#doing fine otherwise! feels like a bad cold

[iliterallydecepticanteven]

Chapters: 1/4 Fandom: Transformers Animated (2007), Transformers - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Blitzwing (Transformers), Lugnut (Transformers), Original Human Character(s), Optimus Prime, Ratchet (Transformers), Minor Characters Additional Tags: air traffic control, Airports, Cussing, Detroit, Worldbuilding, Basically what would it be like to be a normal human in TFA Detroit, And also yell at a Decepticon and get paid for it Summary:

The main three concerns on Emily's mind were working her job as an air traffic controller, counting down the days until he maternity leave kicked in, and working through the rough patch in her marriage. And it would all have been relatively simple and easy if it weren't for two giant alien jet robots throwing her airspace into chaos. Thankfully, she found the radio frequency for one of them, so she can tell him exactly how much she hates him.

(Or: Blitzwing and human air traffic controller have beef and yell at each.)

...

Meme by @thewiglesswonder​ and the fic is basically what it says on the tin. Hope you enjoy! 

[foxstens]

i dont get what ppl have against microwaved leftover pizza

[sttoru]

“ryo,” it rolls off your tongue. naturally—as if you’ve called him that thousands of times before. you don’t realise it until he stops his movements.

sukuna narrows his eyes. you turn your head and look up, oblivious to your slip-up. the sorcerer doesn’t utter a word and instead glares down at your short frame. he looks irritated, or more annoyed.

“oh,” you realise why only a few seconds later. you bow your head at him and try to explain yourself in a hurry. normally, you’d address him with respect like everyone else does. ‘my lord’, ‘lord sukuna’, or even ‘master’.

you nearly fall to your knees. you don’t know how or what sukuna’s going to do now that you’ve dropped the honorifics on accident and called him by a nickname. you hold your hands together, “my deepest apologi—“

“again,” sukuna demands in a rough voice. you freeze for a second before tilting your head back. you catch a glimpse of his expression; he’s amused, intrigued and perhaps still a bit annoyed. he repeats, “call me that again.”

sukuna isn’t annoyed by the fact that you’ve called him by a nickname for the first time. he’s annoyed, because your sweet voice makes him feel stuff he’s sworn to never feel for a regular human. that warm feeling in his chest. . . he hates it. yet he yearns for it. from you.

you hesitate for a second, unsure if the firm tone in sukuna’s voice was a bad sign or not. you decide to just comply and hope for the best, “. . . ryo.”

sukuna grits his teeth. you think he’s mad, but in reality, he’s trying to eliminate the feelings of love from within him. your voice calling him so affectionately—so intimately; it makes him feel that warmth in his chest.

no one’s dared to call him anything like that before. everyone’s formal with him. it’s a must. sukuna’s used to everyone acknowledging his superiority in the conversations he holds. it’s a given.

no one refers to him so casually. no one dares to.

you’re the first one to break that pattern. the first one to make sukuna’s cold heart tremble. if it were anyone else, they’d be his dinner by now. but it’s you so it’s. . . fine, he assumes. an exception.

silence falls in the hallway. luckily, not another soul is around to witness the king of curses struggling to contain his own ‘foolish’ emotions. sukuna clicks his tongue and sighs before continuing to walk ahead of you.

you scurry after him—keeping your head low. you don’t wish to upset sukuna any further. you feel like you overstepped a boundary just now. the silence continues for a couple seconds, both of you deep in thought.

sukuna’s the one to end the quiet atmosphere. his voice is as deep and cold as ever, though there’s no denying the subtle softness that creeps in whenever he talks with you.

he takes a deep breath and sighs. sukuna keeps walking and doesn’t spare you a glance, however his voice and words tell you enough;

“from now on, that’s the only way you’ll address me until i say otherwise, understood?”

[eihoons]

kissing their cheek when they're mad ✮

enhypen x reader , fluff , kissing their cheek when they're mad ( note: lowercase intended , thank u so much for the notes omg 😭 )

❝ heeseung ❞

he got a little mad since you came home a bit late than usual, and you promised to give him cuddles but you said you were too sleepy

you knew he was upset and you told him you'd talk to him in the morning since you were tired

but, he still slept on the same bed, except he isn't hugging you like he would every night

he did feel sorry but tried to keep the frown on

when morning came, you woke up alone so you got up and tried to look for heeseung

as he noticed your presence, he tried his best to ignore you but deep inside he wanted to hug your small, sleepy, and soft-looking figure : (

you went towards him and gave him a small peck on his cheek

"good morning," you said, and as you recalled the events from last night you asked him, "are you still upset? i'm sorry,"

you gave him a hug, and he could never stay mad at you so he hugged you back and placed a soft kiss on your forehead

"no, i'm not mad, i love you,"

❝ jay ❞

jay was upset since you somehow forgot you had a special date yesterday, and he had been planning this for a while now but you forgetting this broke his heart :(

so, as a consequence, he ignored you the whole day and not even sparing you a glance

you tried to keep apologizing but he kept replying with it's fine or it's okay but his expression says otherwise

you also wanted to talk to him but you knew it would lead to another argument and you knew it was your fault this time

by now, it was already nighttime and you were getting ready for bed

you decided to wait on the bed for jay but minutes were turning into hours and you knew he was probably sleeping in the other room tonight

so, you got up and went to him because it felt cold without him

but the only reason he was sleeping in another room was because he was afraid of accidentally raising his voice on you again

you snuggled onto him and pecked his cheek and whispered, "i'm sorry, you can get mad at me in the morning but i need to be with you right now,"

and that kiss alone was enough for him to let his guard down and he knew he had to forgive you because he felt really bad so he finally wrapped you in his arms

❝ jake ❞

tbh i don't think he can ever stay mad at you

but in this case, he was mad because of how he disliked you being fine with a friend getting all touchy with you

and you thought he was just being a little too overprotective and this may have lead into an argument

so, you were both ignoring each other but you knew this was quite immature so you were thinking about talking about it with him, carefully this time

you then went to him but as soon as you were getting close, all those apologies just vanished and you didn't know how to approach him properly

instead, you just tugged on one of his sleeves and gave him a kiss on the cheek and tried to walk away out of embarrassment

but before you could even go, he tightly engulfed you in a hug

"i'm sorry, baby, i'm not mad, i– i just–"

you cut him off with a kiss and hugged him tightly

then, you both promised to not fight again because it literally breaks his heart and he fr cannot stay mad at you

❝ sunghoon ❞

you just came home and you were welcomed by a frowning sunghoon

you changed your clothes and prepared for dinner but you noticed that sunghoon was a little quiet

you were trying to talk to him but all he responds with is either a hum or a nod

you were annoyed with this behavior of his so you confronted him and asked why he was acting this way and why he was so mad with you

he scoffed, "so now you're asking me why, huh?"

"but i didn't even do anything wrong!"

a couple minutes later, this lead into a small argument

you both continued to ignore each other but you were feeling sleepy

you were deciding whether or not to say good night to him but you couldn't resist him

so you went to him and kissed him on the cheek and told him good night but before you went away you turned to him once again and asked what have you done to upset him this much

so he finally answered, "why didn't you say you love me this morning, before you left,"

but he was too shy and embarrassed to look at you while saying this, and a blush was evident on his cheeks

you found it adorable and you pulled him in a hug and said, "sunghoon, you know i love you so much but although i forgot to say it, i hope you know that i always will love you, okay?"

he finally embraced you and gave you a kiss

❝ sunoo ❞

according to him you were being "annoying" today

so, he slowly avoided you and ignored you, but this will not stop you >:)

you went to him and he avoided your gaze

"sunoo, when will this stop, i already apologized,"

"just go away,"

having enough, you held onto his waist and pecked his cheek

he loved it but didn't admit it and a blush grew on his cheeks

you thought he hated it so you turned away

but, before you could even walk, he pulled your arm back and gave you a soft kiss on the cheek

"okay, i'm sorry too, i love you."

❝ jungwon ❞

he can never stay mad at you

you realized he was mad so you tried to give him some space and wait until he's ready to talk

but he wanted things to go the other way, he wanted you to talk to him and just give him a hug or a kiss; basically just pay him attention

he was so sad because he thought you were scared of talking to him

you two met in the kitchen, yet still no talking

you wanted to comfort him but you were too scared of the wrong words that might come out

instead, you gave him a peck on the cheek and a soft smile

he immediately pulled you into a hug because he felt really bad

"i'm sorry, i'm not mad. please talk to me now."

❝ ni-ki ❞

he was so pissed because he thought you were cheating on a game you were playing together

but you, on the other hand, found it funny because he simply could not accept his defeat

and, because of this, he got all mad and decided to ignore you

you were now sad and decided to approach him for the last time

"hey, are you really gonna ignore me for the rest of the day?"

still not getting an answer, you pecked his cheek and said, "i'll be in the room if you need me, okay?"

he tried to keep an "angry" face

he felt so bad seeing the frown on your face

not even an hour later, he entered the room holding two controllers in his hand

"i'm really sorry, y/n. can we play again and be fair this time? and.. can i have a kiss again?"

© eihoons

m.list

[luveline]

hiyaa girlyy!! so i have a fic request and it's totally fine if you don't want to write / don't feel comfortable reading or doing it: and also, i'm not sure if someone thought of this yet, but how about spencer just being friends with a stripper. like their are murders ongoing abt strippers and spencer sees reader at one of the crime scènes and everybody's shocked since their sooo sweet and comfortable together? (and bonus point if she wears his jacket or something since it's cold)

thank you for your request! if you have more requests for this pairing please send them my way!

"I tried to call you!" 

Hotch looks up from his phone at the shout. He'd been texting Jessica one handed in an attempt to tell her and Jack that he won't be home tonight, and he isn't usually easily startled, but he isn't expecting you to talk to him. Or call him. 

He blinks back his fatigue —you're obviously not talking to him. You're almost nondescript in your hoodie, but Hotch isn't confident you're wearing any pants, or underwear. It was a rush job to bring everyone out from the club, and you and the rest of the dancers stand on the sidewalk in various states of undress. 

"Can we get some jackets, please?" Hotch asks, turning back to the beat cops standing by. "Thermal blankets? Anything?" 

When he turns back, Spencer's not where he was. Hotch casts his gaze back to you near the club doors, your hair messed up from the scuffle but your face intricate and untouched, just as pretty as the rest of your fellow dancers, and doubly so as you throw your arms around Spencer Reid's tall shoulders. 

"I'm so glad you're okay," Spencer says, squeezing you hard, your heels lifting off of the rain-sullied sidewalk. "I told you to stay home!" 

"I can't stay home, Spencer. How would I make money?" 

"I'll pay for the hours you miss, I told you that, too." 

"Baby, you couldn't afford it," you tease lightly, setting back down. Your hand immediately rises to Spencer's cheek, your painted nails scratching delicately at his skin. "I've missed you. Where have you been?" 

"California, then Albuquerque." 

"Killing bad guys?" 

Hotch doesn't consider Spencer a lonely guy, and he doesn't think he'd ever be collected enough to enter a strip club, and yet. There he is, hugging and checking over a stripper with as much care and tenderness as he'd show any member of the team. And judging by your smile, you're enamoured with him. Whether romantically or otherwise is anyone's guess. 

Morgan's, apparently. "Sorry, I'm sorry, does Reid have a girlfriend? Like, a…?" 

"You can say stripper," Emily says, though she's similarly nonplussed. "I mean, there's no way. Right?" 

"They're just friends," JJ says. 

The team turns to her in betrayal. Clearly, JJ knew about this and said nothing, and Hotch has things to do but this is so thoroughly bizarre that he gives himself five minutes of curiosity; he lets the others berate her for answers. 

"Come on, JJ! When did this happen? How did this happen?" Emily asks, her voice dropping to a scandalised whisper. 

In the background, Spencer peels out of his jacket that barely fits around your shoulders. You wear it anyhow, wrapping your arm through his and leaning on his shoulder. "Thanks, Dr. Reid." 

"I really wish you'd stay home when I tell you too." He rubs your arm amicably. 

"Her old boss was a typical heavy-handed sleaze," JJ explains, voice soft with sympathy. "Spence said he used to see her at the grocery store with bruises. She stayed with him for a few days and found a new club… He said she can smile through anything, even a broken wrist." 

Hotch understands. This part of Virginia pretends to be better than it is, and while you seem happy enough now in your profession, he knows it can't be easy. Spencer did for you what he would've done for anyone. You've clearly seen the good in him, treating him with a real and easy affection, adoring through shivers as you look up at him and ask, "Are you eating enough? You look tired." 

"I'm exhausted worrying about you. You're exhausting. Like, where are the sweatpants I got you? You'll get hypothermia." 

"I was trying not to get murdered. You're lucky I grabbed the hoodie." You turn to the team, as though you've known they were watching the entire time. "You wanna introduce me to your friends?" you ask. Hotch detects a hint of insecurity under all your bubbly sweetness. 

Spencer laughs loudly, ushering you forward with a hand on your shoulder. "Don't chicken out this time." 

"Don't embarrass me in front of the special agents!" you whisper. 

"I'm a special agent." 

"No, you're a doctor. He's a special agent." Your gaze narrows in on Hotch. "Hi, you're the boss, huh?" You eye his naked marriage finger briefly, and he knows you're kidding, but he still has to fight to stay expressionless as you continue, "How come handsome guys like you don't ever wanna see me dance?" 

Hotch puts out his hand. "Aaron Hotchner. It's nice to meet you." 

You shake his hand, though you stay as close to Spencer as you can manage without stepping on his shoes. "Right. Too respectful. It's really nice to meet you too, Agent Hotchner. Can you catch the bad guy soon? I'll end up on Spencer's cough again if I don't make rent." 

Morgan opens his mouth and Hotch promptly shuts him down with a raised hand. "We will. You have my word." 

[transmascsteveharrington]

If Steve was someone to believe in conspiracy theories he might think that there is a mistletoe complot happening. Because mistletoes keep suddenly popping up everywhere, especially in places Steve could swear three seconds ago hadn't been a mistletoe. Places that always include Eddie.

"Seriously, another one?" Eddie groans just as much a helpless victim in the mistletoe coup that might or might not be happening as Steve. "Do these sprout out of your hair?"

"Who says they aren't sprouting out of your hair dude," Steve shoots back half annoyed half amused.

"Yeah, yeah fine, c'mon let's get it over with," Eddie sighs and turns his cheek. "Lay one on me, Harrington."

Steve rolls his eyes but obeys and presses his lips against Eddie's cheek. His skin is cold, as always and his stubble is a funny sensation. The thing is if it was up to them they would just shrug it off and walk away, no peck on the cheek needed. But somehow – and the number one reason why Steve thinks this might be a conspiracy – they always end up under a mistletoe when the kids or older teens are around insisting that they kiss because otherwise, that means bad luck.

"Do you really think we can afford any more bad luck," Dustin had squeaked the first time they had ended up under a mistletoe and had tried to just walk away. So for almost three weeks Eddie and Steve have been kissing each other's cheeks constantly. Of course, always ensure first that the other one is okay with the kiss. Steve's always thought that the tradition of /having/ to kiss is absolutely stupid.

"Maybe they'll stop sprouting if you properly kissed," Robin suggests while stirring up icing for the cookies the party has been baking in the Wheeler's kitchen. Steve has to suppress the urge to flip her off.

"Guess we'll have to put that theory to the test next time, don't we big boy?" Eddie laughs and Steve can feel himself blush. He blames it on the heat from the oven.

The next time comes three days later at the Hopper-Byers' house and Steve turns his head to Jonathan who looks at them expectantly and asks, "Aren't you Jewish?"

"Yeah, but mistletoes are a Roman tradition," he shrugs and stubs out his joint. He and Eddie have been smoking outside and Steve was sent outside to get them for dinner just as Eddie was being sent inside to ask if they still needed help.

"Roman, really?" Steve frowns.

"The ancient Greek called mistletoes oak-sperm," Eddie grins his hands already grabbing Steve's shirt and pulling him closer.

"Ugh, gross dude," Steve complains but still leans in and closes the distance between them, this time an innocent peck on the lips. When they let go Steve thinks that for a second he might have spotted disappointment in Jonathan's eyes.

He finds out later in the evening why. He and Eddie have just finished washing up like they both offered, Steve washing, Eddie drying and are about to return to the Hopper-Byers' living room when they hear Dustin whisper-shout, "It's like they don't even want to kiss."

"I told you this idea was stupid," Max murmurs. "They're not gonna admit to being into each other like this."

"I think we should just keep trying," Robin, the traitor adds, and Steve can hear the amusement in her voice.

"Wow, looks like we have been party entertainment," Eddie whispers next to Steve.

"Yeah, I can't believe it...actually, I can," Steve says before he gets an idea. "Wanna get back at them by traumatizing them a little?"

"I like the way you think, Harrington."

So next time they get caught under a mistletoe they don't go in for a chaste kiss. Instead, they kiss like men starving, with tongues, teeth, wandering hands, and badly muffled moans. Steve isn't quite sure it still counts as PG-13 but it's the shitheads' own fault. They are slightly out of breath when they part. It's worth it though the kids look like they walked in on their parents kissing. Steve had to suppress a laugh.

"Hope that might finally ward them off," Steve says, hoping his knees aren't shaking too obviously. "This was fun, but I have a date to wine and dine, so see you little shitheads tomorrow."

"Seriously, you have a date?" Dustin gawks. "After...after...after..."

"After what, Henderson?" Steve grins, knowing Dustin can't say anything without giving their whole plot away.

"After this long day?" Dustin tries to save himself.

"That's why I'm hoping my date is gonna stay over," Steve says, earning another groan from everyone before he leaves.

A few hours later once the wining and dining has happened and Steve and his date have cuddled up on the couch his date turns their head and gently nuzzles into the crook of Steve's neck.

"You know they're gonna think they are the reason we got together," Eddie says and presses soft kisses down Steve's throat.

"We got together literally a month before the mistletoes happened," he says and pulls Eddie closer.

"I know," Eddie hums, "but you know how cocky Henderson is. He won't care."

"I guess," Steve mumbles as Eddie plants another kiss on his cheek. "It's kinda nice though. That they did this, that they don't mind."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees softly. "But they are gonna regret it once we tell them and start kissing without any mistletoes present."

Steve laughs before he gently cups Eddie's face.

"We should practice how to traumatize them more then," he grins.

"Yeah, we should," Eddie says before he closes the distance and once more kisses Steve so heated it makes the fire in front of them feel cold.

[earthtooz]

x : MORE :*+ﾟ

in which: rin's not happy with your decision to sleep on the couch.

warnings: cliché lol, 1.1k, hurt/comfort, gn!reader, unedited + ooc!rin towards the end, a lot of metaphors but hey one cliché leads to another.

a/n: this is practice for me to a) get back into writing and b) remind u guys that i am still writing luls, enjoy!! reblogs r vv appreciated, but this quality is actually so ass.

“are you sure you want to sleep out here tonight?” rin’s voice asks from the hallway entrance, slight concern laced in his tone as he watches your backside set up on the couch, fidgeting with the pillows and blankets.

“yeah, i’m positive,” you answer, not turning around to look at him; something rin frowns at. 

“oh…” he mutters, leaning awkwardly on the wall as he scours his brain to try and find something to say. “really?”

“yes, really.”

“won’t you be uncomfortable?”

“i’ll be fine. it’s not that bad here.”

“if you’re sure.”

silence cuts the conversation with a cold knife, leaving the two of you in the suffocating quiet, one that stops rin from instigating further conversation despite how badly he wanted to continue. because if he shuts up then that means he has to leave, but he doesn’t want to leave you alone. he wants you to come to bed so the two of you can sleep peacefully together and not (what feels like) eons apart where he can’t hold you.

“are you going to go to bed? it’s getting late,” you ask, no hint of hostility at all in your tone as you shuffle under the covers, disappearing from rin’s view completely. 

he bites the inside of his cheek, disheartened at your eagerness to see him go. “oh, right. goodnight.”

he lingers for a second longer, waiting for a ‘goodnight’ back, or even better, an ‘i love you’, but neither comes and rin feels his chest contract. 

rin didn’t mean for the argument to escalate, he didn’t mean to sharpen his words and pierce you with them, he didn’t mean to hurt you to the point that you didn’t want to sleep beside him.

as he slowly makes his way to your shared bedroom, your absence on your side of the bed hits him even harder. it’s cold. it’s empty. it’s void. rin loathes it.

you’re not faring much better, replaying the argument in your head over and over again as the small, coffee table lamp illuminates the room with a warm yellow. each replay of the memory just twists the knife further and causes a new batch of tears to wet your eyes. 

you hate this. you hate feeling weary around rin, you hate feeling like you need to walk on egg shells around him from now on, you hate feeling like he doesn’t value you the same way you do with him, you hate these new revelations coming to your brain as you reflect on your relationship-

“you’re still awake?” a voice comes from the hallway.

leaning up onto your elbows, you blink in shock at the new figure making itself known. thanks to the lamp, you can see rin from where he stands, and you can see the confusion in his eyes.

“uh… yeah,” you say.

“why are you still up?”

“i was thinking. why are you still up?”

“i…” rin hesitates for a second, “i wanted to check up on you.”

your heart flutters at his shy confession. “i’m fine, thank you.”

“you sure?”

“yeah.”

“why, are you not fine?”

no, he’s not. he wants you to come back to bed, he wants you to reassure him that the two of you will still be okay, he wants you.

“no,” lies rin. “i’m okay.”

the soccer player regrets his words instantly. 

“that’s good. i’m gonna sleep now and you should too, you have a big day tomorrow.”

but rin can’t sleep. not without you beside him because otherwise, the bed is too vacant and too chilly and reminds him of the life he used to live too much.

and he’s scared that he’ll have to go back to living like that if you’re not there beside him, petrified that you’ll leave in the middle of the night because you’ve realised that he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you. 

instead of confessing that, the dark-haired merely sighs, the words lodging themselves in his throat. “okay. i’m off.”

you reach over to turn off the lamp, engulfing the room in darkness with a single click. “goodnight, rin.”

“i love you,” rin confesses, but it’s too quiet and too breathy for you to hear, so there’s no response. he hopes you know.

so, he retreats back into the barren wasteland that is your shared bedroom. he misses you. he reaches over to your side in hopes of being to feel some remnants of comfort.

30 minutes later, rin wakes again after weaving in and out of consciousness and he’s sick of it. it’s 1:10am and he only has five hours until he needs to get up. decisively, he throws the cover off of him and makes his way to the living room, intent on this trip being his last one. 

it’s dark in the living room and rin can’t find it in him to turn on a light and disturb your slumber, so after adjusting to the dark and mindlessly patting around, he eventually threads his arms underneath you. he lifts you up so effortlessly, driven by determination and love as he walks to familiar path back to your shared bedroom.

he settles you down gently and the last thing rin remembers before drifting off is the warming feeling of content as he pulls you into his arms. 

the following morning, you rouse to the sound of a blaring alarm; the one rin always uses because otherwise gentle alarms won’t coax him successfully. your lover shuffles beside you, shutting the clock off with a groan before wrapping an arm around you again, pulling you into his warmth.

wait.

you raise yourself up onto your elbows, dazed and confused. weren’t you meant to be on the couch?

“don’t go,” rin murmurs, snaking his arm up to wrap your shoulders instead, gently guiding you down to the mattress, “sleep.”

“how did i get here?” you ask and rin stiffens before pulling you in to his chest. “rin, i’m being serious.”

“you were always here.”

“don’t lie to me.”

“i’m not lying, so let’s sleep.”

you’re sick of his shit. “itoshi rin, i swear to-”

“i carried you back here, now shut up. i only have 10 minutes before i have to get up and get ready.” 

“i think i’ll go back to the couch, actually,” you say jokingly.

“not funny.”

“i think it’s plenty funny.”

he frowns, wrapping himself around you even tighter. you don’t hug him back, but you’re here and that’s all that matters to rin. you didn’t leave like he thought you would. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, “for last night. i didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“it’s okay, rin, we can talk about it later.” 

“we’re okay right?” 

“of course.”

“you… you won’t leave. right?”

“i would never. why would you think i would?” 

“just being stupid, i guess.”

“better you than me.”

he huffs, letting the conversation die to silence.

you speak up again, “i love you.” 

rin feels a weight lift off his shoulders. he can breathe again.

“i love you more.” 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[sweetnans]

Bakugo x reader. Established relationships, roast/goofy with each other. Fluff? Idk

Note: Please pardon if I misspelled something, english is not my first language ♡ Enjoy whatever this is :)

It was your favorite time of the day, finally bedtime. The best part of it was that Bakugo finished early at work-like he never does- so it'll be the two of you instead of only you in bed.

After a good meal that he made himself, the two of you went straight to the bathroom of your shared bedroom and started to prepare for bed.

"The floor is cold" You tip toed from the cold tile of the bathroom to your side of the bed.

He only hums in response.

Once you were under the sheets of the bed and curled up against you boyfriend is when started.

"Please, don't put your hand above my belly" you asked shutting your eyes, ready to catch sleep.

"Why's that?" He responded, his voice clearly off because of your comment.

"I'm about to piss myself"

He grunted. Same thing all nights.

"No fucking way we're doing this again, go back"

"I don't want to, its cold outside"

"I'm not waking up in the middle of the night soaking wet for your childish manners"

"Fine"

You ran to the bathroom. Winter in Japan was the worst, he could back you up in that but not this time when his comfort was part of the game.

In your way back to your bed you saw him sit up straight leaned against  the bed frame with the biggest scold you've ever seen.

"What?" You asked completely quiet in your place. Being cold is a mental state after all.

"What are you wearing?" He even turned the light on to see clearly who's face was on your t-shirt.

"Oh, this?" You pointed straight to Midoriya's face. "It came to my office today in the mail, the fabric felt nice in my fingers so I concluded that it must feel nice to sleep on it...you like it? do you want one? I could definitely do that for you" You teased. His face showed exactly the otherwise.

"I hate it, take it off" He turned off the light and put himself back on the bed.

"You wish" you snorted. His commands were nothing to you. "Besides, you love having us, me and Deku, in your bed"

"Tch, I don't know which one of you I hate more"

When you were done and once again in the bed he started to move his body against your back.

"Put your feet between my legs if you're cold" He mumbled out.

"Nope. You rubbed your feet against mine last time and it felt weird.

"Jesus fucking christ, you're terrible" He grunted obviously annoyed, it made you giggle.

After a while when you started to believe that he was asleep, he started to rub his nose against your hair.

"Did you use my hair products?" He asked.

"No" It was a weird question but you were practically usted to it, 5 years into the relationship took out the best of Katsuki even the bad parts.

"Good"

"You're such an only child" you removed yourself from his arms. "Selfish bastard" You joked.

"I'm smelling myself all day so when I come home I expect to smell you and smell something different than myself...I like your smell"

"You're right" You let him win because you were tired. He envolved his arms around your body and you started to draw imaginary patterns in his hands. "Why am I dating such a loser?" You mumble loud enough so he can hear you hoping that you could get under his skin.

"Why did I marry you in the first place?"

You furrowed your brows knitting them together over your nose.

"We are not married" Not that you care.

He hummed in positive.

"And I'm not a loser".

You can't help but laugh. You made it. You got under his skin.

[iliektehhaxs]

Cockwarming with the MK1 boys

Kuai Liang

Cockwarming? Never heard of it.

You have to explain it before the visual clicks in his head, and it’s only then you see him nod in agreement.

Surprisingly receptive to the idea, it doesn’t take him much convincing. He enjoys the idea of close intimacy.

When would you like to start?

“Now? If you say so, little bird.”

There’s a peace that blooms in him, despite the salacious position you’re in. Hands rubbing into your bare back, nose buried into your neck as he inhales your scent, the hitch in your breath as you adjust yourself on his length.

It would be relaxing, if the feeling of your pussy wasn’t currently driving him up a wall. Everything is heightened this way, every breath making you clench against him, every movement making him shudder in bliss, a repetitive loop of sensations that keep the both of you trapped in each other’s embrace.

You move, he follows. You whimper, and he tastes the sounds on his tongue. You stay like that until you fall asleep, where he wakes up and the first thing he feels is the warmth of your cunt.

Bi-Han

Confusion is painted on his face when you tell him your idea.

Eyebrows raised, he didn’t know you to be the type to be so forward, surprised at just how eager you were.

“Hm, seems simple enough.”

At first he didn’t understand the appeal—if you wanted to have sex he could easily hold you hostage to the bed.

But fine, he would indulge you.

As it turned out you are far more creative than he gives you credit for. He might enjoy this newfound position more than he thought.

Every time you squirm, it’s another slap to your ass. The sound rings loudly in your ears, the clash of skin only dwarfed by your whimpering.

“Bi-Han, please—“ you beg, arms wrapped around his neck, scared to move anymore in fear of your husband’s wrath. “Just a little bit, I need more—“

Another hand comes down on your backside. You jump in response, then shiver when Bi-Han’s cold hands soothe the aching flesh.

“You decided the rules darling, no moving.”

You almost want to argue, but the look in his eyes freezes you in place. You’re forced to obey, shaking with anticipation for the moment Bi-Han finds you ready and fucks you like you need.

Tomas

“You want to what?”

Poor Tomas, his face turns a shade of red you’ve never seen before. He has to ask you to repeat yourself to make sure he heard you correctly.

When you do he becomes even more flustered, but it does spark a certain…curiosity.

He’s open to anything when it comes to you, and he would be a liar if he said otherwise.

As sweet as Tomas can be, it’s like he’s a different person when you’re like this—possessive, greedy even. He holds you by your ass and refuses to let go, kissing at your face when you shudder at the feeling of his cock inside you.

So big, so fucking full.

“Is this what you had in mind?” He grunts, barely stopping his hips from forcing you to bounce on his length. You can see it in his eyes, the barely-held back urge to dig his fingers into your skin and fuck you like he wants to, it’s only your pleas that keep him complacent for the time being.

You see shades of the sweet man you’ve come to love, almost overshadowed by the lust that pools in his very being. He wants to cum so bad, but more than that he wants to be good for you.

Johnny Cage

“You’re not kidding right? Please tell me it isn’t April.”

He’s over the moon, he’s actually thought about it before but was worried you wouldn’t be up for it.

But hearing you ask for it? You’ve given him far too much freedom, and you might regret that in the future.

Safe to say that it becomes his new favorite pastime.

Johnny was the one who invited you over in the first place, something about “needing to focus on his newest script.” A very obvious lie, but you suppose that hindsight is 20/20, especially where your boyfriend is concerned.

Instead of focusing on memorizing his lines, he instead memorizes what makes you tick, what buttons he has to press before you’ve become a writhing mess in his arms, how far you fall on his cock before your legs start shaking.

“Can’t help it baby,” he says, rutting into you softly. “You’re just feel too damn good.”

You almost want to beg him to fuck you, but you know him better than anyone—if Johnny says he’s going to keep you on his lap, he means it. So even if he’s barely focused on the script in his hands, you can be sure as hell you’re going to be sat on his cock until he’s had his fun.

Kenshi Takahashi

He laughs a bit, entertained at the thought.

You, sat pretty in his lap? It makes his heart beat faster.

He asks if you know what you’re getting yourself into, asking him a question like that, but your excited nod is enough of an answer for him.

“Okay then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Kenshi feels the heat that spreads through your body, a benefit of losing his sight. He knows all your weak points, his heightened senses aware of every reaction you have to his touch.

He knows you better than you know yourself, even without sento he knows how desperate you are to move.

“This is what you wanted, right?”

He coos in your ear, tattooed hands rubbing circle against your shaking hips, a gentle squeeze reminding you to keep still. You nod in reply, but it doesn’t stop the soft noises leaving your lips.

Raiden

Turns into a shade of pink you didn’t know existed

Lost for words, it takes him a moment to register what you’ve said before responding

“Well, if you’re interested, I wouldn’t mind…”

Poor man, he doesn’t know how to express himself, but he is very on-board!

He tries his best, really he does, but how exactly is he supposed to stay still when you pulse around him so deliciously?

He knows he’s supposed to enjoy this, but being unable to move is driving him up a wall. You have to scold him like a child every time his hips try to move higher.

He stares at the ceiling, head tilted backwards in an attempt to calm down his racing heartbeat, afraid that even the sight of you will make him lose control. In, out, his breathing is labored, your voice doing nothing to quell his urges.

“Relax baby,” you say, running your fingers through his hair. “We still have the rest of the night.”

Kung Lao

You’ve never seen him smile that wide before.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

If you didn’t ask him, he would’ve. He’s just glad you saved him the effort.

The moment you two walk into the bedroom he’s pawing at your pants. He’s impatient, and can you blame him?

“Kung Lao, calm down!”

You try to plead with your boyfriend, but it goes in one ear and out the other. What was meant to be a relaxing past time is now a struggle to keep his wandering hands to himself.

“Come on, don’t you want me to touch you?” He teases. His lips find their way to your nipple, lapping at the pebbled nub while his fingers slide between the two of you.

“This wasn’t the plan,” you whine in response, unknowingly pressing yourself into his greedy fingers. “I wanted us to enjoy this…”

“And we will,” he promises, circling your clit with a twinkle in his eye. “Just want you to feel as good as possible baby.”

Liu Kang

He’s heard of the act before, but never really gave it any thought.

“You sound like you’ve thought about this often, darling.”

He can’t help but tease you a bit, but he’s completely in agreement.

When he has a moment of free time he invites you to sit on his lap, grinning when his fingers dance across your skin.

For a god, Liu Kang sure can be a tease.

In his private quarters he keeps you close to him, one of the rare moments where he has no obligations and can simply enjoy himself. You thought this would be a perfect time to act on your little suggestion, and he thought the same.

Where you erred however, is misjudging a god’s patience.

Two hours ago you eagerly stripped for your husband, and in those two hours you’ve been left teetering on the edge, every time you close your eyes for a moments peace Liu Kang finds it fit to let his fingers remind you of where you are.

A repetitive cycle with no end in sight.

Your clit throbs with an incessant need, but you’re unable to do anything except take what he gives.

Syzoth

Beg your pardon?

You literally see his pupils dilate at the thought

“Really? Are you sure?”

He has his own misgivings about the idea, still ashamed of his ancestry as a Zaterran. It took him a while to become intimate with you but this…

You assure him that this is something you want, and he eventually agrees.

You gently coax Syzoth onto the bed, making your hips flush with his. You can see the doubt begin to flood his mind, until you drag his hands from the bed and onto your body.

“There’s no rush baby,” you murmur, resting your head on his chest. “Let’s just stay like this, hm?”

You hear his heartbeat return to its natural rhythm, his hands slowly brushing against your spine. Tentative, testing the waters, as if you’d shatter if he held you too tight. As the minutes pass he becomes more comfortable with your position, the feeling of your warmth enveloping him.

“I admit, there is something very peaceful about this…” he hums. You make a noise in agreement.

[russellsppttemplates]

Hi there, I hope you’re feeling better 🫶🏻🤍

I don’t know if you are taking requests but can you write a one shot where Charles is dating Y/N and she decides to do that tiktok prank where she serves a lot of food on his plate but only serves herself a little bit and she pretends there wasn’t enough food for the both of them? I think it would be hilarious, thank you!

Note: It hasn't been so bad, thank you for asking! Hopefully, you're good too! 🫶 until I say otherwise, my requests are always open and you can send things in anytime you want!

"Charles! Dinner is ready!", you called from the dining table, setting both bowls of pasta down. The one you set for Charles was as full as you could have it, piling the pasta shapes on it like an engineer.

"I'm here, I'm here", he called, encouraging Leo to walk with him and hop onto his bed by your feet, "did you forget your bowl, amour?", he asked once he saw the other bowl which was less than a fourth of the way full.

"Whose bowl do you think this is?", you chuckled.

"Leo's - although I think we should put some more chicken for him so it's not just pasta", Charles said as he was about to get up.

"Oh, that won't be able to happen - we have no more food", you blurted out, "and this my bowl - Leo already had his chicken while I was cooking this, didn't you, buddy?", you cooed, "eat your food, amour, it will get cold".

Charles didn't understand, "you're only eating that? Are you sick? Do you want me to make you something else?", he wondered.

"I thought we had more pasta than we needed, so I gave some to Leo - he thought it was delicious, by the way -, and when I noticed it, this was all we had left", you explained, "but it's fine, I'm not hungry anyway".

Now, the amount of pasta you'd have to have fed Leo to end up in this situation was far bigger than anything you could ever possibly do, so your boyfriend grew suspicious, "love, Leo's tummy is so tiny, he can't eat much, and I can share mine with you, I'm a good boyfriend like tha- oh! This is a prank, isn't it?", Charles groaned.

"I got the idea from Arthur - he sent it to me and said he would like to know what you did!", you hugged Charles, hands going around his neck and stroking his chest while you nuzzled your face on his neck.

"For a minute I was thinking the dog was going to explode - even though you're always the one making sure he's eating right!", Charles chuckled, kissing your hands.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[hunterwritings]

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 | 𝐛𝐢-𝐡𝐚𝐧

request: "what would your take on bihan as a gentle partner ? i feel he's been trapped in the mean character = dom box whereas i think his values of dedication would make him far kinder to a partner, of course you can ignore this otherwise !" warnings: none notes: I will die on this hill

Although he has a cold exterior, Bi-han's morals and values actually do make him an extremely attentive partner.

He is a traditional man with the principle that he must protect his partner at all costs. He can seem 'possessive' but in reality it is just him being protective. Bi-han has a deep fear of losing what is close to him, so he will go to great measures to ensure that will never happen.

His partner will never lift a finger when he is around, he is always going out of his way to provide for them. Bi-han isn't good a expressing his emotions through words, he much prefers performing actions for his partner. Even if it is something as simple as cooking dinner, cleaning up a bit or even just carrying something small.

I also fully believe that once he finds a partner and falls in love with them, he full on worships them. Everything they do is a work of art and will defend their every action with his full chest. If anyone dare say anything bad about you/your opinion, he's ready to not only argue their heads off, he will fight them. This man is prepared to go to war for his partner.

He does have a short temper, so sometimes he will get frustrated easily. But he would never yell at his partner. Sometimes he will jokingly call them names or roll his eyes at them in the early days of a relationship, but as the bond continues further he would even have the thought of saying something like that to his partner in seriousness. In fact, his partner is something that would be able to calm him down. Whenever he realizes that he is losing his temper, he will seek out his partner and feel instant relief once they begin to reassure him that everything is fine.

He is touch-starved, but he would never show that in public. He has a high opinion of himself and knows that the people around him do as well. Not really into PDA, really the only time he would initiate some kind of physical touch in public is to grip your hand tightly when he is stressed; or it would be a way of you grabbing ahold of his hand to let others know that you were with him. When you two are alone, he seems like a different person. For example, when you two are going to sleep, he is all over his partner. His large arms will wrap around them, both to ensure that they feel safe and protected and so that he can feel that you are next to him and aren't leaving anytime soon. You will grip the outside of his hand tightly and interlace fingers as you hold it over your chest. Bi-han will press his forehead against your bare back as he lets out a deep sigh. Even though he prefers waking up early, sometimes he will be begging you to stay in bed so he could just hold you for a little while longer.

[just-another-author-i-guess]

so like, I don't know the extent of what you write, but if you're ok with it, smutty/spicy head canons for Marshall x Reader? or, alternatively, if you don't write that stuff, first date HC? 💛

Anything for you <3 I’ve been wanting to make a smut for him for soooo long so dw about it

Tags: fem! Reader, smut, obviously, blood, general vampire stuff?, semi-public sex, also they do it unprotected, don’t do that irl pls, Marshall has a big dick 😊✋, this is not nearly as bad as my Judd smuts dw, I wanted to write minors dni but who am I kidding they’re gonna read this anyways 🧍🏻

Summary: idk, porn?

Author’s note: I have returned! Ngl I’ve been thinking of this request for so long, I was so giddy to write it lol 🤭🤭 I hope it’s okay, I feel like I need to work more with Marshall as a character lol but nonetheless I really enjoyed writing this. Eat up, children!

Marshall smut headcannons

Word count; 2,6K

Smut under the cut!

He is SUCH a tease, omg 

Will tease you for hours, days if he’s in the right mood for it 

(which is most of the time, because he’s a little shit) 

He will act so coy about it as well; getting you to the brim of an orgasm MULTIPLE times or touching you in a way that he knows will turn you on and then just,,, get up and leave 

Oh, just a moment ago he was grinding you on his thigh and whispering the lewdest of lewd things into your ear? Too bad, now he’s up and going to get ice cream from the mart 

He loves to tease you in public too, more than anything in fact 

You’re drinking tea with Prince Gumball? Marshall got bored and thought it was funny to shove his hand under your skirt and into your panties, only to loudly point out how flustered you are 

Would go; “Oh, jeez. Y/n you don’t look so fresh, you okay there, babe?” 

If his cold fingers gently rubbing your clit didn’t feel so damn good, you’d definitely have kicked him 

Instead, though, you clasp a hand over your mouth and nod vigorously 

“Y-yes! Marshall, I’m just fine. Thanks,” You’d grit out, but the rest of your audience would find it hard to believe 

Gumball, bless the man, would insist you lay down for a while and grant you a guest room in the castle 

Bingo. Marshall’s plan fell through exactly how he wanted it to 

The Prince would quickly find out you’re fine, though, when the both of you return like 20 minutes later with mussed hair and you sporting a few bite marks that definitely weren’t present before 

Gumball would scold Marshall more than you, calling him something along the lines of “a hungry wild beast” while just telling you he thought you were better at controlling your urges lmfao 

Marshall is definitely quite the exhibitionist, however 

The two of you have fucked everywhere, all places in Aaa you could think off 

Unfortunately for Gumball, that means his castle has been subject to this quite a lot since he’s got A TON of secret rooms 

Marshall is more respectful at Fionna and Cake’s house though, he only convinced you to do it so much at the Candy Kingdom because he likes pissing Gumball off 

But on the topic of Marshall’s exhibitionism, he really likes getting you to be loud too 

It’s almost like he wants to be caught 😀✋

He’ll drag you around a corner or to the bathroom of a dingy bar or something and make you scream louder than you ever have in your life 

This is not so much a problem in the Nightosphere (yes, you have fucked there too) because I imagine there’s a lot of screaming sounds going on there anyways 

And either way, no one would dare disturb their Prince in his,, private activities 

He’d also really like to drink your blood while fucking 

Usually, he barely asks for it, only if he’s very sick or wounded because otherwise he just drinks the color of red 

But when he’s buried inside you and your nails are scratching up his back, he feels just that tad bit more animalistic 

Sometimes he won’t even ask ): 

Only because he knows you know he would never genuinely hurt you 

But if he’s already kissing and lapping at your neck, it’s soooo hard not to go that extra mile and sink his teeth in 

And your blood is heavenly to him 

Much better than drinking colours all the time fr

Ngl, your period would be love making season for him 

Sometimes, just the faintest smell of your blood is enough to get him sporting a boner 

But when it’s coming from you so steadily and from a place he already loves burying his face and nose in? Man’s a goner 

Please just,,, let him eat you out 🙏

He doesn’t even understand how you could find it gross, when it’s literally free blood he can drink from you without puncturing your skin 

He also LOVES making you cum, and get that taste of your blood mixed with cum.. mmm delicious 🤭🤭

Honestly, he kinda acts like he’s in heat on the week of your period 

But yk, orgasms makes the cramps go away, or so they say 

So take it like a champ lol 

He’ll fuck you in his bed, mostly 

His couch is kinda stuffy and hard bc he never uses it, only you and sometimes your friends when they come over does 

His bed is also nice and large, very good for violent vampire sex 

But let me present to you, an even better option; his bed in the Nightosphere 

Idc his mom tries ok, and has a bedroom set up for him there 

And it’s decorated very posh and such, but the bed is even better for a good round of fucking 

No okay but he rarely takes you there because when he does his mom is bugging the two of you for grandkids so hard— 

I’m honestly not sure if it’s even physically possible, but hey, his mom just wants a cute little grand baby 🫶🫶

Anyways 

As I stated before, Marshall is a man who thoroughly enjoys foreplay 

He’ll have you writhing and gasping before even filling you with his dick; 

His head was hung low, eyes focused on the spot where your bare pussy was dragging against the denim of his jeans. He tensed his thigh, corners of his mouth quirking up as he caught sound of your breath hitching.

You sniffled, softly whining his name and trying to rut yourself faster against him.

He looked up fully, fangs escaping his complacent smile and gently resting on his lower lip 

“Wow. You’re so greedy, baby,” He ‘tsked’, playfully scolding you. 

His hands kept their iron grip on your hips, rocking you back and forth slowly and dictating exactly how much pressure you got to feel on your throbbing clit each time 

You tried to glare at him, but then suddenly he was bouncing his leg and your glare became a sultry pout as you cried out for him 

Unusually, you were sitting on his couch this time around 

He had started by tricking you into watching a movie, clearly with other intentions in mind, but you fell right into his trap and happily obliged when he pulled you to his lap 

Cold breath ghosted over your neck as he had slowly inched his fingers into your sleeping shorts, edging you until you were completely cross eyed and just about to cum only to pull away and situate you on his thigh instead 

He had turned you around to face him, so he could observe your pitiful expressions as he kept giving you more but never enough 

He thoroughly enjoyed it, and now you had been subject to his cruel torture for nearly two hours 

He continued bouncing you, leaning in to get a long sniff of your neck 

You felt his long, wet tongue lap up and down right in the crook of your neck and his already tight grip on your hips became bruising 

He groaned softly, fangs lightly scraping your soft skin 

“Not fair,” he slurred. “You smell so fucking good.” 

You pushed yourself more into him, hands moving from his shoulders to the back of his head to cradle him against your neck 

With your fingers gently treading through his black hair, you barely managed to whisper; “T-take what you need, then.” 

Well aware that Marshall had now also fallen for his own trap, he complied easily 

He lifted you slightly with his arm around your waist, settling you to now grind on the bulge in his pants instead as his two fangs pierced your skin 

The feeling of his straining, but clothed, cock against your core was enough to momentarily distract you from the warm pain and pinch of Marshall’s bite 

With one hand locked around your waist, the other came to the back of your head to angle you to his liking, leaving your lower half to its own devices 

Maybe he was right when calling you greedy, because you instantly took the opportunity to sit down on his crotch 

His clothed dick spread your folds slightly, the zipper of his pants pressing on your clit and you moaned loudly— finally getting enough stimulation 

Marshall’s pupils were blown wide as he lapped up your blood, clutching you to him as tightly as he could without breaking your back as he started rutting his own ups up into you 

If felt heavenly, you quickly got used to his fangs in your skin and the full throb became somewhat of a pleasant ache in your neck 

Too caught up in his meal, he barely noticed when you came all over his pants, slick coating your inner thighs and now spilling over his crotch as well 

You whined loudly as you came, panting out a never ending mantra of your boyfriends name and shuddering all over from the intense fell of it all 

You clawed at his scalp, desperate for some kind of stability as you finally came down a bit 

However, Marshall was still rutting into you, with no intention of stopping, keeping the fire in your belly raging even though you just came 

When he finally managed to pull away from your neck, lower face and cheeks smeared with blood, he wasted no time unbuckling his jeans 

You cried out in relief when he lifted you again, lining you up with his long, pale cock, completely stiff and leaking 

The drunkenly satisfied meal that escaped you when he finally nudged into you was music to his ears

After hours of waiting, you ached to feel him stretching your walls 

He shuddered at the feeling, too, your gummy walls always fit him so snuggly he was surprised he could even fit inside

Your previous orgasm along with the drawn out teasing had made you beyond sensitive, your head was spinning, mouth parting in delirious moans as you finally, finally felt the fullness of his dick inside you 

He hissed when you gently rocked yourself against him, walls fluttering around his cock. “Easy there,” he breathed, mouth returning to that smug smile he bore before, this time coated in blood. “Aren’t you gonna be a good girl?” 

You whined helplessly, hugging him to you and burrowing your face in the crook of his neck 

He felt you nod against him in confirmation, gently licking at his skin and biting at his shirt to keep yourself sane 

He leaned back on the couch, cradling you to his chest and starting a slow and torturous pace of his hips 

You moaned each time he buckled upwards, meeting his thrust with a desperate one of your own 

He breathed out a laugh. “You’re so goddamn wet, it’s all over my pants, sweetheart.” He commented condescendingly, nuzzling your hair with his bloodied face 

It got in your hair, it was also still leaking from your neck but you didn’t care 

All you could manage was a small huff in response against Marshall’s collarbone, clutching his T-shirt in your hands 

His statement was true, though 

You were absolutely leaking on his cock, it dribbled down his shaft, creating a small puddle underneath you on his pants and the couch 

Gently, you lifted your head to mouth at his neck, then his jaw 

“More.” You muttered, your voice cracked slightly and it came as a whisper, but you knew Marshall’s supernatural senses would pick up on it anyways 

He cackled in response. “You can handle more?”

Vigorously you nodded and before you could even register it, Marshall had you on your back on the couch 

You looked up at him hazily, fingers trailing the few marks you had left on his neck, all of which was already beginning to heal 

He leaned down to kiss you as he started pounding into you, making the couch shake and knock against the table besides it with each movement 

He hoisted your leg up, bringing the left one over his shoulder and dove into you deeper, enough to make you feel him all the way in your lower belly 

When he was done kissing you, leaving you breathless and your lips swollen, he nosed down your neck until he found his bite marks and resumed his feasting 

You tightened and fluttered around him, flailing as the liquid flames in your belly grew until they became almost unbearable 

You tried pleading with Marshall, but all that came out of your mouth was incoherent mewls of his name or loud moans 

He was close too, you could tell by the way he was clutching you, his demon-like nails had grown and was leaving small cuts and indents where he was holding you 

He groaned into you, deeply and animalistic and it vibrated through your whole body in the most pleasant of tingling sensations 

That was enough to tip you over the edge, and without warning you creamed on his dick, walls fluttering and constricting so tightly around him he almost found it hard to pull back out

He took a sharp intake of air, departing from your neck for only a moment to glance down and watch the way your pussy was milking him 

He moaned a little at the sight, licking his lips and picking up speed

You could only just lay there as his thrust became inhumane, you knew he was holding back when you two fucked, but it never failed to surprise you when he took use of some of his actual strength 

Something in the sofa cracked, the sound of wood splitting barely reaching your sex-drunk mind as Marshall fucked you rough and fast 

His own thrusts became somewhat sloppy as he used you to chase his end, he watched your face intently, eyebrows knitted in concentration 

When you finally opened your eyes, locking eyes with him and presenting him with the most fucked-out expression he had ever seen you hold, he came 

He didn’t bother to pull out, instead he held your hips tightly to his, releasing his load inside you 

You softly sighed in delight, body numb and heavy 

It took a while for him to pull out, but when he finally did, he went straight to nuzzling into you again 

He hugged you closely, supporting you against his chest as he sat up, lifted his hips and pulled his pants back up 

Marshall is surprisingly good at aftercare, I mean, after all that teasing he better be treating you right after 

He’s always very cuddly, and makes sure to clean you up properly after

He starts with you always, his own needs come in seconds after he’s done with you 

He’s looking at you all lovestruck and starry eyed too, with a goofy lil smile on his face, adorable 

He tugs you against him, preferably in his bed, and helps you clean up the puncture wounds with his tongue and a wet towel 

Awe, he’s so cute (,: 

He just wants to make you feel loved 🥰🥰

Especially cause he knows humans are not build for the kinda sex he’s build for, he’s always a bit scared he’s breached your limits too much or exhausted too much 

And I mean, yes, he has, but you thoroughly enjoy it so.. 

No okay I know I just said he’s soft in the post-but clarity, but sometimes he can also be a teasing little shit 

Depending on how loud he made you moan or how much he got you to embarrass yourself 

In the instance above, he’s pretty soft, but don’t be fooled, man’s is a demon after all 🫢

He’s so hot pls 🥲✋

He’s been needing his own smut for so long too oml,,, I hope you enjoyed it.

Sorry this is also not as fluffy as a first date thing would be, but if it’s something y’all want I could write something about that too. Thanks for the read! 🙏

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

the five stages | f. odair

masterlist

summary: a journey back to a golden period of time of polaroid pictures, white knitted sweaters, and lively sea-green eyes. why? because in the present, those same pair of eyes are ruthlessly unrelenting and you have no other chance of their escape.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: heavy angst, vomiting, implied smut, depression, maggots, hallucinations, relieving fluff, mild horror. I don’t want to spoil the story too much, so I won’t be adding any more warnings, sorry y’all. this could be very triggering so please read at your own discretion. some descriptions are quite graphic!

notes: I’m super proud of this one—it’s sorta based off “little talks” by of monsters and men and “on the nature of daylight” by max richer. this fic probably won’t get many views, so I’ll be incredibly grateful for any—if any at all—type of engagement! <33

word count: 8k

The bedroom was cold; dark; empty. Empty even though I still resided in it.

My alarm had gone off two hours ago, yet I hadn’t moved an inch. When I finally turned my head to the side, I found that the space beside me was vacant. Cold; dark; empty—I reached out my hand anyway.

Thirty minutes passed before I wrestled myself out of bed and started making breakfast downstairs. The otherwise warm and flavourful plate of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast left my mouth feeling dry and my throat lodged.

It used to be one of my favourite meals. At least, when he was around.

Dishes were piled in the sink, dirty and untouched. I sat on the couch, pondering whether today was the day I would finally get to cleaning them. It wasn’t. I couldn’t. We always did that together. I wondered—if I left them in the sink long enough, would he return? Even just for five minutes to help me put them away? One month and seventeen days had passed, and yet I still entertained this thought religiously.

I wasted an hour running circles round the same contemplations before deciding fresh air, as cliché as it was, might do me some good.

Grey clouds concealed the sun’s warm golden light when I stepped outside, but that was fine—I didn’t like anything golden anymore. But he would want me to leave the house at least once a day, so that’s what I would do. I would go down to the beach beside our—my house and feel the sand collect between my toes as I walked to the water’s edge.

But wasn’t that where he was when it happened? Wasn’t he in water? Didn’t those things pile on top of him? Didn’t they sink their fangs into his neck and tear at his flesh until he was blown to…

Bits of egg, yoghurt and stomach bile sat at my feet. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the ground in a sandy, tear-stricken heap. Since my lower body had refused to cooperate any longer, it took me until midday to crawl back up the dune and to my front doorstep.

Fuck. I needed to rest.

“I need you to rest, sweetheart.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I whined. “I’m not sick.”

Finnick placed a bucket on the ground beside the bed. The room smelled of lemon disinfectant—a joy I often found in being sick… That is, if I were sick, which I was not. I must have drunk spoiled milk or eaten something bad during breakfast. Nevertheless, Finnick was not having it.

“You’re throwing up everything you manage to get down, and you’re shivering like it’s the middle of winter,” he said adamantly, tucking the comforter up to my chest. “It’s summer, and you’re very much not fine.”

I sat up, ready to heatedly debate the subject, but the room began swirling, and my ears were hissing like a staticky television channel without a signal. A quiet whimper buzzed in my throat as I hunched forward. Damn him, I was sick.

The mattress dipped as Finnick sat beside me. His hand was on my back, rubbing it soothingly as he used his other hand to tuck away the curtain of hair concealing my face. I huffed, half in annoyance, half in an attempt to suppress the nausea rising in my throat, and then sunk back against the pillows.

“Not sick, she says,” he jested, smiling down at me. I rolled my eyes, though unable to hide the weak, betraying smile creeping across my lips. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he said, a gentle command. “I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

The wooden flooring welcomed me with hard, cold arms as I hauled my sandy body through the front door. Images of fangs, bloody flesh, and panicked sea-green eyes flooded my mind.

More breakfast, more bile. No lemon disinfectant.

My knees were folded beneath my body; my body was hunched over my knees. I was sobbing now, so hard that I threw up again (was there even anything left in my stomach at this point?), creating a thick puddle of vomit and tears beneath me. Cries and gasps for air bounced around the house. To call me a mess would be an understatement. I was a disaster. A disaster wrapped up in an unmendable tragedy with a ragged, threadbare ribbon barely holding me together.

And in case I wasn’t aware of this fact, the floorboards were so shiny that they mirrored a reflection of myself. My hair was a being of its own, all wild and unkempt, and my face was another story entirely—a red, blotchy thing I wasn’t too interested in delving into.

But the most unsettling aspect had nothing to do with me, it was that there was someone else in the reflection. Two green balls of light were glowing above my head.

Dishevelled golden hair…

Dimpled cheeks…

My forehead was pressed to the floor as I screamed.

“I don’t want to make you sick as well,” I said, contrarily enjoying the feeling of Finnick’s skin warm against mine, hot blood flowing through his veins.

A day had passed since I first became unwell, and the sickness had continued to wreak havoc inside me.

We were both under the thick covers, our limbs tangled together as he held me atop his chest. (my body didn’t register the scorching summer temperatures. I actually felt as though my core temperature was a few degrees below freezing. Meanwhile, Finnick was characteristically toasty warm. It was perfect for me, but not so much for him, evident in the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Nevertheless, he made no complaints).

My body rose and fell with each breath he took. I was trying to inhale whenever he exhaled in a weak attempt to prevent the festering sickness in my body from entering his, and though it was a futile gesture, I did it anyway.

“In sickness and health, remember?” he said.

I smiled. “We’re not even married.”

“Yet, you mean,” he countered. “I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, sweetheart. You know that.”

My heart fluttered at the thought of spending an entire lifetime with him—waking up in each other’s embrace each morning, the warm sunlight peeking through the blinds of our bedroom; Finnick calling me “Mrs. Odair” or “My wife” at every opportunity because doing so made us both giggle like two moronic, love-struck teenagers; and being unable to prevent the deep smile lines on both our cheeks as we age, a constant display of our perpetual happiness.

“Sixty more years of having and holding you,” he continued with a gentle musing in his tone. “For better or for worse... For richer or for poorer.” He then stroked the side of my face and brushed away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to my forehead. “In sickness and in health…”

“…Until death do us part,” I finished, my voice slow with fatigue.

Two fingers sat beneath my chin and tilted my head upward. My eyes connected with Finnick’s. They were soft. Heartfelt.

“Not even then. I’ll love you beyond the grave,” he murmured. Then his lips were slowly curving into a pensive smile. “When we’re both ghosts and haunting the next owners of this house.”

I was now smiling, too. “I’d hoped you would say something like that.”

How could he lie like that? There was no we. There were no next owners. There was only me, alive and alone in a comatose house. And mind you, I was sane enough to know that it wasn’t actually his ghost haunting me, though I wish I weren’t because having that knowledge was even worse. It meant he was truly erased from existence.

“Go away,” I whispered to the reflection on the floor.

He didn’t. His vacant green eyes kept staring down at my crumpled figure.

I shot off the floor and spun around, hot tears streaming down my face. “Go away!” His face remained expressionless. He looked like himself, only colder. “You said sixty more years! You said we’d be together!” I mindlessly picked up and flung a small picture frame at him, only for it to pass through his body and shatter on the floor behind him. “Why did you lie to me?!” My voice was frayed with fury, though underlined with grief.

He said nothing, did nothing. All he did was watch.

My legs buckled, and I was on the floor again. I was whispering, half-sobbing, the same question over and over until the words slurred together. “Why’d you lie? Why’d y’lie?” The only time I stopped was when my tongue grew too heavy to move anymore.

To my surprise, he eventually came and sat beside me, remaining cold and silent—as I too had become.

Glass fragments from the picture frame were scattered across the floorboards. The photo within had fallen out and, ironically, drifted towards me. I didn’t bother acknowledging him as I moved onto my hands and knees and began crawling forward—my palms slicing open and blood seeping out—until the photo was in my hands. My shins had granules of glass pricking into them, but I couldn’t feel the pain; all I could do was stare at the memory in my hands.

The picture had been taken in District Thirteen, a day before he signed up for… the mission.

I was drifting in and out of sleep when a sudden bright flash lit up my eyelids.

“Oops.”

Heavy eyes fluttering open, I was met with a small camera pointing down at me, which was being held up by a lengthy muscular arm, which was connected to an even more muscular and broad shoulder, which was connected to—okay, sorry, I think you get it.

“Finnick!” I shrieked, pulling the covers over my naked figure.

He laughed, the vibrations rumbling deep within his chest, beneath my ear. A soft whirring sound accompanied the polaroid sliding out of the camera, its black film hiding the doubtless embarrassing picture beneath. He placed the film on the sheets beside him, letting the photo develop in darkness.

“I was supposed to cover the flash,” he said, still chuckling.

I rubbed my eyes, which were twinkling with little sparkles of light. “I think you blinded me.”

“Lucky you,” he jested. “You’re finally free from my repulsive exterior.”

I started to reach for the picture beside him—“You’re an idiot”—but then he was rolling us over until his arms were pillared on either side of my head and he was hovering above me.

His hair was a mess, a testament to the night before (and very early hours of the morning), and he was sporting a beautiful, lazy grin. “Yeah? Well, you’re engaged to an idiot,” he said, tilting his head in an arrogant manner. “So what does that make you?”

The sea-glass ring hugging my finger gleamed in the lamp’s dull light as I reached out to touch his face, my fingertips brushing along the edges of his pronounced jawline. Tangled strands of hair and a beaming smile were reflecting back at me in his eyes. No one had ever loved anyone as much as I loved Finnick—disregarding the one exception that was staring down at me.

“Blinded by love,” I whispered.

Brief yet poignant emotion trickled through his features, his eyes. Then, like a flick of a switch, he covered it up and lowered his face into my neck, groaning the words, “So corny.”

My fingers were tangled in his hair, holding him close to me. “Liar,” I laughed. “You loved it.”

“I love you, which is why I put up with your corniness,” he murmured into my skin.

Even after all this time, my heart still leapt whenever he said those three words, even when he was being a jerk about it. I kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

We laid like this for a short while longer—Finnick keeping his face buried in the warmth of my neck, his arms curled beneath my body; me playing with the golden waves of his hair that were somehow softer than my own. He was so heavy on top of me that it was starting to become difficult to breathe, but in no universe would I ever tell him to get off. It was a blissful sort of suffocation.

A sort anyone would snap a picture of just to keep as a reminder of how beautiful it feels to be smothered with love. With that being said, the picture that lay awaiting beside me was brought back to mind.

“Oh no,” I moaned, picking it up and taking a short glance at the developed photo. I covered my face with my hands, repeating the words, “Oh no.”

The photo was plucked from my fingers, and Finnick began humming contentedly to himself.

In the photo, my face had been nuzzled into his bare, muscular chest, eyes closed in sleep-drunken serenity, hair thrown over my shoulder and spilling across the pillow. My hand rested on his contoured stomach with just enough of my upper arm and low light to conceal my breasts. Finnick had a delicate hand draped over my waist. He was gazing down at me with a smile that was just… full of pure love.

I had to admit—it was a beautiful picture. Despite my initial disapproval.

“Beautiful,” I heard him echo my thoughts, his eyes still scanning the photo. Then his brows furrowed, and his head slightly inched forward as though he had just noticed something peculiar in the picture. “Oh, and you are too, I guess.”

My head tilted back against the pillow with an abrupt laugh. I shook my head, looking back at him. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning in closer.

His lips were on mine for what must have been the millionth time in the past few hours. The bedside clock announced that breakfast was soon approaching, though it was clear neither of us would make an appearance within the next hour (or two).

“You love me,” he whispered as he slid inside me.

And I did.

I really did.

The muscles in my cheeks were straining due to how hard I was smiling.

It wasn’t my idea to keep a picture of us half-naked in the entryway of our home. He always was a bit unusual like that. Completely unashamed of who he was and how he acted. Sometimes a little too boisterously, but that’s what I loved so much about him—how confident he was in his love for me, so much so that nothing else mattered, no one else’s opinion.

God, I love him so much.

Love…?

Wait.

That’s not right.

Shouldn’t it be “loved”?

And why was I smiling? I didn’t have anything to smile about anymore. He was gone. Our wedding never occurred. Our faces never wrinkled with smile lines. Our clasped hands never weathered with age. He was gone.

The polaroid slipped from between my fingers. My hands were covered in glass and blood, blood that had painted a dark red splotch in the middle of the shiny film. Figures.

After a short while of staring blankly at the scattered debris decorating the floor, I finally found it in myself to start climbing back onto my feet. My straightened legs wobbled and ached beneath me with the little energy I had. That’s what happens when you can barely stomach food anymore: no energy, always sleeping, always swamped by nightmares or bittersweet memories—at this point, they were one and the same.

Not a strand of gold or a fleck of green was in sight when I glanced over my shoulder. For now, at least. He liked making an appearance once or twice a day.

Pieces of glass crunched beneath my bare, stinging feet as I made for the stairwell. A mess for another day, I reasoned. Just like the dishes. Sticky red footprints stamped each wooden step I ascended, growing less prominent as I reached the second floor.

After taking a right down a short hallway, the encompassing walls littered with magnificent seashells and dried ocean flora, I turned the knob to the furthest room and entered. The floor was landscaped with mountains of clothes which drenched the room in a familiar, all-consuming smell. The scent kind of reminded me of receiving a warm hug, albeit from someone you know you should let go of in more ways than one.

His hair, golden and tousled, caught my eye as I passed the wall of string-hung polaroids in our… sorry, my bedroom. His smile was all dimpled and brilliant, and he had his tanned arms wrapped around my middle. Just moments after the picture was taken, he had tackled me into the water and rightfully earned a smack on the back of the head. In turn, he did it again.

But before that, we were both looking into the camera with the most joyful expressions—huge grins, bright eyes. Frozen in time.

I never let myself look too long at that picture anymore. And I never, ever looked into his eyes. Green used to be my favourite colour. I didn’t have a favourite colour anymore. It was safe to say I didn’t have a favourite anything anymore; everything favourable was a reminder of him.

I picked up a white knitted sweater off the ground and tugged it over my head, staining it with splotches of dark red. Knowing him, he would wear it regardless—whatever was mine, was also his, and was equally the same in reverse, even things as grotesque as blood.

Well, he would have worn it, I should have said.

The sweater had been specifically tailored for him. I remembered how the soft sleeves hugged his arms so well that every fluid curve of his biceps was visible, similar to a building wave before it crested. On me, the sleeves swallowed my arms whole, which I liked to think in their own unique way had also been unintentionally tailored for me, like someone out there knew one day I would need some way to drown in him when he was gone.

Finnick’s fingers tugged at the silk ribbons, unwrapping the opulent gift box that sat on our dining table. Capitol devotees would send extravagant parcels weekly, turning up in abundance on our doorstep. Sometimes Finnick didn’t even bother opening them; sometimes we opened them together just to get a good laugh out of whatever ridiculous item was inside.

He never, though, opened the perfume-scented letters marked with lipstick stains.

“Oh,” I said in surprise as he lifted the lid. Inside was a folded piece of fabric, knitted and cream-white and intricate, though still simple. It was soft to the touch; thick enough to retain warmth. I held it up with two hands, admiring the hand-sewed threads of cotton. Whoever’s handiwork this was, it was nothing to laugh at.

Holding it up to Finnick’s torso, I smiled and said, “Try it on.”

“What?” He shook his head and smiled quizzically. “No.”

“Yes. I think it will look good on you.” I pressed it further against him with conviction. “Try it on.”

He tilted his head and exhaled deeply through his nose, giving me a begrudging, squinty-eyed look. From that, I already knew I had won him over, and watched as he snatched the sweater from my grasp and tugged his shirt off with one hand. I averted my eyes, feeling the tips of my ears flush with heat—we’d been together for over a year now; you would think I’d have grown accustomed to seeing him shirtless.

His head slipped through the neckline and he pulled the sweater down his body. I was right. It looked really good on him. Perfect, actually. The measurements were so precise that the fabric sloped off his shoulders like a compact mountain of snow. The thick-knitted collar dipped into a deep, uneven neckline that partly revealed his chest and made his neck look like a strong, contoured pillar. He looked at me expectantly, as though to ask, “Well?”

“It makes your neck and shoulders look really nice,” I blurted out, instantly cringing inside.

His expression contorted into something of amusement and surprise as he took a slow step towards me. “My neck and shoulders, huh?” he said, grinning devilishly. Oh, now I’d done it. Leave it to me to rocket Finnick Odair’s already atmospheric ego. “Anything else?”

I began backing away, but his prowling strides were so long that the space between us only shortened. When my backside hit the edge of the dining table, I knew I was done for.

“You know,” I began, avoiding his unrelenting stare. “I think it was just a momentary lapse of judgement.” He was closing in now, placing his hands on either side of my body to trap me in place. “It—It actually looks terrible on you,” I said, feigning sincerity and adding a little nod to help further my case.

His eyelids drooped as he gazed down at me, lips curving into that seductive smirk he had mastered long ago. “No takebacks,” he purred, voice low and gravelly. Dear God, I could only pray I wasn’t going to melt into a puddle on the floor. He always did this—took every opportunity to flirt and render me a stuttering, bashful mess. It was his favourite game to play. “This is now my new favourite shirt. All thanks to you, sweetheart.”

But, given the right timing and ever-wavering amount of confidence, I liked to play too.

I inhaled deeply, hoping my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Maybe you should take it off then,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “So you don’t ruin it.”

His mischievous expression revealed his next words before he even spoke them. “Maybe I will,” he said, and then he was tugging his sweater over his head, and I was tearing off my own. As his hands slipped beneath my thighs and lifted me onto our dining table, I prayed the wooden legs wouldn’t collapse under the weight of our next actions.

My fingertips ran over the soft, rippling patterns on the knitted sleeves, my arms crossed in a self-soothing manner. After that day, the sweater had become a sort of good luck charm—or so we agreed upon as we lay panting on the tabletop. He started wearing it to a multitude of events and parties in the Capitol (basically any place in which he needed a pick-me-up, a reminder of what he had to come home to, who he had to come home to).

He even wore it the day we got engaged.

So many happy memories were associated with this one white sweater. So many times, those cloud-soft sleeves were wrapped around my body, suffocating me in the scent of him—if nothing else, at least that remained.

The last time he had worn it was the day of the Reaping for the Quarter Quell; the last time our lives were ever semi-normal. I had fought tooth and nail to reach him before he was escorted onto the train, despite being ordered, “No goodbyes,” by one of the Peacekeepers. In modest terms, I had significantly decreased his chances of reproduction.

When I reached Finnick, he had brought me into a kiss so harsh and fervent that my lips were bruised the next day. He then yanked off his sweater, leaving his upper body completely exposed to everyone around us in complete disregard for his trauma-induced fear of doing so, and shoved it into my hands.

I had just stood there frozen in bewilderment, watching as he called out, “I love you, sweetheart!” Two Peacekeepers were forcing him onto the train, but he too fought for the last word. “Don’t forget—I’m always with you!”

That statement had never been truer than it was now. For better or for worse.

My vision unblurred as I returned to reality. Dismal, grey light was peeking through the shutters that formed the balcony doors, the daylight hours seeming to tick away at a snail’s pace. I used to wish for the days to be longer, for time to move slower, so I could savour the moments I had of happiness and sunlight which used to be plentiful.

Why do wishes only come true when you grow to desire nothing but the opposite?

Slothfully, I crawled onto the unmade king-size bed, my limbs crumpling and balling to my chest as the side of my head hit the pillow. The imprint on the mattress beneath my body didn’t match my own. It was much larger and broader. How long would it take for the springs to forget his body weight and recoil back into place as though he never existed at all?

I inhaled the sweater’s scent with every breath I took (and I tried not to wonder how long it would take for his scent to disappear as well) and hugged my arms around my waist. No pain was worse than the fleeting moments I forgot the embrace was my own and not his.

Hours passed, and so did the evening. A beautiful orange sunset hadn’t slipped through the shutter’s cracks because the clouds never dissipated. Night-time brought no consolation either. Not even the stars or moon made an appearance. Everything that once gave me a shred of optimism was hidden behind a veil of gloom.

I knew tomorrow wouldn’t be any different—the weather, my mood, his absence. Because the end of autumn was closing in, and the days were becoming bleaker. Trees would start shedding their leaves; the leaves would start to die.

I hoped I would too.

I was still curled up on my side, my body aching with stiffness, when my face began scrunching into this ugly, twisted mess of despair. My tears were slow yet heavy, synonymous with the day I had incurred.

But then something strange happened.

Someone called my name.

No. That couldn’t be right. I was the only one who occupied a house in the Victor’s Village; the others had either relocated after the war or were… dead.

But there it was again—my name, distant and eerie, yet spoken with a tone people often used to beckon over and aid a frightened, injured animal. My vision blurred, both from tears and concentration on the voice.

“Hey.”

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment my surroundings transformed into a kitchen, just that they had and that I was no longer in my bed but standing upright.

Ahead of me, in the distance, the sun was beating down on the crystalline water, and white frothy waves were cresting on the smooth, golden sand. It was a perfect day; not a cloud was in sight. The only blemish that smeared the blue sky was the reflection staring back at me from the window I gazed out of.

In my hands was a soup bowl and a damp dishrag.

“Sweetheart?” That once distant voice, concerned and beckoning, was standing right beside me.

Blinking, I snapped out of my daze and turned away from the window.

He stood tall beside me, despite being half hunched over the kitchen sink and scrubbing the last of the few dirty dishes stacked neatly on the bench top. His head was turned towards me, his enamoured sea-green eyes peering into my own as though he was searching behind them for what troubled me.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, standing up straight. His touch was warm and gentle as he reached for my hand, leaving soapy bubbles on my palm and fingers. “Where’d you go?”

Three odd things seemed to occur at once: first, I flinched away from his touch, overwhelmed by its paradoxical unfamiliar familiarity; second, I felt an inexpressible relief from seeing him standing before me, seeing his cheeks painted with a soft pink hue as though blood-red roses were hidden just beneath his skin.

The third was an onset of disorientation. I couldn’t tell you why I felt disorientated standing in my own kitchen with the love of my life, just, simply, that I did. There was an answer—it was close by, right under my nose, yet unreachable. We did this every day, didn’t we? We would eat meals together and then wash up together. So, why did I feel so unsettled?

I shook my head, dispelling the confusion that muddled my brain. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” I laughed uneasily, without a hint of mirth.

He laughed too, not to poke fun or because he found my obvious turmoil amusing, but rather to comfort me, so I would feel less alone in my unease. “It’s alright,” he said gently.

Neither of us addressed what had happened; we simply resumed our routine of washing and drying in domestic silence. And as seconds turned to minutes, and as the sky remained sunny, I found myself smiling. All that mattered was that he was standing beside me and that the sun was beaming in the sky. So, I kept smiling.

After I finished drying the last dish, we began placing the plates, bowls, and an abundance of cutlery in their assigned drawers and cupboards, weaving past each other and giggling anytime we got in one another’s path. I was carrying a stack of white plates, eyeing the high cupboard they needed to go in, but before I could even attempt straining onto my toes, the plates were out of my hands and taken into another much larger pair.

The smell of sea salt and expensive cologne wafted from behind me as he towered over my shorter frame and placed the plates in the cupboard.

“I could have done that,” I said, smiling as I turned around to face him.

He had a playful glint in his eye. “Yeah, right. What are you, like, four feet tall?” he joked.

It was an extreme exaggeration since I was no way near that height, but I suppose everyone was miniature in comparison to him, being over six feet tall and all. I feigned open-mouthed offence, to which he gave the side of my head a quick, playful kiss of apology.

He then leaned against the counter with crossed arms. “Plus, when was the last time you actually put these dishes away? I’m surprised you even remember where they go.” He was grinning at me in a teasing manner, but every ounce of humour had drained from my body.

My eyes drifted to the floor.

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it—when was the last time I put the dishes away?

I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember what had happened this morning or the day before. Hell, I couldn’t even remember what we were doing before the dishes.

To be standing in a room, in a place you call home, and have a sense that nothing is in its right place, even though that is where everything has always been, is a disconcerting feeling beyond belief. To be perplexed by your own state of being—your existence—is even worse. I could almost describe it as a nauseating bout of vertigo.

My hands found the counter’s edge behind me, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

He stepped in front of me, one large and gentle hand reaching up to cup my jaw. “Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with shallow worry lines as he inspected my face. I hated that. I hated that I worried him so much. Sure, partners were supposed to lean on each other for support in a relationship (as he too did with me when needed), but I always felt so guilty doing so. Hadn’t he already suffered enough… pain in his lifetime? Who was I to cause him any more?

A sunbeam suffused the room, oozing across his face. The illumination lightened his eyes into a refreshing mint green, though, in contradiction, unearthed a pain that had been previously been concealed. Pain from what, I wasn’t sure. From concern regarding my unusual behaviour? Maybe a thought that was troubling him? Or perhaps he too was enduring a spell of confusion and had an inexplicable feeling that he was out of place.

Whatever his pain regarded, seeing it had rattled the deepest structures in which held my mind together.

It was then that I suddenly realised I hadn’t answered his question, so I gave him a wan “I’m-not-too-sure-myself” smile and then began slinking back to the sink window.

He followed behind me. I could feel him staring into the back of my head, could feel his brows draw together and his lips pull into a tight line, patiently waiting for a further explanation, though I wasn’t sure I could offer him one.

I hadn’t noticed before, but on the windowsill was a small picture frame containing a polaroid picture of us in bed—I was lying on his chest, half-naked and asleep, and he was looking down at me, smiling fondly yet with a sort of mischievous knowability. Running down the middle of the protective glass was a small, jagged crack.

I plucked the frame from the windowsill, inspecting the picture in my two hands. It seemed to uncover a place in my mind—once clouded by disorientation—I’d forgotten. Whether this place was real or imaginary was beyond me, but the fear I felt upon its recollection was incandescently genuine.

“Do you think,” I spoke tentatively, “people can have nightmares while they’re wide awake?” My thumb ran over the crack.

I might have heard him inhale a quiet, sharp breath, but it also could have just been the waves breaking on the distant shore. “Like a flashback?” he asked, an unidentifiable unease in his tone.

“No, not exactly.” I searched my brain for the right words, the right way to tell him how I was feeling, but it was difficult when I could only conjure vague fragments. And it was all I could do to tell it to him elliptically, as I knew saying the words in any other manner would shatter my heart.

“I had this vision,” I began, my words apprehensively staccato, “where I was somewhere else.” My eyes flickered over the picture. “Somewhere… bad. Everything was grey and heavy, and I was alone. Sometimes you were there, but you—you weren’t really you anymore.” I paused and looked up to find him staring at me in the reflection of the window. He looked pained; it was then suddenly hard to recollect a time when he didn’t. My throat started to constrict. “You were gone and…” my voice quietened to a broken wisp of wind, “you were haunting me.”

The room was silent.

He said nothing in response

The transparency of his reflection in the glass was so familiar—so haunting—and it was like another forgotten matter had been dredged from the depths of my mind. Stinging tears brimmed my waterline, and, due to my inability to bear the sight of his translucent appearance, I forced myself to turn around.

I glanced up at him, smiling weakly as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head as if my need to apologise was nonsensical (even I was unsure of what I was apologising for), and he then pulled me into a tight embrace. His chin rested atop my head; my face was buried in his chest, and his arms held me like I was some dilapidated structure that relied on his support to remain upright. Part of me knew this sentiment was correct.

I expected his next words to be ones of consolation or reassurance, maybe an “I’m right here, sweetheart” or an “I’ll never leave you”. Instead, I felt his head turn and heard him say, “Think it’s going to storm?”

With a sniffle, I turned my head towards the window. The arms wrapped around my body tightened as if he somehow knew I would need the extra support. Because when I saw the wall of dark, opaque clouds rolling through the sky towards us, an unshakeable dread zapped through my heart.

My hands clung to the fabric of his cream-white sweater, which then brought to my attention that an inexplicable tingling sensation was spreading down the fingers of my right hand, numbing them.

Lightning flashed on the horizon, and the once serene waves began cresting violently on the shoreline. The dread grew.

Before my attention could drift too far, my name was called again.

I looked up to find those green eyes gazing down at me, swelling with tears. He was crying. Why was he crying? And why was his hair wet? His usually golden strands had darkened to a deep brown and were drenched with cold water that dripped onto my cheeks, and his hair was swept haphazardly across his forehead, a reflection of someone who had just endured an intense storm or had just been fighting for his life against a swarm of—of—

No.

My own eyes began to burn.

“It’s killing me to see you this way,” he spoke, every second word breaking and wavering in volume.

The world seemed to tilt on an axis. Return did the disorientation, ravaging my mind more violently now. “What do you”—My chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths—“What? What do you mean?” My lower lip was quivering, and my eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion. His words replayed in my head: It’s killing me to see you this way.

It’s killing me.

His hair was dripping—no longer with water, but with a thick, red substance that both dripped down and clotted on his skin. He didn’t look pained anymore; he looked like he was in pain.

It’s killing me.

But that can’t be right, can it?

It’s killing me.

Why?

It’s killing me.

Becausemy Finnickwas already dead.

I staggered backwards and out of his, no, this imposter’s arms. He stared at me as blood streamed down his forehead, pouring over his eyelashes and down his cheeks. I was going to be sick. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a newly invented punishment from Snow. But that wasn’t right either: Snow was dead too.

“F…Fi…” I tried saying his name, my top teeth prodding the inside of my bottom lip, but I couldn’t make a sound.

He took a step towards me, and I almost stumbled onto the floor. “Remember what I told you?” he asked, though it sounded more like an urge.

I frantically shook my head. No, I didn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember anything.

Something dark and mountainous appeared in my peripheral vision, and an odious smell singed my nostrils. My head snapped to the left. Stacks upon stacks of plates and bowls mounded the kitchen sink, each crawling with maggots that were falling to the floor in white, wriggling heaps.

Nausea boiled in my stomach; horror brimmed my eyes.

I quickly turned away, my eyes meeting green again. His face was no longer stained with blood, and his hair was dry, shiny, and golden with life. I was as speechless as my face was drained of blood.

He took one more step toward me, but this time I didn’t back away, either frozen with fear or desperation for one last experience of closeness with him. My heart thrummed as he reached out to cup my face. It isn’t him, it isn’t him, it isn’t him, I repeated madly in my head. Oh, but it felt so much like him when his warm hand met my skin.

“I told you I’m always with you, sweetheart,” he murmured. And I knew engaging with him, in whatever form he took, affirmed my mental unwellness, but I couldn’t stop from leaning into his touch anyway. “Remember that.”

My cheeks were wet with tears. “I love—”

A bolt of lightning flashed, and thunder boomed throughout the house.

I was back in my bed.

My eyelids were heavy with sleep as they fluttered open. I felt detached, destabilised, and unsure of my existence in the world for I wasn’t sure which of the twoI was currently in. Real or fake?

A few minutes went by before I managed to get a grip on reality, which, in fact, was the real one. The Somewhere Bad. I pinched the corners of my eyes, not only finding them damp with fresh tears but also realising that my right hand—previously tucked beneath my head—was numb.

None of it had been real…

The entire time, my body was trying to alert me, to save me from the inescapable heartache I would feel upon waking. He hadn’t held me in his arms. He hadn’t cupped my cheek nor helped me wash the dishes. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere (not even in his own marked grave because there was nothing left of him to be buried).

Even despite seeing the familiar tall outline standing in the doorway, his features illuminated with each flash of lightning, I knew it wasn’t really him.

Rain was pummelling the roof, almost loud enough to subdue the perpetual rumbling of thunder (apart from the one sky-splitting thunderclap that had woken me). In another time, I would’ve been scared—of the raging storm, of my phantom lover who was watching from the shadows of our bedroom. But not now.

In recent months, I had found that no emotion, not even fear, surpassed the soul-crushing realisation that you have irretrievably lost the one thing you lived for.

On a defeated whim, and for the first time since his death, I let the singular, weighted word breeze past my lips.

“Finnick.”

It was a trembling plea, a desperate beckon.

And he indulged.

His footsteps were silent as he walked towards the bed. I couldn’t see his legs from my position, prompting me to wonder if he even had legs at all. Or did he only have legs when I could see them? That would then insinuate that if I couldn’t see him at all, he didn’t exist.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? In my case, the answer was simple: no, it didn’t.

It wasn’t really Finnick. It wasn’t even his ghost. It was my mind.

He reached the bed’s edge, and I scooted over to my side of the mattress, allowing him enough space to lie down on his. His weight neither dipped nor shook the bed as he laid down and turned on his side to face me. His eyes were sad, and I’m sure mine were too. We stared at each other for a long, long time, long enough for my fatigued body to start playing tricks on me.

If I focused hard enough, I thought I could hear the sound of his breathing (the wind was picking up outside), feel the warmth of his skin spreading onto the sheets (the remnants of my own body heat were left behind each time I moved), and smell the musky scent of cologne and sea-salted hair (the sleeves of his sweater were tucked beneath my nose).

Maybe for a moment—just one sickly, self-indulgent moment—I could pretend it was really him.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you would haunt the next owner of this house,” I whispered as light-heartedly as I could, my voice obscured by the heavy rain pouring onto the roof.

He smiled, and it was one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful things I had ever seen. I think I might have given him one in return, though I couldn’t be too sure because the concept of smiling had become so foreign. The last time I was truly happy was… the last night we spent together. In each other’s arms, safe and warm and together.

And then he was gone. Just like that.

Cressida, whom I had only spoken to once in Thirteen when the war ended, was the one to tell me how it happened. Katniss was too personal, too close to him; Peeta’s instability rendered conversation futile. So, I had asked Cressida to tell me every detail—every expression on his face, every word he screamed. I don’t know why. Maybe it was so I could cling onto those last few minutes where he was still alive and breathing, despite dying and bleeding; or so I could replay the moment over and over in my head, as if somehow, someway, I could change his fate.

“He talked about you all the time,” she had told me. “Actually, I don’t think he ever spoke of anything but you. No one minded, though. While we were out there, no one ever really smiled, but every time your name was mentioned, Finnick would get this great big grin on his face, and it was impossible not to look at him and start smiling as well.

So, we all started asking questions about you: ‘What colour is her hair? Her eyes? Where did you meet? What are her hobbies?’—just to see him smile… A week passed, and it was like we all knew you inside out. It was all we could do to hang on to some shred of happiness, even if it meant talking about a girl who, to all of us, was a stranger.”

I was inconsolable after that.

She kept talking, but my sobs had drowned out most of her words, so much that I had asked her to retell me everything later in the day, despite inducing the same outcome. So, she told it to me again, just as she did the day after that and the day after that and so on until I returned home to District Four.

“He also spoke about how you never felt comfortable living in the Victors Village. He had this idea that the two of you would move somewhere far away, outside the borders of District Four­, though he emphasised remaining by the sea was very important—something about how you looked while swimming during sunset and the water was all sparkly around you.”

At this point, she had been holding my hand, knowing full well how debilitating it was for me to hear. Then she had spoken with a quiet incredulity and a facial expression to match, as though she’d never encountered a love like ours before. “He wanted to build a house for you…”

He wanted to build a house for you.

And now he never would. Our love was too ephemeral for that to happen; destined to remain history; to be a memory.

Finnick's eyes stared into mine, the green hue now a dark grey from the overshadowing dimness of the room.

“I would’ve gone anywhere with you,” I whispered to him, placing my hand on the sheets between us. “I would’ve travelled thousands of miles away from this place. Would’ve lived in solitary, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives.” A warm tear tickled the bridge of my nose. His eyebrows scrunched together in shared anguish. “God, Finn, I miss you,” my voice broke. “I miss you so much.”

I contemplated crying, sobbing, screaming, or begging for him to come back, but I was just too tired. All my energy had been spent on grievance throughout the following day, and my eyes were growing heavier by the second as my body was sinking further into a state of relaxation.

Between slow blinks, I watched Finnick’s large hand move to rest atop my own, and at that point, I knew sleep would soon catch me because I swear I could feel his warm touch.

Images flashed through my mind—incomprehensible and melting together, yet somehow still graspable.

Sky blue water rippling with calm waves, the surface glittering in the setting sun. A white stonewall cottage fronted by soft, white sand and tall palm trees. Two plates of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast. Three pairs of footprints in the sand, one larger, one smaller, and another between them so delicately tiny I could fit them into the palm of my hand.

Sea-green eyes above me. Golden hair tangled between my fingers. Finnick standing in the wooden doorway of our white stonewall cottage wearing a cream-white sweater and rolled-up slacks. Finnick grinning deeply and then throwing his head back with laughter. Finnick standing in front of our bed, taking my hand in his and guiding me towards him. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick.

Finnick holding our child.

I was between worlds now, both indistinguishable from the other. My eyelids were drooping, and I was quickly growing insensate. Just before my eyes closed completely, I saw Finnick’s—he who wasn’t really my Finnick—lips move. It wasn’t in my bleak reality in which I heard him speak, but rather in my mind, and God, did his words offer the sweetest relief.

“I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

[golden-afternoon]

Yeah I was working on another actual fic but uhhh the 'Nari brainrot took over so uhhh here take me going insane over him and rambling about what comes to my mind. Kay? Kay.

Warnings - nsfw, mating cycle talk from a person who only has google by her side, absolutely not proofread having gone straight from brain to paper, and just know there is a solid chance I'll have more to say about this in the future.

Tighnari, by his very nature, is a very compartmentalized person. His own problems stay within himself to be dealt with later when he is done and everyone else's needs are already attended to. Always concerned with helping others and keeping things in order, even to the point of staying up into the early hours of the morning, less concerned with himself than those around him. If he’s ever struggling with anything at all, he will do absolutely everything in his power to keep anyone from knowing about it, much less something as personal as this.

In the early months of the year, especially as Lantern Rite nears, Tighnari becomes withdrawn. Quieter, more distant. The Forest Watchers have been talking for forever back and forth swapping theories and rumors in not so hushed tones.

“I heard Master Tighnari lost a family member around this time of year.”

“Really? I heard he just reeeeally hates any kind of festivities especially Lantern Rite because it's so noisy, even when not in Liyue.”

“I dunno, maybe he's just sensitive to the cold?”

Unlike the usual case where he was quick to nip such chatter in the bud and tell off the Rangers for gossiping, he remains entirely silent on the issue, otherwise carrying on as usual. Setting up excursions, documenting his findings, helping and guiding wherever he was needed…

Until he just can't stand it anymore. With hardly a word, save perhaps to Collei to ask her to care for things in his absence, he retreats, hiding himself away in his hut, barricading himself in completely so no nosy Rangers have any reason to loiter around.

He hates it.

He understands it's natural and it's going to happen and blah blah blah, but it was such a nuisance to his life he would give anything to not have to put up with it. The worst of it usually lasts a week or two before he can at least carry some semblance of normalcy and feel willing and able to return to work, but while he's in it, it drives him insane.

Some years it's so bad that he can't even focus on anything other than the absolutely filthy thoughts that plague his mind, his hands shaking so hard he can't even hold a pen long enough to attempt any sort of work. Even like this he just doesn't feel right not being productive especially when he's always running around here and there the rest of the year, why should this be any different?

Head slamming into his desk with a groan, a flush curling up his cheeks and neck. Eventually he has to crack, begrudgingly caring for the needs that grow and grow and grow and become nigh insatiable during his rut.

It starts out almost clinical, looking to just take care of a symptom of an illness almost. Face flushed, lips curled into a deep frown, he sits at his desk, fisting his cock with precision, hoping to get it over with as fast as possible by hitting everything just right.

But no. After dealing with this for years you think he would have known by now that just once isn't enough, yet he still hopes year after year. It only gets worse. Over and over and over again until he's just sore and it hurts. Until he can't keep jerking it lest he make his own skin turn raw. By this point he usually finds himself in his bed, ears flat and face buried into some blankets to muffle the pathetic whimpers that left his lips as he kept grinding his hips into the pillows over and over and over and over, chasing even the slightest modicum of relief.

And most of the time, as annoying as it is, it was completely fine for him to just be stuck imagining some faceless, nameless mate beneath him as he struggled to sate these urges. However, if Tighnari has a bit of a crush… Well, he'd be in for a rude awakening if he hadn't already acknowledged his feelings for you.

I could see poor Tighnari getting almost ill as he realized the cute moans he was imagining sounded a little too much like your voice. Everything freezes for a moment, his stomach lurching both from the realization and the sudden loss of friction when he faltered. He tries so hard to brush it aside, chastising himself for pulling you into his filthy mind right then. But it doesn't stop. Your face, your voice, your skin. Everything. Everything stays in his mind and he cannot stop it. He feels such overwhelming shame about it, but… he does eventually give in and just let whatever fantasies take root, especially since it seems to ease the feelings when he does.

But when he sees you after the worst of it is over and he leaves his hut, guilt grips around his heart and memories of those fantasies rush into his head, leaving him turning on his heel to avoid you at all costs, honestly risking you thinking he hates you with how intensely he's ignoring you.

It's even worse because Tighnari considers hiding in his hut again for even longer as usually he was fine when the worst of it passed, he could resume his duties, but with you around, he could feel his hands shaking, the intense urge to find you wherever you were and pin you down immediately was so strong it scared him a little. Sometimes it caught him off guard too, like he would catch your scent on the breeze and while in his rut, he would genuinely get so horny so fast he's gotten lightheaded, having to catch himself on whatever was nearby so he didn't go crashing down.

If he hated his rut before, the shame of all this made him absolutely loathe it.

Maybe one day you can find a way to make it a liiiiittle more bearable for him ♡

[fillinforlater]

A Collection for a Special Date: Part V

Male Reader x Kim Minju (fluff)

Length: 1000 words

Tags: all the fluff, birthday date, really loving relationship, cutest ending ever

Inspiration: Minju mine tbh, also HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO BEST GIRL

(A/N: this is the second Minju fic for today, the yearly fluff that hopefully makes you all feel warm. It's a bit short, but otherwise I would not have been able to finish it in time. Pleas enjoy regardless!)

“What are we going to do for my birthday?”

A question that Minju always asks so playfully and carelessly, but for you, it’s a source of stress, year in and year out. It’s not necessarily because she has the highest of standards or would break up with you because of a bad surprise—no, it’s because you want to make it the best day imaginable for her. You want to see her smile and hear her laugh; in that sense it’s almost egocentric.

“It’s going to be a surprise~” You grin at Minju who looks up from her phone, a pout on her lips but excitement in her eyes.

“You always say that, every year! I just want to know what I should wear or prepare or—”

“Minmin.” You laugh and wrap your arms around your girlfriend's waist. She fits perfectly into your hug and when she reciprocates it, you feel like no heaven could come close to this. For now however, you put her on the kitchen counter and watch this small bean as you explain what you have explained a hundred times already. “You will look perfect in anything.”

“You always say that.”

“And you don’t have to worry about preparations.”

“You always say that too.”

“I just want you to relax and enjoy your special day, that’s all—”

“—I care about, yes, I know! Geez, babe, you sound like a broken record, year in, year out.”

You press a quick kiss on her lips to shut her up. Good thing that noone is watching; you two just engaged in the cringiest, cheesiest couple behavior. It’s so cringe, the two of you burst out in laughs and continue to share kisses and hugs that can remove all work and life stress. Even if every year or month or day repeats itself like a broken record, with Minju it will be—

“Okay, fine,” Minju sighs in defeat, hands on your nape as her eyes, soft like silk, go over your features. Oh no, she must have read your thoughts, at least some of them. “At least promise me one thing.

“Don’t worry too much and enjoy yourself too.”

“I promise.” Kiss her forehead. “I love you, Minmin.”

“I love you too.”

#

“This is the best birthday ever!” Minju exclaims in thrill when the waiter brings her a stack of beautifully crafted, maple-syrup covered, buttery pancakes. “Babe, you are the best.”

“Glad you like it, Minmin,” you say nervously, but you’re not sure your words reach the girl, as she digs into the treat. For the past eight hours, the two of you have walked through this city you’ve spent your entire lives in. 

Through meticulous planning, you’ve found spots that you believed to be completely unknown to Minju. These hidden gems were aligned for a perfect route; from a hotel where you can play and cuddle with dogs to a shop with cute but expensive jewelry to a small cinema where you can cook the food shown in the movie to a backyard park, perfect for winter strolls. 

Minju beamed with the brightest of smiles since the morning breakfast and gifts you gave her, and her squeals of joy at every new surprise spot is addictive. It’s so addictive, you are almost able to keep the promise you gave her: don’t worry too much and enjoy yourself.

“These pancakes taste so good!” Minju reaches over the table and pinches your cheek, still red from the cold outside and from your endless love for this wonderful girl. “How did you find all these places?”

“I had to travel the seven seas to find hidden treasure chests with maps inside them,” you joke and Minju falls back to pout sweetly.

“Babe, your sarcasm is showing again. Not cool.” Now it’s your turn to lean forward, but instead of pinching, you cup her face and taste some of that delicious maple syrup on her lips. A deep breath leaves her nose and finally, a bit of pressure and anxiety about today leaves your body; it leaves because Minju looks truly happy.

“Happy birthday, Minmin,” you whisper. “When you are done with those pancakes, I have a final spot we need to check out.”

“Baaaabe~” Minju’s voice melts like the butter on her favorite dessert. This saccharine tone that can warm you, even on the coldest February night.

#

Luckily, tonight it’s not too cold. It’s perfect winter jacket and wooly hat weather with not a cloud on the entire night sky. You and Minju finally reach the top of the pancake shop, a fairly tall building, surrounded by small houses and large skyscrapers everywhere you look. From this point, the city around you seems to never end, infinite concrete, lights and snow.

“This is a nice view,”Minju says in awe, her breath forming faint vapor in the air.

“Minju.” You point somewhere. “Look at the city, it’s lights first. Imagine all the people that live at these lights. They party, they work, they eat—

“—now look up. Do you see the moon, the stars?”

“Yes,” Minju sighs melancholically. “But I can barely see them. The light from the city is too strong and we can never see the life that might be up there.”

You faintly laugh, your nerves almost returning. You rub the sweaty palm of your hand on your thigh and look at Minju, who seems a bit dreamy, lost in the stars she tries so hard to see.

“Close your eyes. Imagine the city lights turned off. How bright are the stars now?”

Minju smiles, her nose directed at the infinite universe, eyes gently closed. Your breath halts. “They are beautiful, strong, and I don’t want to look at anything else anymore.”

“Kim Minju…”

She opens her eyes, you’re on one knee.

“...I love you.”

You pull out a silky blue jewel case and with a click, it opens.

“Will you marry me?”

The ring sparkles in Minju’s starlit orbs. Her answer, your unbelievable joy.

“Oh my God, babe—” 

“Yes!”

[markster666]

I'm not sure if I've made a request with you but if I have please feel free to ignore! I just can't stop thinking about reader just going up to Vox and asking if they can play videogames and use his head as the monitor. idk I just wanna fuck with Vox he's hilarious

My Life is Like a Video Game (Literally) - Vox x Reader (SFW)

Pairing: Vox x Genderless!Reader

Tags: Vox, SFW, Comedy, Not a lot of plot, Vox is pissed off, Vox x You, Cursing

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: 575

A/N: I saw this request come into my inbox a bit ago and I died of laughter. I hope this lives up to your expectations. Unedited, so apologies for any spelling mistakes. Enjoy. LMFAO

You cursed in disgust as the lights went and fucked themselves. You knew Vox had a temperament and when it got BAD, the power shut off everywhere. You were in the middle of beating a really hard boss on Dark Souls, one you spent DAYS UPON DAYS trying to complete, only for his fuck-head lookin' ass to ruin your almost perfect run of it.

You threw down the controller and groaned. You decided to get up and mindlessly walk around the room, actually putting in the time to throw your dirty clothes in the pantry and make your bed.

You were hoping Velvette or Valentino would've calm him down by now, but the complete darkness and lack of gaming audio states otherwise.

You hastily put on your comfort jacket and shoved open your door and slammed it behind you, murmuring obscenities as your feet scuttled down the hallway. Your arms were crossed from how cold it was (the heater electricity was shut off too).

You knocked on Vox's door, stabbing back a foot or two in anticipation of the door opening.

After a few moments, you shouted "VOX!"

Still no answer.

You raised your voice even more, "VOX! OPEN UP THIS FUCKING DOOR OR SO SATAN HELP ME-"

The door opened, slamming against the wall and threatening to break.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT Y/N?!!"

His eyes were glowing red, a snarl coating his face. His hand was still on the doorknob, ready to slam the door in your face at a moments notice.

You rolled your eyes, "I was in the middle of a Dark Souls boss fight and you decided that THAT was the perfect time to completely cut all power."

He groaned in frustration.

"I'm SORRY, okay? I don't know what else to tell ya."

He started closing the door but you pushed past him and into his computer room.

"There's only ONE working TV in all of Pentagram City now..."

He frog blinked at you, closing the door with a look of confusion on his face.

"Um... What are you trying to say?"

You turned to face him, arms on your hips and looking him up and down.

"May I PLEASE use your head-screen thingy to... beat the Dark Souls boss?"

He looked DUMBFOUNDED. Like there's absolutely no fucking way you just asked him that.

"That is probably the dumbest fucking request I have ever gotten from you. No, absolutely not. Power will be back on soon."

He pushed past you, sitting in his chair and rubbing his eyes in exhaustion and stress.

You smirked and went up behind him, massaging his shoulders lightly, leaning in close to his ear.

"I'll go and spy on the Radio Demon for ya."

He perked up at this thought, swiveling his chair around to face you.

"Oh? Ya don't say?" He folded his hands on his lap. "Fine, then, but ONLY 10 minutes."

You squeaked in giddy, sitting down and crossing your legs on the floor, booting up your controller and he switched his monitor to Dark Souls, trying to stay as still for you as he could.

It ended up taking 8 hours because you had beaten the boss but wanted to keep playing so you just didn't tell him you beat the boss.

And you left him even more angry than he already was. :)

Oh and you also didn't spy on Alastor you truly couldn't give less of a shit.