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bookyeom · 3 days

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to care for you — lc

pairing: dino x reader word count: 4.4k warnings: mention of blood and injuries, mention of fainting, swearing, hurt and comfort, kissing request prompt: Okay so tumblr ate my ask 😭 but this is in response to @darkypooo’s request for Dino + “do you want to kiss?” “Yeah.”

Author’s Note: Yes, this is a Spiderman AU — but you don’t need to know much other than the bare minimum about the Spiderman universe to understand the story :) It’s set in college instead of high school, though. I’m actually so, so proud of this one, and I hope you like it!

Thanks so much for all the support on my 700 follower celebration. You guys rock! I’m doing my best to get through the requests, but there were way more than I anticipated so bear with me!

He‘s exhausted.

It’s an exhaustion that’s begun to seep deep into his bones lately, but it feels extra heavy tonight. After a not-so-brief brush-up with some bad guys, he’s hurting in places that he didn’t know existed — even after all of his years spent studying science. He can’t remember the last time he got this hurt — to the point where even breathing is hard. All he wants to do right now is give up. He’s not sure what good he’s doing out there, anyway.

He’s exhausted, and he’s hurting all over, and honestly? All he wants to do is see you.

He feels like that a lot these days.

He knows he’s not supposed to want you like he does, to need you like he does — for so many reasons. First and foremost, because you’re one of his closest friends — his confidante (in everything not Spiderman related, anyway), his safe place. You’re his friend, and friends aren’t supposed to love each other the way he loves you. Besides, he’s Spiderman. He’s not supposed to need anyone at all. In this line of business, feelings are a weakness.

You, thankfully, have no clue about his alter ego… or his feelings.

Well, at least you didn’t know about the superhero part. Until now, when he drags himself into his room and you’re there, curled up in his bed. He thinks he must be hallucinating. He’s too out of it to really register it at first, but then your eyes meet his from where you’re sitting up against his headboard, duvet pulled up to your chin, and he’s frozen. You blink back at him in the dim light of his room, your face lit up solely by the lamp on his bedside table.

“Chan?”

Your voice is small — so quiet that he thinks without his heightened senses he wouldn’t have been able to hear it. He can’t think straight enough to really process that his mask is off — he must have dropped it somewhere between the living room and here. All he can register before he’s stumbled back and slumped into his desk chair, eyes screwed shut from all the pain, is that you don’t look nearly as scared as he thought you would. Then everything goes black.

There’s a warm pressure against his jaw and his cheeks.

He slowly comes to as he registers the feeling, struggling to open his eyes and find the source of the sensation. He can hear a faint voice call his name, once, twice, and when his eyes finally manage to flutter open just a little, he’s met with your concerned gaze.

“Fuck. Hi,�� you mumble, and he blinks. The pure worry in your voice helps to bring him back to earth a little bit more, and he tries desperately to clear his head. How long was he out?

“Why…” He tries to speak but fails, his voice weak and his throat hoarse.

Why are you here?

He sees you wince when he tries to move, to shift into a more comfortable position even though he knows nothing will be comfortable right now, and your head is suddenly shaking back and forth so fast that it almost gives him whiplash.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and he dazedly wonders why you don’t sound mad. Or frustrated. Or anything but concerned, really. He’s confused, his mind swirling even more as he tries to understand why your hands are holding his face like that. Hadn’t he kept things a secret from you for far too long to warrant your concern? Don’t you hate him now?

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you say, and Chan fights the urge to try and speak again, to blurt out everything that he’s wanted to tell you since he met you. Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you hastily continue, “but you have to tell me how to help you, Chan.”

His eyes flutter shut once more at the sound of his name coming from your lips, and he feels your thumb brush against his jaw.

“Chan,” you say again, and you sound more panicked this time, so he does his best to calm you down.

“Off.”

You blink at him again as he finally speaks. You’re not sure what he means, and you’re desperate to know, because you can’t look at him in pain like this any longer without doing something to help.

“Off,” he repeats hoarsely, and your eyes widen as you hastily remove your hands from his face.

“Shit, sorry!” Your eyes frantically wander across his face, searching for any damage your fingers might have caused. “I don’t know where you’re hurting, I didn’t mean to—“

As you babble on, all he can do is shake his head minutely. That’s not what he meant. The last thing he wanted right now was for you to take your hands off of him. He manages to lift a hand to press gently against his side, where a dark stain has formed. He glances down at where the material is clinging to his skin before looking back up at you.

“Oh!” You reply, realization dawning on your face. You try to hide the flush of your cheeks. “Can you stand up to move to the bed so I can help? If not, I can—“

Already, he’s attempting to move, desperate to make any of this easier for you. He wants to apologize, to say he’s sorry, but he doesn’t know exactly what for. For not telling you? For you having to see him like this?

You help him stand, his arm reaching to rest on your shoulders as you do. You can tell he’s trying not to hurt you with his weight, and you almost laugh — how very Chan of him. You’re grateful that in the shock of survival mode, you’ve managed to avoid for now the way you know your heart is going to break when you register seeing soft, kind, selfless Chan beaten down like this.

Cry tomorrow, is the message your brain is sending. Figure it out tomorrow. Right now, you need to help him.

“I’m strong,” you try to joke, though it’s a weak attempt, and Chan looks at you in confusion. “You can put your weight on me,” you elaborate quietly. He understands and gives you a sheepish smile, before doing as told, though you know he doesn’t want to.

The two of you maneuver the few steps to the edge of his bed. Chan hisses involuntarily at the pain as he sits down, and you whisper soft apologies, though he has no idea why. Once he’s down, you immediately get to work, reaching behind him to find the zipper at the top of his suit. You manage to get it down as smoothly as possible, your eyes falling to where Chan is still clutching at his side.

“This part is going to hurt like a bitch,” you tell him softly.

“That’s okay,” he says. “It always does.”

You freeze for a moment from where you were about to begin to slide the suit off of his shoulders, but Chan doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said. You feel a sharp pain in your chest as his words replay, and you blink back tears, taking a moment to steel yourself.

It always hurts.

You don’t respond, your fingers beginning to move again, and you’re surprised that they’re not shaking. Chan shivers when your fingers brush against his skin as you begin to slide the suit over his arms and off. You ease him out of the material on his uninjured side first, before coming around to the front of him and crouching down. You meet his eyes, his brown ones clouded over with pain, and your fingers gently reach to rest on top of his hand that’s still clutching his side. You give it a squeeze and he nods in understanding, closing his eyes tight, and you help him remove his fingers from the wound. You stand back up, and begin to pull the rest of the suit down his side and to his waist. Chan barely lets out so much as a whimper when you peel the rest of the material off of him.

His lack of reaction is not what surprises you the most, though. The biggest surprise comes when you reach the spot on his side where you know a sickening amount of blood should be, and you find that it’s all dried — and that the wound has already begun to heal over.

Huh?

Your brain can’t compute it. You glance up at him in complete confusion, but his head is hung low, and your heart breaks enough to distract you from all of the questions you want to ask. You force yourself to push the confusing mess of thoughts away until later. You can’t think about any of that right now. You can’t.

“Chan?” Is what you say instead, knowing that you need to keep him awake enough to help him clean up, long enough to know he’s alright. Your hands are on his knees as you kneel between his legs and peer up at him. You have to stop yourself from reaching out to trace the newly-forming scars on his chest and arms, wanting nothing more than to kiss each mark and its associated pain away. You desperately want to know what happened, who hurt him like this, but you’re not sure you can handle it. You briefly register the older, faded scars that mark his skin, unsure of where they end and the new ones begin.

You can’t figure it out — in front of you sits Chan, but it can’t be the Chan you know. It can’t be the one who giggles at your stupid jokes or falls asleep in your 8am lectures, or the one who remembers your coffee order every single time. The one who you swore had never fought with anyone in his life. The Chan in front of you looks so broken that you can’t put the two of them together.

“You… okay?”

Your eyes shoot up to meet his again as he speaks, voice cracking and hoarse. Your heart stutters a bit in your chest as he attempts to look down at you, his eyes hooded over and half closed with the effort. He looks like he’s about to fall over, and still, he’s asking if you’re okay.

You’re hit so hard with sudden emotion that it causes you to inhale sharply without warning. Your hand lifts involuntarily to brush his hair back from where it’s falling into his eyes, and as he continues to try and hold your gaze, you register it all. This Chan is still your Chan. It’s the same Chan that has stirred feelings inside your chest that you were certain you could never feel again. The Chan whose intelligence and kindness still astounds you every single day. This Chan and your Chan are the same.

Your head spins.

When you finally make it to the bathroom, it’s all Chan can do to slouch down onto his bathroom floor. You help him out of the rest of his suit before crouching down beside him, wracking your brain for everything you’ve ever learned about cleaning wounds. You remain numb as he gives you single-word answers to where things are in his bathroom. It’s funny — you’ve been in his apartment so many times, but you’ve never needed to know where the antiseptic was.

Chan’s eyes remain half-open as you work. He’s fighting with all his might, you can tell, and you can feel his eyes on you the whole time. You don’t think his gaze leaves you even once. It becomes monotonous: you clean the cut, he winces, you apologize. And repeat. Your mind wanders in what you’re sure is an attempt to protect yourself.

You’d come over tonight for your weekly movie night, letting yourself in with the code you’d long since been given access to. When hours had passed with no sign of Chan and no texts from him either, your heart had broken a little — had he forgotten? Was he okay? It was so unlike him that you’d stayed just in case, your heart racing with every little noise as you waited.

You hate so much that your worst fears had come true.

Chan’s pain seems to ease in record time, bruises forming on his skin faster than you’ve ever seen. You have so many questions, but you push it all down, down, down. He falls asleep on his couch and you stay up all night, blanket pulled around your shoulders as you sit on the windowsill and make sure he’s still breathing.

He wakes as the sun is beginning to rise, and you watch as he shifts to sit up, letting out a breath of what sounds like relief when he’s able to move without much trouble. Some of the cuts on his face and chest are already scabbed over.

How?

When his eyes finally land on you, he jumps a little.

“Hi.”

”You didn’t sleep.”

It’s an observation rather than a question. You pull your knees up and rest your chin on them. “I was worried.”

It’s quiet, and he doesn’t know what to say. Neither do you.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’m glad you stayed.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is small, and he immediately feels guilty.

“I’m sorry.” He’s not sure what he expects you to do, what he expects you to say. You level him with your gaze, searching his face. Your eyes linger on the scabbed-over cut just above his brow, and you bite your lip before you speak again.

“It was…” You can feel your lower lip start to tremble in an act of betrayal, and you bite down on it to try and stop yourself from crying. “It was terrifying to see you like that, Chan,” you finally manage, and you know that after all these hours, the dam is about to break. You can tell he knows it, too, by the way his brows furrow even more, and his eyes widen just slightly.

“I know,” he murmurs, and that’s what does it.

Your hands move to cover your face as you finally let yourself cry, sobs muffled by your palms. You can hear the couch creak as Chan moves, and you can feel his presence as soon as he’s close. He whispers your name once, his voice breaking, and when he moves your hands away from your face, you don’t have the strength to stop him. He’s sitting next to you on the windowsill now. You sniffle, eyes looking anywhere but at him. Chan holds onto your wrists, rubbing gentle circles against the skin.

“I’m so mad at you,” you finally say, and he lets go of your hands. He doesn’t retreat to his side of the window though, staying put as he nods, chewing on his bottom lip as he looks down.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” he says, voice quiet. “I hope you understand why I couldn’t… but you still have every right to be pissed at me.”

It’s silent, and you stare at him in disbelief. There are so many thoughts running through your head, and it takes you a moment to settle on just one. “You think I’m mad because you didn’t tell me that you were Spiderman?” You finally say, causing him to look at you again in surprise.

“I mean, yeah? Why else—“

“I’m mad,” you emphasize, “because you’re out there getting hurt, and my heart literally can’t take the thought of that, oh my god, Chan.” Your voice breaks, and fuck, you’re about to cry again, but you can’t stop. Your eyes trace over his face, pausing where the bruise is starting to form on his cheek, and you feel frustration begin to build again as you angrily blink back tears. “What the fuck, Chan. Why the hell are you… I mean, if I hadn’t been able to help you last night, I wouldn’t — I just, I can’t even imagine—“

Your words are cut off as Chan’s hands find the side of your face. His gaze is firm as he looks at you, and his sudden boldness catches you off guard, your words dying in your throat. Once he seems to realize that you’re not going to run, his thumb moves to caress your jaw, and you can’t help the shiver that spreads through you at the gentle touch. Your hands lift to rest on his arms where they’re holding you, and you’re speechless, your eyes unable to leave his. He takes in a deep breath, and you follow.

“I’m here,” he says, and you draw in another shaky breath. You don’t think he’s ever been this forward with you before, but you’re grateful for it. He’s warm, and he’s here. He’s alive.You’re torn between wanting to never leave his side again, and needing desperately to be away from him so that you can think.

“I think it might be good for me to go now that I know you’re okay,” you say softly after a moment, and you can see the hurt that briefly shadows his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it comes, though, and he nods, removing his hands from your face.

“I understand.”

“And I… I probably need some time.”

He nods again, and your heart breaks at the thought of leaving him, but you have to. For now. Your feet feel leaden as you get up, going through the motions as you grab your backpack from the hook by his door. You barely register putting on your shoes, your mind on autopilot until it’s broken by his voice from just behind you.

“Y/N?”

Your name coming from his lips feels like a punch to the gut, and you almost reach out for him again, but you hold firm.

”Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. Can you just…” he sucks in a breath. “Can you please not tell anyone? About, you know—”

His words hit like a ton of bricks. You cut him off, expression full of silent fury at the insinuation. “Yeah. I won’t.”

You’re pissed that he even had to ask, and he knows it, but there’s nothing else he can do. His secret is more important than anything — he just wishes it didn’t have to be more important than you.

It takes three days for you to end up back at his door. He’s missed all of your shared college courses so far this week, and you’re worried. You’re terrified, actually, and you need to see him.

When he opens the door, you do a double take. It’s almost like nothing happened to him at all. The bruises and cuts are barely-there, and you’re reminded of the miles-long list of questions you have stored in the back of your brain. He’s surprised to see you, you can tell, and he blinks slowly before stepping aside to let you in.

“How are you?” You level him with raised eyebrows as you take off your shoes, and he nods, biting his lip. “Yeah, I know. I was worried that—“

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you interrupt. “Don’t worry.” You look down, your heart twisting painfully in your chest when you remember the words he’d said to you. ‘Can you please not tell anyone?’ You cross your arms as you head over to the living room, but you don’t sit down. You don’t really know what your plan had been — you’d just needed to see him.

“Oh,” comes his soft reply before he adds, “I mean… I didn’t really think that you would.”

Your eyes briefly meet his across the room, confused, before you recover and look back down at the floor. “So then what were you worried about?”

You can feel his gaze intent on your face. “You.”

Your breath catches and your eyes swiftly meet his again. You blink. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Chan,” you say after a moment, trying to push down the bubble of irritation you feel building in your chest. “You didn’t even text me once.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he says quietly, “You said that you needed time.”

“To process, yes! But you didn’t even text me that you were okay. I was worried about you, Chan. Why would you be worried about me? I’m not the one coming through your window and fainting from injury, now am I?”

You can see the guilt flicker across his face. “I know,” he says, and then he suddenly feels the need to apologize again. “I’m sorry that I didn’t message you, but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.” He pauses. “Ever again, maybe.”

You can hear the sadness in his voice, and your heart breaks. You feel the anger in you start to dissipate as he looks away from you. Your eyes catch on the barely-there faded scar across his eyebrow, and your mind is filled with painful memories of the Chan you’d seen that night.

“You’re so fucking stupid, Chan.”

He knows. But judging by the way you sit down on his couch instead of storming out again, he thinks that somehow, his stupidity has already been forgiven.

It’s quiet as he joins you. You can feel him looking at you, and when you can’t take it anymore, you look back at him pointedly. He blushes, quickly looking away when your eyes meet. You sigh, your head falling into the back of the couch before you turn and curl up against it, your eyes drifting shut.

"Is that my sweater?"

Your eyes shoot open, and it's as if he's finally grown the courage to look at you directly again now. His brown eyes search yours, and he motions to the shirt you're wearing. You look down — even though you know he's right — and your cheeks are on fire. You’re wearing the sweater he’d leant you forever ago on a cold night for your walk home — the one you’d never returned. You slept in it almost every night, and he hadn’t asked for it back.

"Keeps me warm," you mumble, tugging on the hem. It's silent for a beat before you continue, voice even quieter than before. You pause, ruminating on your next words before you take a deep breath and say, “The last few nights, wearing it kind of made me feel like you were safe.”

You can hear his intake of breath before he says, soft, “Are you mad at me?”

You shake your head, because you’re not. You’re scared, stressed, worried sick — but you’re not mad. Not anymore. “No, Chan.”

The nickname sends a flood of relief through him more than your actual reply does.

“I’m not mad,” you continue, “because of course you’re Spiderman. Of course you’re putting yourself in danger trying to protect others. I love how selfless you are, Lee Chan — I always have. But me? I’m selfish. And I’m scared to death of losing you.”

All he says, all he can say, is, “I’m scared, too.”

You look at him again now. You search his face as you ask, “Of what?”

“Of getting hurt. Of… of losing you, too.”

Your heart is suddenly beating so fast you think it might soon break free from your rib cage. You don’t know why you say it, because you’ve already got his undivided attention, but his name comes out breathlessly anyway. “Chan?”

“Yeah?” He’s looking at you with those beautiful, big, questioning eyes, and you can’t help it.

“I think it might be a terrible time for me to say this,” you blurt out, “but I — Chan, I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

Chan blinks.

“Wait, what?”

Your face flushes, and it’s your turn to look away. “Sorry,” you murmur.

“No, don’t — oh my god. What?”

You’re not sure what he wants from you. You’re embarrassed now, pulling your knees up to your chest in a feeble attempt to protect yourself from your feelings. Your face is flushed as you turn to look out the window, and you can almost hear Chan’s brain buffering as he remains silent.

“Do you mean that?”

“Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?” Your voice comes out a bit harsher than you intend it to, but you don’t take it back.

“I…” He trails off. He doesn’t say anything more, and the quiet is almost deafening. You’re finding it a little harder to breathe as the seconds pass, and you wrack your brain for something, anything to say to fill the stifling silence.

“I’m going to go,” is what comes out, and then you’re standing up so abruptly that you feel a little dizzy. The scene is familiar — you, running from what you’re feeling, running from him.

“Wait,” he blurts out, and you do. You pause in spite of everything in you that’s begging you to run, and then he says, “Can I… I mean, do you want to… kiss?”

You turn back, eyes wide. It’s such a ridiculous question, such an innocent thing for him to ask in light of everything that’s happened in the last few days — but it’s so Chan that you almost forget about it all. This is probably a bad idea, you both know that — and you don’t care. You don’t know how this is going to work, but you’ll figure it out.

Because it’s your Chan — the one who cares so much, the one who gives you hope, the one who wants nothing but for the world to be a better place.

“I mean — I love you too,” he says into the silence, and you realize that you haven’t given him an answer.

“Yes,” you breathe out before he can panic. “Fuck. I have so many questions, but first, yes. Yes, I want to kiss you, Lee Chan.”

You can hardly believe the giggle and shy smile he sends your way before he kisses you breathless.

Yeah, you think to yourself as he pulls back, as your fingers lift to gently trace the barely-there bruise on his cheek, as he leans into the warmth of your hand. As you think about how he’s been doing all of this — trying to change the world — alone.

Yeah, you think. You’ll figure it out.

TAGLIST: @waldau @minisugakoobies @tae-bebe @gyuminusone @wqnwoos @wheeboo @christinewithluv @lvlystars @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @iluvseokmin @seohomrwolf @pan-de-seungcheol @bewoyewo @kyeomkyeomi @mingyuscoffee @harry-the-pottypus @lightprincess-world @icyminghao @bella-l @darkypooo

#Lee chan fluff #lee chan x reader #dino X reader #seventeen x reader #svt fluff #svt angst #svt x reader #dino angst #dino fluff #dino comfort #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #svt imagine #seventeen imagines #lcfic #my writing

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ayannatv · 3 days

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So anxious | Kate Martin

Summary: You and Kate have been hook up since college, one particularly night Kate couldn’t help herself but to miss you

Warning: cussing dirty talk, face riding, praise kink , Fingering , Oral (r receiving), nipple play, After care.

Genre: friends with Benefit to lovers

AN:Ok so i changed the plot because I didn’t like the one I had sorry for the ones who saw the coming soon post and was expecting something else also this is my first smut so let me know how I did😭🙏🏾

It was nine o'clock as Kate was on faceTime with you, Kate wished you were here with her she missed the you moan her name while you ride her face, they way your legs shake when she overstimulated you, all she can reminisce was about you.

Kate was broken at of her daze when she heard you say her name “Kate are you ok your just staring into the camera,” “Am ok am coming over unlock the door,” you look at Kate confused but mumbled a small ok before hanging up the phone.Kate got up from her bed grabbing her keys on the kitchen table walking out her apartment heading to you place.

Hearing a soft knock on the door you get up walking to open the door knowing it Kate “Kate why-” before you could finish your sentence, Kate lips were on yours, her kisses were rough and quick,.

her hands quickly finds you the bottom of your shirt pulling it over your head throwing it across the room not breaking the kiss, you let out a moan as Kate starts sucking on your neck "you like when I do that baby?" you let out a quiet yes, Kate smiled knowing she made you anxious.

Moments later the apartment was filled with loud moans as you rode Kate face her nose hitting you clit perfectly “Shit- Kate I can’t take it!” you cried out as Kate speed up her pace of her fingers hit you g spot repeatedly “You can take it”

Your moans got louder as you can feel your climax coming “Fuck m’gonna cum Kate...” you let out in a shaky whisper, “Your doing so good for me baby” her voice sent you over the edge as you came over on her face, You look down at Kate to see your cum on her pink lips as you began to get off her face Kate grab your thighs keeping you in place “One more baby”.

Kate lays you down on your back and puts her head in between your legs putting small kisses on your inner thigh inching closer to your heat teasing you a bit you let out a whine without warning Kate slid two fingers inside of your soaking cunt “look at you so wet for me baby” you let out a pornography moan as Kate start suck on your clit, “shit keep talking”.

she smirk taking her hand up to your boob taking your bud, “you like when I talk dirty to you?” “Yes- fuck faster Kate” speeding up her pace started circling your clit with her thumb at a steady pace as your lips slightly parted reaching your high “oh god I’m cumming!” “your taking my fingers so well go ahead cum for me baby,”

As you rode out your high with your legs shaking Kate began to kiss you muffling your moans in the kiss, pulling out of the kiss Kate went to the bathroom coming back with a towel in her hand,.

“Here let get cleaned up then you can go to sleep ok?” you give her a small nod already half asleep, she began to clean you and herself throwing the towel in the dirty hamper Kate smiled to herself seeing your sleeping figure under the covers, joining you under the covers wrapping her arm around your waist pitting her head in the crook of your neck falling asleep wishing she can stay there with you forever.

AN:Bro no one told me writing smut would be this hard like am over struggling😭 I love and hate this it’s ok for my first time.

#wbb x reader #kate martin #kate martin x reader #wbb #wnba x reader #wnba players #women basketball #wnba basketball #iowa wbb #university of iowa #wcbb x reader #wcbb #lv aces

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clandestinedmeetings · 1 day

Note

May I request a hurt/comfort fic with smut? Where reader is insecure of herself due to some hateful comments or rude 'friends' and Leon swoops in and treats her like the princess she is!

AHHHH this was funnnnnnnnnnn. Had to throw in a lil friends to lovers, too, because I am... such a sucker for it.

Lmk if you want me to change anything, and need more hurt! I'm happy to edit to make it closer to what you envisioned :) <3

Constructive criticism is /always/ appreciated, too! If there's something you think could be better, please don't hesitate to let me know! I'm always looking for way to improve my writing~

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Leon Kennedy x f!reader

Synopsis: Reader returns home one evening feeling distraught over recent events. Leon lends a listening ear (and then some).

Tags: 18+ (smut), MDNI, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, roommate!Leon, AFAB reader, cunnilingus, p in v, alcohol consumption

WC: 5,044

A/N: Take a shot (of water, if you're under the legal drinking age) every time I use celestial imagery in my writing. I need new similes/metaphors, goddammit.

Read on Ao3!

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Leon’s never been good with words.

He’d actually go so far as to say that he’s bad with them—abysmal, even. The most he can usually muster in tense situations is a terse, “Okay,” and an awkward shuffle of his feet. His jokes suck, too, which leaves him with only the talent to dig himself into deeper holes, blush furiously, and pray that people find him charming enough to overlook his utter lack of social skills.

This tactic had only really worked in his favor once.

This tactic had only really worked on you.

He’d met you four years ago at Claire’s 21st birthday party. She’d held it at a bar not too far from home, invited all of her friends, and conveniently omitted that he’d be the only guy in attendance. When he pulled her aside, when he’d hissed and complained and anger had gripped at his chest, she’d pouted. And that was enough to assuage his frustration.

“They’re great girls, Leon, one of them ought to catch your eye.”

Leon had rolled his eyes. “I don’t need you to play matchmaker, Claire.”

“Because you’ve had so many successful dates recently,” she’d said sardonically with her hand on her hip.

No arguing there; his love life had been about as bleak as his platonic social life as of late. The girls he met were either off-put by his awkward demeanor or willing to overlook it, but only in it for sex. The latter wasn’t too bad, he figured, but not what he was looking for, either. In fact, Leon wasn’t sure he even wanted a relationship. He just wanted someone with whom he could laugh. It’d been a while since he’d laughed.

“Claire,” he sighed, “I’m not—“

“—looking for that, yeah. Whatever, Leon. Talk to them. Maybe you’ll find a roommate, then. Solve another one of your many problems.”

Not a terrible point, but not a good one either. Claire didn’t want to hear that, though. Especially on her birthday.

His roommate moved out a few weeks ago. The first of the month was coming soon. He could afford to pay for one month in full but he’d need a new roommate soon. He’d sulked over to the bar in resignation, ordered a bourbon (neat) and sipped on it while watching from afar. He checked his watch — 30 more minutes, and he could go home. He hadn’t gotten any hits on his ad yet. Maybe his it needed updating. Maybe he should rewrite it.

“We can’t both leave at the same time, you know.”

Leon turned to his left to see you perched on a barstool, espresso martini in hand. You looked positively bored, your face drained of all color, though he couldn’t deny that the fluorescent neon lights overhead suited you. Cute, he thought, pretty.Very pretty.

Maybe the ad could wait.

“What makes you think I’m trying to leave?”

You’d given him a pointed look before taking a sip of your drink. He’d chuckled, “Okay, who do you suggest leave first then?”

“Me, obviously.”

He’d taken the seat next to yours, one hand in his jacket pocket. “That desperate to get out?”

“Kinda,” you muttered with a smile. “And I’ve been here longer than you have so it’d be unfair if you got to leave first.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you’d echoed.

End of conversation, clearly, but you hadn’t moved. You’d stayed put. You’d angled your legs toward him; he’d mirrored the action. You refrained from ordering a second drink, he did as well. And he was surprised at how comfortable it was, sitting with you like this. Quiet, brushing knees every so often.

“You have any jokes, stranger?” you’d asked.

His lips had curled into a smile. “Aside from the fact that Claire only invited me to hook her up with one of her single friends and didn’t tell me until I showed up? Yeah, I got plenty.”

“Oh, so you’re Leon,” you’d laughed. “She told me about you.”

Leon flushed a horrific shade of crimson. “Christ,” he muttered, “That’s… humiliating.”

“It isn’t,” you placated with a mirthful smile, “I promise. She only had nice things to say.”

“A pleasure to have in class, I’m sure,” Leon quips. He unstuck his feet from the bar floor with a frown. He nearly gagged at the sound it made.

You’d giggled at that. “Something like that.”

“What’s your verdict? Was she truthful or was she Claire about it?” he’d asked.

You’d mulled over this question with a down-turned smile. He liked the way you smiled. He liked the way your eyes gleamed underneath the blue light bathing the bar. “Very truthful, unfortunately,” you admitted without making eye contact.

Leon stifled a smile of his own and chose to focus on keeping his feet from staying on one place for too long lest they get glued to the filthy floor once more. He’d looked up at you, and had been surprised to find you already eyeing him.

“Why unfortunately?”

“Because I’m not looking for anything serious. Or at all, really.”

That had been unfortunate. You’d divulged that you’d recently gotten out of a tumultuous long-term relationship, and that you were in search for a new place to live. The apartment you two had shared was under his name so you were crashing at Claire’s until something became available.

“I’m looking for a roommate,” he’d blurted out before he could even consider the implications. You’d furrowed your brows, taken aback by his brazenness, but your surprise quickly melted into acceptance.

You swallowed a sip of your drink and asked, “Are you a clean person?”

“Obsessively so.”

“And you’re not the ‘I can fix her’ type?”

Leon had laughed at that. “Not much of a handyman, really.”

“Serial killer? Sexual deviant?”

“No, and I guess that depends on what you consider deviant.”

The rightmost corner of your mouth curled into a lopsided smile. You drained the remnants of your drink, placed the martini glass on the granite bar top, and asked, “When can I move in?”

When you both reflect on this meeting now, you laugh at the eagerness with which you’d accepted his proposal. You chastise yourself for jumping the gun, for taking his answers at face value because yeah, choosing to move in with a total stranger was foolish. But in the four years since, you’d never come to regret your decision to move in with Leon.

He was terribly respectful of your space, even early on when you’d spend most of your nights crying and lamenting on your past relationship. He’d made popcorn and sat on the couch sharing a bottle of wine with you when you needed support. When you told him you’d expected a proposal on the night your boyfriend had broken up with you, he’d balked.

Leon opened up to you quickly, too. It wasn’t long before he told you all about his parents’ deaths and unstable upbringing. You told him about your turbulent relationship with your family. You’d commiserated over feelings of worthlessness, abandonment, and isolation. And when the ice cream ran low, you’d both hop in your car and argue in whispered shouts over which flavor to get at the grocery store.

Leon was, for all intents and purposes, your best friend. And you were his.

In you, he’d found a confidant. In you, he’d found someone who listened and cared and never failed to make him feel seen. In you, he’d found someone who could make him laugh. God, it felt so fucking good to laugh this consistently. It’s therefore safe to say that he’s smitten — that he’s been smitten since he first met you at Claire’s birthday—but he’d never act on it, not unless he was certain you felt same, even if it kills him.

And it does kill him.

It kills him to see you date other guys. It kills him to see you go through breakups. Most of all, it kills him to see your light dim whenever you’re made to doubt yourself. To Leon, you’re radiant. You’re brilliant and bright, a sparkling star in an otherwise blackened night. You gleam when you smile, you twinkle when you laugh. You hung the moon, as far as he’s concerned. He doesn’t understand how you could think any differently.

But you do. Not frequently, but life gets to you sometimes.

Tonight is one of those times.

It’s Friday. Leon is laying down with his foot propped on the back of your shared velvet couch, nursing a glass of whiskey and reading the last few chapters of his book when he hears you barge through the door. It closes with a slam. He sits up abruptly, nearly spilling the amber liquid all over his white t-shirt, as you pad down the hall.

“Hey,” you huff, plopping down beside him and snatching the glass out of his hand. You down its contents without pretense, gagging as it burns your throat. Leon’s brows knit together in concern as he takes the glass from your hands. He gently lowers it onto the glass coffee table. You hand him a coaster without looking at him. He stifles a chuckle, and slides it under the glass. Your nose is rubbed raw, he realizes. Your eyes are bloodshot. You’d been crying for a while.

“What the fuck is wrong with me,” you whisper.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he mumbles, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“No, there has to be something wrong with me, Leon,” you insist, pressing the heels of your palm into your eyes. Static dances behind your lids. You wish it would swallow you whole, wish yourself to be consumed by numbness rather than whatever this fucking feeling is. “This is the fourth fucking time,” you sob, “the fourth fucking time this month I’ve all but been told I’m worthless.”

“What’re you talking about?”

You take a shuddering sigh before slouching into the couch cushions, palms still pressed to your lids. “My coworkers spoke over every fucking idea I had at our sprint this morning. Then my mom brought up my ex again, and said he would’ve proposed if I’d been more agreeable — can you believe that?”

Your ex-boyfriend. The one you’d expected to propose. Still a sore spot, but not for the reasons one would expect — you aren’t in love with him anymore, you don’t spare him a second thought most months. You hate his guts; Leon hates him, too. The fact that your mother was still bringing him up years after the fact is cruel, though expected at this point. Doesn’t make it any less hurtful, though, Leon knows that.

“I can, unfortunately,” he commiserates, slumping down beside you. “Your mom’s a bitch.”

“God, she really fucking is,” you groan loudly. “And to make matters worse,” you continue, flipping onto your side to better face him, “remember that guy I went out with two nights ago?”

Leon crinkles his nose, “V-Neck?”

“Yeah, he told me I was a ‘waste of time’ and ‘boring’ because I didn’t like Fight Club.”

“Let me guess, Tyler Durden—“

“—is his favorite character,” you finish with an exasperated cry. Leon can’t help but laugh at that. The guy was a tool; Leon clocked it as soon as he showed up in jeans and a v-neck to pick you up for your date.

You start to cry again. “God, Leon, I’m so sick of this shit. I’m so sick of feeling like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m fundamentally broken. Like everyone would like me better if I weren’t me. Because when I was with my ex, I was… nothing. I was nothing. I laughed when I didn’t think he was funny. I pretended to like football, I pretended to like the gold fucking jewelry he gave me even though I never wear anything but platinum! It felt like I was giving away parts of myself every time I lied just to appease him.”

You pause to catch your breath.. “And I get spoken over all the time at work. I’m exhausted. I feel like it’s wrong for me to take up space and I feel like all of my opinions are wrong and God, I just wish I weren’t me anymore.” You’re practically shouting now, rivulets of tears streaming down your face and soaking your plush sweater.

“God,” you whisper. You cover your eyes with your forearms. Leon doesn’t quite know what to say, so he remains quiet. The room is filled with the sound of your sobs.

He inhales through his nose then mutters, “I think you’re perfect.”

“What?” you croak.

“Nothing,” he sighs. He didn’t realize he’d said that aloud.

You wipe your eyes with the sleeves of your sweater. “No,” you say, “What did you say?”

Leon sucks on his teeth before answering. He wrings his hands before repeating, “I think you’re perfect.”

“No you don’t,” you scoff.

“I do, actually. And I think you deserve way more than these asshole guys you choose to date can give you. And I think your mom’s a bitch who needs to forget about your ex because that guy was a fucking asshole who took you for granted, too. And your coworkers hardly have a braincell to share between them, so I wouldn’t take what they say to heart in the slightest.”

You’re stunned by his outburst, by the reddening of his cheeks and clenched jaw. “Leon—“

“I’m not finished,” he huffs, sitting up and turning to face you. “I’m… Look, I’m sorry, but I’m so sick of hearing about people treating you like shit. I’m so sick of you coming home in tears and I’m so sick of listening to your insecurities.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m such a goddamn burden to you, Leon—“

“No—shit—that’s not what I meant,” he clarifies, taking your hands in his. “I don’t mean that I hate listening to you or talking you through it. I mean that…”

“You mean that what?”

“I mean that I just…. wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” he whispers.

You swallow thickly before asking, “How do you see me, Leon?”

Leon looks up to the ceiling now, a mirthless smile on his face. He thought about how it would feel to confess his feelings to you, but never about how he would actually do it. He’d resolved to take them to his grave, actually. You meant too much to him; he couldn’t lose you. But Leon has said so much already, and there’s really no going back at this point, is there?

“Like you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever fucking met, sweetheart, and I don’t just mean that in a platonic sense.”

A breath catches in your throat. Your stomach drops, your lungs feel like they’re collapsing in your chest. Leon licks his lips before continuing, “You’re… so fucking brilliant, you know that? You’re intelligent and kind and thoughtful and god, you’re so fucking pretty it makes it hard for me to breathe sometimes.”

Tears well in your eyes again. A sob threatens to rack your chest but you suppress it only to hear him continue.

“And to make matters worse, you’re a terrific fucking listener. You care and love more deeply than anyone. You make everyone feel seen. You just… “ he stops only to consider his next few words. With an exhale and a watery smile, he finishes: “You deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on, and doesn’t let a day go by without reminding you how loved you are.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, breathless and nauseous and uncertain if the pain in his chest is a burgeoning heart attack or deep-seated panic bubbling to the surface. Leon wonders if you’d judge him for throwing up right now. It would certainly ruin his chances with you permanently, not that he had one to begin with.

But then he feels your hand cradle his cheek. And he feels you turn his face toward yours. And he feels your lips — soft, plush, tasting vaguely of the cherry chapstick you’d let him borrow whenever he needed it — on his.

Leon freezes, unsure how to respond. Does he kiss you back? Are you drunk and that’s why you’re kissing him? You’re clearly vulnerable — maybe it’s that.

You press your forehead to his after pulling away. “S-sorry,” you stammer, “I just— I’m— that was—“

“N-no, it’s okay—“

“I’m so—“ you interrupt yourself by kissing him again. Leon reciprocates this time, though he does so with some hesitation. His hand cups the back of your head; you take it as a sign to lean further into him, to take handfuls of his shirt and pull you to him. When you break away, the sky parts and you’re awash with a sense of clarity.

“Leon,” you sigh, “Leon, do you really mean all of that?”

“Every fucking word,” he breathes.

“You’re not just saying that because you’ve been drinking whiskey and you think I’m sad and vulnerable and want to take advantage of me?”

He barks out a laugh. “No, I’m not and that glass that you finished was actually my first.”

“And by saying all of this, are you saying you’re willing to be that person?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Okay,” he chuckles, holding the hand tangled in his t-shirt. You release your grip with a chuckle of your own before looking away bashfully. He gently strokes his thumb over the back of your hand.

You look down at your feet; he looks down at your feet, too. “So,” you say after a while, “you think you can fuck better than they can, too?”

Leon tosses his head back and laughs heartily. You can’t help but laugh, too, loving the timbre of his joy. He stands, and offers you a hand. You take it with a giggle, standing to your full height to meet him. With a wolfish grin, Leon throws you over his shoulder. You shriek with delight at the suddenness of the gesture, but don’t fight as he carries you to your bedroom and drops you onto your plush queen-sized bed.

He’s on you within seconds, dazzling white smile plastered on his golden skin as he kisses you. You smile as you kiss him, too. There’s something tender about the way Leon kisses you, like you’ll break under his touch. It’s different, you think, brand new. Gentle. Sweet. Caring. Even as his hands snake up your sweater to settle along your waist.

You gasp as his calloused fingers rub loose circles along your ribcage. He trails kisses along your jaw and down the column of you throat, pausing only to suck at your pulse point and collarbone. You grab fistfuls of his shirt and move to tug it over his head. His belt is next. Then your sweater. And before long, you’re pressed flushed against him and savoring the warmth of his skin.

“God, you really are so fucking beautiful,” he whispers in your ears, voice low and gravelly with lust. You arch into him again, begging that he resume his kisses along your neck. He obliges —of course he obliges— and when he reaches your breasts, he looks up at you through thick lashes.

It takes you a second to realize that he’s waiting for your consent to continue. Tears well in your eyes once more, both at the revelation that no one had ever been considerate enough to pause and ask for something as simple as this and that he did so without prompting. You give him an enthusiastic nod. He smiles and presses a genial kiss on your breastbone in thanks before taking a pert nipple into his mouth.

You mewl at the sensation of his tongue lapping loving circles around your nipples, at the feel of his hand cupping your other breast and rolling its peak between his index and thumbs. His name slips from your mouth; he moans in response.

“Shit, baby, say my name again,” he rasps.

“Leon,” you keen as he sucks at your breast. He groans again, shutting his eyes as he savors the cadence with which you mutter his name.

He’s desperate to hear it again, to hear it screamed in ecstasy, to hear it whispered lowly in his ear. Anything. He just needs you.

He trails kisses down your torso. You move sinuously beneath him, eagerly anticipating the featherlight kisses he places on your hip bones. On your inner thighs. On your dripping cunt. You spread your legs for him; an invitation of the sweetest kind. You knot your fingers in his hair as he begins his ministrations, his tongue lapping at your pussy from entrance to apex. He lingers along your clit, drawing lazy concentric circles around it until you’re brimming with desire.

“Please, Leon,” you beg, “more.”

His chuckle is low and dark. It reverberates through your core, heating and cooling the coil tightening painfully within your lower abdomen.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this, sweetheart. Let me take my time.”

You arch into him, eyes wide with disbelief. “A l-long time?”

Leon gives you an affirmative hum. You whimper as his fingertips dig into your thighs, as he drags you closer to his mouth with calloused hands. “A long fucking time,” he emphasizes before burying his face into your cunt.

You moan at the feel of his lips, his nose, his tongue licking and sucking and savoring the ichor between your legs. He alternates between the flat and tip of his tongue. He nips at your clit. He gently prods your core with his tongue before slipping inside and coaxing forth a shattering, breathtaking orgasm.

He holds you tightly in place, devouring you so wholly through and past your climax. It’s overwhelming, asphyxiating, beautiful and damned and in your fractured consciousness, you wonder why you didn’t succumb to these desires sooner.

It’d be dishonest to deny your initial and longstanding attraction to Leon Kennedy. You’d withheld your curiosity as a matter of self-preservation — you can’t lose another friend to sex, you can’t lose another living arrangement. But that didn’t stop you from fantasizing about it at night. And in the morning. And whenever he’d walk around your shared apartment shirtless or in his gray sweatpants or when he held you when you cried.

Stupid, you think now, stupid, stupid, stupid.

Your own hands don’t even come close to comparing to the feel of him. At this point, you’re certain there’s no going back, either. You need more. You need more now or you’ll go insane.

“Leon, please.”

He rises to his knees, pink tongue swiping across his plush lips to consume as much of you as possible. His hands, so large and strong, rub the tops of your thighs. “Please what?”

“Fuck me. Now.”

He clenches his jaw in frustration. He so desperately wants to keep you like this, wants to take his time, wants to bring you to orgasm with his tongue and fingers at least thrice more before he allows himself to fuck you properly, but he can’t. He knows he can’t, not when you look like this: skin feverish, pupils blown wide, fingers knotted tightly in bedsheets as a means to keep yourself tethered.

“Condom?”

“Top drawer,” you choke out, gesturing to the nightstand to your left.

He scrambles to extract one from the back most corner of the drawer, and tears into the aluminum packaging with his teeth. You sit up, hands greedily tugging at the waistband of his boxer briefs, and take his hardened cock in your hands.

A delicious, gravelly moan slips through his lips as you stroke him from base to tip. Your ministrations are slow, painstaking, and Leon’s finding it harder and harder to keep his resolve. His hand reaches for your throat. It startles you at first, but your eyes roll back as he tightens his grip ever so slightly.

“How do you want it?” He asks

Your response comes out airy, breathless, needy: “I don’t fucking care.”

“On your back then.”

And you oblige, but not before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down on top of you. He smells of cloves and ginger, all warmth and spice, and it’s so intoxicating you wrap your legs around his torso to pull him closer, closer, closer.

He litters your neck with wet kisses, leaving light bruises in his wake. You’d mind if you didn’t have all weekend to help them heal. You’d mind if this weren’t the first time in a while that you’ve felt yourself grow so slick with need that you’re surely dampening the plush covers adorning your bed. You’d mind if they weren’t coming from him.

From his eager mouth.

From his generous tongue.

From his fevered kisses.

You angle your neck to grant him further access; he accepts it with genuine appreciation.

You whine as his kisses slow, as he takes his time peppering the column of your neck, your décolletage, your breasts. And you’re so preoccupied with the way he sets your skin ablaze that the feel of his cock penetrating your core takes you by sweet surprise.

He smiles into his next series of kisses, grows harder as you arch into him and dig your fingernails into his back. He allows you to adjust to his size before moving.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he rasps in your ear. It sends ripples of want through your system. “So fucking tight, sweetheart.”

“Leon,” you whine again, gyrating in desperation for release.

Stars flit across your vision as he adopts a rhythmic pace. He’s slow at first, soft as you acclimate, but as soon as your teeth sink into the flushed skin of his shoulder and he recognizes the hunger in your eyes, he smirks.

“I won’t hold back, you know,” he teases.

“I don’t want you to.”

“Better fucking hold on then.”

You open your mouth, snarky retort on the tip of your tongue, but a lascivious moan takes its places as Leon’s hips slam into yours. His pace is bruising, rapid, and deep. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix, triggering white spots to bleed into your vision. You close your eyes, you toss your head back into the pillow, you claw at him for purchase. When you exalt his name, it comes out stuttered, choked, garbled behind a stream of curses and erotic sighs.

He presses his forehead to yours. Your lips manage to find his even through your euphoric fog. It’s difficult to maintain with the way he fucks you, so he cradles your cheek with one hand to keep you steady.

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby,” he mumbles into your lips, “so fucking beautiful.”

You bite his lip; he slips his tongue into your mouth. You taste his whiskey again, bitter and smokey, and moan as the tip of his cock pressurizes your g-spot. You’re close to coming undone, close to bathing in rapture, and you can’t help but feel disappointed for succumbing so soon —you wish you could stay like this forever.

Thought that disappointment quickly dissipates as your orgasm snaps. You’re engulfed in waves of pleasure so sinful, so profoundly exhilarating. You cum with his name on your lips, and in ecstasy, it evolves into something deeper. An exaltation. A sacred prayer. An incantation summoning forth years of denied attraction. A testament to his patience.

You come undone before him, vulnerable and raw, and he kisses you again because he’s so grateful that you’ve allowed him to see you like this. Keeping his eyes open as he approaches his own climax is challenging, but ultimately worthwhile because he swears he’s never seen anything—anyone—so beautifully and perfectly crafted for him in his life.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m—“

“Cum for me, Leon. Cum inside me.”

And now it’s your name that’s ripped from his throat, your name interlaced with prayers and enveloped in the sanctity of his climax. You wrap your legs more tightly around his torso, bringing him closer still. His head drops, forehead meeting yours, as he comes to.

It takes you both a minute or so to catch your breaths. You pant into each other, remain tangled in your sheets as you bask in the aftermath.

You expect shame to blossom in your chest. You expect regret, too, but neither come. Instead, you’re filled with a sense of belonging that is only further reinforced when you look into his irises. You dive headfirst into crystalline pools, so warm and inviting, and recognize that it should always feel like this.

“You okay?” He asks between breaths.

“Extraordinary,” you pant, “you?”

“Never been better.”

He presses his forehead to yours, a delightful chuckle racking his chest. It’s hard not to laugh, too, hard not to pull him into a tighter hug. You’d hugged a million times before—he’s always been quite liberal with his affections—and a small piece of you always wondered what it would be like to do so in this capacity. It is, of course, better than anything you could have possibly imagined.

You grab his face, and pull him into a soft, loving kiss. It’s deep this time, sweet and passionate and above all else, familiar. He scoops you into his lap after he pulls out. He kisses your head, your cheeks, your lips. He holds you, rubs soothing circles along your thighs, whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

“So,” Leon asks after a while, “verdict? Better than those other guys?”

“So much fucking better, unfortunately.”

Leon looks down at your quizzically, “Why unfortunately?”

“Because I actually am looking for something serious now.”

“So am I,” he blurts out.

You lean back to get a better look at his face then purse your lips and ask, “Are you a clean person?”

“Obsessively so,” he quotes, beaming at the memory of the night he first met you.

“And you’re not the ‘I can fix her’ type?”

Leon laughs again, “Still not much of a handyman, really.”

“Are you a serial killer,” you ask between kisses, “or sexual deviant?”

“No and only if you’re into that.”

You wrap a gentle hand around the nape of his neck, and bring his lips down to yours. After a dizzying, passionate kiss, you press your forehead to his and ask, “Where do I sign up?”

And Leon realizes that he may not be so bad with words after all.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy #resident evil 4 #resident evil 2 #requests #reader insert #ao3 #archive of our own #my writing

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sweetnans · 17 hours

Text

"You know, for the past few days, I expected to see you sooner than later but It never came to my mind seeing you sitting here in the couch of my vacation home wearing flip flops and swimsuit briefs"

Katsuki was no fool when it came to you.

"What are you doing?" He asked, leaning with his arms into his knees.

"Washing my clothes?" You were dumbfounded by his question when he was watching you closely.

"Uh-uh no, you know what I mean"

You rolled your eyes. There wasn't really a way out of this. Bakugo had known you since you were little toddlers running in the mud and getting bruises and scratches, he knew you like the palm of his hands.

"Fine" You sat in front of him and played with your naked fingers. Yeah, you took off your engagement ring after you ran off your own wedding.

"I'm fucking listening, brat"

A man of patience.

"I didn't want to get married in the first place" you blurted out lifting a heavy weight of your chest. "I solely started to hate him in the process and I thought, hey, that's not cool"

"You sound exactly like Kirishima, disgusting" he rolled his eyes but you knew what he was doing, trying to make everything more bearable for you with his twisted and weird humor.

"I just, I love him really but it's not the quite of love when you see a person and feel all these explosions and you feel that you might be torn apart because of them, breaking down in a meltdown of hearts and flowers and-and confetti" you stuttered. "I know it's lame but, I really think that's what love should feel"

Oh, you just hit the nail. Poor him, he came all the way from Musutafu to Okuto Island to be there for his best friend but instead, he was there watching you describe all his feelings for you.

"Well if you don't feel like that when it comes to that bastard then that's it. You can force it" he shrugged.

Let's face it. He was happy to see you so chill about you splitting something that almost lasted what? four years? but, he was also happy that you didn't get married.

When you told him the news, he felt torn, but he shook the feeling right away to be by your side. When you didn't show up at the church, he couldn't help but feel the happiness rising up in his body.

It wasn't so hard to find you. The first thing that he did was use the spare key you gave him of your apartment and went through your stuff. It was classic you, always leaving tracing marks wherever you go. He found your apartment neat, so he thought that probably the fact that you ran off was something premeditated.

He found the receipts of your plane tickets when he snoop through your mail, and it clicked. He needed to see you.

"I guess you're right." You sighed and clapped your hands in your knees. You stood up to move closer to him and sit by his side. "Anyway, thanks for coming all the way here"

"Of course," he said and felt bold enough to add. "You've always been my girl, and I'll back you up any day of the week, no question asked"

"I'll pack my things so we can go back." You wiggled your toes and caught him staring at your weirdness, you let a laugh.

"Hah? Nah, that won't do. They won't give me back the days I asked to get here, " he said nonchalantly.

"Days? You mean-what? Bakugo Katsuki, are you telling me that you are willingly taking your days off? For me??" You laughed at him, but in a good way, he smirked at you, kicking your feet like a little child.

"Yeah yeah shithead, whatever, let's enjoy this little shack you got." he pressed his big ass hand in your mouth to keep your laughs quiet.

"There's only one bed, tho." You quirked a brow at him, but he just shrugged you off.

"Tch, like we never had shared a bed before," he rolled his eyes. "Now come on, I want to get in the fucking ocean and hopefully get bit by a shark so I can howitzer it to the moon"

"You're joking right now, Have you ever heard of meditation?" you stumbled through his giant feet, and he pushed you. You completely lost your balance but miraculously stayed still. "Oh fuck off you psycho"

"Ha-ha, you think you're funny, don't you?" He followed you, grabbing his suitcase to leave it in your room while you stretched yourself to get the towels.

"I am fucking funny you asshole" you poked your tongue out and threw the towels at his face.

The beach was just perfect. The sun glistening in your face, leaving you with sunkisses marks that would last for a few months, giving you the ideal tan that everyone in your agency will envy. Bakugo was at your side, skin dried after he made a run towards the ocean, trying to catch a fight with any animal or kid that would get on his way. He was resting with a magazine on his face because the sun hurt his eyes.

You took a peek at him, and the memories flooded in your brain. The first time his mom introduced you to play with the only kid that was alone. You remembered thinking how that was possible, well, after he tackled you and put your face in the ground, you knew. After that, and because you punched him in the gut, you were inseparable. You remembered you two walking to school in the morning and then studying together in your house in the afternoon. You remembered when you two got in UA and how excited he was even though he didn't demonstrate it. You remembered graduating by his side and the hangover after you went partying with your shared friends, how he took care of your drunk ass, even though he was drunk too. The nostalgia invaded you, but it felt like it was more than just that.

"You know, I know we don't say this very often," you said while taking off the magazine of his face to make him look at you, "but I love you, Katsuki."

He pretended to gag. He felt things on the pit of his stomach, and it only made it worse the fact that you, for the first time, didn't add the "as a friend" part.

"You are making me sick," he murmured, putting the magazine all over his face again to hide the redness in his cheeks.

"Say it back, you bastard," you screamed at him, tickling his ribs, which was still his weak point.

The gremlin spatted your hand away and then took both of your hands in one of his, locking them behind his head in the sand. The sudden movement made you squeak and land on his perfect and toned abs.

"You damn bastard, let me go!" You tried to release your hands from his grip, but it was useless. "At least tell me you love me too"

He loved you more than anything.

"Over my dead body." he closed his eyes and ignored you, completely zoning off your attempts to get your hands back and to avoid being laid on top of him.

"You're going to pay"

"I wanna see you try," he mocked you pinching your hips.

The thought of having other feelings for your best friend scared the shit out of you, but you knew, deep down, that maybe after seeing him caring so deeply for you, maybe just maybe, the feeling was something mutual.

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formulawolff · 2 days

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just how things come together, they fall apart - d.r.

pairing: female driver!reader x red bull!daniel ricciardo

word count: 2.5k

warnings: cursing, angst, unresolved romantic and sexual tension, a falling out of a friendship, some banter, the other drivers being little shits (especially kimi), allusions to smut, light alcohol use, "it was always you" trope, yadayadayada

a/n: this is my first time for our ol' boy danny ric! i hope i did a good job with this one! <3 i always love writing angst!

song inspo: friends by chase atlantic

"so this is it?"

"i mean," he won't even look at you, his eyes fixated on the floor, his head dipped low, "i guess so."

your lower lip trembles, fiery, frustrated tears welling up in your eyes, "i don't even know what the fuck i did wrong. i haven't done shit to you and here you are, kicking my ass to the curb."

"oh come on," he groans, bringing a hand to his temple, "you can't even be that upset with me. it's nothing personal. i just need to distance myself from you for a while. maybe forever. i don't know. i just know that i need to do this."

"i would be okay with it if i did something to make you upset with me or hate me," you wipe a tear, careful to not let him see you like this, "but i thought we were good. i guess not."

daniel grimaces, "like i said, it's nothing personal or against you. i think it's best if we're no longer friends."

"right," you nod, sucking in a sharp breath, "got it."

"i'm sorry-" he begins, but you stick up a hand, swiftly interrupting.

"don't even start with that bullshit. don't act like you're sorry just because you feel guilty."

"fine," he exhales, throwing his hands up in the air, "fine! i won't be sorry."

"see you around," you mutter, shaking your head, the tears streaming now, caking your heated cheeks.

storming out of the garage, you keep your head low, the other drivers mingling about, their voices hushed. yet, as they notice you, their attention shifts. sebastian makes his way towards you, concern plastered across his features.

"hey!" he calls, "what the fuck just happened?"

"ask daniel about it," your voice is shaky, "just fucking ask daniel about it."

"hey," arms envelop your frame, bringing you in close, "you can talk about it if you want."

"trouble in paradise?" a voice rumbles.

kimi.

"kimi," sebastian hisses, placing kisses along the crown of your head, "did you guys just fight?"

well, it more than just a little spat.

merely minutes ago, daniel announced that he was no longer interested in a friendship with you. a friendship that had blossomed and developed over the course of two years was gone in an instant, with no explanation why.

your heart felt like it was being torn into shreds, your breathing labored as you sobbed into sebastian's chest, the driver rubbing your back, his chin resting on top of your head.

"did something happen?" another voice cuts in, crisp with that oh so familiar accent.

lewis.

"i think they got into a pretty heated argument," sebastian murmurs, "he's kind of a piece of shit for doing that right before a race."

"what a dickhead," lewis whistles, "do you know what it was about?"

"no idea," sebastian shrugs, still clinging onto you, "she hasn't said much since she left the garage. just told me to ask daniel about it."

"hey," lewis places a tender hand on your shoulder, "you don't need that loser anyway. you have us. we'll be your besties."

"now is not the time," you grumble, "can we just get this fucking race over with?"

"only if you dust his ass," lewis pries you away from sebastian, wrapping you up in his own embrace. he squeezes you gently, "if you manage to get on the podium, will you please fill us in after?"

"so nosy," a giggle manages to bubble up in your throat, "nosy, nosy, lewis. always wanting the gossip."

"you know me," a chuckle vibrates in his chest, "i do love a good gossip session."

thank god for sebastian and lewis. and well, kimi was there too.

as one of the few female drivers in formula one, you were thrust into the oh so competitive world of racing around the 2016 season, right at the time max verstappen started his career. although it was your lifelong dream to drive for red bull, you were offered a seat at mclaren due to jenson button's announcement that he was retiring.

since it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, you decided to take it, accepting the contract offer.

not many women competed in formula one, and you were determined to make the world know your name.

that burning desire to win and your outspoken nature is what initially drew daniel ricciardo in, the red bull driver approaching you one night after qualifying in sochi. he struck up a simple conversation, complimenting your lap and your ability to navigate the track despite some unfavorable weather conditions.

from that moment, the two of you were inseparable, attached at the hip. if you weren't in the red bull paddock between races, he was at mclaren, the team principals grumbling to one another at your tight-knit friendship.

there were tons of sleepless nights where the two of you would lie awake, bodies snuggled together, rambling about everything and anything that came to mind. after the first grand prix where you scored points in 2016, daniel was right there after the race, hugging onto you so tightly, lifting you up in the air and spinning you around.

there were plenty of hungover mornings where he would hold your hair for you as you threw up in the toilet, rubbing your back, encouraging you to let it all out. there were nights where he would need your affection, begging you to come over to his motorhome so that he could fall asleep on your chest, your hand tangled in his curly locks as he dozed off.

sure, there were moments in which it was a little more than just a friendship.

there was the unforgettable night in azerbaijan, where daniel won. that night, you found yourself completely intertwined with the australian driver, skin on skin, his mouth roaming every inch of your body.

that was the first night daniel told you he loved you.

and there was something more than just a platonic sort of love in those words.

something along the lines of romantic love.

the kind where his presence sent your heart fluttering, bliss rippling in your chest the moment he flashed you that beautiful smile, dimples and all.

the kind of love where the moment his eyes met yours, you found yourself spiraling, completely and utterly speechless at the sight of his gorgeous mocha-hued gaze.

the kind of love where his touch sent a shiver down your spine, every movement electric.

there was no denying the feelings you harbored for the red bull driver.

you were in love with him.

completely and hopelessly in love.

and there was no going back, not since that night in azerbaijan.

you were in deep. probably way too deep for a friendship.

there was that minuscule hope that you clung onto nearly every second of every day. the inkling that maybe, just maybe daniel felt the same way.

after all, he had told you he loved you.

more than once.

surely that meant something, right?

the chemistry between the two of you was undeniable, often clouding over like an intense fog. the other drivers on the grid noticed it. your team principals were aware of it. fuck, even the media speculated the two of you were involved romantically, that you had more than just a friendly "buddy-buddy" relationship.

friends didn't fuck, right?

friends didn't snuggle together every night, drifting off together, right?

friends didn't share longing glances in the paddocks, right?

"hmmph," kimi's lip curls in disgust, "look over at the red bull garage."

your head swivels to your right, the blood roaring in your ears as you spot what kimi was referring to.

out of the garage comes daniel, greeting a slim, lithe blonde. he pulls her in for a lengthy embrace, peppering her face with chaste kisses. your palms calm up, your heart thumping against your rib-cage.

daniel's attention hones in on the four of you, the aussie waving a hand over.

"hey guys! come meet my girlfriend, anastasia!"

"you. have. got. to. be. shitting. me," sebastian's eyes widen, his lips parted.

"yeah," lewis runs his tongue along his teeth, placing his hands on his hips, "i'm not participating in any of that fuckery."

yet, you're silent, the tears threatening to spill over once again, your hands trembling.

how the fuck were you expected to race when your entire world was just flipped upside down?

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

all around you, the space is swathed by darkness.

you're buried beneath your blankets, swiping through your camera roll, pressing that fateful icon in the bottom right corner.

dried tears plastered your cheeks, your hair an unkempt mess, sweats clinging to your frame. inside your chest, your heart ached, the pain consuming you whole.

there's nothing but silence, the dull whir of fans merely white noise.

a sharp noise rattles through your motorhome.

the sound of a knock.

three of them, actually.

groaning, you untangle yourself from the blankets, shuffling down the hall to the main room. once you approach the door, you stifle a yawn, swinging it open.

there stands daniel, his hands shoved in his pockets, shifting uneasily.

"hey."

"shouldn't you be with your girlfriend?" there's a venom laced in your tone, oozing with a bitterness as you begin to close the door.

yet, daniel stops you, quickly wedging his foot in, "let me in."

"why should i?" you retort, brows furrowing, "you literally ended our friendship hours ago and now you want inside my home? fuck that. i'm not going to be some little side piece to fill your cravings while your little girlfriend is away. i'm worth more than that."

"can you just let me in for fuck's sakes?" he lets out an exasperated sigh, "i just wanted to make sure you were okay. jesus fucking christ. am i not allowed to do that?"

"i don't know," you shrug, "did you girlfriend give you permission to come by?"

"is that what you're all upset about?"

"no!" you retaliate, "i'm fucking upset because you never mentioned her until now! you never once said to me, 'hey, i'm dating this girl named anastasia. she's pretty neat! how about you meet her sometime?' fuck, daniel. you know i'm in love with you for fuck's sakes. you should know how much this fucking hurts me!"

as you finish, your knees buckle, wails rising in your throat. daniel swallows a lump in his throat, taking a step forward.

"why do you think i ended our friendship today? i couldn't bear the thought of you having to see me with her."

"you told me you loved me," you sob, shoulders shaking, "you fucking tell me you love me all of the time. i thought that-"

that's when his arms nearly crush you, squeezing you against his chest. he holds you for a moment, murmuring words you can't quite decipher.

"i'm sorry. i'm so fucking sorry."

"i don't know if that's going to fix everything," you mumble, sniffling, "apparently to you, words only mean so much."

"i thought that pushing you away would fix everything. that it would make my life easier. that i wouldn't have to worry about hurting anyone in the long run. i know i was wrong for that, and i'm so sorry."

his hand glides along your back, going in soothing, slow circular motions. you can't help but nuzzle into the fabric of his crewneck, inhaling his oh so familiar cologne.

as much as your head was screaming at you to push him out of your doorway, to tell him to leave and never come back, your heart yearned.

it yearned for him. his touch. his presence. the sound of his voice.

it craved him, fluttering as his mouth connects with your temple, pressing tender kisses down to your cheekbone.

"obviously i can't stay away," his voice is barely audible, "you just do something to me."

"and what's that?" you tilt your head upward, meeting his gaze.

"you make me weak. i only pushed you away because i thought that was the solution to the way i felt. if you were out of the picture, i wouldn't end up getting hurt. now look at both of us, nearly in tears and utterly heartbroken."

his fingers caress your cheek, tracing along your cheekbone as your lashes flutter, savoring the touch, "why didn't you just talk to me first about things? why did you think that getting a new girlfriend was the answer?"

"you know how i am about expressing how i feel. and i don't know, i thought it would fix temporarily fix things."

"i think it ended up fucking you over even more than you thought," you brush a curl out of his face, careful to not let him too close.

"you're right, per usual. what do you want me to do then? break up with her?"

"well you love me," you counter, pursing your lips, "don't deny it either, daniel. we both know you do."

he leans in, the corners of his lips curling into a giddy grin, "i wasn't saying i didn't love you."

"if you loved me you'd end things with her."

"if i did that, you would have to promise me one thing," his mouth hovers above yours, the tension accumulating by the second.

"and that is?" you arch a brow.

"you would never let sebastian hug you like that ever again."

"oh? did that get you a little riled up all the way over in the garage?"

daniel rolls his eyes, scoffing, "how did you think it was going to make me feel?"

"okay fine," you tut, pressing a finger to his lips, "i'm not going to kiss you until you end things with anastasia. get that phone out of your pocket right now and call her. let her down gently, though. she seemed sweet."

"surely not as sweet as you though," he teases, yet fumbles with his pocket, fishing out his phone.

as he steps away for a moment, bringing the phone to his ear, you tap your foot against the concrete, pointing to your wrist. daniel shakes his head, putting a finger up as if to say, one more second.

the call doesn't even last two minutes, the austrailian making his way back to you.

before you know it, his mouth is on yours, an open-mouthed kiss brimmed with a needy passion. your head rolls back, granting him more access and his hands grip your waist, one sliding further and further down as the kisses intensify, cupping the curve of your ass.

he pulls away, breathless.

"i love you. i love you. i love you. it's always been you, and it's always going to be you. i'm sorry i'm such a dumbass and can't navigate my feelings."

"you know you can talk to me about things, right?" you suppress a giggle, "you don't have to ruin a friendship over it."

"well i didn't quite ruin it," he leans in once more.

"oh yeah? how do you know that?"

"because you're still in love with me. and you're going to be my girlfriend in no time."

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x y/n #formula one #f1 #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x you #f1 x you #formula one fanfiction #red bull racing #formula 1

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ecoterrorist-katara · 2 days

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Ka/taang: friends-to-lovers or the Friend Zone?

It’s almost axiomatic, in any ATLA shipping discussion, that Ka/taang is the friends-to-lovers ship while Zutara is the enemies-to-lovers ship, and that differences in shipping tastes can be boiled down to whether you prefer FTL or ETL.

My first ship was Percabeth. My biggest ship was Klaine. It took me until Mockingjay to let go of my Gale-and-Katniss-are-childhood-friends rose-tinted goggles and start liking Everlark. I started dabbling in ETL because of Zutara, but I’m incredibly picky about it (do not ask me how many Dramione fanfics made me irrationally, disproportionately mad).

All this to say: as a longtime friends-to-lovers enthusiast, I should theoretically love Ka/taang. But…

My difficulty with Ka/taang as a friends-to-lovers ship boils down to this: Aang and Katara’s friendship was always narratively framed as insufficient, because Aang liked her from the start and always wanted a romantic relationship. And imo that dynamic really colours their entire friendship.

I like to think Aang would’ve been a ride-or-die friend — the type to give up the Avatar State to rescue her, the type to commit ecoterrorism and help her get arrested, the type to make her a flower necklace to cheer her up — even if he didn’t have a crush on her, but I will never know that. We never got to see the pure friendship part of friends-to-lovers, because the spectre of the romantic relationship was always there. Before the last five minutes of the show, Katara’s feelings for Aang range from “plausibly interested” (The Headband, Cave of Two Lovers) to “doesn’t hate it” (Day of the Black Sun, The Fortuneteller) to “no” (Ember Island Players). Yet Katara’s eventual capitulation to reciprocation of Aang’s feelings was always depicted as inevitable, starting from s1 when the prisoners during Avatar Day reassured him that she’d “come around” because he’s a catch. It’s as if friendship, even one full of devotion and mutual love like the one they share, is not enough.

And that’s just totally antithetical to what I love about a friends-to-lovers dynamic. I love romances where characters value each other outside of attraction, when they see each other for who they are (this goes double for pretty characters like Katara, whose complexity and imperfections are just as important as her beauty and her care for others). I love the idiots in love sub-trope, where they’re obviously into each other, yet do a bunch of mental gymnastics to remain in comfortable denial (we got a little bit of this earlier in the series, but by s3 we were firmly in Aang-pines-and-Katara-deflects territory). In every friends-to-lovers story I’m simply obsessed with the confess-and-kiss scene, but the version we got in ATLA was ruined by the lack of reciprocation, twice.

Over time, because Aang was written as so insistent about his affections, Ka/taang went from a friends-to-lovers story to a Nice Guy Friend Zone “why doesn’t she like me” story. I mentioned Everlark earlier: I got the same ick for Gale in Mockingjay as I did for Aang in s3, where the woman is not interested yet he still badgers her about it. (And considering Gale is canonically hot, I don’t think the relative attractiveness of Aang is the issue here). But Gale’s insistence was presented as his problem, his lack of empathy, his self-righteousness; Aang’s insistence was just a part of his quest to get the girl.

A lot of people say Zutara is a female fantasy, whether they mean it in a positive or pejorative way. Nobody says the same about Ka/taang, even though women definitely have friends-to-lovers fantasies too. A good friends-to-lovers story reminds me of all the times when I was an idiot before getting together with a friend I was actually head-over-heels for. Ka/taang reminds me of all the times when I was not interested in a friend and they didn’t respect my preference. Friends-to-lovers is a delicate balance, maintained only by unerring mutual respect and unconditional care for each other, and it can veer into Nice Guyism if the writers aren’t thoughtful about why this dynamic is so appealing. Which is exactly what happened with Ka/taang.

#this ship is so interesting to me personally bc it hits all the buttons of things I hate in romantic narratives #and remarkably it’s not even the compelling type of “problematic romance” which are at least interesting #Anyway it is terribly baffling when I see people defending it on the grounds of being a super wholesome ship or whatever #anti kataang #anti bryke #tangentially #zutara #so tagging it just to be safe #though at this point I assume people who block the anti kataang probably have blocked the zutara tag too? Idk #my meta

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eww-y-tho · 3 days

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Colin VS Toxic Masculinity and Why Penelope Had to Reveal Herself as LW

I made a previous post with my two cents on why the idea of them both figuring out a solution to LW was an inferior concept to just Penelope figuring it out on her own, but it was small and I want to go more in-depth.

So, in order to grasp ✨my perspective✨ of the story, we first need to talk about Colin's struggles with toxic masculinity and his inferiority complex.

Naturally, Colin is a hopeless romantic with demisexual tendencies and a more prominent softness compared to other male leads. He's a bit dense (I say with love) until he figures out what he wants and how he's going to get it, and then he is a man of frankly ridiculous action. He's a sensitive boi who has a difficult time fitting in with the other men in his life and being taken seriously by his family, as he puts it himself. An empath, lol.

Honestly, Colin being a "rake" was an integral point of his character arc, and if you haven't picked up on that text by now, I would ask where your media literacy is. Violet put it best, he's putting on armour to protect himself from the way that society treats his character, and naturally, he develops a small, albeit persistent inferiority complex because of this. He doesn't feel like he's providing enough to the people around him because of toxic masculine standards.

I honestly think it's been with him since s1, and Pen is the only person who could bring these thoughts to the surface, which is why it comes to a head in s3 p2.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

In his efforts to fit in, he does some questionable things, such as the 2x8 comment, which he regrets as soon as he realizes how much damage it has done to his relationship with Pen. He hangs around with douchebags that he can't stand because he feels a need to conform and "be the kind of man society expects him to be."

But he also absorbs toxic masculine tendencies in the process. His gut instinct of general envy that a woman, Pen, is more successful than him (I hate to put it that bluntly, but that's how I took it), asking for her to quit LW because of these reasons, completely disregarding Pen's autonomy and her perspective by blindly charging forward to stop Cressida's blackmail, among other smaller things.

It's kind of ✨subtle✨, but I know it's there.

Pair that with his inferiority complex and you have a man who is trying to put down Penelope to his level, if that makes sense. By this point, he's already conquered the idea that he needs to conform by the way he cuts off his toxic friend group, but he isn't completely free from the systemic perspective.

Therefore, the idea that Pen would need him in order to find a solution to her problem confirms that toxic masculine trait. Let's be real, Penelope didn't and doesn't need Colin in order to help with LW's problems. She's managed without him before and will continue to manage it by herself. This is not to say that Penelope doesn't have an issue with accepting help from others and feeling the need to handle her problems alone because of her old situation, but she takes the emotionally intelligent move by LITERALLY voicing what she needs from Colin and their relationship.

She needs his companionship, she needs his love, she needs a rock she can come to at the end of the day and be able to depend on. She does not need him to do anything for LW, as it is a part of her identity and an accomplishment that she is proud of and will not let go of. Colin cannot make the demand that she drop everything she's worked for for him.

And that's how relationships work in the real world. You have things you are willing to let go of, and some things you are not. Your partner has to accept those boundaries you have set or leave the relationship, and you shouldn't have to abandon those things in order to get the person of your dreams, because that would make it a toxic relationship from the start and will most likely end in you losing parts of yourself in your partner.

Anyway, all this is to say that Penelope had to get out of her situation by her own means and with full autonomy on what she wanted to do to finish off her character arc.

And Colin needed to realize that his envy is a baseless emotion that simply has no value compared to the woman he knows her as. A strong, independent woman who doesn't need him to do things for her. He also needed to humble himself and see the way that LW is not competing with him, but a part of her. They both demonstrate that what they need from the relationship is not transactional in nature, but rather a shared bond powered by love.

I understand the idea of wanting them to both find a way out of the blackmail as a team, but again, that's explicitly not what they need from each other, and why I think this perspective is again a misunderstanding of their character arcs.

I think I've articulated this the best way I can, but I do know I wanted to say some other things. I'm tired tho, so yeah, ending it here.

Hopefully, this made sense.

Bai!

#bridgerton #polin #polin bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #bridgerton s3 #penelope x colin #penelope bridgerton #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #lady whistledown

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letteredlettered · 2 days

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Slow burn mutual pining

Slow burn pining fics are my favorite. Usually slow burn mutual pining (let's invent a new acronym: SBMP). The problem with SBMP is that it is so difficult to find a climax that satisfies me that I almost always end up not enjoying the fic after all. Like, it delivers but it doesn't satisfy.

Here are all the climaxes I hate, and keep in mind that this is about what I personally enjoy, not what I think is like, good writing or How You Should Do It or the paragon of excellence or anything. I am not telling anyone what they should be writing, and I am also not telling anyone what they should like reading. I simply like what I like and I hate what I dislike, so now you get to know because this is my blog and I do what I want, Thor.

Too short. These are the ones where A is like "I love you! I've loved you for years!" And then B is like "I've loved you for years!" And then they go have very loving sex or something. Listen. There has to be processing time; there needs to be that crying cat meme where the cat needs a minute; there needs to be wonder and disbelief and shock. There needs to be a numbness. And when B does finally 'fess up with their reciprocal angst or whatever it cannot just be "oh, ditto!"

Climax interruptus. Some authors know that the climax needs to be drawn out (to achieve my fic-reading satisfaction, which is obviously every writer's goal!) but can't figure out how to get there, so A is like "I love you! I've loved you for years!" and then the whole Bennett family falls into the room from where they've been listening at the door and there's a lot of dealing with Mrs. Bennett and Mary and Kitty or whoever, all while A is angsting about their confession and whether B loves them back, and B is waiting on tenterhooks just to tell them the feeling is reciprocated. Watch closely, folks, the worst perpetrators of this will do it several times. A says, "I love you!" Then is interrupted. Then finally gets a chance and is like, "I've loved you for years!" Then is interrupted. Then B finally gets their chance and is like "I have something to tell you too!" Then is interrupted. The worst, guys; this is the worst. (It happens with lots of big climaxes where the climax consists of confessions or supplying information or clearing up misunderstandings or Finding Something Out--mysteries do it All. The. Time.)

Moot climax. Subsection of the above that refers to an interruption being an entirely new plot. Basically, you get some kind of partial confession or revelation, but then something happens, but the something is so catastrophic or dramatic that the mains can’t possibly talk through it; they need to resolve this entirely new conflict first. And once that is resolved, the original conflict might even be a moot point, such that they no longer need to have feelings confessions because their feelings were revealed in an alternate way by the alternate plot. I had written this post a year ago and now I have returned and posted because I read one of these that made me so mad.

Trailing climax. Also subsection of climax interruptus. Trailing climax happens when there are several other confessions/revelations that are in fact related to the love confession/revelations. Ie, “I love you,” AND “I’m the masked bandit you had sex with,” AND “I’m your long lost childhood friend.” Sometimes it’s also just a series of things that really demand resolution, ie, “I love you,” AND “I’m afraid of sex but want to have it,” AND “you’re a bird and I’m a whale, so how can this work.” The thing about having multiple conflicts or required resolutions is that you can have several climaxes, but they still need to ascend to a jagged peak. What I often see in the “trailing climax” problem is that one resolution is reached and tension immediately plummets. The reader feels forced to continue reading to find out the resolutions to the other conflicts, but there is no longer the ramping tension up to a final conclusion; it’s more like we ended one story and now have to start a whole other one.

False trailing climax. This is a trailing climax in which the author portrays the other resolutions or confessions as very important, but they’re not, actually. We got the big, cathartic confession scene we needed and yet somehow the chapter still ends on a cliffhanger that makes you feel things suddenly aren’t resolved. This is often about sex. The author is portraying sex as the big climax yet to come when the actual climax was feelings.

Trailing climax narcolepsy. How many times have you read a climax where most things were kind of resolved but there are some loose ends and instead of dealing with them (or having sex) the characters suddenly decide they need to sleep? I always feel the author got tired of writing or fears long scenes and just needed to put a jump cut in because they otherwise didn’t know how to end the scene.

The climax that cried wolf. Okay here is what you get when someone takes my words about "disbelief" and "shock" and "numbness" too far. One of the biggest motivations for SBMP is either A or B or both going on with their constant, "oh, B could never love me!" and "oh, A doesn't even notice me; I'm so worthless . . ." Listen. Listen to me. I love that shit. I eat that shit with a spoon. I am so into it, you don't even know. But when A takes B by the shoulders and is like, "I love you! I've loved you for years!" it is A BRIDGE TOO FAR for B to just go ". . . they didn't mean it . . . they couldn't . . . how could they love me . . . it's not true . . ." After that, you've lost me, and some fics do that like eight times before getting to the part where B believes it. By then no matter how hot and intense and drawn-out you make the actual climax, it has lost all impact because it's happened 7 other times already (and I have already noped out of the fic unless I'm in that train wreck fugue state where I had to see how it ended).

Paint by numbers climax. Paint by numbers climaxes are satisfyingly long and, also satisfyingly, address every single issue and misunderstanding this couple ever had, and then after all of that--only after that--we paint the final numbers: kissing, then undressing, then sex. Let me count the ways I'm so desperately uninterested in this. First of all, the sex is not going to be interesting to me if there is no tension left in the thing. What do you think that I am in this mess for? If it was porn, I'd read a pwp, and if it was loving fluff, I certainly would not be reading SBPM!

But even worse than the boring sex is that, since the sex--and often even kissing--can only occur after all the confessions, it means the confessions are strangely . . . cerebral? Not physical. Sexless. Don't get me wrong. Please don't get me wrong. I love cerebral! I love not physical! I love sexless! Some of my very favorite fics that I have written, and also I will point out the one that is astronomically the most popular, is basically G rated! Fics don't have to have sex in them to be interested and I will beat that drum until my hands fall off!

But. But.

If your SBMP is about sexual tension; if it is about A constantly dreaming of nothing but having B's dick in them and constantly fapping away to thoughts of it or whatever, why would you exclude sex from the climax and only add it in the denoument? I ask you. And if sex wasn't part of the tension; if the sexual aspects were actually not what the pining was about, why do you have sex at all? Why not end with a kiss?

There you have it, decades' worth of frustration all in one post, folks.

#fics

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heartsforvin · 3 days

Note

hey girl this is random but could you write something abt you feeling insecure abt your body and in your clothes and you kinda start getting frustrated and cry about it but vinnie comes and tries to comfort you? 🩷

YOU’RE PERFECT

this one is gonna be a lot different than most my imagines, talks of body dysmorphia & insecurities are mentioned, don’t read if it makes you uncomfortable <3

pairing: vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings: insecurity mentions, body dysmorphia, cussing, use of pet names, vinnie being the sweetest, mentions of sex, if i missed anything pls lmk !

summary: you struggle with insecurity and vinnie tries to comfort you

a/n: please remember this is fiction !!! i love you all and please, if you ever struggle with anything at all, im always here for you <3

you never used to feel this way, not until recently, when summer started approaching and all your friends talked about buying new bikinis for the beach or pool.

you’d laugh it off, giving them a small smile when they’d ask if you were buying something when shopping with them.

you grabbed something, not even in your size and damn near to the color you liked, just wanting to get it over with.

when you met your boyfriend vinnie, he definitely helped you a lot with your struggles. not enough to the point where they’d fade completely, but enough to where they’d fade away when it’s just the two of you.

the two of you have been together for about a year and a half now, and the question of sex has come up a few times.

vinnie knows your struggles. hell, he wishes it was him who was struggling so he didn’t see you hurt.

nonetheless, the question came up and you had told vinnie why you don’t want to do that, at least not just yet.

he understood completely, more than any other guy you’ve seen in the past. you’re grateful for that.

you just wished you could see yourself the way vinnie sees you. you know he thinks you’re absolutely gorgeous and everything in between, you just wish you could feel that way yourself.

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

“goddamnit.” you mutter to yourself as you look in the mirror. you were trying to fit into this swimsuit but it didn’t look right.

as you started to change, you heard vinnie come into the room.

“you look beautiful, baby. where you goin’?” he compliments, making you give him a small smile.

you huff as you try to pry the swimsuit top off you, almost bursting into tears at not being able to get it off.

vinnie notices your discomfort and mood and quickly wraps you up in a hug.

“it’s okay, look, it’s off, you’re okay.” he reassures you, making you look at the floor to see the discarded clothing, kissing your head.

you smile into his chest and hug him tightly. “i hate it.” you mumble.

vinnie grabs your face gently to look up at him. “hate what, sweetheart?”

you sigh, wanting to pull away from his gaze but opting not to do so. “my body, the way clothes look on me, the way i think i look besides actually looking like it, hate it all.”

vinnie furrows his eyebrows and carefully kisses your forehead, caressing your cheek after.

“baby, you are the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen, you know?” he tells you, but you just start crying.

frustration hits you hard and soon you’re in your boyfriends arms, only in swimsuit bottoms, crying.

“cover me up, please.” you plead through tears, not wanting to see your upper half naked.

vinnie kisses you softly before grabbing one of his tshirts he lended you, you loving it because it’s a bit bigger on you.

“it’s so frustrating, vin.” you cling to him again, tears spilling out of your eyes.

you hated this feeling, wish you could make it go away forever.

“i can’t even fucking look at myself some days, it’s too much. i see all my friends in these cute suits and i can’t even imagine myself in one. i’d look…” you can’t even finish your sentence.

vinnie holds you and kisses your face softly, hoping he’s doing something to help you in any way.

he doesn’t like this, no one does at that, but seeing his girl go through this is enough to break him on the inside.

“you would look perfect, my love. you are perfect.” he tells you.

you smile and quietly thank him. “my insecurities eat me alive some days. the dysmorphia has been here since i can remember, but the little things, they’re all just too much.”

vinnie moves you two to sit on your bed, your head is against his chest as he rubs your back.

“i can understand how hard it is for you, but i want you to know that as long as im here with you, i will never stop telling you how pretty, gorgeous, fucking stunning you are, you got me?”

he looks at you with hopeful eyes, hoping you can understand that he knows you’re beautiful, even if you don’t see it yourself.

slowly, you nod your head as you look up at him. you don’t know how lucky you got to have vinnie by your side, but you glad he is.

“i’m sorry.” you apologize softly, looking down at the floor.

vinnie lifts your head up so your eyes meet his. “don’t you ever apologize for something like this,” his voice is soft but affirmative, getting his point across. “you don’t need to be sorry for something you can’t control, you understand? as long as you know that i love you and you love me, we’ll be good.”

you smile as he continues. “it might take you weeks, months, years or it might not even happen at all, just know i will never stop telling you how perfect you are.” he finishes, kissing you softly.

tears start to run down your cheeks and you chuckle softly as vinnie wipes them away with his thumbs. you kiss his hand and look up at him with so much love.

“thank you for loving me for me. for not changing me, for loving me throughout all of this. i know it’s a lot to process on the other end too, but im grateful for you.” you tell him.

vinnie caresses your cheek and kisses you, feeling all kinds of emotions right now.

“i’m never gonna stop loving you, baby,” he whispers. “you’re perfect, my girl, so so perfect.” he finishes, giving you a real, proper kiss.

guys pls if you’re struggling or just need to simply talk, i’m here always , i love you all & you’re all loved so much 🤍

tags: @cosmicanakin , @anqeliclust , @native2princess , @muchloveforhacker , @leqonsluv3r , @slvthrs , @louloulemons-blog , @lovingsturniolo , @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom , @kriissy4gov , @supabhad , @laylasbunbunny , @hallecarey1 , @kayleighh , @jpg3 , @khxna , @visualbutterflysworld , @0strawberrysorbet0 et0 , @bernelflo , @violet0182 , @defnotayonna

#vhackerr #vincent hacker #vinniehacker #vvhacker #vinnie hacker smut #vinniehackerfanfic #vinnie hacker blurb #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker imagines #vinnie hacker headcanon #vinnie x y/n #vinnie x reader

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the-froschamethyst4 · 2 days

Text

Shows Up

𖤐Pairing: Step dad! Gaz x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: fluff, language, mostly Kyle, a bit emotional, married couple, children, kissing, short one today

𖤐Summary: Kyle shows up to his step daughters talent show

————

"Kyle, we need to get ready to leave," Y/n says, coming out of the bathroom and putting her earrings in.

"I know, I know," Kyle says, putting some shoes on.

"Mama, have you seen my pants?"

"Kai, I laid them out for you."

"Well, I can't find them," Kai says, Y/n heads out of the bedroom and Kai behind her going to his bedroom.

Tonight, Y/n's daughter Skye was doing her schools talent show, she stayed after school to be able to rehearse for what she will be doing, Y/n didn't know what Skye was doing along with Kyle, but Kai knew and kept it a secret for so long.

They needed to get there asap, so they don't miss Skye's part of the show. For a while Y/n was so busy that she could barely show up to support her children, but after meeting Kyle and he helps out a lot, she puts everything on hold for her children.

"Come on, we need to go, now!" Y/n says as they all rushed to the car.

--------

Skye was back stage looking at people coming in a finding their seats, she wanted to see her mom and Kyle and know everything was going to be okay, she wanted to see them.

"Oops, Skye, what are you doing?" Her teacher came around seeing her peak her head from the curtain.

"I wanted to see my mama and my step-dad," she says.

"I promise they will be here," Skye goes to the wings of the stage now. Skye was never afraid to talk in front of people, which is a good trait she didn't pick up from her mother unlike Kai, he's terrified of the thought of getting up on stage in front of hundreds of people.

Y/n, Kyle and Kai had found their seats, Y/n sits between Kyle and Kai. She crosses her legs and Kyle placed his hand on her thigh to let her know everything was going to be okay. Kai plays on Y/n's phone because he was board and Y/n didn't want him on the iPad.

The lights dimmed and the show was starting, the teacher that was hosting the talent show came out and thanked the parents, friends and family for coming and showing up.

Y/n's legs bounces nervous for what her daughter might be doing, Kyle started to play with his fingers nervous as well. Kai gave Y/n her phone back and watched the performances of the kids.

----------

"Okay, thank you Matthew for show us that you can...burp your ABC's," the teacher rubs her temple and let's out a huff. "Up next we have Skye L/n, she wanted to do something special for her step-dad Kyle Garrick."

Kyle looks at Y/n was shock the same with Y/n, they then looked down at Kai, since he knew. He just shakes his head as if he's still not gonna say what it is.

Skye comes on stage, the teacher fixing the microphone to be down at Skye's level. She clears her throat.

"To Kyle Garrick my step dad, so kind, you're in my heart and on my mind. You help me learn and play each day, in your hugs I find my way. You teach me things I didn't know, like how to tie my shoes, you cheer me on with every try, with you I feel like I can fly. You read me stories, you tuck me in, you make me smile with your big grin. I'm so glad you're part of my family, you make my mama smile and laugh everyday, step-dad Kyle, I love you," she finishes, everyone clapped for the 1st grader.

Kyle and Y/n both stood up for her, she looks around for them and could see them right under the darkness even though the light was in her eyes. She waves at them both.

"Wow, that was amazing, Skye, that was such a lovely poem for Kyle and I hope he enjoyed it as well," Skye walks off the stage, going to the wing.

Y/n turns to her husband seeing his eyes were red, his fingers rubbed his eyes, and he was sniffling.

"Aww~ Kyle," Y/n holds his head close to her chest and kissed his temple.

Kyle for the longest time had thought Y/n's kids hated him, Kai took around a month to get use to Kyle and Skye took longer to get use to him, and he couldn't tell when Skye liked him or not, but he guesses she did like him.

----------

After the show Skye held a rose that her teacher gave her, she walks to the rows of seats trying to find where her mom, step-dad and brother were.

"SKYE!" She hears Kai's voice. She smiles and runs up to Kai, he picks her up and quickly drops her back on the ground, she sees Y/n running to her, Y/n picks her daughter up and she looks at Kyle.

"Kyle," she opens her arms and Kyle takes her from Y/n's arms, hugging her tightly.

"I loved the poem, baby," he says, rubbing her back.

"Good, I worked hard on it."

"I know, you did," Kyle kissed Skye's forehead.

---------

At home, Skye and Kai were getting ready for bed, Kyle picked up Skye and took her to her bedroom. He lays her down.

"So, what do you want to read?" Kyle asked.

"Princess and the Pea."

"Okay."

Y/n came into the room after putting Kai down. She leans against the doorframe and looks at Skye cuddled up to Kyle's side as he was reading the book to her.

"The End," Kyle says, looking over to his right seeing Skye was asleep. "Good night, kiddo," he kissed the top of her head and made sure she was comfortable.

"Come on, Kyle," she says, opening her arms and Kyle picks her up taking her to their shared bed.

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #fandom #fanfic #call of duty #mw2 #cod #kyle gaz x you #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz x y/n #gaz cod #gaz x reader

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azzifuddworlddomination · 3 days

Text

casual pt. 5

(5/5)

paige x azzi

we end where we started

love yall

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

Between their intense schedule of games and the impending doom of finals, the UConn women’s college basketball team was stressed. So, Nika proposed that they all go out to blow off some steam the same place they always do. The team went out to Ted’s.

While the team took shots, Azzi’s absence was palpable. The team knew that she went to Montana for Thanksgiving, but they decided it would be best if they avoided the topic with either of the girls. So, when Azzi left the bar shortly after arriving they figured whatever happened in Montana was not a step forward in their relationship.

Azzi stood outside, the cold wind blowing against Paige’s her jacket. “It’s fine, no I swear its fine,” Azzi says into her phone. “What happened?” She says as muffled crying can be heard from the other line.

Azzi was the only person in Lauren’s life, besides her elementary school friends, who knew about her boyfriend. Now, Azzi was the only person who knew about her breakup. She held it together long enough to ask her mom to borrow her phone before she absolutely collapsed on the other line as Lauren detailed the highs and lows of her three weeks with Brady. Azzi listened intently on the other line, providing the support and advice that Lauren needed. Azzi didn’t even mind the cold or the fact that the rest of her team was having fun without her. She didn’t have the heart to hang up on Lauren until her tears subsided and she became her giggly self again.

Azzi reminds Lauren of her promise to beat that punk at horse the next time she’s in Montana, which prompts Lauren to giggle a little too loudly for being up past her bedtime. Amy comes in and asks Lauren to give her back her phone and go to bed for the night. Azzi almost hangs up, but Amy begins to speak, “Azzi, thank you for taking care of my girls. Have a good night, sweetie.” Azzi’s heart warms at Amy’s gratitude. She returns the well wishes before hanging up to walk back into the bar.

Whatever warm fuzzies that invaded Azzi’s heart are eradicated as soon as she steps through the door. She sees Paige. She’s talking to another girl. She’d seen her before, with Paige. She saw Paige’s hand reach for the girls arm. She stares, hard. Her feet stick to the floor while she decides whether to walk towards the door or Paige. Azzi can’t hold her tongue this time. She can’t run away until she calms down.

She’s a woman on a mission as she walks through the crowds to get to Paige. “How… How could you???” Azzi nearly screams as tears well up in her eyes. The people around Paige begin to turn around to see what’s happening around them. Azzi knows she knows she’s causing a scene. “How in any world can you just flirt with another girl after I went all the way to Montana with you because you can’t deal with being alone with your mom? And- and- the only reason I left was because your sister called me. She didn’t even call YOU. You didn’t even know about her boyfriend or her break up, I had to play sister when you couldn’t! And you had the audacity to say we’re just casual?? It didn’t feel casual when I fucked you in the bathroom at Thanksgiving dinner. Your MOM was at the table. You wonder why I’m bitter. I hate that I let this drag on so long. Now I hate myself. Fuck you Paige, go to Hell,” Azzi spits out. Maybe it was the few drinks she had earlier in the night or maybe it was the blind rage that she felt when she saw Paige touch that girl, but Azzi couldn’t care less that she just exposed explicit details about their sex life to their teammates and strangers.

Paige reached for Azzi as Azzi jolted her body away from her. “Don’t touch me Paige. Go fuck one of your girls until you feel better, I’m done,” Azzi spats as she turns towards the door. “No, Azzi, please,” Paige says desperately as she follows Azzi into the cold wind outside. “Get the fuck away from me Paige,” she says as she makes her way down the side walk. Paige finally catches up with her as she grabs her arm. “Azzi please just listen to me,” Paige says breathlessly, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what you could possibly say that I want to hear,” Azzi says as she rolls her eyes.

“I was telling her we were done. That girl… I was telling her that I can’t see her anymore… That I had a girlfriend,” Paige explains. “A girlfriend?” Azzi asks, “so that’s what you’re calling me now. Seems like just a couple weeks ago you were telling some guys that we’re just casual, nothing more than a hook up,” Azzi scoffs. “You know we were never casual, Az,” Paige replies. “Then why did you say it?” Azzi snaps, “why did you act like I’m just some girl you fuck on your couch like all the rest of them.” “I didn’t know if you were ready… I knew you were seeing some other people and I didn’t want to be too overbearing. I didn’t want to define our relationship for you. So I figured I just wouldn’t define it at all,” Paige admits. “I love you, Azzi and I’m ready. I’ve been ready, please, just say the word,” Paige looks at her, absolutely helpless. “I love you too, P,” Azzi says as she pulls Paige into a kiss.

Paige quietly opens the door to her room, and pulls Azzi around to the other side of the door. She presses Azzi up against the door as she drunkenly leaves a trail of sloppy kisses before pulling Azzi onto her bed. Azzi crashes against the mattress as Paige kisses her neck. She removes her hand from Paige’s hair as she digs below her back pulling something out from underneath her. “Is this a bra, P?” she breaks away from the kiss. “Didn’t have the decency to take another girl’s bra out of your bed before you laid me in it?” Azzi scoffs, only half joking. “S’your’s,” Paige drunkenly replies. “Oh shit, its my good bra! I’ve been looking for this” Azzi replies upon further inspecting the item, “you sleep with my bra ,P, God you’re corny.”

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi #paige x azzi #uconn wbb #Spotify

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yanderederee · 2 days

Note

For the yandere mbti could you write for

Tr: Baji

Wind breaker: Togame Jo

Please (*'∀'*)

This is my first time writing for Togame, so I really hope I did him justice here!!♡

small reminder that these are yandere headcanons, so if characters seems ooc, that is why! pls be kind..!

yandere mbti event page : here!

Baji Keisuke - RAHL

- Reverent:Aware:Honest:Lenient

Baji Keisuke might be a cruel motherfucker who has no qualms in being abrasive— but he will Never, EVER, be that way towards his darling.

Baji is extremely gentle and thoughtful of his darling always. It’s less of a reverent or worshipping type of love, as it’s more of a suffocating and careful love.

No one is trustworthy enough to be by your side. No one will take care of you or look out for you the same way he will.

Baji is and always will be your protector and shield against anything that would cause you mental or physical harm.

While it would make everything a lot easier if you would just love him back, Baji isn’t the type to delude himself into falsifying anything about you. He wants to real and true you. Even if the real you doesn’t love him, he is willing to accept that, because despite that, he truly does love you. And nothing will change that.

Baji’s aware that his actions can be suffocating or over the top, but does not give a single fuck, if it’s for your sake.

Loving Baji and accepting him for his brashness is definitely favorable, however. The further you grow from him, the more blood will be shed. The closer you are, the easier it becomes to protect you in less violent ways.

When it comes down to manipulation, Baji’s…. Okay, hear me out.

Canon Baji was able to very masterfully manipulate all of Toman into believing he was a deserter who betrayed them all. So canonically, Baji has the skills to manipulate people effectively.

However, I don’t think Baji likes actively lying to his darling. He’s not the type to think “no matter what, I need them to love me.”

So to me, I feel like Baji is more Honest about his actions. He will sugar coat it, so you don’t become weary of him, but he doesn’t like lying to you. Ex; “hah? What about your childhood friend? Yeah, I had a talk w’th ‘im… I might’a thrown a punch or two… so what, he started it. Tch… whatever, don’t worry about that loser anymore.”

It’s not like your feelings aren’t important to him though ! If he really thinks being too honest about his actions will permanently push you away or actively hate him, and he can help it, he will manipulate the truth for your benefit.

The last trait can be argued back and forth. I originally had him as a strict yandere, but the rules Baji has are less for you to follow, and more for everyone else.

I see Baji as a lenient Yandere who prioritizes your happiness and safety, instead of making you HIS possession.

Baji likes giving you freedom, because again, he wants to love you for who you are, not who he makes you be. So rather than limiting your ability to do things, he limits the possibly of bad things ever happening to you.

Still, Baji is very intense and if he thinks enough is enough, there’s no refuting it. At the end of the day, he is still the one with all the power over you.

Togame Jo - RAML

- Reverent:Aware:Manipulative:Leanient

Togame has a tendency to idolize the ones he falls in love with. He is willing to sacrifice important parts of himself in order to make his darling happy.

He becomes so reverent in worshipping his darling, so much so that it becomes a widely known fact. There’s no one in town who breaths that doesn’t know of your relationship… even if you aren’t actually in a relationship.

He just loves you so much! Even if you aren’t interested (how?), Togame remains protective. “It ain’t gatta be true hun, no one’s gonna mess with ya now, n’ that’s what matters.”

Togame isn’t the type to fall into delusions. He might act delusional as a manipulative farce, but is generally aware that his love for you is obsessive and over the top. That’s fine.

He doesn’t expect you to love him back, but ultimately, that IS his end goal. Togame wants you to fall in love with him. To need him, and rely on him— of your own free will, not because he makes himself believe you do.

Of course, there’s no harm in bending the truth a little to achieve this, he thinks. Togame is very skilled in manipulating you. He lies constantly. Whispering in your ear make up lies your friends tell about you to everyone else, turning you against everyone until he is your only ally.

Always happy to play the role of the good guy in your eyes, swooping in to save you from a ring of bad guys (that he may have threatened into going to talk to you). Is ecstatic when you ask him to walk you home after being stalked for the last few nights (you still can’t tell it’s actually just him, purposely making you feel unsafe whenever he isn’t around for this very reason).

Togame considers keeping you on a tight leash. Having you all to himself, cooing in your ear daily about how complacent you’ve become to his love… but he imagines you becoming a shell of yourself, without any freedom.

As pleasurable of a thought keeping you locked up is to him, he can’t fathom losing you. He might have your body, but if he were to ever lose your love, voice, or smile, he would go insane.

Again, Togame would go insane without you. No matter how little of you he can have, he will always have something to crave, as long as you are you. Even if he must hurt people or himself in the process, he will worship you and happily take any scrap of attention you give him.

Togame is lenient with you for your sake, so don’t go messing that up by breaking his heart and trying to date other people…

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