#and they have the fucking gull to say that they feel like they have to take care of me?? because i dont cook?? fuck you

[mochinomnoms]

Floyd and Yuu at the beach enjoying a nice sweet treat and a sea gull tries to steal Yuu’s ice cream, but Floyd grabs it by the neck and says “not today”

Random ass fuck yeah but he would 100% not let a seagull or pelican even try. Florida man vibes with him

The seagull came out of nowhere, you think it was perched on the armada you two were sitting under, waiting for you to look away so it would swipe your ice cream cone right from your hands.

And it did, swooping down to snatch the top of your treat with its large beak and fly off. You're sure that was the plan, until a large hand reached out, reacting before you even processes what was happening.

Floyd wrapped his fingers around the seagull's neck, a soft, strained 'honk' leaving its throat as he squeezed.

“Annoyin' ass, get outta here!” Floyd grumbled as he wound up his arm and launched the seagull across the beach like a pitcher with his baseball.

You think you hear him say 'yeet', but were mostly distracted by the distancing shriek of the poor bird as it splashed into the water a few meters away. You'd be impressed, but your ice cream was still in its mouth when Floyd threw it.

“Aw Floyd, it still had my ice cream…” you clicked your tongue, a bit disappointed. You made a noise of surprise as his right arm, the one holding his ice cream sundae, wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you into his side.

“Aww, that's okay~ You can have some of mine!” Floyd's left hand was holding his spoon as he reached over to get a scoop.

You perked up, watching him bring the scoop to your lips, as you closed your eyes and opened your mouth, waiting for the sweet treat to hit your taste buds.

You choose to ignore Floyd's little hum and giggle as he fed you. It was a nice flavor, though you weren't sure how Floyd could handle all of the various textures from the numerous toppings he put on.

“Mmh, it's good!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Floyd hummed, sticking the spoon into the top of his sundae, and reaching over to squeeze your cheeks.

“An' now, you owe me for eating some of my ice cream!” Floyd cackled at the glare you gave him.

“You offered!” you retaliated, your words slurring as he squished your cheeks further.

“And you too it. Now what should I take as payment?” Floyd hemmed and hawed, tapping a finger against your cheek as he pretended to think.

“How 'bout a kiss from my little mate? Huh? Come on~ Pucker up!”

Floyd made kissy noises as he waited for you to give him the go ahead, the sounds getting louder and more dramatic, almost comical.

“Oh my god, come here you big dummy!” You laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and bringing him down to share a kiss.

You could feel his lips turn up against yours, and taste the sweet banana flavored ice cream against his tongue.

“Hmm…I think I like how the ice cream taste better on you~” Floyd purred, reaching over to grab another scoop and press it to your lips. “Come on, take another bite and gimme another kiss! They're extra sweet from you~”

You snorted and rolled your eyes, though you were still smiling.

“You're cheesy.”

“And you love it.”

“Hmm, only cause I love you~”

[cozzyplace]

.

[realisticfanfictions]

Being Sanji's Girlfriend & Baratie's Head Waitress - Part 3.

Sanji x Waitress!Reader: Part One, Part Two.

Working at Baratie wasn't without its challenges, and the fights that sprung up because of them weren't rare either. You and your boyfriend never sweated the small stuff, after all working in a high stress environment made you, well, stressed. But maybe some things can't be resolved that easily.

Tags: Sanji x Reader, Waitress!Reader, constant bickering, mostly fluff with some angst, (heavy) swearing.

A/N: This one is slightly shorter, but it expands more on Y/N's chartacter and finally introduces her to the rest of the crew! BTW, this series may or may not have turned me into a Taz Skyler fan.

Word Count is 3,475. Hope you enjoy!

Tag list (comment to join!): @siriuslyblackonback

Did you overreact? No. Did you feel bad when you saw the look on Sanji's face as he watched you leave the kitchen? Why the fuck would you? You took a left down the almost endless corridors that made up the Baratie. It wasn't your fault that some kid thought you were a pirate, or 'acted like one', whatever the hell that meant. No, you did know what that meant, and it pissed you off. He meant that you were aggressive, or uncouth, or whatever other adjective fit the slobbering, passed out pirates that littered the Baratie's deck come morning. The same ones that spent the entire night making disgusting comments about how they'd like to force themselves onto the waitresses, or pull a gun out just for the hell of it. But you know what? It wasn't your fault you were like this. You were a byproduct of the most fucked up parts of the world, forged from the suffering of years past and created into what you were by the Devil himself.

And it certainly wasn't your fault when that same kid, the foolish, naive and sheltered brat who had the gull to say that you acted like that, tried to recruit your boyfriend into that cult they called piracy and you got upset. "Freedom, my ass." You hissed under your breath, venom seeping off of every word. You weren't a good person, but at least you didn't try to rip off a restaurant under the guise of being the 'Future King of the Pirates'. You didn't indoctrinate people into that abhorrent lifestyle and pretend that it was all about adventure, and not about pillaging and murder. And you certainly don't pretend that pirates are innocent, little fucking sailors on the high sea singing sea shanties all day long, when all they're good for is taking,

and taking,

and TAKING!

With a yell, you drove your fist into the wall, sending shards of wood scattering in a million directions. You didn't even realise that you were shaking until you fell against the wall, your legs morphing into some gelatinous abomination that couldn't even keep you upright. Did you overreact? The hole in the wall was your answer.

One, you took a deep breath. You're lucky you have a whipped boyfriend who you've somehow conned into putting up with you even though you're fucking nuts.

Two, you exhaled. No, you both have issues and it's pointless to criticise or get hung up on the small things.

Three, your lungs filled with air. You're a fucking disgrace, how dare you storm out there like that?

Four, the carbon left your lungs. You'll need to explain yourself, and apologise for your outburst. You are human and you make mistakes, Sanji will understand. He's good like that.

Five, the air burned as you breathed it in. The amount of mistakes you make is incredible. Your entire existence is one big fucking mistake.

Breathe, (Y/N). Count to five. Breathe in air and breathe out your toxicity. You were a bad person. But, you are stronger than your past, and you deserve better than to be known for your mistakes.

You repeated it like a mantra, a prayer you recited more often than you'd like to admit. The tips of your fingers found themselves entangled in your hair. You overreacted. Why the fuck do you keep overreacting?

"Are you okay?" The voice jolted you back to your senses. With a quiet gasp slipping from your lips, you snapped your head to the source of the sound. There stood someone you vaguely remember serving - a young woman about your age with hair as orange as tangerines. She had a wary look on her face and stood a fair distance from you, but seemed at least somewhat concerned.

You couldn't help but laugh dryly. "I'm alright, thank you." When you untangled your hands from your hair, you tried to ignore the strands that came along with it. "How can I help you?"

Her eyes flicked up and down. "Out of the two of us, I think you're the one who needs help." She paused. "You're our waitress, right? The one who helped us get the table."

By the time she was done speaking, you had pushed yourself off the wall and tugged at the hem of your shirt to drag out any crinkles. "I'm not exactly the model employee at the moment, but that's me. I'm not working currently, but you can always ask if you need something."

A contemplative look crossed her face. "If you're off the clock, why don't you come have a drink?"

You held up a hand. "Sorry, but I'm not really meant to be-"

"It's just a drink." She stated and walked a couple feet toward you. "Just as thanks for the table, and you look like you need one."

Her eyes were honest, and although you could see something hidden far behind them like a memory she was trying to forget, your shoulders dropped and you nodded. "That would be lovely, thank you."

She smiles and turns to walk toward what you now realised was the sounds of the bar. With how close you were to well-over one-hundred patrons, you weren't surprised that you were found practically hyperventilating in the corner. You were, however, glad that it was this kind stranger. Or perhaps she wasn't kind at all, you weren't sure yet.

The orange-haired woman brings you past passed out sailors to the back of the deck where the silhouettes of two men already were. "You're (Y/N), right?" She asked as she took a seat and offered you a glass from the table. "I'm Nami." She pointed to the man in the pirate costume noisily slurping out of a ceramic bowl - the Ultimate Tropical Dream, your mind reminded you. "That's Ussop," She then pointed without looking to the man beside her who's eyes hadn't left you since you approached. "And that's Zoro." She nodded as she took a sip of her drink. "Take a seat."

You hesitated, but sat down. Your eyes naturally drifted to the green-haired man, Zoro. "Pleased to make your acquaintance." While you spoke to the group, its true intention was a question. Did he know you?

Zoro sat back and hummed. "Likewise." He grunted and took a swing. No. Then his gaze finally broke from you to the other male. "Pace yourself."

Ussop moaned into his drink and slurped. "I don't think there's any liquor in this, it tastes just like candy."

"Last time I said that, I woke up face down under a table." The swordsman muttered both as an admission of fault and a warning to the naive pirate.

You nodded, taking a quick sip of your own drink. "The Ultimate Tropical Dream has four-seven ounces of rum, four of vodka, and seven of filler. Fucking filthy fads get you shit-faced faster than a fleeting face, but Fred can help with that. He's the fourth one down and sometimes he won't do it, but just needs some persuasion. So when you want to get a Tropical Dream, you force the four to pour four-fourths Warmth North, four-sevens froth, seven-fours broth, no cloth, henceforth no wroth. Got it?"

All three stared in your direction, blinking. "I... think I'm fine, thanks." Ussop replied and took another sip.

"I need a drink." Zoro mutters and brought his glass up to his face. His eyes crossed over to Nami. "That glass have gold on the bottom, or what?" At her confused expression, he tilts his head. "You haven't stopped staring at it."

She looked over at you, and you shrugged. "I'm just a waiter."

Her gaze lingered on you for a second, before going back to Zoro. "You don't think what Luffy did was messed up?"

The swordsman paused and set his drink down. "Yeah. He should've told us." You took a sip out of your own drink as they talked. "But in case you haven't noticed, we've been making enemies everywhere we go. Psycho-clowns, killer butlers. What's a vice-admiral gonna do to us?" You almost choked on your drink.

"No, you don't get it." Nami's face shifted between emotions. "I can't get caught, not when I'm so close-" She cut herself off and stared at her cup for a second, before getting up. "Who's ready for another drink? My treat."

Zoro hummed. "My favourite kind of drink." He watched as she walked off, and his gaze turned back to you. "You seem a bit lost."

You huffed. "All I know is my drinking partners are being hunted down by a vice-admiral, of course I'm fucking lost."

For some reason, that caused the uptight man to let out a small chuckle. "Drinking partners, huh?" He commented and swirled the contents of his glass. "Haven't had a drinking partner in a while."

As he spoke, you finished off your glass and set it down with a wince. "Me neither, Sanji's great but can't handle anything with booze in it to save his life."

"That's that waiter boyfriend of yours." He said as he looked at your finished glass and took a sip of his drink. "Where's he now?"

You shrugged. "Your boss tried to recruit him, so I did the mature thing and stormed out."

A smile grew on his face. "Really? That's Luffy for you. Is he joining?"

"No offense, but I don't think he'd wanna run with your type."

At that, his eyes squinted ever so slightly. "My type?"

"Pirates," You reminded him. "He's not really the pillaging type."

"Neither are we."

You hummed. "It's a wonder how you can pay for all this then." You pointed to Ussop, who's now beginning to blink very slowly. "A Tropical Dream costs at least seventy-five berri without all that fancy shit added to it, and everything needs to be paid upfront. I'm looking at this table and... I see about three-hundred berri worth of drinks? Not including other drinks the waitresses must've taken. And I'm pretty sure pirates don't have normal jobs, and you don't seem like hired guns." You leaned back, staring into his eyes. "So if you're not plundering, then who is?"

Zoro stared at you with an unreadable expression. His eyes ghosted over your form, lingering near your thigh where you kept your gun, before lifting back up to your face. He looked away and finished his drink.

When Nami got back, the tense atmosphere was lifted and you were able to properly enjoy yourself. True to the swordsman's words, Ussop was under the table before he finished his second Vodka Sunrise. He giggled and you had to catch him as he slid down the couch, righting him up with a laugh. “I'm fine.” He slobbed out, his words almost incomprehensibly slurred.

You shook your head with a smile plastered on your face, pushing him into his seat. “I'm pretty sure you're not.” You replied with a small chuckle.

"What'd I tell you?" Zoro asked after he finished his beer with a sigh. "You can't handle your liquor at all."

You smiled and took a sip of your drink. "Sanji can't either, he gets a red face just smelling it."

The shit-faced man, who apparently was a sniper according to Nami, puffed out his chest. "Hey! I can... drink." He pushed off of you and wobbled to his feet. You held out your hands as you watched him stumble forward. "I'm going to get us... more drinks!" He slurred and almost tripped over his feet, but managed to walk himself over in the vague direction of the bar.

You laughed and took a gulp of your drink. "He's certainly a character."

Zoro nodded, face split with his own smile. "Ussop's spirited, but not good with spirits." You both shared a small chuckle and went to drink, but frowned at your empty glass. Hearing Nami chuckle, you looked back up and laughed at the completely distracted Ussop who had begun to drunkenly sway his body around.

"He does have a certain grace about him. Like a frantic, uncoordinated..."

"Sea slug." Zoro contributed with a smirk.

Nami nodded. "That's it. That's what he's like." Her eyes remain fixed on him. "Look at him. Like he doesn't have a care in the world."

Her tone was unusual to say the least, and you placed your glass back down on the table. Zoro was the first to speak. "What are you carrying around that's so heavy?" Whether it was the alcohol, or him feeling more comfortable around you, he didn't so much as look your way when asking the navigator.

Nami's eyes flashed between the both of you. "You have no idea."

You scoffed and pinched a chip from the centre of the table. "You'd be surprised. You're an open book."

Zoro nodded. "And I bet I know more about you than you do about me."

Nami quirked an eyebrow at the both of you. "Yeah right, you both are open books."

"Care to prove it?" When he prompted her, she recoiled slightly but otherwise didn't have much of a reaction. He grabbed the bottle of rum from the table and poured it into some empty shot glasses. "Whoever guesses something right about the other person, that person has to drink." He looked over at you and nudged a glass in your direction. "You in?"

You shrugged. "Sure."

But it seemed as though Nami forgot you were there. She leaned toward Zoro and forced a smile. "Go ahead, tell me all about myself."

He thought about it for a second, then spoke. "I bet you grew up in a big city, running schemes, hanging out in swanky bars like this one."

"You must be thirsty." Her tone dripped with venom.

"You're saying I'm wrong?"

She paused for a second. "I grew up in a small village. Barely a village. Just a handful of houses in the centre of a tangerine grove. Drink." You watched her as she spoke, a dreamy look in her eyes before she came back to reality.

He set down his shot glass. "Your turn."

Nami smirked. "I had you read all the way back in Orange town. I'll bet you didn't have any friends as a kid."

"I had friends."

"Swords don't count."

Zoro was quiet. "I had one friend."

The orange-haired woman's smile grew sad. "Hell, one more than I had." She also went quiet. "Drink."

Zoro grew a smile on his face. "Drink." They both had a shot, then he turned to you. "You're quiet, all of a sudden."

You forced a smile. "Just letting you two bond over your miserable childhoods."

Nami let out a scoff, but a smile wormed its way onto her face. "Fine. I'll bet you had a miserable childhood too?"

"Be more specific."

Zoro hummed. "So it was a miserable childhood?" He smirked and looked away, waited a moment, then returned his gaze. "I bet the reason you hate pirates is 'cause you had a really strict marine dad."

You chuckled and shook your head, the comment catching you off guard. "Can't be further from the truth." You replied and raised your shot glass. "Drink."

Nami piped up. "I'll bet you hate pirates because one raided your village."

"I didn't grow up in a village," You gestured to her. "It was privately owned land about three hours from any major landmark. The only way to get there was by trekking through miles of swamp filled with crocodiles the size of ships, or by docking on a tiny piece of coast hidden by whirlpools."

She finished her drink. "Privately owned land?"

"Nobles." You replied. "They owned half the island, and owned all the business on the other half. They were pretentious, entitled and made us live in houses no bigger than a shitter, but they were good people." You pushed down the memory. "Anyway, I'm sick of being asked stuff. I'm going to guess." You cleared your throat and looked to Zoro. "I bet that you grew up never having a real connection with anyone."

He tilted his head and was silent for a moment. "Define 'real connection.'"

You adjusted yourself in your seat. "You've never loved someone and you've never felt loved. That's why it's hard for you to trust people, you've never had anyone to trust."

He gave a half-shrug and took a shot. "Lucky."

You smiled and looked at Nami. "And I bet that you did something you're not proud of."

Her smile didn't fade, but the genuineness of it did. "How do you mean?"

"You have a look in your eye. Concealed guilt. You think you're a bad person because you've done something you think is bad."

"Well, actions speak louder than words."

"You're wrong." You respond flatly. "A child rapist can give to charity, and a serial killer can help a little old lady down a flight of stairs. It doesn't mean they're a good person. A Saint can trip someone, and a child can bully their friend. It doesn't mean they're bad people."

"So, if it's a mistake it can be excused."

"No. It's intent. That's why we forgive people when they trip us, or if someone accidentally splashes us with water - it's not their intent to cause offense or harm. If you don't intend to harm people, then you're not a bad person. if you, say, wish to create a more peaceful world for people to live in, but you intend to enslave others to do so, then you're a bad person."

"Then, what if by doing something important, you have to do something bad?" The look in her eye was fierce, but you could see past that.

"That's different again. If you're on a rescue mission to save orphans or puppies and you're dangling from a ledge with a rope connecting you to another person, wouldn't you have to cut them loose?"

"But, you've still killed them."

"You don't know that. Without having you fall on top of them, they could survive and reunite with you after you've saved the kids or whatever the fuck it is. You're not a terrible person, you're a good person who had to do a terrible thing. You didn't want to." You gestured to her with your drink in hand. "I think you had your orphans you had to save, and you had to cut someone loose."

You both stared at each other, the atmosphere suddenly becoming tense and unbearable.

"Hey guys, meet my new best friend." Ussop suddenly landed on your lap and looked behind him. "What'd you say your name was again?"

You looked behind you, and a pit formed in your stomach. There stood a man in a decorative coat with a cross hanging from his neck. You recognised him instantly, and judging from Zoro's expression, he did too. "Which one of you is Monkey D. Luffy?"

Nami, finally tearing her eyes from you, smiled. "Who wants to know?"

Zoro straightened. "You're Dracule Mihawk."

Your hand went toward your gun, but a set of piercing eyes halted your movement. It was like being held in chains, and your fingers refused to move. He loomed over you menacingly. "I have business with your captain. If you know what's good for you, you'll hand him over."

"We don't know anyone named Luffy. Right, Zoro?" As smart as she looked, she caught on quick. Zoro rose to his feet, and you were released from your invisible restraints when Mihawk's eyes ghosted over to him. "Zoro?"

The swordsman stepped toward him. "I've been following your career since I was a child. It's an honour to finally meet you, sir."

"Thank you."

He walked past the older swordsman. "Which is why it pains me to inform you that tomorrow, you're going to die."

Your body was thrown into shock, and Nami spoke instead. "What?"

He ignored the both of you and turned to face Mihawk. "I, Roronoa Zoro, challenge you to a duel to the death."

All of you sobered up quickly, and you grabbed your gun. But Mihawk ignored you, turning to face your drinking companion with the tilt of his head. "I've never heard of you."

"They call me the Demon Pirate Hunter," Like a predator analysing his prey, Mihawk's eyes ghosted over his form. "But my lifelong dream is to best you in single combat, and become the greatest swordsman in the world."

"You're serious?"

"Accept my challenge. You'll see how serious I am."

Mihawk paused for a moment, then nodded. "Very well." His strides were long as he approached the young man. "Tomorrow at dawn. And when I'm done with you, pirate hunter, I'll take your captain." The older swordsman's face didn't change, but his walk was different. He disappeared into the shadows of night.

Nami's face was twisted into one of horror. "What have you done?"

A/N: Wow! This chapter gave me some trouble! It was originally going to be completely different, but the flow was off and it honestly would have ruined Zoro's character. So I ended up having to rewrite all of it. I've been slightly teasing it, but next part will have more action in it! I just wanted to establish character relationships and actually give Y/N reasons to do things, as well as get more of her motivation/backstory out there.

[myslvtwritings]

Hi! :D Can I request headcanons on the upper moon demons (1,2,3+ Muzan) reactions to finding out their fem s/o is suffering from depression? (Especially after she’s tried to hide it from them and everyone else, not once admitting to having it - frankly because she feels as if they wouldn’t care or take her seriously anyway (due to past experiences with her own family and friends), until she couldn’t keep up the facade of acting cheerful, laid back and positive all the time, it being obvious that there is something quite not right with her, even if she denies it, trying to downplay the situation, knowing full well herself that it’s getting bad).

(Aaaaaaa, I love ur headcanons 😭💓 I’m sorry if this topic is not something you’d be comfortable with writing for, it’s just something I’ve been experiencing myself lately for the past couple of months, it’s getting harder each day, kinda have been feeling empty, exhausted and genuinely depressed lately, no one that I know cares or takes me seriously, nor tries to help me overcome these emotions :), I appreciate you reading my request anyway!<3 sorry for kinda pouring my heart out, ik it’s cringe and unnecessary, sorry).

No, no! it’s completely okay. I suffer from depression myself so i’m comfortable writing for topics like these! I honestly love writing angst/hurt/+comfort so ya!! Thank you for requesting, anon!! (Also i’m happy you like my headcanons! Tysm for your kind words. I do hope you feel better and i hope these hc’s can cheer you up!)

➤ Uppermoons with a Fem!S/O who suffers from Depression

➤ SFW headcanons

including: Muzan, Kokushibo, Douma and Akaza.

•

•

•

warnings: non-canon reactions, mentions of suicidal thoughts, angst, etc.

Muzan

Muzan isn’t an idiot.

He can sense from a mile away that something is in fact wrong.

I mean, you always seem off.

He just cannot tell WHAT exactly is wrong.

You’re a strange one after all. (Not in a bad way obviously)

Muzan has asked you a dozen times prior, seeking out answers, at least an explanation for your change in behavior and emotions.

He dislikes change.

But wanna know what he dislikes more? You being upset.

“My dear, could you please tell me what’s wrong?”

Of course he never gets anything out of you. You just cast him that alluring yet suspicious fake smile of yours and reassure him that you’re “okay” or “fine” or even “couldn’t be better”

Your response are so.. dishonest.

Honestly, Muzan not knowing what exactly is wrong with you drives him wild. He ALWAYS wants to know what’s wrong, what you’re feeling, how you’re feeling, etc.

And whenever he isn’t aware of what exactly your feeling or is catching on to the suspicions that your lying it does in fact anger him.

Not only does it anger him but it upsets him incredibly. Like, do you not trust him? Are you scared of him because he’s the demon king? If you were secretly terrified of his existence he wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest. That’s how truly humans are after all.

But for you this isn’t the case. You aren’t even scared of him. Just scared of your own thoughts and feelings.

A part of you wishes you could open up but the other part of you is like: eh, fuck it.

Who could blame you for not wanting to open up to the demon king himself though?

You may be his girlfriend, but still, like he would actually bring himself to care.

You see how vicious he is towards other humans. So why would he even bother with your silly yet powerful emotions?

You desired to open up yourself but however that never came so Muzan had no choice but to force it out of you one day.

Toxic, sure. But you were driving him nuts!

Like he snapped when he came home one night to find you rotting in your own filth, an empty stomach, disheveled hair, god, have you been sleeping all day?

He will ask you ONCE again if you wanted to talk.

To which you respond with a sorrowful “no”

Then you for real have the gull to make up excuses saying you’ve fallen ill.

Yeah, right.

That is Muzan’s breaking point.

It startles you when he snaps at you and actually gets mad.

This is his way of caring everybody. 💀

Whenever you’re depressed the feeling of getting yelled at by someone you love can hurt you or make you feel numb on the inside, you know?

I’m this case, it all just caves in and you sorta have an emotional break down in front of him.

Muzan is at a loss for words as you spill out your deepest and darkest feelings.

At least you’re finally opening up.

But damn, bro is shocked. Please give him a minute to adjust to all this.

At first he doesn’t know how to respond, instead, he will respond physically and just let you cry in his embrace as you vent to him and babble “i’m sorry” literally over 1000 times.

Muzan knew humans had depression, he reads a lot and is well aware of what it is. He’s just distraught this his own partner felt this way for so long.

By the way, did i mention he’s going to kill anyone who’s ever wronged you?

But worry not! He is going to be there for you every step of the way even with his low tolerance:)

Kokushibo

In the beginning, Kokushibo has absolutely no clue what’s going on inside your head.

I mean, if you say you’re fine then you’re fine right?

That’s all until your seemingly bad mood increases more and more everyday.

Yeah, that’s when his suspicions SKYROCKET.

Kokushibo has asked you before but gave up on it after many failed attempts.

He still has his mild concerns though so instead he observes you from afar.

He can tell something if off but assumes that just because you’re a human.

Honestly, he had some suspicions here and there that you may or may not be dealing with severe depression.

Guess what? Those thoughts he had were correct.

You immediately assume he doesn’t care and won’t care due to his demonic nature and his expressionless behavior.

Kokushibo began to catch on more and more when you started to refuse to eat dinner, you just refused to get up from bed and even take care of yourself.

FINALLY drops that stoic personality.

Caretaker Kokushibo to the rescue. Is immediately scooping you up, siting you at the table and convincing you to eat.

If you don’t eat he’ll just spoon feed you.

That night he took care of you.

That’s when he found out of your depressed state. No confession needed.

The two of you aren’t the greatest match because of your lacked communication.

No, you two aren’t toxic. Fights don’t even exist between y’all.

You guys just can’t express feelings properly.

But Kokushibo is always waiting for you to further explain how you feel. He’s satisfied that he now is aware of what’s wrong with you but also deeply destroyed on the inside.

You don’t deserve these harsh feelings. Why must the world be so cruel?

From that day onwards, Koku keeps a close eye on you and takes care of you more often.

Sometimes even ditches missions for you.

Yeah, he gets chastised by Muzan for it but he doesn’t care.

As long as you’re safe then he feels content.

By the way he’s killing off ANYONE who made you feel this way.

Douma

very, VERY dense.

Like does not notice anything.

He just presumed that’s how you are.

Now, Douma does feel emotions around you. You’re the only thing that has ever brought him joy.

You make that cold heart of his beat.

He’s very clingy around you, like, SUPER.

Wants to be around you all the time.

Which is why it’s a shocker that he didn’t notice immediately your drastic change in behavior.

Douma only really took notice when you began to distance yourself from everyone.

Even him.

Now he couldn’t care less if you ran away from everyone else but him? Yeah, there is something wrong.

So, he simply asks you if you’re okay.

In which you lie and say you’re doing just fine.

Oh, you are? Okay!!

Is immensely confused when you continue to distance yourself though.

Haha, humans are so silly.

Douma becomes really confused but brushes it off.

It’s all surprising that he can come off so dense when it comes to this. I mean, you’re a demon? come on mannn…

Yeah, he does feel emotions around you but doesn’t fully understand them, you know?

I swear, Douma can be naive around you sometimes despite being the sadistic and masochistic demon he is.

It takes him a long ass time to realize how much you’ve been suffering.

Please do not get angry with him though. Remember that he is new to all this!

So the first emotion he feels once he finds out about your depression is EXTREME guilt.

REAL GUILT.

Flabbergasted by how fucking long it took him to find out the truth.

*Mentally facepalms himself*

His petty little followers don’t count. The man may have spend his last few hundred years listening to peoples woes and worries but his emotional responses towards their feelings were never even genuine.

To be brutally honest, Douma is hopeless.

Yeah, he wants to help you, he really does.

Just has no idea how to:(

However, if you show him how to then he will catch on fairly quickly and become the master when it comes to taking care of you and helping you cope with your depression.

Similar to Kokushibo, Cue caretaker Douma to the rescue‼️‼️

He doesn’t mind taking care of you. Honestly he absolutely adores it.

You’ve always been there for him, you taught him how to feel again. He’s so grateful that he’s finally helping you after all this time.

Lends you extra cuddles and kisses but if you’re the type to want your space when you’re depressed he’ll try his hardest to understand and be there for you emotionally instead! He just wants to be over you all the time and make sure you’re doing well, ya know?

Okay, he may lose his touching privileges but don’t think he isn’t gonna let his guard down!

From there on out, He keeps an eye on you at all times. He needs to make sure your taking care of yourself!

Douma also developed the tendency to whisper sweet nothings into your ear, his advice is surprisingly effective by the way. I mean, his advice towards you is actually genuine so that must be why.

“Oh, Y/N, my lovely lotus, i despise how you carry such a heavy burden. I wish i could take all these negative feelings away from you!”

Akaza

Like Muzan, he isn’t easy to take for a fool.

Notices the very second your behavior changes.

Akaza, being the most amazing boyfriend he is will obviously attempt to strike up a conversation, desperately wanting you to open up and communicate with him properly.

Becomes disappointed when you just brush it off as “not important”

Like what? It IS important!

YOU are MORE than important to him.

Akaza is not blind, he won’t submit nor play dumb towards your responses

Absolutely hates making you uncomfortable and would hate to force you to tell him how you’re feeling but desperate times call for desperate measures.

This is just his way for caring about you.

At first, he will try each and every day to be there for you and try and talk with you.

Sits on the side of your bed as your laying down, curled up, unmoving and will just kiss your forehead and give you time to open up.

Akaza will bug you consistently, fishing a response from you, anything, just anything!!

“Sweetheart, could you tell me what’s going on with you?”

Nothing. Just that same old response he hears every damn time.

“I’m fine”, “Nothing is wrong!”, “It’s okay, i’m doing well, just tired.”

Hatessssss when you lie to him:(

Akaza feels beyond powerless.

Your feelings are very important to him!

Sure, he hates weak people, hates any other human being he encounters but you’re different!

Akaza knows deep down you’re suffering from depression but desires for you to confess it yourself in your own time.

But at the end of the day he had to force it out of you.

Felt insanely guilt but what else could he have done?

Everything else he’s ever done for you got him nowhere due to your own stubborn dds

Akaza is not mad though.

He could never be angry with you for having depression i mean, you can’t help it.

We all know how overwhelmingly overprotective he is so the very moment he finds out a friend of family member caused you to feel this way and shut the world out he is going to throw hands.

Like, how dare they?!

Akaza is another caretaker! Skips important missions for your sake despite him knowing the punishments that come along with it.

Akaza won’t mind taking care of you but he also needs you to learn how to take care of yourself if you want to truly heal so he’ll be there for you every single step of the way in order for you to accomplish that!

Another thing that’ll happen is that Akaza will become more needy and clingy than usual. He must protest his precious girlfriend at all costs.

Kisses you and reminds you how much he loves you.

Fucking HATES it when he’s forced to leave you (when he’s summoned to the infinity castle)

But the very second he’s home he’s relieved.

On those days you’re feeling super depressed to the point where you can’t get up Akaza will cool you breakfast and serve it to you in bed. Will even feed you if he has to then eventually he’ll help you get up and offer you all the motivation and energy you need to make it throughout the day.

Bro is a gentleman.

Literally is always going to be there for you, love you unconditionally.

And most importantly…

Beat the living HELL out of whoever worsened your depression‼️‼️

I hope you enjoyed these headcanons! To all those out there suffering currently i can promise you that it’s going to be okay. You got this! <3

[thefanficmonster]

Piss off your parents pt.3 (finale)

PART 1

PART 2

Colby Brock x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Drinking, Swearing

Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Time wasted can only be compensated with time well spent.

"You wasted us so much time."

Y/N's reply is so far from anything he could've expected, he nearly sprains his neck when his head snaps up. To find a small smile on her face, of all things.

"What?"

There's a note of deep-rooted anger in the laugh that deflates her lungs, "How long?"

"Huh?"

"How long have you felt that way?" She doubles down, her gaze now stiffened into a glare piercing right through him.

"Since we fucking met, ok?!" He'd be less nervous answering questions in front of the FBI. He doesn't know how the script flipped to her being the angry one but it's clear she's gonna let him have it. And he's gonna have to take it, he owes it to her.

"I can't fucking believe you." She shakes her head, shifting to back further away from him and lean her back against the cold mirror behind her. She'd rather hop off the counter and run off - that's what sober her would do, anyway. But, for one, her drunk alter ego is a lot more confrontational, and for two - she physically can't do that. Somewhere along the past ten minutes, Colby somehow ended up standing between her parted legs, blocking her the ability to run away without even meaning to. "You've kept me at arm's length for a whole fucking decade! Treating me like a child, a porcelain doll you feel obligated to look out for! You broke my heart so ignorantly by sleeping around with half the damn town and bragged to me about it! You pushed me into brainwashing myself in love with someone else, led me to believe he felt the same way and now you have the gull to say you were in love with me all along! Bullshit!"

Hellfire, she's showering him with utter hellfire. Each thing she listed got worse than the previous just when he expected it couldn't. It unlocked so many memories he made a vow to never again visit. That was such a low point in his life he didn't notice he had dragged one of his best friends into it as well. Well she's spelling it out for him right here, right now. Loud and fucking clear.

"And to think I was in love with you throughout all of that...fuck, I'm stupid..." She adds in a whisper, highly contrasting the rain of bullets she unleashed seconds prior. It was meant more for herself than him yet it was the final blow for him. His heart is officially down for the count.

"Was? Past tense?" Colby's eyes widen immediately. He didn't hear the words in his brain, they were as news to his ears as they were to hers. He doesn't know where the audacity came from. It's as if he's asking to get smacked. At this point, he'd prefer that to whatever venom she might spew at him. All well within her right.

To his luck, Y/N's gotten tired. Physically and emotionally. And she can't keep the grudge flame alive. Not with Colby at least. She can't help the soft spot on her heart for him. A spot so bruised and sore she can't believe it hasn't turned stiff as stone. It can't, not when her heart starts racing within his proximity every damn time. Not when a smile spreads across her face every time she looks at him. It hurts, yeah, but she doubts it'll ever go away.

"Like it fucking matters." She whispers, again with the same bitterness from earlier.

"Yes it fucking does, Y/N." It's like his brain has been shut off, all rationality has gone out the window. "You said I wasted us so much time. Don't waste more just because you're angry."

She's quick to bite back, "How can I not be? You deserve it, Colby!"

"I know that!" He might not be rational, bordering on desperate, but he's still self aware enough to see and admit to the error of his ways. But he'll be damned if he lets go of this last string of hope. He's clinging onto it like a twig in a flood. "I know I deserve it. But we don't. What we could be, that doesn't deserve more time down the drain, Y/N."

Sudden banging on the door startles them both, reminding them they're in a very peculiar location. A public bathroom. The ladies' bathroom on top of all.

"One second!" Contrasting the deer-in-headlights panic on Colby's face, Y/N takes it upon herself to handle the situation. The sound has scared him into backing away from her, giving her the required space to hop down. She turns to him, poking a finger to his chest, "Act normal. Nothing happened."

With that said, she leads the way out, unlocking the door and slipping out, giving the two girls waiting outside an apologetic smile. They return two knowing smirks when they see Colby emerge from the bathroom right behind her.

"Sorry, girl. Didn't mean to interrupt." The brunette slurs, winking at them both before following after her friend.

"You're good." Y/N replies politely, muttering after the door closed, "You helped."

The pang in Colby's chest cannot be put into words. Before he's had time to recalibrate, she's already gone, having made her way back into the party, disappearing into the crowd.

And just like that, he feels that last string of hope break.

* * * * *

"Hey, I'm so sorry about what I said earlier." Nate shakes the strands of hair away from his eyes so can properly look down at his semi-sober companion who's currently carrying him towards the elevator.

Y/N can't help but smile at him. It hurts like hell but at this point it's like the twentieth blow to the heart tonight. She's become used to it.

"It's ok, Nate. Thanks for being honest and not leading me on." She's aware she's thanking him for the bare minimum but that little conversation with Colby earlier proved to her she should be grateful for that even. Hey, he could've lied. He could've stringed her along, had his fun and then pulled the 'nothing serious' card.

But that's not Nate. He could never.

You thought Colby would never lie to you either. Now here we are

"No, that's not what I mean. I got scared, you know? Friend groups don't survive romance. But I don't care now that I think about it. We should give it a shot. It could be great. Fuck what they think." His words are slurred and his eyes are glazed over, but each syllable is drowning in sincerity. Drunk words are sober thoughts and all that but she'd rather take it as complete nonsense right now.

"Nate, sweetie..." She readjusts the hold she has on her heels so she can grab hold of his hand, "I doubt you know what you're thinking right now. Let's talk in the morning, ok? Get some sleep, sober up, and then we'll figure it out. Sounds good?" She says gently, as if explaining to a three-year-old that Santa isn't real.

He gives her one of those smiles that were the initial reason she (thought she) fell for him, "Yeah." They stop at the door to his shared hotel room with Sam and Colby. Before she can reach for the doorknob, Nate turns to her, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. She momentarily lets herself play along and leans into his touch, knowing how wrong it actually is. "You're the best, Y/N." Their faces, almost instinctively, inch closer and she doesn't do anything to stop it. Fuck all rationality. This night can't get much worse, how bad could a kiss shared between friends be?

She never gets to find out though because the door to the room is thrown open, forcing them apart in an instant. The person standing on the doorstep makes it ten time worse - because of-fucking-course it's Colby.

Y/N immediately starts regretting what almost just happened, semi-glad it didn't. She shouldn't have let it get that far. She's doing to Nate what she was thankful he didn't do to her - stringing him along. She can barely recognize herself - almost kissing one of her best friends while being completely in love with another.

"Oh, um....sorry. I wanted to come help carry Nate up but.....guess you got that covered." He speaks up, trying to cut the awkwardness him and Y/N are currently drowning in. Nate is none the wiser, waving off his friend's apology with a quick 'don't worry about it'. He gives one last squeeze to her hand before going inside, leaving the two staring at each other.

"Is Sam ok?" Y/N asks, cocking her head to the side to take a peek inside the room where she can see Sam's shoes at the foot of the bed. "That fall was pretty bad."

"Yeah, he's fine." Colby sighs heavily, looking over his shoulder at the blonde in question, "Should've stopped climbing on tables like he has nine lives long ago. This might be the lesson he needed."

"Hey!" She frowns at him, "Have some compassion!"

He chuckles, opening his mouth to respond when a sudden yell cuts him off.

"Y/N? That you? Come in!" It's Sam, his voice conveying the pain he's currently in.

She knows she should be heading back down to the front desk to grab her key and go to her own room. But she can't just leave her friend on 'read' in real life and at such a dire time.

So, despite her better judgement, she goes inside to find Nate already out like a light and Sam laying flat on his bed with an arm over his eyes.

"Hi Sammy. Partied a little too hard there, dude." Y/N smiles softly at him, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Sam removes his arm from his face, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes, "Am I gonna die?"

Simultaneously both her and Colby snort out a laugh, sharing a look of mutual understanding and amusement before she returns her attention to the wounded soldier, "You won't. I promise. Just go to sleep." She replies reassuringly, readjusting the ice pack Colby had placed on his knee, causing him to hiss but still nod.

"Stay here for the night?" He asks, almost pleadingly. This interaction is a good insight on the siblingship they have. Colby and Nate have always been variables to her, but luckily she has Sam to be her constant.

"Where am I gonna sleep, Sam?" She asks lightheartedly, looking around the room at the two already occupied beds and the couch by the window.

"There." Sam points at said couch where Y/N can see some trademark Colby clothes splayed around. That's his little nook, clearly.

"And where's Colby gonna sleep?" She laughs, shooting Colby a soft look to find him already staring at her with the same gentleness she's always felt emanating from his eyes.

"The floor." Sam says with no hesitation, causing you both to laugh.

Colby is quick to flip him off, "Fuck you, man."

All he gets in response is a soft snore, alerting them that Sam too has drifted off. Probably for the best cause that scrape on his knee doesn't look pleasant.

And suddenly, they feel like they're alone. Sure, there are two other people present but a canon firing wouldn't be efficient in waking them up. So, they're practically alone.

Neither of them is happy about it.

"Really though, you should stay. What are you gonna do alone in your room?" Colby breaks the brief silence as he awkwardly struts across the room to subtly clean up the mess he's made on the couch.

Y/N shrugs, "Watch TV, drink some more, snack on something, pass out. The usual." She shrugs, carefully getting up so she doesn't nudge Sam out of his slumber.

"You can do all that here....with some company." He offers, cautious about every word that comes out of his mouth. "We don't have to talk about anything. Just raid the minibar and snack tray."

They should talk, they both know it. They're aware that they're at an age where they are considered adults. And adults talk about difficult shit even when they don't want to. They do what should be done.

Not Y/N and Colby, though.

They've cracked open a bottle of rosé and a bag of Cheetos and are currently sitting in silence. A comfortable one, for a change. They've quietly agreed to have this moment be outside the realm of everything else that occurred tonight. Like an island in a stormy sea. There will come a time when they'll have to talk about it, but most definitely not tonight.

Unless...

"Remember the first time we got drunk together?" She asks, watching the pink liquid splashing around in her glass.

Colby snorts at the memory, or whatever he can recall of it. "Barely."

"Yeah, same." She laughs, downing the rest of her wine, "I remember you disappearing for a good portion of the night. Sam and I found you bruised and bloodied hours later."

He joins her in the reminiscing, "That rose bush really did a number on me."

She takes a moment to look him in the eyes. She stays quiet, analyzing him in a way that heats up his skin as though her gaze were a physical force, "You didn't actually fall in a rose bush, did you?"

Ah, there's another lie. A small one in comparison to the first but still a lie. And since it's a night of confessions..."Remember Austin?"

He just unlocked a forgotten part of her brain, "Oh shit yeah! Whatever happened to that guy?"

A dry chuckle rattles his chest, his hand coming up to rub his face, "Well, in short, he liked you a little too much for my liking. So he found out what happens when I'm jealous and drunk."

Y/N can't help but smile. She's a simple girl, of course she finds it hot. But she'll be damned if she lets him notice. She quickly masks it with a joke, "Oh my God, you killed him!"

He laughs, shaking his head before leaning towards her a bit as if he's about to spill some government secrets, "Full disclosure, between you and me..." His eyebrows lift, waiting for her to nod a vow of silence before continuing, "I got my ass kicked."

She busts out laughing, undermining all concern for her two sleeping friends, "I'm not surprised." She teases him, reaching for the bottle for a refill.

Colby doesn't let that happen though. He quickly snatches the bottle, keeping it out of her reach, "Excuse you?!"

"You can't be salty after admitting it yourself." For caution purposes, she sets down the glass before getting up on her knees, extending her arm in a futile attempt at retrieving the stolen item. To her dismay, he just stretches his arm further, making it that much harder. "Oh, fuck you..." she mutters, hovering herself over his lap precariously, putting them in a pretty compromising position.

Colby kicks it into high gear, freeing his hand by setting the bottle down so he can sit her in his lap with a slight tug, earning him a small gasp from her. She settles into him just perfectly, like this is far from the first time they've found each other in such predicament.

Their faces are inches apart. His hands are on her sides, hers are on his shoulders. The proximity is more intoxicating than the alcohol they've consumed throughout the night. They are high on each other and are just now realizing it. Or just now admitting it.

"I thought we weren't gonna talk about it." She whispers, afraid of breaking the thin veil of tranquility currently surrounding them.

"We're not talking about it." His tone mimics hers as though he's afraid he'll scare her off. His grip on her is gentle but firm. It'll physically hurt if he tries to force himself to let go of her.

Luckily he doesn't have to because, before either of them know it, their lips collide.

The innocence of the kiss is brief and gone within seconds. Hands start roaming, breaths are shared, lines are crossed. And, technically, they aren't talking about it. But still, plenty is being said. A decade of pent up emotion is coming to fruition. It's nothing short of passionate, desperate almost.

Right on-brand for them.

* * * * *

"Hi."

"Hi."

They're fully clothed, cuddled up on the couch and alone in the room. Not all lines were crossed last night of fear they might regret it in the morning. However, if their smiles are anything to go by, nothing is being regretted.

Neither of them attempts to move from their comfortable little bubble. Neither of them cares that Nate and Sam probably witnessed this sight when they woke up. Neither of them tries checking the time. It's their way of trying to make the moment last longer into infinity.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Colby breaks the silence, threading his fingers through her hair.

Her ear is directly over his heart, listening to its steady rhythm she finds so much comfort in, "Just that I can't even lie right. I tell my mom one lie and it ends up becoming true."

Laughter vibrates throughout his chest, sending waves through her body as well, "Is this you asking me out?"

"Do you want it to be?" Y/N shrugs, tilting her head to look up at him.

He smirks down at her, "So much for rebelling, huh?"

"Shut up."

Knowing he won't do so on his own, she tends to the matter herself by pressing her lips to his, effectively shutting him up.

Tagging: @benbarnesprettygurl @beanredacted @m1tsk1l0v3er

[ronearoundblindly]

No Promises (1)

Lloyd Hansen x rival assassin!Reader

Itsy-Bitsy Teeny-Weeny Deadly Polka Dot Bikini

Summary: Lloyd gets outsmarted.

Warnings for HE'S AN A**HOLE AND I SHOULDN'T NEED TO TELL YOU THAT, illusions to sex/imagined sexual acts, general body-shaming, nasty thoughts, drugging/murder, and the unbelievable thrill of Lloyd getting taken down a few pegs. MINORS DNI. WC ~900

Lloyd impatiently taps his pinky ring on his binoculars, adjusting the lenses.

He hates waiting, but there’s nothing for it. The job is to retrieve something this man stole without evidence that anything was stolen from him.

Oh, and kill the fucker. Obviously.

Man’s a thief.

Well, Lloyd’s a thief, too, in a way, but he doesn’t bother to steal without reason. He gets a payday out of it.

This guy—this grossly-obese, sack of shit chumming it up poolside at a resort—also thinks he’s getting a payday out of it, yeah, but Lloyd is so much better than that. He’d see the reality of his situation. He wouldn’t be this stupid. He wouldn’t be spending the money before the exchange was made.

Easy pickings is what this guy is.

All Lloyd has to do is make it look like the middle-aged, fake-tanned Pillsbury Doughboy down there had a heart attack…which might actually happen at the rate his target is shoveling antipasto down his gullet.

Lloyd wipes his own mouth in disgust.

The women have the right idea though, especially the one in the yellow bikini.

His target looks like a desperate and lonely man, whether flashing around wealth or not, so leech away, ladies. Enjoy the free ride while it lasts.

Lloyd frowns and spits over the balcony where he watches. He just imagined the yellow bikini riding that sweaty hippo down there—more to the point, he imagined having to surveil the man while fatso tried to fuck a woman like that—and feels queazy.

Some parts of the job he likes. Some parts he doesn’t. Lloyd gets paid either way.

He leans back for a moment, resting his eyes from the high magnification and the bright sun above. He takes in the mind-numbing, incessant beat of island drums that converges from multiple ‘bands’ across the property into the worst white noise.

Lloyd would rather hear the whimpering, whining screams of torture.

Where the fuck are the waves and relaxing shit?

For effect, a gull screeches at him from the next railing over.

“I will fucking eat you,” Lloyd sharply chuckles back, and then he picks up his slippery, cold Arnold Palmer and smacks his lips.

You know what they say: If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your whole life.

That’s true. Lloyd’s proven that. The missing part is that if work isn’t work then vacation isn’t vacation, so one has to make do with thrills where they find them.

Lloyd gently lifts the silencer-tipped gun from his lap and shoots the gull right off its perch. He makes a long whistling noise as the carcass falls and lands with a satisfying thud against some enormous bush leaves.

This is going to be easy, he thinks, sipping his refreshment slowly. Child’s play.

He sets down the glass and the gun, repositioning the binoculars over the possibly-sunburnt bridge of his nose.

Watching this poser of a paunch groping the decent-looking, sunshine girl is making him plan out seeing someone of his own tonight. He’ll be done with the guy early enough; plenty of time to find a self-conscious chubster willing to suck and fuck hard for a few praises. It’s basically charity work, but again, work isn’t really work, is it?

Lloyd has to follow the repetitive grind of yellow-tied hips and watch the front bow bounce between breasts to notice that she’s yanking at the string.

He might be in real luck. Is he about to get a show?

The bikini top doesn’t fall away, however, and it’s suddenly missing the white bead marking the edge of the seam.

Sunshine's hands go up in the air, reaching and swaying with the beat, until she turns and drops something small—like a fucking pill—into the target’s drink, reaching for his face and cooing dirty, little things, it seems, by the distracted burst of the man’s pupils.

Mother fucker.

Lloyd sprints back through the sliding door and out of his room, he vaults the banisters to jump down three flights in the stairwell and only emerges at the poolside to see his target collapsing forward, the bikini bitch groping the body as it falls to sneak a keycard out of his pocket.

She screams bloody murder and everyone fucking buys the act. She scrabbles away, bare palms on the concrete, one holding his goddamn prize, until she slips backward into the pool.

“Son of a…” Lloyd scowls, but there are too many people moving over the walkway to rubberneck.

He sees happy, dotted yellow emerge from the other side of the water, empty-handed, a sympathetic towel thrown over a clearly shocked woman.

From across the courtyard, you, Sunshine, turn in Lloyd’s direction, pulling at the front of your suit bottoms to emphasize a stiff, rectangular shape underneath.

You’re staring right at him when slowly raising a middle finger and winking before wrapping the generic towel tighter.

Onlookers and good samaritans gather, crossing in between you two. He can’t make a scene.

Then you’re gone, folded into the wave of terry cloth that ripples and recedes with passing drama.

He stands there, dumbfounded, ten feet away from a dead seagull.

Did…did Lloyd just fucking lose?

A/N: *evil, unhinged laughter* This shit is gonna be fun....

[Next Part: Don't Be Blue, Bunny Boy]

[Main Masterlist; Lloyd Hansen Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[bonesandthebees]

Okay fuck it. I think scrolling for hours today is enough DJFKGKFK I'll just log back out. I wanna focus my energy on more positive things

Im so gonna log back in the minute my friend sends me another tweet but HDKGKGKD no. I will do my best. He's not worth our time man.

Okay one more tiny rant about him and then I promise I'll stop I just OOOHHMYGODHFJGKG HE JUST. I had so much hope. That. He would reply and it wouldn't fix things, I wouldn't go back to watching him or anything but at the very least I could get closure that like? Maybe his closer friends would be able to heal and move on? Idk if that's parasocial or whatever but he was such a big role model for me the past few years I really had hope that at least some parts of it were real, you know? And instead we just find out that he not only did these shitty things but didn't fucking learn and did it to other people too and??? It's really really upsetting that he created this safe space, this community of people who were all so lovely while just being. Fake. The whole time. And he doesn't even have the gull to properly apologise and I just??#?# idk what to do with my emotions LMFAO I'd finally started to feel better and like move on but now today I'm just angry again grgrgfhfjdkdk and I totally get that like him being a complete dickhead is easier in a lot of ways bc there's no. Doubting it. Or anything. Like there's no redeeming him. And we can get closure from that. But fuckkk it hurts so badly and the tl is a mess of ppl being like "well this person would never do me wrong" and then ppl being like "fuck every YouTuber ever actually. We can't ever be sure we know them" and LIKE!$?_?$?

Dude I am so conflicted on so many levels rn I feel like my entire world has just been yeeted into the sun LMFAODKFKFKFK

Anyways. Anyways. Thank you bee. Ur tumblr is the only account w a brain rn fr lmfaodjfkfkfks

I get it, I'm fucking furious at him. he had a chance to at least own up to what he did. I wouldn't have gone back to consuming his content, but I could be somewhat at peace knowing he was taking steps towards being better.

I don't want to think it was all a lie, because abusers aren't all completely evil people. the thing is, wilbur is human. a very shitty human, but human nonetheless. and we can't know for sure how healthy or unhealthy every relationship in his life has ever been and I think overanalyzing that or trying to figure out what was fake and what was real isn't really our business or worth our time. wilbur is a guy who has hurt a lot of people, but also refuses to recognize the hurt he's caused. that's it.

I do hate the dichotomy I'm seeing between people trying to prop up their own favorite white boys on a pedestal because apparently people never learn, but also going out and saying every content creator is inherently evil and we shouldn't trust any of them. these people are human. they're all going to fuck up at some point, some worse than others. and sometimes they'll fuck up in a way that they can move past and we can forgive them for, and other times they'll fuck up in a way that shows they shouldn't have the platform they have. they're not all terrible, and they're not all perfect. that's what we should be keeping in mind for the future.

[trashyreptilian]

I bet you guys didn't think I'd be making another post this month. But unlike the last two posts, this ones unrelated to them and just a tad bit more on the positive side.

Wasn't sure when I should bring this up but I'm feeling okay to do this now. This is about my "Best Friend" AU. For the past week, I've given it some thought and decided to turn it into an original project. It was that, or dropping it entirely like an unwanted child. Luckily, the AU had barely stuck to the canon lore or story that I feel like it was due to become its own thing at some point. Shame I didn't have the gull to do that way fucking sooner. Oh well, better now than never, right?

Best Friend AU is changing into "Replica Hysteria", it's own little thing, original universe and all that. Meaning that it isn't an AU anymore, and I don't associate it with TMC either. I went through a writing frenzy these past days, going over some of the world-building/lore I had and did rewrites where need be. Now that I feel pretty much done with that, I'll be moving onto doing new reference sheets for the characters.

So yeah- That's all I have to say here. I'm open to answering questions if there might be any.

[dahliaes]

sea of magnolias - chapter three “sunburnt sweetie”

cw; oh my god i cant believe im back and im half asleep hello. short chapter as always and so so so so sorry it took me so long, i went through another phase of hating my writing lol but i did it!!! am i satisfied with this chapter?? maybe....maybe not. when i wake up tomorrow im gonna be like FUCK i hope no one read ts okay im so tired goodnight

4.5k words - chapter one; chapter two

With the song of the waves and the long slow flap of a blue heron rising onto the sky, you and Jean stood on the wooden porch and watched the fig blue sky shine like silver. Pieck lived just miles from the shore—you could taste the Atlantic—but you lived between trees and in the breeze of the marsh water; where native little girls like you had scampered around the moon and prayed to critters of the night, where green mermaids swim with manatees in the lagoon and gently send their mothers up to the coral colored skies with Carolina jessamines between their palms, where there glows a whisper of hope that speaks to you every night…

Just above the conscious buzzing of Mother Nature you hear Jean start to hum a little tune, one that makes you want to sing along and run across the train tracks to look for a dead kid rotting away in the lakes, sea consuming him once the tide comes in—Mama taught you to say a prayer when they found the Braun kid rotting away in the marsh with gulls pecking at his blue and salty skin; the mermaids took care of him, you whispered to his brother at the funeral, I promise, Reiner.

Jean’s humming Stand By Me.

You watch him for a moment, the moon shines down right on his back, washing away his skin and painting it pale blue. Your dress sways in the slight breeze and maybe you’ve gotten used to how handsome he is now, but there’s still something lingering beneath your skin, something whispering that maybe he thinks your pretty or he thinks he might wanna take you to prom and dance beneath fairy lights because he’s got this sweet smile. He seems like the kinda guy you’ve been looking for. 

Something in the way he pats around his pockets for his keys, the way he twists around his lean and lanky body and bends down to pick up a fallen maple hidden between the boards of Pieck’s wooden porch…

“These,” He mumbled and leaned back up, the denim of his blue jeans tightens around his hips and it makes you wanna grab him by the belt… “These are pretty.” 

Oh? 

He gently smiles and traces the veins of the brittle maple leaf; autumns long gone now, you remember kissing her goodbye and you remember Mama’s pinky promise that you’d have heat this winter so baby June wouldn’t freeze. Carolina doesn't freeze. The heat was nothing more than a church sewn quilt and a warm slow sip of Jack’s whiskey at midnight, nothing more than Pieck’s legs thrown over yours and a few soft nights on the shore in that little dress. Autumn’s long gone, Jean. 

“Y’ever seen Vermont in the fall?” He looks up at you, flashing you a smile that makes you wanna pinch his cheeks, “Me and my mom used to drive down there every Thanksgiving and, man, the trees were as orange as the sun. They covered the whole place. There was a bunch of deer, too.” He talks a lot. “So, you never seen ‘em?” 

“No, I’ve never been.” You whisper; the eastern night sky feels cool like thunderstorms against your bare skin. Remember the one in April? The marsh was up to your waist and the shack flooded, the sky bled that deep misty blue as thunder rolled in and the gulls took off. But did Jean ever see a thunderstorm like that? One that makes all the lights go out and the whole house shudder. Maybe Vermont has that soft tender rain, tender like the scar he’s got beneath his eye and soft like your plush skin. Maybe he learned about all the leaves in Vermont and they promised him he’d meet a pretty mermaid from deep blue Carolina with wild flowers growing in her hair…

“I wonder where this one came from. It ain’t fall,” The stem twists between his fingertips and he shuts one eye to get a better look at the leaf; he’s curious like how stargazers are curious of the tongues of the sea, you’ve seen how they run around the shore and dip their petals into the cool waters. Flowers talk to you and—

And that mermaid knows about leaves, too. 

“Sometimes Pieck’s gutters get clogged up with leaves, nobody gets ‘em out ‘till its too late and they all fall down here,” You say, scratching your head and twisting your bare feet, watching Jean study the leaf and then study your bloody lips. You know he’s looking at you and it makes you squeal. You bite into a smile and look away. Oh, Jean.

“Well, I better leave this little guy here, then.” He bends down to put the leaf back into the wilted pile of maples and he smiles at you. You blush so hard your skin burns. 

She rings like a bell through the night and wouldn’t you love to love her? You remember last July, zooming around Dixie Blue on those pretty white roller skates, wearing Daisy Dukes as your hair blew in the wind, wild and free with the sweet lord; the sun on your face, all the young dudes waved at the wild little girl spinning in a circle in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot with oranges all over her cheeks—you felt that kind of heat on your face as Jean smiled at you. 

Critters mutate in the marsh. Starfish grow on the backs of horseshoe crabs like daisies growing in the spring. You’ve seen dragonflies burrow beneath oyster shells and snail eggs grow upon dolphin silky fins. Estuaries stretch so far they swallow the sky and the stars within; all creatures live there.

And it gives you the perspective of God as you spread your legs and let the salt water pool against your soft thighs; you are God as small wet bodied creatures crowd around that seashell between your legs, trying so hard to burrow inside and use your body as their home. Oh, and you’d let them. Because Mother Nature is never finite.

“Y’know,” You say, coming back to him, “Oak trees mean strength, but I think that's a sycamore.” 

“Repentance?” Jean smiles again. He seems so interested, so already devoted to your every word. You feel a little stronger. 

“Repentance.” You shouldn’t be surprised he knows that—all boys grow up within the wooden white walls of the church. Baptist? Presbyterian? Evangelical? You wonder how many scriptures he could memorize, as if they’ve made a pallet on his tongue as they have for you. For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. Psalms 139:13 

“I always thought they were pretty.” He chuckles and dusts his hands off his jeans, already worn and washed from the nights he spends drinking with the guys. You know that, but you don't know if he’s ever told Porco about the pretty leaves  in Vermont or how he got that seashell tattoo, or about how repentance rots the soul like the water-logged flesh of an innocent creature drowned in the marsh—you didn’t know that.

But red maples mean beauty. He’s right. They are pretty. 

“We gotta get goin’, cowboy.” You giggle and skip down Pieck’s brick-n-board steps, heading right to his big blue truck hidden behind a tree of sagebrush. 

“Cowboy? I ain’t a cowboy. I’m a yankee.” Jean comes down behind you, his heavy boots hit the wood then the ground to trail behind you like a lost puppy—maybe you should put a leash on him. 

His truck is rusty and old, there’s age spots all over from all those nights he must’ve spent moon gazing in the deep valleys. You imagine he’d do that, but only because you’ve done it more times than you can count. Jean walks over that lawn, the one with so many memories that keep Pieck’s violets growing. Those seven year old afternoons in the summer, dressed like a baby in dad’s old shirts and splashing around in the cool water and jumping over sprinklers, holding Mama’s hand as she dresses you up in fairy wings and kisses Pieck’s soft callow knees after Pock pushed her to the ground…

You’ll always think of her. 

“This thing unlocked?” You ask, kicking the muddy tires of his truck. Damn thing, those boys are always getting stuck in the muddy creeks. They just don’t learn. 

“Always is.” Jean says, jingling his keys. The night was blue, dark like the sea at midnight, but shining with Dixie Blue stars and you remember how Mama told you shooting stars are traveling souls; They’re going to Georgia, honey, she whispered, drifting off to the moonlight, All the way to Georgia. No where else.

Jean looks at you for a moment, you feel it on your cheek as you look up at the moon, and you hear him mumble something beneath his breath. It is hot as hell out here, ain’t it?

“You ready?” He asks, rubbing his sunburnt neck and wiping his cheeks. 

“Uh huh, I gotta get home somehow.” 

“C’mon, we’ll getcha there.” He smiles and you still wanna rip his hair out. He’s so goddamn handsome and he’s got a truck. Can it get any better than this? 

You both open the door and climb right into his truck, right into the hot summer’s mouth, and you take a deep breath. 

Jean’s truck is full of that salt air—that’s the first thing you tasted, it’s musky and native like he’s been fly fishing out of this old thing for years—and the seats are stained with cigarette ash and Bud Light. You look all around, like you’ve flipped over a mossy rock in the marsh to find all the bugs hidden beneath; worms, beetles, junebugs, cicadas. There’s a rosary hanging off the mirror and a pack of wildflower seeds on the dash, you weren’t expecting those. A switchblade there, a lighter here, a canteen lying beside your feet. He’s a real cowboy. 

But there’s a polaroid of him and a pretty lady and a sheep dog on the beach, a lighthouse behind them. It doesn’t look like Carolina or anywhere where a cowboy would end up. 

He turns the key and Crimson and Clover blasts through the radio and, God, it's almost too perfect. He doesn’t hardly know ya, but he thinks he could love ya. 

He turns down the radio and scratches his head, “Woah,” He mumbles and looks right at you, tongue between his lips, “Which way is it?” 

“Just a left on Bay Street and I’ll show ya from there. It ain’t too far.” 

“You wanna drive?” He asks and you think it’s a little too late now, but that’s how southern boys always are. A little slow with a broken jaw. The full moon blooms and you think of the last time you tried to drive all by yourself. 

“Mmm, I wish, but I don’t got my license.” 

“Me either,” He chuckles, running his hand over the smooth steering wheel, turning to face you with a golden lock of hair swaying over his half shut eye. Something must’ve happened to him when he was a kid—did he get a bottle thrown at him? Some glass in his eye and that’s why he can’t open it all the way?

“I don’t think Pock does either and he drives like a maniac.”

You don’t bother with a seatbelt and neither does Jean. He reverses out of Pieck’s driveway and you watch the light from her living room grow a little dimmer beneath the night sky. You were drifting away… Drifting with Jean beside you. You’re riding shotgun and he’s got these big strong biceps you can’t stop staring at. You wish your hair was braided. 

“You got anything to drink?” You say, rocking your head against the seat and putting your hand out the window, feeling the cool breeze. “I’m thirsty.” 

“Yes ma’am. Check the back, should be some Blue Ribbons down there.” 

Oh, you like that. Ma’am. He’s a real gentleman, isn’t he? 

You reach behind your seat and feel the twelve pack of beer sitting in a cooler, melted ice sloshing around. He’s smart. That’s the best way to cool down in a summer like this—an ice cold beer on your neck, sitting in front of the A.C before one of the boys spray you and Pieck down with a hose like the girlies in Playboy magazines. 

You grab two beers and crack one open, it fizzes up and you take a long sip before pressing it right between your breasts—cooling down where it’s hot and sultry. You hum a little and put your feet up on the dash, thighs sticking to each other and peeling apart with a fresh and ripe sunburn riding up your legs…it’ll reach that lily flower soon. You stretch out and hand him the other ice cold beer. 

“Here, Jeanie.” You say and he grins. Oh, Jeanie. He’s boyish in the moonlight, a little lean and tooth rottingly sweet. He looks like a little boy. 

“Thanks,” He takes the beer from your hands, his callouses touch your fingers for a minute and you swear he blushes. He cracks it open and takes a long sip. “Mmm,” He hums, “That hits the spot.” 

And as he takes a left on Bay street, you tell him you like whiskey. He whistles and says I’ll be damned. Guess he’s never met a girl like you, huh? He keeps the old radio on low and you huff at every little bug finding their way through the open window to bite at your bare legs. You’re some kind of peach left out in the sun—the heart of summer covered in creatures. 

You turn to Jean; his strong jaw and red ball cap; he’s gently smiling, maybe at the fuzzy picture of your blue and buttery blue skin and buck toothed smile in his peripheral, maybe at the desolate road ahead of him, but he bites his cheek and scratches his chin, smiling again and looking over at you. 

“You grew up here, right?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. 

“Mhmm,” You nod, “I don’t think I’ve met anyone who hasn’t grown up here.” It’s true. You could name every strange tan legged girl on the beach and every hard headed boy chasing after her, usually with a beer in hand. You can name ‘em all like stars. 

“Well,” He puts his hand to his heart with a big goofy smile, “Now you have. I’m from Maine and Montana.” 

“Maine and Montana?” He just keeps on surprising you. 

“Born in Maine, but I moved to Montana after my dad passed away.” You’ll have all night to think about that. “I live with my grandparents now.” 

“Wait,” You huff out a sea salt smelling breath and your eyes fall right to his chest, “Mrs. Sterling on Wisteria Avenue? Is she grandma?” 

“Yep, that’s my granny. How d’ya know her?” 

“I used to clean the St. Pierre’s house, they lived there before you did, I guess. I remember them moving out and tellin’ me who’d live there.” 

“You’re a maid?”

“Yeah, same as my mama.” 

“Well, I guess we’re perfect for each other,” Easy now, Jean boy, “I’m a farm boy.”

“You think I couldn’t tell? Look at you, you’ve got the,” The hands for it, “You’ve got something.” 

“Hell, that’s what they all say about me. Maybe it’s the boots.” He stomps his feet down on the floor, careful to miss the gas pedal and you wonder what they all say. Maybe he’s got something that made him special back where he grew up. In Maine and Montana.

A few moments go by, Crimson and Clover fades into She’s A Rainbow and you tell Jean he’s playing all the hits. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, taking a long slow sip of his beer every now and then as you stay quiet, resting your head on the truck door. You get on your knees and put in the VHS tape and replay that scene where the boys are running from the train on the bridge, you snuggle beneath the blankets and drool on Pieck’s collarbone; Although I hadn’t seen him in more than ten years, I know I’ll miss him more than anything.

His daddy’s dead, too. Maybe he got shot overseas like Ilya’s father, maybe he caught the short end of the stick like Pock’s daddy did—an ax right through his heart as he was cutting down trees. Maybe all the booze ate him away and they found him on his back drowning in whiskey and blood. Maybe he died like your dad. 

“I like that.” He says, so warm and so sweet, you aren’t sure what he’s referring to at first—maybe he liked the monologue floating around your head, too—but his eyes are on your slender wrist curled up between your thighs. 

“My bracelet?” You lift it up and twist the braided little friendship bracelet between your fingers, playing with the dragonfly charm hanging off the blue and yellow thread. 

“Yeah, I think it’s pretty.” His eyes are so soft. Jaw always slack, a dimple on his stubbled cheek—he makes you smile and you don’t know why. “Did ya make it yourself?” 

“Oh, yeah. I taught Pieck how to fishtail braid and we ended up with an armful of these things. But this is the one I always wear.” 

You felt that summer from four years ago warm in your belly. You were just a girl back then. 

“You think you could make me one?” Jean asks and he must realize how sincere he sounds because a sunburn pink blushes over his cheeks in the deep blue night and he wipes his face with a smile. 

You bite your lip and hide that girlish smile on your face with another swig of your beer. It lingers on your lips and you swear Jean watches. You can’t wait to tell Pieck all about him, you can hear her raspy little voice beneath the evergreens and dream catchers, whispering to you that she’s seen him 

“Mmm, I don’t know.” You look up, “You’ve gotta give me something in return.” 

“A trade?” 

“A trade.” 

“Well, what d’ya want? I’ve got…” He hums, looks around his dashboard covered with trinkets you’d find in Jack’s toolbox; matches, polaroids, chipped antlers wrapped up in a cow hide string of leather, straws of wheat and tall ferns thrown about. What’s there to trade for? 

“I don’t got much, I’ll say that.” He chuckles. “But anything you want, I think I can get for ya.” 

“Anything?” 

“Anything.” 

“How about…” Watercolors so you can paint the angels. A fast car so you can get out of here. A postcard from dad telling you he’ll be back soon. A big calloused hand to hold all summer long and a kiss beneath the moon and stars, glittery blue skin and a sign from God. “A kitten?” 

“A kitty?” Jean asks, confused, raising one of his eyebrows. 

“Yeah,” You tuck your legs to your chest, sweaty and sticking together already, “We had to put my cat down a little bit ago, I miss having him around.” 

“M’ sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I made a grave for him and everything.” 

“Will ya say a prayer for me for him? What’s his name?” 

“Mister Milky. I’ll tell him Jean the farm boy’s thinking of him.” 

“Thanks,” And he chuckles at the silly little name you gave Mister Milky after you found little white paw prints all over your bedroom floor leading to a shivery frail little kitten hiding beneath your bed. How he ended up in there, you don’t know, but that kitty meant the world to you. “I’ll find you a kitten, Georgia, don’t worry. Then we’ll be friends, alright?” 

“I think so.” 

Mother Nature’s legs, tall and lush, evergreens and sycamores, border the small dusty path to the shack and you and Jean drive right through them—headlights on, shining for deers and geese; a flock of birds cry out a love song and the long slow flap of their wings echo through the valley. You want to tell Jean to drive slower, in case one of the wild hound dogs runs across the path and he hits ‘em. 

Pock did that once. He was driving you home and one of those hound dogs, as strong as a wild horse, came runnin’ out in front of the truck. You remember shutting your eyes tight and whispering a prayer as he brought out the shotgun from the back seat and stood over the dog, heaving blood and twitching beneath him. Pock never knows what to say to you, but he knows how to handle a gun. 

But something tells you Jean knows how to drive slow and watch for critters. He just does. 

You’re still wondering about him, but mostly hoping he’s doing the same for you. What kinda flowers does she like? Lilies, Jean. Pink shimmery stargazers and baby’s breath flower crowns, sea shore wildflowers and forget-me-nots that grow over angel baby’s graves; you’ve woken up in daffodil valleys and never seemed to find your way out…

“Jean?”

“Yeah?” 

“Can I wear your hat?” 

“Huh?” He raises his brows just a little, smiling just a lot, and you guess he can see the stars in your eyes because he says, “Yeah, ‘course. Here ya go.” 

He leans his big fat head over to you, drivin’ sideways, and you snatch the thing right off. It’s dusty and faded red and it fits right over your hair like it was meant for you, not anyone else. 

“Well, doesn’t that look pretty?” 

“Shut up.” You bite, but you can’t deny how mushy that made you feel. You giggle and it makes Jean smile with a little dimple on his cheek. Fuckin’ boys always know what to say.

You keep it on tight. 

“Whatever you say,” He throws his hands up like he’s innocent and you feel like screaming inside. Whatever you say, pretty girl.

“So,” You drag out the ‘oooooo’ and listen for another owl hum before tucking your hair behind your ears, “Jean Walker Sterling, do you go to school? With Pock and all them?” 

He chuckles and runs a big hand through his humble head of hair, one eye on the road, one on you, “How’d ya guess my middle name?” 

“It’s on your wallet,” You pick the leather thing up from the console and show him. You were eyeing it more than you should’ve been. His name’s engraved right in the middle; Jean Walker.

“Smarty.” He clicks his tongue and you wanna gouge his eyes out for that. Smarty. “Well, you got one part of it wrong. My last name’s not Sterling.” He doesn’t take his wallet back. You hold it tight. 

“But your grandma?” 

“My mama married in Maine.” That sounds like a tongue twister, don’t it? “My last name’s Kirstein. Take a look.” 

He nods at you and you open up his wallet and you’re met with a dusty faded polaroid of him and a black n’ white dog smiling at the camera, a big blue sky behind them and a half opened scarred up eye winking right at you, one you’ve gotten used too. What happened to him? 

Or was he born like that? Everybody’s got scars. You’ve got one beneath your breast from an angel and a lilac branch. But you wanna ask him if he can see twice as many stars as usual with that unopened eye—maybe it needs to bloom like a wildflower in the spring. 

This, Jean, feels different. You know why, too. You weren’t there to watch him grow into a man, you didn’t get to see him callow and freckled, clinging to his mama’s hips and running around on the docks like a dust covered gremlin, pulling pigtails and tossing a football back and forth—Mama let Eren sleep over after his daddy hit him a little too hard, he was fragile like a little bird with broken wings but he still pushed you on that tire swing and begged for another helping of mashed potatoes. Reiner came running to you with beet red cheeks when his dog got lost in the woods. Porco’s always been there, but he ran away when he first kissed Pieck. 

“That’s me and my dog.”

“He got a name? He’s so cute.” You rub your thumb over the polaroid, right over Jean’s big shoulder and the dog’s pink tongue panting in the cool blue morning. Where’s he at? 

“Auggie. I think he’d like to meet ya. He won’t bite, I swear.” You roll your eyes, but he still makes you laugh. Still with that boyish all American smile. And you take a look at his I.D. 17, hazel eyes, 6’2, from Meredith, Montana, but really from somewhere in Maine, right? Jean W. Kirstein. 

“But I don’t go to school. I’m a farm boy, remember?” 

“I don’t either. I’m too smart.” 

And you both laugh. 

It looks like you’re here. Jean rolls right in front of your little home hidden beneath Spanish moss and sultry ferns—headlights illuminate the dog wood and reflect off the dusty windows. Oh, God, you’re here. You sigh at the sight, lantern glowing like a warm halo above the porch and damp wood; nobody’s home, they’re up in the Dakota’s remember? 

Some part of you wants to drift off to sleep. He—you don’t know who—will carry you to bed and you’ll touch his big calloused hands and whisper three little words to his moonflower heart before wrapping your legs around his lean hips and drifting off to sea, lying above him as the foamy shore suckles at your warm and gentle bodies; kissing one another, feeling that comfort as he puts a flower in your hair and squeezes your ribs with his big strong bicep…how fuzzy that’d feel. How sweet, how comforting; how untouchable…

“I bet you’re tired, huh?” Jean mumbles and rubs his half shut eye before turning down the radio even lower, just a little buzz, “What is it? Two o’clock in the morning?” 

And you wanna crawl in bed. You feel warm like honey and you might float right into the blue haze above your dewy skin, but you feel Jean’s eyes on you. Sugar maples, misty whiskey, ice cold beers on his blue jeans, something like that, right? 

“M’ gonna get you that kitty, I promise.” Jean says softly to the night, knowing you’re drifting off and you might now hear a thing he says, “I’ll make sure he’s just as special as Mister Milky and you’ll love ‘em. I swear. Then we’ll be friends.” He pauses for a moment, breathing in the buzzing of no-see-ums in the deep blue night. Your eyes have been closed for a while. He gets a little closer and whispers, “You look like a mermaid.” 

“And you look like a cowboy.” 

Then he walks you to the door and says he’ll see you around, right? He wants to stay a little longer, but you’ve gotta get to sleep. You put the hat back on his head and it covers his eyes and ruffles his hair. You say goodnight. You touch your ribs and dream of kissing his knuckles. You whisper a prayer for Mister Milky. 

Oh, Jean. Where did you come from?

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Hell Years Don't Feel Like Hell Years

Hell years is supposed to be different than regular years, but every flashback shows that hell years correspond to the not so distant earth past which is a missed opportunity to have demons have a different perspective on time.

I mean for instance Stolas is supposed to be based on a figure who was there when Lucifer's rebellion happened and is eons years old which would make for great potential storytelling where he's bored with life until this little imp came into his life. But nope...

He's just 30 fucking years old. A figure based on a fallen angel is just a millennial so that Vivziepoop can relate to her audience. Seriously, girl tends not to be creative as a her stans think she is and gives out tons of bad tropes over good storytelling or worldbuilding. And what's even more gulling is the fact that in real life Stolas has centuries of history which is contradicted by making him way younger unless there was an older Stolas he was named after.

And Stolas's backstory in the Circus reinforces that hell years is just a shit concept since we see such modern looking dress and not like maybe centuries past demon clothing to again show how different hell society works in comparison to earth society which is faster.

Again what hell years are supposed to be gets even more muddled when Loona has a smartphone which again couldn't have been made more than before 2007 so we again have it that hell years aren't that long and supposedly hell has earth technically trick down. I mean wouldn't have it been interesting if 22 was really being adopted in the 80's and we see her being a more 80's type of teen then in her twenties be more like a 2020's young adult.

Again the hell years is bs idea is reinforced when we are shown when we see Fizz and Blitzo as teenagers and they are rocking the early 2000's teen look. And again we see how Vivziepoop is just saying hell years is a thing when it's really not. And again missed opportunities for having characters treat decades as if they were just a year or two ago. Again she makes hell too much like earth and it hurts the creativity of this freaking show.

[ashwhowrites]

can you do robin x f!reader and basically reader is dating robin in secret (cause its the 1980s, duh homophobes) but readers cheer caption so she’s pretty popular so theres new rumors like every week that shes dating someone new. and during a game robin saw jason wink at reader and after robin and reader get home robin gets all mad and starts arguing with her but reader says “i dont want anyone else, nobody can make me feel the way you do” (wink wink promt 30;))) then they do the yk 😇😇 so basically angst to smut. this idea has been on my mind all DAYYY and cheer has been kicking my ass and your writing has been basically like my coffee recently. sorry if its too long xx💗💗

Absolutely!!!

Thank you so much, I am so happy to hear I can get you through some hard days. Hopefully, this is what you wanted and will get you through some more days!!

Y/N and Robin have been together for around a year at this point. Y/N fell right at Robin's feet the second she met her at Scoops ahoy. Her bright eyes, dark short hair, and gorgeous smile. She practically melted into her own ice cream cone. Slight flirting went back and forth. Both were not sure if the other one was gay, but when Y/N overheard Robin telling Steve that she had a wet dream about her, she got her answer. Y/N made the move, and the rest was history.

Robin knew dating the head cheerleader in secret would have its moments. And hearing rumours every single week about who her girlfriend is dating next was not helping. She heard the locker room gossip. Girls are jealous that Y/N yet again got asked on a date by a guy they liked. Robin was jealous too, just for a different reason.

She always tried to remind herself that Y/N was hers and hers only. But the sting of people getting to freely hit on her girlfriend would forever leave a mark. She hated that she had to act like a best friend.

She felt jealousy fill her when Jason asked her if Y/N was single. She so badly wanted to scream at him that she was taken, and she was, in fact, taken by her.

"She is, but she is not looking for anything." She said it with a tight smile. She hated the way Jason's smile stayed on his face.

"We'll see about that."

~~

Robin felt like throwing her instrument in Jason's smug face. His eyes followed her girlfriend's every move during her routine. She could almost see him undressing her with his eyes. She hated that she couldn't say something. She just had to watch silently.

Robin felt herself blush when she looked back towards Y/N to see her already staring at her, a huge smile on her lips as she waved. Jason may have been looking at her, but Y/N's eyes never left Robin's body.

~~

The clock was running out, and the team was just a few points behind. The crowd was on its feet as Jason ribbled the ball, running towards the hoop. As he held the ball, he looked over at Y/N, and with a wink, he threw the ball into the net. A loud buzzer rang through the crowd. The only thing Robin could hear was the pulsing of her heart.

~~

The gym was clearing out; Robin stayed behind, waiting for Y/N to pack up her belongings. After every game, they go get food and have a sleepover. And after the day she had of Jason eye fucking her girlfriend, she felt like she needed time alone with her.

As Y/N headed Robin's way with a huge smile on her face, she was stopped by Jason. Robin felt her eyes roll.

"Hey Y/N, your routine looked great; did you make that yourself?" Jason smirked as he looked at her up and down.

Y/N awkwardly giggled, but to Robin, it sounded like a flirty giggle.

"Um, yes. Being the captain and all, I made the rounties. Thank you though." She went to walk around him when he reached his hand out.

Robin felt her skin burn seeing Jason's skin touch hers.

Y/N was quick to shrug off his touch. "Yes?" she asked.

"Would you like to go out on a date? Celebrate the big win?" He asked with a wink and a huge, gull-toothed smile.

She turned him down with a sweet smile and hug.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally made it to Robin.

~~

Y/N noticed Robin was quiet all throughout dinner. She didn't laugh at her jokes; she didn't rub her foot underneath the table. She didn't want to bring it up in public, so she waited until they made it back to Y/N's house.

"Hey baby, everything alright?" Y/N asked softly as she sat very close to Robin. She went to touch her hand, but Robin put it in her lap.

"Nothing, just, you know, the usual guys flirting with my girlfriend. The basketball captain was chatting you up, and you just giggled away, soaking it all up." Robin huffed as she crossed her arms.

"Rob, first of all, I wasn't soaking it up and giggling. I was uncomfortable, and you know how I feel in those situations. And who cares about those rumors? It's not like they are even close to being true."

"Or are they? Let's look at the facts here. You are popular, a cheerleader, and run with a whole different crowd. I don't know what you do at parties or who you go home with. or if you even make it home. For all I know, you could totally be with anyone!" Robin feels like she shouldn't jump the gun, but her anger was running with the bullets.

"Robin, are you excusing me from cheating on you? Like full-on cheating on my goddamn girlfriend? Do you not trust me at all?" Y/N was hurt. She devoted every spare moment to Robin. She hated it more than anything because she couldn't show her off to the world like other couples could. But hearing Robin say that she thinks she has been cheating on her hurts more than anything.

"Yes, I am! because we can never work. It would be so much easier for you to be with a guy like Jason. Someone your parents would approve of, someone you could kiss in the hallways and dance with at prom.Someone with whom you could go on actual dates Someone you can tell people about, and someone you can love." Her anger was fleeing. The insecurity was painting her face. Y/N could easily read her. For the moment, she decided to leave the anger to the side and focus on the deeper issue at hand.

"Robin, look at me." Y/N said as she sat in Robin's lap, her arms wrapping around Robin. Robin's eyes looked into hers, unshed tears waiting to cross the line.

"I don't want someone like Jason. I want someone like you. I don't care what my parents think. I'd have prom in my bedroom just to dance with you. I like our secret kisses in the bathroom. I like our dates in the forest and Steve's basement. I like getting to show you off to the people who love us. You are someone I can love; you are the person I love." Robin's tears were now falling in small hiccups as she tried to remain silent. Y/N leaned her forehead against Robin's and placed a small kiss on her lips.

"Show me, show me you love me." Robin exclaimed as Y/N's lips moved around her neck. Robin's hands slid up Y/N's back, fingers trailing underneath her top. She unhooked her bra, and Y/N pulled away to remove her shirt. Robin quickly followed. Chest to chest, Robin's lips attached themselves to Y/N's neck. trailing marks near her collarbone.

~~

Robin was gasping as much air into her lungs as she could. Y/N sucked at Robin's clit and sunk her fingers deep into her wet cunt as she lay between Robin's thighs. Robin had her head thrown back and her hands gripping Y/N's hair tight. She lifted her hips, practically riding her face as she chased out her orgasm.

Y/N soaked out every part of Robin's orgasm before she pulled away. As she looked up at Robin's fucked-up eyes, wild air, chest heaving up and down quickly, and hard nipples, she licked her fingers clean. A light layer of sweat coated her skin.

Y/N walked over to her closet and pulled out her strap. She walked towards Robin and handed it over.

"I don't want anyone else; nobody can make me feel the way you do. So why don't you show me who I belong to? Why don't you put that on and let me ride you?" Robin did not need to be told twice. She was strapping on the strap as fast as she could. Her eyes shone with need and desire.

Robin felt a moan leave her lips when Y/N climbed on her lap, lined her soaked pussy with the toy, and sank down on it. Y/N moaned as she was filled and threw her head back.

"Fuck me, Rob." She whined as she started bouncing on the toy. Robin wrapped her arm around Y/N's body and began to thrust up as fast and hard as she could. Her lips caught Y/N's nipples bristly, and she yanked them with her teeth.

Y/N leaned her forehead on Robin's, their thrusts meeting in sync. Robin smashed her lips against Y/N's with as much control as she could. Y/N tried to keep up, but the feeling of the toy cock hitting her so hard that she could barely move her mouth

Her jaw went slack as she felt her orgasm approaching. Her mouth hung open as Robin breathed into her.

"Cum for me, baby." "Cum on my cock." Y/N whined at Robin's words, and her orgasm hit hard. She was shaking and wheezing as she came down from her high.

"I'll love you forever, Robin."

Tags

@michaelfuckinglangdon

[kissesforsatoru]

Alos also

Yandere Baji who notice you going distance and starts to wonder and attempts to confront you only for you to avoid or run off…this obviously pisses him off and he corners u and ask why. He looks closer and what you know it

Yandere bf seems to have given you a punishment

Maybe a black eye, a slap on the face, arms bruised all bc suddnly your sene with Baji…

At this point your breaking down in tears begging Baji to leave you alone “please Baji please just leave me alone- if he sees me with you he’ll be even more mad”

Idk what hc u can call this but Yandere Baji relzing your getting punished by your Yandere bf/ Yandere bf putting his hands on you

- 🌑 I’m choosing this one I did a spin wheel thing

pairing : baji x gn!reader

summary : when his darling hurt cause of their yan!boyfriend

⤷ cw : general yandere themes, light descriptions of injury, implied abuse

notes : just wanna say that i don't normally cuss this much, but it feels so right to do it for baji. i feel like he is definitely anger prone and impulsive, so he cusses a lot, especially to get his point across, you know? i usually try to write with the characters personality in mind, and i kind of just shove it into the way i write to make it more personal to them. so! yeah, don't mind all the cussing because there is a lot...😭

you've been avoiding him.

every time you see him, your pretty little eyes widen and you hurry your ass the other way, hauling it like you were being chased by some serial killer, and he hates it. it kills him, really. to see you so scared of him makes his gut wrench in the most twisted, uncomfortable ways.

so, he corners you. it was pure luck that he got the opportunity to, though, because you've been careful. but you weren't paying attention after school--typical, spacy you--and he snatches you. drags you to an empty, abandoned classroom where he pins you to the wall and cages you there. he's not giving you any fucking room to escape him anymore, because two weeks without you has been hell enough. that time alone could probably pay for all the sins he's ever committed. yeah, being without you is that bad.

you hit his chest, trying your best to get him to move, which is cute because your hits are the equivalent of being hit with a fucking pillow. he's not trying to be demeaning or anything but, compared to all the hits he's ever taken from anyone, yours are nothing.

he smirks and grabs your wrists to pin them on the wall, missing the way you flinch and tense in his hold.

"little thing," he calls, low and raspy. your lip wobbles and he can see thin, glassy tears begin to form in your eyes. "why have you been avoiding me, hm?" he asks just as he places a soft, ghostly kiss on the juncture between your shoulder and neck. the shiver he receives from the action causes his ego to swell. he still affects you, whether you want him to or not.

you don't answer at first, but that's fine. he's in no rush. he focuses his attention on kissing you, applying more and more pressure to each one as he goes on because, fuck- he's missed you so god damn much. he can't get enough of your soft, plush skin under his lips—do much that he can't control it when it’s bruising and boarder line sensual, nipping lightly at your skin every now and then 'cause he knows how much his fangs get to you.

"baji... please," you finally say, wobbly and nervous. "leave me alone."

baji pauses, processing your words carefully before his grip on your arms tightens tenfold. just as he's about to growl at you and ask what the fuck you mean leave you alone, you yelp loudly and the tears in your eyes finally start slipping down your cheeks. you fight against his hold, trying your damndest to get him to let your arms go, which only causes you to be in more distress.

it takes him only a few seconds for things to click in his mind before he gently gulls your arms towards him and rolls up the sleeves of your hoodie. his stomach drops at the sight before him--at the sight of deep, protruding bruises defiling your skin. his heart begins to speed up when he realizes that your shitty boyfriend must've done this to you because of him, and that's why you've been avoiding him.

he looks up at you, brows furrowed in both anger and worry, and you're looking back at him with the most hurt expression on your face.

"he said that if he catches me with you again, he'll do worse so..." you trail off to sniffle and wipe the tears that are beginning to clump on the curve of your chin and jaw. "please, just... just leave me alone." you say, barely able to contain the cracked sob that slips between your quivering lips.

his heart clenches again at the way your face scrunches up to try and keep yourself from crying anymore. fuck, you're crying, and he hates it so much in these circumstances. no way in fucking hell is he ever going to leave you alone again when that damn bastard does this bullshit to you. he's not just going to let you go back to him and then sit with himself knowing that there's a possibility he could hurt you more and in worse ways.

"let me protect you," he whispers, swiping his thumb over your bruises, making sure that he doesn't press on them to the point that it hurts you. "i promise i'll never let him hurt you ever again so please, just... let me protect you, okay?" he sounds so desperate as he tries to convince you, and he is. you should never be subjected to this kind of treatment, ever. no matter what. and anyone who inflicts you with pain should burn in fucking hell for the rest of their miserable lives.

you hesitate for just a second, but then you're leaning into him and clinging to his waist as you begin to sob even harder. god damn it, he never wants to see you like this again--never even wanted to see you like this in the first place.

"i'm scared, baji." you say, grip tightening like he was just gonna walk away and leave you--which, he would absolutely never do that. not to you. he wraps his arms around you, one hand on your back and the other on your head in a protective hold.

"shh, it's okay. i'm gonna keep you safe like i promised, okay? no need to cry anymore, my sweet baby." he whispers, kissing you on your forehead as he does. such a soft act that was able to calm you, but from a third perspective, baji couldn't have been more murderous in that moment.

your boyfriend is going to fucking pay.

[bakugotrashpanda]

Two Truths and a Lie

Chapter 5: Dynamight and What’s-Her-Name

Bakugou x Fem!Reader

◈ Pro Hero, Fake Engagement ◈ Word Count: 1884

◇ Chapter Select

◇ Previous Chapter

You go on a date.

Gulls cry overhead when you exit the taxi. Salty wind from the ocean gently teases the edges of your clothes. Your first date with Bakugou. He texted you a day after posting a single word on his social media: taken. 

The plan is to keep it simple for your first outing — a walk along the pier, get coffee or something, chat. Ultimately the goal is to appear together. He set it up like a business meeting rather than a date, but Bakugou’s proposition was more like a job between two people rather than an affair of the heart. 

A swath of ash blond hair catches the corner of your eye. Your date stands against metal fencing separating ocean and land. His spiky hair and collar of his dark blue jacket are ruffled by the breeze. Even though he gazes out over the water, no doubt he’s aware of every person passing by.

Bakugou straightens as if feeling your eyes on his back. He appraises you while you do the same to him. His jacket pairs well with his dark green pants, and the black shirt brings the look together. Casual, but classy. You only hope that he thinks the same about you.

“Well?” You strike a pose. “Did I bring it? Or did I bring it?” 

Bakugou nods, the corner of his mouth curling up into an almost-smile. “Looks good, but you’re missing one thing.” He takes off his jacket and places it on top of your shoulders. It settles over you warm and comforting — and with a faint spicy, woody scent. So he does wear cologne.

Bakugou’s hand rests on your waist pulling you against him as you start to walk. Your arm brushes against his side. Are you supposed to hold onto him too? Two people walking side by side in some weird embrace? On the outside, it might look like an ordinary, lovey-dovey couple, but on the inside, you hate it. 

You plant your feet into the ground. “Stop. We’re not walking like this.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“We’re out of sync and I don’t know what to do with my arms.” To emphasize your point, you make a ‘what the fuck’ gesture.

Crimson eyes narrow, but he takes his hand off you regardless. “Ok,” he says, “What’s your smart idea for how to fool the world into thinking we’re head over heels for each other?”

“Hold my hand instead?” you offer. If he doesn’t like that, then that’s too damn bad. He hesitates, but casually passes his hands over his pants. ‘Kacchan won’t admit it, but he’s very protective of his hands.’ Midoriya’s voice flows through your head. A memory from long ago. 

Bakugou sticks out his hand and waits. “Fine.”

His hand is warm and dry against yours. Scars litter the back of it, some old and well worn while others are pinker, the skin healed but not much else. You have to resist the urge to take his palm and stare at it, trace the lines there and wonder what their stories are. Would he be self-conscious about that?

“So what, are we supposed to do all the ‘getting to know you’ stuff?” you ask as the two of you start meandering. “Tell you my dreams about life? Where I see myself in five years?”

“Why would I want to know any of that?”

“Because you’re my fiancé, asshole,” you roll your eyes. “Let me guess, your goal in life is to be the number one hero on the charts and be your own boss. And once you reach that, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You have no hobbies outside of work, and your only friend is Red Riot.”

Bakugou shoots you a disgusted look but doesn’t argue.

“So how far off was I?” you goad him.

“Whatever,” he mutters. The tips of his ears betray him and turn a light pink. Bingo.

“Alright, now me.”

“What?”

“Tell me what you think my life is like.” Show me what you really think of me.

Bakugou’s silent for a moment. You think he won’t do it — won’t cause a scene here in public listing off all your bad qualities where anyone can hear. “You don’t have an identity outside of Deku, and now that he’s moved on and you’ve lost all attempts at winning him back, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You have an alcohol problem which you’ll adamantly deny, an’ you don’t have any real friends and suck ass at making lasting connections.”

You hold your free hand up to your chest in mock indignation. “Well fuck you too.”

“You asked for it,” Bakugou smirks. 

The irony of roasting each other for being two friendless individuals while holding hands on a ‘romantic’ walk isn’t lost on you. There’s no bite to either of your statements, it just hurts that it’s true. 

Shops lining the boardwalk pass as comfortable silence descends. Your mind wanders. You never thought you’d be here, hand in hand with a man that wasn’t Midoriya. Bakugou is right – Midoriya took up so much of your life. And you had to have hobbies outside of him… right? You had to. There’s no way you blindly devoted five years of your life to him.

“We’re here.” A gruff voice pulls you out of your reverie. Bakugou nods at a small cafe. He holds the door open. The cozy shop is decorated with deep browns and light tans from the walnut leather chairs around coffee tables to the tall cedar bar tables. Fragrant fruity teas mix with earthy coffee – both overwhelming and comforting all at once.

You’re guided over to the counter and the barista takes your order. Bakugou pays for both drinks before you can get your wallet out. That’s fine. You can get the next thing. Maybe lunch? And if not that, whatever you do on the next date. 

While waiting for your drinks, something in the atmosphere changes. An intense pressure at the base of your skull. You need to get out of there. Something isn’t right. When you turn to Bakugou to say something, the words die on your tongue. 

Eyes. You can feel the eyes. They crawl over your skin, greedily taking you in. Everyone in the store is drawn to Bakugou… and then you. Hushed conversations go from everyday topics to you and Bakugou. The gossip floats around and you’re able to pick up bits and pieces. ‘Isn’t that…’ ‘Dynamight and what’s her name…’ ‘They look cute together’ ‘When did they start dating?’ ‘Do you think I could get a picture?’

Bakugou bends over suddenly, his mouth against your ear. The deep tones of his voice give you something to hold on to to keep you in the here and now. “We’ll leave after this.”

What’s maybe a minute or two drags on for eternity. 

Warm drink in hand, you follow Bakugou out. The only thing keeping you from running out of there is the fact that his body blocks the way so you’re stuck at his pace. He leads you down an empty pier, the morning fishermen gone for now. There’s nothing but the ocean’s white noise, small waves crashing in on themselves. 

“You’re not used to that.” It’s a statement, not a question. You purse your lips and shake your head. No, no you’re not used to it. “I should’ve fucking known.” Your position doesn’t garner much media attention. Your engagement will shake things up without a doubt. 

You stare out at the water and watch the rhythmic rise and fall as the tide comes in. “You’re a private person, how’re you used to it?” 

“Comes with the job.”

Gears turn in your head. “Katsuki,” you start. He nearly chokes on his coffee when you say his name. “You’re a private person. A very private person. Have… I never…” How do you tactfully ask this?

“Spit it out already.”

Fine. If he wants blunt, you can be blunt.

“You have had a girlfriend before, right?” you ask. “I’m not your first, am I?” That’s the one aspect of his life he’s kept completely silent. Until now. There were rumors that he had a girlfriend, and other rumors that he was single, but with no proof, it was all speculation.

To his credit, he recovers smoothly, only a red tinge to his cheeks. “I’ve never had a serious girlfriend before. Didn’t want one. Thought it was a waste of time.”

Fuck. “I didn’t take your first kiss, did I?” 

“I said I didn’t have a serious girlfriend, not that I haven’t fucked around before.” Oh. Just how much ‘fucking around’ is he talking about? Maybe made out with someone before? Some hands in the pants action? Gone all the way?

“I didn’t peg you as a casual kind of guy,” you say carefully.

“I’m not. I just wanted to get it over with,” he shrugs. So all the way. Just to say he did it. Interesting. No doubt there’s a lengthy NDA in there somewhere. 

His face screws up and heated eyes glare at you. “Are you using your fucking quirk on me?”

Your face immediately falls. He might as well have slapped you. The once welcoming ocean breeze feels like an icy kiss against your skin as heat drains from your face. Taking a step away from him, you try to keep your composure.

Your voice starts out shaky and you hate that it makes you sound like you’re about to cry. A small burning sensation in your chest spreads to your arms while a tiny whisper in the back of your brain advises you to cause chaos. “Katsuki Bakugou, I am only going to tell you this once so get it through your thick fucking skull. I will never ever use my goddamn quirk on you.”

You crush the now empty cup in your hand and stomp off. It doesn’t matter if he follows you. He’s just like everyone else. Throwing the crumpled cup into the garbage with all your might didn’t make you feel any better.

“Oi, that bothered you.” You spin on your heel and stare down your date, hoping he can feel the growing rage you’re tamping down. If you could, you have half a mind to dunk him into the ocean. What an inane thing to say.

“Of course it fucking bothers me,” you hiss. “When people go out to drink and say something stupid, they blame it on the alcohol. If anyone says something stupid around me, guess who gets blamed.” The words flow out of your mouth. “It’s not like there’s a light that turns on when I use it, so no one fucking trusts me.”

That wasn’t supposed to come out.

At least you didn’t tell him that even Midoriya had doubts about you.

Bakugou straightens, his jaw hard set. Slowly, he holds his hand out to you. “It won’t happen again.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but deep down, you believe him. It won’t happen again. Slipping your hand into his, you nod and walk side by side back down the pier.

Truth: Bakugou can read you like an open book.

Truth: There’s attention on you now. A lot of it.

Lie: You had every intention of returning his coat when the date was over.

◇ Next Chapter

Tag List: @thatfanfictionwriter , @loving-katsuki , @dienamights , @katditca , @boosyboo9206 , @alex-sulli , @hypernovaxx , @daddyissxes , @ti-mame , @thekaylahub , @ms0milk , @nerd-nowandforever , @minninugget , @tiny-wooden-robot , @icedemon1314 , @xviternity , @naiomiwinchester , @lovinkiri , @sincerelyyrosemary , @abnormalanimeweeb , @satogg , @liberace2 , @acid-rain27 , @itgetzweird08 , @chaoticorganizedmess , @neurovascular-entrapta , @kiwiified , @bnha-free-writing , @fishbolw , @xxkay15xx , @zombiewarprincess , @izuwumidoriya , @blue-enigma , @mommy-without-milkers , @plaggi , @budibbly , @hiqhkey , @great-goddess-of-sin, @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory, @zyxys1, @doonaandpjs , @chifuyus-slut , @aceredhairliberal , @dxrkdreamer , @archdag , @bakugospartner , @cxshmereclxud , @nuthonii, @sukisprint,

[shy-urban-hobbit]

The first thing that Aiden was aware of was that he was no longer lying on the hard ground (although the matress he was currently on wasn't much of an upgrade). The second thing was that he was alone if the lack of any additional heartbeats was an indication. He took a moment to catalogue the various aches and pains whilst wishing painful and embarassing venereal diseases on any and all Mages.

It wasn't bad enough that they'd walked straight into a trap (although to be fair this one was using children as bait, what else could they do?). Oh no, he'd decided to do the whole 'one of you drink from the mystery chalice and I'll let the other one go' thing, not even trying to disguise its contents. Aiden hadn't thought twice about knocking it back before the Mage had even finished monologuing, shooting a smirk at Lambert before collapsing to the ground in pain as his guts tried to claw their way out of his body.

Speaking of, the door opening accompanied by Lambert's unique scent informed him that his fellow Witcher had returned. Aiden started counting down from five in his head, knowing that his heart rate would give away the fact that he was awake, even if he wanted to avoid opening his eyes for a little longer. He got to three before he felt a fist clench in the front of his shirt, pulling him upwards and into a solid chest.

"You fucking twat!"

Aiden winced, "Indoor voice please, Love." He said hoarsly, burying his nose in Lambert's collar bone, "Loud noise bad right now."

Lambert adjusted his hold so he was now cradling Aiden against his chest, "You stupid fucking Cat." He whispered, "What were you thinking?"

"That I'd rather chug poison than carry on listening to that arsehole."

"I'm serious, Aiden." Lambert tightened his hold, "I had to watch you basically commit suicide and fucking smile about it?!" His voice was getting louder again, but he was too angry to care, "You absolute prick! I had to watch you writhing on the floor in agony whilst I tried to force an antidote into you which I wasn't even sure would work, and then I had to practically sprint back to the inn with you, praying the entire fucking time that I wouldn't have to listen to your heart stop. I was...you..."

Aiden felt guilt start to gnaw at him. Lambert didn't need to say any more for Aiden to know he'd scared him, and scared him badly.

"I'm sorry Lam." He reached up to run fingers through his Wolf's hair, purring low in his chest in an attempt to both comfort and self soothe. Lambert allowed the gesture withought complaint.

"I know this doesn't make it right but, for what it's worth, I was never going to die."

Lambert snorted, "Don't talk shit. We could both smell what was in it. That stuff's fatal when combined with mutagens."

"When combined with wolf mutagens."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

"The initial reaction is the same but, for Cat Witchers," Aiden shrugged, "After that wears off. For us, it just feels like a really bad White Gull hangover. On that note."

Aiden pulled back and proceeded to puke on the floor, luckily avoiding Lambert's boot.

"You deserve that." Lambert said dryly, wiping Aiden's mouth with his sleeve.

"I know, and I'm sorry."

"For not telling me that sooner, scaring me half to death or puking on the floor of the room we're sharing?"

"All three. I swear I would've told you about the poison thing if I'd had the chance. Only there wasn't a lot of time between downing it and, you know..."

Lambert couldn't smell any trace of a lie through the guilt and misery.

"As soon as you're well you're giving me a fucking crash course in Cat mutagens." He said, moving to lie on the bed and pulling Aiden on top of him., "You're also cleaning that by the way." He gestured with his head to the puddle of vomit.

"Be nice to me, I'm sick!"

[ellohcee]

There are many benefits to being a marine biologist- including the selkie that has made it a habit to see you every day.

Jasper pauses before he can get his joke out as he turns to meet David’s gaze, looking at him with such warmth, and maybe even... affection.

His heart starts beating faster as he’s struck by the image before him. David is bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, his eyes illuminated somewhere between gold and sea-green in such a mesmerizing way, holding so much, his hair a bit tousled and cheeks flushed from the wind and maybe more. He has the sweetest smile on his face, and Jasper can’t recall ever being looked at in such a way before-

He swallows the lump in his throat, hoping to sound normal and not like he’s just been sucker punched. “What’s up, Peaches?”

The selkie’s smile widens just a little, his eyes crinkling at the corners and striking Jasper through the heart just right. “You know it’s silly, but I’m so glad that orca chased me onto your boat,” he says, his voice warm and soothing, simultaneously calming him but making his heart pound.

“Yeah?” he croaks.

“Yeah,” David says sweetly. “I really love spending time with you.”

God he’s so weak, he can barely keep it together. “Me too,” he manages.

“Really? You don’t mind me causing trouble for you while you’re trying to work?” David teases.

“You don’t,” Jasper insists without hesitation. “I totally never expected to make friends with a selkie, or even meet one, but I- I love spending time with you too. I wouldn’t trade you for anything,” he says, softer, his face warming up from the painfully honest declaration as he realizes he’s gone very suddenly out of friendly jokes and into serious territory...

But oh, the way David looks at him, his eyes shining with so much he feels like he could drown in them should he wander too close, like a stone sinking into the sea never to surface, just before leaning in to hug him around the shoulders.

It’s so worth it.

He wraps his arms around the selkie, holding him tight and closing his eyes as he soaks in the embrace and this perfect moment.

The waves are calm, everything quiet save for the gentle lapping of water at the boat, the far off sound of a few gulls drifting on a gentle breeze. David feels so good to hold, his selkie coat soft and warmed by the sun, his embrace gentle but firm, full of affection, and god he smells good. Had he ever wondered, Jasper thinks he might’ve guessed that seals and by extension selkies would smell like wet dog, not that he would ever say this to David. But he smells like the ocean, kind of like rain but with that subtle tang of salt and sand.

“...Jas.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you,” David says so quietly he nearly misses it over the sound of waves, gentle as they are. “I wouldn’t trade you for anything either.”

The honest, absolutely soft tone he says this in once more pierces like a lance through Jasper’s heart, and oh fuck it, he’s such a hopeless idiot he would fall in love with a selkie. Why not? That’s just his luck. But… he really meant it. He wouldn’t trade David for anything or anyone, nor change him, convenience be damned.

He holds the ginger a little tighter, feeling so lucky to have met him, to be friends with this man even if he has a snowballs chance in hell of dating him. He’s perfectly happy just to have David clamber onto his boat every day and talk to him about the sea life he’s seen that day and bring him shells and trinkets and answering every question of what each piece of equipment does, to see David’s beautiful smile every day and hear his voice and the way he says Jasper’s name so reverently, like he’s something to be cherished. That’s enough. That’s plenty.

“Jas?”

He sucks in a breath as he startles out of his reverie. “Hm?”

“Are you alright?” David whispers, not seeming in any rush to get away but maybe sensing his tumultuous feelings. He always seems to pick out when Jasper’s in a funk and oh he’s in some kind of funk right now, toeing the line right between delight and panic, but all the same...

“Yeah,” he says in all honesty. “Just… lucky to have a friend like you,” he says.

He feels David clutch his jacket a little tighter and there’s a pause, not uncomfortable but definitely feeling of something that wants to be said. Something lingering in the space between them, small as it is. Maybe that’s why it feels heavy. “Likewise.”

After a few more moments of this indulgent hugging the two pull back with matching smiles.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hang onto you for so long,” David says a little shyly.

“It’s cool dude,” Jasper says, blushing. “My buddies on land aren’t really big on hugs so it was actually really nice.”

“Oh! Well I’m glad,” David says, his smile bright and warm.

Jasper’s heart flutters, before he notices the light on David is fading, and looks over his shoulder to see the sun is setting fast. How quickly that beautiful window of time where everything is covered in liquid gold fades to darker tones, just as quickly as their little moment is broken. He feels disappointment swirl up, overtaking the pleasant haze he’d fallen into, joy washed away by cold reality.

“Shit, it’s getting late, I gotta pack it in,” he says regretfully, turning back to David.

The selkie looks a little disappointed as well, pouting cutely. “Oh, alright, you best head back while you have some light to see by. Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks, hopeful.

“Same time, same place,” Jasper promises with a grin, his heart fluttering again to see David’s face pick up a little.

“Alright, then I’ll get out of your hair,” David says, and Jasper walks him to the diving platform where they both pause, David looking like he wants to say something, his fingers twining together in a nervous gesture as he opens his mouth.

But instead, he takes a breath, leans in, and gives Jasper a quick peck on the cheek, his face red as he pulls back. “Well, goodnight Jas, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, stepping over the low wall of the stern and onto the platform where waves lap at his feet, turning to look at him for a moment.

Jasper blinks, still in a daze over the little kiss, before he comes back to a reality that suddenly doesn’t seem so cold anymore. “Uh, yeah, seeya Davey,” he says, earning a shy smile from the selkie before he crouches down, turning into a seal.

David looks over his shoulder and gives a cute little bark before sliding forward into the water, swimming away.

Jasper’s heart races in both panic and delight, touching lightly shaking fingers to his cheek in disbelief. “Wack,” he whispers, a silly grin growing on his face as he watches the selkie disappear.

[samstree]

(more on sober!jaskier)

Geralt sneaks into their room nearly on tiptoe. The night is dark and quiet enough that any tiny creak of the floorboards makes his heart flutter. Luckily, the fireplace burns dimly, so he doesn’t need to light the oil lamp and make any more noises.

The scent of the strong white gull clings to his clothes, his hair, his breath. He doesn’t want to wake Jaskier like this, with every part of him reeking of alcohol. The only problem—the world just won’t stand still.

Geralt blinks hard against the swaying of the floor. His hand slips on the handle, and the door shuts loudly.

“Geralt?”

Fuck.

He freezes like a child being caught.

The lump on the bed moves, and then there is the vague shape of Jaskier sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

“Um…” Geralt finds his throat inexplicably dry.

“You are back,” Jaskier says, voice deep from sleep. “Had a good time?”

“Good.”

Geralt doesn’t move. The door frame digs into his back uncomfortably.

“Good, then, that it was good.” Fading embers illuminate Jaskier from one side, his hair messy and smile soft. The blankets pool on his lap, warm and inviting. “Lambert and Eskel? Also good?”

“Also good.” Geralt nods.

“We are saying the word too many times,” Jaskier teases, patting the space next to him. “If all is good, you should come to bed now. Can’t let your brothers hog all your time. Your bard misses you too.”

A distressed sound escapes Geralt’s throat. He breathes through the dizzying rush in his head and closes his eyes for a second.

“I…” Geralt hesitates. “We were drinking. A lot.”

“Oh.”

“Thought you’d be asleep by now. Didn’t mean to be drunk around you.”

“It’s okay,” Jaskier says, though it sounds like a lie.

Even years after Jaskier put down the bottles and never picked them up again, there is still that tension within him. When he’s in a tavern, or a banquet, where wine is poured and refilled freely. He never speaks of it, but it’s difficult. Geralt can tell, the tightness of his shoulders and the reservation in his eyes. Jaskier is lonely in company like this, when he’s the only one who cannot drink.

Geralt never wants him to feel lonely again.

“I got carried away.” Geralt winces, blinking to sober himself up, but the white gull is strong. Even his fast metabolism can’t do much within minutes. “I’ll sleep somewhere else.”

“Wait, no,” Jaskier calls out. He doesn’t need to raise his voice for Geralt to stop in his tracks. “There is no need. Just come here.”

Jaskier shifts on their bed, hugging his knees. There is a certain vulnerability in the way he curls into himself, a particular gentleness. And Jaskier is always the most convincing when he’s gentle.

So Geralt has to oblige.

He moves while the room swims before his eyes. It’s hard to find his balance but he manages. He ends up sitting at the edge of the bed, not touching Jaskier, turned slightly away for the stink in his breath.

“I know you don’t like it when I drink,” Geralt says.

Jaskier blinks, confused. “When have I said that?”

“You don’t need to. I can tell when people are drinking. You look…lonely, even in a crowd.”

Geralt suddenly finds his hands the most interesting thing. He wriggles them in his lap, the sensation of his skin strange.

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier’s fingers are cool against Geralt’s cheek and soothing when they tidy the loose strands at his temple. “But you see, you are not people.”

“Hmm?”

When Geralt looks at Jaskier, there is only patience in the way his head tilts, and only amusement at the corners of his eyes.

“Yes, it can be hard when I’m surrounded by those who are less understanding,” Jaskier explains, the movement of his hand not stopping. Geralt leans into his palm, letting Jaskier cup his cheek. “But there’s them, and there’s you. You are not the same.”

“I’m not?”

Perhaps Geralt does get slower when affected by alcohol, because Jaskier’s eyes are crinkling beautifully like he thinks Geralt is being silly again.

“No, you are not. You never fill my cup along with yours and pressure me to drink. You never use drunkenness as an excuse to be rude to me. You never make me feel bad for staying sober, for not being fun enough.”

“I’d never,” Geralt says, nearly feeling offended at the idea.

“No, you’d never,” Jaskier continues. “On the contrary, you are the one to take away the cup forced into my hand and save me from those impossible situations. You defend me, but not with your swords. You protect me, just by being there.”

“It’s all you ask. Of course I’m there.” Geralt catches Jaskier’s hand in his. “So you are not disappointed?”

Jaskier’s smile is laced with a hint of melancholy, his eyes casting low. “How can I? I’ve long since forgotten how it feels like to be disappointed in you,” he answers. “And it’s my fight. I’ve never asked you to charge into battle for me. Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean I expect you to do the same. I understand it’s different for you—for everyone, really. Besides, you haven’t seen your family for months. You deserved the fun.”

“We did rather have fun.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s hand in reassurance, his chest now lighter.

“Was it Lambert’s homebrew again?”

Geralt’s lips stretch into a lopsided grin. “It was.”

“My, my, you must still have quite a buzz.” Jaskier returns with an equally big grin of his. “It’s okay. I like it when you are tipsy, with all the easy smiles and free cuddles, and you let yourself get giddy when I call you sweet names. I know your soft side, dearest, but even I don’t see it often—oh yes, just like this.”

It’s really the dearest that does Geralt in. Of all the sweet names, it’s the one that makes Geralt preen. His bard is easy with his affections, throwing dears and darlings to all who are close to his heart, but then, there is Geralt.

Dearest.

Perhaps he is different, after all.

Suddenly, his cheeks are hot for entirely different reasons. He looks at Jaskier’s knowing expression and can’t help feeling too proud.

“I am, aren’t I?” Geralt finds himself giddy indeed. “Your dearest?”

“Yes, you are,” Jaskier sighs softly before leaning in to press a kiss on Geralt’s cheek. “You are also very much drunk, so take off your clothes and get under these covers. I am not going to undress an uncooperative witcher all by myself, thank you very much.”

With that, Geralt lets out a contented hum and follows Jaskier’s directions. Despite his words, Jaskier still helps him, their limbs bumping awkwardly when Geralt nearly trips over his trousers. He squirms when Jaskier’s touch becomes ticklish on his tingling skin.

“Alright, just lie down,” Jaskier says, throwing his hands up. “Not tickling you when you are giggly already.”

“I’m not giggly,” Geralt insists. He sinks into the comfortable bed and drags Jaskier on top of him, nearly falling asleep just like this.

“Not giggly. Just happy,” Jaskier agrees, his fingers running through Geralt’s hair. “Happy, and dear to my heart.”

With his eyes closed, Geralt quietly corrects him, “the most dear.”

“Yes, the most dear, the most special,” Jaskier whispers as if revealing a secret. “It’s you. Only you, my dearest, my best person.”

“And you…” Geralt slurs his words, drifting off. “You too…”

He needs to tell Jaskier how dear he is tomorrow, how strong he is underneath all the gentleness. Jaskier must know already, that Geralt is in awe of his strength with every day that passes, every small milestone, every anniversary.

He is in awe when Jaskier is simply here, leaving his haunted past behind.

For now, Geralt is content just being tipsy, half-asleep, and dearest to his bard.