friends with alphys, them being coworkers and alphys being kris' teacher likely puts a distance of sorts between them. but sans is new in town, someone she immediately connects with, who has no pre-existing opinions about her family and has seen firsthand what toriel has to put up with from asgore. in every universe, sans is exactly the kind of person toriel needs in her life.

there's less to work with from sans' perspective given how little we know about him, and I'm not all-in on sans being from deltarune just yet (more specifically I do love the theory, I'm just giving myself room to not be too disappointed if it doesn't happen), but the new version of it's raining somewhere else being named 'the place where it rained' emotionally destroys me forever. either way it drives home just how happy toriel makes sans in both worlds and I love that so so much :']

to be clear I'm not saying they did nothing wrong, their choices negatively impacted kris and susie and they were objectively disruptive and inconsiderate after kris went to bed. but I like that they're being messy and flawed, because it means this isn't just "my faves are getting closer in the background yippee" but that their relationship is potentially an actual part of the story, and that's how you get The Good Stuff!! we wouldn't have had meaningful character moments like noelle finally standing up to queen if queen hadn't tried to control noelle and just listened to her from the start, or susie comforting ralsei with her bloodied hand if he'd told her and kris every detail of the full prophecy the moment he met them and never kept any secrets. if all the hints towards a flower shop dark world turn out to be true then it's pretty clear the story is building things up to make those future character moments hit, and considering we still don't know what happened with the dreemurr divorce at this point, chapter 5 seems like a perfect opportunity to dive into all of that.

plus, as sweet as susie's bond with toriel is, I honestly think susie seeing this side of toriel needed to happen. a lot of the fandom's complaints about toriel right now boil down to her not being the "perfect mother" they thought she was, and what bothers me about that is toriel was never meant to be that kind of character. toby has said that she's not the classic video game protagonist's mother who sees you off on your journey and you can come home and visit any time, and nothing changes and she never has any substantial character of her own. in undertale she literally handholds frisk through the tutorial, she becomes the first boss in her attempt to protect them when every other human left her care, and once they leave she won't let them come back or even call her phone because she can't face seeing them knowing they'll leave again and likely be killed. she's more than just the mother figure of the game, she's her own person with likes and dislikes, hobbies and flaws, and a past and trauma she can't overcome until the best ending.

we've only seen the tip of the iceberg of her history in deltarune, but that same principle holds true: she isn't the perfect parent you return to after each day's adventure, who gives you butterscotch pancakes every morning and never has any real part in the story because that isn't the intent behind her character. she mentioned her loneliness back in chapter 1, kris has secrets and problems they aren't letting her in on, asgore is being relentlessly inconsiderate of her boundaries, and for all susie's praise of toriel being a good mother, I think that house of cards was going to fall eventually. my hope is that, like her blowing up at ralsei ultimately bringing them closer, susie being able to see toriel as the imperfect adult she is but one who does genuinely care might help them build a stronger bond in the end too.

I think I always knew that if soriel ever inched closer to being canon there'd be discourse about it, and toriel slander is unfortunately nothing new. people are just being annoying about it currently and it sucks when I genuinely love what's being built up here!!

anyway crossing my fingers for a scene where toriel invites sans to the festival before she gets thrown in the bunker/he gets sent to undertale/the roaring happens/all of the above 🤞

[hazard-haze]

Eddie and Volt headcanons (no player)

Soooooo

My brain has decided this shit is my new hyperifxation

And that these are my new comfort characters

But I heard that everyone was getting a hate ending with them and guess who got friendship with them first tryyyyyy! So uh, skill issue/j heres some headcanons for ya'll :)

-He doesn't do it often because he knows Eddie hates it, but Volt can 110% pick up Eddie and will abuse this power if he needs to

-Eddie is Volt's anger translator. It usually goes something like this:

Volt: "We are sorry you weren't satisfied with our service, but this is the best we can do and I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."

Eddie *passing by behind him*: "Pay your fucking tab and get out!"

-Volt cannot keep his hands still, he tries to play it off suave-ly (?) by just tapping his fingers and running his hand through his hair repeatedly but when he gets really excited or angry about something he will wave his hands with big, fast, eccentric gestures.

-Volt wears eyeliner, sometimes Eddie helps him put it on.

-Eddie is very talented at most things he does, fixing, building, mixing drinks (he can even do some tricks with shakers), and there's a plethora of odd things he's picked up throughout the years. However this makes him get pretty frustrated when things don't work out the first couple times he attempts something. While not the main reason, this is part of why he was so frustrated and irritable during most of his main plot. Volt sometimes has to remind him that it's okay to not have everything figured out immediately, or pull him from his work if he's starting to stress out or exhaust himself too much.

-On the topic of pulling Eddie from his work, that is a feat. Volt full well knows he can't just ask Eddie to take a break, usually he has to either ask him to do something easier as a favor, or blame the break on himself.

"Oh Eddie, I know your in the middle of something but could you wipe the bar down? I have no time before we open."

"Eddieeeee, I have no one to watch the new season of Cougar vs Cougar with! Would you take a break to and come watch it with me? Please! Just for a little bit! Just one episode!" (They got through like 2 1/2 before Eddie passed tf out)

-Oh yeah, Volt loves reality TV and Eddie pretends to not be at least a little invested.

-Eddie can draw. Volt cannot. Volt is very jealous of Eddie in this regard.

-Infodumpingggggggg. They infodump to one another without even realizing it, it is so much of how they communicate. They will ramble and bounce ideas off each other, mostly about the club but about other stuff too.

-On the flip side. They can also communicate by saying pretty much nothing, just through brief glances. I think it would partly be because they are literally split from the same thing but it's more in that way when you widen your eyes slightly at your bestie and that equates to like a full paragraph of text.

-Eddie is short af, Volt is tall af.

-Volt makes fun of Eddie for being short

-Like seriously ya know that audio that's like "I know we don't always see eye to eye" "that because your too short to do so"

-Eddie will get revenge. He can kick/punch really hard but he can also come up with some other very clever ways of revenge. Do not mess with the guy who has access to the tools.

-Neither of them really like just hard liquor. Volt likes sweeter drinks and Eddie likes quality craft beers. If either sees the other drinking something like scotch/whiskey they can usually assume somethings wrong.

-Volt has sooooo many ideas for the club, several of which are not exactly... possible. Eddie has to be the one to break the news to him that No Volt we can't break down the retaining wall of the bar and turn it into an inanimal fish tank. Why? Because without it the roof would collapse!

-Volt's love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation

-Eddie's love language is acts of service.

-Going deeper into that, Volt loves physical touch, as previously mentioned. Eddie however does not. But they make it work, Eddie can tell when Volt needs a hug or just to have someone next to him, Volt can tell when Eddie is getting overstimulated or just needs space.

-They both have their ears pierced. Volt did it for both of them.

-Eddie actually quite likes talking to people, I mean he's definitely tended the bar at some point, he just doesn't like talking to annoying people. He's sarcastic and his humor is a bit deadpan and he's more reserved, but he 100% can be very funny and hold conversations very well with patrons and even better with friends.

-That being said, bro does not chat while he works on maintenance. If anyone, including Volt, is working with him, he isn't saying shit unless its telling them what to do, or looking over their work. If someones lucky they get a "Good job."

-Neither have ever been a fan of the dark, but they especially would not be after the black out.

-They both hate silence, I mean they work in a night club, at this point it just feels unnatural.

-Kinda already mentioned this but Volt gets quiet angry and Eddie gets loud angry. If Volt goes silent, you know you fucked up. On the opposite end, it will sometimes be assumed that Eddie is mad because he's being quiet but that just how he is, if Eddie actually is properly yelling you know he's upset.

-Nerve damage babyyyyyy. It is all up Eddie's arms, contributes to why he's not super touchy because his arms get that awful pulling, itchy, pain when something touches them.

-Volt can get some nasty fatigue. The electricity fluctuates? Bro is immediately drained, head rush, migraine, the whole shabang.

-Not really headcanon but neither of them are good at admitting they need help or at accepting it when its offered.

-They both know each others triggers tho, and make sure to tell the other to rest when they need to. Neither take their own advice.

-Eddie hyperfocuses like crazy. If he sits down with his tools, something to fix and no one around he will not move from that spot for hours.

-Volt is always jumping from project to project, person to person, never slowing down. There's a lot to do in the breaker box and he is more than happy to juggle all of it.

-Both of them forget to sleep because of these facts. and eat (do they eat?). and talk to other things. and talk to each other. and-

-They would be cat people. Volt has definitely brought up getting an inanimal from Mateo but Eddie is always hesitant (even though he would 100% end up loving it to bits if they got one)

----

Ya'll I think I'm a loser. Instead of being out on a night off I am sitting in my bedroom writing headcanons about an actual breaker box in a dating sim that I'm not even attracted to, I just think their silly. What is my life T-T

[bees-library3]

Stay

Summary: After a routine hostage extraction goes wrong, you are shot while covering for Bucky, and the consequences are devastating.

Warnings/Tags: violence, gunshot wound, blood loss, trauma, HEAVY angst, canon level of violence, there is no happy ending, death, established relationship, female reader (she/her), no use of y/n

Word count: 1.5k words

A/N: I deeply apologize for the heartache that I'm about to put y'all through. If you follow me on the account that I have for The Walking Dead (@twd-bee3) and this looks familiar, it's because it was originally posted as a Daryl Dixon piece, and I just rewrote it to fit Bucky. I've been doing that lately so that I have things to post while I write new Marvel-themed works. Anyway, sorry for the fact that there's no happy ending. Love y'all <3.

The sound of gunfire splintered the air, and everything blurred around the two of you. This was supposed to be a simple hostage rescue, but you had run into complications. It was only you and Bucky, so things were getting dark fast. You guys had almost reached a secure room when there was another loud crack, and with you being in front of Bucky, you were hit by the stray.

You felt a sharp pain in your right side and cried out. Looking down, you saw the crimson blooming across your tank top and froze. “Oh shit.”

Hearing your pained gasp, Bucky spun you around so that he could look you over. He glanced down and saw the blood soaking your shirt. A cold sense of dread washed over him, and his eyes went wide.

“Fuck. No, no, no.”

“I don't know what to do, James.”

You were taking labored breaths, and you were already starting to stumble. The shock was setting in fast, and Bucky was even more desperate to get you to safety. The last of the men was bound to find you two if you stayed where you were. Acting on pure instinct, he lifted you into his arms and started running again. He was careful not to drop you and clutched your body close to his chest.

“Stay with me, baby. You're okay. We're almost there.”

His words were rushed, and his voice was strained. It felt like it took hours, but you finally reached the target room, and he made sure that the perimeter was clear of threats. Bucky laid you on a couch and frantically tore your tank top to get a clearer view of the gunshot. It was deep. Really fucking deep. There was no exit wound, but he tried to maintain some semblance of hope.

The blood was pouring from your abdomen, and he felt sick to his stomach at the sight of it. This was his girl, and she was bleeding out in a foreign room. Bucky used his hands to apply firm pressure, but the bleeding was relentless. Tears streamed down his face as he tried desperately to keep you with him.

“I got you, sweetheart. Just- just stay awake for me. You can do that, right?”

“I'm really trying, but I'm tired. I'm so fucking tired, Bucky.”

“Don't say that. You're okay. I've got you.”

Bucky kept his palms pressed against your stomach and watched as the blood seeped past his fingers like water. He needed to stop the bleeding before he could even think about attempting to stitch you up. Knowing that he needed to do more, he took off his shirt and applied more force against the wound.

You were only growing paler, and your eyes kept fluttering shut. You were trying to be strong and keep them open, but it was increasingly becoming more difficult. The sight of his baby going out on him made his chest feel heavy. He couldn't give up, though.

“Hey, sweetheart. I need you to stay with me. Please. Talk or something.”

Forcing your eyes open again, you nodded and let out a shaky exhale. “Okay. Can you tell me something good?”

“Something good?” It took him a moment, but he was able to think of something, and he smiled weakly. “Remember that trip we're supposed to take?”

“Yeah. You're gonna take me to the beach and we're gonna put our feet-” your words were cut off with a sharp gasp, but you pushed through and kept speaking softly. “Our feet in the water. Sam's coming with us.”

Bucky's heart ached hearing how hard it was for you to speak, but he was proud of you for trying. You were making an effort to stay with him - that was all that he could ask for.

“Yeah, baby. We're all going to the beach. You aren't getting in the water, though. You never learned to swim.”

His words were teasing, but his tone was forced. He was grasping at straws to keep you awake. Bucky looked back down at the wound to see that the bleeding hadn't stopped. Your breath kept hitching, and the pit in his stomach grew. The shirt was soaked in your blood, and his forearms were caked in it - there was no fixing this. He didn't want to stop, but it was clear that his efforts were in vain.

Making eye contact with his girl again, exhaustion was written all over your face. The most that Bucky could do now was make you comfortable. Taking a shaky breath, he removed his hands from the fabric and gently stroked your cheek. The tears continued to flow.

Seeing your usually stoic boyfriend cry and the heartbreak in his gaze, you reached up to gently swipe some tears from his face. Your movements were weak, but it was obvious that you were doing your best to comfort him. You gave him a small smile and spoke again, your voice strained.

“Shhh, it's okay, my love.”

“No, don't try to comfort me. Not when you're dying in my fucking arms.”

His voice was rough and his tone was harsh, but it was obvious that he was devastated. Bucky couldn't stop crying, and his chest felt tight. Too tight. He knew that he needed to be strong for you, but he struggled to pull it together. He couldn't even speak through the sobs, so he resorted to gently stroking your cheek. Needing to be closer to you, he sat on the couch beside you and pulled you into his lap. He had never felt pain like this, and he could feel something breaking deep inside of him. This was a man who had lost so much, yet nothing compared to the way that his heart was breaking.

The sight of Bucky breaking down almost hurt more than the gunshot itself. His holding you was a small comfort, but you were still quickly fading. Your breathing continued to slow, and your eyes kept closing. You forced them back open and attempted to keep talking. Wiping his cheek again, you let your hand rest on the side of his face.

“I love you so fucking much, you know that right? Loving you is the only thing that I've gotten right.”

That only served to make him sob harder, and Bucky felt like a part of him was dying with you. He took ragged breaths and spoke through the tears. “I love you, sweetheart. More than anything. I'm so sorry that I'm not able to fix this.”

“You can't fix everything, James. This- this was bound to happen. I'm just glad that you're here with me.”

“Are you in any pain, baby?”

You felt a bit cold, but you couldn't feel the wound anymore. That only meant one thing - you were almost there. You shook your head and gently stroked his unshaven jaw. It was harder for you to speak, and your answers had been reduced to just a few words at a time. “No pain.”

Your answer confirmed what he already knew: he was losing his baby. By some miracle, Bucky was able to compose himself, and his tears slowed. He managed to keep the tremor in his voice to a minimum. He didn't want you worrying about him in your final moments.

“That's good. I don't want you to hurt. You want me to keep talking?”

Your eyelids flittered again, and you gave him a small nod. You were too drained to speak at this point, and your breathing was almost imperceptible. Your pupils were dilated, and it was hard for you to concentrate. You were listening to him, though.

“Remember when we came back from dinner the other night and Alpine had scratched up the side of our couch? She was purring and everything. Thought she'd done somethin' good. You nearly pissed your pants laughing so hard, and that only encouraged her more.”

Your lips curved in a small smile, but your gaze had started to lose focus. It was only a matter of minutes now, and the idea of that made Bucky feel hollow. He kept talking and absentmindedly stroked your cheek, though.

“Oh, remember the time when she brought that injured little bird into the house and you were hysterical? You thought that I was so mean for laughing. I felt like a total asshole, but you're cute when you get like that. You've got the biggest heart.”

Bucky kept rambling until he felt your chest still, and he glanced down to see that your lips were parted slightly. The eyes that he always got lost in were still open, but they lacked their usual light. You were gone.

“I love you, sweet girl.”

Openly sobbing now, Bucky whispered softly and used his fingertips to gently close your eyes. He was at a complete loss for where to go from here. As he contemplated how to get you back home, he leaned his face down and gently kissed your lips. They were already slightly cooler than usual, and their pretty pink color had faded.

The two of you could probably get away with staying in this room for a few hours. It was late at night, and the space was secure enough. Besides, Bucky wasn't overly concerned about what would happen to him if he were found by those men. You were no longer here to fuss over his safety. The reminder made him sob harder, and his whole body was wracked with the force of it. He slowly rocked your limp form like a child and whispered unkept promises to you throughout the night.

[tagged-by-trauma]

hi lovely! i hope you are all well and safe! could i request something with pedro x plus size reader? it makes me feel valid and seen :) it can be about anything, your choice! have a great day! xx

They don't deserve you

When the man you've been dating basically dumps you, Pedro shows up at your apartment and shows you just how much you're really worth. Pairing: Pedro Pascal x plus size!reader Warnings: friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, reader feeling insecure, crying, Pedro saving the day, soft reassurences, first kiss, cuddling Word count: 1.4k A/N: Hey anon! This request hit home as I'm also a plus size woman, but I was happy to write it for you! Hope you'll enjoy!

You have been sitting on your couch in your little apartment for over an hour now crying your eyes out. The man you’ve been talking to for months now, who you’ve went even on a date with just wrote a text to you that he didn’t think that it could work out for the two of you, and that you can still stay friends even though the complications that just stepped up between you.

You didn’t answer him. Didn’t know how. You just read the message and cried. You felt like you weren’t worthy of love anymore, that maybe you’re just not capable to be loved. Your thoughts even swam there where you thought it was your body—although you usually felt confident in your own skin. That maybe you were too much for anyone in this world.

The tissues were scattered around you, blanket pulled over your body as you tried to disappear.

He was your closest friend for years now, and you couldn’t deny that you had feelings for him, but things were far more complicated than just confessing to him and waiting for his reaction. You didn’t want to ruin that friendship you had with him. Once you even gave him a spare key to your apartment, letting him into your life completely, and trusting him with your secrets. Years ago, you decided to have a movie night every Wednesday evening, and that night was today.

You didn’t even remember, too buried in your own shame.

You heard your front door open, but you didn’t dare to look up or even stand up to greet him from your place. But as Pedro stepped inside with a bag full of snacks and drinks, he knew that something was definitely wrong because the silence was hanging too thick in the air. He put down the bag on the kitchen counter and walked inside the living room with careful steps, the wood softly creaking under his weight.

And in the doorway, he faltered in his steps.

He looked at your tear-streaked face, the dirty tissues threw around you and the snacks placed on the coffee table. He couldn’t help but be angry. Not at you. But for that person who hurt you this amount. With a soft sigh he walked closer to the couch and sat down. That’s when you looked up at his sad face, and you tried to dry the tears off your cheeks with not much success.

“What happened, sweetheart?” his voice was soft, laced with a bit of pity, and your nose crunched up a bit at the sound of it. That was the last thing you needed. You didn’t want to be pitied, you wanted to feel like yourself again without the doubt in your mind.

“It’s nothing,” you reached for another tissue when his hand came around your wrist and held it gently. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to keep in the new tears that found their way, and you let out a sigh.

“Cariño,” he scooted closer to you. “It’s not nothing when it makes you cry.”

“It’s just,” your voice faded as you tried to put your thoughts into words, and the warm feeling on your cheeks was proof that the tears spilled over again. His hand came up to your cheek and his thumb dried up the drops.

“Hey, hey, you know you can tell me, right?”

He was so soft with you that the words spilled out of you without a second thought. Maybe they were coming with anger, maybe sadness, but the most possible way was just saying everything with a numb tone.

“There was this guy I met in a café. He was sweet and caring and handsome. He walked up to me, we started talking and, in the end, he just ended up asking for my number. We went on dates, it seemed like everything was going so good, and then he texted me today that it’s not what he’s looking for but we can still stay friends,” you felt your heart become slightly less heavy, but it didn’t change the fact that you still felt like someone who was just dumped on the side of the road, left with nothing but a broken heart and no more tears left to cry.

Pedro looked at you with something unrecognizable in his eyes. Maybe a mix of anger and protectiveness, but there was something way more than these two, and you tried to figure it out. His arms came around your shoulders and he pulled you into his chest. The fabric under your cheeks smelled like him, like the place you got used to, and his arms felt like the soft reassurance after the storm.

He felt like home. And you were afraid of this quick conclusion.

“I just feel like that… Maybe I’m not capable to be loved. Maybe I’m just too much for people,” you mumbled under your breath, but he could still hear it, and he pulled you even closer. “I mean, I’m not those type of girls who walk on the street and every man’s gaze fall on them. I’m not the one who could easily borrow a shirt from their boyfriend and just wear it. I’m not—”

You were cut off by the feel of his lips on yours, and at first you were caught off guard, just sitting in his embrace, trying to not overthink everything. And then, your mouth found the same rhythm of his and the next thing you knew you were sitting in his lap, thighs resting on either side of his hips. His hands moved on their own route. His right tangled in your hair and his left resting on the small of your back, steadying you. Yours were both in his hair, ruffling the brown hair with soft grey streaks in it.

Probably seconds passed like this, but it seemed like minutes. Your dream that you never dared to do is now playing down in front of you, and your mind had to catch up with the emotions and the feeling of his warm body pressed tightly against yours.

You finally leaned back, your breaths coming in shallow puffs against his cheeks, and he gave you a soft smile from beneath you, so disheveled but still so handsome.

“That man doesn’t even deserve to breath the same fucking air as you. You’re not too much, you’re just not for people who can’t handle real beauty. And you,” his hands moved lower and cupped your thighs, giving them a soft but reassuring squeeze. “Are so fucking beautiful, cariño.”

You blushed at his compliment, your fingers combing through the messy curls on his head.

“Thank you,” he wanted to shake his head, as if indicating he doesn’t need gratitude, he was just doing what he wanted to, but you stopped him with a simple look. “Not just for this, for reassuring me that I’m worth it but for everything. For always being there for me, for always showing up when I’m at my lowest. Thank you.”

He pulled his face closer to his, his eyes so full of affection and care that you could have melted there on his lap.

“You’re really worth it, cariño. And if I’ll need to prove it, I will burn down the whole world for you,” his hand moved up and down on your legs, his thumbs tracing slow circles over the bare skin that was revealed by the ridden-up shorts. “I love you. I loved you for a long time, but I was scared. Scared of losing something so deep we had. Scared that if I said the wrong words, you would leave me there. But now I’m saying it. I love you, cariño. So fucking much that sometimes it hurts.”

His words striked a part of your heart you long thought was buried. But now he found it, and he was determined to bring it up to the surface.

“I love you too, Pedro.”

That’s all he needed. His mouth was on yours again. Hungrier, more desperate, full of emotions.

That night you both slept in the same bed. Not because something happened, but because you both wanted to feel each other close. His strong arms around you, the fabric of his t-shirt falling over your body, and the scent of his cologne filling your whole bedroom, lulling you into the calmest and deepest sleep you’ve ever experienced.

Maybe the world didn’t appreciate you the way you would have wanted, but Pedro was there.

And to you, he meant the world.

[penelopehere]

How They Became Demon Hunters HCs With Huntrix

Rumi

Her backstory is partially explained in the movie, and I built my own headcanons of how her parents met in another one of my post

However it’s very clear that she was raised by Celine to hate her demon side, wanting to hide and even destroy it from a very young age

She was constantly pushed towards being perfect in every aspect of her life, whether that be in sparring, singing, social skills etc

This was all done in the hopes of eventually getting rid of her marks and protecting the world

However, she also thought that being perfect would make up for the fact that she was a mistake

Despite not knowing exactly how her mum died, I believe she would still blame herself; thinking that being half demon brought misfortune to her mum

In regards to her father, she just pictured him as an evil figure that managed to trick her mum and never considered the fact that he may have been a good person

She would also be homeschooled and sheltered for most of her life, any public appearances done purposefully in order to build her life as an idol

Because of this she would be put on a lot of korean variety shows and do interviews when she was a teen in order to get public support early

On the side, she would also train and even hunt demons with Celine so she would be strong enough to lead the next generation of hunters

However the feeling of loneliness would constantly consume her since she had no one that could understand her life as a half-demon, and she didn’t have any genuine friendships at this point

Celine would notice this and tried to reassure Rumi that this was all for the greater good, and that the hunters were all she ever needed

However, this only worked to a certain extent

Eventually though, Celine would introduce Zoey to Rumi for the first time

Rumi finally felt like she could let her guard down a little, instantly bonding with the other teenage girl

She still felt insecure about her demon blood, and Celine warned her to not reveal anything about that side of her so she wouldn’t lose her new friend

So Rumi stayed silent, not saying anything about her heritage even after Mira came to join the group a few months later

Rumi vowed to do whatever it took to protect the world, even if that meant lying to those she loved

Mira

Similar to Rumi, Mira would most likely also be a legacy

However the difference being that not everyone in her family had hunter abilities, so a lot of them had no idea what demons even existed

This was further emphasized by the fact that most of her relatives that did carry these powers were deceased or estranged

Because of this, Mira always felt like the odd one out and never truly knew what made her so different

She tried to express how she felt through her clothing and artworks, but her family- being rather strict- didn’t appreciate her creativity

They refused to listen to her, causing Mira to act out in many ways

She often spent late nights outside by herself, doing whatever she felt like

From this she would spot her first demon, sucking the soul out of someone until they died

She didn’t know how to react, not fully understanding what she was seeing

Once she managed to snap out of her fear she would go to check on the victim, only to find the body was no longer there

From there she would just run, not knowing when to stop until she subconsciously came all the way back to her house

She wanted to scream and tell her parents what happened, but the moment she walked through those doors she realised they wouldn’t believe her and that she was truly alone

She would carry this fear with her as she got older, not truly knowing if there was something wrong with her brain and making her see these things

Sometimes she would try to fight the demons she saw, rarely succeeding due to her lack of proper training

She had to constantly see people because of this, traumatizing her even further

One day however, she was listening to a song and began singing, not noticing the demon in front of her until it began to get repulsed by the music and ran away

She tested this out the next time she found one, blasting the song towards it while fighting

This is when she realised the demons were weakened by the music

She’d track down the artist of the song, eventually finding Celine in a fan meet and trying to see if she knew anything about the monsters she was seeing

She’d try to be subtle at first, not fully revealing everything she saw just in case Celine thought she was crazy

Mira got her contact information, and was told to meet her in a couple days

From this Celine realised Mira also had hunter abilities, and began to train her in secret

Mira’s parents wouldn’t care about her extended absences, relieved that their daughter was no longer getting in trouble with the police or acting out at home

Celine would reveal what hunters and demons were, explaining their history

Mira was skeptical at first

However, with everything that had happened, she had no choice but to believe Celine and for the first time in her life she didn’t think she was crazy

They trained together for a couple months before Celine introduced Mira to two other young teenagers who had the gift; Rumi and Zoey

From then on Mira finally felt like she had a family, and would do everything she could to keep them together

Zoey

Zoey would be a partial legacy, with only one side of her family knowing about demons and hunters

She didn’t know of her abilities at first, thinking all the monsters she saw as a kid were just a figment of her imagination

Especially since by the time she looked back, one of her family members would be there innocently waving and telling her to go play

It wasn't until she was older was it revealed that she had hunter blood inside her, and that she could begin training to become one

Zoey would be ecstatic, believing she was a real life superhero; wanting to tell all her friends and the rest of the family about it

However, this idea was quickly crushed as it was explained to her the importance of protecting their secret; not wanting to worry others with matters they couldn’t control

They also believed it would keep the non-hunter family members safe if they didn’t know about demons or Gwi-Ma

From then on Zoey had to live a double life, training and hunting demons in secret while also pretending to be a normal girl

This was exhausting, especially since she hated lying to parts of her family and felt as though they couldn’t understand her if they didn’t know who she really was

Then with her hunter relatives, because they were all older than her, she constantly felt like she skilled enough to keep up with them

Therefore she was constantly trying to prove herself to both sides, being the perfect kid and warrior at the same time

Her only solace was writing lyrics and using them against demons, feeling as though this was the only time she could unapologetically be herself

However, all these negative feelings eventually began to hinder her training, since she felt too alone and unworthy to focus on fighting

One of her relatives got the idea of contacting a friend in Korea, sending Zoey there to meet them

She was then introduced Celine, who empathised with her difficulties living a double life

Being an idol and hunter, she understood the difficulties that came with lying to those you loved

However, she assured that Zoey that her fellow hunters would always be there to understand her

For a while, Celine assessed and developed Zoey’s skills, impressed with how she could make her own songs in such a short period of time

She then introduced her to Rumi, the two of them instantly connecting over this feeling of loneliness

To Zoey, it felt like they were the only people in the world that understood each other

When Mira came a couple months later, they welcomed her to their small family

Zoey couldn’t believe there were others her age who felt the same way she did, and never wanted any of them to feel alone again

[theonlyy1ivyy]

That'll Teach you.

summary: Satoru's had a crush on you for ages and finally get's the chance to talk to you because he's your new tutor. But he instantly regretted it the moment he realised how far behind everyone else you were. So he did something about it.

Tw: Gojo's lowkey mean 😓 and semi publix sex (you two are in the back of the library)

˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚

You were gorgeous in all ways possible to Satoru. To him, there was not a single flaw that he could see whenever he admired you. But, you weren't the brightest, academically speaking.

You'd much rather focus on other things, like the activities you enjoy; shopping for new clothes or lingerie sets you know you'll never wear , getting your nails done with friends or following new trends you'd see on social media just 'cause you can.

All that to say that anyone who took the time to study you like Satoru, knew that College really wasn't your thing.

But the habit of not taking any relevant notes, falling asleep during Professor Yaga's lecture's and barely getting over the minimum you needed to pass your classes had to stop.

Your professor's came to a decision and you needed a tutor.

Three weeks is all it's been, but gosh did it feel way longer for Satoru. When Yaga approached him, explaining your situation, he couldn't help the huge butterflies that were doing tricks in his stomach.

He thought tutouring you would be the best time of his life. I mean, why wouldn't he think that? He finally got the chance he'd been waiting for since high school; to talk to you.

But oh he was wrong, so wrong.

Not only did it seem like you weren't trying, but Satoru felt as though you were playing dumb, because he refused to believe that his sweet could be so utterly stupid.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆. 𐙚 ˚

"Are you even trying?" Satoru asked you, watching you struggle on the easiest question he'd given you so far. You look up at him and he could've swore he saw tears forming in your beautiful eyes.

"I am, I'm just-"

"focusing?" He scoffed and you could hear his patience running thin. "You've said that for the past 5 minues."

You went quiet and finished the equation, handing the paper to Satoru. You sighed and watched as he scowled at the paper. That usually indicated that you'd gotten everything wrong, something you picked up within the first few weeks.

He rubbed his temple, your gaze lingered on his veiny hands, watching as the muscles flexed. You were thinking...thinking about what else those big hands of his could do.

But you were caught.

As you tried to make out the expression on his beautifully sculpted face, his beaming blue eyes found yours. You looked away immediatly, the air in the library suddenly became thick. And tension arose between the two of you.

You avoided his gaze as he went back to correcting, when your phone dinged. You went in, slowling bringing it up to the table when Satoru abruptly stopped you.

"If you'd let go of your phone for once, maybe you'd actually be focusing and getting something right." He said harshly, sliding the paper your way.

"I have plans, I can't just put them off." You bit back, ignoring the paper in between you too, to text your friends.

Usually, Satoru was a calm and composed man with a great amount of patience, but with you...

he felt like every little thing set him off.

It enraged him that you, this picture perfect girl, were willing to throw your future away for nothing, when you had the most potential he'd ever seen.

"Y/N, please put your phone down." He urged. his voice calm, calmer than he'd been the whole session.

" Waitttttt- What colour suits me best 'Toru? Pink or cherry red?" You ignored him, going on to do exactly what he hated most.

Big mistake.

Because now he had his cock buried deep inside of you as you sputtered meaningless apologies with tears in your gorgeous eyes. Your slick dripped down your plush thighs and you squirmed under satoru's strong hold on your hips.

"S-satoru, p-please...It's too embarassing." You whimpered, gripping onto the wooden table in front of you for support. You were trying your best not to make a sound, but he was making that impossible.

He refused to let you move, letting you feel him...all of him inside you. He brought a pen to your fingers with a smug grin on his lips. He loved seeing you all worked up.

"Solve the question baby. Then I'll fuck you so good, so good you'll be begging for more." He whispered in your ear, watching you struggle even more. He knew you could it, he had no doubt, he just hated seeing you willingly act so dumb.

"T-that's not fair." You moaned as Satoru brought his fingers down to your puffy clit. So cute. " Ngh-you're being mean-Agh." You bit back a moan as you finished up the question.

"Focus." He reminded you.

"The value of x is -134°." You let out in a breathless tone.

He smiled, he knew you were hiding some intelligence in that head of yours.

Without a warning, he placed his free hand on your lower back. From a far it looked like you were just siting on him but little did they know, under your skirt was his cock buried in the depths of your pussy.

He thrusted into you and your eyes rolled back. You moaned and he brought his soft lips to yours. "Be quiet, Did you forget where we are?" he said lowly, against you.

You might not know a lot but one thing you knew was certain, you were about to have the best fuck of your life.

[serve-cunt]

|˶˙ᵕ˙ )ﾉﾞ 60.Truth Serum/spell or 4.mind reading for the prompt game

thank you for not giving me a pairing for this, v low stress prompt I just let it sit until inspiration struck.. the inspiration in question?? listened to Sue Me by audrey hobert until my brain melted

— —

sue me I want to be wanted (galex, truth serum)

It’s a bad idea, but it's been a bad weekend and Alex is sick of being careful. George is across the room at the bar, squinting at a bill. Alex thinks fuck it and makes his way over.

Halfway there somebody he’s pretty sure he recognizes hands him one of the two drinks she's holding, clinking her own glass to Alex's and shouting something Alex can't hear over the music. “Thanks,” Alex shouts back, hoping that it’s appropriate or, alternatively, inaudible, and shoots it back in one swallow. Then he hands the glass back empty, claps her on the shoulder, and keeps walking. 

“Hi Georgie,” he says directly into George's ear when he's behind him. George jumps, and his signature skids off the receipt slip with his pen. “Saw you and realized I didn't want to talk to anybody else.”

It isn’t what Alex had been planning to say; he hadn't worked out what exactly he was going to say but he'd been leaning towards something more casual. He and George haven't spoken properly since—well, in a while. George doesn't respond immediately, his eyes skittering over Alex’s face. “Well,” he says finally, “Here I am.” 

“Heading out?” Alex asks, nodding at the bill.

George hesitates. “No,” he says, and Alex laughs. Trust George to pay for his round immediately instead of starting a tab and forgetting his card at the bar when he left like a normal person. 

“You look good tonight, George.” Huh. Also not what he had been planning to say. He had been going to make fun of George's outfit: grey and unadorned. The outfit, unfortunately, does look very good. Alex is more drunk than he thought. 

George's hand goes spasmodically to his collar, then to his drink. His fingers are long; they wrap around the glass and George takes a sip, glancing at Alex and then away. Alex smiles. Sometimes when he's sober he feels badly about this: how much he likes being wanted by George. How easily he can soak this up—this, what can he even call it? attention? affection?—without intending to let it go any further. 

“Where's Lily?” George asks, and Alex answers breezily: “She left. We had a row, actually, I think it might have been a bad one.” Then he blinks. He really hadn't intended to say that. God. He must be loads more drunk than he thought. But he didn't feel it; he was still walking. Felt clear-headed. Didn't need to be sick, et cetera. 

George frowns. “Why are you still here, mate? Go talk to her.”

“Need the ego boost,” Alex says. “I figure if you’re still giving me fuck-me eyes I can't be a total troll.” 

What the fuck. George goes bright red, visible even in the dim light. Alex has a moment of panic. They've never, ever talked about it. Alex doesn't care that George is gay. He's flattered that George has—whatever, a crush on him, or something. He knows that he shouldn't let it go too far—probably shouldn't let George jerk him off anymore, for example. One time was probably too many times, to be honest. Three times would be inexcusable. 

“Sorry,” Alex says, stupidly, and tries to think how to rescue the situation. “It's okay that you're in love with me, or whatever. I like it. It makes me feel good.”

Alex needs to shut up, what the fucking fuck, what the fuck is wrong with him? He puts his hand over his mouth, and laughs a panicked laugh. “I didn't mean to say that,” he says. “God, I’m sorry—I don't know what's wrong with me—George—”

But George has put his drink down on the bar with a clatter and turned away. He heads for the door, head down and shoulders tight. Alex looks after him, heart pounding. The drink he’d been handed a few minutes ago is still coating his throat, sickly sweet and medicinal, unlike anything he's ever tasted before. 

[marauder-misprint]

hi! i really love your writing and i was wondering if you would be willing to write a pt. 2 to the peculiar fred story you wrote? I saw that you wrote about how molly wouldn't come around even by the time of bill and fleur's wedding and how that would make ginny upset. Well I was thinking maybe something along those lines for a pt. 2 and reader maybe doesn't have the best home life and knows what it is like to not be wanted around and knows how awful it is to have someone at home that you don't want around you, so she refuses to be around more than she needs to. however, being around molly makes her feel bad sometimes bc her words get in her head and she feels like she isn't enough for fred. maybe molly overhears something or is told something about the reader and she changes her mind? feel free to change anything if you decide to write it, these were mainly random thoughts!

Hi! Sorry this took so long ❤︎ I've been sitting on this longer than I'd like to admit. Oops. ❤︎ But it's here and Molly hasn't been convinced that Reader is right for Fred (not that it's her choice).

Anyways...

Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Molly's house

part i

Fred Weasley x reader

1.9k words

cw: fluff, y/n, molly still doesn't like reader, mention of abusive father

You apparated just outside of the Weasley property. You could already see the tent being put up for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. You straightened your dress. Then you walked onto the property that you hadn’t been to since your first visit. It was almost strange being back here. 

Molly didn’t get much better for the rest of your first visit. She kept mumbling insults to herself. You heard more of them than you wanted to, but you knew that Fred loved you and it was enough to keep you there for the rest of your visit. However, knowing how his mum felt about you, you swore you wouldn’t go back. You occasionally crossed paths after that summer, like at Fred and George’s joke shop, and it was clear that Molly had yet to come around to you, despite the fact that you remained at Fred’s side. 

Ginny was the first one to see you as you approached the Burrow. She ran out to greet you, which was an impressive feat given her heels. 

“Y/N!” she squealed as she hugged you. “It’s been too long!”

“Hi, Gin,” you said, giving her a tight squeeze.

“Tell me again why you couldn’t stay here like the rest of us?” 

You frowned and gave her another squeeze. “You know why.”

“But the rest of us want you here. Especially Fred,” she said.

“But it’s her house. I respect her too much to impose.”

“You damn well know you wouldn’t be imposing,” she said, letting go of you and crossing her arms. “You’re practically engaged to Fred.” 

“One, I don’t see a ring on my finger. If you have an issue with that, talk to your brother and tell him I don’t mind if he asks with a piece of twine. Two, I won’t be staying in the Burrow until Molly can tolerate being in a room with me without vibrating with her hatred for me.” You paused to take a breath. “I just hope she can look past me being here and keep today about Bill and Fleur.”

Ginny frowned. “She doesn’t hate you.” 

Hate was a wrong word, but you really felt that it accurately described how Molly felt about you. The woman that you knew as the Weasley matriarch wasn’t the lovable Molly that you had heard endless stories about. You witnessed that Molly. She acted so lovingly toward her children, Harry, Hermione and anyone else who visited the Burrow. Anyone except you. 

Ginny nudged your side as the two of you started to walk to the house.

“Don’t you remember when me, Mione and Mum all hated Fleur? And look where we are now.”

You smiled at the redhead. She was trying and she really liked you. You wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up talking to Fred about getting you a ring. Deep down, you really hoped that how his mother felt toward you wouldn’t end up driving a wedge between you and Fred; it was a fear that lingered in the pit of your stomach and refused to budge, no matter how many times Fred assured you that he loved you. You knew he loved you. And you loved him. 

The next person you see is Harry, coming out of the Burrow to see where Ginny had gone off to. He waved to you. When you got closer, he took Ginny’s arm and led her toward the tent. He muttered something about last minute details they needed to take care of. You poked your head through the Burrow’s front door. If you were being honest, you didn’t want to go inside unless you had to. 

“Y/N!” 

You turned around with the brightest grin. There was your favorite voice, and with it, your favorite person. Fred pulled you into the tightest hug, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around.

“Ginny said you arrived! And, I must say, you look truly dazzling.” He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “I can’t wait to introduce you to everyone.”

“I refuse to meet Muriel until I’ve had a glass… or two.”

Fred laughed. “Or you could meet her first and get it over with? She’s around here somewhere…”

“What do you think she’ll say? That I don’t come from a good enough family? Not pretty enough for you? That I work too hard and need to spend more time in the home?” you teased, laughing easily with Fred. 

Your laughter drew the attention of George, who also came from the direction of the tent. 

“Oh, good! You’re here! Now Freddie can stop pacing.”

You looked at Fred. “Pacing?” 

“Loverboy here was thinking that you weren’t going to come.”

“You know, Mum…” Fred mumbled in your ear, but you shook your head.

“Today is bigger than that. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

The twins walked with you back into the tent. Elegant and bright decorations adorned every table, several pieces hanging from the ceiling. It was breathtaking. Very fitting for Fleur. Arthur called George away to help him with something, leaving you with Fred. He introduced you to some relatives who had gotten there early with the intent to help but really only got in the way. To your delight, Muriel wasn’t one of them. As you talked to Fred’s aunts and uncles, you could feel Molly’s eyes on you. She saw you but gave no inclination that she intended to say hello. Perhaps it was better that way. 

The wedding went off without a hitch. Guests found their seats. Music filled the air. Vows were exchanged. Then Bill and Fleur kicked off the reception with their first dance. You spent almost all of the night at Fred’s side, dancing and drinking. You were having a great time; how could you now? 

For each drink you had, Fred also had one. You were attempting to use each other for support as you stumbled out of the tent, both of you giggling. Fred started kissing your neck, and you struggled to hold him off of you. 

“Fred, I-I need to get home,” you slurred out between giggles. “Your parents-”

“My parents are already asleep,” he mumbled into your neck. 

“Fred.” 

You stumbled as you and Fred took a few steps toward the Burrow. 

“Can’t walk. So you can’t apparate. And I’m not letting you take a, a, a whatchamacallit back to London. Those… cars muggles use, like the… Knight Bus.” 

“Taxis?” you giggled. “But I, I need to.” 

“No. Love. Mum is sleep. And you can leave before she gets up.” 

“Fine.”

The two of you somehow manage to get up the stairs to Fred and George’s room. George wasn’t in the room, not that you minded. Fred stripped down and tossed you one of his t-shirts; you put it on in the lieu of your fancy dress. He pulled you into a hug, which ended up with both of you giggling and falling onto his bed. 

After crawling under the covers, you said, “My king bed is much comfier.”

“Go to sleep.” 

Between the headache pounding in your skull and the warmth of Fred, you snuggle deeper under the covers when you wake up. You have no desire to get up. The thought of Molly doesn’t even cross your mind. When you do get up, Fred convinces you to stay for a cup of tea before you head home. You can’t say no to him. 

Ginny was the only one in the kitchen when the two of you went down there. She smiled at you as Fred went to put the kettle on. The three of you engaged in quiet chatter, nothing much given how tired the three of you were. 

Then Molly walked into the kitchen. You locked eyes with her, both of you frozen for a few seconds. You shrunk into your chair as her face reddened. She continued wordlessly to the stove to start making a full breakfast for her children and preferred guests. 

You took one more sip of your tea before standing up uncomfortably. “I’ll be going then. See you later, Fred.”

You leaned down to give him a quick kiss, which landed on his cheek rather than his lips as he didn’t turn his head as you had expected him to. He was staring bug-eyed at Ginny because of your sudden announcement to leave so suddenly. You still had half a cup of tea. 

You quickly left the kitchen and only hesitated outside because you heard footsteps following you. You knew it would be Fred. 

“Listen, love, I know what I said last night, but you don’t have to leave jus’ yet,” he said, reaching out to gently hold your elbow. 

“I do. I really do. I Can't stay where I know I’m not wanted. And don’t say you want there and Ginny does and George, Ron, Harry, Hermione, everyone. Because this, this-” You gestured to the entirety of the Burrow. “-is Molly’ house and she’s the one who doesn't want me here. It’s out of respect for her that I’m leaving.”

You don’t wait for a response from Fred. You take your arm out of his hand and disapparate home. 

Fred sighed frustratedly. He ran a hand through his hair before walking back into the Burrow. Molly let out a dry laugh when she saw her son return. 

“Out of respect for me? You certainly know how to pick them, Fred.” 

“Mum!” Ginny yelled before Fred can respond. “How is it that you’re the only one who doesn’t like her? Even Great-Aunt Muriel likes her more than you do.”

“Your great-aunt hasn’t heard everything that girl’s said.”

“She complimented the Burrow!”

“She called it peculiar!”

“What’s peculiar?” Arthur asked, entering the kitchen. The shouting between his wife and daughter had woken him up. 

“Our home,” Molly snapped. “At least, according to that girl Fred insists on keeping around.”

Arthur looked at Fred with a twinkle in his eye. “I forgot she said that. Quite the compliment coming from her, I’d say.”

“It’s insulting!” Molly continued to yell. 

“Hmm, I don’t think so, Molly-dear. These youngins, they make words their own. Especially Y/N. And from what I’ve garnered from her, peculiar is akin to… brilliant, fantastic, wicked.” 

Molly’s expression twisted. She wasn’t used to being undermined by Arthur like this. 

“You didn’t hear the way she said it!” 

“She said it as a compliment!” Fred seethed. “I was there. She was talking to me. And really, Mum, you better find a way to tolerate her because I do plan on marrying her one day.”

Ginny’s face lit up at that. Fred disapparated from the kitchen and appeared in your flat. He found you curled up in your own bed. There was a glass of water on your bedside table and a half-eaten croissant wrapped in a napkin near where your hand was. Your sleeping form rose and fell with your breathing. 

Fred crawled under the covers next to you, something he’d done many times. You roused at his presence. 

“You know I couldn’t stay. I know how she feels,” you whispered. 

“You are not your father, darling.”

“I am to her.” 

“No, you’re not. You have not harmed any of us. She took one comment out of character and-”

“And hates me for it.”

“Which doesn’t make you your father. There’s a difference.”

“I just… It’s her home and being there feels like trespassing.”

Fred pulled you into his chest, holding you tightly. 

“But right here?” you mumbled into his chest. “This is my home.”

“And I hope it stays that way.”

tags: @navs-bhat