#and i scoured every corner of the internet trying to find it! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

causenessus · 3 months

Note

YAY CONGRATS ON 1k!! you totally deserve it and your work is phenomenal and i can’t wait to see what else you make <3

for the event.. could i get a fluff 📚 fic w/ kuroo where the reader helps him find a book as a library aid??

see you again. | kuroo t.

kuroo x f!reader

written in 3rd pov

one word prompt from 1k followers event: 📚 -> library

"my heart's on mars, kinda hard to see, but you know i'll see you again <3" from when will i see you again by shakka (DOES NOT fit the vibes at all i mean kind of in my delusional brain but i just like the song and it fits the title <3)

word count: 1.9k words

notes: lots of fluff!! kuroo being down bad for the reader upon first meeting her, reader also being down bad. kuroo being a nerd bc man could be sexy or flirt to save his life <3 bokuto being the real star of this entire follower event apparently who knows how many more fics he's gonna make it into. also this was really fun to write bc little lore drop but one year in high school i once got kicked out of a class (very convoluted thing, they thought the class was triggering me which was lowkey a fair statement) so i got to be a library aide instead <333 i'm going to say this is not edited bc i don't want to deal with my mistakes or take responsibility for them. THANK U FOR THIS REQUEST WYR!! I LOVE YOU SM <3 I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS FIC

although she enjoyed the solace of re-shelving books on her own, she enjoyed helping others just as much. it was like getting snippets of people’s lives through the books they were in search of. sometimes students came in looking for books for classes, which allowed her to meddle a little into just how many majors her school really offered, and how niche they could be. others came in looking for books to pass the time and she was always happy to recommend one of her favorites if they were open to suggestions.

while some of the other aides were there because they saw the job as an easy, quick way to make some extra money, she took pleasure in her job. when lost students came up to the counter asking for help locating a book, most of the aides felt that they had done their job well when they gave the student some kind of cryptic number and last name to scour the shelves for in return. however, numbers revealed nothing of where a single book could be in a large room piled with books that lined and stuffed every shelf and corner they could fit into.

she often took it upon herself to go on a search with the students who came to her for help. she’d consult the system for where a book was located and then lead the student to where the book was located rather than just sending them on their way. sometimes it took a few minutes to find what they were looking for, but they always found it in the end.

asking someone to wander around a university’s library and expecting them to know where a book labeled “796.31 dearing” was located was the equivalent to asking them to find a needle in a haystack. she didn’t expect anyone to know where a book was right off the bat; that was her job, and she was happy to help.

kuroo always dreaded going to the library. he dreaded everything about it. he loathed having to be quiet, aware of every noise he made, every rustle of his pant legs brushing against each other, and he hated trying to find the single book he was looking for amongst thousands of others. sometimes he felt like he'd be better off pirating a pdf version of a book off the internet, but it never appealed to him as much as a physical book.

over lunch with bokuto one day, he had rubbed a hand down his face and groaned at the thought of even stepping foot into the library, “i have to get a book for one of my social science classes, but do you know how hard they make it to find any kind of science book?”

“you should ask for y/n!” bokuto responded with a mouth full of food, “she’s really nice, she actually walked with me to help find the book i was looking for.”

“you went to the library to get a book? i would’ve expected you to just sparknote it,” kuroo teased with a sleazy grin.

his friend huffed, crossing his arms, “you should have more faith in me! i did read the book, but... it was because my professor had already caught me using sparknotes and said she’d fail me if she caught me using it again...” he trailed off and kuroo laughed.

“i think you just proved your own point wrong, buddy,” he rested his hand in his palm, looking down at the table they were sitting at. “you said her name’s y/n? what’s she look like?”

“mm, i don’t remember,” bokuto said, after a thoughtful pause, “she’s probably wearing a nametag, though. or just ask for y/n! someone will direct you to her.”

“that’s weird, man. what am i supposed to tell her when she questions why i specifically asked for her?” he responded with a sigh.

“just tell her i sent you! she knows me pretty well now, she won’t mind,” the dual hair colored boy shrugged before shoving more food into his mouth, “it’s that or search on your own for your book, but i’d say just find y/n, she can help.”

bokuto had a way of making everything seem like it would turn out fine, but all that confidence left him the moment he walked through the library doors. all he knew was he was on the lookout for a girl; nothing about what she looked like, just her name.

he could pretend to be cool and suave from afar, but when it came to actual interactions, he was never the best at maintaining his composure. he always talked too fast, or would regrettably talk more than was acceptable by his standards.

he settled for trying to find the book himself first. it was some kind of book about behavior, by a last name he thought sounded slightly like a serial killer. if he couldn’t even remember the author’s name, he was helpless. was it even worth trying to find someone to help him? or would he just make a fool of himself trying to describe the book he was looking for?

but he needed to find this book tonight, he knew that. he’d already put off reading it for long enough, and his deadline was coming up. knowing his grade was at risk, he defeatedly dragged his feet to the foot counter. it was impossible for him to casually stand there, looking at people’s name tags, and a girl at a computer was already looking at him, waiting patiently for him to tell her what he needed.

“uh–” he started off, trying to keep his voice low, “is y/n working tonight?”

the girl’s eyebrows knitted together, and he was distracted by the way her lips pursed before he tried to focus on her eyes instead, “that’s me. did you need something?”

perhaps it was luckier that he had found her on his first try rather than walking around like an idiot looking for a mysterious girl, but he couldn’t help worrying about how this interaction was already off to a bad start. he couldn’t believe bokuto could ever forget a face like hers when he was sure it’d be stuck in his head for weeks. “yeah, i’m looking for a book…?” he cringed at his own words. what else would he be here for? she only raised her brows, waiting for him to continue. “it’s um, a book on behaviorism i think. i’m majoring in sports management and i need this book for a social sciences class but i don’t remember what it’s called.”

his honesty made the corner of her lips lift, and he found himself staring again. she had to be wearing lipstick; there was no way her lips could be that red. “behaviorism? and you don’t remember what the book is called? what about the author?”

he shook his head. did he tell her his analogy? he’d already made a stupid first impression, “i don’t remember what his name was, but it sort of sounded like…”

“like a serial killer?” she finished, eyes flicking up to his own.

his own brows raised in surprise, “yeah, how did you know?”

she laughed softly at his remark, “i took a psychology class. it’s how i remembered his name too. i called him beef skinner, but his name’s b.f. skinner.” he found his own lips turning up, and they shared a smile before she cleared her throat, turning back to her screen. he watched her fingers fly across the keyboard under her hands before she turned her monitor screen around so he could see it. “does this cover look familiar? maybe by the title?”

it was a simple cover, dark blue with a tri-colored atom at the bottom. the title was written in bold capital letters: Science and Human Behavior. it clicked with him as he read the title and he could only nod, dumbfounded as she returned the screen back to its normal position.

“that’s exactly it. you’re like a genius, i can’t believe you found it based on three basic words,” he complimented, watching as she stood up, dusting off her pencil skirt.

he felt a puff of pride in his chest, seeing the way she smiled at his words. “it’s my job,” she laughed again, “i think i had someone else come in looking for it a few days ago. too. call it good timing. your book should be somewhere in the 300s, i’ll lead you there.”

she waved a hand, motioning for him to follow as she came around the side of the counter and he was quick to follow. they walked along the aisles, her head tilting up ever so often to look up at the number plates adorning each shelf. “if you don’t mind me asking, how did you know my name?” she asked, turning back to him.

he fell into step walking alongside her as he hummed in thought, “i had a friend that mentioned you. i always get lost coming here and i was telling him about it and he said i should try to find you because you’re really nice.”

“aw,” she commented with a small smile as they turned down an aisle, “that was sweet of him to say. i’m glad i could help.”

their conversation went silent as they continued walking, and he found himself tugging at the collar of his sweater nervously. “he was right,” he mumbled.

“what was that?” she looked at him again, and he inhaled sharply again, looking into her eyes.

“nothing. i mean—i was just saying my friend was right. you’re very nice,” he spoke quickly, averting his eyes towards the floor. this was what he’d meant when he said he always talked too much; he really needed to learn to keep his thoughts in.

but when she laughed at his compliment, he thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to make a fool of himself if he could hear her voice again. “thank you, i’m glad to hear that. what was your name, again?” she asked, a blush dusting her cheeks. she couldn’t believe she was letting a boy’s words affect her in such a way when she didn’t even know his name.

he was thinking the same thing; how had telling her his name completely slipped his mind? “kuroo,” he said, stopping when she stopped, crouching to run her fingers along the spines of a row of books close to the ground. “my name’s kuroo tetsuro.”

“well, kuroo,” she said, standing back up and looking at him with that smile of hers. paired with the sound of his name on her tongue, he felt like he was going to pass out. “it was nice to meet you. and here’s your book. maybe i’ll see you again?”

“definitely,” he said too quickly, but it was worth it to watch her nose scrunch as she laughed, “i’ll definitely come back, it what meant. um, not just to see you. well— actually— it’d be kind of nice if maybe we saw each other again. maybe over dinner? could i get your number?”

“yes,” she answered, and when she bit her lip, trying to stop the way her smile had grew, he felt like he was standing in front of angel, “to all of that. meet me back at the counter?”

"okay," he breathed, watching her walk off, her hands grabbing fists full of her skirt. maybe the library wasn't as bad as he thought, after all.

#kuroo #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsurou #tetsuro kuroo #tetsurou kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo drabble #haiykuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu drabble #hq #hq x reader #fluff #ness' 1k followers event <3

77 notes · View notes

lepusrufus · 11 months

Text

I'm starved for theories and hcs and analysis of the blorbos so fine, I'll do it myself. Have some random gritty edgy hcs of Sombra because I'm bored and want to bug my followers with the brainrot

Sombra is a lot less prone to violence than most of Talon, but she also looks extremely apathetic to it on a surface level. She's been scouring and has seen the deepest, most fucked up and disgusting corners the internet has to offer. She's so desensitized to it all that sometimes even she has to take a step back and wonder what the fuck is wrong with her. Sometimes she ends up in deep rabbit holes without even meaning to, just because she can, but suddenly she's trying to find the source of a website selling the shadiest most unsafe spine implants and will need to get up and grab a coffee. (Maybe take Moira's example and steal some of her Irish coffee)

Being the one committing violent crimes is a bit of a different can of worms. Sombra is not usually a field agent and even when she is, that implies mostly staying hidden somewhere away from the fight and taking care of any security that could get in their way. Sure, the gun is there and she'll use it if needed, but she'd rather not.

In a similar vein, she has a very odd way of showing compassion (and has a particular soft spot for young kids in shitty situations). Sombra would find the most disgusting thing hidden somewhere on the web and bury herself neck deep in it to get rid of whoever is responsible. She'll get out of it without as much as a metaphorical scrap, sure, but there's only so many times she can pull this off without it getting to her.

The Implants in her head pretty much connect her brain to the whole wide internet. She's not concerned about anyone compromising her through it, with all the meticulously thought out security she put in place, but it still has its side effects. Sure, she has access to any and all data at any time, but with the amount of misleading and contradictory information you can find even through the simplest google search, she has to always be careful what she picks as true or false, to the point where she sometimes doubts even the simplest little facts. At least she got really good at recognizing lies.

Having any and all information at her fingertips is both a blessing and a curse. She can know anything on anyone in a matter of seconds but on the flip side she rarely gets to truly come in contact with the world if not through a pink tinted screen. She gets wrapped in her own head around motives and data and the inner workings of everything that she sometimes forgets that people are, at the end of the day, people and they will sometimes be unpredictable just because. It made her a bit of a paranoid mess throughout the years and despide how well she can hide it, constantly being on the lookout for something is beyond exhausting.

The implants on her spine are old. They're still very much functioning as they should be, but the one person that did them had died years ago and, without being able to do any tinkering on her own back by herself, Sombra didn't have any major parts of it replaced or updated like the rest of her tech. The knowledge that one day it's bound to malfunction and she'll be left to scramble for a way to fix it looms over her every single time she puts a little too much strain on the mechanical parts of her body and feels a little warning tingle of electricity running down her spine.

Less related to any body modifications, but i think we can all agree that she has the most fucked up sleep schedule in the universe. Sometimes she'll sleep for 12 hours straight. Sometimes she won't sleep for 3 days. Whether it's because she's working on something important or because sleep simply seems to elude her matters little, she'll still be holed up in her bedroom with a few screens floating around her and a pair of headphones blasting too loud music.

#*throws this at you*#have some blorbo thoughts #my love for taking the seemingly carefree character and making them kinda tragic will never die thanks for asking #sombra overwatch #bc i miss writing a bunch of hcs

28 notes · View notes

cleromancy · 8 months

Note

HI I WOULD LOVE TO SEE SNIPPETS OF THE EX CHILD STAR AU

thank you anon 🥰 sry it took me a few days to post this lol

cws: references to mental health problems and a previous suicide attempt, and lasting trauma from exploitation. uh, and past drug use.

If you had asked Dick twenty-four hours ago about his apartment, he would have said it was fine. Not too modest, not too ostentatious, not so public he has to worry about creeps but not as isolated as the villa. He's so glad they sold the villa. Nicest place he's ever lived, and if he'd stayed there one more day he'd have been peeling off the wallpaper muttering about ex-child stars trapped inside, creeping. Where he lives now is within walking distance from a friendly little corner store where he picks up cereal and almond milk and anything else he doesn't want to wait to get delivered, which is convenient, and a somewhat-longer-but-still-doable hike away from Dick's favorite store in L.A, a tiny little candy shop that only stays afloat out of sheer spite. The owner, a cantankerous old man that Dick loved immediately upon meeting, roasts Dick mercilessly every time Dick comes in, but he also keeps Dick's standing order of the tragically discontinued Triple Xtreme Face Pucker Nuclear Warheads in stock just for him, so Dick wouldn't buy them anywhere else even if he could.

And as long as you have that and a laundry room, you're golden. If Dick had to leave his apartment to wash his socks he'd just lie down and die, or else wear a lot of dirty clothes.

So normally if asked, Dick would conclude that the apartment is, actually, better than fine, maybe even pretty good, and then he would change the subject.

It's just hitting Dick now that he's lived here for seven years now and he doesn't think he's ever actually looked around. They hired somebody to move his stuff into storage while Dick was still in inpatient and somebody else to decorate the apartment so it would be livable right when he got out, before he got around to picking up his stuff (he keeps meaning to do that). Moving in, all Dick cared about was getting a burrito the size of his face and sleeping on sheets that didn't smell faintly of industrial bleach masked poorly by something artificial, vaguely floral, and marketed as *Mountain Breeze.* In the grey haze it hadn't occurred to him to wonder if maybe the decor was itself a little too grey.

"Or whatever color they call this," Dick says to himself, staring down an oversized decorative vase with a few sticks poking out that you'd think would be silk flowers or something, but instead have these fuzzy little puffballs attached for some reason. "Gray-beige? Taupe? Greige? Why do I even have you." He tilts it to one side. It's shockingly heavy. "Why do I have *six of you.*"

Looking down the hallway it's obvious that the interior design team had a vision, and that vision was "innoffensive, featureless neutrality." There are just enough wall hangings to qualify as "minimalist" over "austere," black and white photographs of bland still lifes in featureless frames. Some kind of hanging tapestry except it's solid white with hanging tassels. Grey-toned floor, lighter grey-toned floor runner. The end result sails right past "boring" into "escaped psych ward patient" territory. Which Dick resents. He did his time, thank you very much, and waited until his official discharge like a good boy. That's probably why he didn't notice until now, psych ward home away from psych ward home.

Yeah. Let's blame that. The fact that he spent his first year out of the hospital doing nothing but trying to beat his Tetris high score in his underwear and scouring the internet trying to find the tragically discontinued Triple Xtreme Face Pucker Nuclear Warheads had nothing to do with it.

"He's going to think I'm a serial killer," Dick realizes.

He's most of the way through Tetrising the unwieldy, surpringly heavy vases into the tiny cubicle the guest bathroom calls a shower—and he'd like to know whose idea *that* was when anyone with a lick of sense would have just made it a half-bath—when the buzzer for the lobby goes off.

"Crap," Dick mutters, taking half a step away from the tower, which wobbles ominously. He lunges to steady it. "Crap!"

He casts around for a surface and sets the last two vases on the toilet lid and the sink respectively, the stupid little Q-tip stick things rattling mockingly inside, then dashes out to tell the doorman that no, Roy's not a stalker, yes really, yes Dick wants you to let him up please, yes he is serious, yes he is sure. He has enough time to sprint back to the bathroom and make sure his hair is okay and confirm that at least he doesn't *look* as sweaty and disheveled as he *feels,* but thankfully not enough time to start worrying if he might be due early for another round of fillers or if his hairline might be receding or if the skin under his jaw might be sagging. He looks fine. Everything's fine.

When the doorbell rings, Dick has to pretend he doesn't know who's on the other side to get himself to finally open the door. His breath still catches when he sees him.

Roy, casual as ever, pushing a pair of Ray-Bans he told Dick he shoplifted as a teenager up his forehead. His crow's feet, because he stopped getting fillers at twenty-five, except *his* are laugh lines, not stress wrinkles, less those *Where Are They Now?* specials they used to do on VH1, more Paul Newman aging like fine wine. His crooked smile, and he doesn't whiten his teeth anymore either, teased Dick when he drove him for his root canal that he was destroying his enamel and then held his hand when they put him under. His scuffed bomber jacket, older than either of them, which sparked half a dozen anecdotes about an Uncle Hal when Dick brushed his fingers against a faded patch on the sleeve. His henley with three buttons undone, straining over the curve of his chest. His jeans tight around the thighs, a little threadbare in places after over a decade of wear. The whole of him, broad and easy in the doorway, unapologetically imperfect, smiling.

Dick just wants this to go well so *badly.* "Hi."

"Hi yourself," Roy says, shifting a little. "Can I come in?"

"Please."

Roy closes the door behind him, bending to unlace his boots. Dick's eyes catch for a second on the strain of his thighs against denim, and the nervous inane smalltalk on its way out of Dick's mouth dies on his lips.

Roy kicks the second boot off and straightens up, dusting his palms off on his thighs, which probably shouldn't make Dick's mouth fill with saliva the way it does. He's looking around the entryway, curious. "Nice place."

*Don't mention the vases.* "You think so? I keep meaning to update a little."

"Yeah, man, it's nice," Roy says easily, and he's lying but Dick can barely tell, which is kind of him. "You want to show me around?"

No, Dick does not want to show him around. No, he does not want to discover alongside Roy what other modern minimalist nightmares the interior design team saw fit to install in case Dick got too overstimulated by non-neutral colors and tried to kill himself again.

"I want to show you the media room," Dick says, which at least has the benefit of actually being true.

The "whoa" Roy lets out when they enter the media room is gratifying. It's most people's reaction when they see it. It's always gratifying.

"Is that a pinball machine?" Roy asks.

Dick grins. "You wanna play?"

"Hell yeah, just. Later. You have so much cool shit here, show me all of it—"

Maybe the other reason Dick barely knows what the rest of his apartment looks like is because this is where he spends most of his time. Freshly discharged from the hospital, Dick had scarfed down his face-sized burrito, faceplanted on the bed, slept like a log for about two days straight and woken up not entirely sure what year it was or why. He looked around the room, remembered it was his, flicked on the lamp on his bedside table and didn't like it any better in the light. It was the smooth plasticine decor that Dick's belatedly come to realize populated the entire apartment, featureless, meaningless, trying desperately to be mature by being entirely devoid of interest. *My bedroom pays taxes,* Dick remembers thinking. *My bedroom has a 401k.* He grabbed his meds from his bedside table and stuffed them in his sweatpants pocket before wrapping himself in the big gray down comforter and dragging it to what he supposed was the den, flopping on the couch and sleeping for another six hours, eventually waking with the cap of PRAZOSIN - 10MG - GRAYSON, RICHARD J digging into his hip.

Time was sort of soupy a lot of the time back before he got his ADHD diagnosis, because of the brain fog. For the longest time his psychiatrists kept adjusting his Wellbutrin dose pretending they thought that had a chance in hell of working while Dick sat listlessly in their offices, missing meth. It wasn't until later when Jason Todd of all people dragged him to a specialist (because "if I have it, you definitely have it" successfully nettled Dick into going just to prove him wrong, except of course it turned out the bastard was right) and Dick found a new psychiatrist who was halfway competent and put him on Adderall that he really felt at all present again. The psychiatrist he has now, who is from hell and who doesn't let him get away with lying and who is incredibly good at her job, was the one who told him how much meth and ADHD stimulants have in common chemically.

Dick sat very still. Then he pointed to the throw cushion on the couch. "Can I borrow that for just a sec?"

"Take as long as you need."

Dick grabbed the pillow, buried his face in it, and screamed at the top of his lungs.

But for a while, yeah. Time was soup Dick was mostly afloat in. He spent it floating here.

Now that Dick is looking for it, he notices the gray in the floor and the walls, the aggressive featurelessness of even the window frames, but he likes the rest of the room enough not to mind. At one point he'd been irrationally angry at the pile of mail he'd put off opening for over a month, and he'd been going through a minor fixation with auction websites at the time, and there was an old, probably busted Ms Pac Man arcade machine up for sale and for some reason Dick latched onto it. For some reason winning the auction of the stupid Ms Pac Man machine was very briefly the most important thing in the world. And he did win the auction, because nobody else wanted the janky old thing, and to Dick's shock and delight it actually *worked*, and suddenly he had a project.

At first he bought and fixed up old arcade fixtures, classic games and pinball machines mostly but he dabbled in anything; he'd even gotten his hands on an air hockey table once. Then he'd get bored or run out of space, sell a bunch of things or even give them away if he was too sick of looking at them, and before terribly long he drifted away from arcades specifically. That part he credits to a film projector he ran into at a flea market and fell in love with, which prompted him to spend possibly obscene amounts of money on the sound system and improving the acoustics. He fell in love with a lot of objects, those days, maybe because he wasn't talking to *people* much. Not people who knew him well, anyway. He was on first name terms with his favorite antique dealers, one of whom inexplicably set aside an old Gibson electric guitar he found, a gorgeous machine in a charmingly 60s shade of Robin's egg blue, because he said it reminded him of Dick. Either because he somehow knew Dick would love it, or else because he knew Dick was a sucker with way too much money.

It didn't matter. Dick *did* love it, and he *is* a sucker with way too much money, and he *did* go straight home to almost give himself tinnitus playing every three-chord classic he knew at a truly unwise volume.

(Dick even replaced the original couch in this room because he kept falling asleep on it and his physical therapist threatened to quit over the havoc he was wreaking on his back. He's still not thrilled that he doesn't really sleep in bed ever, but the new couch isn't threatening to do permanent damage to his spine. Win/win in Dick's book.)

So. Not a home arcade, not a home theater, not a home studio. Scavenged bits and salvaged pieces, nostalgia probably in excess, anchors in time. Whatever magic they put in the air at antique stores and estate sales and really good museum exhibits, Dick managed to bottle a breath of it and take it home with him. When he finally started letting people into his life again, the unabashed delight often on their faces, walking into this room full of outdated obsolete frivolous things, sharing it with them… it's good. It feels good.

"Does that ancient popcorn machine actually work?" Roy asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning.

Dick matches it. "Yeah, and it's gonna knock your socks off."

So Dick gets the popcorn going and shows Roy around and silently laments that there was no way he could get his hands on film reels of The Muppet Show. Roy was almost as much of a geek about some of these machines as Dick was, and Dick had made it his whole personality for a while.

"It's just that there are some antique collectors that really don't mess around," Dick explained to Donna the week before, twisting and untwisting his napkin in his hands. "And I'm a competitive guy but some of the markets are totally cutthroat, and film people and puppet people are both intense. So this was better."

"Yeah, *and* it'd be insane to drop that kind of money on a first date," said Jason through a mouthful of bacon cheeseburger, Mister *we're not brothers we just played them on TV.* Dick had invited Donna to lunch, Jason had loudly said he was too busy to come, Dick said he wasn't invited, and Jason's schedule suddenly cleared up, *viola,* miracles do happen.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Dick told him.

"Die," Jason suggested pleasantly.

'Just played it on TV.' Sure.

"And it's not a date," Dick added belatedly, stomach swooping.

Jason had opened his mouth to probably say something horrible, as is his way, and instead let out a hilarious squeak, turning to Donna next to him in the booth with massive betrayed Bambi eyes.

She ignored him, continuing to pour Sweet-N-Low packets into her half-empty coffee as if she didn't just stomp on his foot under the table. She didn't really like coffee until it got to the consistency of artificially sweetened sludge. When they were young Donna was always on top of what was *in*, considering it part of her full-time job to appear effortlessly sophisticated; she skipped the teen-preteen fashion beat and shot straight to the big leagues by fifteen. They were putting the equivalent of a *sophomore in high school* on best dressed lists alongside grown-ass women. It should never have happened. No one should have *let* it happen. One time even before all that, Dick and Jason stole a box of Krispy Kreme donuts from catering and absconded to her trailer to share and she had a panic attack. Years later she described her youth as being in a room full of invisible mirrors at all times. Those days she wouldn't be caught dead with anything less chic than an espresso from whatever new *it* cafe just opened. And there she was, two decades later, blithely desecrating two-dollar-fifty diner coffee with enough aspartame to kill a cart horse in front of god and everyone. She was probably Dick's favorite person in the entire world, and he went into a little trance for a moment, watching her graceful hands with horrified fascination.

Finally satisfied, she took a sip of her monstrosity and hummed, satisfied with that which she hath wrought. "Wait and see," she suggested. "If it goes well, it can be a date."

"And everyone says *I'm* the crazy one," Jason griped, rubbing the prison stick-n-poke tattoo on one thumb with the other.

"Well, if everyone says it, it must be true," Donna said warmly, knocking her shoulder against Jason's.

#dc #roydick #dick and jason #dick and donna #ex child star au #dick grayson

17 notes · View notes

dreamondelphinus · 1 year

Text

An Overemotional Goodbye to The Owl House

Almost three months ago I was so desperate to watch a TV show that I had heard great things about, that I began to scour the internet in search of a free copy. Before the clock struck midnight, I had watched 33 episodes.

That was the day my obsession with the owl house began, my love for it all-consuming and inescapable. I jumped into the fandom headfirst, and found that the hyperfixation I had clung onto so suddenly was being torn away from me, and that there was only one episode remaining.

(I had mistakenly watched For the Future before it was released)

I've never been good with endings and goodbyes, and The Owl House was no different. In my paranoia of spoilers, I had avoided as much information on the show as possible and had jumped into the show's embrace without warning of what was coming. In books, you can see how many pages are left. It's done, there's nothing you can do to stop it from coming. With finished shows, you always know the last episode will be the last, regardless of your actions. But the Owl House? It felt as if my story was being cut short. Like a CD being broken halfway through. And if only I had somehow done more, I could have saved it.

And today's the day. It's here. The show that became my lifeblood, the story that told me that I could find love and acceptance where I stood in my hateful corner of the world.

"Us weirdos have to stick together!"

It had been my life's motto, my creed. The rule by which I learned to accept myself, care for others, and gain my first friends after years of rejection. And now it felt like that hateful world had come for my sanctuary.

It's ending tonight. I'm trying to prepare myself, to find new things to refocus my energy on. Every ending is a new beginning, and with the Owl House done, I will be channeling all the love and hate and happiness, and anger into YouTube, where I'll carve out my little refuge from the world once more.

I'm trying so hard to be happy. It's bittersweet. It is still an ending, but the trailer encases literally everything I would ever ask for in a finale. And there are few things I've looked forward to more than seeing Luz, the first character I could fully see myself in, finally win.

"Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed."

-GK Chesterson

I, like many others will be forced to move on. Like Gravity Falls taught us, nothing lasts forver. And so I'll go out into the world, carrying everything this story has given me, in search of my own dragons.

#toh #the owl house #The owl house season 3 #toh season 3 #toh season finale #Watching and Dreaming #Rant #Luz Noceda #Toh luz

9 notes · View notes

rainbowsandwhumperflies · 1 year

Text

whumptober day three!

No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.” Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”

tws: stabbing mention, torture themes, captivity, creepy whumper, noncon bath mention (nonsexual) (it's all written in a journal so it's more whumpee thinking about the things than them happening in real time)

2100 words

August 16

Whumper doesn’t make mistakes, especially not mistakes as big as leaving random shit in my cell. Everything they do is deliberate, which means that leaving this here had to be for some purpose. And really, it doesn’t take Whumper’s level of intricate planning to know not to leave valuable objects in the cell of your prisoner.

Well. I guess ‘valuable’ is subjective. This journal doesn’t look like much. Maybe twenty bucks at most if they went to Target instead of Walmart. It’s August right now, if I’ve been counting correctly—kids are buying back-to-school supplies. I’ll bet Whumper saw this displayed when they walked in and bought it as some sort of joke. Except, if they were going to make fun of me for this, they would’ve made a big deal about this while they were here. They wouldn’t have left it in the corner for me to find later, but I have a hard time believing it was left here by mistake.

So.

I think it must be for the back-to-school months. It’s for kids. They don’t sell these for adults unless you scour the internet for small businesses, which I can’t picture Whumper doing. And they don’t sell them for kids unless they’re preparing for school.

Still. A shark notebook. With matching shark gel pens. In different shark colors.

Whumper has to be playing some kind of game with me.

I used to journal all the time. Not coherently. I wouldn’t really write very much. I would tape little things in the pages and just write what they were next to them. I was terrified that if I didn’t document everything, there would be nothing left of me when I died. And maybe I was right, because the police haven’t found me and Whumper still has me and really, what confirmation do I have that anyone’s actually looking?

Well, anyway. If anyone at my funeral misses me, they’ll be able to look through catalogs of every receipt I’ve ever gotten. And random concert tickets and pressed flowers. There’s probably some candy wrappers in there too, with little handwriting about where I was when I ate the candy. I didn’t really look through them after putting things in there, but thinking about it now, they probably look cool. I’d actually really like to look back through them.

Maybe this is the game Whumper is playing. I write in this notebook, and they read through, and find out my deepest desires and thoughts, and they try to bribe me for the information they want.

Maybe they think I’ll write the information down right here. I’m not quite that stupid, actually. Still, this is one of Whumper’s games and I know that and I’m interacting with the game anyway, which is stupid. Whumper, if you read this, please don’t try to bribe me with my old diaries. Bribe me with something cool. Like one of those hot tubs where you can control all the individual jets.

This is stupid. Everything I’m writing in here is stupid. I don’t know why I’m doing this.

Maybe it’s the weird human interaction thing. I had a friend who used to tell me that lots of journaling was from people who had no one to talk to, so they talked to the void instead. She thought everyone was lonely. I think she was lonely.

Anyway, Dear Diary, welcome to wherever we are. I don’t actually know the location. I guess we’ll just have to find out.

August 17

Dear Diary,

I’m gonna have to find a better way to open these. I am not a twelve year old girl. “Dear Diary” is awkward, and also a little bit too fun and whimsical of a way to open a journal entry about getting stabbed.

I was stabbed today. If you were wondering. Yay.

And I was waiting to see if Whumper brought this notebook up while we were talking ("talking". lol), and they didn’t. So that’s just going to get ignored, I guess.

Medic might be here soon. They’re not mean in the same way as Whumper. They don’t cause me extra pain on purpose, but they’ve had to stitch me up a couple times, and even if the pain isn’t extra, it’s still painful.

Once I had to get held down while they patched me up. It was within the first few days of me being here. I was stupid, and wouldn’t stay still, because I wasn’t sure if Medic was here to help or hurt or somewhere in between. Some raggedy guy had to hold me down, and I’ve never seen him since. Medic definitely works here of their own free will, but that other guy might’ve been another prisoner. I think I’d actually like to see him again, to talk to if nothing else. Do you know how nice it would be to just have a normal conversation with someone for one day?

And do you know how long it’s been since someone hugged me? I was stabbed today, making that very low on my list of priorities, but it’s still there.

Fuck me. All these fancy shark pens and no erasers or whiteout. Yeah, I’m screwed if Whumper reads this.

August 19

I’ve decided to give up on introductions, because “Dear Diary” isn’t going to fly and I don’t know what else to put.

Anyway, someone was screaming today. I haven’t seen Whumper. I wonder if that’s why. It’s not like I find joy in other people’s pain, but if some stranger is getting tortured and keeping Whumper away from me, then

Well, obviously that’s not a good thing! Still! Because no one deserves to get tortured! I have a moral compass!

But also Whumper terrifies me and if I can go a day without seeing them, well, that isn’t exactly a bad thing, I think.

I was thinking, yesterday, about Caretaker. That’s a name I definitely will not be putting a last name to and probably shouldn’t have ever written where Whumper can read. But she’s looking for me, I think. She must be. She has to know I wouldn’t just disappear off the face of the earth, right? Whumper is good at what they do, but so is Caretaker. If anyone can find me, she can. I’m not sure how, because I don’t even know where I am, but I think she’ll figure it out.

Besides, I’m journaling. That means even if I can’t remember, which happens sometimes, we’ll have a record of what happened!! Well, I’m not actually very good at keeping records. But we’ll know that I was stabbed two days ago. And as of right now while I’m writing this out, we’ll know that it luckily was not deep enough to need stitches.

August 22

Dear Diary,

Cringe culture sucks and “Dear Diary” is a fine way to start these out, I think. I need to stop overthinking this. Introductory greetings to a piece of paper are not my biggest problem right now.

I think the biggest problem is actually that Medic bathed me this morning. Which was weird. For multiple reasons. The biggest one being that I was way grosser than I thought. The bath water was disgusting.

No, actually, the biggest reason it was weird is because my hair is the softest it’s ever been in my entire life. And Medic didn’t want to make small talk and wouldn’t tell me what brand of shampoo we were using. If I ever get out of this place, I’ll never be able to recreate the gorgeous thing my hair is right now.

If I ever get out of this place, Caretaker will smack me in the face with this notebook for not keeping a better record. Okay.

So, yesterday Whumper tortured me. The day before that, Whumper tortured me. The day before that, well, I think we get the picture.

Okay. Maybe a useful piece of information. There’s a window in my cell, and I can see the moon out of it. And I can see some stars, and I recognize the Orion constellation. That has to be helpful somehow, right?

My bones are going to rot in this place. That wouldn’t be helpful even if I could tell someone. Maybe this is actually the purpose of the journal: to remind me that there isn’t a single person I can talk to besides myself.

August 23

Dear DIary,

Yeah, no, the purpose of the notebook is definitely so that Whumper could find things out by reading it. They read it right in front of me this morning. I haven’t felt that awkward since that time my mom read through my text conversations when I was sixteen. And my mom never laughed at me, just sat there uncomfortably. Whumper laughed at everything I wrote.

Word travels fast here, I guess. Whumper hit my arm, Medic came in to patch me up, and apparently Medic had also heard about what I’d written. I already knew Whumper was going to read it, but Medic feels like a violation of privacy. At least they told me the shampoo brand after knowing how badly I’d wanted it. But Medic always has to be pompous and uppity and told me how my journaling looked from a psychology perspective.

(As if they’re smart enough for that. Their job is to sew people up so that a criminal can continue pulling the threads loose. It seems counterproductive.)

Anyway, Medic says I use this as a crutch for escapism. They said I’d write more about what’s actually being done to me if it was a record. They said that the journal would keep me just sane enough for Whumper to keep messing with me, which, okay. I’m trying not to think about that too much, because when I think about it I think it might be working, and that wouldn’t be ideal. I am trying to keep myself completely sane, actually. And it’s working better than Medic thinks.

Medic doesn’t know what they’re talking about. They don’t even know the difference between saw sharks and saw fish.

August 25

Dear Diary,

I was wrong. I was so so so wrong, I knew I shouldn’t have written down things that I wanted, because shit.

Whumper hugged me today.

Whumper fucking. They sat down on the floor of my cell, and they just, like, waited until I stopped shaking and started kind of petting my hair?

They laughed at me, when they were reading that I wanted a hug. But then today they hugged me, and when I started crying they started comforting me. And of course, of course I wanted to walk away, but once again, I can’t remember the last time I was hugged!

Whumper is playing games. It’s not real, and I know that, but it kind of felt real? And shit, Caretaker would be so much better at this than me. Caretaker would not fold just for a fucking hug, but last time someone touched me gently was before I even came here. And Caretaker isn’t here.

And I am tired. Okay? I am tired of getting hit every day for the sake of information that really is not that important to me. And maybe if I gave it to Whumper, they’d let me go, right? We’d figure things out from there, if I just gave them the information.

September 3

Dear Diary,

I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up for. Whumper is very good at physical torture, and better at psychological games. I can feel myself slipping, and I can’t even do anything to stop myself. Caretaker would be able to hold out, I bet, but I’m glad they’re not here, because I wouldn’t want them to have to. But Whumper was talking to me today, and they said that having one of Leader’s best strategists was more important to Leader winning than keeping their secret a secret. Whumper says that if I give up the information, I’ll go free, which is more valuable than the information.

I don’t really believe them. The fact that they have to try to convince me like this says a lot more than anything coming out of their mouth. But I’m tired. Leader can’t blame me for that. If they wanted me to keep my mouth shut, they would’ve come sooner. And I’m not going to pretend that Whumper has no ulterior motives, but at least they’re up front about it. And Whumper will let me go if I give up, and I am tired of being hurt.

Whumper has started bathing me, rather than Medic. Medic only touches me when I am injured, and their touch is cold and impersonal and I know how to deal with it. Whumper is so so gentle while they massage my scalp with one hand and dig fingers into old wounds with the other. I don’t know how to keep up with this. I’m tired. I don’t want to keep being hurt.

#whumptober 2023 #whumptober day three #no.1 #journal #lyric #fic #intimate whumper #stabbing #captivity whump #rainbow's whump #rainbow's drabbles #whump #whump writing #once again. this is my first whumptober so if you notice something's up with my tags please tell me lmao #also ignore how late it is we're still half an hour away from today's deadline where i am #first person pov

4 notes · View notes

kaiser1ns · 1 month

Text

#. LIKE A BOY WITH LUV

featuring 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗸𝗮 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

fluff + slight angst + slight suggestive. welcome to the top 10 moments in your relationship with the one and only chika!

word count :: 5,5 k. SOFT CHIKA. he is probably ooc but we all need soft chika in moments of madness.

DATING TAKIISHI CHIKA WOULD INCLUDE him sleeping over at your place. He's been here before, but never in your room—absolutely never. But now he has to be, because the couch is too small for two people, and you wouldn't dare sleep in your parents' room. The moment he steps inside, he insists on taking the couch instead.

"Why do you have so many posters on your walls, door, shelves… everywhere?" he asks, his eyes narrowing as he glances around. The thought of someone else watching you while you sleep, study, and—most importantly—dress makes him uneasy. His gaze finally settles on you, and he notices the sad, uncertain look in your eyes.

"I know it's weird," you admit. "But I decorated my room years ago. I just don't have the heart to take them down or change anything."

He could easily tear them off, but he won't. He always lets you be because he doesn’t care if you like some Korean idol or fictional character. He has you every day and night in his arms; he gets to receive your kisses, not them.

"I don't care," he says. Normally, hearing that might make you question your life choices, but right now, it makes you happier than ever.

"Great! Because we're going to sing all of their—" you begin, turning your back to him. But before you can finish, he takes your hand and pulls you toward him, your back pressing against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. He rests his head on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

"You are mine," he murmurs. You smile softly, knowing that, of course, you are his—forever and always.

WHEN YOU TRY TO MAKE HIM SMILE after all, you’d been dating him for a while, noticing the way he often seemed lost in his thoughts, burdened by something only he knew. You couldn't help but want to see him smile—really smile. So, you did what any sensible person would do in this situation: you scoured the internet for the cheesiest pick-up lines you could find!

Armed with a list of laughably terrible lines, you approached him, a grin on your face that you hoped was disarming. “Hey, Chika,” you started, catching his attention as he looked up from whatever had him so engrossed. His eyes met yours, and for a split second, you felt your heart skip a beat. There was something about the way he looked at you—calm, a little curious, but always with that distant frown. You cleared your throat and continued “Are you a magician? Because whenever I look at you, everyone else disappears.” It was cringe-worthy, and you knew it, but that was the point. You wanted to see if you could pull a reaction out of him, anything to turn that frown upside down.

He blinked at you, utterly unimpressed, though his eyes softened slightly. That was a start, right?

Undeterred, you threw another one at him. “Are you a firecracker? Because with that red hair, you are igniting sparks in my heart.” This one earned you a small sigh, and you could have sworn you saw the faintest hint of a mile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You are on a roll now. “Do you have a name, or can I call you mine?” This time, his gaze sharpened, and he raised an eyebrow at you. Before you could read too much into it, he was suddenly right in front of you, closer than you’d ever been to him.

"Chika, I—"

But you didn’t get to finish. His hands came up to cup your face, his touch surprisingly gentle, yet firm enough that you couldn’t pull away—not that you wanted to. Your heart raced as his face leaned in, and just like that, he kissed you. It was so unexpected, so sudden, that your brain short-circuited. All the flirty remarks you'd prepared flew right out the window as you stood there, wide-eyed and speechless.

When he finally pulled back, you were left blinking at him, utterly dumbfounded. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. The little smile on his face said it all. It was subtle, barely there, but it was real. And that made it all worth it.

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with your cheeks warm, heart pounding, and your mind replaying that kiss on a loop. You were too stunned to follow him, but one thing was for sure: you'd definitely managed to turn his frown upside down.

OR WHEN YOU TRY YOUR MAKE UP ON HIM as you sit on his lap, feeling the warmth of his gentle touch as his hands rest on your waist. His grip is tender, but at the same you can't escape. You open your makeup kit, the tools of your craft laid out before you. Today, he is your model, and you take a moment to admire how natural he looks before applying makeup to his face, you can’t help but notice how intensely he gazes at you. Those bright like the sun eyes seem to penetrate your very soul, filled with a warmth and light that never fails to make your heart flutter.

You reach for the lip glosses, holding up a few options for him to choose from. "Baby, which one do you want? Strawberry, coconut, blueberry, or apple?" you ask, fully expecting him to make a casual choice. But instead, he pauses, his eyes never leaving yours.

He doesn’t look at the options in your hand; instead, his gaze remains locked on yours. "You," his voice is calm, steady like he’s telling you a simple fact rather than something that makes your heart race.

His response catches you off guard. It's not just what he says but the way he says it—so casual as if there could never be any other answer. It's a simple statement, yet it carries so much meaning.

You blink, trying to process his words, feeling a rush of warmth flood your cheeks. It’s such a simple response, yet it holds so much weight. He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and maybe to him, it is. To him, there’s no better choice, no sweeter flavor than you.

THAT ONE TIME WHEN you told him to give you his hand, and he hesitated for a moment before slowly extending it toward you. His hand is warm, rougher than yours, and as you place your hand in his, the difference is almost amusing. Your fingers are smaller, more delicate, and it’s clear that he notices it too because he tilts his head, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

“What are you doing?” his eyes search yours, trying to decipher the meaning behind your actions.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you gently curl your fingers around his, intertwining them together. The moment your fingers lock, you look up at him with a smile that holds all the warmth in your heart. “I just wanted to remind you how much I love you,” you say quietly, your voice sincere and steady. “I’ll always hold you close, no matter what. No matter how tough things get, I’ll be here.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. His expression doesn’t change, his gaze is locked on your joined hands. The silence stretches on, and you start to wonder if you’ve said too much or if maybe he wasn’t ready to hear those words. But then, just as doubt begins to creep in, you feel it—a gentle, almost hesitant squeeze of his hand. It’s not much, but it’s enough. That simple, quiet gesture says everything he can’t put into words.

Your heart swells, a warmth spreading through your chest as you squeeze his hand back. He feels the same, even if he struggles to express it. And that’s enough for you.

WATCHING CHIKA PLAY VIDEO GAMES is like stepping into a minefield. You never know when something's going to explode, but you can bet it's going to happen. Especially when he plays those games that demand cooperation with strangers online—games like Valorant or League of Legends, where he's forced to rely on people who, in his eyes, are less skilled than a nine year old on Roblox. But no, it’s much worse. You’re dealing with an agitated, competitive young man who hates losing and loathes incompetence. And right now, he’s losing. Badly.

This particular evening, you’re lounging on his bed, the soft, comforting scent of his cologne adoring the shirt you are wearing, as you scroll through your phone while he’s immersed in yet another tense match. The faint clicking of keys and the muffled sound of gunfire from his headphones are a constant background noise. You're used to it, comfortable even. But then, out of nowhere, the calm shatters with a loud bang that makes you jump.

Your eyes dart up, and there he is, standing beside his desk with his keyboard now on the floor in pieces. For a second, you just stare at the mess, blinking, before your gaze shifts to Chika’s face. His eyes are wild, lips twisted in frustration, and you can almost see the steam pouring from his ears, fists are clenched at his sides, and his whole body is vibrating with barely contained rage. This is the third keyboard he’s destroyed this month, and honestly, you’re surprised it lasted this long.

He’s furious, and it’s visible. If he could reach through the screen and strangle his teammates, you’re pretty sure he would. You've seen this side of him enough times to know what’s coming next—he’s going to stew in his anger, huffing and puffing like an agitated dragon until he either cools off on his own or… well, that’s where you come in.

"Come here, baby," you say, your voice calm and gentle as you open your arms. The words are barely out of your mouth when he whirls around to face you. His anger hasn’t subsided, his eyes wide with anger, his expression a mixture of frustration and desperation. But the moment he sees you, the invitation in your posture, something inside him shifts.

He practically collapses into your embrace. His head finds its usual spot against your chest, his long red hair falling over your arm as you cradle him close. You gently run your fingers through his hair, feeling the tension slowly melt out of his body. His breathing evens out, the rage simmering down as he lets you soothe him.

“I will fuckin' murder them,” he mutters, his words are harsh, but the way he clings to you betrays the vulnerability he hides beneath his anger. You continue to stroke his hair, your fingers gliding through the strands in a slow, rhythmic motion that seems to pull him deeper into your embrace. His tense muscles gradually relax, the rigid line of his back softening as he presses closer, as if trying to meld himself into you.

You’ve always had this strange effect on him—like a balm to his fiery temperament. It’s not something he understands, and maybe that’s why he resists it so much at times. Why you? Why is it that when he’s with you, the darkness he carries feels a little lighter? The questions swirl in his mind, but he doesn’t voice them. He never does. He just lets the comfort of your presence seep into his bones, chasing away the bitterness that so often lingers there.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice soothing like a lullaby. "But you will never meet these people. Just stay with me."

There’s a long pause, and you can feel his breathing even out, the rapid rise and fall of his chest slowing as he calms down. His fingers, which had been gripping the fabric of your (his) shirt tightly, loosen their hold. The storm inside him is dissipating, replaced by something quieter, something that’s almost peaceful.

He buries his face against your chest again, and you feel his body grow heavier as he begins to drift off. It’s in these moments, when he’s finally calm, that you see the Takiishi Chika who isn’t consumed by anger or driven by some need to prove himself. The one who just wants to be held, to feel safe, to be loved. It’s always like this—his fiery temper burning hot and fast, but as soon as he’s in your arms, it starts to flicker and fade. He talks more when he's with you, and opens up in ways he doesn’t with anyone else. You don’t know why, and maybe neither does he.

And as he starts to breathe more calmly, his body slackening in your arms as sleep takes over, you can’t help but smile. You don’t know how or why you have this effect on him, why you’re the one who can reach him when no one else can. But you’re grateful for it, for being the one he turns to when the world becomes too much.

HE'D NEVER LET YOU WALK HOME ALONE IN THE DARK no matter the distance. If you need him, he’ll drop everything to be there for you. Tonight, though, he knows he won’t be sharing a bed with you. You’re too inebriated for that.

You jump into his arms, and the moment your body presses against his, he wrinkles his nose ever so slightly at the faint scent of alcohol on you. His face, usually so stoic and unreadable, remains impassive, but the way he holds you is anything but indifferent. His arms are firm around you, though there's a subtle tension in his grip that tells you he’s less than thrilled by the situation.

"My boyfriend is sooo hot!” you exclaim, your words a bit slurred but filled with an exuberance that’s hard to ignore. You lean in, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek, the sound of your smooch exaggerated and loud. “A hot mess!”

Chika's expression remains as bored as ever, but his eyes soften as he looks down at you. It’s clear he’s making an effort to tolerate the situation, and while he doesn't voice his annoyance, the firmness of his embrace hints at his internal struggle. He’s not thrilled about sharing a bed with a tipsy girlfriend, and you can tell he’s already planning on making other arrangements for the night.

But despite his irritation, there’s a part of him that’s undeniably protective. As you snuggle into him, eyes fluttering closed, you can feel his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. The way he adjusts you gently in his arms, positioning you comfortably while you drift off. He might not be pleased about the current state of affairs, but he’s here, and he’s making sure you’re taken care of.

So, as you fall asleep nestled against him, oblivious to the displeasure etched into his features, Chika’s demeanor doesn’t change. He’s stuck between annoyance and affection, but for tonight, he’s just glad you’re safe and sound in his arms.

DESPITE HIS SOFTNESS HE IS STILL A BEAST you feel the weight of the argument settle heavily between you and him. It doesn't take much to set him off these days—just a casual interaction, a harmless question from someone who wanted directions, and suddenly you're faced with the beast he becomes when he’s enraged.

Chika has always had a possessive streak, but it's different now. It’s not just about wanting you close; it's about wanting to eliminate any potential threat, real or imagined, that comes between you. You hate how he turns his wrath on those around him, how his fists clench and his posture shifts into something aggressive and threatening. Even though he's never laid a hand on you—he never does, but you feel cornered by his anger as the sight of his rage makes you feel like you're walking a tightrope, trying not to provoke him further.

You try to explain again, voice steady but tinged with frustration, “Chika, I told you, I was just helping him find his way.” But his expression doesn’t soften. Instead, it hardens even more, and you can see the conflict brewing within him. His loyalty to you is unwavering, but his reactions are a reminder of the darker side of him that you’ve tried so hard to ignore.

It’s disorienting how quickly the sweet, loving moments you shared with him seem to fade into nothingness. Those tender smiles, the soft words, and the way he would hold you close—it's all eclipsed by this fierce, possessiveness that consumes him now. It makes you question if those moments were ever real, or if they were just illusions in the face of the monster he’s become, the monster he was.

The man in front of you is a reminder that people do change, and sometimes they tend to hold onto their roots. You find yourself grappling with the reality that the person you fell in love with has morphed into someone who is controlled by his darker impulses, his need to dominate and protect you to the point where it feels suffocating.

But Chika's not in a mood for explanations, he is in a mood for actions. It’s disorienting and terrifying to see someone you care about transform into such a force of nature, all for something so trivial. You feel the monster inside him, not as a physical entity but as an emotional weight that presses down on your chest. It’s a burden you didn’t expect to carry, a reminder of the intensity and volatility that he has always harbored. It’s a harsh reality to confront, especially when you realize that no matter how much love you offer, it might not be enough to quell the beast he becomes in moments of anger.

In moments like these, you wonder if it’s worth it—if the love you once shared can withstand such things. You’ve seen the beast he becomes, and despite your love, you can’t ignore the fact that this change is profound and unsettling. Is this the price of love, and can you truly bear the cost?

“Just… don’t follow me,” you say, your voice trembling. He watches you for a moment, his expression unreadable, with that, you turn and head home, each step echoing with the decision you’ve made. The distance between you stretches with every stride, and though you feel a pang of sadness, there’s also a sense of relief. Sometimes, even love needs space to breathe.

TAKIISHI CHIKA DOESN'T SEEM TO CARE as it has been two weeks since you weren’t talking to him. As a result, you had been slowly getting more depressed as the days went forward. You had never gone this long without him. Yes, he had his flaws, but he is also a human being. Your friends had been talking to you, of course. They had been in this situation before, sort of, so they were much more sympathetic. It still hurt though.

You wanted him to comfort you and love you, but at the same time, you didn't wish to see him, because he could see how upset you were, you were hurting and he couldn't do anything to fix it. You had forgiven him like you always do, but he still felt like he messed up somehow.

Choosing the avoiding route and currently lying in your bed on a Sunday night. He had been calling you, but you didn't feel like seeing your depression reflect off of him. Endo called you too, but you didn't feel like hearing about how your boyfriend was probably beating people up.

As soon as the phone buzzed for the nth time, you jolted up in bed, heart racing with anticipation. Your eyes squinted as you reached for the bright screen, still adjusting to the dark room. The display read "Endo" and you let out a shaky breath before swiping to answer.

"Yes?" You asked sleepily into the receiver.

"Y/N! Thank goodness you are alive. Look, your boyfriend has gone insane!" You flinched at the way he said the word boyfriend until his words sunk in. "Chika?" You sat up in bed, already looking for your clothes. "Yes, who else, sillyhead? Hurry over here, yeah. I can’t stop this wildfire by myself.” the call ended as you received a message with a location.

You were out the door in minutes, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The crisp night air slapped you awake as you hurried down the familiar streets, your mind racing with worry. What had Chika done now? The thought of him being reckless, perhaps even dangerous, gnawed at your already fragile heart. The argument replayed in your mind—how his words had cut deep, leaving you raw and distant for the past two weeks. But now, none of that mattered. If he was in trouble, you had to be there.

The location Endo sent you was a secluded spot, one you recognized instantly. It was the clearing where you and Chika used to light fireworks together before you started dating. Back then, it was a place of laughter and stolen glances, where the sparks in the sky mirrored the sparks between you two. But after you got together, the tradition had faded, lost in the chaos of your relationship.

Your steps slowed as you approached the clearing, your breath hitching at the sight before you. There he was, Chika, crouched by a small pile of fireworks. His face was illuminated by the soft glow of a lighter, his expression a mix of concentration and something else—something that made your chest tighten. Was it regret? Sorrow? Or maybe he was just lost, like you.

You hesitated, lingering at the edge of the clearing. The tension in your chest was almost unbearable. You wanted to rush to him, to yell, to cry, but you were rooted to the spot, unsure of how to bridge the gap that had grown between you two. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too focused on the fire.

The first set of fireworks shot into the sky, exploding in a burst of color. The sound echoed in the still night, pulling you out of your trance. Your feet moved on their own, carrying you closer to him.

"Chika," you called softly, your voice barely audible over the crackling fireworks. He didn’t respond right away. For a moment, you wondered if he had even heard you over the loud noise. But then, you saw his shoulders tense slightly before he turned his head just enough to glance at you. His eyes, usually so intense, were shadowed as if hiding whatever was brewing behind them.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to close the distance between you. With each step, your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled to find the right words. What could you say to fix what had been broken between you?

Just as you reached him, another firework shot up, painting the sky in brilliant hues of red and gold. For a second, you both looked up, watching the explosion together, but the silence between you felt heavier than ever.

Your gaze shifted back to him, searching for any sign that he was willing to talk, to listen. But before you could say anything, movement caught your eye. Endo was standing a few feet away, his nose clearly bloodied, yet he was grinning like a fool. He met your eyes and gave you a thumbs up, a silent message that he had done his part. You didn’t need to ask what had happened—you knew Chika must have taken out his frustrations on him.

Endo’s grin softened as he took a step back, then another, before turning to leave. He walked away slowly, giving you the space you needed, but not before shooting one last playful wink your way.

As he disappeared into the darkness, you turned back to Chika. He was still silent, his gaze piercing, but there was a softness in it now, a plea that his pride wouldn’t let his voice. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but the words caught in your throat.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Chika reached out, his hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before it touched yours. His fingers were rough, but his grip was gentle, almost hesitant as if he were afraid you might pull away. You didn’t. Instead, you squeezed back, letting him know that despite everything, you were still here, still with him.

That small gesture seemed to break something in him. He tugged you closer, and suddenly you were enveloped in his arms, his warmth surrounding you like a protective shield. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you could feel his breath hitch, the way his hold tightened slightly as if he needed the reassurance that you were really there.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the sight of the fireworks that continued to light up the sky above you. You couldn’t see them clearly, but you could hear them, the loud bangs and crackles matching the rapid beat of your heart.

Chika didn’t need to speak—his actions told you everything he couldn’t say out loud. He didn't care if you were mad at him or if you would talk to him all day or be silent for 2 weeks. All he cared about was you being here with him. His touch was gentle like he was scared of breaking you, breaking whatever fragile connection still existed between you two. His thumb brushed against your back, a small, soothing motion that made your breath catch.

You stayed like that for what felt like forever, wrapped in each other’s arms as the world exploded in colors above you. The fireworks mirrored the emotions between you—brilliant, intense, and fleeting, but unforgettable.

Finally, Chika broke the silence, his voice low and rough with emotion. “The sky is pretty isn't it?” the words a quiet declaration that resonated deep within you. You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. You were his, and he was yours, forever and always.

HE IS ALWAYS DIRECT ABOUT HIS NEEDS when his arms are wrapped around you as the two of you lay cuddling, bodies perfectly aligned, his steady heartbeat a comforting rhythm against your ear. His hand absentmindedly traced patterns along your back, sending gentle making you seek his warmth more.

But as always, a little bit of mischief couldn’t hurt. Smiling to yourself, you quietly slipped out of his embrace under the pretense of tying up your hair. You could feel his eyes on you, watching with that curiosity he often had, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He didn’t seem to notice yet, his attention shifting back to his phone, lost in whatever video he was watching.

You returned to his side, tucking yourself back into his arms. The two of you resumed your previous position, his fingers lazily tracing circles on your back. You waited, heartbeat slightly quickening as anticipation built.

Minutes passed. Then, you felt him stiffen, his fingers pausing on your skin. He must have seen it. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head as he processed the sight before him. Slowly, his hand slid up to your neck, where the faux hickey sat brazenly, dark against your skin.

“What’s this?” Chika’s voice was low, laced with something between confusion and possessiveness. You feigned surprise, turning your head to look at him, your eyes wide and innocent.

“Oh, that? I didn’t even realize it was there,” you replied , your heart pounding with excitement.

He narrowed his eyes, the intense, burning gaze making you squirm under its weight. A flicker of jealousy danced behind his usual calm demeanor, his jaw clenched ever so slightly. For a moment, he seemed torn, battling with the surge of emotions swirling inside him. Then, with a sudden, predatory move, he pinned you down on the bed, his body hovering over yours, caging you in.

You felt a thrill run through you as his eyes bored into yours, searching, questioning. He reached out, his fingers brushing over the mark, only to see the purple eyeshadow transfer onto his skin. The realization hit him, and he squinted at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You think you’re funny?” he murmured, his tone was controlled, but you could hear the edge in his voice.

His fingers brushed over your neck again, more deliberately this time, as if marking the spot for where the real thing would go. You smiled sheepishly, but before you could respond, he leaned down, his lips ghosting over your skin. “Let me show you what a real one feels like.” and you knew you were in for it.

TAKIISHI CHIKA LOVES YOU LIKE THERE IS NO TOMMOROW and congrats on making it this far! Once he sets his eyes, mind, and heart on something, or rather someone, he won’t let go until he is completely satisfied, until he devoured it all. Love is a complex and mysterious experience, full of surprises and unknowns. Just like a gift from a stranger, it can be unexpected, sometimes fleeting, but it has the potential to change your life in profound ways. It's that unpredictability and the sense of wonder that makes it so captivating and special. Even though it can be challenging, the beauty lies in its ability to bring out the best in us, to teach us, and to connect us with others in ways we never imagined.

He gets to experience everything when he is with you. Who are you to make him keep thinking of you? It hurts his pride and ego, getting all worked up. Takiishi can't control his body, he is getting dizzy, and drunken on your love. You were no easy catch, more like you were the rarest gem in the mine, the most searched painting that got lost in the wars centuries ago, a flower that sprouts only once and that's why he wants you, to keep you only for him and himself only. He can't control his heart, it's ridiculous. Can you feel in his breath how much he wants you? He is addicted, your existence brings him to another dimension. Can you feel the love tonight?He has lost his mind, but it's his kind of love.

Takiishi kisses you like it's too good to be true, as if good is the new bad and bad is the new good. He is so hungry for your love, he is never full as he holds you tight before his lips meet yours. Intoxicated with your sweet scent, your honeyed voice when you say his name. He wanna be locked in you and swim in you, to know you more, an explorer venturing through your abyss. It’s not over yet, in the middle of a beautiful night he confesses to you, with the moon as your guiding light, revealing your desires.

Everything is a blur of sensations—his hands on your body, his lips on your skin, the way you whisper his name like it’s a prayer, a vow, a declaration. You lose yourself in him, in the way he makes you feel, in the way he consumes you completely. And when he finally pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes, you can see the raw, unfiltered emotion in his gaze, the way he’s completely lost in you, as if you’re the only thing that matters, the only thing that’s real.

The warmth of his embrace engulfs you, a silent promise of what’s to come. His fingers trace patterns on your skin, each stroke igniting a fire that burns hotter, deeper. You can feel his heartbeat, wild and erratic, matching the rhythm of your own as his hands begin to explore, memorizing every curve, every contour, as if he’s trying to etch you into his very soul.

His breath hitches as he leans in, his lips hovering just above your skin, teasing you with the promise of a touch that never quite lands. You close your eyes, surrendering to the sensation, to the anticipation that builds with each passing second. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer until there’s nothing left between you but the thin barrier of your clothes, and even that feels like too much.

He moves with purpose, yet there’s a tenderness in his touch, a reverence that makes your heart ache. It’s as if he’s worshiping you, treating every inch of your body as sacred, a temple he’s vowed to protect and cherish. And in that moment, you realize you’re no longer just you; you’re a part of him, intertwined in a way that’s impossible to untangle. He’s not just holding you; he’s claiming you, marking you as his, and in doing so, offering himself to you in return. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the barely restrained need, as if he’s holding back just enough to keep from losing himself completely. But you want him to lose control, to let go, to show you just how deeply he feels, how much he wants you.

There’s no need for words; everything you need to say is conveyed in the way your bodies move together, in the way he looks at you like you’re his entire world. And when you finally collapse into each other, satisfied, there’s a moment of perfect stillness, of quiet contentment, where the only sound is the soft beat of his heart against yours.

taglsit :: @maruflix @fushigurioo

#✧* ꜝ wind breaker #✧* ꜝ takiishi chika #takiishi x reader #chika takiishi #wind breaker x reader #windbreaker x reader #chika x reader #takiishi chika x reader #chika takiishi x reader #wind breaker #wind breaker manga #wind breaker anime #wind breaker spoilers #wind breaker (satoru nii)#x reader #windbreaker #wind breaker x you #wind breaker x y/n #wind breaker fluff

307 notes · View notes

lgcxmax · 2 years

Text

in the middle of promotions, wookjin had no idea how he was going to sneak his present to max. it seemed like the world was trying to keep the two apart. but wookjin wasn’t going to let that stop him from giving his boy something for their first valentines day. did he have to bribe one of max’s roommates to sneak the box of goodies into max’s dorm for him? yes, and he’d do it again.

wookjin had spent a night, a couple weeks ago, scouring through the internet to find every relaxing and calming things he could, and filled a heart covered box with it all. there was chocolate, warm socks, candles, body scrub, poetry, fluffed blanket and a lego orchid–all hand picked to ensure max could take a moment to breathe and destress. at the top of the box sat a handwritten letter, that read in wookjin’s messy handwriting:

you know i’m terrible at getting my words out…but you knew i’m fucking crazy about you max. it’s still unbelievable that we’re finally together, after all we’ve been through. and by god, have been through it. i wouldn’t change a second of it though–our choices, our journeys have led me to you and i couldn’t be happier to have you in my life. i was worried that this relationship and the labels and all that would change us–and it has. but this is the best change i’ve ever felt. i feel closer to you than ever before (i don’t know how that is possible lol) and i’m so glad i can call you mine. and you’re still my best friend…and that will Never change. through rain and snow, you’ll always be my #1 maxi.

i hope you enjoy this gift! i’ve packed it with a bunch of coozy, soft stuff and nice stuff to relax to. i know you’re stressed about lgc boys, but don’t worry. you’ll make it and be great, i know it. use the stuff in here to try and relax for me? when you’re stressed, i’m stressed.

happy valentines day, my forever valentine.너의 사랑 정욱진

PS: how have we not done a lego date?? we should do it sometime when we both have a second to breathe.

max fully planed to faceplant right into his bed after a long day, the hours he spent staying behind to work on his guitar skills since he spend his normal hours on his weak skills for the most part weren’t entirely necessary but felt therapeutic in an oddly calming way. he really had missed strumming the old trusted instrument. placing the bag in the corner he thus falls face first only for his forehead to collide with a package that has him grunt in disapproval.

oh. right. valentines.

the heart on the label has his stomach do a tiny summersault and recognizing the hand writing has his heart leaping into his throat. smile widening across his lips he reads the letter first while rubbing his sore forehead. he truly had the best boyfriend in the whole world. giggling like a teenager in his first relationship he holds the paper to his lips while looking over the package, ducking his shoulders a bit at the dent in it caused by his thick head, hoping he didn’t damage whatever his best friend had packed for him.

quick to cut it open and roam around the contents he can’t help but love each and every single item, especially the orchid that looks rather intriguing to build up. hopefully they’d get a chance to do it together one day...

without thinking much longer on it he reaches for his phone and his guitar. sleep can wait. he’ll just give wook his own surprise right now.

#submission #lgcwookjin #max reaction beneath the cut ;;

1 note · View note

kingkatsuki · 3 years

Text

Spectrophilia | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬.

Here it is! The first day of Kinktober. This fic was originally drafted to be non-con, but it ended up so frigging soft. I hope you enjoy it.

Kinktober masterlist.

Summary: You’ve been struggling since your husband passed away unexpectedly, trying to hold on to the hope that he isn’t really gone. Deciding one night to try and connect with him beyond the grave, but finding more than you expected.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader, mentioned Midoriya Izuku x f!Reader.

Warnings: 18+, ouija boards, spectrophilia (sex with ghosts), soft sex.

Word Count: 4.2k.

You were certain there was no feeling worse than loneliness, a particular solitude you hadn’t felt for the longest time. The day your husband fell in battle was the day your life changed forever, having to get used to doing things alone again. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d felt truly alone, your husband a radiating light on the world that made everyone feel special. Even before you’d started dating it was difficult to ever feel truly alone when in his presence.

Your house is a shell since your husband lost his life, empty and lifeless as you laid out two coffee mugs at breakfast time out of pure habit. You could’ve sworn you heard him stomping around upstairs, readying himself for his day while you were in the kitchen. Pouring the warm mixture into both before you remembered, that same sick realisation constantly dawning on you and haunting your thoughts. His belongings are still in place throughout your home as constant reminders of him, no matter how many times Mina and Momo had tried to get you to get rid of them or even just move them into storage you couldn’t.

Because removing those pieces of him would be like accepting he was gone. And wasn’t gone, he couldn’t be. He was the number one Pro-Hero.

He was your hero.

Wishing you could still feel his presence, your hands gripping the kitchen counter as you recalled the sensation of his arms around you as he’d lay his chin on your shoulder at breakfast. Swaying you from side to side as though the silence was music, a distinct melody reserved just for you. The silence that surrounded you with your husband was bliss, but now it felt deafening. A desolate white noise filling every corner of the same four walls as you tried to move on.

Easier said than done.

The more your friends came round to check on you, to fill the silence, you found yourself resenting them even more. The bustling noise was almost a facade to try and act like things were back to normal, like everything was fine. But it wasn’t fine, it would never be fine again.

You didn’t want to do it, you didn’t want to have to move on. Why should you?

“I’ll love you forever and a day.”

His words still rang in your ears, he’d promised you.

Forever and a day.

Your friends wouldn’t understand, so eager and prepared to move on. Already acting like everything was back to normal and that you were the one that needed to carry on too. The way they looked at you wasn’t the same as before, it was pity.

Stepping out of the shower as you towel yourself dry, tugging on one of your husband's oversized forest green shirts. His scent still lingering on the fabric as you pressed your nose against it, trying to imagine he was still here with you. Pushing back the tears that threatened to fall from your misty eyes, fresh memories drifting back to you once more.

Climbing into your bed that felt even bigger now that you were alone, opening your laptop as you began to type in ways to cope with loss, scouring the internet for anything that could help distract you from the loneliness that you felt. Skipping through article after article about ways to move on, but you didn’t want to move on. Page after page with bereavement counselling and support groups to help you live with your loss and learn to cope. You couldn’t— eventually stumbling across shrines that fans had made online for your fallen husband. Photographs of him in his hero outfit, sharing stories of the lives he saved protecting people, how much they missed him. They didn’t want to forget him like your friends, they shared their stories about how he would’ve risked his life to save them, and he did.

Tears now tumbling down your cheeks as you began to type in the search bar ‘bringing someone back from death’ most websites giving you disappointment as it showed more stereotypical ways to move on. Until you stumbled across a website that seemed different.

‘Connecting with loved ones in the afterlife.’

Quickly clicking on the link as your hazy eyes scanned the page, reading through the article frantically as you took it in.

‘Losing a loved one is never easy, it can be a heavy weight we’re left to bare and many may not understand what we’re truly going through. The loss of life doesn’t have to mean the loss of connection, our loved ones may feel the same in death. There is always the chance that they cannot move on without us too, that they are wanting to make a connection. There are ways to contact them even in death.

If you’re interested in finding out more click here.’

You’d felt something that you hadn’t felt in a long time reading those words, you felt hope.

A few days had passed since you’d contacted the website, ordering all the pieces that you needed in order to make a connection with your husband. Something that you would never have considered doing before this happened, setting the board down on your dining room table as you prepared to try and make a connection. A reinvigorated optimism inside you at the thought that you may finally be able to fix the empty hole inside you, or at the very least find closure. You hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to him, there was no chance to say what you wanted to say before he was gone forever. The website had told you there was no guarantee that your husband would be waiting for you, that he would even respond. But you knew him better than anyone, you knew he would be waiting for you. Any warnings they’d given to be careful about this sacred act were long ignored in favour of the smallest possibility to speak to your husband again.

You took a deep breath as you settled in your chair, reading the prayer that you’d been given along with the board before reaching out to press your fingers against the planchette. The gentle light of candles filling the room as you took a deep breath and waited, digits trembling against the wood as you waited for something to happen.

“Is there anyone here with me tonight?” You mumbled, your heart pounding against your rib cage as you expected a response. The planchette remained in place as you tried again, “Is there anyone here?”

Feeling any hope you had for this working slowly dissolving as you prepared to pack the board away, reaching to grab its box as the slightest shuffle of the planchette against the wood caught your attention. The movement catching you off guard as you watched the navigator wobble against the wood, your fingers trembling as it slowly began to ease its way along the board. The circle in the centre slowly resting on a word…

Yes.

“I-Izuku?” You trembled, feeling tears begin to cling to your lashes as you tried to stifle back sobs, your fingers aching from their position on the wood as you tried to stay calm, your heart speeding up as you could’ve sworn you could feel him.

“W-what’s your name?” You trembled as the board began to guide your fingers again, your eyes watching as it slowly began to spell out a name.

I - Z - U - K - U.

A gasp left your throat as the tears in your eyes began to spill down your cheeks, doing your best to stay calm in your chair as you leaned forward. Taking deep breaths as you tried to calm your racing heart, your bottom lip trembling as you kept your fingers on the board.

“I missed you,” it wasn’t a question, more of a statement. You hadn’t expected an answer but it was like you could feel him now? The same feeling you had when he was still around, he was still here with you. He hadn’t left. The website had told you to be careful, not to expect that your husband would be waiting for you, that there were other forces that could be contacted from beyond the grave. And yet here he was.

“Do you miss me?”

You sobbed as he moved directly towards the ‘yes’, leaving the planchette over it.

Shrugging your shoulder to try and wipe your cheeks against his shirt you were wearing, not wanting to break the connection so soon.

“I miss you too, baby. So much.” You mumbled, sniffling as you tried to calm yourself down, “I’ve been so lonely without you.”

I - M - H - E - R - E

“Don’t leave me again, please.” You wished you could see him, the selfishness inside you seeping out as it still didn’t feel like it was enough. You wanted more, “Can you stay?”

The planchette circled the ‘yes’ again, as you blinked back fresh tears, he’d found you again even in death.

“Can you show me you’re here?” The board didn’t budge, your fingers pushing at the planchette slightly to try and assist its movements but nothing came, “Baby?”

The room felt deadly silent as the candles continued to flicker in the background, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks as you seemingly lost the connection.

“Izuku, are you still here?” You repeated, “Tell me that you’re here, please— please stay with me.”

Your sorrow got the better of you as you moved your fingers from the planchette, moving to wipe the tears from your eyes as sobs continued you wrack through you, forgetting to close the board by saying goodbye as this new hope brewed inside you. It didn’t matter that he’d stopped talking to you, it was real. The connection was real, a reinvigorated happiness welled inside you for the first time in weeks as you no longer felt alone.

Your husband was here with you.

Standing from the table as you leaned forward to extinguish the candles, pouting your lips to blow at the wicks but they extinguished before you had a chance. Your eyes widening as the flames disappeared without you even blowing against them, blaming it on the air conditioning inside your house as you stood from the table. Slowly making your way upstairs as you stepped into your en-suite bathroom, standing in front of the sink as you glanced at your reflection in the mirror.

Your gaunt expression staring back at you as dark bags circled your reddened eyes, the skin swollen from crying so much over the last few days. You were a shell of your former self, but you felt happy. Your lips curling into the slightest smile as you recalled the Ouija board spelling out his name.

It was your husband, he was here.

Turning the faucet on as you moved to splash cool water against your face to try and quell the ache against your skin.

Gasping in surprise as you felt something stroke your back, the touch so faint you weren’t sure whether it was a trick of the mind. Your body tensing as your hands gripped the edges of the porcelain sink. Lifting your eyes to see if there was someone behind you in your reflection but there was nothing.

The touch slowly began to skim your sides as you felt your heartbeat increase, goosebumps prickling your skin as you stayed deftly still. It wasn’t a trick of the mind, you could feel it, there was someone there.

“Izuku?” You murmured, standing straight as you arched your back into the touch. It felt cool against your skin as you felt it slip beneath the oversized shirt you were wearing, his shirt. Trying to lean into him but there was nothing there, instead feeling a coolness against your neck as you began to feel pecks placed against your skin like gentle kisses as you let out a soft whine, “You’re home.”

His hands began to trail higher as he thumbed the underside of your breasts, watching your reflection as your shirt was lifted seemingly without anyone there to touch it. Gentle hands cupping your soft mounds as you felt his lips latch onto your neck, gasping as you felt teeth latch down against the skin. Seeing an indent of your flesh in the reflection as though someone was really there touching you. This had to be real, it wasn’t another trick of your mind, a clear dark bruise left against the apex of your neck as he began to languidly salve his tongue against the wound.

“‘Zuku—“ You sighed, feeling your cunt throb beneath the thin pair of panties you wore as you tried to grind yourself back against him, a gasp leaving your lips as you felt something prodding your back. A different stature than you remembered your husband being, taller in fact.

“I’m not Izuku.” A voice rasped as you felt your blood run cold, your eyes snapping open as you glanced at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes widening to be met with a pair of eyes staring back at you.

Red.

You went to scream, the noise spilling out of your lungs as a hand clamped onto your mouth, muffling your cries as you writhed against the spirit. This had to be a terrible dream, there was no way this was happening to you, it wasn’t real.

“You’re the one that invited me here, Princess.” The voice spoke as you were still struggling against his grip, his reflection gone as you pushed your hands against the counter to try and prize him off of you, “If you struggle you’ll only make it worse.”

You felt the slightest cool breeze fan against your cheek as he whispered in your ear, holding you tight against his muscular frame as he waited patiently for you to stop thrashing against him.

“Do you know how dangerous it is not to say ‘goodbye’?” Your eyes widened as you immediately realised that you forgot the most important rule, to always close the link.

“You’re real quiet now, huh?” The spirit spoke, his voice low and gravely as you tried to calm yourself down. There was absolutely no way you could overpower a demonic spirit. Trying to allow your body to go slack as he finally removed his palm from your mouth, those same red eyes appearing in the reflection as they stared straight at you, “You were so desperate for me before—”

“You were the one speaking to me all this time.” You trembled, knuckles lightening as you clung to the sink, “A demon—“

“It’s nice you think that highly of me, Princess.” He smiled, his teeth curving down almost like fangs. Hands moving back to roam your body, this time you could see the faintest translucent lines as he began to brush against your curves, trying to calm your shaking body, “’m not a demon.”

“But then how did you know my husband's name?” You sobbed, a pit forming in your stomach when you realised it wasn’t your husband, the fantasy broken.

“You told me everything I needed ta’ know.” He shrugged, cool fingertips tweaking your nipples. Pulling a light gasp from your lips as he began to tease the hardened peaks, vermilion eyes focused on your reaction.

“Why me?” Tears blurred your vision, your body betraying you as you leaned into his touch.

“You sounded like you wanted me,” The spirit spoke, “You asked me to stay. Sounded real desperate—”

Gasping as he slowly revealed more of himself, his frame towering over you as he revealed bulging muscles. Almost double the size of your husband as his large palms completely dwarfed your breasts.

“I thought you were my husband.” You trembled.

“Aww, everyone’s always looking for Deku,” He cooed down at you in a patronising tone, the sound of your husbands hero name catching you off guard, how did he know?

“Looks like your husband isn’t here anymore, Sweetheart. He’s already passed over.”

“But he promised he’d stay. He said forever-“ His words affecting you more than you’d like to admit. You didn’t want to imagine Midoriya had left you, he promised you he’d stay with you forever.

“Humans are selfish fuckin’ creatures, hah.” The spirit spoke, a bitter tone to his voice as a large hand moved up to cup your neck. Pressed his cheek against yours. Staring at you directly in the mirror, “I can promise you forever.”

“He wouldn’t leave me, he wouldn’t—” You continued, a cough catching in your throat as your eyes burned with tears.

“Izuku,” The spirit mocked, “Izuku didn’t care about you, that’s why he left you here alone. He didn’t care about anyone but himself-”

“B-Bakugou?” Your voice trembled as you tried to focus on the reflection in front of you. You knew those eyes, but it couldn’t be—

“Heh, you figured it out.” His grip against you softened at the sound of his name leaving your lips, “Hey, Princess.”

You looked at his reflection in shock, how was Bakugou Katsuki here but your husband wasn’t? He’d died the same day as Midoriya, they’d both died together— so if he was here why wasn’t Izuku?

“Where is he?” Your heart ached as your voice croaked.

Bakugou glanced away from your eyes before answering, unable to hold your gaze as he spoke to you, “He passed on—“

“He what? But he wouldn’t— he wouldn’t leave me here-"

“I’m sorry,” Bakugou spoke solemnly.

“But then why are you still here? How could he pass on but you didn’t?”

“I dunno, unfinished business or some shit?” Bakugou rasped.

“Unfinished business like what? What the fuck is keeping you in this stupid fucking place.” You couldn’t mask the hurt you felt that your husband had left you, after all those words and promises. Realisation dawning on you that every word meant nothing to him.

“You.” He replied simply.

“What?” Your eyes flashed back to his reflection, your heart pounding against your rib cage.

“I couldn’t leave you.” He paused before continuing, his voice cracking, “I love you.”

Bakugou loved you? Was that why he began to pull away from you during his time as a sidekick? All the times you expected to see him at social gatherings but he never showed up, Kirishima giving various excuses about work and how dedicated he was to becoming number one. You’d never even batted an eyelid, never even thought that there could be something else to it. But now here he was in death waiting for you, staying for you. When your husband was no longer here—

“It’s you, it’s always been you.”

The emotions were too much at once as you felt your chest heaving, heavy breaths leaving your lips as you clung to the sink. Bakugou’s hand rubbing cool, soothing circles against your back as he hushed you. Trying to turn to face him but you were met with nothing, the room completely empty until you faced the mirror. The glass acting as a portal for the vessel of his soul.

“I thought you were a demon.” You sniffed.

“Maybe I am.” He spoke, “I don’t even know what I am anymore. I just knew I couldn’t leave. Not without you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I love you.” He replied simply, “Always have.”

You reached your hands behind your head, feeling them hit a cold wall as you pressed your palms against the back of his head. Feeling his nose nuzzle your skin as he gently ruts his hips against you, hands moving back to stroking along your sides as you swayed together. Much like you used to do with Midoriya when he was with you, but this somehow felt different. You no longer felt alone, for the first time in a long time you felt loved.

“Why didn’t he wait for me?” You trembled, wondering why Bakugou was here when you’d expected it to be your husband who was stuck in purgatory waiting for you.

“I don’t know,” Bakugou replied simply, his hands skimming your sides.

“What do I call you?” You whimpered through tears, feeling deft fingers slipping beneath the hem of your panties to tug them down your thighs, letting them rest around your knees as he pressed a hand to your spine. Leaning you forward so your forearms lay against the counter, still able to see everything in your reflection.

“Katsuki, call me Katsuki.” He spoke simply, feeling a heavy weight pressing between the curve of your ass, rutting his hips against the meat of it as you felt your body pushed forward.

“Katsuki.” You repeated, causing a groan to leave the spirit's mouth as he began to stroke the thick head of his cock between your sloppy folds.

A whine leaving your lips when you felt it nudge your clit, the cool chill unlike anything you’d felt with Midoriya. His actions were always warm and comforting, this felt different, foreign. Gasping as you felt his tip slowly pressing against your tight entrance, unable to remember the last time you’d been intimate with anyone.

“Fuck,” He snarled, taking his eyes off the reflection to look down between your bodies. Watching the way his cock began to bully its way inside your tight cunt. A groan leaving your lips at the ache of the stretch, he was far bigger than Midoriya and you were completely unprepared. Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you felt Bakugou begin to roll his hips to slowly ease himself inside you, “You feel better than I imagined, so tight—“

You felt the wind knocked out of you as he snapped his hips forward, burying his fat cock inside your velvety walls with one thrust. An ache forming in your core at the stretch as your nails skimmed the ceramic counter. Mouth parted in a silent moan as Bakugou began a selfish pace. Hungrily using you for his own pleasure as he ruts himself in and out of your depths, grunting and snarling at the way you clamped down around him. His actions raw and primal as blunt nails caught against your hips, leaving angry darkened lines in their wake as he made his way back towards your bouncing breasts. Using them for leverage as he changed the angle of his thrusts, each time he slid forward he brushed against the spongy spot inside you. The thick veins forking along his length dragging against your inner walls perfectly and adding to the tightness in your abdomen. Bringing you closer and closer to your release.

“You’ve no idea how many times I’ve fucked my fist to the thought of this.” He murmured, stroking his palms along your body. His words causing your cunt to clench around him, making you feel desired, wanted, loved.

“I never thought I’d be able to have you—“

Your senses heightened as you swore you could smell the faint scent of burning, a subtle sweetness in the air that made you feel safe as you completely surrounded yourself with Bakugou. Clinging to any comfort you could get from him at this moment, it truly had been too long since you felt like this.

“Katsuki,” You moaned, feeling his fingers digging into the plush or your breasts as he held you tight, the room eerily silent apart from his grunts. No rhythmic tones of skin slapping against skin like you were used to with your husband, it felt almost eternal. Unable to hear the motions but you could feel everything.

“You feel so good,” He rasped, lips grazing against your cheek as he sought his own release, “You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this.”

Pushing your ass back against him as you tried to match his thrusts, every single inch of your inner walls completely full at the sensation of him.

“Katsuki,” You whined, your eyes rolling, “I’m going to cum.”

“Cum for me, Princess.” You gasped at the sensation of his cool fingers against your clit, making your inner walls clench around him as you felt the coil inside you snap. Your orgasm rippled through you in waves as you came around his cock.

The sensation ripping a snarl from him as he felt you clenching around him, hungrily searching for his own end as he gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. Rutting himself into you from behind as he cherished the sensation of you squeezing him.

“Fuck,” He grunted, giving a final harsh thrust as he came with a grunt. An indescribable warmth in your core as you felt him twitching against your pulsing walls. Your chest heaving as you tried to regain your breath, feeling Bakugou’s hands continuing to stroke against your soft skin.

“I was so fuckin’ lucky you opened the portal,” He murmured behind you, trailing his fingers along your spine. Shutting your eyes to try and focus on his touch as you committed it to memory, “I thought you’d never realise I was here.”

“How long have you been here?” You gasped.

“Since I died,” He murmured huskily, “Nowhere else I wanted to be.”

You felt the coolness of his touch slowly beginning to dissipate as you opened your tired eyes, watching as his apparition in the mirror slowly began to disappear. Your eyes widening as you tried to cling to him, but it was futile. Shouting out his name as you began to tremble alone again, leaving you standing by yourself in your bathroom.

Now trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t just a trick of the mind, that being alone for so long hadn’t turned you completely crazy. Blinking to clear the crystal tears from your vision as you tried to look for him in the reflection. Instead met with nothing.

Midoriya’s death had taken a toll on you, it was true. Your dreams becoming more lucid the longer you spent without him, trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t real, that he wasn’t really gone.

But it had felt so real—

Running down the stairs as you made your way back to your dining room, the Ouija board still laid out on the table where you’d left it but the single white wax candle that you were certain you extinguished sat at the top of the board with the wick lit. Emitting the deepest red and orange flame.

#Bakugou Katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #Bakugou Katsuki smut #Katsuki Bakugou x reader #Katsuki Bakugou smut #Bnha x reader #Bnha smut #mha x reader #mha smut #kinktober #kinktober 2021

4K notes · View notes

mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess · 2 years

Text

The wedding ring

When Lan Wangji returns home from a long and gruelling work day, the last thing he expects is to find a quiet, dark and empty apartment. Wei Ying was supposed to be home, but obviously he is not, so maybe he's out with friends? Or getting groceries? He would have let Lan Zhan know if that was the case, but then again, people forget things and it's not like Wei Ying needs to update him on every single thing he does during the day either, he isn't controlling or distrustful of his own husband after all.

With a sigh, Lan Zhan turns on the kitchen light and decides to get himself a light snack before whipping up something for dinner, when something catches his eye on the kitchen counter: golden and shiny, Wei Ying's wedding ring.

Now that's odd. Very odd. Wei Ying never takes it off, ever. Lan Zhan picks the ring up to inspect it - maybe something is wrong with it and it made Wei Ying uncomfortable so he decided not to wear it. But the ring is smooth and perfect and Lan Zhan starts feeling uneasy.

He's fishing for his phone in one of his pockets when he sees, forgotten on a table corner, a little post it note with an address and a phone number, with the words "moving out" written in capital letters at the top.

The ring, the note, the empty and suspiciously tidy apartment, no communication... is... is Wei Ying trying to...

Lan Zhan feels his pulse thrum in his ears as he swipes his thumb across Wei Ying's number on his smartphone and he's praying Wei Ying will pick it up and Lan Zhan will find a way to fix this. He loves Wei Ying so much, he couldn't bear him leaving, much less in such a way... Had Lan Zhan hurt him somehow? Neglected him? Had he forgotten any important dates or anniversaries?

Wei Ying doesn't pick up the phone.

Lan Zhan is halfway out the door the next moment... and nearly gets himself smacked in the face when the door opens to reveal Wei Ying happily strolling into the apartment, earphones in.

He smiles widely when he sees Lan Zhan there and yanks them out of his ears before launching himself to kiss his husband. His very dumbfounded husband.

"Wei...Ying?"

"Yeah, that's me for sure. Why're you so surprised? I live here too, you know?"

"...you do."

Wei Ying raises an eyebrow. "Lan Zhan, are you okay? Did you fry your brain at the office today or something?"

"Why do you want to move out?"

Wei Ying blinks up at him, now confused as well. "You did fry your brain today. Why would I want to move out?!"

Lan Zhan produces the little paper with the address and the phone number, as well as Wei Ying's wedding ring, from one of his pockets. "Please, be honest with me, Wei Ying, don't lie to me."

Wei Ying looks at the heartbroken expression on Lan Zhan's face, then at the two items... and laughs, pulling his husband into a hug. "Silly, Lan Zhan, I'd never lie to you. I'm not leaving either."

Lan Zhan squeezes him tightly. "Then why aren't you wearing your ring?"

"I was washing the dishes this morning and it slipped off my finger down the drain! It was so much work to get it out of there that I decided to keep it off so that I don't lose it forever while cleaning!"

A sigh. "And the note?"

"Oh, that's for Sizhui. You know he wants to move out from the university dorms, so I've scoured the Internet today helping him find a new place. That's the number for one of the apartments I liked, I was going to send it to him."

"And where have you been?"

Wei Ying laughs again. "Took out the trash! I can't believe you'd think I'd just disappear like that! Especially after I decided to surprise you by cleaning this whole place up myself so we don't have to do it tomorrow anymore! We can take the day off, go out-"

And suddenly Wei Ying is swept up and over Lan Zhan's shoulder. "No going out."

"Then what?" A flirtatious tone. "Will you keep me in bed the whole day?"

"Absolutely."

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #writing attempts

88 notes · View notes

some-kindofgnome · 3 years

Text

you turn me on (i’m a radio)

bokuto comes over one night midweek while you’ve got the apartment to yourself. after a mishap with his favourite volleyball shorts, you take advantage of the privacy.

c: koutarou bokuto x reader

wc: 5.4k

tags: smut (18+ please!), college au, aged-up characters, oral sex (both receiving), praise kink, begging, soft and sloppy sex feat. bo the horny simp giving u the creampie of ur life, body worship if u squint

notes: bo has a fat ass and I have a praise kink. that is all. oh, wait, i should also mention that this is mostly unedited. so if u see typos feel free to point em out! thx 💕

the song this bit is named after is so sweet and sunny & makes me think of bo all the time, so give it a listen if you’d care to! ☀️

ALSO forgot to mention that this was inspired by a tiktok i saw like a million years ago where this girl was helping her boyfriend get out of his too-small rugby shorts. it has been lost to the ether but you better BELIEVE if i ever find it again i’ll be linking it here

EDIT: @karikarasuno the absolute ANGEL has scoured the internet and found the tiktok in question. p l e a s e go and watch it, u will not regret 😌

(MASTERLIST)

“’Kay, okay, I’m going!”

Bokuto tears himself from the tender press of your mouth in one fell swoop. As he whirls away with a tempted giggle, he combs his fingers through his mussed-and-sweaty hair. Practice was only two hours tonight, but he still doesn’t want to leave your side even long enough to shower.

You’ve only been dating for a few months, still lingering in that phase of every new relationship that feels too good to last. Your emotional involvement in one another deepens by the day, but you never fight. And you have a shamefully difficult time keeping yourself away from him. On a weeknight like this with no big assignments to speak of, you should be catching up on your readings, your chores, or even your sleep. But when you passed Bo in the quad earlier, pausing in your walk to class for a hi and a kiss, you’d invited him over before you could even stop yourself.

He’s nice to be around. Pleasant, unhindering. Even if you wanted to finish some readings or do some laundry while he’s over, he’s happy to be idle in your company. He is infuriatingly patient and understanding sometimes, compared to the slew of demanding, needy boyfriends that came before him.

You watch him retreat into the safety of your bedroom, grinning like a fool. He’s fresh out of practice and practically dripping in sweat, dried from the walk you shared from the athletic center. Your evening class that night wrapped up around the same time as his practice, and when you passed the gym doors on your way home, he was already loitering on the steps with his teammates. Instead of pretending he didn’t see you or offering you a casual, passing nod like you expected, he practically bounded down the wide concrete steps and introduced you gleefully to the pack of volleyball players behind him who already knew you well.

There was no way you were letting him go all the way home to shower first. Not when he’s never minded smelling like your orange-and-sandalwood shower gel in the first place.

Once he’s disappeared, you give a yawn and a deep stretch and haul ass off the couch, padding into the kitchen to tidy up the snacks you shared on the way in the door.

You’ve barely got the first plates in the sink before a muffled babe? from the bedroom gives you pause.

“Bo?” You call back, setting your handful down and trying to keep your brow from furrowing too deeply. “You okay?”

“Can you… um…” His response starts off strong, louder than before, but it dwindles into a dull, unintelligible mutter that sounds uncertain enough to send you away from the kitchen.

You gently shoulder the bedroom door open, frowning at his broad shape, silhouetted in the shadowy bathroom doorway from the light behind him. “What’s the matter?”

Feeling along the wall for the light switch, you illuminate the pot lights over your bed.

Bokuto’s cheeks are gently flushed as he waddles toward you with his thumbs dug into the waistband of his volleyball shorts. The fabric is tough and certainly seems clingy, but there’s a strain in his neck and shoulders that takes you a minute to pin down.

“I can’t…” he starts to say, trailing off, then pulls his hands out of his shorts and drops them to his side with a heavy, defeated sigh.

“They’re stuck.”

You force the corners of your mouth downward, tightening the line of your mouth to keep the mirth locked firmly in your throat.

“I can see that.”

He’s been hitting the gym hard lately, shoving down the calories to try and bulk up a little for the upcoming tournament season. And while you know he’s been putting on some weight, since he tells you just about everything, it never occurred to you that he might be bulking up quick enough to outgrow his favourite shorts.

Bo lets out a quiet little whine, digging a thumb into the waistband one more time and prompting you to step forward.

“How stuck are you?” You reach for him. He turns sideways, twisting his chin over one shoulder to try and assess the situation from every plausible angle.

Oh. You slap a hand to your mouth.

The waistband is rolled down around his hips and already strained to its absolute limit, stuck on the sharp swell of his butt and already compressing the flesh in a way that looks genuinely painful. He’s wearing a pair of tight white compression shorts underneath the uniform shorts in question, but they’re not doing much to aid the situation, either.

You’re eager to get him out of those shorts for several reasons now.

“Alright.” You try to keep your voice low, stepping up to his front and gently laying your hands on the stiff cotton roll at his hips. “Let me just-“

“I don’t know what happened,” he whines, slotting his hands on top of yours and squirming in between them. “They were hard to get on, but-“

“Don’t worry,” you interrupted softly. “We’ll get them off you one way or another.”

The fearful reflection of your sharpest kitchen scissors in his eyes suggests that he believes you.

Your first two attempts are about as successful as Bokuto’s solo endeavours. First, you wedge your hands into the fabric at his sides while he pushes from the front and back, but you give a hard shove while he lets up on the tension and his elbow very nearly connects with your nose, so you try a different approach.

Coming round to his backside, you dig your hands into the space between his uniform shorts and the tight spandex that holds what’s left of his modesty.

“Okay,” you pant, already a little breathless after dodging Bokuto’s flying elbows. “What if I-“

“Hang on,” he prompts, but it’s too late. You wind up and jump as hard as you can, using the downward force generated to try and shove the confining waistband down over his hips. It slides down another couple of inches, and inspiration flares in your chest as Bokuto turns over one shoulder, sweating.

“It’s working!” Your voice comes shrill with excitement, and before he can stop you you’re jumping again, shoving even harder this time. You meet resistance this time, and before you can clue in to what’s pushing back Bokuto howls in pain and doubles over, clasping his palms between his thighs.

“Oh, fuck, baby, I’m sorry.” You drop to one knee beside him as he descends into pained laughter.

“’S alright,” he promises, “I didn’t want kids that bad, anyway.”

You can’t help the snort that bubbles forward from your chest. Bo straightens slowly as his pain fades, but you stay on your knees, determined to get him undressed without resorting to textile violence.

Determination settles heavy and proud across your shoulders. You look up through your brows at him and when your eyes meet, his cheeks pink softly.

“We got this.”

Bokuto’s throat bobs. He nods shallowly and pulls his lower lip between his teeth.

You slip your hands into his shorts again, rolling them slowly down his thighs. Bokuto averts his eyes, letting out another audible gulp. Just when you’re starting to get somewhere, his hips twitch and he shifts his weight restlessly from one leg to the other.

“Stand still,” you scold, giving his hip a little slap. His breath hitches, hands flinching forward as he dips his torso backward.

“Um,” he pants. When you look up at him again, his neck and ears are bright red and he’s got his eyes trained firmly on the Star Wars poster hanging above your desk.

You level your gaze and realize two things.

1) Bokuto’s not wearing anything under his white compression shorts.

2) Apparently, your little scare wasn’t nearly as painful for him as he let on.

“Babe,” you tease. “I’m flattered, really.”

“C’mon!” He protests, scraping his fingers through the wild strands of his sweat-clumped hair. “What’d you think was gonna happen if you got down there all…”

“All what?” You lean forward without thinking, nuzzling the spandex that sits in the groove between his hip and his thigh. He groans deeply, letting his head fall back. His cock, thickening at the base, is still restrained tightly by the waistband of his shorts. You can practically see it throb into its confines, and his groan pinches tight with discomfort.

“Baby, please.” He’s wound his hands tightly in the front of his t-shirt by now, rucking it up over his belly for some way to dispel the tension. “Get ‘em off. Please.”

“You’re not exactly making it easier.”

A desperate whine from over your head suggests that maybe the time for jokes is passing. You abandon all coyness and tuck your hand under the weight of his balls, gently tugging down on the waistband and freeing all of him from its confining pressure. Bokuto gasps and lets his hips swing forward, but his dick swells quickly to fill its new, spandex restraint and you figure you’d better work quickly.

“God, this is really turning you on, isn’t it?” You can’t help the eagerness in your tone as you attack the swell of his hips one last time. With all his sensitive parts in the clear you don’t have to hold back, wedging and wrenching until the widest part of his pelvis is free and the shorts drop to the floor with a soft little triumphant rustle.

Bokuto groans like he’d just been strapped to a time bomb, stepping out of the fabric and kicking it towards the door. He drops the hem of his shirt and reaches for you, but you’re already leaning in to nose against the crook of his thigh some more, peeling down the stretchy, forgiving top of his compression shorts.

“Wh- babe.” He flushes. “I haven’t showered-“

“Don’t care,” you hum, entranced by the hypnotic length of his shaft, white spandex stretched sheer and dabbed with wet at the tip. “Want to taste you.”

“Are you s- oh, you’re sure.” His hands surge forward, this time soothing lovingly over the crown of your head as you tug the stretchy fabric down to his knees. His cock bobs eagerly against one thigh, unaffected by its confining endeavour, and you lean in and seal your mouth against the seam of his groin, where his shaft meets his body.

He is bulky and broad, thick cords of muscle and fat spanning his thighs and torso. His thighs and pelvis are dusted all over with wiry silver hair, and you bury your nose into the trimmed patch of it over his cock, licking eagerly at his soft skin.

Above you, Bokuto shudders hard enough to buckle his knees while you trace your hand up the stiff length of him. You’re trying your best to hide just how deeply you want to breathe him in, the addicting musk of his sweat filling your brain and sending deep throbs of arousal straight to your pussy.

“So hard,” you groan into his hip, “just from letting me get on my knees for you?”

He draws a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing at the back of your head as his eyelashes flutter. His face is beet red from nose to hairline now.

“W-well, what else was I s’posed to- with you lookin’…” He is borderline incoherent, and you haven’t even put your mouth on him yet.

Adorable.

“You smell so good,” you murmur without thinking, flicking your eyes to his quickly when you realize what you’ve said. But it only serves to push his own arousal further, cock throbbing palpably between your fingers as he curses quietly through his teeth.

“Please,” he groans, letting his head roll back. “Don’t tease.”

You can’t deny a request as pleasantly worded as that.

After planting one more teasing kiss along the plane of his shaft, you draw back to his tip and give your tongue an enthusiastic flick, dipping it into his weeping slit. He yelps, and you swallow him down before he can ride out the shock, making him shiver. You can feel the tremor racking all the way down the column of his spine, his toes curling on the floor by your knees.

When you start to bob your head, his jaw goes completely slack. You’re learning to love the way he doesn’t hold back with you, a point made obvious by the expressions crossing his face as you settle into a steady rhythm. You can’t fit his entire length- impressive, not that he knows it- into your throat, but when you grip the base of his shaft with one hand and the spit from your throat drips eagerly between your fingers, he practically goes cross-eyed.

You fight the urge to smile around him, leaning into the way he fusses and grips at your skull.

“Nggh, babe, not gonna last long… when… suckin’ like that.” He’s grabbing your head with both hands, rocking his hips tightly forward in time with your gaudy slurping. You’re drooling all over your hand, spit dripping obscenely down your chin and onto the hardwood, but his whimpers are growing to obscene levels, punctuated by deep, chesty growls and quiet, slurred praise.

There’s no way you’re going to back off now.

You’ve been with Bo long enough to know his tells, so when his thighs start twitching and his voice pitches from his chest into his throat, you re-double your efforts, intensifying his pleasure until he’s howling and panting like a beast, rocking tightly into your mouth with his abs drawn tight as a bow.

“Ohhh, babe, lemme cum on your tits,” he pleads, slurring every syllable together as he looks down at you with unimaginable bliss mounting in his gaze. “Please, please, please, your tits, lemme cum on ‘em.”

With a smirk touching one corner of your mouth, you drop your free hand between his thighs. Until now it had been braced delicately on his hip, gently mitigating the wild bucks and twitches of his body giving into ecstasy. But you’d picked up one little trick that never failed to boost him over the edge- and send him falling that much further as a result.

As you draw your mouth back from his twitching cock, you close your free hand around the heavy sack of his balls- drawn up tight to his thighs in preparation for his orgasm- and give the supple skin a gentle little tug while you arch your back and jerk him off against the swell of your chest.

Bo’s voice shoots up a twelve-tone as his hands slide from your hair to your cheeks. His fingers tremble as he cups your face, throwing his head back with a wild yowl and wildly humping your fist. The first long spurt of his cum hits you square in the throat, dripping down between your collarbones and soaking the neckline of your tank top as he rides out the powerful waves of his climax. By the time it’s over, his thighs are shaking hard, tough lines of muscle standing out against the silver hair while his cock dribbles ripe streams right down your shirt.

He deflates with a heavy, heady sigh, falling to one knee in front of you and keeping your face gathered between his palms.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy,” he moans, leaning in to capture your mouth and dip his tongue sloppily against yours. As soon as he’s found your lips he skates his hands down your shoulders to your breasts, lovingly cupping and thumbing the tightening buds of your nipples where thick shots of his cum are soaking into the white cotton. You can’t help the shaky little sigh that catches at the back of your throat, or the aching way you lean into his touch.

“G’nna-“ he cuts himself off, dipping his face into your throat. He licks into the tender column of your windpipe, bringing one big palm to the back of your neck to hold your head steady while he tucks his chin in and tastes the wet stripes of his cum that paint your décolletage. You’re not exactly sure what to expect, but the long, wet groan he lets into your chest is a pleasant surprise. He slides his hands from your neck to your shoulders to your sides and up the plane of your back, drawing you closer while he laps the mess from your collarbones and neckline.

“C’mon,” he mumbles into the swell of your left breast. “Gotta taste all of you.”

He slips his arms underneath you, lifting you with little more than a quiet grunt of effort as he gets to his feet. He holds you lovingly against his chest, striding slowly across the room and depositing you onto the bed with a smooth little bounce.

You hardly have the space to catch your breath before he braces a knee on the mattress beside you and leans down for another taste of your lips, kissing you slow and loving and skating a palm down your front. He slips his fingers into the waistband of your leggings, slipping his fingertips across your clit and making you yelp. Chuckling into your mouth, he dips his fingers lower and gasps.

“God,” he sighs. “Shoulda known you were holding out on me.” He sinks his middle finger into your clingy depths while he catches your mouth under his one more time. You’ve been unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words, pinned sensuously under his touch, but as he curls his fingers against the restrictive insides of your leggings, you whine deep and slow into his mouth, arching your back to push your hips into his touch.

He doesn’t linger, drawing his hand from you and curling it in the waistband of your leggings instead. You’re slipping your fingers under the hem of your soiled tank top, pulling it up to expose the bare swell of your breasts.

“Let me?” He poses it like a question, pulling your leggings and underwear down and fluttering a kiss to the newly exposed skin below your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, already planting your feet in the fluffy sheets to lift your hips and help him undress you.

He pulls your leggings and underwear down over your hips in one smooth motion, pulling just a little harder than necessary to make you gasp and giggle. Your ass lands on the mattress all at once, punctuated by another handful of mirth that you can’t keep contained.

Bo’s grinning down at you as he balls up your clothes and tosses them toward the hamper like a mid-court basket shot. He doesn’t wait to find out if they made it, though, settling himself between your knees and gathering your hips into his arms.

“So soft,” he purrs, kissing the velvet skin of your tummy.

“Bo,” you whine. It’s your turn in the hot seat, and now the idea of teasing isn’t half as appealing as it was when you were on your knees.

“What? You don’t want me to take my time with you?”

You groan, letting your head flop back against the pillows as your eyes slip shut. Now that he’s got you bare, with his breath puffing hot and wanting over your tender skin, it’s hard to focus on anything but what you want.

“Don’t be mean,” you whine, but the hot press of his tongue on your inner thigh shuts you up fast. He moans low and rumbly against the damp of your skin, sinking his teeth gently into the fat of your thigh and giving a noisy suck.

“You’re so ready for it,” he muses, eyes darting sideways to admire your weeping slit. The buzz of his voice shoots right down the column of your spine, vibrating pleasantly at the base of your tailbone and sending goosebumps racing up your torso.

“Man,” Bo sighs, planting one hand on each thigh and pushing them apart. “You must really like suckin’ me off, huh?”

“I swear,” you grit. “I’m never touching your dick again if you don’t-“

He doesn’t waste another minute, leaning down and sealing his mouth greedily over your slit. The payoff is there for both of you, if the sound he makes when he dips his tongue between your folds is anything to go by.

The relief comes on swift wings as soon as he lets his tongue wander, stoking the fire that had been burning dangerously low and hot in your gut. Your thighs twitch in toward his ears while he tastes your messy slit, but his palms are as strong as shackles, keeping you open and vulnerable for him.

Bo prods his tongue forward, pressing inward as far as he can with a tiny little strained groan of effort. You cry out and clamp down around his tongue like a vice, a reaction he feels so vividly it makes him whip back from your body with a laugh.

“Don’t stopppp,” you plead, but his face is already disappearing between your thighs again, and you wrap your fingers in the hem of your tank top while he re-focuses his efforts on your swollen clit. He’s pressing his hips forward in a slow tempo that matches the patterns he tongues between your thighs, softly humping the mattress in time with your pleasure.

You’re sensitive and ready for him, stomach tightening smoothly when he settles into a rhythm. His technique is sloppy but he makes up for it in eagerness, pausing only to take deep breaths through his nose. He smiles into your skin and you can feel the way his mouth twitches against you, making you arch your back and slide one hand between your legs to rake through the silvery strands of his mussed hair. He grunts hard against your clit and you jump, giving him the chance to slip his hands under your thighs and hook them over his shoulders.

When he swallows you down this time, there’s something in the changed angle that drives pleasure straight down your back, letting it reverberate all the way into your toes. You flinch hard between his hands, and as he settles back into his messy, enthusiastic rhythm, you feel the telltale twinges of your building climax.

“Bo-“ you choke on his name.

He flicks his gaze to yours and his eyes flash, bright and golden. He knows your tells, too, and he sinks his fingers into the fat of your thighs, re-doubling his efforts and sucking a languid rhythm into your needy clit.

“Fuck,” you sputter. “Fuck, f-fuck, I-ah-“

Your mouth drops open, but the scream dies in your throat as white-hot pleasure bursts through your veins. Bokuto is heartbreakingly persistent, keeping up his ministrations while you claw at his hair and clamp your thighs down around his temples and ride the waves of your orgasm as gracefully as possible. By the time the sharp, burning pleasure’s raked its way through you, all your limbs have gone tense, and when it’s over you collapse, sweat-soaked, to the sheets beneath you.

Bo’s trembling between your legs, and when he surfaces his cheeks and ears are maroon. His cock is still twitching against his belly, bobbing as he gets onto his knees and still weeping long streams of spend.

“Oh.” The word flies from your throat before you can trap it, and he rubs your thighs soothingly with both hands as he takes a shaky, cleansing breath.

“You’re so-“ he starts to say, but you reach for him and he’s got no choice but to dip his cheek into your palm, flushing even deeper at the open way you stare.

“C’mere,” you prompt. Bo takes the bait and flops forward, landing stomach-first on the bed beside you and pillowing his head between your slick breasts. The position ought to be comical, but the weight of him is immensely soothing, rising and falling with the even pulse of your laboured breath.

You lie that way for a long while, staring vacantly past your reflection in the dark window beside your bed. The nighttime chill radiates through the glass, cooling your heated flesh. Your body aches with the fresh sensations of climax, but you’re not ready to put your clothes on yet.

“Bo.”

“Hmm?” It never occurred to you that he might be half-asleep until he winds himself upright, blinking weighty silver lashes against his still-blushing cheeks.

Still, you know how to wake him up. The conspiratory grin that touches your mouth is completely involuntary, and it’s enough to have Bokuto cocking a tired brow.

“Can I ride your cock?”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything at all. His eyes grow slowly bigger, focus drifting away from your face as his jaw drops. Literally.

“Bo? Baby?”

“Y- b- I… h-“ he sputters, blinking hard and shaking out his sweaty hair. He looks up at you again with an expression unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Like a kid at the zoo.

“Right now?”

You can’t hold back a snort, shoulders pitching forward. But he’s not kidding.

Neither are you.

You raise your eyebrows. “Is that a yes?”

By the time he rolls over, his cock’s already half-hard again, swelling against the strong cord of his right thigh. He sits up, scooting himself comfortably back against your bed’s stacked pillows. And when he reaches for you, you’re already rooting through the nightstand for supplies.

Bo’s a big dude, in every conceivable way. And while he’s never exactly been shy about that fact, he’s also painfully aware of the fact that with great power comes great responsibility. So when you start to warm a dollop of chilly water-based lube between your fingers, he doesn’t flinch.

“Mmmf.” He pushes his hips into your hands as you wrap them around his shaft, letting him swell into your palms while you slick him up. He’s still tender from before, and when you shift onto your knees your clit’s still tensing with leftover pleasure, but you’re buzzing with want. It hangs thick and heavy in the air between you. You’re unwilling to let it dissipate until you’re both completely satisfied.

By the time you’ve got the lube spread evenly from his base to his tip, Bo’s fully hard for you again, flushed and panting and grabbing at your hips as you scoot forward to straddle him. His impatience should probably bother you, but at this point it’s just endearing.

“Hmm, you’re so close,” you say, leaning forward to brush your lips against his. His mouth drops open as you bring his tip to your ready sex. Your pussy clamps involuntarily around the swell of his weeping head, and you’re panting into each others’ mouths as your hips sink slowly backward. The fill of him presses up into your belly, and you bottom out with a little flinch of discomfort, settling your thighs over his. He’s long enough that it actually hurts to take him in all the way like this, but you’re willing to put up with it for a minute while you get adjusted.

“Look at you.” Bokuto’s eyes rake up and down your trembling form, keeping time with his strong palms that rub soothing circles into the flesh of your hips. You shift a little, making him twitch and grunt. His thighs strain, struggling to keep from bucking upward against your tender cervix.

He lets out a deep, shaky sigh through pursed lips. “You’re so f-fucking perfect, you know that?”

You’re concentrating on tucking your knees underneath you for proper leverage, but he never fails to make you smile.

“I haven’t even started moving yet,” you breathe, bracing one hand on his shoulder. Once you’re stabilized, you lift your hips slowly forward, letting the thickness of him pull slowly from your slick depths. Bokuto’s head falls back against the pillows, beet red with exertion already.

“God,” he groans, bringing one hand around to your ass. “More, baby.”

You swallow hard, grip his hips tightly between your knees, and swirl your hips in a careful, tight little circle. It’s a subtle movement from the outside, but where you’re joined it rubs the thick ridge of his tip along all your tenderest nerve endings, sending powerful surges of pleasure vibrating into your chest.

Bokuto’s feeling it, too, the hard angles of his jaw standing out as he clenches his teeth. His silvery lashes rest heavily over his flushed cheeks, giving you little more than a bare peek of his dark, tawny eyes with the pupils blown wide in ecstasy.

“Just like that,” he prompts when you angle your hips forward, pinning your abused clit against his pubic bone and continuing to grind greedily over his shaft. He interrupts your rhythm with a sharp little pat to your ass, making your hips jump forward and giving him an opening to lower his chin and seal his mouth in the crook of your shoulder.

“Fu-uck,” you whine, looping both arms under his and clutching tightly at his back as your rhythm grows more urgent. You know how to work yourself to the peak easily, using his powerful body and thick cock to your every advantage.

“You’re close already,” he pants in your ear. “Oh, man, I can feel it. Don’t-“ His hips jerk backward, choking him on a surge of pleasure that washes over both of you.

“Don’t hold back for me, baby. I c’n… take it, yeah, that’s it.”

The low rumble of his voice in your ear reverberates all the way down to the pit of your stomach, cocktailing with the pleasure you’re grinding out yourself, and when he grabs your ass with both hands and rocks his tip against the gooey-sweet spot on your upper wall, you’re lost.

“Bo,” you whimper, grabbing tightly at the muscles in his back as your thighs start to shake. “Fuck, oh, fuck, ohfuck-“

The peak crests quietly between you, but quickly bleeds into every limb. You’re powerless to do anything but cling to him and whine in his ear as your hips stutter and twitch and grind over his stirring cock. Just when you think the wave is subsiding, Bokuto glides his hips beneath yours again and draws it out into a tight, near-painful shudder. Your vision whites out, then flashes black as you squeeze your eyes shut and lose yourself to the pleasure.

“Fuck.” Bo’s cursing as you come back to the surface, humping shallowly into your spent body. The lube you used squelches obscenely with the handfuls of slick your climax brought forth, numbing your used insides to his desperate thrusts. “Fuck, you’re so- you’re so- ohgod, inside, I-“

He goes completely incoherent as he finds his own pleasure, shoving his hips tightly against yours. His balls draw tight beneath you, thighs twitching as thick, heady warmth fills your belly. You’re addicted to the fullness he leaves in you without fail, the mess between you when he goes slack and you draw your hips backward to let his falling erection slide out of you.

Your roommate’ll be back from the library at any second. You should be getting up and dressing yourselves, making some attempt at feigning innocence before she comes in. But the bedroom door is closed and it’s far too easy to tumble back into the haphazard embrace from before, cum collecting sticky and hot between your thighs as Bokuto buries his face between your tits.

“D’you think they’ll stretch?” he mumbles into your skin, once your pulse has finally slowed to its regular pace.

“Hmm?” In your pleasure-addled haze, you don’t follow. Bokuto lifts his face from your flesh, resting his chin gently on your sternum.

“My shorts.”

Right.

“Uh-“ You have to purse your lips hard, to keep the dumb smile from showing on them. You take a slow pass of air in through your nose and lift your fingers to comb soothingly through his sweaty hair.

“We’ll make them fit,” you promise. “Somehow.”

Before he buries his face in your chest again, you catch the pure, blissed smile that stretches his cheeks. He slips his eyes shut, nuzzling you tenderly and kissing the swell of one breast.

“Good,” he sighs. And then, bare-assed, sweaty and sticky, he falls asleep.

You spy the shorts, still lying in a crumpled heap by the bathroom door. You make a mental note to check the brand and sizing later, before he leaves.

You’ll make then fit again.

Somehow.

#haikyuu #bokuto x reader #haikyuu x reader #bokuto #koutarou bokuto #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader smut #bokuto x you #bokuto x y/n

427 notes · View notes

plush-rabbit · 3 years

Text

Asmodeus Comforting A Chubby Partner

Request: i was wondering if you could do hc's maybe for an insecure/chubby!reader x asmo? (both n/sfw are fine. whatever you're more comfy with) he's my favourite/comfort character but he very clearly loves beautiful things... as someone who isn't "traditionally/stereotypically beautiful" it makes me feel very insecure that he probably wouldn't be attracted to me. cellulite, stretch marks and scars riddle my body from years of extreme weight loss and gain from various eating disorders and harmful, unhealthy coping mechanisms. it's a lot of projection but ig i'm just worried he'd see like my loose tummy skin and be repulsed by it or the stretch marks on not just the "typical" places like thighs, stomach, bum, etc. etc. but places like my arms, shoulders and sides too.

Warnings: eating disorders + scaring briefly mentioned, allusion to self harm

A/N: Don’t ever worry about what I write for!! I’m willing to write a lot (also babes, i obvs don’t know you but please believe that you’re gorgeous, beauty standards fuck us all over and i need you to understand that your marks are all kisses from your body and marks to kiss. I’m sure you’re lovely and i hope you find love within yourself xoxo)

Absorbed with his beauty in the first few weeks that you’ve stayed with at the House of Lamentation, Asmodeus hadn’t noticed your lack of self-love. It’s only until later that he can see your forlorn glances at a mirror, the way you try to hide yourself under baggy clothing or long sleeved shirts. Of course, it’s a bit chilly in Devildom, but it doesn’t sit right with him. He brings you to his room that smells like lilies and strawberries, letting you sit down beside him as he grabs your hand, painting it a matching set as himself. With you in hand, he’ll ask you about yourself, slowly prying into your view about yourself. A deep frown will tug against the corners of his mouth and he’ll furrow his brows. He’s been aware of beauty standards in the Human Realm but he had never thought it was so dire to affect your own perception of yourself.

As the love and relationship between the both of you progresses, he’s focused on trying to make you feel better about yourself but in doing so he has to open some wounds. He knows that it hurts, and he’s pained to see you cry, looking nervously at you and fiddling with the ends of his hair but he means well. He tries to understand you, to feel a deeper connection with you and he’ll hold you as you cry onto his shirt. Once you’re done, he’ll let you calm down for a few minutes, offer you some water and dry your eyes, his fingertips grazing against your skin ever so slightly. With every word that you spewed with hate, he’ll counter it with adoration. He’ll hold your hands and comment about how they fit into his perfectly, the soft plush cheeks that you have, your lips that taste of sweet nectar and the marks against your skin that are perfect kissing spots.

He adores your cellulite. You may not think much of it and see it as a hindrance but to him, it reminds him just how soft you are. While demons and the alike are fun and he enjoys the time that he has spent with them he adores you. You’re a human, you’re soft and always changing. He likes to see your body, the way that it has changed, the pale lines marking over your skin like lightning bolts against the night sky. You’ll often find him tracing over it, his fingers walking over your skin and letting the stretch marks take him where they need to be. The stretch marks that lace over your stomach, the ones that pull and wrinkle your skin are something that he enjoys to look at. The groves trace under his fingertips and he’s reminded that you’re human, that you trust him with your plump body despite the mannerisms that he shows at times. Your worth is not put onto your body, it’s put against who you are and he loves everything sweet about you.

The Avatar of Lust is many things and loves many things, and one of those happens to be you. His charm doesn’t work on you and while it was a disappointment at first, it was also a grace hidden by it. You grew to care for him, for him. You loved the sweet nature of him that is hidden by childish jealousy, you adore the way that he tries not to cry at movies, less it ruins his makeup. You adore the small things about him. He fell for your beauty and soon fell for you. He loves beautiful things and his past partners might share a similar type but it doesn’t dictate his only standard of beauty. Beauty comes late at night when the moon is bright, beauty comes at seeing a lover wrapped in a silky bathrobe that’s matched with the other. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and he beholds many things that are beautiful. He seeks you out because you care for him in a way that he hasn’t realized he wanted- you hold his hand and you seek him out for pure enjoyment rather than lustful reasons.

His lips will trace against your body, his hands held tight in yours and he reminds you in all the ways that matter that he loves your body. You’re human, you change and that’s all right by him. Your loose skin is soft, plush and squishing under his slender fingers. If you allow him to, he’ll kiss your skin, let his pink lips pepper against your burning body and he can feel his sin tug at him. He wants to care for your body, to let you feel the pleasure that roams throughout him. His hand will curve over your tummy, his lips close to yours as he tells how delightful you look under him.

Perhaps it's because a few of his past lovers have looked a certain way, but he truly does love your scars. He likes to see your scars of tales from the time before. He might not know how you got them, but from the way you become nervous, he can only guess. He sees your scars as growth, you are in a different place, you are healing both physically and mentally. The scars are from someone long ago, from some cruel and uncaring, and now he’ll kiss them with a cheeky smile, merely telling you that he enjoys kissing your skin. In a desperate attempt to change the subject, he’ll pull you to another part of the house, commenting how he needs help with a class.

While he does love your body, your own happiness comes before his own pleasure. He wants to know that you truly do love yourself and if you don’t, he’ll pout but your happiness means much more. If you really do feel so bad about your scars, he’s willing to go and buy whatever cream is necessary to help aid in fading your marks. He’ll rub the cool cream against your belly, his smile melancholic as he tells you a story. He isn’t fond of changing you, but if it makes you happy and helps erase the scars that you try so desperately to hide, then who is he to complain about your body? He will remind you throughout the process that he does love your body, that whatever you do, is for your happiness because no matter what, he’ll be happy with you.

When he learns of your rather unhealthy coping mechanisms, he heart aches. He becomes rather dependent during this time, wanting to stay close to you for fear of hurting yourself in some type of way. He trusts in you but knowing that you would have harmed yourself makes him rather jittery. He’ll use the title that he has to find someone to talk to because while he would love nothing more than to listen to you, he is not qualified to be the one giving you advice. He’ll still spend hours scouring the internet looking for a way to help you- different medians, alternative ways to feel the sort of satisfaction that you might derive from it and anything else he can understand and see it fitting for you.

He rather have you do things in a healthy way that won’t ruin your body and mind. If you are keen to lose weight, you’re going to do it carefully. As the relationship unfurls into a blossoming flower, he becomes bolder in his actions. He won’t assume what you want to look like, but he wants to help so he’ll find a plan perfect for you and work alongside you. He loves beautiful things and he finds you to be beautiful and if you want to alter a few things about yourself, he’ll support you. Whatever disorders you had in the past, he knows how to care for them and you, he’ll make sure you eat well and treat yourself. You’re his and he isn’t going to let human standards take you away from him. Body image is something that he tries to keep perfect as much as he can and the clothes that you wear are an important factor in how you feel. He’ll change your wardrobe- steadily, of course- and allow you to feel better with what you wear. The clothes will be there to help frame your body in a more flattering way than anything baggy could ever, and he’ll have you model for him, taking pictures and uploading them to Devilgram just to show off how cute you look.

Asmodeus is the Avatar of Lust. He’s the narcissistic fifth born who loves himself and everything beautiful second to only himself. He values how he looks and takes great care of his body. He can be catty and whip out insults in less than a second. But, he is a caring lover, someone soft and sweet, attentive to the needs of his lover. Human beauty standards are something that he understands but he is a demon. He is monstrous and ugly, blood pouring from his hands and forever fretting over how he looks. You, however, are none of those things. You are soft, caring and sweet. You care for him, not the lustful part of him, but for the demon that he is. He’s sorry that he let you believe that he wouldn’t love you, that your marks are blemishes that stain your beauty, but you have to understand that they aren’t. He'd never reject your body, he’d hold you close and let his hands soothe over the parts you dislike while he tells you how gorgeous you are, muttering his praise until your heart beats against your chest and he’s giggling at your reactions. Until you’re gone, he’ll lay in his bed, arms spread wide that his fingertips can barely reach the edge of the bed and he’ll smile to himself, his heart fluttering and chest feeling light, knowing that he made you smile.

150 notes · View notes

funtimebunnyblog · 3 years

Text

I'M BACK!!! 🥰😍❤ Did you all miss me? I'm happy to say that I've finally gotten some WiFi where I'm currently living and updates are gonna try to be more steady here in the future but I can't make any promises because I get very busy with my work 😅😇 Please continue to bear with me!

In other words, a while back I wrote the OG version of this little short fic on A03 but I realized that I had never posted it here! 😱 Nevertheless, I decided to write the Part 2 to this and then decided to remaster that first part before posting it here! 🙂🙂🙂 I'm thinking about turning this into a little mini series 🤔🥰

Anyways, I'll stop rambling! Please enjoy! 😚

Pillarroomates (Chapter 1: Roommate wanted)

(This is dedicated to Dagdoth and Sureynot; 2 of the best bad influences I could ever ask for 🥰😍❤)

The steady click-clacking of keys filled the pleasant silence of the little kitchen, Kars typing away on the laptop before him at the table.

It was just a little after noon, a time where he usually put down his work for a brief session to sit back in silence and enjoy a cup of coffee, or maybe a mug of tea depending on his mood, with whatever baked-good had been whipped up recently. Today however, he chose to cut his little break out of schedule completely to get a jump on the deadline of the month that he was currently picking away at.

Hunched over, eyes glued to the screen, one could've swore he was a living statue perched like that so quietly if it weren't for his typing fingers.

The sweet smell hanging in the air came much closer as Wamuu strode over to the table, a soft smile was painted across the mans lips as he placed an oven fresh cookie on a plate down next to the mug of black tea his Master was letting steep at his side.

"Thank you, Wamuu." Kars said quietly, watching the blonde depart in his peripheral vision for only a beat before regaining his sharp focus on the sea of numbers staring back at him.

Kars had his own room with a desk to work in of course but he always found himself enjoying doing work down here this time of day. The heavenly smell of the kitchen when something was being baked and the pleasant background noise of the radio chiming softly, sometimes accompanied by Wamuu humming along, was something sort of relaxing to Kars.

Relaxing around here tended to be something rare too, as there never seemed to be a dull moment in the lives of the Pillarmen these days.

Not in this neighbourhood, no.

The younger man hummed in response, heading back to the stove to finish scraping fresh cookies off the pan to place on a rack to cool. He was sure Santana would make an appearance soon to try one, with the lovely smell filling the air and all.

Santana could never stay asleep (as heavy of a sleeper as he had the tendency to be) holed up in his room when there was something yummy being cooked.

The times where he appeared the quickest was when Kars flicked on the coffee machine first thing in the morning, the red-head manifesting at his side at the very first spew of hot caffeine never failed to nearly give him a heartattack; especially when it was 5 in the morning in a dark kitchen.

Kars' head lifted, cocking an eyebrow as there suddenly came a knock at the front door; three evenly spaced thumps on the wood. The thought of another complaining neighbour was the first thing to cross his mind, making him sigh as he moved to get up from his chair.

"PIZZA'S HERE!!!"

The sounds of heavy footfalls coming at a rapid speed from down the hallway accompanying the cry stopped him in his tracks.

The plum-haired man grimaced, Wamuu glancing over his shoulder with a frown, as none-other-than Esidisi sped by; the one hand clutching the towel around his waist was the only thing keeping it from blowing away completely.

Despite only catching a glimpse of his speedy companion, Kars didn't miss the fact that the other was sopping wet and trailing water.

Esidisi had simply lept out of the shower the second he heard the knock at the door, leaving with only a towel (just barely even) and the foamy suds that were still clinging to his hair and his body.

No doubt about it, he was dripping all over the place.

And all over his clean floor too.

Kars clicked his tongue, more than tempted to sigh again.

"Really, Esidisi?" He called out to the other.

It was hard to tell whether he was more displeased with his state of soapy undress or the fact that the oldest Pillarmen had gone and ordered yet ANOTHER pizza this week with only God-knows-what on it.

Sure, he the others found themselves actually partaking in "Human food" casually these days. Wamuu even went so far as to teach himself how to cook as a hobby to fill time around the house when he wasn't going to the Gym or to work, but Esidisi had become something of a strange enthusiast on the matter.

Some people in this world got a little riled up over something as simple as Pinapple being added as a topping on a pizza but Kars had a feeling those people would have an absolute fit listening to Esidisi's phone order of a multi-fruit pizza (consisting of: oranges, apples, watermelon and strawberries) with cheese, olives and pepperoni.

He was starting to wonder if his longtime companion was simply doing it just to see how far he could push a Pizza place with his barrage of odd orders until they yelled at him or worse, barred him completely from the place.

His question was only met with laughter. "I decided to ask for Mac and Cheese and Jalapeños on it this time!" Esidisi called back, voice echoing off the walls, as he finally reached the front door.

Wamuu's nose crinkled at the very sound of that, choosing wisely to direct his attention to his cookies once more.

Kars decided to follow suit and do the same with his own work.

He supposed it wasn't really his problem, therefore; he shouldn't say anything.

☆☆☆

The advertisment had been a strange one for sure, but really, you had no choice but to at least look into it. It never hurt to try and you were already desperate enough as it was.

Apartments and open housing in the area was becoming a rarity at best these days, this busy time of year didn't help things either, and you had been scouring the internet for every opportunity or opening there was to move in with someone in this portion of the city.

Sadly, you had turned up empty handed quite a few times.

The last one you had looked into had been great; a nice building, nice seeming people, decent budget; but alas, the people who put out the advert took it down just a day later.

They had decided to give the opening to a close friend of theirs who wanted to come across the country and live with them instead.

You had been starting to consider checking the complete other side of the city and trying to squeeze yourself in somewhere there or maybe even just going with the option of moving cities completely! The hassle of finding a place was just becoming too much until... this one happened to pop up.

☆ Roomate requSWIGGITY SWOOMATE, WE NEED A ROOMATE!!11!!!1!

We are Four Men seeking out a Human roomate to live with us in our rented house.

4 bedroom, 1 bath, 1 kitchen; upstairs, downstairs and basement.

Location: Western side of the city, 929 Bizzare av.

Rent and chores are divided equally among us.

Requirements as followed:

• Must be a CLEAN Human.

• Human must not bear the surname of "Joestar" under ANY means necessary.

•Must be actively working and have claims to have the ability to hold their job.

• Must be willing to contribute to the household via chores and yard work when necessary.

• must be CUTE!!!

• Mus

•

• Must like llf6io78fjjl0

•

• Jo9sjw6jnsjej27ebeolu

• Jsjsij wkk d18kkjs lkdjsjsns52jsjjsnend2njsmdv 6272jsndbdhs2672 jd Djjsija bsij eeskdnne9s782728 jd bjejrn rnusjjsj

• the human must not be loud

• It would be most appreciated if the Human was a mannered person, who holds appreciation for similar hobbies we do. -W

•

Ask within to apply! ☆

You couldn't help but wonder if whoever had written this advert had been drunk at the time by looking at the grabbed mess that took up half the page.

Better yet, you could only hope this was a real advertisement and not some sort of stupid prank.

Either way, you were determined to find out today and claim this oppertunity before anyone else got the chance.

Glancing down at the print out you had made of the ad at the Library, you sighed as you kept going down the street. You had been walking all morning and were beginning to wish you had the foresight to pack a snack or a drink for your seemingly endless sojourn for this supposed place.

There was no picture put onto the advertisement, even a proper description of the place would've been nice, and finding a direct address wasn't exactly a piece of cake to you.

Nonetheless, you kept going. Stopping at every house you passed in hopes to spot a matching address; finding nothing but different numbers and barking dogs tethered in yards.

With every different number meeting your eyes, the possibility of this just being a fake ad just kept growing and growing in your mind.

You were even starting to consider just giving up entirely when, at last, there it was. "292" the numbers were bolted to the front porch, the 9 starting to tilt to one side.

It seemed nice enough. The lawn was well kept, the walkway however looked as if it needed to be redone. The building was a sunbleached blue, probably a nice clean periwinkle once upon a time, but now leaning a tad white and staring to flake. The place was definitely in need of a touch up.

This was the place, now if someone was Home to even just talk to you about this ad that would be great.

You gathered up the courage to leave the sidewalk and start up the overgrown walkway, the wood of the porch whined under your feet as you stepped onto it. A couple of chairs, a book carelessly left behind in one, a little cage sat all by its lonesome in the far corner, and a big unmissable stain (probably coffee) caught your eye on the wood.

The word "Pillarmen" was scrawled on the name card over the mail slot of the front door.

A strange surname, you had never heard of it before, but it must've been safe to assume that it belonged to someone here. Presumably one of the men who had made this advertisement in the first place.

With only a moments hesitation, clutching the print-out in hand, you reached out and rapped on the door hard with your knuckles, then stood back and waited.

Silence... You took the opportunity to fix your appearance slightly, suddenly becoming a little self-conscious, smoothing out your shirt before clasping your hands behind your back neatly and putting on your best smile.

First impressions were important, most especially a first impression made at the door after all.

There came the sounds of voices, too muffled for you to hear through the walls, followed closely by the unmistakable thundering of footsteps coming closer and closer from within.

Finally, the door flung open.

You felt your eyes go a little wide, the smile drained from your face as you craned your neck back slightly to meet the gaze of the very tall and very muscular dark-skinned man that now stood before you.

Belatedly, as your eyes followed the droplets of water that were dripping off him, trickling down every inch of his muscular body and pooling at his feet, you realized he was practically naked; clutching only a fluffy white towel around his waist.

The towel didn't look nearly as fluffy and white as his hair, however.

"Uh--" Your tongue swole in your mouth as you both found yourselves staring at one another, seemingly sharing a similar dumbfounded moment.

He blinked owlishly.

"You're not the Pizza delivery." He said matter-of-factly, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between the two of you.

Your head shook violently, broke from your sudden stupor, pulling out the slightly crumpled piece of paper out for him to see.

"Uh-- I--... N-No! I'm not-- I'm uh.... here ab-about the-- the roomate ad...?" You sputtered, the words felt as garbled as alphabet soup falling off your tongue, you felt a nervous sweat beading on your skin under your clothes as it hit you for a second time that wasn't wearing any. "Oh! If uh-- this is a bad time I-- I can come back later!"

His face lit up suddenly, eyes shimmering like sapphires. "Oh!" He cried. "I forgot about that!"

The massive man turned, calling back over his shoulder deeper into the apartment.

"Kars! There's a Human here, they saw our advert!"

You happened to be so gobsmacked, still reeling from the slight shock of the very first of your encounter, you hadn't even noticed he distinctly used the word "Human" there.

"What?!"

You couldn't see past the mans hulking figure but you could very well hear the scraping of a chair in the distance, followed by more thundering footsteps heading towards the door.

You blinked as yet another larger-than-life sized man made his appearance, pushing past the first with a frown. The both of them looked almost comically squashed where they stood taking up the whole doorway.

This man was just as tall and as muscular as the first. His skin was like ivory, framed by dark cloth wrapped from his neck to the top of his head with only a tuft of deep purple hair dangling precariously out over his pointed nose.

More importantly, very much unlike the first, this one was fully clothed.

Clad in a dress shirt that matched his hair, slightly unbuttoned to just give you a peak of the buldging muscles he had underneath and the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, neatly pressed black dress pants and house shoes.

Kars blinked in surprise as he caught sight of you at last, eyes scanning over you. He honestly hadn't expected someone to come to their door about the advertisement they had put out so quickly, they had only put it out less than a day ago.

If anything, by the way it had turned out, he was surprised someone responded to it at all.

"Please, come in." Kars told you, making his best attempt to save this lousy first impression.

His surprised look was short-lived, turning sharp as he directed it onto Esidisi. The other man smiled sheepishly, turning and retreat back to the bathroom to finish his shower without the pizza he had left it for...

☆☆☆

☆Previously...☆

Kars hummed, reading over the advert for a 4th time with pursed lips.

He had listed all the necessary information about them and the living situation and even put down a few requirements to set the bar for any Human who would happen to want to apply.

However, even with the ground rules set, it still just seemed a little too bare to him.

"Hmm," Kars peered over his shoulder towards the living room doorway; he swore he could hear more of the crunching of the flaming hot cheetos Esidisi was enjoying rather than the actual program he was watching. "Is there anything specific you would like to add to this before I post it?"

"Shay they mush be cute!" came the reply though a mouthful of spicy junkfood. Kars could only hope he wasn't getting crumbs all over the couch again, not to mention getting too handsy with the T.V remote eating those things...

"That isn't what qualifies as a 'requirement', Esidisi..." he sighed.

The other swallowed, now blessed with the ability to speak much clearer; the crinkling of the cheeto bag hit Kars' ears next.

"Well excuse me for having standards." He heard his oldest companion grumble, drowned out by the crunch of more food.

Wamuu's head peered out of the kitchen, the pie he was just about to place in the oven cradled in oven-mit hands. He had decided to try his hand at fudge pie this time, having mastered apple so quickly.

"It would be nice if the Human were a Warrior as well," he said, disappearing from Kars' sight again as he went back into the kitchen, carrying the pie to the awaiting oven. "Or perhaps if they were interested in going to the Gym or baking as I do..."

Kars sighed, "Wamuu, I understand you would like someone to train with but this--"

"The Human must not be loud."

The Pillarman practically jumped out of his chair, the tiniest yelp escaping his lips as he swiveled his head to find none other than Santana looming over him. The sheet lines imprinted in the others face indicated he had just arisen from a deep sleep; most likely venturing out of his cave and into the kitchen to see what Wamuu was up to.

Even after thousands of years, he still couldn't get used to the youngest Pillarman sneaking up on him.

It probably didn't even count as "sneaking" anyways as Santana was just so naturally quiet he just happened to go unnoticed until he spoke up.

Kars opened his mouth to make an attempt to speak again, only to be cut off one more time as Esidisi finally made his own appearance; leaning over the purple-haired man to see the advert in the works.

"See, this is all wrong." Esidisi told him, frowning at the screen. "This is too formal! If we're going to get someone at all, we need to grab their attention somehow. Here, I'll fix it!"

The other practically clamored over him, cheeto bag tucked under arm as he reached over to type on the computer, deleting the majority of the title Kars had written out and already replacing it with one of his own creation.

Kars belatedly realized the others' hands were still coated in hot cheeto crumbs, smudging the keys of his pristine computer with imprints of red and orange as he typed away.

"Esidisi, stop this at once!" He commanded, trying to push him at arms length, only to be met with a hand pushing back and smooshing against his face. The smell of spicy cheese flavoring hit his nostrils, only fueling his fire. "This is my work computer! I'm the one writing this advertisement!"

Santana merely stood back, watching the two elder Pillarmen fight over the computer in silence. Esidisi was pushed by Kars into the keyboard a handful of times before their focus was solely on one another and no longer the ad.

"Get your grubby hands off me!" Kars growled as the other straddled him in the chair, his face now smudged like his keyboard. They kept pushing on one another, a clumsy slap war already underway, obscenities and curses getting mangled as they argued back and forth.

"You never let me--"

"I told you that--"

"I wanna do it! Just let me--"

Santana peered down at the computer curiously, uninterested in watching the display before him any longer.

The red-head typed out his own request before picking up the device and carrying it to the kitchen for Wamuu to see and whatever he wished; Santana ignored the sound of two bodies toppeling out of the chair and hitting the floor as he left.

Kars didn't even get to see the ad (or rather; the remainder of what qualified as an advert) before it was posted online by Santana.

#funnybunny #pillarmen #kars #esidisi #wamuu #santana #my writing #pillarroomies

52 notes · View notes

purpletaecup · 4 years

Photo

10 ☾ he said that’s how he still remembers me

warnings: explicit language (cursing), mentions of miscarriage, mentions of infidelity (not rlly but on thin ice)

notes: you guys... this is a long one and it’s kind of fast paced, but we are finally getting some answers and the drama really begins! next chapter will be emotional, that’s all I know. I’m sorry for putting you through all this angst!! also, I wanted to bring some attention to the crisis in the Philippines right now with all of the dangerous typhoons. A lot of people need donations and rescuing, so HERE is a link to a twitter thread of donation drives! Please make sure to check it out, share and help spread awareness!

as always, come talk to me in my ask box! and if you want to be added to the taglist, please send an ask, or reply to this post or the masterlist!

not edited!! sorry if there are any mistakes lmfao i usually am sleep deprived when i write so yeah, there are probably some errors.

word count: 5,614

☾

The days following Jungkook’s visit were dull, if anything. You’ve received texts from Yoongi saying that he couldn’t come visit until that weekend because he had to finish wrapping things up in advance at the company so that he could spend some time with you. You had argued over the phone like teenagers when you insisted that he didn’t need to do that and you could take care of yourself until Jin came back. Of course, that led to him ranting about what the doctor said about monitoring you and your symptoms for concussion and to get him to just shut up about the medical stuff (it made your brain hurt more than it did usually), you reluctantly agreed to his ‘visits’, as you’d rather call them.

[nov. 20, 2020]

It was Friday now and you still haven’t gotten any glimpse of actual memories back, although you have been having these strange dreams that you couldn’t really remember when you woke up. You could only describe the feeling it gave you as ‘sinking’, like you were drowning and you couldn’t escape. As much as possible, you tried not to think about these feelings, and focused more on trying to get to know the version of you who lived in this amazing apartment.

The past couple of days that you spent at this apartment put you in awe. It really was the apartment of your dreams, from the color of the furniture down to the little plants stuck in the corner of that tiny shelf in the kitchen. It was beautiful and so you. The only problem was that you couldn’t find anything to help with your current situation. You scoured every nook and cranny and couldn’t find anything dated after your wedding reception. No pictures, no post-its, notes or anything past that date. What you had found in your apartment, you already knew of (aside from the wedding photos). Past photoshoots, high school photos, a notebook full of movie ticket stubs. There was absolutely nothing in this apartment that gave you a clue to the life you lived during the four year gap in your memory.

You even tried to get into your twitter and instagram from when you were nineteen but you couldn’t log in. Wrong password every single time. When you tried to change your password for social media, the email you used had a different password too. You couldn’t figure out what you could have changed your password to. Every password combination you could think of, you tried, but none worked, so you decided to just skip that and maybe go over it later on. Or make a new one. That could work, too.

You couldn’t even look at your twitter account because for some reason, it was private and that seemed strange for someone with almost 130,000 followers. You could see your instagram account from your browser, but it wouldn’t let you see the pictures and posts in full size with the captions and comments, so you were really stuck.

A quick internet search of your name yielded things you already knew. Former model, current writer (that fact was still surprising to you). Old news articles of dating scandals that weren’t true, except for the one with Yoongi. More news articles about your divorce with no further information than what Yoongi had told you already.

It’s as if any clue about your life during your memory loss is unaccounted for. It seemed like at this point, you could only rely on other people telling you about your life and pray to whatever higher power there was to give you your memories back.

This futile search was beginning to make your stomach churn. You almost couldn’t suppress the bile rising up in your throat. Hopefully Jin would return soon. Maybe he could put all of the pieces back together for you.

☾

Jungkook sat in on the uncomfortable leather couch in Yoongi’s office as he waited for the man to finish up whatever he was typing. He looked through his instagram feed and saw one of your posts from July. For a while, he was confused as to why this picture from July would end up on his feed, but he remembered the new instagram algorithm. Curious, he clicked on your profile and looked through it slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually paid attention to your posts.

“I forgot to ask but what did you and Yn do at her apartment? She said you stayed over for a couple of hours.” Yoongi asked though his eyes never strayed from his paperwork.

Jungkook looked up at him and pondered on what to say.

“Hm, yeah. I got roped into staying. She asked a bunch of questions and we looked through her apartment and her photo albums. Her apartment’s cute, by the way. Way different from what your house looked like.” He comments.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was bright. Lots of green. Nothing I’ve ever seen in the house you guys shared.”

“How was she when you picked her up? She told me a couple of things but I haven’t seen her yet so I can’t know if what she’s telling is the truth or not.”

It was quiet for a moment, with only the sound of turning pages filling the room, as Jungkook wondered what to say to this. He didn’t really know when to start with you, especially with how different you were acting.

“Well, she’s fine. The personality is definitely different. She seems a lot more outgoing, and she had a lot of questions but she didn’t push. I think she wants to try and figure things out on her own.” Jungkook replies as he continued to slowly look through your previous instagram posts.

“She’s been like that. She hates being a burden and gets really defensive about it sometimes.” Yoongi comments.

Jungkook pauses at your most recent post. He checks the date. September 22.

“When did you guys divorce again?” He asked.

At this, Yoongi looked up.

“The divorce was finalized on September 29, I think.” He answered, but looked questioningly at Jungkook as if to ask why.

“Did you know she was going to therapy?” Jungkook asked again.

Hearing this, Yoongi stood up abruptly and hurried over to where Jungkook was sitting.

“What? Where did you see that?” Yoongi asked as he looked over Jungkook’s shoulder.

Jungkook showed him the post. Yoongi took the phone from him and examined the post carefully.

It was a picture of clouds with text on it. Is this the life we really want? The caption read “as per the advice of my therapist, i’m just here to pop in and say that I’ll be going on a hiatus for a little bit”.

“What the fuck? I didn’t know this!” Yoongi yelled, evidently angry.

Jungkook looked at him confused. They were together for four years, how could he not know that you were at least going to therapy?

The same question was running through Yoongi’s head. He took a seat next to Jungkook to process this new information.

“Hyung, can I ask you a couple of questions?” Jungkook requested.

Yoongi could only nod.

“What was Yn like when you were together? Why did you marry her?” Those were the first questions that came out of Jungkook’s mouth.

He was truly, genuinely curious. Though he’s heard some things that Yoongi had said about you, he never knew the full story.

“We married each other because we loved each other. Wasn’t that obvious?” Yoongi retorted.

Jungkook pursed his lips at this. “Well that's what you tell everybody and yeah we get it, but considering the fact that I’ve barely seen you two together more than two handful of times in the past two years, I had to ask.”

“That’s because we were both busy, but that didn’t mean we didn’t spend time together. Of course you never saw it because you weren’t there and I’m not one to actively talk about my love life. Yn and I both liked our privacy.”

“Okay, then what was she like when you were together?”

Yoongi was quiet for a while. There were a lot of things he could say about you when you were together. He just didn’t know how to articulate it to Jungkook.

“When we were together… she was charismatic, beautiful and intelligent. Something about the way she communicated made you feel like you could forget about all of your worries and live life to its extent with her. She constantly dragged me out to picnics and made me forget about the business and my career. She made me feel young again. And she had so much love and care for people around her. For a long time, I felt like I would never be deserving of her. She was kind of like a sunflower. Or sunshine, you know what I mean?” Yoongi poured out.

Jungkook nodded. He realized that this was the time to try to figure out what happened to you in your marriage. From his conversation with you at your apartment, to the description of you that Yoongi had just given, he surmised that the version of you that he knew was someone different and he could only wonder if Yoongi saw it too.

“Did you ever feel like she changed? In the time you guys were together?” He probed.

Yoongi thought about it for a while.

“Yeah, I think so. I always found it strange that she decided to quit modelling. When I met her, she said it was all she ever wanted. I never asked because it seemed like a sensitive topic to her, but I supported her regardless. Writing seemed so out of nowhere for her. I don’t know where it came from. Then she stopped wanting to go to business dinners and events with me and after that we just drifted. And in between that, you introduced me to Yura.”

When Yoongi mentioned Yura, Jungkook winced. He had thought about it some nights ago, but he realized that he might have had a hand in your divorce by introducing Yura to Yoongi. Though he knows Yoongi would have never physically cheated on you, he could see how Yoongi and Yura gravitated towards each other. Jungkook had to admit that Yura was a sweet girl. She was beautiful, and when she smiled it was like sunshine.

Yoongi interrupted his train of thought. “Yura is kind of a complicated subject to our marriage. I would never, ever cheat on someone I loved. And I loved Yn, so much. When you introduced Yura to me, I was happy to meet a new friend and that’s all I saw, but the more you made me hang out with you guys, the more I started to see something in her that I stopped seeing in Yn. I never meant to have any sort of romantic feelings for Yura, but it happened and I feel so fucking shitty for doing that to Yn when I’m the one who promised her a lifetime together.”

Jungkook straightened his posture as Yoongi’s confession.

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” He asked.

“By what?” Yoongi looked at him confused.

“What happened to Yn that pushed you to Yura?”

At this, Yoongi scratched his head.

“I wouldn’t say that it pushed me to Yura, but remember when I said Yn and I started getting distant? As time went on, I felt like she changed and I didn’t know who she was. She used to be so bubbly and happy and always wanting to go look at flowers, but towards the end of our marriage, she stayed holed up in our room no matter how much I asked her to spend time with me. Yura, she was happy to spend time with me. She made me feel like I could forget about everything just by talking to me.”

“Yura made you feel like how Yn used to make you feel?” Jungkook cut him off.

“Well… I guess so.”

Jungkook thought about this for a while but narrowed his eyes at his hyung.

“Hyung, answer this truthfully; do you love Yura?”

The tips of Yoongi’s ears turned red after hearing this.

“Love? I don’t know. I like her? I like the way she makes me feel. She’s beautiful and smart and she makes me happy.”

“Hyung, I don’t know if you realize this, but the way you described Yura is exactly the same way you described Yn.”

“What do you mean?”

“It sounds like you started liking Yura because she reminded you of Yn when you met her. So, do you really, truly like Yura? Or do you just like her because she reminds you of what you don’t have anymore?”

Yoongi lowered his head.

“I-I don’t know. I never thought of it like that.”

Jungkook put his hand on Yoongi’s back to comfort him. Obviously, the man was confused.

“I don’t know if this helps, but I just wanted to let you know that whenever I saw Yn, during those dinners or events, she never gave off the vibe that you described her to be. To me, she was quiet, reserved and never bothered trying to get to know us, your friends, or your business. That’s what she came off as. When you told us that you loved each other and that you eloped, I thought you were joking. When I saw her, she just seemed like the typical trophy wife. Just for show. I never liked her and wondered what you saw in her all the fucking time, but now after hearing this, and after being with her for a couple of hours, it’s obvious that something happened that fucked her up and then fucked your marriage up.” Jungkook ranted.

“I think you might need to reevaluate the relationship you had with Yn so we could help her recover from this whole amnesia thing and hopefully figure out what happened. Something definitely happened, but since I don’t know your marriage like you do, I don't know what it is. I feel guilty now after realizing that I might have had a hand in whatever the fuck she was going through. And maybe figure out what you’re going to do about Yura. Can you keep dating her when your feelings for her are based off of your feelings for your ex-wife, who is currently pregnant with your wife and doesn’t know about it?” He continued.

Yoongi took a deep breath, taking all of this conversation in.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m almost done with the shit here at the company. When I go home, I’ll sort everything out and talk to Yn and Yura tomorrow. I don’t think I can keep seeing Yura with the current situation. I have to tell Yn about the pregnancy as soon as possible, but I’m scared because the doctor told me to monitor for residual symptoms for her concussion. I don’t even know where to begin with the situation.”

“It’s okay, hyung. I’m here for you. You have to tell her about the pregnancy before she finds out herself. In the meantime, I’ll help you out when you can’t take care of her. I already feel shitty enough for how I acted with her when you two were married. I feel like I had the wrong impression this whole time.” Jungkook offered.

Yoongi remembered the moment earlier when Jungkook confessed that he never liked you and that baffled him because he thought that you two, of all people, would get along well together. More often than not, he would feel jealous of Jungkook, who had your admiration when you first started dating. He remembered you always asking him to introduce you to Jungkook and it took a year for him to budge and actually make it happen.

“I’m sure you’ll get along now. I always thought you did get along. Did you know she liked you before?” Yoongi asked.

Jungkook shook his head. “I didn’t know until the other day when you had me take her home. It probably would have helped if you told me she knew who I was before you introduced us after you got together. She never acted like she was a fan of my music and admittedly, I was a dick to her.”

Yoongi glared at him. It was a first for him to hear about how Jungkook treated his ex-wife.

“Well, you should feel shitty because she really liked you and your music. For a while, I thought she liked you more than me. If I had known you were an asshole to her, I probably would have ripped you a new one. Hearing you admit you treated her like shit makes me feel like shit because I never knew and just assumed you guys were good with each other. You didn’t do or say anything bad to her, right? You’re not that type of person.”

Jungkook could only pretend to smile at Yoongi as he asked this.

He shook his head and lied. “No, never.”

Lying through his teeth to his best friend about how he treated you made his heart fall to his stomach. Well, Yoongi didn’t have to know because it was in the past. You couldn’t remember any of the mean things he’d said to you, so now was the perfect time to make a new, much better impression of himself to you. He decided days ago that he would be better, because deep down, he knew that you didn’t deserve to be treated like how he treated you.

[nov. 21, 2020]

Yoongi had taken the day off after his somewhat enlightening conversation with Jungkook last night. He decided that he needed to go see you and spend some time with you today, but before that, he needed to settle things with Yura.

They decided to meet up at his apartment for maximum privacy, just in case anything happened. He wanted to account for the worst case scenario of Yura probably getting angry and throwing things around, but he doesn’t think she’s the type of person to do dramatic things like that.

Turns out, she’s not. When he reluctantly tells her that he can’t continue on with what they had because of residual feelings for you, in addition to the fact that there were complications in that relationship that he can’t speak about carelessly, she had reacted calmly and amicably. Though Yoongi hadn’t expected her to throw a tantrum, he was expecting some kind of anger, but all he got was a sad look passing on her face followed by comforting words.

He apologized profusely for having dragged her around when he still had apparent feelings for his ex-wife and not figuring out his feelings for her, or lack thereof, sooner. She reassured him that it was okay and she’ll be fine.

“I’ll be fine Yoongi. I liked you, but it’s pretty obvious that you used me as some kind of rebound or replacement for your ex-wife, and I was okay with it. Truthfully, I was waiting for you to just come clean and break it off with me. I hope you and Yn figure things out this time, and I hope you can talk to her. Communication is important.” She reminds him before she leaves, but not before letting him know that she would always be there for him as a friend.

He had texted her after she left, and after a couple of minutes to himself, that he was thankful for her being so nice about the situation and all in all, he didn’t regret whatever short-lived affection they had for each other.

Yoongi still couldn’t believe how smoothly everything with Yura went. He hoped that the rest of the day would be the same.

☾

You woke up to a message from Jungkook asking if you were free, so you had to tidy up the apartment and yourself because you didn’t want to look messy in front of someone you had idolized for a long time.

Luckily enough, you didn’t have to cook since Jungkook offered to bring food. You thank your lucky stars for that because for some reason, you’ve been feeling incredibly sluggish and nauseous. It was probably some symptoms of the concussion you suffered. You remembered your doctor saying something about that the last time you were at the hospital.

About 20 minutes later, you heard your doorbell ring so practically skip to the door, excited to see Jungkook and steal the food that he brought.

You opened the door to see Jungkook standing there with a big back of food in his hands. He was wearing all black, with a leather jacket that looked a tad too big on him.

“You look warm.” You comment.

He rolled his eyes. “Are you gonna invite me in or not? I even brought you food.”

You laugh a little and move to the side to give him room to step inside the apartment.

“So, what have you been doing?” He asks as he makes his way to your dining room to put the food down.

You make your way to the kitchen to get some plates for the both of you.

“Nothing. I’ve been trying to look for some stuff but I don’t know where to start so I just gave up until you or Yoongi could come help.” You reply as you move to the dining room to set the plates down.

Jungkook takes the food out and puts some on the plates. Kimbap, like you asked, and some seaweed soup.

“How have you been feeling? Okay?” He questioned.

You nodded, though hesitantly.

“Eh, I’ve been feeling kind of tired. I think I might be sick because I keep wanting to vomit. Is that my wintermelon tea, by the way?” You pointed to the drink in his hand.

Jungkook poked the straw through the lid and handed it to you.

“Sick? Did you take any medicine? Are you feeling better now?”

You took a sip of your tea and sighed, missing the sweet taste of the drink. It felt nostalgic.

“Mhm, took some earlier and I'm feeling much better thanks to the food you brought!” You smiled.

Jungkook rolled his eyes jokingly once again. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He didn’t think about your illness any further. It was probably a cold and nothing else.

For about 20 minutes, the two of you ate and spoke about little things, mostly about Jungkook and his career. It helped you get to know him a little bit better since he’s the only person besides Yoongi who could help you in your situation until Jin comes back.

After you finished eating, you told him that you needed his help going through your room in case there was anything that could jog your memory.

“I would ask Yoongi but he’s been busy lately.”

“So I’m just your last resort?”

“You’re literally the only other person in my contact list besides Yoongi and Jin.”

“Right, anyways, lead the way!” He exclaimed.

You laughed as you led him to the room at the end of the hallway.

“Sorry if it’s a little messy, I didn’t have that much time to clean up before you got here!” You explained.

Jungkook shook his head, telling you it didn’t really matter since it was gonna be a mess anyways while you two went through your things.

☾

When Jungkook walked into your room, he was once again hit with the feeling that he had no fucking clue who you were in the past years he’d known you. If he could describe your room in one word, it would be enchanting. White walls, white sheets adorn with a baby blue blanket, wooden floors, giant plants and a mirror much bigger than himself. Your desk was filled with different kinds of pens, different notebooks that look to have been trifled through, and an unnatural amount of books and crystals.

From the looks of the rest of your house, he probably shouldn’t be surprised at your bedroom, but it’s still a bit difficult for him to wrap his mind around the fact that you were this type of person. Bright, intelligent, and incredibly neat.

He walked up to your desk and picked up the different notebooks laid out messily on the table. When he opened each of them, he noticed that they were mostly blank, with the exception of a few doodles. There were some things he’d recognized as lyrics from songs he knew, but nothing truly relevant to the memories you lost.

You stood next to Jungkook and looked at the notebooks in his hands.

“I went through those already. Nothing but a few sad lyrics here and there. None of them triggered any memories.” You mentioned.

Jungkook put them down and started walking around the room with you as you talked about what you did find during the days that you were left alone. What he got from that conversation was that you had no luck with anything and that’s why you waited until either he or Yoongi could come over and help you. Jungkook knew that Yoongi was coming over later, so if he couldn’t help you find anything or answer any of your questions today, then maybe Yoongi could.

“Oh! I forgot to mention that I can’t even access any of my social media, so do you think I can look through my instagram through your phone? I mean, if that’s okay with you. I know some people feel uncomfortable giving their phone to someone else to play around with.” You asked.

Jungkook shook his head and stuck his hand in his pant pocket, reaching for his phone.

“It’s fine, you can look at your profile, I think I follow you. The password is 061313.” He stated as he handed his phone over to you.

You grabbed it excitedly, finally getting the chance to see what your life was like during the four years that were missing from your memory. You fell back onto your bed as you unlocked Jungkook’s phone and clicked on his instagram app quickly.

You took a look at his profile first, staring in awe at the pictures he’s posted. Most of his pictures are very dark and he had quite a few selfies. You smiled a little bit as you admitted in your head that he was indeed handsome.

Okay, Yn, onto the more important things! You thought to yourself as you quickly searched your username ‘faeyn’ on the search bar. At first you were excited, but it deflated when you saw just how many posts you had. 13 posts. And almost all of them were just landscapes. Some had pictures of you by yourself, or with Jin, but that was it. How the fuck were you supposed to try to figure out your life through 13 pictures?

Scrolling through each picture and their captions from the oldest to newest, you quickly realized that you must have decided that privacy was something that should be valued. There was nothing of substance to your situation in the captions you’d written. Just casual mentions of how your day was, or what you did that day. The only thing that caught your eye was the latest post you had, dated September 22. It was a picture of clouds and the caption said something about your therapist advising you to take a break, so you were going to be on a social media cleanse for a while.

Well, at least you learned one thing. Apparently, you started going to therapy again. For what? You don’t know. You only remembered going to therapy a couple of times after the whole incident with your bastard ex-boyfriend.

You filed this little detail into your brain and hoped that maybe it would make more sense later on. Swiping up on Jungkook’s phone took you to his home screen, but you paused for a little. Maybe you could snoop through some more apps and see if there was anything else you can find.

No, that would be an invasion of Jungkook’s privacy, you thought. Another part of you argued that he wasn’t going to know and he’s here to help you. If there was anything worth hiding, he wouldn’t have given you his phone and his password so easily. And if there was anything, it wouldn’t be incriminating since he mentioned that you two didn’t really know each other that well, so you shrugged and clicked on his messages.

I’ll just see if there are any messages to me. I won’t look at anything else, you justified, as if it made it any better.

After scrolling for a little while, you finally saw something worthwhile. A text convo between you and Jungkook and from the preview of the message, it looks like it was from the middle of September. You opened it, excited to see the contents, but what you saw made you furrow your brows.

What is this?

☾

After Jungkook gave you his phone, he continued walking around your room until he got to the side of your bed that was next to the window. He looked around for a bit and saw something in the corner of his eyes. Crouching down lower, he saw something on the floor behind your headboard. He couldn’t tell what it was at first, but as soon as he moved closer, he realized it was a thick notebook. Jungkook surmises that you probably hadn’t seen it despite telling him that you looked ‘everywhere’. He took the notebook and sat down on the floor, completely hiding his figure, but not before he could look at you. He wanted to see what was in the notebook before he showed it to you, and luckily enough, you had been facing away from him.

So he sat down and opened the notebook. From just the first page, he could tell it was some kind of diary or journal. There were lots of drawings and stickers and a picture of you in a field of flowers right in the middle of the first page. He flipped through the whole notebook really quickly and found that half of it was already filled.

A part of him wanted to read through the whole thing and see what kind of things you wrote, but another part told him that it wasn’t appropriate. Despite that, he convinced himself that he should read maybe just one entry, just to see if this notebook was something substantial to your current situation.

Jungkook took a peek at you again and noticed you still had your back turned to him so he took that as a sign that he could probably get away with reading an entry. He flipped to a page randomly and focused his eyes on the writing.

The entry was dated August 4, 2020. Fairly recent. He noticed that there were some dark blotches on the paper that made the ink bleed.

He began to read the entry, not knowing what he was going to find out.

It still seems weird to be writing about my problems in a journal. I’m still not used to it, but it’s been helpful since I don’t really have anyone to talk to about this.

That made him frown.

I went to my OBGYN today because I’ve been having severe cramps and bleeding, but I already had my period so I was worried. And the cramps were starting to really hurt, so I had to go get it checked out just in case. Well, apparently I was pregnant and lost the baby.

Jungkook’s eyes widened and he gasped audibly. Luckily enough, it wasn’t loud enough for you to notice. He clasped his hand over his mouth at the disbelief in reading this information. A miscarriage? And so recent, too. He didn’t know how to feel. Yoongi had never said anything about this.

Jin actually just left my house a couple of hours ago. I don’t think the news hit me until now. I texted Yoongi earlier to tell him but he was busy so I think that was a sign that I should probably not tell him. It’s not like it matters right? Since the baby was gone anyways.

I know my therapist told me to stop with the negative self-talk, but it’s moments like this that really push me to just keep thinking I’ll never be good enough for the men that I love. Thanks to my bastard ex for fucking my mind up like this. No matter how hard I try, I always just circle back to the fact that I wasn’t good enough for him, and that I’m not good enough for Yoongi. Even fate is telling me that I’m not good enough to carry a child with the man I love. How fucked up is that?

Jungkook’s heart dropped to his stomach. He felt sick. There were so many things going through his head right now. He felt like he was violating something that was so private. Yoongi didn’t even know that you went through this. You didn’t even know you went through this. He shut the journal quickly, wiping the tears that formed in his eyes.

At that exact moment, he heard your heavy breathing and quickly got up to check on you. He walked around to your side of the bed and found you trembling with his phone in your hands. He noticed that his messages were open and he began to panic.

“What the fuck is this?” was the last thing he heard you say before your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you fell limp into your bed.

← masterlist →

taglist: @victoriedulce @yoongistruth @rebeccawoodrow @moon-asia @koochiekoo @sonderkook @fangirling-gallifreyan @teresaisla @veronawrites @haeilove @rjsmochii @mama-m0chi @agustd-2020 @imluckybitches @dreamer95 @coldfreakeggsexpert @loveyoongles @selfproducingfanfictionauthor @mr-robot-x @alinerl @lunaarya @somewhereinthestarss @moonlitmyg @liriaus @coolpeanutskeletonpersona @scentedsope @seoul9711 @sbtzhoe @ggukkieland @mariand @deolly @fandomstogetherweunite @pairdeune @baekstans @mickmoon @iamnamjoonsbxtch @cloudbuffalo @kimmalik @laabellaavitaa21 @liveoffyou @vantedollz @1this1is1me1 @yulisaangelica @madnesstaking0ver @venxtaetae @pimpnameyannie @bobrouxsky @cheesecakes-randomshitz @ceoofjjksimping @minclangyyy @ysljoon @eilenebeniquez @laurynne5 @jalexad @yoongicap @hellotherehoneybee @thequeen-kat @haveumetbadeth @goldenkookietae @miss-jupiter @arcadechick @neverthefirstchoice @zxlummxxd

376 notes · View notes