#ahaha I’m a fucking pathetic failure.

[morgana-ren]

Just Business

Summary: You’re a loan shark looking to expand your enterprise to the League of Villains. Lucky for you, Dabi might just be willing to hear you out. As long as you can prove your loyalty to him, that is. 

Rating: E for not everyone. Explicit. Do I release anything else?

Baby’s first Dabi fic. Just testing the waters, folks. I know nothing about this man. Literally nothing.

Money lending is such a nasty business. 

Some poor sap shuffles in nervously shifting his fingers and recites some rehearsed script about why he needs the cash and how he’s good for it, and then you throw him a wad and pretend to make up some important deadline. He thanks you profusely and thumbs through the cash as he leaves, and you’ve still got your heels kicked up on your desk as you tell a goon to keep an eye on him. 

Sometimes their reaction to your ‘charity’ varies, but one thing always stays the same. They can never pay it back. 

Some run. Some try to hide. Some bolt the second the cash hits their fists, boarding the first train out of town. Some genuinely try to do the right thing. The result is the same. 

You track them down. Your boot, their neck. They cry, you extort. 

It’s not about the money. It never is. Wealth is fine and good but no amount of monetary fortune can amount to having another thread in the network web you’re building. You’ll let them off the hook and they’ll spy for you, lie for you, even put their neck on the line because they have no other choice. Info is worth infinitely more than a petty loan, and what you invest in their short sighted schemes is repaid tenfold. 

You knew something was up with the shifty little prick the second he walked in the door. He asked for an exorbitant amount and could never meet your eyes when he told you just what he planned to do with it. It sounded too rehearsed, even for your usual clientele. Almost like someone told him what to say and just how to say it. 

In this business, you learn to call a spade a spade, but even as he sat on his knees with his gaze shifted away from you and practically screaming tells, you felt there was something deeper. A truth buried deep within his lies. Something interesting. Something you wanted to know. 

You give the poor bastard the money. 

Sending a runner to watch his schedule confirms your beliefs. He walks into a dilapidated abandoned building not long after leaving the meeting with your thick wad of cash in hand and leaves with only a few bills, though he looks relieved for his trouble. You have his face, his name, a dossier on his entire life. He’s far too unguarded for someone into something so nefarious. Someone sent this little gnat into your domain and didn’t expect you to follow the thread. They were mistaken. Whoever this man works for, he’s the only lead into something deeper. 

Your little flies swarm the building only to find it empty. No trace of who you had been dealing with, no clues to lead you to the heart of your curiosity. Only dust splayed across concrete and a fire with the ashes still warm. 

All your contacts and all your pull only give you one lead: the League of Villains. 

A down-on-their-luck outfit of outcasts and outlaws. Their leader had been making some big moves with a large financier some months ago, but things turned disastrous and no one had heard a peep since. It doesn’t surprise you to hear they’re rebuilding, but what intrigues you is that they’re making such risky pulls to do it. Borrowing money they clearly cannot pay back from a loan shark with a reputation of ruthlessness. 

It should make you mad, being ripped off and deceived like that. 

It doesn’t. 

If anything, it tickles you. You didn’t even have to put out any feelers and they had loitered into your web. You’d had your eyes on them for some time, curious about their leader and their members. They could prove a worthy investment, if given the chance. You never had an in with them since they never needed your services, but it seems that they hand delivered one in desperation.

It becomes a matter of baiting and trapping. 

You wait and you listen. The debt date approaches and it’s only a matter of time. It doesn’t surprise you when the same man wanders back into your office and hands you a thick stack of bills, more than twice what you had offered him. You most definitely are surprised to find him returning but you accept his offering with a smile, running your finger along the bills to keep up appearances. 

“It seems you find yourself quite wealthy! You simply must tell me how you’ve made such a grand turn around!”

He swallows hard at your compliment, raising a hand to the back of his head and scratching nervously. “Luck, Ma’am. Nothing more. I find myself in fortune and simply wish to repay your great kindness.” 

“Of course.” You smile at him, allowing him to take his leave. Now the real game begins. 

Your little spies follow him as he weaves through the streets into the industrial part of town. He ducks into another decrepit building, closing the door firmly behind him. He emerges a few moments later only to tuck a receipt of payment and a few more bills into his shirt. The pace he has is slower now, more relaxed. He believes he’s free, shaken clean of your webbing and can breathe without fear now. 

How wrong he is. 

The look of terror on his face as you block his exit from the alley almost makes you feel sorry for him. He immediately becomes defensive, backing up several feet despite the absence of your body guards. He’s not afraid of you. He’s afraid of who is watching. 

“What are you doing here? I paid you!” 

“You have.” You acknowledge, bowing your head. “I’m not here for money. I simply ask for information. That’s not so terrible, is it? This doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

“I don’t know anything!” 

“But of course you do!” You draw closer and he trips over his own feet, falling flat to the alley floor. “That money wasn’t for you, was it? You have no prospects, no family or land or investments of your own. Only a crippling gambling debt, yes? Paying debt doesn’t accumulate currency, so clearly you must have had some grand scheme. I’m very interested in your process.” 

You bend down, venom gathering behind your fangs as you stroke his petrified face with a cool finger. “From one brilliant mind to another. I’ll keep it a secret. I promise.”

“I- Well-” He looks around anxiously, stumbling over words but so close to breaking. It won’t take much on your part to get him to crack. 

Or it wouldn’t have, anyway. 

A bolt of vibrant blue flame speeds toward you from around a corner almost quicker than you can process and it’s only barely that you manage to dodge it by shoving yourself clumsily backward. The unbelievable heat from the blast doesn’t escape you, and you cover your face as the alleyway erupts in fire, engulfing your only lead in flames and incinerating him before you could make a move to save him and whatever it is he had to say. The smell of charred flesh is overwhelming and despite the obvious threat, you can’t help but smile. 

A tall figure walks fearlessly through the inferno, hands in his pockets and seeming almost bored as he kicks over the ashen figure that was human only seconds ago. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted this idiot.” 

You stay silent, face shielded from the encompassing heat by your palm as he approaches. Inky black hair and a pale body covered in muldering skin, maroon scars stapled together with metal and sheer force of will. His threadbare coat billows around his feet as he trudges down the alleyway toward you. His eyes are a striking shade of blue, focused on you with an empty expression. 

The ends of your hair have singed and your face itches, but it’s nothing compared to the accomplishment you feel. You had a feeling that toying with some strings might bring the cat out to play. 

“So you’re one of the League.” 

You stand up, brushing the dirt off your knees and stabilizing yourself on the wall despite the overwhelming heat. 

“Sure. You’re that babe that lent us the money, right? That was nice of you.” He stops just short of you, arms withdrawing from his pockets and igniting with indigo flame. “Now why don’t you scram? You got your money, what happens from here isn’t your business.”

“Oh, it’s not all business.” You coyly tell him, running him once over with your eyes. “Sometimes it’s just pleasure. Are there other fine, strapping young lads like you in the League or am I just one lucky girl?”

“That depends.” He scoffs, puffing air out of his stapled cheeks. “Do you get any better at prying for information or is this the best you can do?” 

“Oh!” A dramatic gesture and you cross your hands over your heart, already coating your hands in sticky, silken thread. “You wound me!” 

“I’ll wound you a hell of a lot worse if you don’t get out of here.” His fist clenches, and a burst of ever increasing heat emanates from the fire engulfing his hand. “Last I checked, fire still kills spiders.” 

“You’d burn down your own home to kill a single little spider? I’m flattered.” 

Before he can retort, you kick one of your feet out behind you, jumping toward him and latching your legs around his midsection. Your hands are quick to wrap around his own as he tumbles to the ground, burning through the layers of webbing drooling from your fingers. The viscous cobweb coats his palms and successfully extinguishes his flames, if only for a moment. It won’t be long, but hopefully it will give you the time you need. You slather the mixture onto the ground next to his head, immobilizing his arms and trapping him beneath you. 

He looks panicked for a moment, trying desperately to activate his quirk, but it can’t get the air his fire needs to breathe through your gossamer web. You keep steady on his bucking hips, as chuckling he tries to pry his hands free of your thick, durable weave. Once he realizes it’s not going to happen and you haven’t killed him yet, he seems to relax, if only slightly. 

“So, it’s not just a nickname.” He muses, teal eyes focused on your fangs through your grinning lips. “You know, I kill spiders when they’re in my house.” 

You throw him a faux pout, grabbing his jaw with your middle finger and thumb and holding him steady as you inspect the staples that line his jaw. “You’re so cruel. I’m just trying to protect my web. You can’t truly blame me, can you? You’d do the same.” 

His hips thrash again and this time you don’t hold back the little moan it coaxes from you, His pupils dilate and for a brief second he seems frozen. At least before a smarmy smirk tugs at his upper lip. “You got your money, doll. I’m starting to think this isn’t business after all.”

“Maybe it’s not.” You lean down, running your tongue across the textured expanse of his neck and stifling a giggle when he stiffens. “Maybe I see potential in your little group and I want in.” 

“That’s nice of you.” He juts his face toward you only for you to pull back. “But it’s really not up to me.” 

You withdraw your hand from his jaw and run it down his chest instead, fingertips slowly stimulating the rough, scarred skin beneath his neck. “Then who is it up to?” 

“That would be the boss.” He grins, one hand breaking free of your web and immediately finding purchase in your hair. You go to grab his wrist but he tuts you, threatening you with a familiar warmth on your scalp. Long, skinny fingers coil around your roots and yank your head back, and eventually his other hand breaks free, coming up to grip at your waist. “And he’s going to want nothing to do with you.” 

He pulls you down closer to him, the moist heat from his breath collecting on the side of your neck as he keeps you steady on top of him. You can feel him hardening between your legs and you can’t help but wiggle your hips to bolster the sensation. 

“What do I need to do, then?” 

“I’d be willing to put in a good word for you,” The hand on your waist slides down to grip your ass, clenching the fatty skin and slowly moving you back and forth atop his hips. “If you’re okay with working for it.” 

“You’d be so generous, yeah?” You gyrate your lower body against him, feeling the head of his cock poking your clit through his rough jeans. 

“You’d be surprised what I’ll do if you make it worth it.”

“I guess I have no choice then.” Your tongue runs over the point of your fangs, swallowing back all the venom you’d had so ready. Sometimes it’s easier to catch flies with honey than vinegar, and you had the sweetest honey of all right between your thighs. 

“Say the word and I’ll let you walk away, babe.” His fingers loosen their hold on your body but don’t relinquish entirely. “But if you don’t, I’m going to need you to prove your loyalty.”

You push his body down with your chest until the back of his head meets the gravel, allowing him to keep his hold on you. “I’m very loyal.” 

Your tits squish against his pecs and he sneaks a less than inconspicuous peak at them, cock throbbing against your apex. “Prove it.”

You don’t need any further prompting. He almost protests as you shake his hand free and scoot back farther down his legs, at least until he realizes what you’re doing. Your deft fingers work at the buttons of his jeans, yanking them down to his thighs before resituating yourself and working on your own buttons, pulling at them painfully slowly. Once you’ve both exposed yourself to the open air, you can’t help but look at his cock, thick and bobbing against his stomach. It’s one of the only parts of him that isn’t scarred and latched with metal, but the weeping tip looks so inviting. Every bone in your body wants to take him in your mouth and make him see God through sheer force of tongue, but you’ve got a job to do and there’s no time for play. Not this time anyway. 

You sit up on your knees until he’s aligned with your hole, sinking down just enough to tease him with your tightness. He groans, trying to pull you down further, but you’re not having it. You arch your back, keeping your knees steady and allowing only the very tip of his cock to enter you. 

“Fuck- hurry it up, would you?” 

You grab his hands and push them down by his head again, sinking down on him as slow as you possibly can. His eyes roll back in his head, and he hisses all manner of curses as you situate him nice and snug between your suffocating walls. The head of his cock prods at your cervix as you sit on top of him but the fullness stuffed between your thighs forces a breathy moan from you. 

He gives you no time to adjust to his girth, pumping his hips up into you as you’re still catching your breath. “Shit! You’re pretty fuckin tight, babe!” A shiver rolls down his back as his hands move to your hips and try to force you harder up and down against him

“So impatient.” You croon, licking up his neck again before sinking your fangs deep into the rough tissue. 

“Fuck!” 

He’s almost ready to shove you off of him before you start rolling your hips, letting his cock burrow deep into your silken cunt again and again, running your tongue along the column of his throat and nipping softly to gain his trust. You’re not trying to poison him, not now. Your job right now is to gift him pleasure, and so you will. 

“Risky-” He huffs in your ear, one hand smacking down hard enough on your ass that you yelp. “Toying with me like that. I can guess what those fangs can do.” 

“If only you knew everything.” You sigh, letting his hands go in favor of pulling back, your palms finding his knees behind you as your back arches and puts your tits on display for him. 

He can’t resist. The only thing separating him from your chest is a flimsy shirt which he quickly disposes of, heating his fingers enough that the fabric begins to shred before he swiftly pulls it apart. He quickly takes advantage of the fact that your milky tits are within reaching distance, latching on to a nipple and sucking almost painfully. 

A high pitched keen escapes your throat as he puffs and hollows his cheeks, slobbering on your chest with one hand on the crook of your shoulder to keep you anchored close. His cock pummels your insides, pelvis stimulating your clit as you ride him. You’re clinging to control but you can feel it slipping with every sloppy lick of his tongue and every brutal thrust of his hips. His heaving becomes more and more erratic, moist breath practically burning your chest on the odd second he pulls away to watch your face. Your eyes close and you lose yourself in the euphoria of his cock, letting him hit you deep and hard just where you need it. Eventually, he releases your nipple from his mouth and you figure you’re both about to cum. 

That comes to a screeching halt when he slows his pistoning, grabbing your waist with both hands and keeping you from riding him either. 

“What the hell!” You whine, trying and failing to chase your rapidly disappearing orgasm. 

“Dabi.” He hisses, bringing a hand up and kneading your breast with fingers that are too hot to handle, squeezing your nipple and sending another jolt of hot pleasure between your legs. 

“What?” 

Your teeth are clenching, active frustration boiling in your gut. You were so close. Somehow he knows, but he knocks you off of him, watching with mirthful eyes as you land on your butt beside him. Instead of mocking you, he sits up and quickly pulls off his coat, throwing to the ground behind him and spreading it around haphazardly. Before you have time to question, he lurches forward, grabbing you by the throat and throwing you down onto the fabric beneath him. 

“I wanna hear you say it.” He says, maneuvering your legs open and placing his thick cock back at your drooling cunt. “When you cum on my dick, I wanna hear you say my name.” 

He refuses to move until you acknowledge him, so you do. 

“P-please? Dabi?” 

“Good girl” He purrs, plunging inside you again so fast you hardly have time to recover. The hand around your neck heats and you scream, at least until a pair of charred lips forces themselves against your open ones. He pounds into you with renewed energy, slamming with a force that jerks your head back with every thrust. The hand that isn’t firmly clasped around your throat finds its way between your legs and rubs in tight, calculated circles. His slick tongue worms into your throat, licking the front of your teeth.

“You’re cute-” he huffs into your open mouth. “I might keep you around. You’re more useful to me as a whore than a loan shark. Is that what you want, doll? To take my loads in your warm little holes? I’ll take real good care of you.”

You want to tell him no. You have a business, a mission. But as he drills deeper inside you, you’re so close to saying whatever he wants so long as he doesn’t stop. The electric warmth between your thighs is rapidly building, coiling up and ready to burst and you’ll say whatever he wants as long as he keeps fucking you. 

Some part of him must sense this, because he pulls away from your throat, weaving his fingers up through the crown of your head again and pulling you up to face him. His eyes are glazed, sweat dripping down his temple and he huffs breath through his nostrils that’s practically steam at this point. 

“Beg me to cum.” 

“Please-” 

His fingers work against your clit but just enough to keep the pleasure from fading. You need it faster. You need it harder.

“More!” 

He hums and licks up your lips, slipping his tongue between your teeth again for a brief second. “What’s the magic word?” 

The fingers on your pussy heat slightly as he applies more pressure, watching you through heavily lidded eyes as you writhe and squirm. 

“D-Dabi!” 

“Such a good girl. Say ‘Dabi please let me cum!”

It’s degrading and filthy but fuck you want it. Plus, remember, this is just business. Right?

“Dabi! P-Please let me cum on your cock! Please! I-I need-!” 

He bites down on your bottom lip before the words can leave your swollen tongue. Your body wiggles restlessly as you wait for him to give you what he promised. 

“Good girls get rewards.” 

His hips pull back and shove almost impossibly deep inside, forcing a loud cry from you before he slams mouth down onto yours. His fingers work overtime on your engorged clit, utilizing the wetness seeping from your hole as his cock thrusts in and out. His tongue worms past your lips again and explores every inch he can reach, chuckling as you moan shamelessly into his mouth. 

Though he starts off with a precise rhythm, it quickly becomes erratic as he chases his own pleasure while delivering yours. The hand at your apex is working overtime and the one in your hair is warm enough that you’d likely be a bit worried if you had the mental capacity. He uses both of them to maneuver you to his precise liking, fucking into you like you’re a pliable little doll built solely for his pleasure. 

He’s mumbling incoherently, breathing hot and heavy against your cheek. Your needy moans and whimpers only drive him to move faster and harder as your own hips work double time to meet his powerful pulsating. If you weren’t the one making the noises, you never would have believed it was you. 

“Fuck- shit! Gunna cum nice and deep in your pretty little cunt! Gunna make sure you’re dripping for days-“ He cuts off partway through to let out a heafy groan as you clench your muscles tighter to milk him. “God, so fucking tight-“

Your orgasm is approaching quickly, pain from his bony hips digging into the fleshy fat of your thighs barely a whisper compared to the white hot pressure building at the base of your spine. You can feel his cock twitch against your cervix with every punch against it and you know he’s close too. 

You dig your nails in, fingers clamped against his shoulders and using his movements to build your own momentum. The cacophony of moans between you two becomes louder and more unhinged, him whispering depraved fantasies in your ear that only drive you further to completion. Your head falls back down to the ground as you lose the ability to keep it up any longer, cord finally snapping and unraveling as he throws you over the edge. 

You practically scream as he continues fucking you through your orgasm, legs constricting ever tighter around his narrow hips as you push yourself up harder to chase every ounce of sensation he has to offer you. Stars dance behind your shut eyes and your entire body buzzes with prickling bliss that radiates from your core. You can’t feel the pain in your knees from the asphalt before he flipped you or the localized ache from him ripping at your hair; only the overwhelming, pulsing euphoria as he continues to hit that sweet, spongy spot deep inside you as you ride out your peak. 

His animalistic grunts turn even more primal as your walls flutter around his thick cock, clenching and pulsing around him until he can’t hold back the tide of cresting pleasure anymore. Hot cum floods your insides, so warm you swear it nearly burns you. He continues pumping as it begins to leak from inside you, obscene squelching echoing from the point of entry. He turns his head, finding the crook of your neck and biting down hard enough you cry out, marking you one last time as he continues to stroke himself with your cunt until every last drop has been drained. 

His cock throbs for a moment before slowly softening inside you as he tries to see straight. You’ve yet to open your eyes, only twitching in overstimulation as he withdraws his hand from between your slippery thighs. He allows you to catch your breath for a moment before lightly pushing himself up off of you, careful not to hurt you. 

You slowly regain the ability to move your body and rollout from underneath him, wobbling legs dropping you back onto the cement instead of allowing you to stand when you try. It’s a struggle to pull up your pants since your legs have decided they no longer want to work, but somehow you manage to get them pulled up and buttoned, Dabi’s cum seeping from between your thighs and staining onto the fabric. Dabi himself hoists himself to his feet, using the wall as support. He’s trying desperately to seem unaffected but you don’t miss the falter of his legs like a newborn fawn when he first rises to his feet. 

“Thanks doll, that was fun.” He somehow manages to bend over and grab his coat from the floor, snaking his arms through the armholes and readjusting it over his chest. “I think I’ll be in touch.”

You raise your head, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You think?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs, beginning his walk back down the alleyway where he came from. He turns to look at you one last time, sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I might need some more convincing.” 

[undyinglantern]

Using fictional characters as a means to stay alive is so pathetic

[dread-and-despair-dyke]

so so sad. sosososad. fucking fuck

Its hard to know you’re the most pathetic annoying insignificant ugly mf around, and then still miss people. like, its my own fault that i have to sit here missing them rather than be happy with them. its because of me, not being something interesting or worth the time and effort. not making enough time for them maybe, not giving them enough space, not understanding them enough. it isnt anything to do with ‘thats just how it is sometimes’, because you know how pl here are always like ‘if a person doesnt have good long friendships thats a red flag’. whats the red flag. that im terrible to be around? ahaha. thats it! im terrible to be around, and I’m ugly as all hell to boot. I hope you all know that so you can avoid me and know that it’s my own fault, morally, for having that red flag. its a moral failure on my part that im not someone that other people can tolerate being around. i know this and i dont know how to fix it

maybe not the same, but, its hard to see everyone move on without you

[satorilovebot]

a little help? [ atsumu x reader ]

pair : miya atsumu x reader

words count : 1650

warning : none

You are curled in your bed, clutching your pillow and biting it hard enough so your sob wouldn’t be heard by others. Honestly, you don’t like crying, but your sibling’s words echoed into your brain, and it weighs you down, making your sob harder as time goes by.

*

“I don’t know what I want to do in the future … ” you said softly, looking at the paper on your hand with a frown on your forehead.

“What do you think you are good at?” your sibling replied, eyes still glued to their smartphone. You stare at them, tilting your head slightly before answering.

“… nothing?”

With voice flat as ever, eyes doesn’t leave the screen either, your sibling replied coldly, “Then don’t ask people to help you, you don’t even want to help yourself.”

Your heart drops at their answer, yet you managed to let out a soft chuckle and whisper, “Ahaha, you are right.”

*                

You are the first born of your family. It is only natural that your parents expect a lot from you.  At first it wasn’t a problem. You are doing fine in your study, not always on top of the class, yes, but still not bad either. You won some competitions too. But as you get older, the burden starts to weigh you. Especially when you see that your sibling is doing lots better than you. Better grades, better achievements, even better manner, if that make sense.                 

To be honest, you were satisfied with how you live your life until now. A moment ago, at least. You are always the type that goes with the flow; it is easier to blend in, to face problems with ‘present’ mindset rather than planning for the future. But maybe it wasn’t a wise choice. Maybe you should’ve thought about your future more seriously. Finding things that you can be good at, or working hard on things you like so you can master it. But no. You had choose to live in the present, enjoying things too much and never really master anything. Just jumping into one hobby to another before you can master it.                

“y/n.”                

You chocked on your own spit, you didn’t expect anyone, especially this person to come into your dorm room and find you in the most pitiful state, “N-no.. hik.. ‘Tsu.. ‘Tsumu please leave.” You managed to say between your sobbing.

Atsumu Miya decided to ignore your words, closing the door, and sit on the edge of the bed instead. You can hear him sigh, “Is it about that stupid ‘future plan’ shit again?” golden orbs catches on the paper that laying on the floor. It was a form from school, every student obliged to fill it with their plan for the future, like do they want to continue to college or working. It supposed to be harmless, but apparently, not for everyone.                

“Look, y/n, I said it yesterday, that it’s okay to not know what do you want. Just take your time, you would know, as always.” He tried, rough palm softly reaching for [h/c] locks and stroking it as gentle as he could. But it didn’t stop your sobbing or trembling.

“But apparently our teacher think the otherwise. They want it tomorrow,” Breathed, you try to calm yourself “And then someone said I don’t deserve any help from other people cause I don’t want to help myself.” voice laced with anger, and heavy disappointment. It was addressed to yourself though.

His eyebrows furrow together, “Who said such thing?” and your sibling name slipping through your lips. Atsumu only clicked his tongue and pinching your ear, practically pulling you to face him, “You know that they meant no harm right?”

“IT HUUUURTSSS!” you whine, both hands now holding your boyfriend’s wrist, trying to get his hand away from your ear. “Of course I know. It just makes me hate myself more… like, why I can’t be a decent human being, and know what I want to do in the future. Like you with volleyball… I… don’t master anything.”

He gently cups your cheeks, wiping the tears with his calloused thumbs and looks straight into your puffy eyes. His skin felt rough against your soft one, but it calms you down somehow. “They are right though. You always chickened out when you doesn’t do well in something, trying other things right away. It’s a vicious cycle. Y/n, when we start things we are not obliged to be perfect. No one does … ” 

“My sibling did, they manage-” 

“SHUSH! Let me, would you?” he frowns, practically pinching your lips so you would shut up. You only whine and pouts even more, letting him continue his words. “Okay maybe they did things perfect in one try, so what? Most people don’t. I didn’t. Do you think I able to set that perfect in one try? Receive those balls? Serve? No. But what makes me different from you is I don’t give up and I give my fucking everything to volleyball.”

“It’s because you like it,” this time, it is you that sighed. Slowly pulling yourself up to sit in front of him, who now already crossed his legs on your bed. “I don’t particularly like anything…” you whisper, avoiding his stares and looking at your own fingers while you fiddle on your shirt.

“You and your commitment issue are really scary. You need to fix it ASAP or I feel like I am getting dumped after three months, like you and those clubs you constantly in and out. ” he roll his eyes and you huff.

“That was because I don’t like those that much!!” you try to argue and he only raised his eyebrows.

“You said you liked taekwondo before tap out three months later saying you can’t remember their moves,”

“That wa--”

“You quit swimming club because you said it makes your skin darker and you don’t like getting tanner, even when you won second place in prefecture,”

“Swimming was tir-”

“I wonder who said that they like baking but quit three months after started and saying that, ’I can’t do frosting. I shouldn’t even start’?”

At this you only raise your both hands in defeat, your shoulder slumped and you rest your head on Atsumu’s broad shoulder. Nuzzling onto his hoodie, filling your lungs with this masculine scent before breathe out, “Fine, I’m at fault. Sorry for being so pathetic.”

“I never said you are pathetic, honey,” he pulls you closer. Resting his chin against your head and caressing your back, “I just said maybe, if you are not chickened out and try harder you might achieve something big. You said it yourself; failure is just a postponed victory. But you need patience, and work hard to achieve it.”

You hug him tightly, letting his warmth gives you the comfort you’ve been seeking. “Just kiss me and I might find what I want to do in the future right now.”  

“Have you seen yourself? Kiss those tears and snot covered face? Ew never!” he said jokingly, making a disgusted face. You can only laugh, hit him on the chest and look up.

“You mean!” but you smiled anyway. “Thanks ‘Tsumu, I still need to short my thoughts but maybe, just maybe, I can come up with something tomorrow.” His gaze was tender when you stare into those golden orbs, his thumb stroking your cheek lovingly.

“That’s better. You don’t suit gloomy mood anyway. So, dinner? You must be hungry after cry your eyeballs out.” 

“Yeaaah! Can we get pizza? With pineapple on it!” you jump down your bed, run toward bathroom to clean your messy face.

“Ew, I still don’t get it. Your taste in food is awful.” He winched at the thought of pineapple on his pizza. Only psychopath does that, he thoughts.

“At least my taste in man isn’t,” you step out of the bathroom with freshly washed face, putting on your hoodie and untangling your hair, you hug his arm “Let’s get some pizza!!!”

Atsumu smiles, he kiss the top of your head and give you a quick hug. “Now, this is the girl I am dating. I love you, y/n.”

Atsumu may not the sweetest boyfriend in the world, definitely not the softest, nor the kindest. He is just a boyfriend that y/n needs. Know when to praise, when to scolds, and when to slap some sense into them. After all we need to stand with our feet, we can’t always rely on the others. Because the one who can help us, is us. 

Hello! this is a mere test post? like, i’m giving you a quick look about how i write stuff ashdashda. honestly i’m not really satisfied with how this turn out but, I wrote it like just in an hour so please bear with me. however if you have critics and (please) request do send me some message! thank you!

[border-spam]

Twins prompt 6: DeLeon

(Warning for this one, and huge thanks to @lazulizard​ for her amazing art on this one- full link at bottom of fic )

“Piece of shit, piece of shit, AHH-fuck!!”

Troy rips his hand out of under the pinching joint of his prosthetic where he’s been failing to try and disengage it for the last few minutes, then screams in frustration as he smashes the brutal weight of the arm across his workdesk in a wide sweep.

The satisfaction of destroying half of the projects he’s been working on this month in a couple of seconds doesn’t put a dent in how fucking exhausted he is.

He’s so tired, he’s just so tired, shoulders hunched above his bowed head as he leans his weight on the arm, feeling the now cracked surface of the table shift under him slightly with each panting breath.

Today had been painfully -rough-, and Tyreen hadn’t given him an inch, focusing her displeasure at the COV’s acquisition department’s failed hostile merger with that unexpectedly well armed fuel outpost on him, after husking half of the division of course.

He’d taken the brunt of her foul mood as usual, and the workload in fixing this fuckup he wasn’t even responsible for tomorrow was giving him a headache just trying to think of where he would need to get started, and he’s just so.. fucking.. tired.

He rubs harshly at his face as he turns and begins to stumble towards the mess of heaped blankets and pillows that was his bed, the arm would wait, he’d just leave it and try to sleep for now. If he didn’t try and get a couple of hours in he wouldn’t be able to function tomorrow enough to make a dent in this clusterfuck. He’s so tired.. it won’t matter. He’ll just pass out even with the dead weight of it digging into his shoulder, he knows from experience.

Soon as his shin hits the edge of the mattress he feels his eyes flutter closed, barely managing to lift his torso onto the bed and crawl into the center before his body gives out and he flops down onto his chest. His stupidly long prosthetic arm is bent at an awkward angle, the jagged elbow pointing towards the ceiling and wrist pinned uncomfortably under his hip, but he doesn’t have the energy to move the goddamn thing right now, and his breathing evens out within seconds of his face hitting the pillow.

Warm, encompassing, heavy sleep. The kind of sleep that feels like sinking underwater, like the soft pressure of your mother’s arms around your small body. The kind of sleep that makes it hard to wake up, and Troy struggles to push his mind out of the fog as he finds himself somewhere dark, and quiet, and wrong.

Nothing, all around him. Nothing, no sound, no light, and yet he can see his hands perfectly. No ground or walls or air, nothing, and the hairs on the back of his neck raise as some horrible realisation begins to dawn. Some memory he can’t grasp, slipping through his fingers like oil. Something bad happens when he’s here, but he can’t remember what.

He can’t.. move. He can move his legs but each step does nothing, there’s nothing to walk on, and his heart is starting to pick up pace, a lump in his throat getting hard to swallow. He doesn’t want to be here but he can’t remember why.

There’s.. there’s something behind him, he can feel it, but he can’t turn no matter how hard he whips around, he can’t see behind him. What is it.. what is it he can sense it he..

“Troy….”

His pulse spikes. He can feel his spine turn rigid, lungs filling to the point of pain as the fear forces a deep shuddering breath into them. He knows that voice. He knows that voice and now he remembers why he fucking hates this place. Why he doesn’t want to be here, not again. Not again, not again, not again, not him. Not that gaunt shape he catches in the corner of his eye in every fucking reflection he passes, not that lingering, mocking, pitying laugh he hears in the back of his brain every time the silence settles in after the adoration of his worshippers fades for the night. Not again, not this, not here, not him, not again.

“.. Just look at you Troy. So little of you left now. What have you done t-to me.”

Fucking… DeLeon..

He smells him before he can see him. Every whistling, panicked breath through his nose is filled with the scent of memories that turn his stomach.

Warm morning sunlight evaporating dew from fern leaves, the engine oil that always covered Dad’s pants, that fragrant Nekrotafeyan wood they’d burn each night at the campfire, Mom’s skin, dried blood under his fingernails, Ty’s breath when she would curl against his side to sleep in their tiny bed, fever sweat and vomit, and he can’t stop breathing it in, it’s all around him and he can’t stop remembering.

“You let her down again today, didn’t you. Guess that’s nothing to be surprised by anymore, is it b-big man? Ahaha.. It’s normal now, huh?”

His jaw is clamped so tight he can feel the implanted roots of his metal canines burning in his skull cavity with the pressure. DeLeon steps closer behind him.

“Wonder how that happened.. wonder how you went from b-being her best friend, her other half, her right hand… to well, whatever the hell you are now. A monster, m-maybe?”

His prosthetic violently shakes at his side with each shuddering breath and he feels a shooting, burning pain down his left arm as it does. DeLeon is in the edge of his vision now, the red glow of the markings around his eye the only colour in this fucking place.

“… A.. freak..?” DeLeon whispers in his right ear in that soft, stammering voice, mocking in his apologetic tone. Troy snaps.

He lashes out on reflex without turning. Arm striking raptor quick to his right, fingers instantly closing around that delicate neck, and he lifts.

He weighs -nothing-, Troy realises as DeLeon’s boots clear the ground and he chokes out a gasp against the machine’s grip. A jolt of pain burns through Troy’s abdomen and he tries to make sense of what’s happening, what he’s remembering.

His heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest and cold sweat drips down his back while DeLeon doesn’t even try to struggle, just watches him with those pathetic sad eyes and rests his hand gently on the steel of the monstrous arm’s plating, his red Siren markings a harsh contrast against the black metal. Troy’s eyes shift rapidly, trying to focus on anything but the patronising smile playing across the other’s lips.

Had he.. always been this light? Was it just that he didn’t have the arm yet.. or was this really how little he had weighed before.. before he started trying to change, before he became the God King. Was this how little muscle he’d carried when they landed on Pandora, when the bandits would laugh to his face about how broken he looked.

“SHUT UP” Troy barks, screwing his eyes shut and shaking his head violently to try and clear the intrusive memories tearing through his brain.

“Shut.. up. I’m not a freak. You were the freak, remember? Remember what Dad said? You were the joke, I’m Troy Calypso. I’m a God. What were you but a fucking FAILURE?”

He tightens his fist again and feels a pop, something in the frail man’s throat has just shifted but he doesn’t react, he doesn’t try to scratch at the fingers crushing his windpipe, just smiles down at him, calm and unphased.

“You can’t hurt me.. you know that, r-right?” DeLeon whispers through the vice grip on his throat, hand still relaxed against the arm’s panelling, expression still calm and eyes gentle as he stares down at the panting trembling mess holding him aloft.

“But I can hurt you. Over and over, and over.. every time you close your eyes.”

“B-because deep down you know what I was. I was happy.”

“…I was loved.”

A moment of silence passes, then the rage takes over. Troy roars, and DeLeon laughs.

He laughs as Troy releases his throat and lets him drop, he laughs as that viper quick prosthetic catches his forearm and yanks him to his feet before he fully fell to the ground, he laughs as Troys flesh fist smashes into his face and knocks him onto his back, lip splitting and cheekbone shattering under the impact.

He laughs as the the vicious grip on his arm pulls him forward, the only thing holding him upright as Troy spits into his eyes and slams a boot into DeLeon’s chest, shoulder beginning to strain under the power of the mechanical limb pulling it forward while his torso is pinned back.

He laughs at the God beating him to death and Troy has never hated anything as much as he hates this frail excuse for a man in his grasp. He hates that this man is underweight, he hates that he is weak, that he is flesh and smooth skin and gentle soulful eyes, that he is that scruffy fucking jacket his father gave him, that he is delicate bruised cheekbones and struggling lungs. He hates that this man is regret and spite and the lingering reminder of what it was like to be cared for out of choice and not fear.

All Troy can see is red, the red of DeLeon’s pointless, broken Siren Markings, the red that his eyes now glow, the red that spits over his lips as he laughs and laughs.

“STOP. FUCKING. LAUGHING” he hisses between clenched teeth, feeling his grip on the arm tighten harder, harder than he should, hard enough to feel muscle shift slightly from bone, but he can’t let go. Not while he’s being mocked like this, by him.

DeLeon doesn’t stop that gentle laugh, pity and condescension dripping from it, soft eyes still locked with Troy’s, and he doesn’t even flinch as Troy’s hate takes control, as the pressure of the metal fist’s grip increases and pushes the thumb through his forearm’s skin and into the meat underneath. As Troy presses his boot harder into his sternum and starts to pull.

“STOP - LAUGHING - AT - ME”

Troy screams, yanking his arm back further with each pause as he leans down hard on the creaking ribs under his boot, another burst of pain across his left shoulder ignored as his hearing hyperfixates on the wet pops that preface the crack of the ruined elbow joint as it gives out under the strain, the fleshy tear as it separates from DeLeon’s upper arm, only releasing his grip when he feels the resistance against his foot lessen as the arm in his fist detaches fully.

He stumbles back a step, breathing heavily as he takes in the wreck of the man in front of him and swallows a wave of bile as he feels blood spatters trickle down his cheek.

DeLeon sits barely upright as his narrow chest heaves for air, blood smeared across his face and torn torso where the brutal prosthetics’s jagged edges had caught his skin.

The remains of his mangled arm lay pathetically in front of him, lifeblood pumping from torn arteries and pooling underneath him, and still.. he smiles. Still, he looks at Troy like Troy is nothing, like Troy is a stupid pathetic child throwing a tantrum, like he isn’t afraid, like he pities the shivering, sweating God he’s defeated while being torn apart.

He’d won. He always won, every time. He’d won before Troy even realised he was there, he’d won with nothing but razor barbed words, and he’d win again, and again, and again.

“All d-done then?” he wheezes, blood red eyes locked onto Troy’s icy blue.

“H-hah ha….. who’s the freak now?”

Troy can’t breath.

He can’t physically breath his chest is.. wrong.. it’s burning like it’s being stabbed and he -

- Wakes up screaming.

He kicks in complete panic at the blankets that have wrapped around his legs, gasps in shock and claws at the fingers of his mechanical right hand that are currently digging into the skin of his pectoral.

He scrambles to sit up against the backboard and forces himself to breath as slowly and deeply as he can, shaking uncontrollably as he tries to calm himself enough to regain control of his right arm and pry the sharp digits out of his chest.

There is blood everywhere, his torso, his shoulder, long open scratches across his stomach and ribs, tears down the Siren markings in his arm, and he winces between pants as he slowly manages to loosen the death grip his fingers have on his pec and ease them out of the punctures left underneath.

He did this to himself. It’s not the first time.. he should have removed the goddamn prosthetic, he should have not been such a lazy, good for nothing piece of shit and just..

He slowly raises his injured arm and drapes it across his eyes as he tenderly sinks onto his back again, tears starting to burn the open scratches along it.

“You always.. fucking win.”

Link to @lazulizard​‘s fuckin astounding art for this fic

[femslashy]

2018 fic year in review

thank you so much for tagging me @homosociallyyours !! this was really fun (and also a bit hard haha) to do ^__^

1. number of stories (including drabbles) posted to ao3: 19 (6 100 word seasonal drabbles, and out of the rest 4 are under 1k and 2 are chaptered but one of those is still a WIP)

2. word count posted for the year: 142,383 which is def more than i’ve written in previous years but my initial goal for this year was 200k and then i lowered it to 150k and then decided i should focus less on word count and more on actually finishing the fics lmaooo

3. list of works posted this year in order of posting:

the tesco fic (although i didn’t make the tumblr post until recently)

three spring drabbles (100 words each)

begin again [timestamp] (my only snowbaz fic in 2018)

we’re swimming with the sharks until we drown

SPHERICAL

got me an appetite, now i can taste it

Take a Chance on Me

Getting Naked on Camera (NOT CLICKBAIT)

my favourite colour is you

louis tomlinson’s completely 100% foolproof guide to snagging the fit bloke next door (3 100 word drabbles)

no better place than right by your side

days gone by (WIP)

love the cronch

zero to sixty

where the love light gleams

4. fandoms i wrote for: mostly one direction and by that i mean i posted a timestamp for a carry on fic from 2017 and the rest was one direction lol

5. pairings: harry/louis, simon/baz (ONCE)

6. story with the most hits: Take a Chance on Me with 10975 hits :o

7. story with the most kudos: Take a Chance on Me with 426 kudos

8. story with the most comments: Take a Chance on Me with 52 comments threads

9. work i’m most proud of and why: well Take a Chance on Me was both my first time doing a big bang as well as the longest thing i’ve ever written (twice the length of the previous longest!) and i’m still completely in love with the art for it courtesy of @vulpixlou and i def don’t go back to stare at it ever nope 👀👀

10. work i’m least proud of and why: i mean i could nitpick the hell out of my stuff and i know there are certain bits i would write differently now but at the same time i created something with my brain that didn’t exist before and that’s just too cool not to be proud of ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

11. a favorite excerpt of your writing:

this is from Take a Chance on Me (shocker) and i was having trouble thinking of my fave but then i was skimming through all of my fics and ngl i had forgotten about this bit but y’all i’ve been trying to work a Dramatic Airport Reunion into a fic FOR FUCKING EVER and i finally did it and i actually don’t hate it? (spoiler for the ending of Take a Chance on Me)

“See…” Louis starts. “See, there’s this guy. And, oh god, he’s an absolute twat. Wanna know what he did to me?” Harry nods faintly, and Louis, emboldened now, goes on. “So, I already knew who he was, right? I knew him, because he’d been in this god-awful boy band for years, and even if me bloody sisters hadn’t been so bloody in love with him, I’d still have known him, because he was just that famous.”

“I wasn’t that famous.”

“Don’t interrupt,” Louis chastises, and Harry mimics zipping his lips. “So this guy, I knew him, but he didn’t know me, but, fucking hell, I think someone forgot to tell him that, because there I was, minding my own business, when this kid just…” Louis giggles then, because the memory is just so ridiculous, “he just starts fucking singing to me, can you believe it?”

Harry shakes his head. “What a weirdo.”

“Right? The weirdest.”

“What happened next?”

“I fell in love with him.”

“What? That soon?”

“Of course not, Jesus, Harold. I’m not that pathetic. I waited the appropriate amount of time to fall in love, thank you very much.”

“Is that why you’re here, then?” Harry whispers. “Is it because you love him?”

“That’s part of it, yeah. I love him, and I love the way we just fit, and I adore his daughter, and our pets are friends now, and I think our sisters are best friends now, so they didn’t actually give me a choice, but do you want to know the biggest, most important reason?”

Harry nods quickly, so hard his chin bumps his chest, and Louis’ so fucking in love with him at that moment that these are the easiest words he’s ever said.

“I’m here,” he tells Harry, “because I was lying in my own bed, in my own house, surrounded by all my things, and all I wanted to do was go home.”

He’s yanked forward then, Harry’s fingers digging into his shoulders, and he barely feels the pain because it’s Harry, and everything’s good when it’s Harry. He’s babbling into Louis’ neck, and the only words he can make out are his name and “love you” and he shivers with the feeling.

Harry’s hair has grown out enough since the night Louis snuck in to see him that he can tangle his fingers in the strands. So he does, pulling Harry’s face away from his neck and pressing their lips together. Every kiss feels like an apology. Every kiss feels like home.

12. share or describe a favorite review you recieved: so this miiiiight be cheating but i received two comments on a fic i wrote in 2015 and it was kind of a surprise that something that old still held up and people still enjoy it? def made me feel better about my current writing and also anyone who quotes my fics back to me has earned my undying love and affection

13. a time when writing was really, really hard: i have adhd so p much always ahahaha

14. a scene or character you wrote that most surprised you: the entirety of “we’re swimming with the sharks until we drown” ngl because i struggled with the like… morally gray criminal-y elements? and portraying the two of them in such a different way while still staying in character which i like to think i nailed? hopefully lol

15. how did you grow as a writer this year? i don’t feel like a i have? but i’m also bias and hypercritical so maybe i did and just didn’t realize ahaha

16. how do you hope to grow next (this?) year: i want to enjoy writing again and i want to finish more fics and not let them rot in my docs because of self-doubt

who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer: okay so first @amandaisnotwriting is the real MVP as she bears the brunt of my whining/complaining/drama queen moments as well as the fact that she listens (some would argue is forced to :p) and reads over fic for a pairing she doesn’t ship for a fandom she doesn’t care about 😂😂😂

@rainbowbaz always makes time to look over my fics even when she’s crazy busy and is honestly amazing and saves my fics from americanisms ahahaha

and FINALLY we met p late in the year but but @livingatthelairport ‘s comment on “the tesco fic” helped me out of a writing slump and now she’s become my cheerleader (and friend 💜) and that’s make a huge difference in my attitude towards writing! it’s also easier to write a fic for a specific person than worry about the opinion of a crowd which is def something i’ve been missing in this fandom rip

also to everyone else who has read my fics, listened to me rant about them or just helped the process along in any way at all this is a GIANT thank you!!

18. anything from your real life show up in your writing this year? i mean i can’t think of anything off the top of my head but a lot of my inspo comes from the world around me so probably lol

19. any wisdom you can share with other writers: there’s nothing wrong with feeling jealous of other writers because i’m not a fan of hiding feelings just because they’re ugly as long as you don’t let it fester and turn into resentment or make you bitter. there are a lot of factors that go into a fic becoming “big” in a fandom but honestly most of it is just random chance so don’t beat yourself up because someone else’s success is not your failure and it’s nice to get recognition for your hard work but if you’re writing solely for the feedback then you’re writing for the wrong reason and that will lead to the resentment and bitterness mentioned earlier

also if you compliment someone you say you like their outfit but if you complement someone then you complete them

20. any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I’M GLAD YOU ASKED

these are all the things i didn’t start and/or finish in 2018 that WILL be completed this year

the cat fic

the doctor fic

the final three chapters of days gone by

penpal AU

Space. Florist.

teenage fanboys who are also best friends

baking blog fic

a short follow up to tacom

twitter drama fic

80’s/’high school’/secret admirer!AU

something based on yawning grave by lord huron

part three of the alien harry series

chocolate orange holiday fic

LA fic (wtwm)

70’s fic

monkey fic

i’m also planning to do the @larryabroad challenge again because i had so much fun with it last time :D

21. tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read:

p sure everyone has done this but if you haven’t then do it now! and also tagging @cosyblack k bc you’ve had a really good year even if i have beta bias 😂

this took waaay longer than i thought it would omg but it was nice to take a look back!!