#because it seems like such a little thing but really means so much

[hippiegoth97]

Random Eddie Thought #2

This one really got away from me, but it's nice to write something new again :)

18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, fem!reader, bestfriend!eddie, smut, sex dreams/fantasies, mentions of genital piercings/oral sex/masturbation/choking/unprotected sex, invasion of privacy, erections, crying, heavy kissing, idiots in love, best friends to lovers

A Few Tags: @rafescurtainbangz @voyeurmunson @babygorewhore @xxbimbobunnyxx @mediocredreams

@micheledawn1975 @slowandsteddie @bimbobaggins69 @etherealxwitch @taintedcigs

You're in the kitchen of your apartment, getting a snack to share with Eddie, your best friend, who's come to have a perfectly platonic sleepover with you. You've known each other since high school, becoming fast friends. You never fit in the with 'in crowd' and Eddie naturally picked up on your awkward and shy nature. Over the years he's managed to get you to open up more and be yourself, though it's mostly only around him, even after all these years. You tell each other everything, and have been there for one another through thick and thin.

One thing he hasn't seemed to notice, however, is your growing feelings for him. As you both matured into your mid-twenties, you've been unable to deny just how gorgeous Eddie is. With his long curls, big brown eyes, and lithe body covered in tats and piercings. Not to mention he's perpetually dressed in band tees and jeans that don't leave much to the imagination. Ugh, he's absolutely perfect. Inside and out.

That's not to say he hasn't always been hot stuff, because of course he has. But he's not the scrawny little boy who picked you out of a long line of geeks and freaks anymore. No, now he's a strong, handsome, sexy man. A man who treats you like no one ever has before. He brings you something every time he comes to see you, ranging anywhere between a new book or a pretty rock he found on a walk once. He opens doors for you, and holds you in his arms when you're sad. He makes you soup when you're sick, nursing you back to health even if it means missing work.

The only thing missing, is something you've craved since the day you met him. Something you've never spoken aloud. Something you've only verbalized in late night cries of ecstasy when you get off to the thought of your best friend. Something you've only admitted in the pages of your diary. The diary that Eddie has just found in your bedside drawer, along with a pretty pink rabbit that makes him chuckle when he first sees it.

And what do we have here?... Eddie thinks to himself, pulling the book out of its hiding place. It's thick, bound in leather, detailed with little leaves and flowers. He thinks maybe it's a poetry journal, or a sketchbook. You share his affinity for the creative. It isn't until he actually opens that he realizes what's inside. Your deepest, darkest secrets. He flips through the pages, noting the dates as he reads about strange dreams you've had, or bad one-night stands. His eyes widen when he reaches an entry from a week ago, with the opening line: I dreamt about Eddie again last night...

He debates putting the diary back, not wanting to invade your privacy. He's not one to snoop, especially when you tell him everything anyway. Well, at least he thought you did. He bites his lip, tapping his foot on the floor as he decides what to do. He really should just put it back, and pretend he never saw it (or your special toy). But something inside him begs to know what your dreams of him are like. If they're anything resembling the dirty fantasies he's had of you while alone in his bed, he can't let it go until he knows for sure. He decides to read the next few lines, after flicking his eyes to the doorway to listen for your footsteps coming back from the kitchen.

...it was the same as all the others. Eddie was in my bed, and we were naked. His soft, warm lips were on mine, his tongue was in my mouth, and his hands were everywhere. It felt so good, having him kiss me like that while he explored every inch of me. His fingers were carefully thrusting inside my pussy, making me so fucking wet. I could feel his dick pressing into my thigh, and I took him in my hand. The noise he made when I touched him was so beautiful, he sounded so breathless and needy for me...

Eddie knows he should stop. This is wrong. So, so wrong. These are your private thoughts, and he shouldn't be reading them. Even if they're making a tent form in his pants. His heart races in his chest, and he feels rather hot under the collar. His stomach twists with an uneasy mix of guilt and arousal. He lets out a shaky breath, once again weighing his options. Keep reading, or put the damn thing away and never, ever bring it up. He looks down the hall, wondering how much time he has left before you come back. Against his better judgment, he gives in to his desire for you. With eyes glued to your neat handwriting, he reads on.

...I could feel him grow in my hand, fuck, he was huge. I've seen it in real life before, and not entirely on accident. Since we're so close, we change in front of each other sometimes. And even though I've never seen it hard, I can tell his dick is big. It's even got a goddamn piercing on it, shining in the light like a lure. I swear to God, it takes everything in me not to fall to my knees and take him in my mouth whenever I see it...

Eddie scoffs loudly, unable to believe you've actually been checking him out. A part of him wonders if this is a sick joke, that you'd somehow known to leave this here for him to see. Any second now, you'll come busting in here and laugh in his face. Maybe even snap a picture of his embarrassingly large erection amd make copies to give all your friends.

But that's not you. You're too kind and sweet to him to ever pull such a cruel (and improbably elaborate) prank. Sure, he's wanted you for years. To call you his girl, to love you the way you should be loved. To kiss you, and hold you, and touch you in all the ways he thinks you'd like. To love you, and spoil you like the queen you are in his eyes. He's just never allowed himself to think you'd ever feel the same about him. Until now.

"What are you doing with that?" You ask softly, frozen in place in the doorway of your bedroom with a tray of snacks in your hands. Your eyes are blown wide, as you've come back to find Eddie on your bed, reading your diary, with a huge hard-on in his pants.

"I-I, I was, uh, just...um..." Eddie babbles helplessly, slamming the book shut and tossing it across the room. As if it being anywhere else will magically absolve him of invading your privacy. You just stare at him as he goes red in the face, and gestures with his hands as he fails to come up with an explanation. "...sorry." He says after letting out a long string of unintelligible sounds. He cringes at the word, realizing it's not nearly enough. But his mind and mouth can't come up with anything that doesn't sound like a feral goblin choking on a chicken bone.

"What part did you read?" You ask, your own cheeks turning a deep crimson. You really hope he didn't find your latest sex dream entry, but the glaring evidence in his jeans tells you that's exactly what he saw.

"Read? No, I was, um...j-just skimming..." He chuckles nervously, hoping you'll buy it. But the darkening blush on your skin and tears welling in your eyes lets him know he's truly caught. "Sweetheart, I—" Eddie starts, standing up as you're about to fall apart.

"Eddie, I swear, I-I didn't mean it! It was just a dream, and pfft! I was high when I wrote that!" You laugh uncontrollably as a way to hide your tears of embarrassment, frantically shaking your head. You've never been so mortified in your life, caught red handed in the worst way possible. You could've gone forever without ever letting him know how you feel. The potential rejection seemed too painful to endure. "I didn't mean it, Eddie. I didn't." Your laughter devolves into soft sobs, your grip loosening on the tray. Eddie catches it before everything tumbles to the floor, setting it on your dresser.

"Sweetheart, c'mere." Eddie takes your hands in his, and leads you over to your bed to sit beside him. You follow him, unable to do much else as tears stream down your face. "I'm sorry for snooping, angel. That wasn't right for me to do." He says sadly, stroking your soft skin with his thumbs. You nod in response. "And we can pretend this never happened, okay? Like you said, it was just a dream." He offers, his own words stabbing into his heart at the idea of never fully being with you the way he wants. But he doesn't feel like he's earned it. Not after making you so upset, and betraying your trust.

"Why did you read it?" You ask abruptly, more curious than angry. As humiliating as it is that he found you out before you could tell him yourself, you want to know how those secret words made him feel.

"I got bored, and curious. I found it in your drawer, thinking it was poetry or something. But then I found the entry of you dreaming about me..." Eddie trails off, pondering what to say next. "...and I got more curious."

"About what?" You continue, your tears drying up.

"About whether or not you want me the same way I want you." He boldly admits. He may as well, since your diary entries admitted your own wonderful, awful, heart-breaking, nerve-wracking secret to him. You don't say anything else, eyes blown wide in shock. "I want to be with you, princess. I've always wanted that." He says emphatically, making your heart swell as well as race.

"Really?" You ask, as if his erection earlier wasn't enough indication of his desire for you. You've dreamt about this moment so many times, spent numerous moments throughout the days and nights hoping one day he'd see you. You now stupidly realize, that there was never a time where he didn't.

"Yes, really. If you can forgive me for being a creep, that is." He says with a chuckle, making you giggle as well.

"Yeah, I think I can manage that." You smile, squeezing his hands with your own. "How far did you get anyway?" You ask curiously.

"Uh, right about where you talked about wanting to suck my massive, pierced cock." Eddie replies, moaning in an exaggerated way on his final words to tease you.

"Ugh, that's so embarrassing!" You groan, covering your face in shame.

"It's really not, babydoll. I'm just flattered that you noticed." He insists, pulling your hands down so he can see your pretty face again.

"I'll count myself lucky you didn't read any more." You giggle sheepishly, recalling how the rest of that dream went. You riding Eddie's cock while his large hand wraps tightly around your throat, filthy praises leaving his lips to spur you on. Him fucking you from behind, tugging your head back by your hair as he grunts and groans with every thrust. Among other equally explicit things.

"Shit, now I have to read the rest!" Eddie says impishly, diving off the bed to get the diary that still lays on the floor.

"Eddie, no! Please, it's too embarrassing!" You shriek, clamoring after him. But he's quicker than you, snatching up the book and holding it above your head. You try to jump up and tear it from his reach, but it's no use. He chuckles at your foolish attempts, slowly moving closer to you while still holding the diary above your heads. His free arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close. Your hands meet his chest, a small gasp leaving your lips at the sudden movement. He gazes deep into your eyes with burning lust, a smirk plastered on his lips.

"Think of it this way, sweetheart. If I read the rest, I'll know exactly what we're doing tonight." He speaks seductively, in a way you've only heard in your dreams.

"This can't be happening." You scoff, convinced you somehow fell asleep before Eddie came over tonight.

"Is it really so hard to believe that I'm in love with you?" He asks, dropping the Casanova act for a second and tossing the diary on the bed. He cups your cheek, and leans in to kiss you. His plush lips meet yours, giving you a taste of sweet, beautiful reality.

"Mm." You grab hold of the sides of his face, deepening the kiss. His tongue finds its way into your mouth, drawing a quiet moan from you. Time seems to stop as your mouths move together as one, and joyful tears spring from your eyes. This is all you've ever wanted. To love Eddie, and to have him love you back.

He carefully leads you backwards to the bed, laying you down on top of it as he kneels above you. He pulls away, wiping the salty tracks from your face. He smiles warmly, admiring every last bit of you and saving it away to remember this forever. "Can I make you feel good, sweetheart?" Eddie asks, as if it's his dying wish.

"Please." You reply softly, giving him a nod.

"Perfect." He reaches over for the diary, finding his place as he lays down beside you. "Now...where were we?" He muses, eyes bugging out when he reads what comes next. "Christ, I picked a good night to be nosy." He turns his head to look at you, wearing a devilish grin unlike you've ever seen on him before. "I swear to god, I'm gonna make all your dreams come true, babydoll. Even if it takes all night." He purrs, before chucking the damned book away one last time and pouncing on you.

[minisugakoobies]

Whipped | KMG

Pairing: Mingyu x GNReader (no agab)

Genre: fluff, idiots to lovers, slightly crack-ish, non-idol!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: Mingyu's a stubborn idiot, but he's also the softest human alive, Minghao's kind of a jerk tbh, use of they/them pronouns for reader, this is honestly just fluffy nonsense meant to give you warm fuzzies

Word Count: 3.9k

Disclaimers: Obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: No matter what his friends say, Mingyu is definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent not whipped for you.

A/N: Yep, another Mingyu fic. I can't help it. 🤷‍♀️

Unbeta’d as usual. If you liked this, please let me know! I’d love to hear what you think (but please be kind I’m fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

Kim Mingyu is not whipped.

This is what he forcefully reminds himself when you walk into Minghao’s party, looking sweeter than a spring day, a phrase which if he’s being honest is maybe a little more poetic than he’d normally use. That’s okay. He can be a little dramatic if he wants. Why not? Seokmin does it all the time and no one bats an eye.

In any case. Mingyu is not whipped.

That’s why he turns his head, pretending he doesn’t see you dazzle everyone around you with your beautiful smile. While he’s pretending, he also acts like he can’t feel his own lips tug upwards at the soft chime of your laughter, a Pavlovian response to your happiness. No, his smile is unrelated to whatever you’re doing. He’s just in a good mood, one that didn’t suddenly ascend to the heavens when you entered the room.

Mingyu’s not whipped.

He sinks further into the couch where he’s sitting, a little off to the side of where Minghao, Jeonghan, and Seokmin are talking. Theoretically, he’s part of the conversation, adding the occasional hum or laugh, but he’s really not contributing much of anything. He’s too busy thinking about you. Not like that. 

(But not not like that, either.) 

In any case, Mingyu remains firmly unwhipped - solid, unshaken, definitely not falling apart over you. He’ll be absolutely fine, as long as you stay on the other side of the room, where your charms can’t reach him. Except that he can’t stop watching you, and now you’re looking at him, and even though he averts his eyes, it’s too late. He can sense you walking towards him, his heartbeat increasing with every step you take.

Not. Whipped. 

“Hey there, stranger.” 

Instinctively, at the sound of your voice, he glances up at you, like a flower tilting its face towards your light. He nods at your greeting, mumbling a hello of his own. The others sitting around him all greet you as well, but you merely nod in reply, your full attention on Mingyu. 

“Do you wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”

If Mingyu had a list of things he loved about you, which he does not, being straightforward would be near the top. Of this totally fictional list that does not exist. He admires it, actually, the way you have no patience for dishonesty or deception.

Even though your question is blunt, your smile remains soft as you wait for his response, and Mingyu rethinks his ranking. Item number one on that imaginary list - the way you smile, at him, specifically. It’s so warm, like being hugged by the rays of the sun itself. It makes him happier than he ever thought possible. He wants to curl up like a cat and bask in the feeling. If he’s not careful, he might start purring right now.

He’s totally super normal about you.

“Me?” he asks, stalling for time, praying that a somewhat reasonable explanation falls into his lap in the meantime. He’s only a fair-to-moderate bullshitter, so his hopes are low. He can feel the others staring at the two of you, very obviously listening, because no one in your friend group seems to respect boundaries. It’s not helping. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you chirp back, and he does, he knows exactly what you mean, just like you know exactly what he’s doing. “You’ve been ignoring my texts. What’s going on?”

What’s going on is that Mingyu is not whipped, even if it feels like his insides are turning to melty goo beneath your inquisitive gaze. 

“I’m not ignoring you. I’ve just been busy,” he shoots, aiming for breezy and landing just shy of nonchalant. 

“Busy doing what?” 

“You know. Stuff.” Oh god, he really sucks at this. “And things.” Jesus Christ.

You fold your arms, and Mingyu thinks it’s cute the way you’re squinting at him, one eye closed as you assess his response. Unbearably cute, actually, and getting worse the longer it goes on.

“Yeahhhh, that’s not good enough,” you inform him, and with one hand on his arm (Mingyu ignores the electric current that lights up his nervous system when you touch him. It’s just static and definitely not anything else), you pull him to his feet and lead him out of Minghao’s apartment and into the empty hallway. He follows, not because he’d follow you anywhere, but because he’s curious.

Once the door is closed behind you, you turn to him, a serious expression on your face. “Gyu. Be honest with me.” Always, he thinks reflexively. “This is about what those guys said the other night, isn’t it?” 

Of course you know exactly what it is that has his head spinning right now. The two of you have been friends for ages, but Mingyu still can’t get over how easily you always seem to read him. 

A few nights ago, Mingyu and you had been out to dinner with a few others, and it had been like any other time you were hanging out with your friends, lots of laughing and teasing and just being happy dumbasses together. Only on this particular evening, the food had taken a very long time to arrive, but the drinks kept coming in the meanwhile, and you’d gotten a little drunker than usual, and a little clingier, sticking to Mingyu like a magnet.

Not that Mingyu minded having you hanging on his side all night. Nor did he mind keeping a close eye on you, making sure you were drinking your water and eating to help soak up some of the alcohol. None of that bothered him at all - you were his best friend; why wouldn’t he take care of you? Especially when you smiled at him and thanked him for being so sweet, so good to you, over and over.

(He can’t even begin to explain how that made him feel.)

The others noticed. And commented. Mingyu tried to ignore them, but they just wouldn’t shut up. By the time they joked that Mingyu was your trained puppy, suggesting you buy him a pretty collar and a leash to go with it, he’d had enough.

And when he tried to express that, Minghao had shut him down with a scoff, a wave of his hand, and one word. 

“Whipped.” 

Mingyu admits that he’s a lot of things, but he’s not a whipped man. He’s not. He’s not, no matter what the others say. No matter how you’re looking at him right now, concern etched all over your lovely face, lip tucked between your teeth as you wait for his answer. He’s strong. And proud. 

(And maybe a stubborn idiot, but that’s neither here nor there.)

He considers just not responding at all, but he knows how persistent you are, so he settles for a half-shrug. You sigh, leaning back against the wall, arms crossing in front of you. 

“You’re being ridiculous, you know that?” you say softly, shaking your head. “They were joking. They said so! And you know I didn’t take it seriously for a second.” 

“You didn’t hear everything they said!” he protests, crossing his own arms. You’d missed most of the barbs flying his way that night, too busy enjoying yourself. Which weirdly made him happy. He hated the thought of those guys ruining your night. “They said I was your pet!” 

“So? Jeonghan always tells Seokmin he’s got the zoomies when he gets hyper. He knows he’s not actually a dog! It’s just stupid jokes! Our friends are dumb!” you laugh, throwing up your hands. “That’s what we like about them!”

Mingyu can’t help it, he starts to laugh with you, but then he catches himself, shaking his head. “You don’t get it.” 

“Then help me understand.” 

How can he help you understand, when he’s not entirely sure he understands it himself, this storm inside him, clouding his mind? 

“I…” He glances wildly around the hallway, but there’s nothing out here to help him. He can hear the bass from whatever song is playing inside the party, a low, steady thrumming that contrasts the erratic thumping of his heart. “I don’t like being called weak.”

You tilt your head. “Is that what they said?” 

“Yeah. Or I guess… they implied it. When they said I was whipped for you.” He lets out a frustrated sigh, knowing he’s pouting and it doesn’t help his defense, but it’s just his default setting. “But I’m not.” 

Because he’s staring into your eyes as he speaks, he catches it - the quick expression of sorrow that pinches your brow at his explanation - but it’s fleeting, gone in an instant. If he weren’t watching your face so intently, he would’ve missed it. 

“Gyu,” you sigh, the corners of your mouth lifting in what is clearly meant to be a smile, except it doesn’t reach your eyes, and for a moment, the confusing tide of emotions inside him still, and he feels only sadness. That’s not how you smile. “Can you please let it go? Everyone was being an idiot. That’s nothing new! Besides…” You trail off, staring at the floor.

He waits a beat. “Besides what?”

You huff and shrug. “It’s nothing, forget it.” 

The uncertainty in your tone unnerves Mingyu even more than your fake smile. Where’s that directness of yours? 

“No, tell me. Besides what?” 

With a deep breath, you look him straight in the eye. “Besides, I’m not delusional. I know you don’t like me like that. I’m not your type.” 

Your voice grows quieter at the end of your sentence, just as the music coming from the other side of the door fades out, and to Mingyu, the silence only amplifies your words, leaving them ringing loudly in his ears like a sonic boom. You’re not his type?

He blinks rapidly, as if that will somehow help. 

“You - you’re not - “ He pauses, searching fruitlessly for the end of his sentence, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“Right. I’m not.” 

The laugh you let out sounds so fake that he winces, and a terrible realization hits him. You’ve taken his stammering to be a complete thought - a confirmation of what you’d said, that you aren’t someone he’d like like that. Curling in on yourself, arms wrapping around your stomach, you shrink away from him, only a few inches but the distance feels so vast. 

“Let’s just forget about it, okay?” 

Mingyu’s speechless. As his silence grows, so does the space between the two of you, until you’re standing by the door, hand on the knob. He feels like he should be doing something right now, snapping into action of some sort, but his brain is still stuck on your declaration.

“Okay,” he finally croaks, because it’s clear that you’re waiting for him to speak, and he doesn’t know what else to do but agree with you, because you’re usually right and he usually agrees with you. 

“Right,” you say again, but you look slightly unsure, and it rattles Mingyu, making him feel even more unsettled than before. “Okay.” And then you open the door and slip back inside Minghao’s apartment.

Alone in the hallway, Mingyu slumps against the wall. Well. That was a spectacular failure. He’d tried to explain how their comments upset him and all he’d done was upset you. The shift in your demeanor was so obvious to him, a flashing neon sign basically screaming “you fucked up!” in blazing red light. 

He gives himself a minute to try to pull himself together, then he returns to the party. As soon as he’s inside, he scans the room, until he finds you standing in the corner, hanging out with another friend, Chan, talking and laughing like everything is fine. Which, as Mingyu feels deep in the pit of his stomach, he knows it is not. 

His previously vacated spot on the couch remains open, so he slips back into it, ignoring the curious looks of his friends. He doesn’t want to answer any stupid questions right now, doesn’t want to deal with any of their crap while he tries to wrap his head around what just happened in the hallway. 

Naturally, his friends immediately start nosing into his business.

“What was that all about?” Minghao asks, turning to face Mingyu. Seokmin and Jeonghan both twist towards him, eager to hear his answer. 

“What was what about?” Mingyu replies, eyes flitting to you again. Chan must be bringing his A game with his jokes tonight, because you’re giggling Mingyu’s favorite giggle, the one that makes your nose twitch like a little bunny’s. It always makes him swell with pride when he coaxes it out of you with one of his dumb jokes, so seeing it right now and knowing he’s not the cause of it, well, it’s not exactly helping improve his mood.

“What was that dramatic exit?” Minghao gestures towards the door. 

“It was nothing. We were just talking.” Again he looks at you. And again, your attention is focused solely on the man beside you. Mingyu doesn’t understand. Can’t you feel him looking at you? 

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Jeonghan drawls, miming the crack of a whip with his hand. Seokmin and Minghao crack up beside Mingyu, but he doesn’t care. He’s too busy trying to catch your eye. He wants to see you smile at him. Just one smile. That’s all he needs to make him feel better. 

His friends lose interest in teasing him when he doesn’t respond, and the conversation moves on. As does the evening. Mingyu bonds with the couch, not leaving except to grab refills of his drink, but otherwise he’s a fixed point in this party, unlike you, who are constantly moving, floating from friend to friend, spreading joy across the room.

Spreading joy to everyone except him, that is. No matter how much he watches you, your light never shines on him again, not like it did earlier. He knows what this is. You’re the one doing the avoiding now. And oh my god does he hate it. He feels cold and lonely, withering away, dying for your attention. For your affection. Because he needs it to thrive.

Oh. 

Oh wow, he’s stupid. The others are right. 

Kim Mingyu is whipped. 

For you, and you only. 

Like it has been every few minutes since he returned from the hallway, his gaze is drawn back to you, and this time, it’s different. Because the mask you’ve been wearing all night finally slips, and Mingyu sees the wrinkle of your brow, and the slight downturn of your mouth, and he understands. You’re just as miserable as he is.

That absolutely will not do. He needs to fix this right now.

Mingyu rises to his feet again, not even waiting for Minghao to finish the story he’s been telling, not that he’s been listening anyway, and starts walking towards you. When he’s a mere arm’s length away, it occurs to him that he doesn’t have any plan, just an urgent need to make you look happy again. And also pay attention to him, because he needs your attention just like he needs you, so he panics, and grabs your hand. 

You look at him in surprise as his fingers slip between yours.

“Come with me. Please,” he adds, a bit hasty in his anxiousness, already tugging you out of the room and into the hallway. A pair of voices follow you both out, as Minghao and Jeonghan both jeer loudly at the sight of Mingyu dragging you away, but thankfully the door drowns them out, letting only the beat of the music through.   Which would be a good thing, except that now it’s just Mingyu and a very quiet you. With your hand still in his. 

“Is everything o-”

“You are my type.” 

You start speaking at the same time he does, but he’s louder, blurting his entire sentence out before you can finish yours. Your mouth freezes in an ‘o,’ and oh, Mingyu can’t believe what a dumbass he’s been for so long. How did everyone else see it but him? 

“I just. Wanted you to know. That you are the type of person. That I like.” Why can’t. He complete. A whole sentence? “Smart, funny, gorgeous….” 

You glance away from him, suddenly shy at that last word, and it just reinforces Mingyu’s point. 

Unfortunately, it does not make it any easier for him to say what he’s trying to say.

“But you’re not just my type? You’re the person I like. Hao’s right. They’re all right. I am whipped for you.” He frowns. “Damn it, I hate it when Hao’s right.” 

That makes you laugh, a quick “ha!” that makes your eyes light up, and Mingyu finds himself feeling stronger, so he doubles down. Might as well own it. 

“But he did, he got this one right. I’m down bad.” He brings your entwined hands up, clutching them in front of him, maybe pressing his luck a little, maybe laying it on thick, but it’s barely an exaggerated version of the truth if it’s not pure simple fact. 

“‘Gyu,” you groan, rolling your eyes, but there’s a twitch in the corner of your mouth that won’t cease, and it makes his heart sing. “Knock it off. I know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t think you do.” He takes a deep breath and steps forward, backing you into the wall behind you. Your hands are caught between you, and he presses the palm of yours against his chest, wondering if you feel the spike in his heartbeat when you inhale sharply. 

“Maybe you should tell me,” you say, eyes wide but voice calm, and again, he marvels at how you strike straight at the heart of the matter, and he decides he can do the same. 

“I’m telling you that I like you.”

The next few seconds are the longest in Mingyu’s life. Nothing has ever lasted this long in the history of time. Entire civilizations are built and fall within the blink of your eyelashes. You keep looking back and forth between his eyes, and he hopes that you see whatever it is you need to believe him, and tries his best to convey clearly what he feels. Even if he’s having trouble speaking his thoughts, at least his gaze can express it. 

“You like me…” 

He nods. “A lot.” Now that he’s said it out loud, it’s hitting him just how much.  

“You like me…” you start again slowly, frowning slightly, “but you don’t like it when others point that out?” 

“I just - “ Mingyu breaks off, a sharp puff of breath exploding out in frustration. How to explain it? “I didn’t like them saying it the way they did. It… it made me feel like they were calling me weak or something.” Your frown deepens and he stumbles on. “But - but that’s stupid, and I know it’s stupid. And I - I don’t care anymore.” 

He clings to your hands, a lifeboat in a sea of turmoil, the warmth of your fingers locked between his giving him hope that this isn’t going completely downhill, this sudden confession of his. It’d be just like him to ruin this with his impatience. He’s always too eager. 

“So what do you care about?” you ask, gaze burning into his. 

And then there’s you. Always so calm and direct. God, he adores you. 

“You. How you feel.” 

As soon as the words leave his lips, you lower your eyes, in the briefest of glances at his mouth, and Mingyu feels that electric shock again, tingling all the way to his fingertips. He barely breathes as he waits for you to speak.

“If you really are whipped for me,” you finally say, “you should go tell them that.” You jerk your chin in the direction of the door.

If that’s what you want, then that’s what he’ll do. Without a second’s hesitation, Mingyu spins, his hand gripping yours to pull you back into the apartment with him. 

Seokmin gawks openly as Mingyu stomps across the room. Minghao and Jeonghan exchange a glance that last night would’ve set Mingyu spiraling, but now rolls off him like water. Mingyu comes to a stop directly in front of his friends, squaring his shoulders, trying frantically to corral his thoughts into something coherent. 

But before he can open his mouth, Minghao leans forward, placing his chin in his hand. “Shhh, guys, I think the puppy’s going to speak!” 

“Hao, shut the fuck up.” 

Minghao bristles when Mingyu snaps at him. Jeonghan and Seokmin both cackle, but then Mingyu glares at the two of them, and they fall silent. He takes a deep breath. 

“I just wanted you to know that I don’t care what you guys say about me anymore, because I like YN.” 

The words spill out of him so easily, not even the tiniest nudge needed. He glances at you to find you wearing a delighted expression and his heart goes buoyant again. He decides to ride the wave. 

“They’re amazing. I’d do anything to make them smile, so if that makes me whipped, then I guess I’m fucking whipped.” 

He’s facing you now, not caring if the others can see the obvious lovestruck look in his eye as he keeps talking, not to them, but to you. Aware that they’re probably all smirking at one another, because they figured it out before he did, but he doesn’t give a single goddamn. 

“I can’t get enough of their smile. And the way they laugh. I like how sweet they are. How honest.” Mingyu can’t stop talking at this point. It’s all gotta come out. “But never mean about it. Even when it’s something you don’t want to hear. Especially when it’s something you need to hear.” 

Your hand twitches in his with every sentence he states. He squeezes back gently as his statements get louder.

“I’m not kidding when I say I’d do anything to make them smile. I’d walk the ocean floor for them. Climb a volcano and surf the lava down barefoot. Capture a star fr-”

“Oh my god, we get it, you like them!” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Enough with the bad poetry.” 

“Also? We know.” Minghao snorts. “No need for the dramatic announcement, it’s not news.” 

Mingyu barely hears him, too lost in the way you’re smiling at him now. Forget his earlier rankings. This smile beats all the others. Shoots directly to the top of the list, which, now that he thinks about it, he kinda wants to write down and give to you, maybe framed. Or maybe he’ll stick it on his fridge - with a heavy magnet, of course, because it’s such a long list.

He completely loses all interest in the rest of the room, even though he’s pretty sure most of the party is staring at the two of you. Instead, he finds himself hanging anxiously on the breath you take, hoping for you to say something, to give him an indication of where things stand between you now. Because he knows you’ll be straightforward and get right to the point, whatever’s on your mind. 

You step closer, close enough for him to feel your soft laugh on his lips as you give him a look that sends his pulse rocketing. You’ve never looked at him like this before.

Forget a list. He’s gonna write a whole book. 

“Come on, whipped boy. Take me home.”

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[reiden]

we bring our fantasy to life | s.hinata

Hinata has a habit of spoiling you, not only when it comes to material possessions, but with anything you wish for. And you should really thank him for it. It's only right, you think.

cw: 18+, f!reader, oral (male receiving) 

— ✦

The wind chime that hangs out on your balcony twinkles in a sweet tune, the sound drifting into your apartment along with the rays of the early morning sun. Hinata brought it back for you from Brazil; it's made of bells hidden inside of seashells, carved pieces of glass, and twine. It's charming in its own right, but it means more because he bought it for you. (It was the first thing he got with his first ever paycheck as a delivery boy, and he had messaged you about it too.)

You think he's always been too willing with you. Hinata always indulges you, perhaps more than he should. You try to gently chide him into not spoiling you so much, try telling him that he doesn't need to get you a gift whenever the urge strikes him; Hinata never really listens, just takes your lighthearted scolding with red ears and a sheepish smile. 

You can't really complain anyway — you quite like knowing he's thinking of you. 

As you lay beneath your comforter, head sinking into your pillows, you reach out a hand and trace a line down Hinata's bicep, following the curve of his muscle. The years he spent in Brazil turned him into someone new; he had come back to you stronger, bigger. He had come back with his instincts sharper and his smile wider, and his love for you nearly tripled, it seems. Something squeezes and shudders in your chest as you watch the subtle ways his face shifts in his sleep. His lashes brush the apples of his cheeks and his lips are parted slightly, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. He's every bit as endearing asleep as he is awake — and you can hardly believe he's yours.

It's a strange position to be in: to date someone with so much fame. The world is watching his every move and, by extension, they are watching yours too. Hinata never shies away from speaking about you; he posts you on social media, takes you out on dates. And people talk — of course they do. Everyone has opinions on everything and your relationship with Hinata is no exception to that. Some of them think you're too plain for a pro-athlete, especially one as prolific as Hinata Shouyou. Sometimes, you start to believe them. 

Hinata is every bit willing to give you the world, should you ask for it. And while you're willing to do the same for him, he would be able and you could only ever make a good-faith attempt. You can tell him time and time again how enamoured you are by him, how grateful you are to have him; Shouyou, thank you. Shouyou, what would I do without you? Shouyou, I love you. 

It doesn't really measure up — not in your eyes, anyway. (Hinata insists otherwise but you're allowed to disagree with him sometimes.)

Shouyou," you whisper, shuffling closer. He's so warm — you can feel the steady thrum of his heart beating as you slot your head in the crook of his neck. "Are you awake?" 

And then: "I love you." 

You bring your arm up and curl it under your head, the other skims up his shoulder and curves over his neck. You can feel his body moving with each cyclical breath; you wait for him to wake up. Some part of you wants to shake him awake, but you imagine he has several good things to dream about, and you'd hate to interrupt. 

The longer you stare, the harder it becomes for you to be patient. 

Hinata had returned a little over a month ago. You'd been expecting him for the whole week before he came back home, cleaning and reorganising your apartment, repeatedly checking your reflection in every mirror you pass by. You suspect that he'd wanted to surprise you, but — as with most things concerning you and him — he'd agreed to your whims and filled you in on all the details. You had waited for him at the airport when he'd arrived, and you had cried in his arms (which, you had immediately noted, had gotten much bigger in the time you'd spent apart) while he tried to soothe the ache of a wound that could finally begin to heal.

He'd called you every single night and yet, when he had you in his arms once more, Hinata had so much more to say. And you'd listened — hanging off of every word like missing even a second of him would break you. 

You remember how he was bouncing his leg in the taxi back to your place; you had assumed it was just his excitement to be back home. That could have only been half of it — he'd been more excited to get his hands on you. 

And as soon as the both of you stumbled past the front door, as soon as you had turned to welcome him home with a coy smile, Hinata was kissing you. He spent the next few hours simply learning your body once more: he'd mapped his love onto your skin long ago and now, he was retracing his steps, finding all the ways to make you squirm, whine, plead and beg. Embarrassingly, you were nothing more than a dazed mess at the end of it. 

"You're always so sensitive, baby." 

The memory of him rasping those words into the shell of your ear has you growing even more impatient. Involuntarily, your thighs press together; the ghost of his touch along your skin is fleeting — if you close your eyes, you can still feel it.

He must feel your insistent stare. Hinata stirs awake slowly, stretching his arms out first before his eyes even peel open. You watch with your smile hidden behind your hand as he fights sleep, finally meeting your softened gaze. 

"Good morning," you say first, lovelorn as you watch him smile. 

Hinata typically wakes up earlier than you. His schedule is a lot stricter than yours, and his discipline is stronger than yours as well. His body is used to waking up in tandem with the sunrise — you prefer to wait until the rays of sun greet you. But he's been given some time off, a short break to recuperate, and for once, Hinata had slept in with you. "Morning," he says, quietly though not cheerfully. His voice is gritty from the hours of sleep and the sound only lights a flame in your stomach. 

You make your move then, not wanting to delay it any longer. Hinata's watching you curiously as you shift over him, and make room for yourself between his legs. The soft wrinkle between his brows, the way he's watching you so intently, only makes that flame grow as it begins to burn brighter. 

He doesn't seem to put two-and-two together until your hands are sliding down his stomach, feeling the ridges of his well-trained muscles. 

"Hey..." he laughs, the sound coming out breathy and soft, touched with a kind of disbelief he shouldn't still have. It's almost as if Hinata can't believe he has you in the same way you can't believe you have him. "You don't have to—"

"I want to," you reply, fingers curling into the waistband of his shorts. You tug at it, lowering it down his hips and his thighs. The way Hinata hisses at the cool air has a shiver rushing down the length of your spine. "I didn't think you'd be hard already," you accompany your words with a soft snicker. 

Hinata whines in response, his hips chasing your fingers as they withdraw from him. "How could I not be? You're so hot—" his voice catches in his throat when you press your hand down on his thigh, thumb tracing his tan line. "Baby, please." You can imagine him now, standing on the sandy beaches of Rio De Janeiro, each grain easily felt beneath his bare feet. He must have been a sight to behold: sun-kissed skin, sweat perspiring on his forehead and over his back, mouth stretched into a self-assured grin. 

You’re jealous, really — you should’ve been there too. It’s easy to picture him there, basking in the sunlight; the fact that others had gotten to see him like that stoked the fire burning in the cavity of your stomach. 

“Can’t believe you woke me up just to tease,” Hinata pouts, sleep lacing his voice and making it sound almost stuck in his throat. He shifts his weight around, squirming as you skim your nails up his thighs.

You don't dignify him with a response. Hinata sucks in a sharp breath, "Where'd this come from anyway, huh?" 

"Just felt like it," you hum, kneeling between his thighs. You place your hands on his hips, squeeze once, and then smooth your palms up his sides. 

Hinata's skin is hot under your wandering touch. He's been good and kept his hands at his sides — an accomplishment for him considering how much he enjoys taking any and every opportunity to touch you. He stares down at you with a darkened gaze, his need for you written clearly in the deep brown of his irises. It's a look you've seen before, and one you will never tire of; it tugs at something deep inside of you, in the same way a puppeteer manipulates and pulls at the strings of his creations. You fall right in and you always give in. 

Your hand curls around the base of his shaft — finally, finally — and Hinata hisses once more. He's jumpy already, hips bucking into your hand as you massage the skin. The sound of your name falling from his lips only encourages you to increase your pace; his legs jolt beneath your free hand. 

Hinata's an eager lover. He's always yearning, hoping for more. When you're with him you truly feel desired, even at your worst of times. Your scent, your touch, your voice — this is all he knows. A low groan rumbles deep inside of his chest when you bend down, your soft lips wrapping around the head of his cock. You don't think he's really thinking when he jerks his hips up, forcing himself deeper into your mouth. 

You're breathing through your nose, fighting the urge to gag when you feel him hit the back of your throat. And you keep him there, nose pressed flush against his pubic bone where you can smell his minty body wash. 

"Move— please—" Hinata grunts. His fingers twist into the sheets at the same time you moan around his cock, and his hips lurch forward. "C'mon, baby." There's an edge to his voice, a warning simmering beneath the begging. Hinata knows how to hold himself back but his restraint is only so strong, and once the threads begin to fray, it's only a matter of seconds before he snaps. 

But that isn't exactly an unfavourable outcome. 

You hum around him once more. Hinata shivers. He mutters a curse under his breath, your nails dig into his thighs, and then his fingers are tangling themselves in your hair. His palm is insistent when it pushes down on the crown of your head, but he waits to move. Instead, he looks down at you with a silent question: Is this okay?

Your answer comes in the form of your tongue laving around him, running up and along the underside of his cock. It's all the answer he needs, really, and you go lax in his grip as he tugs you forward. Hinata pulls at your hair, manoeuvres you exactly where he wants you. His other hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking along your cheekbone, like he's apologising for pulling your hair and causing you pain. 

(Not that he needs to — the feeling of hurt blooming under your scalp had sent heat searing down your body, and right between your legs. Hinata's looking down at you like he knows it; he's wearing a wicked grin.)

He guides you, bobbing your head up and down in tandem with each purposeful thrust of his hips. Your eyes flutter, going half-mast, and all you can really do is stare up at him through your lashes; your eyes glisten with tears that have yet to fall. Hinata's movements are stunned and he wrinkles the bedding beneath you both as he moves. You try your best to rub your tongue over him in a way he can appreciate, suck sloppily around the base of his shaft before he's pulling you off again. Every noise is lewd, obscene, and when he pushes in too deep, you're not able to stifle the way you gag and your throat tightens around him. 

Hinata's quick to pull back, "Fuck, I'm sorry." But he doesn't sound quite as guilty as his big, brown eyes make him out to be — and the noise is not nearly as offending as it would have been in any other context. 

You let him use you; it's the least you can do, you think, for the way he treats you like you are the moon and stars. And it's not all one-sided, if the way your arousal pools between your thighs says anything. He's trembling and your heart is racing. "Shit— I'm gonna come," Hinata pants quietly.

You want him to, you really, really do. So you hollow out your cheeks and you suck harder, the tip of your tongue tracing a vein that circles around his cock. You can feel him pulsing in your mouth, tongue catching along the dip of his tip. Hinata lets out a shuddering breath that wanes into a weak moan, his cheeks flushed. You swallow around him and plant your hands firmly on his thighs. 

He comes with a strangled whine, bending his neck back and into the pillows. The taste of him floods your senses but you ignore the twang as you swallow, like it's second-nature. Hinata's hand falls from your hair, and he's looking down at you with a lovesick smile; you don't let up — not yet.

At least, you had planned not to but the hand cupping your cheek moves down to your jaw, gripping it tightly as he pulls you off of him. His cock is shiny with your spit, a thin strand of saliva following your mouth as you break away from him. 

"You're perfect, you know that?" he asks, grabbing you and pulling you into his lap with ease. "So pretty — my pretty girl." Hinata pulls you into a searing kiss, lips meshing with yours as he licks into your mouth. You moan softly, anticipation filling your chest; it feels electric as it sparks down your arms and down your legs, static in your fingertips. 

Hinata runs a hand down the curve of your spine, trailing his finger along the hem of your panties. He's not taking them off like you want him to, and you can't pull away to tell him to either. He keeps you in place with his free hand around your nape. 

You weren't supposed to get this far. The morning was meant to start and end with Hinata — it was about your appreciation for him. And yet, he's indulging you once again as you squirrel around in his lap. His laugh warms in your chest and your heart swells. You feel Hinata hook his fingers into your underwear, pulling them clean off in a matter of a few seconds. 

He throws you around with ease. Your back hits the mattress, your head sinking into the pillows he had been laying on moments ago. Hinata hovers over you, his eyes glancing all over your body and your face, as if he's seeing you for the first time. His gaze is sinister and the way his mouth twitches into a smirk has goosebumps erupting all over your skin. 

"I think I need to return the favour," he sighs, trailing fervent kisses down your neck just to get to the sensitive spot below your ear. You can feel Hinata smile against your skin when you mewl in response to his gentle bite. 

Your hands meet his bare chest, as though you're about to push him away. Maybe you should, he's giving in to you like he always does. But you don't and instead, you loop your arms around his neck, letting them slide off of him as your hands dig into his hair. Hinata moves down your body. "Shouyou — I was trying to thank you," you whisper, watching him press a kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You shudder, much to Hinata's visible delight. 

"You can thank me like this too," he simply replies, teeth sinking into the fat of your thigh. You suck in a sharp breath, thoughts scattering quick like skittish animals. 

You hadn't thought about it until now — staring down at Hinata as his breath ghosts over your cunt. There's a faraway look in his eyes, his nails dig into your thighs, and you don't think you've ever seen him look so content. 

Maybe, when he indulges you, he's indulging himself too. 

[queerweewoo]

“Shit.”

Eddie mutters the curse under his breath when he can't seem to release the clasp on his St. Christopher chain. 

He's plopping down onto his sofa after arriving home from dropping off his fourteen-year-old budding socialite at a friend's house, having kicked off his boots and hooking an arm around Buck's still-crossed-at-the-ankle legs and getting comfy with them now resting over his lap—well, his lap and the arm of the sofa because Buck has the longest pair of pins in the whole damn world.

“Nope, I'm afraid shit can't possibly be the answer to seven down, Eddie, because even though it starts with an ‘S’, and the third letter is definitely an ‘I’, twelve across has got to be skating, which would make the second letter a ‘K’,” Buck says with mock-seriousness as Eddie is still attempting to take off his chain. “And anyways, I don't really think the answer to the clue ‘Dermis’ could legitimately be shit, not by any stretch of the imagination; ‘Dermis’ sounds too… I dunno. Scientific? Medical?”

Eddie snorts his amusement at Buck, and Buck grins back at him with that particular twinkle in his eye that Eddie has come to think of as belonging to him. He really tries his best not to be possessive over his best friend, knows he has no right to anything like that, but Eddie can't help being in love with Buck, no matter how much he wishes he wasn't. 

Eddie's been fighting his desires his entire life, regardless of the fact he knows there isn't a damn thing wrong with being gay. But growing up in Texas? With a family as traditional as his own? It means Eddie hasn't ever felt entitled to getting the things he wants in life. 

Buck must notice Eddie struggling, then, because he immediately drops the pen and crossword puzzle book Eddie picked up for him yesterday at the newspaper stand near the firehouse, and is now swinging his legs off the sofa so he can scooch further up to Eddie, until he's almost on top of Eddie, saying, “Here, let me get that for you, Eds.”

Eddie freezes. He knows he should shoo Buck away like he's supposed to, do the right thing, but ever since Buck started dating Tommy—and ever since Buck broke up with Tommy—Eddie's been pretty bad at being well-behaved around Buck. 

Buck doesn't exactly make things easy, though. Never has, truth be told. He's always been a really tactile kind of guy, and right now his tactile nature is trying to murder Eddie—dead, dead, dead. 

“Lemme just…” Buck's tongue is poking out of his mouth and resting against his bottom lip in concentration—and Eddie knows he should look away but can't—and then he's leaning right into Eddie's space, like he goddamn belongs there and, oh god, Eddie can't take this. He can't. He can't fucking breathe let alone act like this isn't bothering him; isn't turning him on like he's a teenager again; isn't everything he wants and has dreamed of. “Eds, just… lean forward a little would you, so I can—a little bit more, man, c'mon, don't be shy, I just need to…”

Buck really is on top of Eddie now, big arms wrapped around Eddie's head, musky cologne in Eddie's nostrils and warm breath in the shell of Eddie's super-sensitive ear and fuck, he's practically straddling Eddie now, right thigh pushed up against Eddie's junk, oh hell, and Eddie is panting softly and only about two seconds away from moaning his best friend's name like the pathetic hot mess that he is, jesus fucking christ. 

“Got it,” Buck mutters, and just as he goes to lean back, Eddie hears his internal monologue say: Yeah, I've got it real bad…  

And then something just snaps inside of his brain before it's shutting down completely and his heart is in his throat as he finds himself whispering, “Fuck it,” while he grabs onto both of Bucks biceps with purpose because he's terrified that if he doesn't, they might leave him forever. 

“Wait,” he says. Pleads. 

Buck's right thigh is snug against Eddie's left one, the other still in Eddie's lap, his gorgeous face right fucking next to Eddie's, so close Eddie can almost feel Buck's stubble. 

“Eds?” Buck whispers, and his breath is mingling with Eddie's and Eddie hasn't prayed for a long, long time, but he's praying now; praying that he's not about to fuck up the best thing that's ever happened to him; praying for redemption; praying that Buck might want Eddie even just a fraction of the amount Eddie wants Buck. 

His voice breaks when he says the only thing he can. “Don't go.”

Eddie wants this so, so badly, just this one thing, and he's willing to beg if he has to—swears he'll never ask for anything again as long as he fucking lives. 

“I'm not, Eds, I'm…” Buck trails off, frowning a little. He swallows audibly and licks at those sinful lips that are right fucking there and then says, “What, um—w-what exactly do you mean by that, Eddie?” 

Eddie's heart is thumping so hard against his ribcage it feels as if it's going to burst right out of his chest, and Buck has to be able to feel it too because his chest is pressed firmly against Eddie's, and Eddie can't believe he's doing this and seriously might just pass the fuck out any minute now. 

“I don't…” Eddie shakes his head. 

Fuck.

Is he really doing this?

“You don't know? Or you don't want me to go, like, as in go home?” Buck's asking. “Or do you mean, like, go, uh, g-go away from—from right here?” Buck swallows again and Eddie has never wanted anything more than to lick a long stripe up that prominent Adam's Apple of Buck's. “Do you mean don't go from this, Eds? From… from you.” and that last part doesn't sound like a question. It sounds like Buck gets it, and like he isn't horrified by the idea or amused by it or is pitying or mocking Eddie. 

It actually sounds like Buck might just want Eddie, too. 

Eddie screws his eyes shut, and all he can manage to say is, “Yeah, Buck. The last one.”

Buck is then slowly, gently, sliding his cheek up and down Eddie's, and Eddie finally knows exactly how that stubble feels to be dragging against his own and there is no fucking way on Earth he could hold in the almost sob-like breath that leaves his lips as Buck's line themself up with Eddie's trembling mouth.

He's gripping Buck's arms so tightly he's scared he might leave bruises there but can feel Buck smiling as he says, “Can I, Eddie? Please?”

Is this really happening? 

“Fuck yes,” Eddie urges, and then Buck is kissing him; slowly; gently, and with so much of something that feels like it could be love that Eddie wants to cry. 

Then Buck's pulling away, yet not really away because it's just enough to let Eddie swallow the lump in his throat and try to catch his breath—only he doesn't quite manage to catch the tear that escapes the corner of his left eye, but somehow it's okay because Buck kisses that, too, and Eddie finds himself letting it all go, then, and smiling back at the man he's been in love with for almost six years as he cries, because he can finally feel all the colours of the rainbow on his face. 

“Eddie, you have no fucking idea how long I've wanted to do that,” Buck chuckles, and Eddie leans up to press his lips against Buck's birthmark, smiling like a fool through his tears.

Buck puts his arms fully around Eddie's shoulders and hugs him, until Eddie feels settled enough to look at him without welling up again.

“Skin,” Buck says then, bringing his hands to Eddie's face and holding it, brushing thumbpads along Eddie's cheeks and drying his tears, because he can. Eddie squints in slight confusion at the word, before Buck's revealing the meaning behind it, telling him, “Seven down, Eds, it just came to me: It was the word skin. Yours is—man, it's even smoother than I'd imagined. So beautiful. You're beautiful.” 

“God, I fucking love you, Buck,” Eddie blurts, because he can't help it. “I'm—I'm in love with you, Evan. And I'm just—I am so, so sorry it's taken me so long to tell you that, taken me so long to get my shit together and pull my head out of my—” 

“Beautiful, insanely perfect ass,” Buck laughs, and then he's kissing Eddie again, like they've been doing this forever, and Eddie's laughing, too.

“Stay,” Eddie begs between kisses. “Stay forever, Buck.”

Buck looks at Eddie like a man in love and says, “I'm in love with you too, Eds. So, yeah, sure, I can do forever,” he promises. 

And it's a promise he keeps.

.

happy pride to my beautiful firefam 🌈

(unedited pls forgive me!)

[seramilla]

May I propose that for a fun twist, that when Vaggie goes dress shopping with her mamá and hermanas she tries every single thing but the white just gives her the ick reminding her of Heaven a bit too much. So Carmilla picks out something unconventional for her. A red and black wedding dress…one that has a slit going up to her thigh that shows off the black lacey wedding garter.

Before meeting Charlie, the thought of "marriage" and "Vaggie" in the same sentence had never computed in Vaggie's mind. Even when she and Charlie had started dating, she hadn't been sure marriage was in the stars for her. It seemed like something other people did, but not her. But then Charlie had proposed to her, and Vaggie's entire outlook had been turned on its head. Vaggie had of course said yes, and now it's up to her to figure out what that means for herself.

The only problem is, Vaggie has no idea how to plan for a wedding, or what to even wear, for that matter. She's never been to one, and has no idea what the ceremony even entails. Thankfully, she now has a mother who had been married at one point when she was alive, and two older sisters more than willing to provide an...age-appropriate opinion, so that Carmilla doesn't get carried away, as mothers are often wont to do.

Don't get her wrong, Vaggie values Carmilla's opinion...she just thinks Odette and Clara might provide some much-needed...perspective. Carmilla was married a long time ago...and times have changed since then.

Case in point: Carmilla is old-school, and drags Vaggie, who is very nearly on the verge of puking, through a boutique stacked floor to ceiling with the most gaudy white and white-adjacent wedding gowns Vaggie thinks she's ever seen. Carmilla says it's tradition, and just the way things are usually done. White has been the color of choice for brides for generations of women -- mostly for reasons like tradition, symbolism, personal preference, and just carrying down the same outfits from generation to generation.

The only problem is, Vaggie hates white. Hates it. It reminds her of Heaven and empty platitudes and purity culture and asshole nobles who had called her and the other Exorcists "ruffians" for not embracing the typical snow-white and pastel attire adorned by almost everyone else up there.

Vaggie tries on a few white and lighter-colored dresses, because she loves Carmilla, and a part of her really wants Carmilla's approval in this. But after about the fourth or fifth one, she can feel the bile creeping up the back of her throat at the thought of trying on another. When Carmilla tries to shove the next dress into her arms, Vaggie puts her foot down.

"Mama!" Vaggie huffs, pushing the next dress away. "Look...I really appreciate you wanting to help me, but I just don't like any of this stuff. Isn't there something that doesn't make me look so...angelic?"

"Give it up, Mama," Clara says, doing her best not to laugh at Carmilla's "How-Dare-You!" expression. Odette covers her mouth in amusement, also trying not to laugh. The overlord is simply doing her best...but Carmilla can be a little overbearing when it comes to shopping with her daughters. She has very strong opinions. Odette and Clara had tried to warn Vaggie beforehand, but the fallen angel is clearly discovering it now.

Carmilla sighs heavily. "All right. What colors do you want?"

Vaggie twiddles her fingers. It's a little embarrassing...but ever since meeting Charlie, the red aesthetic just does it for her. They both wear it so often at the hotel, that it's just become a part of her outfit rotation. She mentions to Carmilla, "Something red?"

Carmilla, "Hmmms" under her breath, looking around the store until something catches her eye. She then drags Clara and Odette along with her, as if to gauge their opinion on whatever she's found. A few minutes later, her mother and sisters return with a few different pieces. Carmilla likes one in particular more than the others...but again, Odette and Clara override her, saying there's way too many sequins and lace, and it's not flattering on Vaggie at all. They make their own suggestions, taking Vaggie's preferences into consideration.

Ultimately, Vaggie settles on a gorgeous red wedding dress, with black around the bust and inner lining, and a slit going up the side to expose a black lace garter underneath. Vaggie blushes to herself, just knowing instinctively Charlie will love it. Charlie loves red on her. She makes a mental note to help Charlie find a sexy red suit to match.

Odette and Clara go on the hunt for some matching accessories, and Vaggie honestly just wants to hug the two of them. Carmilla means well...and she did manage to find a pair of banger shoes to go along with the dress...but her sisters had really stepped up for her, in more ways than one. All in all, the family works together to make this process as enjoyable as possible, and come away with something that Vaggie, and Charlie, will appreciate for the rest of their lives.

Vaggie decides that even though she isn't much of a shopper, it's nice to be able to spend time together as a family like this. Even with all the little quirks and annoyances that go along with it. She will take the good and the bad. Because it's all part and parcel of finally having what she's always wanted most -- people who love her.

[strwberri-milk]

Hello! I enjoyed your LaDS Incubus boys short. Please continue when you can. Spice is encouraged!

uhhhhh tbh idk what continue means :/// i could write some smut hcs but tbh w me, due to the fact that theyre incubi im taking some liberty so theres going to be more overlap but if you want smth more specific for any requests in general please elaborate!! im not actually very creative as a person and it takes me months to really gather up enough brainpower to write smth original - esp when its not smth im super invested in - so if this isnt what you wanted feel free to send a more specific request ive just done a general smut/incubi hcs but theyre not very long bc again. i think theres going to be some overlap here and i hate being too repetitive if i can help it!!

Zayne is methodical in the way he takes you. If you pay attention you can see the way he plans out his every move, primarily deriving his source of power from your pleasure. He takes mental notes of what you seem to like the most, not deviating too much from it because he likes seeing you squirm and writhe against him.

His favourite way to take you is on his tongue. He loves having his face buried between your legs, tongue licking and stroking slowly as he draws out your pleasure. Your nails dig into his scalp, trying desperately for him to make you cum but there's no way he's going to let you take charge. He wants to see you beg and beg, hiding his true intentions behind an indiscernible expression.

He doesn't stick around. He doesn't want either of you to get attached - as far as he's concerned getting attached would hurt the both of you. Once the two of you have gotten your fill he's out in a flash, leaving you waiting until the next time.

Xavier loves the feeling of you cumming on his cock. He rarely, if ever lets you cum on anything else. The way you feel clenching around him, the look on your face, the way your nails drag down his back or crumple at the sheets - all of it has his mind spinning. Thanks to this, he also tends to be a little greedy with your pleasure, working you into overstimulation over and over again until you're exhausted. That's his preferred way to feed on you.

Sometimes if he's feeling a little tired or you've had a long day he'll be sweet on you. His hands run down your body slowly as he shallowly fucks into you, grinding against your pelvis slowly. His fingers rub against the most sensitive part of your core, relishing in the sounds of your body as you pant and whine softly under his ministrations. He commits every sound to memory, eyes laser focused on every reaction you give him.

You think that he leaves after the two of you are done and for the most part he does. Sometimes though he'll stay secretly, watching over you as you sleep or appearing around you secretly. You don't notice it but he keeps an eye out for you on a decently frequent basis, somehow managing to bump into you by coincidence right when you happen to be thinking of him.

Rafayel loves making a mess of you. It's like Xavier and Zayne - your pleasure is the best way for him to feed off you and he makes it known. He's the most vocal of the three, telling you that you make such a lovely meal and you're such a sweet little thing that he just has to have you.

He loves watching your bodily fluids make a mess on your skin. He likes making you cum so much that you've got a puddle underneath you, sheets sheer with your pleasure. You're almost humiliated by how you're practically leaking just from the sound of his voice against your ear but he loves it, keeping your legs spread as his hands keep up his constant movements against you.

He'll never stay with you. He knows already that he's too close to getting attached and copes with it by acting extremely cold to you. When the two of you are having sex he acts like he's your lover, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he makes you cum over and over again but once you're done he simply dresses and leaves without so much as a goodbye.

[whetstonefires]

You know what else gets neglected? Wen Xu made Lan Wangji set the library on fire.

Like. Realistically he knew it was going to burn whatever he did, so making a point of defiance that would just get more people killed would have been stupid. (I assume a major reason cql swapped this out for the Headband Cave, besides building up Su She's craven villainy, was that this would have been very expensive to film.) Giving way on this point after getting his leg broken, with his Sect overcome around him and his father mortally wounded, was perfectly reasonable.

But it's also something that was guaranteed to be very traumatic for him. Putting the flame to that building with his own hands.

And then, not knowing the fates of his family and with a broken leg, he got dumped into the Wen indoctrination and wound up in the turtle cave alone with Wei Wuxian, and definitely took his trauma out on him a little bit, though all things considered he handles himself with great restraint.

And then there's the war, and he takes time out of the campaign to try to find a presumed-dead guy whom he almost definitely regrets only being kind to when he wasn't really coherent, and then even though that guy is no longer trying to befriend him gets himself assigned to his theater of war to watch his back.

Lan Xichen is shown in that one tent flashback in the Nie Mingjue empathy section to know full well his brother is in Jiangling because Wei Wuxian is in Jiangling.

During the unclear-but-plural number of years the war went on, Lan Wangji was away from Cloud Recesses more or less all the time. Repairs were, we may assume, made in his absence. The collection was rebuilt as much as was possible, and housed in a replacement building, that may or may not have been complete by the time he went home to stay.

(Presumably one of the irreplaceable texts Xichen smuggled away was a list or index of the more replaceable ones, that got burnt, so they can go around to their contacts in an organized way asking to make copies. They seem to have done so very well at replacing such a large library so quickly that I can only assume they had had a very generous copying policy, and reaped the reward of this after the war.)

So after the war, when Lan Wangji is spending most of his time closed up in his room working on music, his being fixated on saving Wei Wuxian from the spiral of his own cultivation method is the least worrying explanation.

Because the alternate reasons Lan Xichen has to hand for this behavior are 1) Lan Wangji's ptsd is totally crippling and he's potentially going to become a shut-in for life or 2) the trauma he suffered at the start of the war, in the Cloud Recesses, being made to act against the Cloud Recesses, against his own safe place, means that he no longer feels secure or comfortable there, and is shut away obsessively cultivating to avoid their family and home.

And ngl I tend to suspect based on the timing of some beats that Lan Wangji did wind up funneling a lot of the energy from his war trauma into his romantic attachment. Because during that crucial window from 'Wei Wuxian has gone missing' to 'Wei Wuxian is dead' he believed that Wei Wuxian was someone he could help, if he could just figure out how.

And a huge predictor of PTSD, much larger than how 'objectively bad' something was, is how helpless you felt in the face of harm to yourself or others. So channeling his intensity and control issues into the contained and should-still-be-possible issue of Wei Wuxian's well-being would have been....

Not actually the worst coping mechanism, although it sure would have been a better one if Wei Wuxian had in fact been possible to help in some more substantive way than 'watching his back in battle' lmao.

[borathae]

↳ Index [Snippet #48 - Stress Relief]

"When Jungkook is there for you in stressful times."

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: she is stressed :') bless her, he is the cutest hubby ever, i want what she has tbfh, he is also such a funny dork PLEASE

Wordcount: 2.2k

a/n: i wanna be her hfdshf i am :( big sad :( i miss Kookie so much :(

Jungkook lifts his head, following you with his eyes. This is the second time you let out a loud sigh. He stays silent for now, feeling out the situation. 

You walk past him, heading straight to the kitchen without paying him any mind. You stay there a little under a minute then come back. 

Another sigh. 

Jungkook furrows his brows and opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, you are already gone again. Out of the living room and down the hallway. 

He pauses his show and leaves the couch, looking for you.

One loud sigh is nothing, two might be a coincidence, but three? Three are a pattern. Mix it with you basically being blind to his presence and something is taking up your mind. Jungkook can’t relax when he knows that you are burdened by something. 

The door to the cellar is open, the lights are on. Jungkook jogs down the stairs, following the trail of lights you left on. He ends up in the laundry room, but even that is empty. The washing machine is half emptied, the dryer half-filled. Abandoning a load of laundry is not like you at all. Jungkook grows worried. Something must really upset you.

A fourth loud sigh and the dragging of your slippers lets him know that you are coming back. 

“Ah!” you startle, stumbling back with such vigour that you almost trip.

“Careful”, he gasps, catching you with two strong hands on your hips, “sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you okay?”

“Why are you here? You can’t just appear without warning”, you snap at him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think that I’d scare you”, he says, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

You accept it half-heartedly because then you are already out of his gentle hold to hurry to the washer.

“It’s fine”, you dismiss him, working hastily to unload and load the laundry. You sigh again as you do it.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

“You don’t sound good.”

“No, I’m good”, you assure him and finally start the dryer. You pick up a stack of magazines and hurry past him to the stairs. 

Jungkook follows you. You are basically running. This isn’t like you at all. Every movement you make is quick and hastily, you seem to do two tasks at once all the time and you barely want to catch your breath. 

Upstairs, you abandon the magazines to pick up some of Bam’s toys, only to drop them halfway to their basket because you remember the magazines and hurry back to them. 

Jungkook catches you in the middle of it, resting his hands on your shoulders. He rubs circles on your clothed skin, looking at you in a mixture of worry and seriousness.

“Slow down for a moment”, he tells you.

You gawk at him.

“Breathe”, he says, caressing your cheeks softly, “just take a deep breath with me.”

You breathe with him. Breathe again. And a third time. By the fourth deep breath, you let your shoulders sag. Jungkook rubs them instantly, looking at you with adoring yet worried eyes.

“What’s wrong, my love?” he asks.

“I’m so stressed”, you finally confess, “I have so much to do and it’s not getting any less.”

Jungkook listens to you intently, never breaking eye contact so you really feel heard. He also hums and nods his head to really assure you that you are listened to. 

“If I think about all the stuff I have to do at the restaurant tomorrow I might cry, then I have all the things still on the fridge list I need to do and there’s already so much more I need to add to the list. I forgot to do laundry and I need to clean Bam’s toys and plan tomorrow’s dinner and I haven’t even had a snack yet and I need to pee and-” you stop yourself having to fight for air shakily.

“Hey my baby, it’s okay”, Jungkook tells you and hugs you against his chest, rubbing the back of your head gently, “I’m here now.”

“I wanna cry. I have so much to do, but I’m so exhausted”, you mumble into him, feeling too tired to hug him back even if you really wanted to. He smells so good. Like home and comfort.

“God baby, I understand. I’m so sorry you feel this way. I can help, you don’t have to do everything alone.”

“But…they’re my tasks. You have your own shit to get through.”

“Shut up, as if I’m not gonna wanna help when I see you struggling just ‘cause they’re your tasks. I don’t care, when my wifey needs a second pair of hands, I’ll be there.”

You snicker into his chest, finally finding the strength to wrap your arms around his waist.

“Wifey”, you repeat.

"Yeah, wifey. That’s you”, he squeezes you softly, “my wifey.”

You giggle. Jungkook smiles at the sound of it, rubbing your back aggressively but with care. 

“I can’t stand seeing you like this”, he says through gritted teeth, but with a playful tone. He is acting all aggressive right now to make you laugh and it really works. He is so gentle even when he is being rough that his cute antics really cheer you up. 

You put some distance between you and him so you could look at him.

“Thank you”, you say, cupping his cheeks, “you have no idea how much I need the help today.”

“Don’t even mention it, sweetie”, Jungkook assures you, kissing your forehead, “now, you’re gonna go pee and I’m gonna make you a snack. Deal?”

“Yeah, deal. Thank you, seriously.”

“Less talking, more peeing. Go, go”, he sends you away with a soft pat to your butt, making you laugh with it.

Jungkook soaks up the sound with a good feeling in his chest. Hearing your laugh instead of your tired sighs is the best change ever. Once you are out of sight, he turns and get to work. He’s got toys to store away and newspapers to sort through.

Bam’s toys are stored in the basket when you come back from the toilet, the magazines are gone as well. Seeing two of your endless tasks already done, really lifts a ton of weight from you. With your steps feeling easier, you make your way to the kitchen, hoping to find your husband.

Just as you had hoped, your cutie of a husband is in the kitchen, doing the finishing touches to your snack. He hasn’t heard you come in yet, back turned to the door.

You back hug him. Jungkook turns in your arms instantly, hugging you against him without using his hands. They are dirty from cooking. Instead, he uses his wrists to rub your back.

“Hey there, sweetie.”

“Hey pookie”, you mumble into him and let out a deep breath. It was filled with relief.

“Did you have a good pee?” he asks, making you chuckle.

“Yeah, it felt so freeing.”

“That’s good to hear. You shouldn’t hold it in, it’s bad for you.”

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t wanna make time today.”

“I get you, I’m sorry my sweetie.”

“Mhm, thankies. What are you making?”

“Apple with peanut butter and crackers with spicy tuna. You need the healthy fats and energy.”

“I really do. The snacks sound so good.”

“They’re almost done. Sit down, I’ll bring them to you.”

You wait on the couch, staring at the scene Jungkook paused his show at. You don’t actually take anything in, however. You are completely and utterly zoned out. Now that Jungkook made you slow down for your own sake, your body is finally starting to give up on you. You feel so tired. Working a ten hour shift and then spending four hours at home doing too many chores is finally paying its tribute. You are so exhausted that even focusing your eyes feels like too much work. 

“There you go, sweetie. The snacks”, Jungkook soon joins you, placing the snacks on the coffee table. He pulls it closer to you so you wouldn’t have to get up, then places himself behind you. 

He massages your shoulders and neck, including your head as well. 

“Wow, this is so good”, you gush, closing your eyes. You rest your head against his stomach, relaxing your muscles. 

“Anything where it hurts the most?” 

“My right shoulder. It gives me a headache, it’s so bad that I hear ringing in my ear.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. Does that help?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

“Of course, anything you need. You know, I’ve been thinking and Imma make pizza tomorrow.”

“But-”, you try to look back at him, but he stops you with a gentle nudge.

“No buts, you are struggling with dinner planning and I wanna help. You’ll just cook dinner this weekend. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Okay. So pizza it is?”

“Yeah and the snacks are so good too”, you sniffle, “it’s so good.”

“I’m happy to hear that, my sweetie. Eat as much as you want to.”

You go to bed feeling a lot less on edge, but still with too much stress in your body to make you uneasy. You can’t fall asleep because there are still a million things running through your head. You keep repeating what you need to do, what you should have done with the occasional question in between about whether you had done something. 

Jungkook is currently coming out of the bathroom, giving you a sweet smile. 

“You’re looking cozy.”

“I’m not.”

“Why?” he gasps, increasing his steps to get to you quicker.

“I still feel stressed, there is so much pressure in my chest. I want something heavy to push it out of me, seriously.”

“Mhm, that’s not good then”, Jungkook says and drags you to the middle of the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Attention!” he says sternly.

“What are you doing?” you repeat yourself in a chuckle.

“Weighted blanket mode activated!” he says and stretches his arms out so he could blob onto your chest.

“Koo”, you squeal, shielding yourself but the impact never comes.

He catches himself before he can really crash down, lowering himself the last few inches gently. He lies horizontal to your chin and with his tummy on your chest, letting some of his weight rest on you.

“Oh god, you dork”, you laugh, throwing your arms over his waist.

“Is this helping?” he mumbles into the sheets.

“More.”

“Understood. Heavy blanket mode activation in three, two, one”, he speaks in a funny almost trill sergeant like voice and relaxes completely.

He forces a deep breath out of you this way, a sound follows as well. It carried so much relief in it.

You close your eyes. The pressure finally stops. He is so heavy on your chest and it finally feels as if you can handle all the stress thrown at you. He is truly the best weighted blanket ever.

“Better?” he asks, glancing at you through his bangs.

“Yeah”, you sigh and sniffle, “Koo, I’m gonna cry. You treat me so well.”

“Course I do. You’re my wifey and my sweetie. You can cry if you want to. It helps with stress sometimes.”

“I think I, I actually might”, you say and then start sobbing. Jungkook lets it happen, rubbing your arm so you wouldn’t feel alone. It upsets him to see you cry, but he knows that you need it right now. This isn’t a cry of sadness, this is a cry of emotional relief. Sometimes too much builds up and just needs to leave the body. His weight was finally the thing which made it happen, which allowed you to find the kind of relief your stressed little heart needed. He is just glad that he can be there for you as it happens and that you can lean on him. It also helps him feel less upset to feel you touch him innocently as you cry. It’s honestly a little cute to witness your hand give his buttocks repeated stress squeezes as you sob and sniffle. 

When those sniffles become more and more and the sobs less and less, he finally changes position to hug you, kissing the tears away.

“You’re so strong, my sweetie”, he speaks softly, “mhhhm I’m so proud of you, baby.” 

“Oh god, I feel so light again”, you say, snuggling into him, “thank you so much.”

“I’m just happy that I could help. God baby, tomorrow’s gonna be better I promise. You’ll get pizza for dinner and I can do the ironing ‘cause I only work half day. Tomorrow’s gonna be better, I promise.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

The best thing about your marriage is that you will always have each other’s back. He will give a hundred and ten when you can only give a weak ten. And in return, there are times where you will give a hundred and ten while he barely manages to get to a ten. Days like these exist, but the nice thing about them is that you won’t ever have to go through them alone. You have each other to rely on. You always will.

[angelcqre]

CoD TMA AU

ARCHIVIST

Statement of [Name Redacted], regarding her camping trip in The Grampian Mountains. Original statement given January Fifteenth, Two Thousand and Fifteen. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

Now, before you say anything, I know how I sound. I know that it was stupid to go out into the middle of uncharted wilderness and get piss drunk. Believe me, I'm not interested, the park ranger gave me an earful when he found me and the cops did the same. Especially now. But.. something happened, something bad, and if I don't - if I don't say it, I don't know. I'll explode.

So…

I'm not really an outdoors type. I'm an inside cat, I like to curl up with a good book and a cup of tea and my cat, but Farah insisted for her birthday that we go camping. She's always been like that - hiking, caving, camping, it's her thing, and when Farah wants something, she's set on it. Doesn't let it go, especially because she knows how to cash in favors.

So - we went. I didn't want to go, but we went. Me, Farah, her boyfriend, Alex, and her boyfriend's friend. John. I didn't really know him, but he seemed nice enough. We were supposed to spend a long weekend roughing it, three days and three nights for the holiday. We packed plenty of booze, plenty of food, all the proper first aid crap.. and we spent four hours hiking to what John said was the perfect spot.

He was strange from the get-go. A little too touchy-feely, a little too in your space, but he seemed… enthusiastic, I don't know. Eager. He was obviously passionate about it, kept stopping me to show me edible plants, poisonous mushrooms, whatever caught his eye. If it was notable, you'd best believe he was stopping to point it out. It was almost kind of cute, if it wasn't so.. feverish. [VOICE DROPS, ASSUMING SCOTTISH ACCENT.]

"Look, bonnie, look here," and he kept saying it, over and over. It felt like he was trying to prove something - like that he could take care of me, maybe? I don't know.

He just.. didn't stop. He had so much energy, kept moving, expression bright and eyes wild, kept insisting I call him Johnny. It wasn't.. flirting - I don't know what it was. Too familiar. He was so big, just this huge guy, looming over me, smiling with these insanely white teeth that..

Is it crazy to say they looked sharper than.. normal? I know, cliche, but they looked.. sharp. Like fangs. Whatever.

So we settle down on the first night, and of course we all start drinking, set some sausages over the fire, the whole deal. Farah is a clingy drunk, so she disappears with Alex into the woods as soon as she's got some booze in her, and then it's just me and John - Johnny. He hasn't drank a sip the whole time we've been there, just clutching the same beer bottle, nursing it for hours, just.. watching us, and his gaze is so intense. Like he's sizing us up.

At some point, he gets up. Says something about it being "about time", offers me this wink, and then he's strolling off into the woods, whistling to himself.

A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go…

He doesn't come back for naarly an hour. They don't come back for nearly an hour, and I start to get a little worried. I mean, look at me, I would not be able to, like, fight a bear if it came down to it, you know? I just keep feeding the fire, getting jumpier and jumpier, but eventually, he comes back, and..

At first, I don't know what it is. He just looks.. dark. His mohawk looks wet, and his clothes are stuck to him, outlining every muscle, but he doesn't step out into the firelight, stays in the shadows, so only his eyes and his teeth are visible, reflecting the light, and it feels wrong, feels sick.

He asks me, point blank, if I'm tired, and angles his head towards one of the two tents, and I tell him no, not yet, I'm waiting for Farah to get back, and he, uh.. he tells me she's not coming back.

When he steps into the firelight, it's like he's prowling, stalking more than walking, you know? He's moving like… like a predator, all smooth and uncanny, and now that I can see him, I can see that the wetness is.. blood, and he's covered in it, like, head to toe. It's worse at his mouth, his teeth are totally stained, like he was just.. ripping into something, I don't know. Biting. And his teeth are too sharp, and with the way he's moving, and the blood, and.. the look on his face, I just.. bolt.

And he laughs.

I can hear it echoing through the woods, bouncing off of every tree, but I don't hear him running after me. No, he just.. starts walking, and that scares me more, because he's so casual about it. Like he knows I won't get away.

But I run, and as I run, I can hear it, bouncing off of every tree, and it's December, right, so there aren't any leaves to block the moon or muffle the sound. I can hear him whistling as he walks, always seeming to be too close to me, no matter how fast I run, just out of sight, and eventually, I get to a clearing.

Everything feels too still. No nightlife - and there hasn't been any wildlife, no birds, no squirrels, nothing, and I'm realizing how bad that is.

And of course, I trip. My foot gets stuck in a gopher hole, of all fucking things, and then I'm dropping down, and he's on me.

His hand on my wrist, leaning down, and he's -

I don't know.

His eyes are blown out, manic, his teeth so large, ears.. pointed? I don't know, but he's drooling as he ruts against me, all but frothing at the mouth, mumbling about mates and calling me his little bunny, telling me that I had my fun, but that he's ready to have his prize, and-

And I have my bear mace still.

Because I can't fight bears.

He starts fidgeting with my clothes, and I just.. I pull it out, spray him, and he's so big, so unnaturally big, his muscles all.. I don't know, tense, wrong, and I spray him until he's howling and then I run.

I don't think the park ranger was happy to see me, but I was sure as shit happy to see her.

The thing is.. and why I came to you guys..

I keep.. getting this feeling.

Like I'm being watched. Hunted.

Like I never really escaped him.

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends. We attempted to contact Miss [REDACTED] following a similar statement we'd received months ago, regarding a man fitting the same description, but when Martin spoke to her, she informed him that all was fine, and that she was happy now.

That she was expecting pups.

Knowing Martin, he likely misheard her. I'm likely to dismiss this as a hallucination; with the mushrooms she discussed, perhaps she ingested some. The police seemed to think the same, and administered a drug test upon her statement, which came back... clean.

There isn't much more we can do here. If Miss- er, Mrs. MacTavish, doesn't wish to aid in further investigation, we, unfortunately, are stuck at a standstill.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

[awriternamedart]

One of the many things Akira noticed about Sakamato Ryuji was just how quietly he loved.

He didn’t mean specifically in a romantic sense. Friends, family, strangers- the way Ryuji showed his care and affection was almost silent.

It had first made itself apparent when Akira learned that Ryuji’s bright, yellow blonde wasn’t his natural tone- it was in fact, a bleach job he kept up on. He had noticed that Ryuji’s roots were growing in- a dark brown color that stood out starkly- and made an idle comment on it, drawing a fidgeting Ryuji’s hand to his thick, unruly hair.

“Oh, yeah. Been savin’ up to get some more bleach ‘n toner ‘n shit soon- ain’t let it grow out this long in a while.”

“You bleach it?”

“Yeah, started doin it round secondary and just- never stopped, I guess.”

He had later found out that he had done it so that Ann wouldn’t be alone as the only blonde, and even though they had fallen out over the years, he had still kept up with it. And considering the price of that kind of bleach job, the fact that he was always reminded to dye it back- it wasn’t an easy endeavor to keep up with.

And yet, he did so without even a thought of stopping.

It really had caught Akira’s eye when Yusuke had joined their little group.

For the first time, Akira got to witness Ryuji get along with someone from the beginning- and it wasn’t exactly easy. Ryuji, for all his sunny grins, had more than a few walls up when it came to new people. He got to see a gruffer, more agitated Ryuji- and also got to witness him slowly lower that outward mask to let their teammate in.

When Akira caught Ryuji suddenly always having a pencil on hand, he had known Yusuke had his seal of approval.

This type of pattern just kept repeating itself, mostly. With Makoto it was… a little more difficult- but that was because they had a history by ear. Ryuji’s reputation was the stark opposite of Makoto’s so there was bound to be friction- but Ryuji wasted no time in trying to help her anyway.

Even if Akira would forever shiver at the memory of Ryuji throwing himself in front of a moving car.

From there- Futaba, Haru, even Morgana, Sae, Sojiro and Kasumi on the off chance of meeting her- Ryuji would always have a special way that he loved. That he cared.

Something even Ryuji himself hadn’t seemed aware of when Akira first brang it up.

“Eh? Whaddya mean?”

“The pencil in your pocket. It's for Yusuke, isn't it?” Akira prodded, a nonchalant question more than anything. The quiet tenor of his voice carried a much lighter lilt to it now that they had taken down Shido.

“How'd you know I got a pencil- well, dudes always mumblin ‘bout drawin this or that.” Ryuji offhandedly waved, leaning back onto the comforter atop Akira’s mishmash assembly of a bed. “ ‘s easier to shut him up with it."

“Haru never running out of soil or fertilizer?”

“The bags aren’t that heavy- sides, it ain't like I got anythin’ else to do after school, ‘less ‘m hangin’ out with you.”

“Morgana’s treat pocket in your bag?”

“Keeps him from yowlin’ at me.”

“Futaba’s ever growing manga collection?”

“They were just gonna rot in my room.”

“Makoto mentioned that her notes are always nice and neat whenever she gets them back from you.”

“Well, duh, they aint mine. Gotta keep them in nice condition.”

“Your hair?”

“What about it?”

Akira just rolled his eyes. This guy was impossible- so silence fell over the pair in the quiet room overlooking the backstreets. Wood creaked nearby, a quiet snapping noise that neither paid much attention to.

There was more Akira could have gone into to- the dishes when Sojiro was out and Ryuji was hangin around, Akira catching him looking up gymnastics specifics one evening- hell, Ryuji had even begun to look through how to properly play billiards before.. yeah.

For all the shit Ryuji was dragged through, the butt of the joke, the beaten up punch line- he never stopped caring. Akira couldnt help but be proud of his choice in a loyal right hand.

“Uh oh.”

“Hm?"

“Ya got that look on yer face.” Ryuji leaned forward, a smirk rising on his face. “That stupid calculatin look like your takin a shadow apart with your mind.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

The repressed smirk said it all to Ryuji, the way grey glinted behind faux glasses- Akira had all but two seconds before an arm was slung over his shoulder, gasping as he was tugged down and a hand was playfully ruffling with his hair. Laughter erupted, Ryuji’s demands that he tell him whats going on in his head almost lost to the tussle.

“Cmon, ‘Kira- you cant hide nothin from me!”

“Unfortunately.” Glasses knocked askew, Akira straighted up, going to fix them before they were snatched off his face. “Hey-!”

Ryuji just grinned back, shark teeth and all.

“So, gonna tell me or do I gotta hold these hostage?”

And Akira just rolled his eyes, easily snatching back his glasses and slipping them on his face. He looked back to Ryuji to see brown shining back, amber flecks dancing in the setting sun. Straw gold hair caught the few orange rays that managed to worm their way into the backstreets of Yongen-Jaya, freshly touched up blonde roots barely visible through the thicket of mismatched cut hair.

He felt himself just shake his head, melting easily to his partner in crime who just blinked- looking at Akira in slight confusion.

“Dude, you sure you're good?"

Neither of them were PDA people- maybe thats why it was easy for them to just exist around each other like they did. But for the rare moments- the quiet touch of their lips, the stolen moments they had, hands hesitantly bumping against the others- Akira knew.

For all the ways Ryuji loved, this was the way Akira liked the most.

-

The Quiet Way He Cares - awriternamedart

[just-j-really]

Unsoulmates AU, part 6!

(Masterpost) (AO3)

"Have you found your person yet?" Morpheus asks, while Hob wrestles with their dinner dishes.

Hob had dragged Morpheus back to his flat to force some food into him after Morpheus had admitted that, with the opening date for Will's play drawing closer, he can't remember the last time he had a full meal. He'd sort of been expecting Morpheus to leave as soon as he'd eaten, since he'd only agreed to food in the first place because Hob had promised to reheat some leftovers and let him go.

He had, in fact, suggested several times that Morpheus consider things like going home and getting some sleep, and Morpheus had replied that sleep could wait until the problem with act two was fixed and-

The point is Hob isn't really sure why Morpheus is still sitting in his kitchen, asking him questions Hob's already answered, instead of doing either of those things, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has to derail himself from saying I think I did. I think I did, even if you find way too much amusement in my lack of spoon-washing ability.

What he says instead is, "Do you think Soulmates account for dishes?"

"What?" Morpheus asks, taking his seeming change of subject entirely in stride.

"They're supposed to be your Perfect Other Half, right?" Hob says, with only a little bit of sarcasm. "So does that mean my soulmate just loves doing dishes? To balance me out? Because that doesn't seem-" and then chokes on the rest of the sentence, because Morpheus has appeared at his elbow and taken the plate he'd been washing directly out of his hands.

"Oh, you don't- I wasn't asking-" Hob manages to sputter, once he's gotten over the shock. In that time, Morpheus has dropped the plate four times, splattered water all over his nice coat, and, crucially, made even less progress re: dishes than Hob was making.

"You can dry," Morpheus informs him, and that's that.

"Have you found your person yet?" Morpheus asks, through the door to Hob's flat. Hob had texted him- something, earlier, to let him know he was too sick to cook tonight, sorry. He's not sure what words he'd used, in hindsight. He's not sure they were English. He'd taken a nap immediately afterwards and woken up to find his fever finally gone down and Morpheus at his door with takeout.

Hob's not letting him in. He's not risking spreading this bullshit.

"You find 'em for me," Hob says, sliding to a seat against the door. It's nice, not to be standing. He might take a nap here.

Morpheus makes. A noise. A raspy, grating noise, like the sound that the concept of rusted metal would make if it were sentient, had some sort of lung disease, and was being tortured.

Hob is back on his feet and flinging the door open before he can think, coming face-to-face with Morpheus, who has one hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his-

Laughter, Hob realizes. With the context of the way Morpheus' eyes are sparkling and his hand is doing nothing to hide a wry smile, that horrific noise was definitely laughter. The weird little snorting sound he's currently doing an extremely unsuccessful job of muffling is him giggling.

It's hideous, and unrestrained, and adorable, and Hob immediately decides that he would cross and burn any number of bridges in order to hear him laugh like that again.

"I'll take the food for now, though," he says, voice hoarse in a way that has nothing to do with illness.

For some reason this sets off Morpheus laughing again, which means that despite the ache in all Hob's limbs and the fact that standing so quickly made the room start wobbling and his stomach churning, today officially gets marked as one of the best he's had all year.

"Have you found your person yet?" Morpheus asks, opening night of his and Will's play, the moment Hob pushes through the crowd in the lobby close enough to speak to him.

"You're asking me that now?" Hob replies. His eyes are still itchy from crying and he thinks he's going to need another week or so to be able to think clearly, after Morpheus methodically, delicately pulled his soul apart and rewove it into something better over the course of four acts, and he doesn't have the words to explain any of that so instead he just sweeps Morpheus up in a hug that lifts his feet from the ground.

Morpheus makes a startled little noise and clings to Hob's shoulders with both arms. "You're incredible," Hob says. He allows himself to hold Morpheus for one more moment, not long enough to matter to anyone but him, before gently setting him down. "Absolutely incredible. I don't- that was amazing. How the fuck are you this talented," he says. "I think you broke me."

In all the time he's been rambling, Morpheus has kept his arms around Hob's neck, perfectly still, like he's afraid he'll fall if he lets go even though his feet are firmly back on the floor. So Hob tugs him a little closer, and Morpheus sighs a little and leans against his chest, and Hob gets so distracted trying to preserve every detail of this moment in his memory that he forgets he was trying to explain to Morpheus how beautiful his play was-

And now they're just. Standing in a corner. Hugging.

Hob's life is perfect.

"Sorry," Hob says, eventually. "I should let you talk to people." The crowd around them is beginning to thin out, and as much as he wants to Morpheus all to himself he knows he should let him go mingle.

To his surprise, Morpheus shrugs. "That can wait."

It's a shot of sugary delight directly into Hob's bloodstream, and he can't restrain the smile that spreads across his face, over-enthusiastic to the point of hurting his cheeks a little. Morpheus wants to spend time with him! Specifically! Over reaping the rewards of the project that's consumed his heart and soul for as long as Hob's known him! Life is so wonderful!

Hob pulls out of the hug, just enough to scan the room. He's not familiar with this theater, but there has to be somewhere nearby they could slip off to, for a bit. Maybe talk a little. Maybe-

Maybe. Maybe Morpheus still has an arm looped around his shoulders, even though they're no longer hugging. Maybe Hob's arm is still around Morpheus' waist, and Morpheus has done nothing to shrug it off. Maybe, when Hob wraps that arm a little tighter, Morpheus only leans into him, lets his head drop onto Hob's shoulder. Even though there's a crowd around them, and anyone could see him nuzzling up against Hob in a way most people only do with their soulmates.

Maybe, Hob realizes, that crowd is so firmly clustered around Will not a single one of them would notice if he and Morpheus were actually, currently fucking. They're looking with Will with a sort of fervor that suggests he's going to start healing the sick with a touch or something. It doesn't seem like he's making any particular effort to direct them over to Morpheus, either, and sure Hob's been clinging to Morpheus for the past several minutes but Will's never seen that as a problem before.

"Wow," Hob says, not bothering to disguise his distaste, "Does he normally do this?"

"What?" Morpheus asks, sounding genuinely confused.

"This," Hob says, nodding at Will and His Adoring Public. They're still standing close enough that he barely needs to move his chin for Morpheus to understand what he means.

"It's his work," Morpheus says, his voice distant. "He deserves the credit."

Which is. Fair, Hob supposes. Probably. He could maybe even convince himself of that if Morpheus' expression weren't so resigned.

So he turns his head to Morpheus, close enough that no one else will be able to hear him, and says, "You deserve just as much. That bit where they hold hands in the last scene, after she dies? That made me cry. And I know that was all you." It was a tiny, subtle bit of stage directing that had the entire play's worth of meaning packed into it, of course that was Morpheus'.

Morpheus goes very, very still. The look on his face is less shocked than entirely disbelieving, like Hob had just recited some lost verse of poetry that archaeologists would sell their souls to rediscover.

"Don't deny it," Hob says, softly. "You broke my heart. Take responsibility," he adds, keeping his tone light enough that Morpheus can accept it as teasing even if what he means is Take my heart.

A small, pleased smile slips across Morpheus' face, and he melts back against Hob's side, lets his arm drop to Hob's waist. "I'm. In fucking awe of how talented you are," Hob says quietly. "And everybody else should be, too. You should have to wear sunglasses in public all the time to avoid getting mobbed by fans. There should be statues of you, and parades, and-"

"Yes, yes, alright," Morpheus says, elbowing him. He somehow manages to bring them even closer together with the gesture, so he's leaning more against Hob's chest than his side. "That part isn't important," he adds. "The play itself is. People saw it and it moved them, inspired them. That's what matters." His tone is the textbook example of 'haughty artist, far above mortal concerns.' It compliments his smile- satisfied, a little flustered- beautifully. What matters to Hob, at any rate, is that the confidence finally doesn't seem like a front.

"I still think you should get a statue," he murmurs, voice low, "But if you really don't mind missing out on all this, you wanna get out of here?"

[jaeyunluvbot]

[ RECKLESS DRIVING ! ]

chapter fifteen. yikes

౨ৎ The last thing you expected from today was to end up in an argument with Jake. You had felt pretty pleased with the way your friendship was progressing, if not a tinge bittersweet about how he most likely didn't reciprocate your romantic feelings.

When he first texted you asking for you to come to his soccer game, you'd been excited, but now you wish you'd just declined his invitation.

The game didn't go well, to say the least, knocking the HYBE U soccer team out of contention for the playoffs. It wasn't the fault of any specific player, the SM Tigers were just a really good team.

Once the game was over, you and Beomgyu looked at each other cringing at the devastating loss the team had just faced.

"Should we say something to them?" You ask hesitantly, not sure on how to approach the situation.

"I guess we should, they already know we're here, so it'd probably be worse not to say anything."

You nod and grab your stuff, following Beomgyu down to the field. You frown as you see the crestfallen looks on the team's faces, wanting nothing more than to make them feel better.

Beomgyu smiles awkwardly at Yeonjun and Kai, who seem to lighten up a bit at the presence of their friend.

"You guys played really well today, for what it's worth," You say, having found Jake standing off a bit away from the team.

he laughs sarcastically and shakes his head, "Not well enough, apparently." You frown at the self-deprecating tone of his voice.

"The tigers are just really good, there wasn't much you could've done, Jake."

You try to offer him some semblance of comfort, placing your hand on his shoulder and wincing when he shrugs it off.

"What, so we're just not good enough them?" He asks accusingly, refusing to make eye contact with you.

"Jake, that's not what I meant, I promise." You feel yourself growing frustrated at his attitude, despite knowing that he was just having a bad day.

"Whatever, it doesn't matter." He spits, anger clear in his tone.

"It's ok to feel upset at this, it's a big loss, it'd be weird if you weren't upset."

He scoffs at you, "Like you know anything about soccer anyways..."

You shrink back from him, feeling his distaste towards you in that moment. "Ok, I can tell you're not super happy right now, so I'm just gonna go. I hope you have a good night and text me whenever you're ready to talk."

You turn away from him, a burning-hot pit of negative emotions building slowly in your stomach. You make your way to Beomgyu who looks at you questioningly but you shake your head and begin to lead him out of the stadium.

"Yeah whatever, just run home with your little boyfriend." You freeze in your tracks as you hear Jake yelling behind you.

Beomgyu grabs your arm as you turn around, silently pleading with you not to say anything, but you ignore him, marching up to Jake.

"He's not my boyfriend, and just because you lost today, that doesn't mean you get to use me as a punching bag. I've been nothing but nice to you, so don't start yelling at me."

"Whatever Y/N just leave, you're making me feel worse and I can't deal with you right now."

His eyes still won't meet yours so you blink back tears and ball up your fists, nails cutting into your palms.

"I was just leaving anyways, don't text me, Jake." You turn away from him and Beomgyu rushes to you, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the stadium, ignoring the worried looks from the other members of the team.

"Real nice Jake, she was just trying to comfort you." Jungwon speaks seriously.

"Whatever, fuck this, I'm leaving." Jake heads to the locker room by himself, still seething.

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

You and Beomgyu begin the walk back to your apartment as you try to hold back tears, not wanting to cry at some simple words.

"Y/N, are you ok? That was kind of intense." Beomgyu stops walking, moving your hair from your face and examining your expression.

"I'm fine Beomgyu, I just- I just guess he's not the guy I thought he was." You say, stuttering as you hiccup and hold back the tears that are now even more threatening than before.

The rest of the walk back to your apartment is filled with an uneasy silence, and you immediately head into your room when you arrive, turning off your phone and locking the door.

You can hear Winter and Ningning interrogating Beomgyu, using hushed tones, clearly not wanting you to hear.

You cry silently as you lay in the dark, wondering how today went so wrong. 𝜗𝜚

𝜗𝜚 author's note - some angst today coz i love making myself upset. jake is kinda a dick but yeah.

𝜗𝜚 taglist - @dreamiestay @haechansbbg @n1k1mura @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @lilifiedeans @dojaejunging @rikisly @nctsshoes2 @seunghancore @bluxjun @noobgod1269

[nori-the-cat]

What is Heesung like as a boyfriend? (Requested)

Remember, tarot readings should be taken with a grain of salt.

As a boyfriend:

Card(s): 10oW, 7oP rx, 2oP rx, AoP, and KoW rx

According to these cards, Heesung seems like a reliable and diligent partner who cares about having a stable and secure relationship.

Heesung would probably take good care of his partner, making sure they feel supported and loved, even with all the things he has to handle.

He takes his promises seriously and puts effort into creating a strong connection with his partner. However, he might get a bit frustrated or impatient if things don't move as fast as he wants, or if it's tough for him to manage his work life and love life at the same time.

Heesung's Potential Red Flag in a Relationship:

Card(s):

Heesung acts on impulses. Sometimes he starts plans or shares ideas but doesn't always follow through. In relationships, this could mean making promises that he struggles to keep.

He also believes strongly in destiny. If things don't work out, he tends to accept it as fate. While this can be romantic, it might mean he takes a passive approach to relationship problems. Heesung might believe things will resolve themselves without actively addressing issues, which could lead to unresolved conflicts.

Lastly, he tends to be over-protective. While this can be seen as caring, it might lead to him being too controlling or suffocating in a relationship. He might try to protect his partner or take care of them excessively, which could hinder their independence and personal growth.

Heesung's Potential Green Flags in a Relationship:

Card(s): KoS, PoW rx, justice, PoC, and death rx

Heesung is someone who values being clear and honest about how he feels and what he wants. Sometimes, he needs a little encouragement to try new things in the relationship, but he's open to learning from his partner's point of view. He strongly believes in treating each other fairly and equally, making decisions together with respect.

When it comes to emotions, Heesung is sensitive and can sense what his partner needs. He shows his love through thoughtful actions that really mean a lot to his partner. Even though he might be unsure about changes, once he's committed, he stays loyal and works hard to make the relationship strong and happy.

In short, Heesung is a great boyfriend because he communicates clearly, cares about feelings, values fairness, and stays loyal. He wants a balanced and loving relationship where both people feel important and understood.

Heesung's Love Language:

Card(s): Knight of Cups reversed

Heesung would like his partner to spend as much quality time with him. So, I think his love language might revolve around quality time in a calm setting where he can feel emotionally supported and understood. His ideal partner would intuitively recognize his need for emotional space and provide a comforting environment where he can freely express himself.

Channelled Songs:

[justatalkingface]

If we already on Aizawa talk, it’s pretty obvious that Hori wanted to create another kakashi.

But he ultimately failed to understand what made Kakashi so popular, kakashi also wasn’t that much liked in part 1… while Aizawa is worshipped in the fandom as a saint that can’t do anything wrong.

Kakashi regretted everything at the end of part 1 and improved so much by the time of part 2.

Aizawa took 2 wars to apologize to izuku, and even then it was felt half assed.

Fundamentally, I think the thing is that Kakashi is a character that belongs in the Naruto setting. Like. He's a character that makes sense; his motivations make sense, his actions make sense... he fits.

Eraserhead, though, is unironically just all of Kakashi's beats copied onto MHA, but... you know, he's not in ninja land, so a lot of his actions don't make sense? He is a character that exists in MHA, not one that fits in it.

For example: we know Kakashi teaches because he's basically mandated by law, as part of a master apprentice system. Because the village helped raise him as high as it did (along with it being an absolute military dictatorship built around trying to monopolize violence), he's obligated to give back to it by helping raise the next generation.

Moreover, it quickly became apparent that he liked teaching. He may not have been the best at it early on, but the man unironically seemed to have a blast fucking around with teaching them every day, even before he really became attached. Also, he actually taught them things.

Aizawa teaches because he... likes teaching...? *flashes back to every moment where Aizawa basically says, 'Don't you dare child anywhere I can possibly perceive you* along with... peer pressure. Apparently.

He's in a school, where he's expected to teach entire classes of children all day, five days a week... but he seems to hate that?

He's admitted, I think on multiple occasions, that he hasn't taught them anything, (which I agree with, since he generally just exists nearby while the kids teach them damn selves.)

Another notable flaw is Hori fundamentally misunderstands why Kakashi wouldn't shut up about 'underneath the underneath' before Shippuden (where all subtly flew out the window): because the man is a fucking ninja, in a world populated by ninja, dominated by ninja wars, teaching ninja children how to be ninja.

By definition, they're supposed to be paranoid, unhappy little shits that'd sooner kill someone than believe a word they say, because that means they would have better odds of surviving the hellscape that is Naruto.

Aizawa, meanwhile. is teaching heroes. Public figures. And not only that, he's teaching how not to trust badly.

Kakashi's lessons are practical, yet calculated: when he tricks them, it's always light, harmless teasing, or a dead ass serious lesson on, 'if you keep doing this kind of thing some asshole is going to stab you'. Even though he's doing all that, though, there's never a doubt in the kid's minds to trust him if he gets serious because his happy go lucky persona is clearly that: a persona. It's just one more mask he wears, which means Serious Business is clearly separated from Silly Kakashi Fun Time.

Aizawa teaches them... that he's lazy, he hates them, and that he's allergic to the truth. That's... that's it. No matter how much he pretends it's a lesson, it's really just his personality, so the kids have no reason to trust anything he tells them without evidence.

Fundamentally, their trust in him should be so broken that it actually puts them in danger, because there really doesn't seem to be anything he takes seriously, so when he tells them something important.... they say, 'Cite?', instead of acting on what he says, because of all the other times he told them something 'important', and it was 'jUsT a LOgiCaL RUse'.

Unironically, the fact that this man was never fired actually breaks my suspension of disbelief more than the idea of superpowers ever will, and the fact that he's never gotten any of the kids he's 'taught' killed flat out destroys it. I've mentioned it before, but his behavior logically would have gotten some of that class murdered because of how little they trusted him.

All of that combined, I think, is why he's designated The Mouth of Hori, given that 'sacred' role to push whatever message Hori wants to readers to get: because he's not a character in his own right, he's a half assed Naruto character randomly put there to get viewership, so whatever out of nowhere action he does to push Hori's agenda doesn't distract from all the other out of nowhere actions he does to push Hori's agenda.

[thesweetnessofspring]

Do you subscribe to the theory that Katniss had a crush on Peeta before the games (but she wasn’t aware of it obviously) or do you think that she only kept track of him through the years because he saved her from starvation and was thankful?

I really love all your opinions, you really do make me see things from a different perspective sometimes and are also very sweet . Thank you so much 😊

Girl I subscribe to "Katniss was crushing on Peeta from the dandelion scene moving forward." I mean

Our eyes met for only a second, then he turned his head away. I dropped my gaze, embarrassed, and that's when I saw it. The first dandelion of the year. A bell went off in my head. I thought of the hourse spent in the woods with my father and I knew how we were going to survive. To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed. And more than once, I have turned in the school hallway and caught his eyes trained on me, only to quickly flit away. Maybe if I had thanked him at some point, I'd be feeling less conflicted now. I thought about it a couple of times, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself.

So first, our how-do-I-do-feelings Katniss is saying she's "embarrassed" about making eye contact with the cute boy who just saved her life. Do you know what a crush is? Embarrassing. Like omg it is the WORST thing especially when your crush is the most amazing person. Other people have shown Katniss kindness, even kindness that is nearly impossible to repay, like when Madge gave her the mockingjay pin and Finnick restarted Peeta's heart, but she doesn't feel embarrassed by it. Flustered and confused, yes, as well as resentful at times, but not embarrassed. So why is she embarrassed after catching Peeta's eye? Because she has her first crush right after being traumatized and thrust into a parentified role so she can't be a normal kid about it. And Katniss thought about thanking Peeta but didn't because the "opportunity never seemed to present itself" just sounds like a teenager avoiding talking to their crush. "Oh no, sorry, I didn't talk to him because things weren't lined up exactly perfectly for that to happen" is exactly what having a crush as a teenager is for us introverted people.

And I mean, come on. She associates hope and her very survival to Peeta?? At this point we've moved past first crushes into soulmate territory. She "can't shake the connection." This girl is a survivor, she hates vulnerability because it seems to be a weakness, and if it were just a crush she would talk herself out of it within a day. She logics her way out of finding Finnick attractive and running off with Gale into the woods. But Peeta is lodged in there before they even know each other. They have that red string of fate tied around their fingers and they cannot escape it.

Also thank you so much, I'm glad you like my little Everlark analyses! I really love talking about them, the best fictional couple ever created (I say with my whole chest and absolutely no exaggeration).

[sir-adamus]

so looking at the trailer again more closely

the dpad only having the trirod on it and three empty slots definitely implies we're getting at least 3 other tools for Zelda to work with

Tri starts with three triangles but is shown with four at other parts of the trailer. additionally, the Echoes all have floating triangles above them when they're on the field (smaller objects have 1, enemy summons have 2) which reduce the number of triangles Tri has - so there's the limitation, you can only summon as much as Tri has available at any given time (and i assume progress through the game nets you more to work with - i imagine it'll cap out at eight, because otherwise it'd get ridiculous and also be a nice throwback to the eight pieces of the Triforce of Wisdom you had to collect in the first game)

the Sea Zora (the Queen from the looks of things) seem to be drawing more design-wise from the Wild era Zora and not the Ocarina of Time style Zora that were seen alongside the River Zora in one of the Oracle games (which means ???? for this game's timeline placement, i don't think we've seen enough yet)

it looks like the ALttP map but the most that does is suggest we're in the Downfall timeline, but not when

yeah, we've been given surprisingly little for this game so far (and mostly gameplay, aside from the inciting incident with the rifts we know very little about the actual plot - it seems like there might've been some sort of coup in Hyrule, with Zelda getting thrown in prison and what looks like Impa attacking some guards, which would further justify why Zelda needs to disguise herself, if it's dangerous to be the princess right now), i'm really interested in seeing what else we get