#i do not write angst

[writeouswriter]

My followers: And is this “writing” you’ve been “working on” in the room with us right now?

[bunnyreaper]

simon riley who is the one who rescues you when you're taken hostage by an enemy pmc, fighting through hell just to get you back.

simon riley who doesn't hesitate to take his mask off so as to not frighten you further. it doesn't matter that you've never seen his face, or that he's breaking down his barriers, all that matters is that you don't shake when you look at him.

simon riley who carries you out of there, safe in the warmth of his arms that hold you like he'll let you go again.

simon riley whose heart breaks because he recognises the haunted look in your beautiful eyes, and he knows he'd do anything to see them sparkle like they used to.

simon riley who slowly acclimates you to being touched again (it totally is just for you, he swears). soft brushes of his pinky against yours, a guiding hand on your back, picking a piece of fluff out of your hair.

simon riley who doesn't ask questions when you find comfort cuddling into his broad chest, because he knows mentioning it would only make you feel bad. he doesn't want to lose the way you only find peace cuddled up next to him.

simon riley who kisses your forehead but only when you're asleep, because he still has secrets to keep. he doesn't think you feel the same way, he just thinks you see a protector.

simon riley who cares even if he doesn't have the right words to tell you.

simon riley who loves you, and spends every day thankful he didnt lose you.

[rendevok]

“Take my hand” a comic for NaruMitsu Week 2023

day 1 - lies & secrets - 2 - 3 - 4

[lomltrentarnold]

someone — jude bellingham  ₊˚ෆ

contents: 1.6k words, fem!reader (she/her), fwb!bellingham is down bad, lil angsty but happy ending, they like each other so much SIGH

🍓 hana’s note: hi my loves!! hope u enjoy <33 i actually had fun writing this, please tell me what u think 🫶 sorry if nothing makes sense LOL

📞 main masterlist!

Jude was sure that the muscle on his wrist had gotten stronger in the span of three days. He moved to check his phone again for the hundredth time that day. The whole situation feels like a thirteen year old boy waiting for his girlfriend to reply to his text. 

The only difference is that he’s twenty one years old, and his ‘girlfriend’ is not actually his girlfriend. 

His gloomy mood attracted his assistant who was off clicking the keyboard computer.

“Whose text are you waiting for?” they asked, immediately bringing him out of his little pity party.

His heart stuttered, “No one.” he replies, shaking his head, before tucking the phone away into his pocket.

A skeptical look was thrown, “Yeah, sure.” 

Jude took a minute before he relented, “She’s…someone.” he sighed, not really in the mood to throw up his gut to his assistant.

He ran his hands through his hair down to his face, frustrated.

They were sure this ‘someone’ was not just anyone, “The same ‘someone’ who had you giggling and kicking your feet last week?” his assistant smirked, noticing the little smile that Jude always wears every single time he stares at his phone.

But not in the last few days.

Recently, he has been more sad when he stares at his phone.

Heat trailed from the back of his neck to his cheeks, “I was not giggling and kicking my feet.” tummy twisting with nerves.

“Oh, you so were. She has you wrapped around her fingers, Bellingham.” the keyboard clicking stopped, as a teasing smirk was sent his way.

Jude’s heart made a backflip–oh she definitely does– “She’s just.. special. And I really really like her.” his cheeks heating up more as your pretty face fresh flashes in his mind. 

“So? Why don't you ask her out on a date?”

He sighed, “I would, but she’s ghosting me.”

“Someone ghosted THE Jude Bellingham? Damn, your ego must be hurt.” they laughed.

Jude took a deep breath, “It's not about my ego, I just–” he paused, “I thought we were going somewhere, I like her and I thought that she liked me but I guess...” his voice trailing out as sadness coats his words.

His assistant noticed how Jude’s head dropped in disappointment, immediately feeling bad for him, and an idea lightbulb immediately went off, “Go to her place then.”

“What?”

The assistant shrugged their shoulders, “Go to her place. Ask her out.”

He coughed out, “She doesn’t wanna see me.”

“Ask her face to face, get confirmation. If she really doesn’t wanna see you then, fine. But try at least! Fight for her!” their encouragement send Jude into a full dedicated state. Already having a full plan in his head.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Screen lights from the tv illuminated your already dark room with a movie playing in the background. You really should be asleep right now. But your mind was too cloudy with a certain, seriously attractive, very sweet and nice footballer. 

What did you think was gonna happen?

Getting into a friends-with-benefits with someone you harboured a big fat crush on was not the brightest idea. 

Jude is a bigshot footballer, everyones’ starboy, all he needs to do is smile and all girls fall to his feet (including you). The strategy of pushing him away was pretty solid, considering that he might not even notice that you haven’t been replying to his texts. 

He probably has hundreds of girls on his phone anyways.

Not that you care, he can do whatever he wants, he’s not your boyfriend. 

Not your boyfriend. 

Then why does it still bother you?

A sudden knock, broke you out of your spiralling session, shooting your heart rate up. Who knocks at 2 in the morning?

A buzz from your phone alerted you.

—

bellingham :)

I’m outside your apartment

I need to talk to you

—

You contemplated opening the door, what do you even say to him? Another knock. 

Another buzz.

—

bellingham :)

Please.

—

The door swung open and Jude was met with the sight of you, with tired eyes and a scowl on your face. You don't look too happy seeing him, and he doesn't blame you.

“Are you insane?! What do you want, Jude? It’s two in the morning!” you huffed out, taking his wrist and pulling him inside. You do not want to get a complaint from your old cranky neighbours. 

Both of your hands tingle the second it touches, fingers twitching as you hope the other doesn't notice. You move to pause the movie, hands gravitating towards the blanket on your couch before draping it around your shoulders. Trying to cover up your well-loved worn pyjamas.

You look like a mess. 

Jude’s hand sweats in his pockets, his heart was pounding after finally being in your presence. With your messy hair, pretty droopy eyes, paired with your profile being highlighted by the tv. His heart rate shoots up when your eyes meet his. 

You look really pretty.

Focus, Bellingham!

He awkwardly coughs, trying to cut the thick tension in the room, “You still watching that show?” he voiced out, hand gesturing to the tv behind you. 

It was a show recommendation from him. You had made fun of it at first, but then the plot was too good to be ignored, you needed to know how it ends. 

You shrugged your shoulders, “Yeah, I was curious.” voice small as your hands tightened around the blanket, bringing comfort to you.

A beat of awkward silence went on.

And Jude has had enough of it and decided to go for it, head first, no thoughts.

"Why are you ignoring me?" he finally said, saddened brown eyes met yours. You can feel your defence chip away the more you look at him.

You avert your eyes immediately, trying to formulate words, "I'm busy."

"That you ghosted me for three days straight?" he scoffed.

"Jude-"

"I don't think you understand how much you’re in my head." his voice shook, heart trembling in his chest, “I wake up and my first thought is to check if you have texted me back and you know how embarrassing it is to not see anything?"

You scoffed, “So this is about your ego?”

“No! I didn’t say that–“

Another scoff, "Jude don’t lie, you get messages every single day. Your notifications are always flooded! Don’t act like I’m suddenly special!” you rolled your eyes, lungs burning with anger.

His face contorted into confusion before turning into hurt, “Did I give you that impression? That I don't care because you’re not special?” Jude’s voice cracked, maybe it was your head playing tricks but you swore his eyes were glossy with tears. 

Anymore second looking at him than you might just break. 

“Jude-” you started.

“Because I do! I’ll buy you more flowers, pick up your favourite coffee, watch those reality shows that you love so much, we can have a picnic or even a fancy dinner!” he rambled, hands animated as his feet started to move towards you, eyes pleading. “I really want this to work. I want to be in your life, as your boyfriend.” 

The distance between two got so small that you can feel his warm breath hitting your lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

He smells like mint.

Did he chew one before he got here?

The call of your name hits your ears, his voice soft and sweet. You really like how he says your name. You miss it. You like him. You miss him.

“Please say something.” Jude whispered, eyes involuntarily dropping to your lips, cheeks warming under his gaze.

“I really really like you.” you softly said, nothing but a whisper but it sends just into cloud nine.

His eyes shined, mouth already opening to say something before you cut him off.

“But-“

His heart dropped.

“But?”

“Jude, you can literally have anyone you want in the world!” you raised your voice. Tears pricking at the edge of your eyes. Why does he have to be so complicated? Why won’t he understand that you will never be enough for him?

By now, he can have a general sense on why you ghosted him. You have been insecure and worried ever since this little relationship started. Jude partly understands it, his popularity is intense and the media is poking at every nook and cranny of his life. Judging at the littlest things he does.

But he also doesn’t understand because-

“But, I want you! Don’t want anyone else!” he exclaimed, big calloused hands move to the sides of your face, thumb softly running on your cheeks. “I want you.” he added, softly pressing a kiss at the apple of both of your cheeks.

A lovesick smile broke out on your face before you can even control yourself. “I want you too.”

Jude eyes twinkled at the sight. His heart elevates in the process. Was this a dream?

“Pinch me.” he snickered.

Your hands move around his waist to pinch his skin, “Dork.” you giggled, his smile getting wider at the sound.

A comforting silence blankets over you both. Smitten eyes staring at each other with heavy yearning. Hearts fully enamoured with the other.

A soft kiss was planted on your lips, tender and gentle as his hands moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He can’t get enough of you.

Your whole body was on fire. It has been so long since you both got together.

“Jude-“

“Mhm.” he hummed, lips still pressing against yours. His hands wander to wrap around your waist. It feels like he wants to eat you whole.

He definitely does.

You carefully pull away, chuckling at the small whine that leaves him as he chases you again, “It’s late.” you affectionately scolded.

“Let’s go to sleep then.”

“Together?” you teased.

“Yes, please.”

Well, how can you say no to that?

reblog for a kiss <3

[feralforbeanix]

Manfred Von Karma did not burn Phoenix's letters to Miles.

Like, I'm not even saying this to defend Manfred's character (though the fanbase does get a little crazy with what he actually did and didn't do) I'm saying this because that's not canon. I'm not sure it was even possible in canon.

Phoenix didn't write letters to Germany. He didn't know Miles was in Germany, let alone Von Karma's address. He didn't even know who Von Karma was until Edgeworth told him about Manfred in Turnabout Goodbyes.

In the game canon, Miles just stopped showing up to school one day. All Phoenix seemed to know was that he transferred schools suddenly. He didn't know why or where to. Remember, Phoenix didn't even hear about DL-6 until Turnabout Sisters when Maya mentioned her family's involvement.

Even in the anime canon (I haven't watched the anime in a while so I might be off about this) where Phoenix and Miles get a chance to properly say goodbye, Phoenix still doesn't have a direct means of contacting him. His best way of doing so was dedicating a song through the radio using Signal Samurai codenames and hoping Miles would hear it.

Phoenix mentions trying to contact him several times when explaining their relationship to Maya, but this was after finding out Miles was this "Demon Attorney". Miles would have to be at least 20 at this point in time, living back in California with at least a few trials under his belt. With how young he reached success, it's not impossible Miles was living on his own at the time. Even if he wasn't, I doubt Manfred was going through this grown adult's mail.

No, what the game seems to be implying is that Miles ignored Phoenix. (Maya even says, "I guess he didn't want to hear from his old friends.") And I don't think this was out of hatred or anything, I think Miles just wanted to forget his past entirely because even the good memories of his childhood would be bittersweet at best.

And to be honest that makes it even more tragic to me. Why do we need Manfred to intercept their connection when Miles' trauma and guilt complex is already doing that?

I like to think Miles knew Phoenix would be asking questions if he ever responded to those initial attempts at contact. Questions he of course doesn't want to answer because they'd at best open old wounds or at worst risk his childhood friend finding out he might have committed patricide.

I also like to think he knew Phoenix of all people would stubbornly try to find the answers Miles wouldn't willingly give because he literally mentions Phoenix always being "single minded in his work" and "always seeing things through to the end". If anyone was going to press and bring those uncomfortable and painful memories out in the open for the sake of "helping him", it would be Phoenix Wright.

Why do we need Manfred to take away all that complexity and tragedy? That is such a waste!

[chaos-bringer-13]

I just told mom about some bits of Danny Phantom lore and it basically went like this:

Me: So, this kid goes into his mad scientists parents' portal, activates it, sorta dies and instantly resurrects as a half ghost.

Mom, terrified: Poor mother.

Me: Nah, his parents didn't actually notice, they're kinda negligent, too invested into their work.

Mom, more terrified: Poor children.

[stevebabey]

part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

-

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

[rottmnt-residuum]

promised raph angst. so much under the surface

this takes place right before leo and mikey get back from checking hidden city entrances

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: people say suffering is what it means to be a shroud. you could not think more different.

WARNINGS: mentions of blood & self mutilation.

COMMENTS: PHEW THIS ONE WAS A DOOZY!!! idia stop being my muse pls 🙏🙏 i keep writing 2k - 3k word fics in one sitting because of you

“Don’t you wish the world treated him better?”

You blink, entranced by the swirls of green. The voice beckons you closer.

How was that door open...? It should have been closed, right...?

“Don’t you wish you three could live up on the surface, like everyone else?”

More voices have joined.

“Don’t you want that for him and his brother?”

It sounds beautiful, like a symphony.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud.”

You step closer, muscles relaxing as you slip under their spell. The voices are right. They deserved better. They should have been able to live where they pleased, to escape this island and their fate.

The voices giggle—they know they’re right.

They’ve reached you.

Black consumes your vision, blocking out the glowing green. You shut your eyes. Your world grows darker. There's a seizing in your chest and a fluttering in your heart as something pours into your body, staining you.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud.”

“Set us free, and we’ll set all of you free.”

—

The hallways are blaring red, but all Idia sees is the floor swimming in his vision. Ortho is by his side as he punches access code after access code into the door panels, running like he’s never run before. He has a stitch in his side but he keeps going, your face flashing in his mind.

He lost Ortho once. He’s not losing someone again.

It’s like the stairs last forever, winding deeper and deeper into the Earth. Idia doesn’t stop running once, even though he feels like he’s going to fall over and throw up. He’s almost one-hundred percent certain Ortho has carried him at some point but his mind is too messy and his vision is too muddled to care.

Time seems to slow as he reaches the bottom. He raises his head as his ears ring, and the second he lays eyes on you it’s like his vision is clear again. Ink pours out of you and the black markings on your face are all too familiar. Blue fire spits out from behind you and your shrieks are heartbreaking, like you’re wailing for something you want so badly but could never have. Wings sprout from your back, broken and crooked, feathers twisted and clumped. Your hands are worn and bloody from stretching at the walls, and that’s when Idia realizes—

You want to be free.

Guilt crashes over him and it's a critical hit. Of course. He should have been sure this is what you wanted. He should have known you’d get sick of life here, even though you said you loved him time and time again, even though you held him on all those nights that he couldn’t sleep because the thoughts were too much, even though you bonded with Ortho and stepped back for him, letting him set boundaries even though that meant not doing things you wanted to do, like holding his hand or kissing his forehead or playing with his hair.

He should have known this wasn’t the life you wanted.

The ring on his finger feels like nothing more than a heavy stone now.

—

It took years for Idia to open up to you about his family situation. In fact, he seemed to be braced for the possibility that you’d leave him in a heartbeat after hearing it. Your heart ached for him when he explained his past and his inevitable future in a soft, low voice, rushing through the whole thing as if it was the scariest thing he’s ever done.

You placed your hand on his knee once he stopped, letting his words trail off into the night.

“I understand you.” you’d said, looking him straight in the eyes. They seemed to glow in the darkness of his room, flickering like a fire about to be put out.

Idia curled in on himself that night, dragging a clump of his hair over his shoulder and twisting it into knots. You’d reached over and gently grabbed his hands, stopping him from tangling his precious hair. You’d gently smoothed out the fiery strands before kneeling in front of him, looking up at him as if paying him reverence.

“I want to stay with you.” you’d said softly, cradling his shaking, fragile hands in yours.

In that moment, it felt like his very heart was beating between your intertwined hands.

Soft sniffles filled the room that night, and you kissed each tear away. More kept coming, more and more and more, his eyes blotchy and red as he tried to keep quiet. You kept quiet too, whispering how much you cared about him and how if he would let you, you’d stay with him forever because you loved him and he deserved someone by his side. You kissed each tear well into the night, fighting his overwhelming sorrow with your love.

—

Your memories are patchy. It’s like you don’t remember who you are, or where you are. In the dark expanse of your mind, you remember two things.

Idia Shroud and Ortho Shroud.

Your throat feels heavy as your heart starts to palpate—what happened? Where is the green glow? Where are all the comforting voices that whispered your new future to you?

Where were the people you were fighting for?

“Vitals stable.” a faraway voice calls, a sharp clatter piercing through your quiet, inky haze, “Commencing full body scan for blot.”

Blot...

Your eyelids pry themselves open. All the energy has been sapped from your body, your limbs heavy and useless. The strings holding them up have been cut, and it's scary that you can’t remember how you were strung up in the first place.

“Mx, we ask that you please stay still.” the man above you is in a white coat, his hands holding a clipboard and a pen.

You nod passively. Something about him seems familiar enough.

His voice drones on statistics about your well being as your eyes slip shut again, and arms of sludge reach out from your mind and pull you back under the ink, into a deep sleep.

—

Idia is chewing on his fingernails again.

He wishes you were here to scold him for it and paint a new coat over them so he wouldn’t chew on them anymore, being too sentimental to mess up your hard work and too repulsed by the taste, even though he would only ever tell you the latter and—

You were still asleep.

Your vitals are stable, You are fine.

You are fine but there are still black scars all over your body.

Your vitals are stable but the marks will stay there forever.

You almost died and it’s his fault.

You want freedom and he took that away when he said “I do.”

He kissed you and he sucked the soul right out of your body, keeping it clutched in his hands because he’s selfish and stupid and why in the world did you even fall in love with him in the first place?

He has nothing to offer you.

Nothing but this.

Suffering and loneliness and contempt and headaches and cold nights and machines that fill your whole day, leaving no room for the whimsical leisure you enjoyed before. There are no more board games, no more trips to the school store, no more fresh air and nighttime walks, no more watching movies and eating gummy worms, no more talking to anyone who isn’t him.

The ring on his finger burns.

—

You don’t know how long it's been since you went to sleep.

You wake up to a room with dark walls and metallic shelves above your head. The bed (cot?) is firm underneath your body, which is adorned by a gray uniform. There’s a desk right across from you with a tablet and a chair. You can’t see anything it’s hooked up to. The one constant among all of these things seems to be the triangular details, criss-crossing and curving and connecting with each other.

They make your vision spin, so you look away.

You stay in bed.

For some reason your face and neck sting, as does your back. You trace the parts of your face that burn, finding that the areas are almost symmetrical on both sides.

What happened?

“...Idia?” you whisper, your left hand resting over your smoothly beating heart.

The door opens.

Your heart lurches into your throat when you see a dark uniform, fiery blue hair that swings well past his elbows, and eyes that are sunken in. His skin is as pale as ever, his lips chapped and bitten by worry, his nails stubbed and torn, but—

He came.

But it’s him.

He came when you called.

“...Idia—!” you gasp, choking on your words as you lurch forward and cough, black ink splattering all over your gray shirt.

“Easy!” he yelps, rushing to your side. You feel his cold hand press against your back and you lean into the touch, starved for it.

“What happened?” you ask between smaller coughs, following his hand and he lays you back down.

Idia bites his lip. He does not answer.

Instead, he turns his back to you and moves over to the desk grabbing the tablet. He still doesn’t look at you as he taps a few bottoms. He gnaws on his lower lip before twisting the chair to face you and sitting down.

“How much do you remember?” he counters your question with another question, eyes heavier than usual.

“I remember green.” you whisper, the intriguing whispers poking into the corners of your mind again, “I remember voices...they said sweet things to me.”

Idia winces as if that’s the last thing he wants to hear.

“You overblotted.” he says, so blunt it surprises both of you, “You went...deeper than you should have, and you overblotted.”

You touch your face. The burning sensation wiggles as if it’s been recognized, and is pleased. It’s like there's something under your skin, something alive and yearning,that was waiting for him to say it.

“Oh.” you whisper, and in turn, the voices begin to beckon you again.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud. Don’t you wish you three could live up on the surface, like everyone else? It’s not fair, is it? He deserves better. His brother deserves better. You all do. We can help you, we can make that happen, you just have to help us—”

“They were phantoms.” you breathe, tracing the lines on your face over and over and over and over and over—

You don't notice when he gets up and reaches for you. Idia grabs your hand when it looks like you’re pressing too hard, your nails digging into your skin. You stop immediately, looking up at him with glossy eyes and trembling lips.

“Idia...is this what it means to be a Shroud?” you ask, forming each word carefully.

The phantoms said as much.

But he says nothing.

“I don’t blame you if you decided this isn’t what you want, you know.” he says, tone flat and disinterested, like you’re someone he doesn’t even know.

“What do you mean?”

“Your phantom looked like it wanted to be free.” he says, tablet still in his hand.

He pulls up the footage of your rage and shows it to you—your crooked, clumped wings and your bloody, inky hands and your screams as you cry for freedom, freedom—

He misunderstands.

“Not for me!” you seize his wrist, squeezing it so hard you fear it’ll break but this important, “For you! Freedom for you! It’s always you and it always will be you! I wanted you to be free and Ortho to be free. I wanted all of us to be free—!”

You start coughing again, this time even harder. Ink splatters on your bed and this time Idia is on you, he’s truly with you, cradling you against his chest as the ink stains his uniform as well. It pours out of you like a dead, polluted river, and yet in a twisted way it’s a symbol of how much you care.

You vaguely feel his nose pressing against your head in the haze, whispering what sounds like swears and pleads but none of it reaches your ears over the sound of your coughing. By the time you’re done, both of you are thoroughly painted with the remnants of blot.

The voices are gone.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” he whispers it into your head like it's a confession, meant for your ears and your ears only, “I thought you...wanted to leave here. Leave me.”

His arms are around you like a vice grip.

You’re grateful you’re alive to see him be selfish.

“Idia...my love.” you say, equally as soft, “How many times do I have to tell you that I want to be with you?”

“It’s hard to believe!” he protests, voice cracking.

He pulls away from you, just enough to look over your face. His eyes are watery and he’s so vulnerable—you really scared him. His thumb traces down the parts of your face that burned, the parts of your face you know will be scarred for life now.

“Good thing I’m still here then.” you smile weakly, cupping his face, “I’ll remind you every single day.”

His ring no longer burns.

His left hand rests over your left, and your rings clink together as they connect.

You’re okay. You still want him. You’re alive.

“You’re crazy.” Idia groans, stepping forward and falling into your arms, “You are absolutely crazy. Any normal person would be running for their life right now, calling me a freak and hyperventilating. A normal person would never want to come back—”

His slumps over you like a big cat, arms encircling you in warmth once again. It’s his way of hiding his expression when he’s getting a bit too into his feelings—you know this by now.

“Goodness. It’s a good thing I’m madly in love with you then.” you laugh, hands splayed out on his shoulder blades as he hugs you again, “You know what they say about love making you do crazy things.”

“Please don’t ever do that again—oh Great Seven.” he squeezes you even tighter and you let him, putty in his hands.

“I’m not planning on it. I promise.”  you reassure him, “I don't want to leave you—”

“It’s not about leaving me, you could have died!” he protests, cradling the back of your head, “I’d be fine if you just left! If you were somewhere else...somewhere safe!”

“You would not be okay with that. Don’t pretend to be.” you chastise him quietly, and you know you’ve won when he goes quiet, “You want to keep me here, and you want me to stay. I want the same thing. You don’t have to pretend I’m a sacrifice that can be made. I didn’t fall in love with you because you’re noble or a goody-goody.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Then—

“I love you so much.” he mumbles.

It’s a rare confession, one that has never lost his sweetness even after years together.

Now this, this is what it means to be a Shroud.

It means staying with each other no matter what.

It couldn't be farther from loneliness.

“I love you too.” you murmur back, and his thumbs trace your blot scars as he presses a single, barely noticeable kiss to your forehead.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

We could have had it all...

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[zuppizup]

My angsty brain: So… Callum’s Dad died of some kind lung condition, eh? Sure would be a shame if that was hereditary

[littlecrittereli]

Elemental AU my beloved

They're so dear to me

I'm working on refs for the villains but I don't have much energy for colored stuff rn

[cheesecakethots]

i LIVE for the angst of a yandere initially being fucking awful to their darling after taking them, and overtime changing and becoming more loving, as well has having newfound and immense regret for what they’ve done. it is literally my fave yan scenario.

tw // pretty heavy angst, mentions of noncon

i specifically imagine it for shigaraki, going from being this disgusting manbaby who treats his darling like they’re nothing but a toy for him to use, only to later realise how much he loves them and mature in how he treats them, making his regret for the past even stronger.

him trying to coax his darling into coming out on a date with him - they can go anywhere, he doesn’t mind, darling has free reign to choose what they do. he tries to be so soft and quiet in his tone, as though not to startle them.

it’s only when tears start forming in their eyes and they mumble, “have i been bad?” that he realises how badly his past self fucked up.

the only other time he really took them out was when he’d decided they needed a punishment, and had made them stand and watch as he disintegrated the first group of people they saw out. he had then fucked them against the alleyway wall, bodies still around them both, just to really get the point across.

he wishes he could take back everything, but he can’t. as of now, he needs to take baby steps in order to bring you out of the very same hole he once caved into your mind.

(i love regretful yans urm send me some thots about them pretty please)

[imfinereallyy]

some of us, and I’m not naming names, need to start being properly tagged on fics.

Angst: Is it me?

No.

Unhappy Ending: Is it me?

……it’s not Angst.

[erwinsvow]

imagine if rafe and pogue reader’s relationship was just a bet between him and his kook friends, to see if he could ACTUALLY get her to fall in love with him, like to get her to be all over him and how long that would last, and the reader finds out omgggg. And they break up lol

you think the ending bits of the conversation between your boyfriend and his friends hurts more than everything you just overheard.

"you really think i'd settle for some fuckin' pogue pussy? nah man, top owes me fifty bucks now."

you hadn't heard the entire exchange, just from the part where you heard your name. stupidly, like a naive girl in love with the type of boy she'd only ever dreamt about, you tuned in, thinking rafe was telling his friends something you'd want to hear.

hiding—as embarassing as it is—behind the wall, holding back tears though they don't care enough to stay held back, they pour down your cheeks as the hits keep coming. the boys laugh, but the ringing in your ears had been so loud you hadn't heard the rest of the joke, didn't understand what was so funny.

the first thought in your mind is that you can't believe how stupid you were. the second is that pope and jj and john b had all been right, that it was too good to be true, that he was playing you somehow, that he was a liar and scumbag. you had ignored what your best friends had been telling you, trying so hard to believe that they were wrong, that they didn't know rafe, or at least your rafe, the one who was sweet and funny and never let you drive anywhere or pay for a thing, the one who paraded you around town like you were something who deserved to be showed off, the one who you took back to your tiny house and introduced to your hard-working parents.

you resist the urge to slide down the wall you're leaning against, though every muscle in your body wants to keel over and cry until you can't cry anymore.

you'd been embarassed enough—they didn't need to see you like this too. wiping away tears with the back of your hand, sniffling but trying to stay quiet, you wait for the boys to walk away so you could sneak out of here and pretend that you'd never even come—though you'd only come because rafe said he was having friends over and you'd baked them some snacks for their game, thought you were being a good girlfriend and doing the things a good girlfriend does.

footsteps and laughter echo in the other room—they're gone. the second it's silent, a sob wrangles itself out, eyes getting blurry again. you don't know how you're gonna bike home if you can't stop crying. your fingers fly across your screen, dialing jj's number. you'd been upset at the blond because he seemed to be the most against you and rafe dating, had the meanest things to say and was the first to insinuate there was something wrong if rafe wanted to date you.

you'd been so insulted, so hurt by his words that the two of you had gone from talking every single day to maybe once a week. you hope he doesn't hold it against you now, but a part of you knows jj never would—that's just the kind of guy he is. he answers by the second ring, and you try to stay quiet, just incase they hear you.

"j? can you come get me? i-um, i'm at tannyhill-" the last part is said with another sob, breaking into a fit of tears again. he says he's with pope and that he's coming, and you hate that they heard you cry, because knowing the two of them they'll go thirty over if they think you're upset. you wanna get out of here, but you don't want them to die.

heart thudding, eyes watery, limbs weak, you stay against that wall for a moment. before you can make your way to the door, rafe's figure steps in to where you are. he sees you before you see him—shoulders shaking, hands wiping away tears.

when you turn to look at him, it doesn't take more a second to know you heard something you shouldn't have.

"hey, listen to me-" he gets closer, and you flinch, backing away. you want to say something mean, something snarky, something that'll hurt him as much as he's hurt you. nothing comes out, and you stare back at him, and you hope he remembers how hard he's made you cry, because you've decided it then and there—you're never seeing rafe cameron ever again.

you dart past him to the door. he follows, reaching out to grab you, but you take off, running down his driveway and into the truck he recognizes as heyward's. you get in, in between pope and jj. the last thing he sees is you crying into maybank's chest while they drive you away, and the last thing he thinks is wondering what the hell he had just done.

[ofdreamsnwishes]

“My god, I’ve liked you for soooo long…” You mumble, words barely coherent. You were drunk. Really drunk.

To be fair, you didn’t plan to get this drunk. After being dragged to a party you did not want to go, the fruity cocktails became your bestfriends, too delicious and barely tasting like they had any signifiant amounts of alcohol, so you just kept drinking and drinking until you found yourself in this situation; rambling about how much you liked your long time friend and crush… to your crush, himself.

“A-and like, you never look- looked my way?? I know you’re h-hot and all, but- Damn, I’m decent myself, aren't I-” Words spilled out of your lips, the alcohol in your brain making you throw all inhibitions out of the window.

Jeno on the other hand was… stunned, to say the least. In all of his time knowing you, he never expected you to be this drunk, or to be eloquently confessing your love for him. Not that he was annoyed or anything, in fact, he was quite flustered himself, having shared the same feelings for the past few months.

It was hard to pinpoint when the platonic feelings turned into romantic feelings for you, but one day it all clicked when Donghyuck pointed it out. He’d never admit that in Donghyuck’s face though, he’d rather die than give him the satisfaction of being right.

So for the longest time he kept it in, thinking about it over and over again, and- Wait… Were you crying?

“What- Wait- Hey- Don’t cry…!” He tried to soothe your cries desperately, hesitant hands reaching to wipe away the tears that ran down your cheeks.

"I just like you so muuuch... I wanted you to like me back soooo bad." A sob ripped through your lips. Your hands flew to cover your face, whining about how embarassing all of this was.

Jeno chuckled quietly, a sigh leaving his lips. Your hangover the next day will be horrible.

But it's okay, he'll be there to help you out, scold you for drinking so much and maybe get you to confess again. This time sober, so he can say he likes you back.