#is it a very self indulgent process? yes yes it is

[lotuseye]

yes, satoru, i will - it's the day of the parade.

satoru  gojo  and  his  special  grade  sorcerer  ex-wife  are  assigned  to  a  mission  together. part ii , trash magic.

word   count:   1566.

genre:   multi-chapter.

characters:   satoru gojo & special grade sorcerer ex wife.

trigger   warning:   none.

he is every bit of an annoying ass she remembers him to be.

it was a hard, long, thorny process - her learning curve embarrassingly flat when it came to satoru who indulged himself lavishly with the fruit of being the only person she had ever feel seen with. on par, with. understood with. it had not been what she had pictured for herself, for either of them, to end up with an entire hall filled with things they no longer spoke of, oceans stretching for thousands of miles between them. it wasn’t the divorce, not really - there would have been no divorce in the first place if he was capable of the same empathy she had felt in their youth, or at least what she thought to be empathy, when after loads of paperwork signed seemed like the whim of a teenage boy who did not understand what kind of a commitment he was getting himself into.

now, she could not call satoru someone that could not commit, that could not dedicate, when she has watched him work tirelessly year after year all for a better world for them. when he religiously waited upon suguru, when he stood tall against the upper echelon and when he decided to return to jujutsu high as a teacher, having found his hope in the young. he became the benefactor, mentor, older brother, father - whatever his students needed him to be, without complain, without hesitation. how could she, when he brought megs home, the boy of six with his father's eyes and his zenin pride? no. if she could say that, everything would be much simpler. less filled of heartache.

satoru was perfectly capable of dedication, commitment, and effort.

just not for her.

“ i am going to say something, but i don’t know how well you’ll take it. ” she spits out what she had been imagining rolling out of her tongue for the past half and an hour. she had time to ponder on their walk in the star corridors, having decided to start with the most reasonable option, which was talking to tengen to see if they had any inkling on the problem. that, and also simply checking on them would not hurt, especially considering the unstable frequency of the barriers that kept them all safe and sound, suppressed the emergence of cursed spirits and let the world become a more breathable place for sorcerers, even for a brief moment.

“ look at you considering my feelings, ” pleased and still lighthearted despite the alarming situation at hand, she doesn’t need to look over at him to know that he’s grinning. he wouldn’t, if he knew that she was about to open the box of pandora, but it was what it was - the hazardous bliss of ignorance. she can already taste the regret, bitter in the back of her throat like her very own curse to swallow. footsteps slowing down, yet not coming to a halt, keeping her gaze on the dimly lighted marble.

“ do you think it might have anything to do with the last star plasma vessel? ” she asks, and as soon as it leaves her mouth it sounds like a sane thing to ask and the most horrendous memory she could have brought up for him in the first place. his infinity almost buzzes in her ears, as she ruefully endures the sudden cold that creeps on her bones. he knows what she’s talking about, of course he does. the day he came home with that hollow look in his eyes, the very look that haunted him for years to come. riko amanai’s death cost them a lot more than they could afford, an entirety of a class disintegrating over time, a painful decay & an eventual dissolving in the unforgiving waters of grief.

“ it has been fine over a decade, ” satoru is not offended, but perhaps it would have felt better if he was - anything would be better than the self-hatred that dripped like the petals of a belladonna from his voice, shame and guilt so unbecoming of him. “ if something was wrong, wouldn’t it show itself sooner? ”

a valid question, to which she doesn’t have an answer to but a shrug, now feeling like she’s brought it over for nothing. “ you’re probably right, ” she concludes, now a lot softer than their initial greeting. it can’t be helped, the tenderness she had for him would survive foes greater than anger or disappointment. they were no longer children, and they knew better than to sulk over the unfortunate circumstances they have had to navigate in life. satoru, despite the intentional reservation on her part, was too precious to be discarded with so little care. he had been her best friend, once. “ i’m sorry, i was just thinking about what might have triggered this. ” she offers an apologetic glance, and it is satoru’s turn not to return it, keeping his head straight on the tiles that thud under their each step. “ nah, don’t be. what happened, happened. if you have a point, we can’t ignore it. anyway, ” he grasps the two handles of the doors that lay across him, and pushes it open. “ we’re about to find out. ”

.....

good news was that it wasn't what they feared.

bad news was that it was something much more difficult.

“ any clues on how to get this over with? ” she asks to the six eyes, steps much faster than the ones that brought her here, wishing to be done with the place as soon as possible. tengen creeped her out, and the tomb of the star corridor very shockingly did not make it to the list of her top ten vacation destinations. something about the energy that accumulated in the room overwhelmed her, dialed up to eleven, each cell buzzing with the overload of cursed energy. “ because i don’t know how we are supposed to figure out the problem of tengen glitching because they are losing their touch with humanity. what do we even do? take them outside to go touch some grass? take them out for dinner, roll them up in tinder? ”

he is laughing, and it is absurd - so absurd that she smacks him in the shoulder. “ don’t laugh, ‘toru, this is serious! ” but even as she says it she can’t help but snorting at the visualization of her own suggestion, tengen taking a stroll in the park, waiting for a blind date in the restaurant in the corner. “ tengen in tinder? ” he is still chuckling, and the sound is preciously kept and saved in-between her ribs. “ what does their bio say? foundation of jujutsu society, likes ping pong and fishing? ” and now they are both laughing, and as idiotic as it sounds, she does not remember the last time she laughed in satoru’s presence. “ shut up, satoru, ” she snorts once more, letting the last lights of the day blind her momentarily as they walk out of tengen’s quarters. “  good to know that you’re still an idiot. ”

“ an idiot who you still call ‘toru, ” he drawls out, nudging her ankle with his foot, teasing & coy. she offers him a knowing look. “ old habits die hard, ” she shrugs. “ don’t get any ideas. ”

“ alright, alright. ” hands up in surrender, it takes him a moment to realize she is walking over to the limo that has been waiting up front, the engine starting at the sight of her. she doesn’t need to look over to know satoru is trailing behind her with an arched brow. “ calling it a day already? rude of you to leave me alone. ” she turns halfway just to arch an eyebrow. “ some of us don’t have rct to reset their cooked brain, six eyes. us humble mortals need their beauty sleep to stay so brilliant. ”

before she is done with her sentence satoru’s heavy palm slaps the roof of the car, lanky frame doubling over to take an intrusive peek inside the driver’s seat, ijichi’s meek sound of terror muffled through the windows. “ ijichi, get the fuck out, ” satoru yanks the driver’s door open, gesturing the man outside with a far-fetched grace. “ i’ll be driving her myself. ”

“ but… but the orders were clear… ” ijichi trails, stammering, eyes finding the expected guest of the ride to which the woman replies with placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. “ it’s okay, don’t worry about it. i’ll give you a call when i need you, yeah? ” the urge to apologize on behalf of her ex husband is strong, but if she had attempted to apologize from every single person satoru was rude to she’d never get anywhere ever - so a kind smile is all that is offered and ijichi knows better than to push around. with a nod, he disappears from the sight of them in mere seconds, leaving the estranged couple. satoru, pleased, slides to the other side of the car to now pull the passenger door open, hand extended to her. “ may i take you to your hotel, ma’am? ”

the grin that curls the corners of her maroon glossed lips is absolutely diabolical. “ who said i’m staying at a hotel? ” just the look on his face is enough for her to break it off with a pat on his shoulder, cracking a bright and amused grin, slipping inside the seat. “ i’m just fucking with you, drive me to shoko’s. ”

“ you are not seeing the pearly gates, woman, i tell ya'. ”

© written by lotuseye. do not translate or copy my work.

[teine-mallaichte]

We need to expand our use of dilirium within the whump community I think.

When people see the prompt "dilirium" or "dilirious" in a whump event most jump to fever, illness, infection. And that's fine. That's valid. But there is SO MUCH MORE to dilirium.

Delirium is a complex psychological state that can indeed be triggered by illness and fever, but it can also result from a wide array of other causes. It’s a state where cognition and coherence deteriorate, where reality may start to frey at the edges leaving the whumpee confused, disorientated, maybe unable to even distinguish reality.

You can drive a character into a dilirious state without any external factors. A characters cognition and coherence can be picked to the brink by so many things.

1. Extreme Sleep Deprivation: this is a favourite of mine. A whumpee kept awake for days on end, their cognitive functions begin to deteriorate, the boundary between wakefulness and sleep blurs, leading to fractured and disjointed thought processes. The mind starts to struggle to maintain coherence, resulting in hallucinations and a profound disorientation.

2. Substance Withdrawal: Not one I've explored much, but can totally count. The body and mind in chaos, craving what they can no longer have. The physical symptoms can be brutal, but the psychological torment can drive them into a state of delirium, where reality becomes a shifting, unreliable landscape.

3. Psychological Torture: Another one I tend to gravitate to. Intense psychological manipulation, sensory deprivation or overwhelm can also drive the mind into delirium. Continuous gaslighting, isolation, or exposure to disturbing stimuli can erode a characters grasp on reality, leading to a state where they can no longer distinguish between truth and illusion.

4. Emotional Trauma: this a mental breakdown. Severe emotional trauma pushing a whumpee into a to their mental limits. The overwhelming stress and fear fracturing their mind, causing confusion, disorientation, dissociation, hallucinations as their psyche tries to protect itself and struggles to make sweetheart if what's happened/happening.

5. Overwhelming Physical Pain: Pain, just pain, if relentless and severe enough, can lead to delirium. A whumpee in constant, excruciating pain might find their mind breaking under the strain, leading to confusion, disorientation, and a detachment from reality.

6. Fever: and just because it can't really be left of the list, fever. Infections, illness, etc. But did you know there is more than one kind of dilirium? Yes there is the sick whumpee who is too weak too most and admits all their insecurities and secrets in a slurred disjointed major. But there is also the type of dilirium where the character becomes energetic, erratic behavior, pacing incessantly and speaking rapidly, refusing to rest. Frustrating and worrying for those trying to help.

And this is just the ones of the top of my head. There's so much potential here! And yes this is a very self indulgent and selfish post that I wrote while writing a fic where I am inducing dilirium in a character through acute stress and an identity crisis 😅 but in short - I want to see more varied portrayals of dilirium in whump.

A similar post about hallucinations A similar post about fever

[sordidmusings]

Tender Love and Care - Hair Care (Buggy x Reader)

Art by Capitanpoops (link keeps expiring QnQ)

A/N: Ah yes, another 'taking care of Buggy's head' fic to take up space on the internet. Just gotta indulge in giving this man some tlc. Did I write four thousand words of simping for the cringefail pirate clown's hair? Yes. And I'd do it again >:p

Word Count: ~4 k

Warnings: feminine leaning afab!reader (no pronouns or gendered titles), Lots of Feelings, yearning, possibly angst?, probably hurt/comfort?, waxing very poetic, Buggy being a prickly bitch who doesn't know how to receive affection, Buggy also being a delusional bitch who immediately latches on to that affection

amab!Version

Next ->

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Touch the makeup and I’ll bite your fingers off!”

“I’m quaking.”

“...I’ll spit in your face.” His eyes narrowed while you blanched. “I’ve got damn good aim too so you better watch those big ol’ eyes.” Almost a compliment? Progress.

“To save us both from catastrophe, I’ll let you keep your grease-face,” you promised. After a few more seconds of giving you the stink eye (really, you should be taking notes because his form is exemplary), Buggy finally settled back into your hold. His stubble scratched lightly at your palms and you allowed your thumbs a scant few passes from his cheek bones to the back of his jaw. That was easy enough to play off as mindless movements while you examined him for the coming wash. Hopefully.  You were at least putting in the effort to keep the affection in your chest from blooming into a wide smile on your face, lest he begin spitting like a wet cat again.

After placing him down on your clothes chest, you began gathering together the things you’d need to clean him up. You had already prepared a large basin of steaming water before you had grabbed Buggy from Zoro for your night shift with him. If he had truly protested against you then you’d just have extra water to pamper yourself with for your nightly routine. What a loss. While you flitted around grabbing a cup, a pile of towels, and care products, Buggy took to commenting about whatever his eyes fell on around your room. Your half-assed replies did nothing to discourage his gentle roast of your safe space. He only shut up when you picked him back up and brought him over to the basin.

You were taken by surprise when you took off his bandana.  You had guessed that his hair was thick from the pieces that framed his face, but you hadn’t expected long locks to be wrapped up in there. They slipped and fell down like silk despite being in clear need of a wash, and you started to become a bit excited to see how they would come to shine under your care.

“What’s wrong with you? Never seen hair before?” There was a bit more bite to him all of a sudden and it hit you that he may be self-conscious from your staring.

“Never seen yours before, duh,” you teased. “You should wear your hair out as a power move against all the scrangly ass men in these waters.”

Buggy took a blank-faced moment to process your words. Probably weighing your sincerity against the backlog of insults he’s heard in his life. Unfortunately, one joking compliment never stood a chance.

“Whatever, just do your job.” His bitter tone made you keep your mouth shut and drop the topic. For now.

Seeing how he had a lot more hair than anticipated, you got up again to grab yet another towel so that you could use it as a cushion. Finally settled, you grabbed Buggy in one hand, the cup in the other, and got to work. You had laid a small board across the basin so you could rest Buggy on it instead of having to hold him up the whole time. You may have gotten strong in this life, but you were not masochistic enough to try holding him up throughout this process. You made sure to be extra gentle when you put him to rest on the back of his head, mindful that the hard plank wasn’t the most comfortable.

Wetting his hairline was taking longer than you thought. The soft noises from the pouring water hitting his scalp and trickling through his hair into the basin below felt loud in the stillness of the room. Everything had a languid air like you could breathe freely without thought or time to measure the passing of each exhale. Wanting to check in, you looked down from your task and into Buggy’s face. Despite all his past showboating, Buggy was having difficulty keeping his gaze anywhere near your face.  You decided to take pity on him in his discomfort but not too much. “So how’d you get your damn good aim?”

Silence.

You’re beginning to think that him looking at you like you’re stupid is his comfort zone.

“You know, that ‘damn good aim’ that makes my ‘big ol’ eyes’ easy targets?” you supplied.  At first, you thought he would roll his eyes and make more digs at you, but he finally caught you off guard.

“It’s a trade secret,” he said with a growing smile and a glint in his eyes. His face grew even more pleased when you smiled mischievously back at him.

“Clown trade?”

He hummed out an affirmative. You saturated the last of his hair at the front and sides and now needed to dunk the rest in the basin. The sheer amount of long blue locks that this pretty, pretty man had may cause it to overflow, but you supposed that’s just a workplace hazard when becoming a glamor clown’s hairdresser. You paused in lowering him to look around quite dramatically (squinty eyes, pursed lips, and all) before leaning slightly closer to stage whisper, “You can tell me; I ain’t no snitch.”

You barely caught the laugh that he choked short in order to keep up his serious facade. He let his eyes wander the room to double check your surveying and pretended to be in thought. He let out a heaving sigh and said, “Okay, okay, but you have to lean in close. Can’t have this getting out.”

Ever obliging, you turned your head and leaned until you felt his warm breath on your skin and the roundness of his nose tickling to top of your ear. You were thankful he couldn’t see the little shiver down your spine or the goosebumps spreading down your neck. He was thankful you couldn’t see him close his eyes to savor the scent of your perfume. All was still for a few breaths too long.

“The secret?” you prompted, thinking he was waiting for your urging or that he was just trying to make you squirm. You didn’t see his eyes flutter open while he forced thoughts other than your closeness back into that head of his. Okay, he really needed to do something to reel himself back in and get some control of the situation.  Easier said than done when he’s only a head.

You felt as much as you heard him take a deliberate inhale… only for a loud raspberry to be blown right next to your ear.

Nearly dropping him in shock, you quickly pulled your head back and held him at arm’s length like a misbehaved puppy. Through his canting cackles, Buggy met your wide eyes with a proud grin. It didn’t even need the help of his makeup to split his face. Damn, you could stare at that forever. He had just the prettiest eyes you think you’d ever seen. The way they shifted color under the low lights and sparkled with his smile had you feeling entranced. It had the same commanding presence and addicting warmth as flames with their own swirling colors and sparking embers. You thought your poetic idioms for him would always center around the sea, especially for his blue-green eyes, but here we are.

The corner of his smile started to twitch downward under your stare until wild and cheerful giggles burst from your lips. They were the kind to shake your shoulders and scrunch your cheeks up into your eyes and he’s now certain that he has fucked right up. Buggy felt alarms blaring in his mind as he took in your joy and was certain he would make an absolute fool of himself in any and all ways possible to keep getting hits of it. Between your settling laughter, you managed to say, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring that wisdom with me to my grave.”

Readjusting your grip, you moved forward and dunked the back of Buggy’s head fully into the water. He sighed out at the sensation, but he fully melted when one of your hands went to support the back of his skull and the other flowed through his tresses to make sure all of them were wet. You let yourself take your time, both to make sure you were thorough and to indulge yourself in the comfort of the moment. A tenderness spread through you when you saw that this was also indulging Buggy. His breath was slow and steady, and his eyes were resting closed to better focus on the sensations coming to him. You truly were a people pleaser at heart and seeing someone so bedraggled and affection-starved accept your care made your heart and head feel fuzzy.

You slowly leaned him more upright and used your other hand to wipe out some of the excess water. Buggy felt you shuffling around, and his eyes opened to see what you were up to. After you moved him to rest on the flat bottom of his neck on top of the softest towel that he’s felt in ages, he realized that you went through the trouble to try to make even that wooden board comfortable for his sake. He was starting to feel even more uncertain and out of his element.

Careful fingers carded through and spread out his hair behind him while an equally careful gaze watched over their work. After lathering your hands with a shampoo bar scented by vanilla and spices, you set to work giving him the scalp massage of a lifetime.

While focusing on doing the best job possible and maybe also the beautiful color of his hair was keeping you from thinking about anything else, Buggy had no such luxury. He had nothing to direct his nervous energy at - didn’t even have fingers to fidget with! - so he closed his eyes and tried to keep his face neutral. Everyone enjoys a good scalp massage or at least some kind of pampering so it wouldn’t have been weird for him to visibly enjoy it, but something watery and vulnerable was pressing at his throat under your tender care. His mind and body (well… head) were at odds. While his train of thought spun every which way only to be tethered back to the word ‘why’, his muscles melted until they were soft and pleasantly limp. Has his brow ever been so smooth? His jaw so loose? His lips so softly set? Oh God, you must have noticed the stubborn stiffness in his neck because your fingers abandoned his hair to firmly rub from the base of his skull to where he met the towel and that was truly his undoing.

With a rumbly hum, Buggy finally gave in to temptation and tied his mind to your movements. He let himself imagine affection there - imagine that this was special and just for him. You’ve never tended to anyone else like this. You offered because you simply had to know what his hair felt like. You just wanted to touch him. You wanted it much more than you ever wanted to touch anyone else. If he opened his eyes and looked up at yours, he would see them pouring with love, just like your hands were, and you would look sweetly down at him with your pretty eyes and pretty smile and say lovely things and you’d love him-

You’d love him.

Fuck.

You noticed Buggy suddenly flinch under your hands and you tensed up.

“Are you okay? Did I snag your hair?” You hadn’t felt anything tug but you supposed you could’ve missed it.

Buggy cleared his throat before stiffly responding, “No. Keep going.”

Something thick in his tone caught your attention and you looked to see his expression was tense instead of the blissed out one you had admired not too long ago. That won’t do. You went back to the tried and true pressure points on the scalp that you knew from experience eased anyone up. Checking his face again, you noticed it was more relaxed but still too guarded for your tastes. Deciding he must be getting antsy, you switched to working the shampoo down his hair after getting a touch more product on your hands. The time it took to get it properly sudsed and rinsed was calm, despite the fact that there was some undercurrent to the air that felt charged. Maybe it was just from seeing the talkative and bratty clown be so subdued. As you began spreading conditioner through his hair, you decided that it was time to engage him again.

“This bar is my favorite; nothing makes my hair softer,” you said. Already, his hair was relaxing to glide even more smoothly between your fingers. You weren’t ready to give the feeling up, so you spent the entire time that the conditioner was setting to run your fingers through his hair.

Buggy couldn’t do anything at the moment to judge your claim, but the smell alone made him understand why it was your favorite. It matched that of the shampoo bar, but the richer ingredients in the conditioner highlighted the comforting tones of the vanilla and the sensuality of warm spices and wood. He relished in it on every inhale, hoping to unravel and memorize its every undertone. Was that a touch of orchid in there? A little pink peppercorn? Maybe some incense and amber at the base? Buggy suddenly felt ridiculous. He was never one to give much thought to fancy perfumes, yet here he was trying to dissect your scent like a sommelier tasting a new wine. 

You made quick work of rinsing his hair this final time and gently pushing and squeezing any excess water out. You set Buggy back on a towel, this time one that was spread on the floor. It was the one that you had just been sitting on. Buggy was embarrassed that he noticed and enjoyed the fact that he could still feel your body heat on it.

“How many of those things do you have?” Buggy scoffed as you pulled yet another towel over to dry his hair. You bopped his forehead with a finger in warning against further sass.

“You can never have too many. It’s something that you use daily and they come in handy during emergencies,” you explained.

“Oh yeah like what?”

“Well, I was thinking of situations like having to soak up a spill or blood, but the state of your hair definitely qualifies.”

The outburst was immediate.

“I KNEW YOU WERE MAKING FUN OF ME YOU DAMN LIAR! HOW DA-”

Good thing you were prepared for this and stuffed some of yet another towel into his screaming mouth. He bit down on it harshly and glared at you with all his might. Snarls and grumbles still made their way through the cloth, letting you know just how displeased he was. You were a little shocked to find that despite being gagged and despite just being a head that his glare still actually intimidated you. The time spent with the crew treating him like a harmless little pest had helped you forget that, when push came to shove, he could back up his talk with violence.

The brief glimpse of fear in your eyes gave him a twinge of satisfaction but mostly felt a lot more hollow than he’d expected. Wasn’t this what he wanted? 

When you reached back out to continue drying his hair, you were more tentative than he had ever seen you and his mood dropped even further. Even with your caution, the way that you moved the towel over his hair and gently squeezed more water out of it was filled with care. The whole thing felt very foreign to him. Buggy usually rubbed his towel through his hair chaotically like the more forceful he was the sooner he could get done with the bothersome task. You were working over him like any undue force would be an insult. Like he was something precious. That watery feeling started pressing on him again.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you started quietly. “I just meant to poke fun, not make you actually feel insulted.” After a few more soft pats with the towel, you slowly removed his makeshift gag. He took a moment to wiggle around his jaw and get the dry feeling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, well good job, dumbass,” he bit. You winced at the hurt in his tone. “Just finish up.”

You took a moment to recenter yourself while you grabbed your comb and brush. This was not how you wanted this to go. One wrong comment had sent this whole interaction spiraling and it made you sad. Sensitivity like that was usually built up from years of feeling the same hurts over and over again, and you didn’t ever want to be someone to aggravate an already festering wound, especially not on someone who you genuinely enjoyed. Not on someone who you were increasingly craving affection from. This needed to be fixed. Steeling yourself for the resistance you were about to meet, you began combing the ends of his hair and spoke, “The blue color is so pretty.”

He ignored you. As expected.

“It was one of the first things I noticed about you.” He still wouldn’t even glance up at you. “Also how it brings out the color of your eyes.”

He snorted dismissively in a way that very clearly told you he wasn’t believing a word you said. Also expected. You’re just going to have to soldier on until this eventually worked… maybe worked… hopefully worked?

Just as in the rest of the process, you were slow and thorough when combing his hair. You murmured compliments to him about how soft it is; how thick and how beautiful. By the time that you had switched to using your brush, he was showing signs of being worn down by your flattery. His face was more relaxed and he let himself look around instead of trying to burn a hole through the floor. All you could focus on, though, was how downcast and tired his eyes looked.

“Alright, I’m all finished up,” you told him. “I’m going to put you in the hammock for a minute while I get ready for bed.”

After placing him in the middle of your bedding, you disappeared behind a dressing screen. The routine of bathing  yourself with a washcloth and bowl of soapy water eased you. Since you had taken so much time tending to Buggy, the last bowl of fresh water had become lukewarm. Despite this, the final wipe down had you feeling refreshed and ready to jump into bed. It was no soak in the tub, but still left you feeling much better after a long day of helping work around the ship.

You had set about your routine briskly so that you didn’t leave Buggy waiting too long. Little did you know, he didn’t mind the time of having nothing to do besides enjoy the soft blankets you curled up in every night. He was trying to soak it in before you inevitably put him back down on the floor. If the night had taught him anything, you’d at least put him on one of those fluffy towels instead of throwing him back in the bag like the others did.

You came over to him on the hammock and he admired how you looked, now clean and fresh in a modest slip. When you picked him back up, your face and body language were as placid as he had ever seen them and he was surprised at how content that made him feel. He readied himself to be moved away, left cold and forgotten, but he was astonished when you plopped yourself in your bedding instead with him still in your hands. The shock must have shown on his face because you giggled at him and gave him a bright smile. Even with the bumpy road that the night had been, your smile made him soft and content. He was realizing with more and more resignation that your smile and laugh would let you get away with anything when it came to him.

“So no floor? Trying to bribe me with favors?” His voice was mostly back to that sarcastic lilt you’ve come to adore.

Content that he was feeling better, you answered, “Nah, just using you so I can have a teddy bear. Haven’t had a good one in ages.”

Making good on that promise, you made sure that he was securely nestled into your neck and shoulder. You used both of your arms to cradle him there and both hands to continue your worship of his hair. It was just barely damp and the coolness felt nice on your hands, especially in contrast to the cozy heat emanating from his head. His long eyelashes tickled at your neck every time he blinked, just like the light scruff on his jaw teased at your chest. His big nose felt cozy rested on your clavicle, and you had to resist the urge to reach down and trail your fingers on it. A giddy and victorious feeling flushed through you when you felt him close his eyes a final time and sink into your embrace.

Buggy should have known that he was doomed from the start. He was having a hell of a time trying not to moan at your fingers scratching and massaging his scalp, both during the hair care and now, when he was held in your arms. He couldn’t stop his little movements to nestle into you and get just that much more of your warmth and touch. If he thought that he loved the smell of you before, he was absolutely intoxicated now that he knew what it was like when it floated over the two of you while wrapped in body-warmed sheets.

He wanted to ask you why you were doing all of this, but he didn’t want to know the answer. Not right now. Right now he was going to let himself go back into that place in his head where you lo- cared about him. A place where each night he would crawl into bed with you and, no matter how the day went, you would be there to empty his mind of anything but the two of you. You’d greet him with a kiss or a laugh or an embrace and you would shine with so much joy because he’s next to you again. He’d know what your love felt like, how your body felt under his hands, how your skin felt under his lips. All these daydreams swirling in his head started to make him sick with want, and he needed to know at least one of them. He couldn’t handle all of them staying forever in his mind.

The tiniest increase of pressure from his lips brought your attention to where they rested below your collarbone. The almost kiss was so heartbreakingly shaky and hesitant that you felt your eyes burn with the threat of tears. To reassure him, you dragged your cheek across his temple before turning to leave a deliberate kiss there. Buggy relished the contact, the satisfied sigh you let out afterward, and the gentle weight of your cheek as you snuggled back into him. Your reward came in the form of a grinning cheek pushing into you.

All his humor and posturing certainly caught your attention in the best way and even his explosive temper was something you couldn’t say turned you away. This gentleness, though, this uncertain and wounded place, had you bursting with affection and you were hoping to keep experiencing it. You’d meet it each time with steady affection until it turned into something he embodied with the same surety that he had in his beloved spotlight.

Both of you slipped more sweetly into dreams, curled up together as you were, and with more peace and ease than the years before had allowed. Neither of you would let the years to come be absent of this sweet treasure, either.

Next->

[keisobe]

little bit of self-indulgence but may i request college au! miguel (you can make him a professor, fellow student up to you) tutoring reader with a bit of suggestive content ;)

☆ﾟ°˖ 𝐍𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 (𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚) ⋮ heavily suggestive (borderline smut). professor + student relationship. not completely proofread. ⎯ miguel cannot keep his hands off his favorite student

professor miguel had a major soft spot for you. yes, a very unethical practice as he was your superior, but he couldn’t help himself. your sickly soothing voice calling him ‘sir’ or even ‘mr. o’hara’ would play in the back of his mind while he prepped for his next lab. the permanent eye contact he would hold with you during his long lectures left him flustered throughout the whole day. he would even give small compliments here and there about your work— a rare thing anybody could ever receive.

he even personally recommended you to the most prestigious internship in alchemax (as a previous senior engineer that worked for the company itself, call it nepotism). boasting about your skills and intellect with lustrous eyes until he catches himself mid sentence. putting aside his thought process, miguel chugged down his hot coffee and held it in— even if it did burn the entirety of his mouth cavity. he spat it out in the nearest bathroom afterwards.

he cannot feel like this, especially for his student.

but when you graced your presence in his empty office, asking sweetly for tutoring lessons over the summer— he immediately gave in.

now he found himself looming over your smaller frame, gazing down at your hands, fiddling with the steel pen he personally gifted to you when you were accepted into the internship (though he never told you how you even got in). the air felt off without other students bustling in and out of his lab, occupying the other seats as they asked their professor’s personal insight. it was just you and him, alone.

“something wrong?” miguel, usually stern with his voice, softly asks you when he notices the furrow in your brows.

upon his concern, the conflicted look on your face melted into a cheeky smile. miguel couldn’t help but feel relieved that he didn’t upset you when he was carefully dissecting the notes and research you asked help on. but what surprised him was your next statement.

“we’re finally alone, it’s weird to think that, right?”

if he was drinking coffee right now, he would’ve spat it out from utter shock. there were thoughts, very inappropriate thoughts that crossed his mind when he thought about this predicament. yes you’re right, nobody else was here, not even his coworkers that would rudely interrupt him when he graded assignments (ahem peter) can catch the both of you.

“yeah… you’re right.”

he left it at that, but his eyes fell down to your mouth— the pretty gloss adorning your lips left miguel thinking about your body being propped between his legs, the fly of his slacks down as the softness of your hands tracing around his exposed skin.

“mr. o’hara, are you okay?” you leaned closer to miguel with fluttering lashes, tilting your head to the side with a small smile.

your feigned innocence drove him crazy, to the point he was clawing at the arms of his chair. he was completely restrained, bound by his title, bound by his position— it was slipping away from his grasp and into your pretty hands. shit, all this self-discipline and you weren’t even touching him.

at the end, miguel really couldn’t help himself.

“fuck– i can’t— please come here.” miguel initially planned for a more intimate tone, but he was completely desperate.

immediately, you stood from your seat and walked over to his side of the desk that created a barrier between the two of you for the last three hours. before you had the chance to situate yourself between his legs, his rough hands met you halfway as he held your waist— pressing you down abruptly onto the cold surface that elicited a sharp screech from one of the legs of his desk. with your face and chest pinned down, miguel had a perfect display of your frame.

you felt a warm press against your ass, his death grip guiding your hips onto his erection while he let out a strangled groan from the contact. you began to take control of your own hips, grinding down onto his hardness as miguel slowly came more and more undone. beads of sweat dripped onto the notes splayed across the desk, accompanied with his deep-throated groans that he failed to suppress in his throat.

suddenly, his weight came crashing down onto you, but his hips still sputtered against you. miguel was burning; his skin heated with lust and his sweaty palms continued to grope and pinch and squeeze and take and take all of you in his touch.

“please sir…” you whimpered out, looking into his intense gaze with anticipation.

miguel’s breath fanned your cheeks as he threaded a comforting hand through your hair, then immediately, he gripped your scalp tightly that left your vision blurry with tears. his other hand sneakily reaches between the plushness of your thighs, dragging sharp nails along your untainted skin.

“miguel…” he mumbled with a heavy pant, the buckle of his belt clanking against the floor as his ironed pressed slacks pooled around his ankles. “call me miguel for tonight.”

MOCHIFILM © 2023. please do not copy, translate, or modify any of my work. all of my works are not permitted to be posted on any other sites.

[agoodroughandtumble]

Do You Think They Know? - Zoro x Reader

Status: Complete (Part 1 of 5) Summary: A culmination of oneshots ascertaining Reader & Zoro's relationship Warning: SWF - following parts may include 18+, Language, implied smut

1.

To say you enjoyed watching Zoro during his daily work out would be an understatement. But you were only human – were you not supposed to notice when the incredibly attractive shirtless swordsman decided to get hot and sweaty right in front of you?

You bit your lip, trying not to stare quite so overtly at the bead of sweat threatening to make its way down his temple. Alright… maybe you were there deliberately for that very reason. A very, slight, small chance. And no way a thought out process and perfect timing. But Zoro was like clockwork. Which, if you were being honest, made your life a lot easier. It was certainly not a coincidence when you had asked Nami if she wanted to join you on deck to sunbathe. Obviously she was aware of your intention but thankfully was willing to play the fool and allow you to indulge in the “surprise” that Zoro just so happened to be half naked and sweaty as you were setting up the sun-loungers.

You cast a quick glance over in her direction but she didn’t seem to be paying attention – face turned towards the sky and enjoying one of the more peaceful moments aboard the Merry. The wind was gently toying with her hair and you couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious about how relaxed and confident she looked, seemingly without effort. Whereas you were fighting the urge to fight your shorts for the twentieth time in an attempt to look perfectly casual but also hot as fuck. It was a line you had never managed to toe.

“One of these days I’m just going to lock you two in the hold.” Nami said, leaning up slightly to give you a knowing look.

You could feel your cheeks getting warmer. It was certainly no secret that you had certain … inclinations towards Zoro but Nami wasn’t usually so upfront about her knowledge of it. Although your perverted mind was quite enjoying the idea of being locked in small confinement… Urgh. No. “I’m just sunbathing.” You said, relaxing more into your lounger until a thought popped into your head. You turned towards her, eyebrows furrowed, “Wait – what do you mean?”

Nami rolled her eyes. “Er. The eye fucking. It’s pretty obvious.”

You glared at her. “Yes, I know I am. Has he said anything? Is he … eye fucking?”

Her eyebrows furrowed, lips pressing into the corner of her mouth; giving you a look as if you’d just asked if water was wet. “Yeah, this is a you guys thing.”

You playfully slapped her thigh, “You started this. Least you can do is tell me what to do about it?”

The redhead shrugged, shuffling further into her lounger. “I heard about this cool new thing called “talking”. Maybe try that?”

You rolled your eyes. “I hate you. Do I look alright?”

A smirk crossed her features. “Just talk to him.”

Taking Nami’s advice you tried to casually walk over to him. He was just finishing with his weights, presumably about to start on press-ups. Of course you hadn’t watched his routines enough times by now to find the perfect time to make an appearance. That would be weird. And slightly stalker-ish. It just so happened that yours and Nami’s conversation had come to a natural conclusion and so the opportunity to speak to Zoro had simply fallen into your lap. So Nami could stop looking at you like that.

“Does being shirtless help build muscle?” You asked, cocking your head.

Zoro rolled his eyes, trying to keep the smirk from his face, “Too distracting for you?”

“You wish.” Arms folded against your chest, you continued. “If I wanted to be distracted by an attractive guy I’d go to the kitchen.”

His face hardened a little. “I’d like to see Curly Brows lift something heavier than his ego.”

“Hmm.” Despite Zoro’s obvious irritation, you couldn’t help but push a little further. Besides, it was far too easy to wind Zoro up as soon as Sanji was involved. Practically an open goal. “Well, he must be doing something right to look like that.”

There was a pause. Then the penny dropped. Zoro let out a frustrated grunt. “Did you come over solely to wind me up?”

“Not solely,” a hint of a smirk swept across your features, “But that’s definitely a positive outcome.”

His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you towards his chest. You stumbled slightly, letting out a giggle until the muscle wall of his chest made you catch your breath. His eyes were entirely focused on yours. You swallowed. “What did you come over here for then?”

Somehow managing to gain your composure you stepped backwards out of his grip. Maintaining eye contact, fuck, it was hard to have any cerebral activity when he looked at you like that. You steadied yourself. Focus. You shot him a smile, “That would be telling.”

*

It might be the way he loomed over you. It might be the way his body appeared – and felt – like a solid wall of muscle. It might be the way your leg oh so naturally draped over his hips – either way, whenever Zoro asked if you wanted to join him for a nap there was not a single atom in your body that could refuse.

He was always sprawled out – work out trousers and either a vest or shirtless allowing you to sink completely into his warmth (and his arms, although you always tried and failed to notice that part). When you had first started napping together it was purely just for a nap after training. Zoro would be unconscious within seconds and you would lie there staring at him willing, needing him to make any sort of move towards you. So you wouldn’t sleep. You would shift away from him as far as possible, back to back, trying to desperately ignore the few agonizing inches separating your feet from his. Desperately hoping that he was feeling the same way, that he would be the first one to fold. And then he would start snoring.

Not exactly the precursor to making bad decisions.

But. Then.

Because he was an arsehole he would wrap his arms around you. He would bury his face into your neck. He would still snore, so still managing to prevent you from sleeping. But he was there. Intertwining limbs – sometimes practically on top of you whilst being completely oblivious to you lying there and wishing he was doing something, anything.

Or at least anything other than snoring so you could sleep too.

It was during one of these “naps” when Zoro essentially had you in a choke hold and all you could think about was how maybe he could have you in a different sort of choke hold when Robin walked into the cabin, opened her mouth to say something and on making eye contact quickly shut the door again. You let out a frustrated sigh and tried to push Zoro off of you. He was a dead weight. You festered in your embarrassment.

[sun-kissy]

HELLO SAN i loved meant to be in fact i created this acc just to read ur stuff so can we please please have poly wolfstar headcanons with lots of fluff 🥰🥰🥰🥰

i love you ♡ and yes of course you can! also i got so carried away, this was very self-indulgent and fun to write <3

headcanons of poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

tw: tooth-rotting fluff, one mention of sex but if you blink it's gone

personalised nicknames! all of you have different terms of endearment for each other so you don’t get mixed up (remus calls you dove/sweetheart, and sirius calls you love/pretty girl <3)

sirius is always in the middle when the three of you are walking together, holding both yours and remus’ hands

sirius loves laying his head in your lap, letting you comb your fingers through his hair and make small braids in it

he goes crazy when you braid flowers into his hair, peppering kisses all over your face and relishing in the victory of you blushing

he bombards yours and remus’ faces with kisses all the time anyway, he doesn’t need an excuse for it

whenever there’s parties, sirius does both of your makeup for you. you can’t stop giggling as he does your eyeliner, he’ll tsk irritatedly and kiss you to shut you up. and remus keeps grumbling about how tedious the process is but sirius will tell him how pretty he looks and he’ll immediately zip his mouth

sirius loves to be pampered, especially after quidditch matches. he’ll lay on the bed while you rub curling cream into his hair and remus massages between his shoulder blades. the moans that escape his mouth from remus’ massaging are borderline sinful, and he claims that he would “trade sex for this any day”

speaking of quidditch matches. when gryffindor wins, everyone’s crowding around sirius and congratulating him, but he doesn’t care. he runs straight up to the stands and into yours’ and remus’ arms

both you and sirius lean against remus when cuddling, who has long arms to wrap around your waists, the tall wanker

remus chides the both of you for not doing assignments (he still does it for you anyway, pretending to hate doing it. but he loves how grateful you both are after he does)

he is a stupid stupid flirt who bends down to look into yours and sirius’ eyes when he talks to you. it makes your heart beat like crazy

sirius and you are always stealing remus’ grandpa sweaters because they’re just so comfy. he’d be like “where’s my-“ and then he’d see one of you wearing it and roll his eyes affectionately

remus is all for pressing kisses into yours and sirius’ hair 

and you like to give them each a kiss on their nose, which makes remus turn red and sirius gush over how freaking adorable you are

after full moons, you clean remus up and press gentle kisses to his scars while sirius kisses his tears away. it’s a painful yet heavenly experience, it hurts and it heals

when you have period cramps, sirius massages your stomach and presses kisses to your hairline, while remus makes you hot chocolate and envelopes you in his warmth

sirius cries all day when he gets a letter from home. and the two of you are right by him the whole time, squeezing his hands, whispering reassurances into his ear,  and wrapping him up in blankets and warm hugs

remus reads to the two of you every night till you fall asleep, hands interlaced and legs entangled. he’ll smile and press a kiss to each of your foreheads before falling asleep himself

cuddles every morning, smothering one other in tight hugs and kisses filled with bad breath and love. it’s especially nice when it rains; it storms outside, but you’re all cosy in your safe haven

you’re in their dorm room so much it might as well be yours. and it’s always lively with music from sirius’ record player

the three of you hold hands and jam out to the music, all awkward movements and tripping up, but it’s so much fun

all of you go for picnics together, or just sit under a tree near the black lake. remus will read his book, you’ll lay in his lap and make flower crowns, and sirius rests his head on your stomach while he paints his nails. remus will occasionally bend down to press a kiss to sirius’ knuckles or between your eyebrows

hugs hugs hugs so many group hugs and being squeezed until you feel all the sadness seep out, and you wish you could stay there forever with sirius’ arms holding you close and remus’ chin on the top of your head. it feels like home

[habken]

Izuku and Katsuki Hospital Comic - Thoughts and Process

I wanted to talk about the process and my thoughts while making this comic! Cause it was A Lot of planning and I feel like talking about how I went about it could maybe be helpful for other people who wanna make comics too ?

Also I just like talking and I've had So Many thoughts about it over the last few months, I just need to get them all out lol

everything is under the cut (it's Very Long) ↓↓↓

Initial Thoughts

I started planning the comic in January, around the time the chapter with the second user's plan to transfer ofa to shigaraki came out. I remember feeling so anxious and sad seeing how devastated Deku was to lose the 'gift' that All Might had passed to him :'((

It made me start thinking about what it would be like to not only go from having all this insane power at your fingertips back to nothing, but also how it would feel to lose the vestiges, which had been his advisers, yapping in his ear and keeping him company for months. How it would feel to go from constantly having people looking over your shoulder back to silence.

Then I thought about what that would mean for his and Bakugou's relationship, which has developed so much over the series. How Bakugou would feel about Deku no longer having ofa, how the two of them would wrestle with old feelings now that Deku would be quirkless again. Bakugou having to face the kid he bullied and Deku going back to a state where the world saw him as "useless" with dreams too big for somebody without a quirk.

I feel like sometimes it's not really taken into account how Deku's past affects him in the present, and that goes for in the actual series as well. Considering he's the main character, it's funny that we never really get too much of a peak inside his mind lol, especially not recently, which is most likely intentional, but I digress.

What I really wanted to do for this comic was circle back to Deku's question to All Might at the start of the series, "can I become a hero without a quirk" because while yes, deku can be a hero, he had to get a quirk to do so. So what happens now that he no longer has it? After all of Bakugou and Deku's development, would Bakugou's opinion on deku pursuing his dreams while quirkless change?

I really didn't want that answer to be no. I didn't want to believe that Deku would have to give up and "be realistic" again, it just didn't feel right for that to be the answer after 400 chapters.

So I wanted to make something that would encapsulate those thoughts! And I felt like the best way to fully get that out was through a scene in the aftermath of the battle, the two of them in the hospital with nothing to do but talk about their feelings.

It was important to me that the doubts they both felt about the future were stomped out, and for there to be reassurance that things between them wouldn't snap back to how it was before UA. That Deku could still reach his dreams even if they did become harder to obtain.

I also felt like narratively it would be a good parallel if Bakugou were to lose something tied to his power too, and with his arm being so bad off in canon, I thought it made sense that there was a chance he could lose it forever.

So it's like they're both coming out of the final battle worse off with huge losses, but no matter what, they're going to fight to achieve their dreams, and they're going to do it side by side :')

At its core, it’s very self indulgent lmao, I didn’t think that we’d get something that sappy and gross in canon (😳) so I wanted to make something for myself :')

Planning

So then I made a first draft!

When I’m making bigger comics, thumbnails are super helpful! They help me see the full picture of what it could look like, and let me change things without putting in too much commitment. So most of the drawings are loose, but occasionally I’ll put in a little extra detail into things that I want to make sure are included in the final work.

There’s three main things I consider when thumbnailing for comics; expression, composition, and dialogue. Each of these things have a huge influence on each other, so keeping them all in mind when roughing out your drawings is important!

How it usually works is I play out the scene in my head like a movie and roughly come up with dialogue, then I draw characters and expressions based on that dialogue and the visions I had. Simultaneously I plan out approximately where those drawings will go/how much space they'll take up and finally, I add in the dialogue and move things around as needed so everything fits nice together.

Having the dialogue there in the draft lets me know around how big the speech bubbles are gonna be which is a massive help when figuring out paneling. It lets me plan around the bubbles and make sure nothing is too squished!

General tips:

Something I learnt from storyboarding is that establishing a setting for your scene at the start is really important! Most of my comics will start with a long shot or include one early on for this reason. It’s good for making sure readers aren’t confused on where everything is taking place!

Having a variety of shots is good for keeping your story engaging! This comic has a lot of closeups, but I tried to add variety where I could and used a lot of different angles to keep things entertaining even if there isn't that much going on

Final thoughts on this draft:

At this stage, the ending was really different from the final version I ended up with. It was a lot more focused on Bakugou's losses too and the vibe was kinda "well we're both nerfed now but that's chill we can still be heroes." I axed most of that cause I thought it was dumb and wasn’t really the conclusion I wanted lol

After the rough draft, I started sketching everything out and adding in panels based on the composition from the og thumbnails. I also changed the dialogue as I went, focusing on making it sound more natural and easy to read.

This is where the nuances in movement and expression became a bit more refined and speech bubbles where better planned out.

At this stage, establishing clarity and imagining how readers are going to move their eye along the page is really important. Comics are generally read left to right, but you can’t just assume people are going to automatically read it in the order you want, which is why panels and speech bubble locations are so important.

Tips:

A general rule is that along with going from left to right, speech bubbles should be in descending order. This can be broken a bit, but it’s important to remember that the rule is there in the first place for clarity's sake. So if you do plan on breaking it, make sure it's not at the sacrifice of legibility. The human eye is lazy and will jump to whatever seems most logical, so planning things out in a confusing manner is going to make your comic hard to read!

This is another thing I picked up from storyboarding, but keeping in mind the 180° rule is good for clarity as well! In the simplest of terms, if you have two characters in a scene, it’s good to keep character A on one side and character B on the other, and not switch those sides willy-nilly, otherwise it can get confusing. This isn't as important in comics as it is in film/television, but I still like keeping it in mind.

Final thoughts:

I hated the original ending but I couldn't exactly figure out how I wanted it to go, and I was too busy at that point to dedicate the time I needed towards it, so it stayed as these four panels for while :’)

During the period I stopped working on it, Deku lost his arms which had me panicking lmao, so much of the comic was devoted to his emotions and body language, specifically in his hands. I just went "am I gonna have to redo everything? Do I give him prosthetics?" and I was fully ready to rework the entire thing but Eri came in clutch for Deku (and me) <3

After Deku started getting hurt, I didn't really like the idea of him being discharged and sitting with a still injured Katsuki, and wanted it to be clear that they were both still in the hospital, so I had to axe poor Deku's "hospital gown" shirt for actual hospital garb </3

At some point during april-ish, I finally added in a new beginning and end, which took the comic from four pages to seven. I felt like the new parts added a lot more levity and humour which were needed, and I think it helped make Izuku and Katsuki feel closer than before.

For these pages, I skipped the thumbnail stage and jumped straight into full page stuff, which felt easier because they were kind of just add-ons.

Something I specifically liked were the first two panels in the last page. Fun fact, but a few days after I sketched those out, horikoshi released that art of to two of them smiling together and I went !! That's the vibe I wanted !! Me and Horikoshi are on the same wavelength! That was a good day lmao.

At this point, though, while new parts added a lot more to the story and brought it closer to the vibe I wanted, they also messed with the tone and overall pacing and it ended up feeling really off. Deku was now doing this weird 180 from being super sad and upset to then immediately joking around and goofing off with no acknowledgement of anything Katsuki was saying, which had been fine enough when it was just 4 panels, but very off-putting once I made the comic longer

...So I decided to add even more panels :')

I went back to my original ideas, and part of what I wanted to get across originally was the doubts about Izuku's future from here on out, and the worry that things would go back to how they were before he got ofa. I realized those initial things which had fueled the comic were no longer really part of it, and I wanted to change that.

When I thought up the idea of visuals surrounding their middle school selves, I felt so smart LMAO. I think it ended up being the thing that brought the entire comic together.

Izuku reverting back to that anxious, unconfident state, spiralling into himself, and mumbling out all his insecurities, including his fears about losing Katsuki's friendship (and yet still somehow more worried about Katsuki's feelings than his own). And in turn, Katsuki remembering and seeing Izuku as that kid again, and his own fears of becoming a bully once more.

It better explored what I wanted to originally get across and delved more into their feelings, so that the jokes and levity at the end felt like they were earned, rather than being a rapid shift in tone.

(The only other thing that changed was the some of the panels in the first page. I changed up the speech bubbles and got rid of a panel so it would be less cramped and easier to read.)

At this point, I was still having trouble figuring out how to tie everything in and segway pages 6-7 into the ending organically, so it sat like this for around a month.

Then chapter 423 released and the battle was over and I realized how little time I actually had to get the comic out. I knew that the next chapter could possibly make my entire comic obsolete, so I hauled ass :D

These were the final plans before I cleaned everything up! I changed around some of the panels to make the story flow better, I figured out how to tie everything in, and I finalized the dialogue!

At this point all the panelling was redone because I wanted more space in between them. Before, it felt really cramped and I think adding in more breathing room made it feel slightly less overwhelming for readers.

The biggest changes from the previous draft:

First, obviously, I finished the middle school stuff and figured out how to get from one part to the next. This was the hardest part of the planning, but I ended up deciding that Deku would spiral, Bakugou would kind of bring him out of that, they'd hug and then Bakugou would reassure him. I also included motifs relating to their childhood to be reminiscent of The Apology, and Katsuki's thoughts going back to them sharing the special All Might cards, them at the lake, etc. As if this was another healing moment for each part of them; their current selves, their MS selves, and their childhood selves too

I then changed some of the panels in the first page. I switched the direction of the diagonal line in the first few panels because I thought it made it more clear which way to start reading and made the comic flow better.

In the fourth page, I added a panel after Deku starts crying, because I felt like it worked better with the dialogue, and brought in more of Katsuki's POV into the story

The sixth page doesn't really look different, but there was a lot of resizing going on panel-wise. The bottom panel doesn't take up as much space and the panels up top are a little bigger

The final big change was the eighth page. I added in an extra panel and changed up a lot of expressions/dialogue so there was more of a natural transition between the heartfelt moments and the two goofing off

I then made some final changes and drawover notes before I started a week of cleanup and colouring!

Cleanup/Colouring Stage

Cleaning up my sketches usually just means duplicating the layer, putting the original layer at 5% opacity and.. cleaning it until it looks nice lol. It's the easiest way for me to work because I hate doing lineart.

This is what my sketch vs final usually looks like. The biggest change was adding in bandages into all the drawings lol.

For speech bubbles, I drew them all by hand, created a flat colour layer underneath in white, duplicated that and filled it in with black and shifted it with the transformation tool to make a drop shadow effect.

It took me two days to colour the whole thing :')

Usually when I colour, I work in a pretty painterly way, but I thought flats/cell shading would be a lot faster for this. I was right but it still took Very Long.

The smartest thing I did was put colour swatches of each colour I was using on a separate layer above everything else so I could easily use the eyedropper and get the right colour without having to reference them from another page. It was a big time saver!

I colour all on a single layer so I don't have progress photos to show, but for each drawing, I roughly added in all the colours in the approximate locations they'd be, and once I did that for every single panel, I went back and cleaned them up one by one.

And that's that! After colouring was done, I added my signature, posted it, and took the nap of the century.

Final, Final Thoughts

I worked... Very Hard to get the comic out before leaks night and even if it was just a few hours, I'm so glad I was able to do it cause when I saw the actual chapter I lost my mindddd

I feel like as the comic progressed, Katsuki's feelings took a backseat and if I was to redo it, I'd probably put a bit more emphasis on that than I did in the final version. I feel like his ~inner turmoil~ didn't fully come through the way I wanted it to. I didn't want it to be an immediate acceptance — I wanted the fact that he was struggling with his past to be evident too — but with the focus being so heavily on Izuku, Katsuki's inner thoughts get a bit lost which is too bad </3 Good thing is Horikoshi had the exact opposite idea as me, so it all worked out :D

I'm really proud of how the comic turned out, and I'm so happy to have gotten such a positive response to it! Thank you for reading if you got this far and thank you for reading my silly self-indulgent hospital comic :)

[teojira]

[Marriage ceremony headcanons w/ Noa!] [commission!]

A/N: Thank you for commissioning me Fox ! Your support to me means everything and I hope this is good!

Summary: What marrying Noa would be like and how you both go about it.

Warnings: Noa x reader romance, very self indulgent and may be a lil ooc

Marrying an Ape is not easy, and you're sure you're the first human to have ever put those words together in a sentence and thought of them to begin with.

The ceremony is a big deal, it's you and the Eagle clan leader after all.

Human marriages have been lost to time, so there won't be any pretty dresses or suits, but you're still adorned with gifts and whatnot.

A lot of your accessories come from Noa himself, things he has crafted you in the courting process. Arm guards, necklaces, bracelets, all lovingly crafted by himself when he was ever away from you on scouting expeditions.

His mother and Soona help you too, get ready for their own customs that you may not be privy too.

It's apart of their culture that betrothed each give one another a feather from their eagle, to wear it almost as if it's a wedding ring, so they let you know to make sure to keep one handy for it.

Noa has a good bunch to choose from, subtly freaking out and thinking none of them are good enough for you, to which Eagle sun peeks at his master. It doesn't help, Noa just side eyes him all the more with a glare, smacking his lips.

Anaya is there to help him get ready as well, despite not ever going through the ceremony himself. Though he's mostly there just to lend an ear to whatever Noa needs to let off his chest.

I like to think Noa would ask you about your human customs, while yes, you're his mate, and this is firstly his home. He would never any to alienate you. He's more than willing to add in whatever you see fit. You're his mate, his equal. It's only right.

The ceremony takes place a little ways off from the colony, next to a waterfall. There's really no officator, nor is there a really big crowd. It consists of you both, Dar, Soona and Anaya, and a few other of the elders, who, while not fully accepting of the union at first, comes to their senses when Noa is adamant.

You've told Noa about vows about the speeches people usually make, and it scares the ape so badly to say it outloud just how much he cares for you. So you leave it for when you two are alone in the nest, it's more special that way you figure.

You and Noa exchange feathers, gently wrapping it around each other's arms. Your hands are trembling as you finally, and I mean, finally secure the knot.

Noa grabs your hands within his, intertwining your fingers together to the best of his ability due to the sheer size difference and pulls them to his chest, sighing deeply when you immediately move to brush across his scar, a smile on his lips.

He tugs you in, then pressing his forehead against yours as he cups your face, brushing the strands of hair away from it.

The leader is quiet as he soaks you in, your warmth, your scent, the feeling of you finally being officially his, in both of your worlds.

"Will you marry me?" You mumble, eyes opening ever so slightly to look up at Noa, and your heart is pounding so damn hard in your chest you fear you're gonna pass out.

"Yes." Noa answers without a moment of hesitation.

Now here comes the tricky part, kissing you in front of his family, the way humans do.

Lord help him, he's found echo fairy tales and he did enough reading to get the gist of how a marriage kiss should be.

It's a little bit awkward to situate you in his arms so suddenly, but the giggle you let out when he finally kisses you is all he needs in return.

Yes, both of you ignore the hooting in the distance.

[jeonghantis]

✧ — NO INHIBITIONS, STRANGE CONDITIONS.

PAIRING ⇝ kim mingyu x reader.

SUMMARY ⇝

road safety could not hold you back from wanting your boyfriend despite how stupid of a idea it is. kim mingyu was just as stupid.

TAGS ⇝ established relationship, smut, pwp.

WARNINGS ⇝ language, gn!reader but with female parts & wears skirts, distracted driving (DRIVE SAFELY PLEASE), explicit sexual content (MINORS, DNI!).

WORD COUNT ⇝ 3.7k words.

note: welp. LOL! mingyu driving drove me mad. this is 2 of 2 fics in celebration of mingyu month. a complete 180 from the first one i fink! oops! and yes i'm aware it's may now and i apologize deeply. but celebrating mingyu should be an all-time thing. the title is taken from the song leaving me feeling confident by the driver era. don't think the song would go specifically with the fic, i just liked the wording. this is completely self-indulgent so as always, not proofread hehe. not as good as i hoped it would be but i hope you enjoy regardless.

reblog for kim mingyu. thats it. (and to support me).

smut tags under the cut.

SMUT TAGS ⇝ ROAD HEAD! (dick sucking while driving), dom/sub dynamics, switch!mingyu, switch!reader, mingyu is kinda sub until he's not, reader is dom until they're not, size kink (reader is smaller than mingyu), use of the petname "darling" "baby" & "angel", dirty talk, praise (reader gets called "pretty"), degradation (whore, slut), hairpulling, mild begging, groping, oral (m), fingering (f), gagging, throatfucking, cunt slapping (once), cum eating, mingyu is ROUGH (man does not know his own strength but is caring afterwards), reader being used as a toy, cockdumb and cock hungry reader, reader probably got major oral fixation, big dick!mingyu like Big Big (could imagine mingyu being ridiculously big or reader just has small hands).

Wandering hands had become quite a shared habit, how natural it was for their fingers to gravitate towards each other. It was always welcomed, of course, when it acted as a need of comfort from the other. When there was not one moment where they were not craving for each other.

But this was a problem. Several problems. Two very conflicting problems.

First, not only is your hand caressing him at the moment, it’s artfully roving over to his crotch. And Mingyu truly loved your bold actions and might have appreciated it if it had been within the confines of their apartment. But it was in the confines of his car, in the middle of a highway.

Second, the problem to the first problem, was that this was his wet dream come true.

It’s a no-brainer what should be deemed more urgent. Mingyu didn’t want to careen their vehicle over the edge and risk their very lives for the sake of getting his dick wet. 

But. 

But the danger, although he knows it should, doesn’t entirely frighten him. It was a wet dream for a reason.

But Mingyu should be smart about this. He has to be smart about this.

Meanwhile, you’re thinking you may be utterly stupid about this. 

Most times, you would consider yourself a cautious person—someone who would always second-guess every decision, and hell, maybe third or even fourth-guessed. Truly, you were an overthinker. Sometimes, you wished you could just stop thinking altogether.

And that time has come now. There was absolutely no question of your decision, not even a single thought process done, when you reached to palm your boyfriend’s clothed dick. You only knew that you were being ridiculous, but it was because Mingyu looked ridiculously hot right now driving the way he does, glancing at you and smiling the way he does. What the hell were you supposed to do?

What you’re saying next is entirely pulled out of the shallowest part of your brain riddled with unbridled lust. And it challenges Mingyu’s logic and worsens his agony.

“Can I put it in my mouth?” you ask innocently, peering at him with big, curious eyes. 

“I might kill us both, babe,” Mingyu said, pearly canines bared when he wore a strenuous smile. He spares an urgent glance at how your hand sits perfectly atop his growing erection, nails dragging on denim. His grip on the steering wheel tightens.

“I trust that you won’t. You’re a good driver,” you claim, smiling sharply as you give him a tilt of your head. “Is that a no?”

There was no immediate response from him, his eyes fixed stubbornly on the road that lay ahead. Yet, you still caught the clench of his jaw under the flash of a streetlamp, the whitening of his knuckles. It was insanely unfair how Mingyu could still look so gorgeous when frustration twisted his features—or was it you who simply loved seeing his frustrations?

Mingyu weighed his options. Their apartment was still many ways away, he doesn’t know if he could tough it out for that long. He’s thankful the highway is nearly void of other cars, but is utterly bitter over how it stretches on seemingly forever, leaving him no room to pull over at all. He had to maintain focus on the winding paths. He tried not to think of the deft work of your hand on him. He tried not to think of how your mouth would soon replace it. But his pleasure-ridden body betrays him miserably—his hips lifting itself into a slow rut right against your hand.

“Endangering our lives just so you could fill your slut of a mouth,” Mingyu spelled out slowly, each word sharp. “Is that what you really want?”

“Yeah,” you chirp, entirely unaffected by his tone and he could practically hear the smirk in yours. “You could say no.”

He looks at you. “I could.”

“So, say it.”

A sliver of a smile as he turns away again. “I don’t think I will.”

“Oh?” The flutter deep in your stomach intensified, the anticipation having you on the edge seat almost quite literally as you’re leaning closer, adding a little more weight on his crotch. “Why not?”

“Because I dreamt of this,” he divulges, an airy sigh slipping from his lips. “Dreamt of your pretty lips wrapped around my cock in the middle of traffic, of your frustration when I’m unable to help you force my entire length down your throat.” 

“How filthy,” you jest, a shit-eating grin pulling your lips wider.

A pointed gaze. “You literally just offered to suck my dick in the first place.”

A shrug. “Fair.” 

Mingyu’s right hand reached for yours. The largeness of his palm fully encompasses your own as he presses down on it, applying enough delightful friction on himself for a strangled moan to get caught in his throat. 

“Just do it,” he exhales, his breathing ragged. “My dick is about to explode.”

“What a poet,” You snicker and give his dick a playful squeeze which only earns more of his choked noises. But thankfully, you’re merciful as you are excited and reckless. He hears the rustle against leather as you’re maneuvering yourself, folding your legs under you. His heart beats a little loudly against his chest, thrumming up to his ears and down to his dick, as lithe, dainty fingers make quick work on his belt and the button of his jeans. 

“Keep your eyes on the road for me, baby,” you say as your hand dives in to finally, finally, bring his awaiting cock out. “We both don’t want to be dead so soon before I give you the best orgasm of your life.”

“Then hurry up,” Mingyu seethes through gritted teeth.

He’s nearly at full length, and though you’ve held him countless times, you’re still marveling at the sheer size of him, how he sits heavily on your palm, throbbing thickly. Your fingers just barely come into a circle when you start to stroke him with an unhurried and leisurely pace, feeling the full extent of him.

“This hard just from me groping you?” you coo, tone a honeyed venom, as you run a thumb over his slit. “Trying to act all cool with me when you’re just as desperate to fill my slut of a mouth.” 

“Baby,” Mingyu said with heavy breaths that taper off into croaked groans. “Please don’t tease.”

“Don’t be so impatient,” you tut. “I promise I’ll make you feel good, but you have to be good and keep driving. Can you do that for me?” 

Mingyu swallows hard, the lump on his throat bobbing, and gives an obedient nod of his head before adjusting himself with a straightened back which might’ve been the umpteenth time he’s done so since you’ve offered your sinful proposal. 

“Good,” you hum, preening at his easy compliance, and dip your head down.

Mingyu bites down on his bottom lip hard when you take one small, tentative lick at his weeping slit. A ditzy giggle bubbles up your throat when he throbs almost immediately in response and your hand squeezes at the base of his cock in return. You continue with a few more teasing flicks, lapping up the bitter taste of him on your tongue, and only when you feel Mingyu’s thighs flex and strain to jerk up into your mouth do you ultimately indulge him.

“Oh fuck,” the poor man cusses out when you down him as much as you could, your mouth a luscious wet warmth as it envelopes around him. “Holy fuck, baby, that’s so good.” 

You hum appreciatively around his unbelievable girth, sending vibrations coursing down the just as unbelievable length that only has Mingyu whimpering praises more. A hand makes up for the rest of him that your mouth couldn’t quite reach just yet; it works in perfect tandem with your slackened jaw as your head begins to bob up and down on him.

Mingyu does not dare steal a glance in total fear of losing all sense of himself at what is most definitely the most lecherous view of his fantasies coming to life. His head stays firmly pinned against the leather-clad headrest, twitching eyes hell-bent on the road. But he could still hear the obscenity of it, all the wet glugs and sucks as your cheeks hollow out for him, and it does all but aid his concentration, gradually winding a burning hot coil deeply set in the pit of his stomach. The wandering habit presented itself as his right hand began to move (thanking the high heavens for making him left-handed), and glided over your back and all the way down under the impossibly short skirt you wore.

“That’s it, angel,” Mingyu drawls out in encouragement, his hand grabbing at the supple flesh of your ass. “You’re taking me so well.”

Hearing his praise and feeling his straying hand only spurs you to dip your head lower, attempting to swallow down more of him. There’s a sense of satisfaction when he bumps the back of your throat and you find that you have been able to take more than half of him in your mouth. But it’s fleeting when the latter half of Mingyu’s dream comes to light sooner than anticipated—that frustration, a consuming greed, of wanting to take him whole. And like he alluded to, you knew it wasn’t possible if he wasn’t fucking your mouth open, which is entirely out of the question. You’re still trying for some form of compensation—a hand wringing at the base, tongue lapping hungrily at the sides of his cock with lewd slurps—and it all comes out good when jerking out moans from Mingyu, but it’s short in appeasing you. It’s desperation now that’s having you creep further along his length, and it’s so so messy with the obscene amount of saliva cascading down his shaft, coating him with a wet sheen. You resist the urge to gag every time he hits the back of your throat and try to veer your focus on breathing through flared nostrils, eyes fluttering shut in concentration. 

It’s laughable how easily that focus is broken when prying fingers begin to pull your flimsy underwear. 

“I couldn’t help myself,” Mingyu averred, flashing a sly smile your way, before he’s gliding a calloused digit over your folds, gathering at the wetness trickling out.

Your mewls are broken and garbled, a new surge of spit gushing down, dripping on his lap. Instinctively, your hips swivel back hungrily in search of more blissful friction, as you peer up at him through wet lashes, a stray tear flowing down your cheek. 

Mingyu catches it when he casts a quick glance again. He notes the utter desperation contorting your expression, the glistening cheeks a sign of your eminent passion, and something deep inside him both inflames and melts at the same time. His eyes are assessing the road when it flickers back up, and there—the greatest silver lining known to man (just Mingyu) kissing the dusky sky—is the end of the highway. He doesn’t speed for it, no, instead he forgoes it, just the slightest bit as his foot eases off the pedal. He forgoes it for the sake of securing the vehicle, for the sake of slipping his a finger inside your wet channel as a reward for the glorious way you worship his cock. 

The surprised, choked-out groan you exude goes straight to his dick, quite literally. And he’s echoing it, staggered but loud enough to drown out the music flowing from the speakers. 

“I’ll pull over soon,” Mingyu imparts, gently hooking the digit and stroking your walls. “Just a little longer, baby, then I’ll fuck your throat. You’d like that too, won’t you?”

You pull off him with a satisfying pop, a string of spit threading between his cock and your glistening lips that’s quickly broken when both hands replace where your mouth’s been, stroking hard and fast. You glance up at him with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, holding back your moans as your hips sway back into his finger. 

“Be quick,” you whisper, eyelids flickering, and you lean back down to trace the veins along his cock with your tongue. “I want all of you in my mouth. I want you to bury your fingers in me. I want you to abuse me until I'm a mess of spit and tears.”

Fuck. 

Mingyu slams on the acceleration. He’s still commandeering the vehicle securely with one hand, but the finger inside you goes still, letting you use it as you please with shallow rocks of your hips and clenches of your walls. He takes a right when the road opens up and pulls up in a relatively empty parking lot very swiftly with the practiced ease of the seasoned driver he was.

Up until then, you were suckling on his tip, coaxing thick, pearly rivulets out of him onto your tastebuds. If it had been possible to be drunk off of precum, you certainly appeared to be buzzed out of your mind with how much you were giggling and lapping at him for more. You were impossibly gone in the pleasure of giving your boyfriend pleasure that you weren't given enough time to prepare yourself for the absolute reckless and barbaric nature that would be forced upon you.

Safely parked, Mingyu ignored the garbled whines when he pulled his finger away from your clenching walls as he goes to quickly undo his seatbelt. Mingyu reached for two firm fistfuls of your hair, used it as a rein to properly align your mouth for him to shove his way inside promptly without so much of a warning. Gone was his usual gentle nature, he’s completely ruthless. The power of his thrusts is terrifyingly inhumane, his sac slapping up against your chin with ease now that he waives your own comfort. He’s focused on gaining his pleasure and his alone.

“Better?” Mingyu laughs darkly. “Were you struggling all this time? Is your mouth filled up enough now? C’mon, pretty baby. Let me hear those gags.”

You do let him hear it, all the gurgles and violent retches made around him. You fucking know this’ll leave you voiceless the next day—hell, maybe for the next few days if you continue moaning against the repeated force—and yet you’re still indulging him, conceding your entire being to him almost too easily, almost too enthusiastically. 

Like the sick person you were, the brutality has you practically soaking wet through the fabric of your underwear. If you weren’t in such a rough position, you might’ve reached back to relieve yourself of the incessant throbbing of your core. And Mingyu held the mantle now, your authority beaten right out of you, so you weren’t so sure if he would appreciate you doing anything else other than being his cocksleeve.

So instead, with tears a steady stream down your face and lips red and swollen, you let him abuse you, narrowing your focus on the sliding weight of his dick on your tongue, your head laxed for him to fully control with no restraints or complaints. A perfect little toy.

Your pleasurable suffering wouldn’t last for long. Mingyu was close to breaking himself. You feel his thighs tense from where you gripped him for balance, his panted moans rising in volume against your ears. 

“You’re going to swallow everything I give you, you got that?” Mingyu drawled. “Every single bit. You wanted your mouth filled, yeah? You take it all, darling.”  

Your responding, muddled moans are a warm wet ring around him. If you could see him, you’d find how pleasure cruelly contorts his features. It takes a couple more messy, stuttered strokes then the burning coil inside him that wound so tightly snapped so violently. A surge of warmth overwhelms Mingyu, his muscles tensing and seizing, and a long, broken noise is ripped right out of his chest, as he comes in thick ropes of white right into your mouth.

The salty, warm cum of him glides down your throat like melted cream. You do try to guzzle it all down as told, but he always comes in such heavy loads. Coughs threaten to tear your throat but you’re suppressing them with the greatest effort until hot tears streak down your cheeks, your chest heaving wildly. 

“So good,” Mingyu exhales, his grip on you loosened as he takes to petting your hair with such affection as he rides out the remainders of his high. “You’re so good for me, angel.”

Satisfied after gulping down the last spurt of him, you finally let up with a small whimper, your frame quivering as you sat yourself back on your folded legs, your eyes eager when it found him. Mingyu still looked unbelievably good sweaty and flushed. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what you might have looked like with your hair strewn about and swollen lips.

Mingyu didn’t seem to care. He was smiling at you with great fondness as if he had not just abused your mouth like a mere plaything. He reached to wipe some excess cum on your chin with a thumb before immediately shoving past your swollen lips. Still quite pliant, you lick it up earnestly, giving another wanton moan around him.

“Fuck,” Mingyu starts, huffing out a breathy laugh. “You’re my wet dream come true.”

“You’re welcome,” you try to lilt, but it comes out raspy and painful. 

Mingyu notices the wince in your expression and frowns, a hand immediately moving to cradle the side of your throat tenderly. “Does it hurt?”

“Well, you were not exactly gentle, Gyu,” you pointed out humorously, but caught sight of the slight concern lining his face and you quickly followed up with, “But I loved it a lot. It was hot. You were hot.”

Mingyu still looked concerned but at least the corners of his lips twitched at your addition. “I could tell you loved it. You took me really well, angel.”

“And I’d do it again and again,” you said, grinning. “Even though I’m pretty sure my windpipe is bruised.”

His hand lifts to hold the side of your face, a thumb smoothing over your cheek, as he looks over you for a moment. There’s a strange little glint in his eyes, and in your recovering state, you couldn’t quite place what it was, but it has your stomach churning again.

“I should make it up to you, shouldn’t I?” Mingyu murmurs, head cocked to the side as he smiles.

“Could you?” you ask in turn, voice soft. “Please?”

“I’ll take care of you,” he croons, raising his hand up to brush your hair back, his fingers threading through your hair. “Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

Mingyu reaches over you, promptly maneuvering your seat backwards. He eases you until you’re laying flat on your back, and his hands move to grip at your thighs, lifting them and spreading them wide. The breeze that hits your cunt has you trembling and you feel absolutely exposed when Mingyu only watches your tiny frame unfold before him, eyes drinking in the sight with an insatiable hunger. He brushes a knuckle over your soaked folds, tentative, before pressing it roughly against your throbbing clit. You’re whining, arching your back off the seat as a rush of searing pleasure courses up your veins.

You’re whining even louder when Mingyu draws back. You try to reach for his arm but it’s useless when it’s thickly corded with so much power.

“Looks like I didn’t ruin your throat enough if you’re this fucking whiny,” Mingyu remarked sharply with a laugh. He does reach a hand back but your excitement quickly fizzles out just as it spikes when a slap lands quick and sharp on your cunt and you’re jerking in your seat. “Sit still and wait quietly.”

You press your quivering lips into a thin line and nod your head obediently.

With a pleased smile, he pulls back once again. He fixes himself, shoving his dick back into his underwear, followed by sweeping his long hair back and away from his face. He takes his sweet time and doesn’t spare you a single glance as if you weren’t there at all, all the while you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him, the anticipation simmering sickly in your stomach. Then, he’s suddenly reaching for the gear shift, setting the car in reverse, and pulling out of the parking lot.

“W-Where are we going?” you asked urgently.

“Home,” Mingyu replied casually, turning the wheel adeptly with one hand. “Where else?”

You looked down at yourself, at the compromising position he forced you in and forced you to hold. “But - ?”

As if to answer your question, his right hand roves over to you and between your legs. He starts with a press on your clit, then caresses the roughened pad of his finger down to where you leak, before bringing it right back up to start again, and again, and again.

“I promise I’ll make you feel good, baby” Mingyu echoes your words, a vicious smile pulling his lips. “But you have to be good and hold yourself up like that. Can you do that for me?”

“Are you getting back at me?” You meant for your words to come out as an aggravated hiss, but it came out pathetically as a soft whimper.

“Yes,” he responded, not wasting a beat, and peers at you, a dark glimmer in his eyes. “And because this is another wet dream of mine.”

“How lucky,” you start, taking in a shaky breath when Mingyu rubs short, tight circles on your sensitive nub. “How lucky you get to fulfill two of your dreams today.”

“It’s all because of you,” Mingyu grins and, without warning, slides two thick fingers inside you. “Now, answer the question.”

“Yes,” you gasp out immediately, the sudden breach stinging so sharply, but your walls gave a sickly delighted spasm around him anyway. Your arms come up and hook themselves around your knees, bringing it up to your heaving chest. “Yes, I can.”

“Good,” he hums, curling the digits and pressing it roughly against the sweet nerves inside you. “Tough it out because this time, I will not be pulling over.”

© circlesol. all rights reserved. do not re-publish, translate, plagiarise, edit any of my work on any other platform.

[bird-inacage]

Love Sea: The Price of Love (Tongrak & Mut's Backstories)

"Love is just a figment of our imagination." We were given more clues to both Tongrak and Mut's backstories in Episode 2 and how this has impacted their attitudes to love. There are crossovers starting to take shape, so here I am trying to connect some of those dots.

EP2: FLASHBACKS | History Repeating Itself

In Tongrak's flashbacks, we see two memories. One of him as a child where his parents Liw and Jak are fighting. His father demands that his mother pay him to stay. From the dialogue alone, I'm speculating if this is a man who married for wealth. If his father's driving force in the marriage had been monetary gain and greed - then 'love' for his family meant very little to him.

The next is of teenage Tongrak and his sister Kongkwan. It seems his sister was abandoned by her boyfriend, due to her unexpected pregnancy. In the case of both his mother and sister, love proved to be a fickle thing. So much so that a man could walk away from his unborn child, or abandon his family. Love was never enough.

So what is the price you pay for a shot at love, and is it worth it? Love brings ruin. It brings disappointment and unhappiness. Love doesn't guarantee stability or loyalty. So as Tongrak watches on, the very idea of love feels like a sham. An elaborate lie we have all bought into. "Yes, it's something we make up," Tongrak says, because he hasn't seen evidence to prove any different.

"If you don't want to end up like me...don't fall in love with anyone" his mother warns. A cautionary tale. Don't fall in love. Because love leads to nothing good. Do not make the same mistake.

EP3: PREVIEW | Embrace the Fantasy

In Episode 3's preview, Mut is eager to show Tongrak that he is capable of experiencing love. (I believe Tongrak is already starting to, which is why his mother's advice is haunting him. He's afraid he's falling into the same trap). Mut is being considerate of Tongrak's mental aversion to the idea by making his proposal feel low entry.

'If you think love is imaginary, then let's pretend. Why not indulge in that fantasy? We'll play make-believe whilst we're on the island.' (The implication being this isn't for real yet, so there's no need to panic). Mut is inviting Tongrak to focus only on the now and not the after. The island will be their bubble, suspended from the threat of reality for the timebeing. What Mut is hoping for is that Tongrak will come to change his mind on love through that process. That the feelings they experience whilst playing house can be transferred to real life. If it's easier to consider love within the confines of fantasy, then let's start there and see where it takes us.

WITH WEALTH, COMES POWER

We've seen Tongrak use his money to get what he wants. Money has the power to tether a man to his family, and equally it had the means to tear his family apart. "I'm not possessive of you but once I've paid you, you're mine." It's no surprise that Tongrak would see money as a means to exert control and as a bargaining chip.

In their NC scene, Tongrak repeatedly says "How much do I need to pay you to sleep with me?" By that point, Mut clearly didn't need money to be the deciding factor. He was plenty invested. But if it's easier for Tongrak to use money as a pretence for bargaining Mut's time, then Mut seems all too happy to oblige.

MAHASAMUT VERSUS TONGRAK'S FATHER

If Tongrak's father did leech off his mother's wealth, that would provide an interesting antithesis to Mut. Mut, the teenage runaway from a small island who has paved his way through life with very little. And yet takes full responsibility for himself, and doesn't expect a hand out. He only accepts payment in exchange for his hard work, and he doesn't wallow in self-pity because of this hardship.

I do expect a confrontation between Mut and Rak's father at some point. Jak could claim that Mut is essentially doing the same thing and exploiting Rak for his wealth. That there's no love involved. Thus, playing on Tongrak's fear and insecurity of history repeating itself. Whilst Mut does all he can to assure Tongrak he's anything but.

Tongrak's father also abandoned him (emotionally and/or physically). Now he has heard Mut share his own backstory about how his father kicked him out and left him to fend for himself, that's going to be a significant point of connection and compassion between them both. They may be on opposite sides of the coin with their upbringing, but they've gone through similar forms of heartache.

You can check out bird-inacage’s BL meta directory for all my other posts around Love Sea.

[all-too-random]

We Don't Waste Food

Sanji Vinsmoke (OPLA) x reader

Sanji notices that you haven't been eating very much.

TW: Reader is implied to be in the process of recovering from an ED. The type/reasoning behind it has purposefully been left vague. Mentions of thr0wing up/feeling sick. Sanji wants to help but may do so in a way that not everyone finds helpful. Also he's kind of pushy in the beginning.

A/N: This is a very self indulgent fic based on my own struggles. If it is something you relate to and this helps, I am glad you found some comfort in it/sorry you relate. If you dont, please be kind anyway :) Also this is my first ever x reader fic in 7 years of writing fanfiction.

"I'm full," the sound glass scraping against wood rang throughout the dining cabin as you pushed your plate out of the way, glancing nervously at your lap, "Anyone who wants my leftovers can have them." Luffy reached across the table, already grabbing for the food on the plate. Sanji's hand reached it first, though, and the blonde chef made eye contact with you as he pushed the plate back to your spot. "Y/N, darling," he said. He was smiling, but his stare portrayed a more serious expression, "We don't waste food." You crossed your arms over your chest, your eyes meeting his blue ones, "I'm not trying to be wasteful, that's why I offered it up. I knew someone would want-" He cut you off, smile disappearing, "You need to eat it yourself. It's your favorite, I made it just for you." You nodded once, acknowledging the effort he put in, "And it was delicious. But now I'm full." There was a certain bitterness to your words, causing Sanji to hesitate. The rest of the crew looked on silently, exchanging nervous glances at one another as the scene played out. You barely paid them any notice, keeping your eyes locked on Sanji as you shoved yourself away from the table and stood up. "We don't waste food. So someone else can eat it, I'm not going to."

Your boots thudded against the wooden floor of the ship as you stomped away, suddenly feeling the need for fresh air. You didn't stop until you were at the edge of the deck. The wind whipped your hair around and you watched the sky turn orange against the clear water as the sun set on the horizon. Tears pricked at your eyes. They rolled over your cheeks despite your attempts to sniff them away, so you gave up. You were alone, anyway. No reason to hide your tears out here. They just didn't get it, you thought. Although it's not like you had ever tried explaining it to them before. You never meant to waste food. You just couldn't stop it. No matter how hungry you felt beforehand, your appetite seemed to wither the second food was in front of you. More than half a portion made you feel sick, and throwing your meals up into the sea felt worse than just offering it to someone who would it eat.

"Nice evening, isn't it madam?" You whipped your head around, quickly trying to wipe the tears from your face. Sanji stood several feet behind you, smiling once again, but still with a grim aire about him. "Yes, it is," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady as you turned back towards the ocean, "Very peaceful." You could hear the heels of the chef's shoes clicking against the wood until he appeared right next to you, resting his elbows on the edge of the ship. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him looking at you, studying your features. "I'm still not hungry," you told him, and you couldn't decide whether or not it was a lie. You were hungry, or at least, you should be. But you knew no more food would stay in your stomach for long. Sanji chuckled, dipping his head down, "Well, I gathered that much, love. I just can't figure out why. Only a banana for breakfast and nothing at lunch, by all means, you should be starving." You looked at him, eyebrows crinkled in confusion, "You know what I ate?" "I keep track," he says, shrugging his shoulders, "Helps me with my meal planning. I thought for sure you'd have a good dinner tonight, especially since I made something I knew you'd love." "I did love it," you admitted to him, sighing into the wind, "I just... don't eat much. It's hard." "Hard to eat?" He raised an eyebrow at you, "It shouldn't be, we have plenty of-" "Not like that," you cut him off, waving your hand through the air, "I know we have food, I just can never hold much of it. When I was younger, I forced myself not to eat... and I must have gotten good at it, because now I can't. And I hate it, because I get so hungry only to push food away, and I feel so wasteful." You could feel tears threatening to fall again, so you laughed, trying to act like there was nothing upsetting about the situation whatsoever. Sanji, however, did not laugh. He looked at you with sad eyes, which was even more intense since the wind was pushing his hair out of his face, meaning you could see both of them. It was quiet for a moment, with no noise but the waves lapping at the bottom ship. Then, the chef let out a sigh, opening his arms. You fell into him, burying your face into his pin-striped shirt. His strong arms immediately wrapped around you, his chin resting gently atop your head. "Thank you for telling me," he said quietly, placing a kiss against your hair, "I'm sorry I pushed you so hard." "It's alright," you whispered back, allowing yourself to cry on him, "You didn't know." He squeezed you tighter, "Well, now that I do know, I'm still worried about you. The way you've been eating still isn't healthy. I'll start giving you smaller portions, so you don't have to feel wasteful. And when you're ready, I'll gradually give you more. Like baby steps. Can you agree to that, my dear?" Pain shot through the inside of your cheek as you bit down, thinking his words over. Recovery was hard, but Sanji was willing to help.... You nodded your head, accepting the offer, "Little, tiny baby steps." Sanji laughed softly, running his fingers through your hair, "Sure, little, tiny baby steps. Whatever it takes, love. Would dessert be a good start?" He raised an eyebrow at you, and you laughed, "Well, that depends... what kind of dessert?"

[jen-with-a-pen]

Dancing in the Kitchen

summary: After the worst night imaginable, your best friend helps you when you need him most. What you don't realize is just how much you've always needed him. or: Tony Dumps you. Steve picks you up and puts you back together.

parings: protective!best friend!Steve Rogers x best friend!f!Reader

word count: 4.9k

warnings: fluff, angst, self-doubt and insecurity, verbally abusive relationship elements, insults + language/name calling, reader cusses and so does Steve bc he can, no smut!, wearing Steve's clothes (very little to no description about reader's body so do with that what you will), intense feelings, confessions, crying, anxiety, best friends to lovers, intimate touch, VERY SLIGHT possessiveness, protectiveness, not Tony Stark friendly, cap quartet mention

a/n: these characters are out of college! It's set in their early-mid 20s following graduating and I thought it'd be a little more relatable (also since I'm not in college anymore I wanted this specific fic concept to be more relatable. self-indulgence and stuff). the cap quartet rent a house together. there might be more shenanigans in the future involving them. maybe. who knows? enjoy <3

If I've missed any tags, please let me know!

gif by @annislittleshopofhorrors | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Everything was cold. 

Everything was ruined.

Everything was a fucking nightmare.

Dark clouds shrouded the night sky, hiding helpful moonlight. Rain pelted at you from above, mixing with fresh tears, drenching you to the bone as cold water collected on your skin and soaked through your dress. Your hands morphed into balled fists at your sides as you shook with rage, heartbreak, and the innate need to punch something.

You couldn’t wrap your pounding head around the events of the night; everything blurred together after ten o’clock. It was like a cruel joke, one where you waited an eternity for the punchline, begging for it not to be real no matter how hard you screwed your eyes shut and prayed. 

You didn’t want to believe it, yet there you were.

It sure as hell wasn’t the first time you found yourself standing at the backdoor of Steve Roger’s house on the cusp of a breakdown– and a breakup– warring with your own body to simply knock on the fucking door. Hell, Steve was already expecting you. He knew something was wrong the second you called; there wasn’t a warning text, just you, asking in a choked-up whisper if he was home. His response spilled out in a rushed ‘yes’ before you could explain further. A ‘no questions asked’ request, something not uncommon in your friendship. Steve, since day one, was one of your main sources of comfort within a thousand mile radius. 

Now, he was your only source of comfort within a thousand mile radius. 

Remnants of the phone call from Tony only minutes earlier echoed in your eardrums like a bad case of tinnitus. Annoying, repetitive. His hoarse, drunken slurry of vicious words clawed at the inside of your skull. Another fight. Another screaming match. Another forgotten birthday– this time, it included meeting your family. You’d planned it for months prior, making sure Tony knew not to forget it.

Your insides were twisting in knots as you waited at the restaurant awkwardly with your parents, brother, and an empty seat next to you. After an hour, eight failed calls and fifteen texts later, Tony finally picked up. Delight revived the few butterflies left in your stomach, only to be crushed, turning them into weighted dread as loud club music obliterated your ear drum as he shouted at you. 

“You bitch!” he spat. “Why the ever-loving f-fuck are y’blowin’ up my phone for?!”

You didn’t have time to process what he was saying before he’d already reloaded and shot you with more.

“What the hell is sooooo important? Huh? Y-you stupid bitch! You fuckin’ knew I’m busy t’night!”

You tore the phone away. Even at arm’s length, you, and the rest of your family, could hear every single thing he spewed at you. A couple from the table next to yours stopped mid-bite to turn and throw rude looks at you and your family.

“Tony, please, I–” 

“‘Tony please’– just shut up!” he mocked. “Just shut the fuck up! I don’t fuckin’ care what you gotta– what you have t’say! I can’t f–fuckin’ stand you anymore!”

Hurt and hunger morphed into churning waves of anxiety and embarrassment. Your throat was closing. Tears began stinging your eyes. You looked between your parents in shame, meeting their stunned looks filled with pity and disappointment. Your brother refused to look anywhere but the spot on his plate where he played with his food, sadness and second-hand embarrassment plaguing his face.

Yelling, jeering, and chanting echoed out of your phone. Tony didn’t stop. 

“Y’know what? I’m not doin’ this anymore,” he slurred, gulping some unknown liquid down, swallowing, gagging. More cheering. “We– we’re fuckin’ done. You’re out. I’m done.”

The other line fumbled. You winced as you heard Tony wet his lips, preparing the final blow. His breathing became heavy, ragged, hard enough you could smell the liquor through the phone.

“Fuckin’ cunt.” 

Click.

You loathed yourself for tolerating him; the endless cycle of poisoning you, providing the antidote, and taking it away when it seemed to get better. The whiplash from his unpredictable moods and personal attacks on you hurt as bad as it felt when he’d come around with endless apologies– accompanied by flowers, cuddles, and kisses– to heal each wound he was responsible for. 

This time, though, the stab was fatal. This time, you bled out; it’d been akin to getting gutted and hung helplessly in front of your fucking family. 

A sob snuck its way up your throat. You choked it down, willing your fist to reach up and knock on the door. You didn’t understand why this was next to impossible. Steve was your best friend. It wasn’t like he was a stranger. It wasn’t like he’d chastise you or yell at you or tell you to fuck off. Yet, there was a fear, deep down, feeding on the anxiety and self-doubt in the pit of your stomach, telling you the opposite; it whispered to you, telling you to run back to your car, scream into the steering wheel, and speed off to disappear from everything and everyone for just a little longer. It’d only be until you got your head on straight, until you figured out what to do with the apartment and your classes and your stuff and–

Knock. knock. knock.

In the blur of a million thoughts racing through your mind, you automatically reached up and weakly knocked, body tensing every muscle as you waited.

The door swung open, revealing one extremely concerned Steve Rogers.

Steve panted, a result from sprinting down the stairs from his upstairs bedroom in an attempt to open the back door by your first knock. Acutely aware of his jaw hanging from its hinges, Steve’s soft baby blues bore into you, scanning you up and down, stunned at you and your dress and how desperate you looked. 

Time stopped the second you saw him; it was difficult to describe, but everything magnetizing between the two of you was different. You felt different– different in the way he was familiar and somehow new at the same time. Steve felt different– different in the way you were single for the first time in two years and he was single since… forever ago.

This time was unlike the million other times.

You both stared. Your lips quivered, his parted in disbelief. Both your minds instantly went blank, unable to think of anything to say, to do. So, the sky thought for you. It opened its floodgates, releasing a torrential downpour as you stood inches from warmth, from comfort.

“Steve,” you croaked, reaching for him. 

It was then, everything came crashing down. 

You crumbled to the ground in a heap, knees buckling while your hand and arms braced for impact with the ground. Steve quickly abandoned his tight grip on the doorframe, catching you, helping you inside. Lungs gasped for air as heavy sobs poured from your chest and tears flowed steadily down your face. You pawed at Steve’s arm hooked around you as he stumbled back into the house, kicking the door closed and collapsing onto the kitchen floor with you in tow. He immediately pulled you closer and hugged you tightly against his chest. You heaved, crying out from the painful pit in your heart, digging your fingers into his flesh, hard enough to bruise. You buried your face into his t-shirt and bawled.

All of it– the rage, the hurt, the mess of balled-up emotions from the last two fucking years– came unraveled. Hands twisted into Steve’s t-shirt, balling the fabric and pulling it taut enough to rip. 

Steve didn’t shout. He didn’t complain. He didn’t utter a single word as he leaned against the kitchen cabinets, rocking you gently, squeezing you harder as his chest rose and fell rhythmically against your pounding skull, silently coaxing you to follow his breathing. Blubbering in his lap, stringing words together became futile as thoughts became unrecognizable. Another wave of panic and anxiety crashed over you. Steve’s mumbled shushes softened you; the deep timbre and honeyed bass of his voice and vibrations in his chest grounded you, welcoming you to safety. To home. 

“Shh… don’t worry, I got you. I have you. You’re okay,” he muttered, running a hand gently up and down your back.

“I–he–bu–” you fumbled, lip quivering as another sob overtook you. Rage clawed at the walls in the chasm of your chest. You screamed. Guttural, pained. Again. And again.

“Shh… it’s okay, let it out. You’re okay. You’re safe here,” he soothed, rocking you, adding in a lowered octave, “I’m here.”

“T–Tony,” you hiccuped, fists twisting more of Steve’s t-shirt. “He–he–”

“What, angel? What about Tony?” 

“He–he c–called me n–names a–and,” you shook your head violently, “he b-broke up with me. For real, this time.”

Steve cupped your cheek, softly wiping away fresh tears with calloused fingertips. While you continued to cry in his arms, his focus turned to the back door you tumbled through. Inside, he seethed; his rage nearly boiled over at the thought of anyone doing this to you, let alone Tony fucking Stark. Out of all the things you’d told him over the last couple years– all the threats, the cruel jokes and abandonment and insults– tonight was the ultimate cherry on top. It validated every time Tony’s actions made Steve think vengeful thoughts on what he’d do if he ever got five minutes with the douchebag. Just five minutes. Alone. 

He shook the thought away, looking back down to you. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him upset, let alone remotely think you were the cause of it. He’d promised himself that the first time you met.

Tony was going to fucking pay for what he’d done to you every single second for the last two years. And on your birthday, for chrissake. 

“What–” Steve swallowed the excess rage in his chest. “What kind of names, sweetie?”

You softened, sniffling, refusing to look at him. “He called me a b–bitch, a–and,” you bit your tongue, “a… cunt.”

The moment the word left your lips, Steve fought every last nerve in him not to put you to bed, get in his car, and go teach Tony a lesson on some fucking manners. Hell, even the idea of taking Bucky and Sam crossed his mind. 

He pushed the thought away, focusing back on you. You needed him. You came to him for help. No one else but him. 

Steve slid his hand off your back and placed it under your chin, thumb and forefinger gently coaxing you to look at him. Big blue eyes swam with concern and worry. In the dark of the kitchen, they seemed brighter than ever– a beacon guiding you back from the hurricane in your head.

In an instant, everything in your head went quiet. No more muffled echoes from the phone call. No more sobs readying to burst out your chest. No more caring about how swollen and puffy your eyes were, or the drying combination of mascara and tear stains running down your cheeks and neck. Your sopping wet dress that drenched the floor, and Steve, was pushed to the back of your brain, the cold no longer leaking into your bones as he brought you back down from the ledge.

All you saw was Steve. All you smelled, all you could feel, was Steve. 

Steve swallowed. His jaw slacked, tongue jutting out to wet his lips, slowly drinking you in for as long as he was able. 

And honestly? You couldn’t care enough to stop him. It’d been so long since someone looked at you the way Steve did.

Had he always looked at you like that?

“Listen to me. You are none of those things. Not even close,” he whispered, hoping you believed him. 

You nodded lightly. “I–I know, but it hurts,” your voice cracked again, eyes drifting away from him. 

“Hey, look at me,” he tugged at your chin, “you will never be anything like he says you are. Ever. Okay?”

You stared at him. A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips as you placed a hand on his, taking it from your chin to your chest. Warmth bloomed as it rested against your damp skin. 

“‘Kay.” Barely a whisper. Enough for only him to hear.

He paused, gaze holding steady on you, lips twitching at the corners. 

“Let’s get you up ‘n out of that thing, yeah?” He nodded to your dress. “You gotta be freezing.”

Gently, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the kitchen floor and pulling you up on your feet. Your legs felt like a wobbly blend of jelly and nerves that forced you to lean onto Steve for support. He anticipated this, catching you and gripping your shoulders. You didn’t say a word. Instead, you clung to him as he guided you through the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. You passed by Sam and Bucky’s rooms, both empty for the night, just like Natasha’s downstairs. 

As Steve rifled through his drawers and closet, your focus wandered to his messy desk: the lamp cast a soft, warm glow across the room, sitting next to history books and sketchbooks stacked high on top of one another; pencils and dirtied paint brushes littered the surface, products of his latest art assignment. His bed was half-made, dark green covers on one side neatly tucked in while the opposite was thrown aside, exposing gray pinstripe sheets. The walls were covered with scattered art– some his, others his favorite artists’– posters and pictures of family, friends, and some local bands. You bit back a smile. Memories of the shows you both went to over the last few years played like a highlight reel in your mind. You never regretted it; you never passed up a single invite, even after the time Tony locked you out for a whole weekend. 

“Here, these are clean,” he handed you a neatly folded pile of his clothes before adding, “I promise.”

A fuller smile broke across your face. The first of the entire night.

“Uh huh, sure, I believe you,” you joked sarcastically. He feigned hurt, scoffing at your false accusation.

“I did the sniff test, if that makes you feel any better.”

You giggled, taking the clothes from him and turning to head to the bathroom.

“I’ll be down in the kitchen,” he called after you. “You, um, you want something to drink?”

You paused, turning to look at him from the bathroom doorway halfway down the hall. From where he stood, the saturated pink creeping up his neck and reaching his face was more visible than the light on his desk. You couldn’t help but hold in a snicker and flash him a relieved smile, thankful.

“Coffee would be a godsend, right now.”

Steve smiled, saluting you. “Coming right up.”

You headed into the bathroom, tossing the clothes onto the counter, slumping against the door the second you shut and locked it. Finally relaxing, you realized how much tension was pent up in your tired shoulders– which, in turn, prompted the realization you were holding your breath the entire time in Steve’s room. 

Brushing the self-induced lightheadedness, you slipped the ruined dress off your body and hung it up on the shower rod. You hated the color, the texture, but wore it anyway. For Tony. On your birthday.

You cursed yourself, pulling your bra off next– a pushup that held your rib cage hostage the entire night. Just how Tony likes it. 

Or, liked it.

You silently prayed Steve included some Bailey’s in your coffee. 

Pulling on Steve’s sweatshirt, the scent of him enveloped you instantly. You couldn’t help but nuzzle into the neck of it, filling your lungs with the familiarity of Steve. He was a quiet, sunny Sunday morning and freshly brewed coffee. He was a nice night in watching your favorite movies and playing cards. 

Your head was swimming, swirling, caught up in the entirety of your best friend. He was yours just as much as you were his. Through Tony, through other guys you’d subjected yourself to the last few years, none of them compared to Steve. 

You tugged the sweatpants on, catching sight of yourself in the mirror and realizing the runny makeup staining your face. You snorted at how fucking ridiculous you looked, remembering the caked-on layers you’d put on for the evening. Again, just for Tony. The snort turned into a giggle, utterly grateful for Steve not making fun of how you looked and for ignoring the mascara stains on his poor t-shirt from earlier.

But, again, it was Steve. He’d never make fun of you. Ever.

Butterflies– the ones you’d thought were long gone months prior– stuttered suddenly, alive and fluttering in your stomach. 

You instantly recognized the feeling: it was the same you had the day you met Steve.

The same feeling you’d get on roller coasters, or reading an exceptionally good romance novel. Giddiness, dizziness. It was as if you were spinning while the room stood still. Your head felt light, high on helium. Your skin burned. Meeting your own gaze in the mirror, you scanned yourself, the question ‘is this happening right now?’ running on a loop at the forefront of your mind. 

Bzzt.

You jumped at the buzz of a text. With the trance broken, you took into account your shaking hands and the bumping tempo of your heart. Turning on the sink, you made sure the water was as cold as possible before cupping some in your hands and splashing your face. Refreshing. Needed. You rubbed the rest of the runny wakeup off your skin, stuffing your face into the fluffy hand towel and silently promising to get the boys a new one. Picking up your phone, teeth chewed on cheek to hold in your smile at the sight of Steve’s name on the screen.

⍟ Steve: You doing OK? Coffees ready 

You looked at yourself in the mirror.

“You got this,” you told your reflection. “He’s only your best friend.”

The butterflies continued to multiply, bumping against one another, fluttering and escaping out into your chest and your limbs. 

“Fuck.”

You opened the door. 

⋆˙ઇଓ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“I was beginning to think you climbed out the window up there,” Steve quipped upon seeing you round the corner into the kitchen. He couldn’t help the stupid grin spreading across his face when he saw you in his clothes. You looked more relaxed, more comfortable.

More like you. 

You noticed he changed, too, donning a heather-gray t-shirt that clung to his torso in all the right ways– ways you hadn’t noticed before.

You mentally scolded yourself.

“A–Almost. But I’d never pass up a cup of world-famous Rogers Roast.”

“Wow, world-famous? I would’ve preferred universally-renowned, but I’ll take it.” He held a mug out to you, one faded with a ‘I ❤ New York’ logo– the one you’d gotten for him during your senior-year college internship. “Made it just how you like it.” 

He paused as you took a sip. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you, biting his lip in anticipation as you drank. The coffee tasted like liquid gold, warm and comforting and all-around delicious. You didn’t care if you burnt your tongue. This was what you needed. 

He was what you needed. 

Was he?

You looked back up at Steve. His cheeks flushed as he pressed his lips together, entranced with the mug in your hands, eyes ever-so-slightly flitting from it to your lips and back again. 

“Thank you, Stevie.” 

“You’re welcome, angel.”

You pinched yourself, then took another sip.

Silence fell, comfortable and calm, as you both nursed your drinks, checking your phones and letting time pass. You didn’t care to check the clock. 

Steve cleared his throat and set his phone down. 

“So, um,” he began. “What else did you have planned for your birthday?” 

His voice was low, tender, careful with the question so as not to upset you. He was curious, however, and determined to see exactly how much Tony fucked up your night.

And your life.

“Oh,” you swallowed, chewing your lip in an attempt to remember what you’d originally planned.

“He was, ah, gonna take me dancing. After dinner, after he,” you took an unsteady breath, “after he met my family. It was the one thing he told me he'd let me do after dinner.” You shook your head, adding under your breath, “besides him.”

Tension seeped into the space between you both. You didn’t want to meet Steve’s stare; it was the one you’d always see whenever you told him about Tony, one filled with anger so palpable it made his arms flex subconsciously, one he thought he hid well enough so you never saw, but you always did. Without looking up, you already knew his jaw was clenched and his shoulders were stiff and his eyes bored a hole into the wall behind you. Butterflies started to somersault, crashing into the waves of worry and anxiety. 

“Why?”

You looked up. Blue eyes. Stormy, swirling, stubborn.

“What?”

“Why did you stay with him?” Steve asked steadily, voice barely above a whisper. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

You paused. “Because he wouldn’t let me leave.”

“I could’ve helped you. We could’ve helped you,” he gestured vaguely to the rest of the house.

Your teeth tore into your bottom lip. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“I–” Steve sighed and carded a hand through his dirty blond hair, frustrated, trying to keep his promise while also appealing to you and balancing the fragile tightrope you two stood on. “I care about you, angel. I care about you so fuckin’ much. I just wanna know why. Why he was– why you were–”

“I–” Don’t fucking cry. “I was trapped. Every time I tried to leave, he’d tie me down more. It… it wasn’t as easy as you fucking think, Steve. Rose-colored glasses, wool over my eyes, wolf in sheep's clothing, that sorta thing, ya know? These last couple years, I… I don’t know why tonight was it, and I don’t know how I was able to get out, and I just… I don’t fucking know. I don’t. I–” 

You felt tears again. 

“I– Angel, I wasn’t trying to–”

“No, I know,” you cut him off, setting down your mug to rub your face in your hands. “I know. But I need you to understand that I– God, my fucking brain feels so scrambled. I just feel so confused, I feel like I’m going insane right now. Fuck!” 

You tried to calm down, taking deep breaths to feed your strained lungs, holding on to each before exhaling. In, hold, out, repeat. 

The room was spinning again, whirling around like a sick carnival ride as your center of gravity began to give.

As you braced the counter, strong hands and warm, muscular arms engulfed you, lifting you back from the countertop and guiding you into the middle of the kitchen. Steve pressed into you until you relented, reaching your arms around him and pulling him closer. The tension in your shoulders melted, migrating to your chest where your heart surged the moment he touched you, where it pounded against your sternum, threatening to break out of its marrow cage. You inhaled him, savoring him, feeling him all around you.

Slowly, delicately, Steve unwrapped from you. He was careful with every touch, as if he would shatter you– even though he had no problem with putting you back together again. He’d done it a million times before, and he’d do it a million times again.

He’d do it all again for you. 

Steve carefully slid your hands from around his center, placing one onto his shoulder, then– nervously and ever-so-slowly– he held your other hand out, sliding down your forearm and entwining his fingers into yours. His free hand fell softly onto your waist, fingers absently and lightly kneading the fabric and skin underneath his palm.

“May I have this dance?” he whispered.

You looked up from the floor to Steve, speechless. You nodded.

Then, he started to sway. He guided you both, rocking side to side to an unheard rhythm and subtly spinning in unison under the soft glow of the kitchen light.

He smiled softly, boyish and genuine, with admiration and tenderness in his eyes. Something gentle and kind, something about the feeling and the familiarity of it– of him– sank into you the longer you looked at him. Your focus shifted around the features of his chiseled face. You recognized the light freckles stippled across his nose and cheeks leftover from the summer; the scar on his earlobe from the night Natasha drunkenly dared you to pierce his ear and failed; the faint worry lines sculpted into his forehead he inherited from his father; the soft, full pink of his lips that innocently parted when you caught him staring at you.

It was the feeling that felt foreign to you; the one missing from your life after the last two years. But, it wasn’t missing. It had been right in front of you the entire time stealing glances, accidental touches, and irreplaceable memories.

Steve had been there. 

Steve had been the one looking at you like that for the last two years. 

He wasn’t missing. He was just waiting his turn. 

And, judging by the realization that washed over your face, his waiting was over. 

Steve's smile widened as he squeezed your waist, wordlessly confirming the thoughts running rampant in your head. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the ghost of a cry, blinking away tears forming in the corners of his vision. 

Your lips trembled as you smiled back. Slowly, you snaked your hand from his shoulder to his cheek and cupped his face. He leaned into your touch instantly, stubble and skin rubbed against your palm as he kissed it lightly. The press of his lips sent a spark coursing through your veins, electrifying your body and the air around you. The two of you continued to sway while the kitchen spun faster, a blurred whirlwind while you both remained in focus.

“When?” you asked, voice barely audible.

“Since the day I met you.”

“Why didn’t you–”

Steve shrugged. “I wanted to get to know you first. Didn’t wanna be some random dude who just wanted you for your number. You seemed too special to rush into something. Still are,” he sighed. “I wanted to be your friend first, but before I could muster up some courage, Tony swept you out from under me.” 

Guilt crawled up your throat. “I– I’m sorry, Stevie.”

He stepped away from you, twirling you, then dragged you back to him. You could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating. 

“No, baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I promise. I–” his voice broke. “I wanted you to be happy. I want you to be happy. I just– I wish I did more for you. I should’ve done more for you.”

He tilted his head to the ceiling trying to stop his tears from falling, but you pulled him right back down to you. 

“Steve,” you started, keeping on his baby blues while your own voice struggled to remain steady, “you’ve done more for me than anyone else in the entire world. Hell, in my entire life. I just lost the last two years of my life suffering with someone I thought I loved. Who I thought loved me.”

You brought your other hand to his face. “You did all you could. I just… I thought it was gonna get better, you know? I thought, I hoped– God, I even fucking prayed– that he’d get better, but he didn’t. Nothing did. And I couldn’t find a way out. It’s like he conditioned me to believe he was the only one I had, like, he was the only one who’d ever save me.”

Steve frowned, but nodded in understanding. 

“I’m glad you came to me. Not just tonight, but every night. It was like reassuring me that I didn’t totally lose you, or like I never totally lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me, Stevie.”

His face, red-hot underneath your touch, moved closer to yours. You couldn’t tell if you were pulling or he was pushing. His hands gripped your waist the tighter you held his face, the two of you crashing into one another in slow-motion. The light above you grew brighter, the humming of the appliances was getting louder, the room spun at an infinitely unfathomable speed. 

You crashed together. 

Soft lips– softer than either of you could’ve ever pictured feeling– fit together like the perfect puzzle pieces. Neither of you moved, staying locked together until your hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer and smashing his nose into your cheek. His grip became bruising as his fingers kneaded into your waist, steadying himself with your hips. You felt another surge of electricity as his tongue jutted out, parting your lips and swiping along the bottom before retreating back behind his.

He tipped you backwards on your heel, smirking against your lips as you flinched and grabbed onto the collar of his shirt. 

Setting you upright, he pulled away from the kiss and whispered, “I’ll never let you go.”

“Never?” 

“Ever.”

You kissed him again, and the butterflies went wild. 

[munson-blurbs]

Billy Hargrove is into you, and you assume that you don't deserve better than that narcissistic douchebag. When heartbreak inevitably happens, Eddie Munson is there to pick up the pieces.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), oral (f! receiving), protected p in v, Billy is a POS, reader is insecure about her body (no descriptions given, though she mentions not liking her stomach)

**Billy is very manipulative to get reader to sleep with him, though she does consent**

WC: 5.7k

A/N: This is based on two real experiences I had when I was younger. It's incredibly self-indulgent, but has also been wonderful for my healing process. I hope it can help someone else, too. (Also, sorry if it's rambly; it was cathartic but also emotionally difficult to write).

--

As the last swimmer exits through the iron gates, you breathe a sigh of relief at the end of another shift. Lifeguarding at Hawkins Community Pool wasn’t necessarily a difficult job, but it sure was tedious. Your flip-flops thwap against the pavement as you pad into the locker room to get dressed, skin sticky from sunscreen and that infamous mid-July humidity.

“So,” Heather says, twisting her blonde hair into a ponytail as she changes from her swimsuit into shorts and a t-shirt, “you ready to hear that secret?”

You nod enthusiastically. It’s all you’d been thinking about since you’d climbed down the lifeguard tower when her watch duty began, and she’d whispered that she had something to say to you privately. 

Heather’s eyes gleam as she announces, “Billy told me he thinks you’re hot!” She claps her hands together excitedly. “Not that he needed to; anyone can watch him check you out all day long,” she adds with a smirk. 

“Me?” you ask incredulously, unable to muffle your surprise. On instinct, you wrap your arms around your waist protectively. Heather might be comfortable changing in public, but your own body insecurities made it torturous for you to even be naked privately. 

“Yes, you!” your co-worker giggles. “You should talk to him.”

You’re still mulling over the prospect of Billy Hargrove being into you when your ride pulls up to the pool gates. Waving goodbye to Heather, you hop in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. He picks you up every night you work, and the two of you always split a joint in your backyard before he heads back to the trailer park. It makes your crappy summer job all worth it; God knows the pay isn’t even going to cover your textbooks when you go back to college in August.

“Save any little gremlins today?” he jokes, turning down his music so he can hear your answer.

You shake your head and laugh. “Nah, just yelled, ‘no running!’ about 84 times.” Leaning back in the seat and stretching your legs, you glance over at him. “But Heather told me something interesting.” Eddie cocks his eyebrow, and you take that as a sign to continue. “Apparently, Billy Hargrove thinks I’m hot.” You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. Sure, he’s not exactly your knight in shining armor, but he’s an attractive guy who has a thing for you.

“Oh, ew.” Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Please describe the look on that douche canoe’s face when you turn him down.”

“Who says I’m turning him down?” you quip, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Your best friend sighs. “Well, you should,” he says pointedly, never one to mince words. “Guys like Hargrove only want to get in a girl’s pants and then find a new victim.”

“Why are you being such a bummer?” you snap. Eddie just keeps his eyes on the road, oblivious to your glare. “If Jeff was about to get laid, you’d be throwing him a goddamn parade!”

He chuckles tersely. “That’s because Jeff getting laid would be a fuckin’ miracle.”

You look around, exaggerating your movements for emphasis. “Well, asshole, I don’t exactly see a line of people forming to sleep with me, either.” With that, you pull your knees to your chest and turn your body so that your back is to him.

The car is silent, save for the sounds of Metallica’s Ride the Lightning album crackling through the speakers. After what seems like an eternity, Eddie pulls into your driveway and throws the van in park.

“Did…did you still wanna smoke?” he asks quietly, twiddling with a loose thread on the ripped knee of his jeans.

“Nope.” You jump out of the van, slamming the door shut behind you. “And you don’t have to drive me home tomorrow. I bet Billy will do it.”

You hear him calling your name as you stalk into your house. Honestly, you could really use some weed right now, but you’re too infuriated at him to push it all aside for a quick smoke session.

The next day, you make a point to sit next to Billy when you take your break. He’s smoking a cigarette, occasionally flicking ash into a chipped tray on the table. 

“Can I bum one?” you ask, pointing to the rolled tobacco between his plush lips. 

Billy smirks, reaching for the pack of Marlboros and holding it out to you. “Didn’t peg you for a smoker, sugar.” He passes you his lighter, and you spark up and inhale deeply.

“I usually prefer something greener, but this’ll do.” You take another drag, trying to work up the nerve to say what’s on your mind. As the smoke curls around your mouth, you notice Billy’s eyes trail down the curves of your body, as though he’s trying to drink you in. “Something I can help you with, Hargrove?” you tease, impressed with the way you easily flirt with him. It’s so unlike you, but it feels good.

“Yeah,” he says, chuckling softly. “You can hang with me tonight. Got the place to myself, so, y’know…” He trails off and raises his eyebrows, looking at you expectantly.

Your stomach flip-flops despite yourself. This is what you want, right? No more waiting around for Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet. It’s not going to happen, never going to happen, not when you look the way you do. And if a gorgeous man like Billy Hargrove is actually willing to have sex with you, you’re in no position to turn him down. “O-Okay,” you stammer, hoping he doesn’t sense your nervousness. “I’m working till nine tonight; is that–”

“Perfect,” he interrupts, flashing you a megawatt smile. “I finish at six, but I’ll stick around just for you, pretty thing.”

Pretty. He called you pretty, and he wants you. Wants you enough to hang out at work for an extra three hours just to be with you.

The rest of your shift drags by; all you can think about is Billy. The way he feels, the way he tastes, what he looks like underneath those swim trunks.

The only problem is that he’ll also want to see you naked. The thought sours your mood. You try not to catch glimpses of yourself in the bathroom mirror after you get out of the shower, and now you’re about to let him see you, completely vulnerable.

Stop being such a baby, you scold yourself. Beggars can’t be choosers.

Billy’s waiting outside the locker room once your shift ends. He takes your hand in his larger, stronger one, and leads you to his car.

“Seems kinda silly, getting changed out of that cute little swimsuit,” he whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine, “when you’re gonna get undressed again so soon.” He leans you up against the passenger door, pinning your hips back and kissing you hungrily. One hand roams under your t-shirt to the swell of your breasts, breaking away when he feels the fabric of your bra. “You tryin’ to hide these from me, sugar?” He starts to reach for the clasp, but you stand up a bit straighter.

“Did you wanna, like, grab something to eat?” you ask shyly. “We can stop by Benny’s on the way to yours if…if you like burgers?” You cringe as the words leave your lips. Could you sound any more pathetic?

Billy just chuckles patronizingly. “That sounds like a date, and, uh, I don’t do dates.” He leans in, taking your earlobe between his teeth. “But I do other stuff real well.”

Something isn’t right. This isn’t what you want, but you should want it, and so you push down the apprehension and try to focus on the man in front of you. “That’s fine,” you murmur, even though it isn’t. People have casual sex all the time. It doesn’t mean he’s any less attracted to you. Like he said, he’s not the dating type, so why cause problems where none exist?

“I don’t know if I can wait until we get to mine,” he growls, and you can practically taste the spearmint gum that he was chewing earlier. “Might just have to do you in the backseat, hm?”

You nod as he opens the door for you, pretending for a millisecond to be a gentleman. He clambors in behind you and slams it shut, pulling you onto his lap so you’re straddling his waist. You can feel his erection pressed against your clothed sex, and you allow yourself to smile. You did this to him. You got him hard. Not Chrissy Cunningham, or Heather, or Bo Derek. You.

He starts to take off your shirt, but you push his hands away. “Something wrong?” he asks, giving an exasperated sigh. Did you already fuck this up?

“N-No, it’s just…” you avert your gaze, too embarrassed to make eye contact. “Could I keep my shirt on? I don’t really like my body, and I’d just feel better if I didn’t, um, take it off.” Heat blazes behind your cheeks, and you will yourself not to cry.

“For fuck’s sake,” Billy grumbles under his breath, flexing his biceps as he stretches. He lets his hands fall to your ass with a soft smack. “You got me all worked up, and now you’re not even gonna let me see your tits?”

You duck your head in shame. “I’m kinda insecure about the way I look,” you admit, hoping it will soften his heart. Though kinda is an understatement. 

He rolls his eyes, running his tongue over his teeth impatiently. “Y’know,” he finally says, squeezing the plush of your ass, “you might feel better about yourself if you got naked for me.” 

You inhale sharply; that’s not at all what you expected him to say. Maybe something reassuring; something about how much he liked the way you look. Instead, he’s clearly irritated with your hesitation. 

“M-Maybe.” It’s worth a shot, and you slowly peel off your top and unhook your bra, letting it fall to the floor of the car. You watch anxiously as his eyes flit across your bare chest, waiting for his reaction. An indication that he just has to have you and only you.

Instead, he clicks his tongue and simply says, “not bad.” He fumbles with your shorts button before unfastening his own. He strokes his cock lazily, staring at you. “Touch yourself, sugar. Get yourself ready f’me.”

There’s something screaming at you that this isn’t right; he should at least attempt to get you off instead of asking you to do the work for him. But you do as you’re told, not wanting to humiliate yourself further. 

You shimmy out of your shorts, pushing your panties aside and rubbing slow, timid circles around your clit. You’ve done this plenty of times to know what feels good, yet you can’t seem to get it right when it counts. Billy doesn’t notice—or care—that the moans floating past your lips are fake, and he lines himself up with your entrance. 

“Condom?” you remind him, and he rolls his eyes again.

“Doesn’t feel as good,” he grumbles, but he reaches into his wallet and pulls out the square piece of foil and tears it open, sliding the rubber over his thick cock. He pushes into you, not bothering to take his time as he ruts up. “Move your hips for me,” he tells you. “Bounce up and down; damn, do I gotta walk you through everything?”

Tears prickle at your eyes, and you manage to blink them away before he can see. Maybe this’ll get easier with time, you think. Maybe I’m just too nervous. You will yourself to relax, holding onto his broad shoulders as you lean down to kiss him.

“Feels good, yeah?” Billy grunts, and you nod as you zone out. You throw out a few more half-hearted whines as his hips stutter against your pelvis and he spills into the condom. “Fuck, there ya go, take it,” he croons, sweat trickling down his forehead. As soon as he rides out his orgasm, he’s hoisting you off of him so he can clean himself up. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure.” You try to sound enthusiastic. “Could you, um, drive me home?”

“Whatever,” he shrugs, but waits for you to put your clothes back on and climb into the passenger seat.

He wants to do this again tomorrow, meaning he wasn’t completely repulsed by your body. So everything should be good, right?

The next week and a half is filled with lust-fueled backseat romps, usually ending with Billy coming and you…well, returning home to use your trusty vibrator. You’re starting to feel a bit more comfortable, but not in your own skin. It’s more that there’s a certain power behind Billy choosing you when he could be with literally anyone else. You hold your head a little higher, walk a little taller. Even your parents notice on your weekend trip to visit your grandparents in Indianapolis, though you didn’t clue them in on the source of your newfound confidence.

When you get back to the pool that Monday, you’re about to whisper in Billy’s ear to ask if he has a second to “check out a situation in the locker room” with you. What you find stops you dead in your tracks.

His arm is wrapped around Heather. They’re laughing together and she presses her lips to his cheek; he tilts her chin so he can kiss her passionately. It’s more tender, more loving than the way he kisses you.

The ground starts to spin, and you grab onto a plastic chair to steady yourself. As soon as Heather walks away, you march over to Billy.

“What the fuck?” you hiss, trying to keep your volume down. You wince as your voice cracks, giving away the sadness tucked inside your frustration. “Are you with Heather now? Like, with her?”

“Uh, guess so,” Billy replies snidely, twirling a toothpick between his teeth.

You bite your lower lip, willing yourself not to cry. “I thought you said you weren’t the dating type?”

He shrugs. “Just kinda happened,” he says nonchalantly, as if he didn’t just destroy your world. “You were away, she asked me to go to Scoops and grab some ice cream; one thing led to another, and…” he trails off. “Not like you and I were exclusive or some shit.”

“Because you didn’t wanna be!”

“And why do you think that is, huh?” Billy shoots back. “Why do you think I’d rather be with Heather than with you?” He scoffs, leaning back in his chair slightly. “You’re so goddamn uptight, y’know? Always worrying about the way you look, about people seeing us in the car. Heather just…goes with the flow. I can’t deal with someone so high-maintenance. Actually, most guys can’t.” With that, he storms out of the break room, leaving you trembling.

A wave of nausea washes over you as you slump down in a seat. All you wanted was to be wanted, and you blew it. Billy’s right; your insecurities keep you unloveable.

You try to take deep breaths, letting the tears slip down your cheeks. Your shift doesn’t start for another ten minutes, so you pray that you’re able to collect yourself before you’re due to start your watch. You’re sobbing too hard to notice the two boys peering into the lounge, watching you with growing concern before dashing to the nearest payphone. 

You slide on your sunglasses to hide your red, puffy eyes. The last thing you need is people asking you what’s wrong. Just as you’re about to walk over to the lifeguard stand–to switch with Billy, of all people–you feel a tap on your shoulder.

Eddie.

“Um, hey,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head nervously. “Will and Dustin called; said they saw Hargrove yelling at you, and you crying. Told me to ‘get my scrawny ass here, stat.’” He gives a terse chuckle. “Exact quote, by the way.”

You want to wrap your arms around him and never let go, but you remember what he said to you. Worse, that he was right. “‘M fine,” you lie, and Eddie sees right through it.

He gingerly takes off your sunglasses, heart breaking as he gets a glimpse of your tearful expression. “C’mere,” he says, pulling you in for a tight hug and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. It’s so tender, sweet, and selfless. It’s Eddie.

“Go tell your boss that you’re not feeling well, yeah?” he says finally, still not letting you go. “We can go grab something to eat, and you can tell me everything.”

“‘M not hungry,” you shake your head, “and I just wanna go home.” Your voice is whiny, but you’re too sad to care.

“Okay, well, you’re still leaving,” Eddie insists, and you don’t have the energy to argue. “The sheep,” he gestures to where Dustin and Will are standing, and they wave as though they’ve been caught, “will tell your boss that you’re sick. Lady problems or whatever.” You feel his fingers intertwine with yours as he leads you to his van. “And you can tell me as much as you want, ‘kay?”

You nod wordlessly as Eddie gives the younger kids a thumbs-up. He normally chooses the music, whether he’s the driver or the passenger, but this time, he tilts his chin towards the radio and says, “all yours.”

You turn the dial until you hear a Fleetwood Mac song, expecting Eddie to crack a joke or complain about your selection, but he just taps the steering wheel to the beat. When he drives to a gas station to fill up his tank, you don’t think anything of it until he comes back out with a bag full of Haagen-Daaz.

“Got all your favorite flavors,” he announces, plopping back into the driver’s seat. “I know you said you’re not hungry, but you will be at some point. So…sustenance.”

A smile tugs at your lips, and you manage a small “thanks,” as he drives you back to your place. When he pulls into the driveway, he waits awkwardly for you to say anything else.

Finally, he breaks the silence by handing you the bag from the Shell station. “Don’t want this to melt,” he offers lamely, frowning when you burst into a fresh round of tears. You hear him mutter, “that’s it,” and he kills the engine, jumping out of the van to run to your side. “Up and at ‘em.” He pulls you out of your seat, scooping you up and flinging you over his shoulder with ease. He kicks the van door closed, walking to your front door before setting you down. 

“That’s my favorite method of transportation,” you giggle softly, and he breathes a sigh of relief as your humor peeks through. 

“Save a horse, ride a Munson, right?” he jokes back, blushing when he realizes the double entendre he just made. “Uh, anyway, I can leave if you want…” He stuffs his hands into his back pockets nervously. 

“You can come in,” you say, unlocking the door. He follows you, heading straight for the kitchen and grabbing two spoons from the drawer. 

“Figured we could start with cookie dough,” he says, holding out the pint. “Ladies first.”

The two of you sit on the couch in comfortable silence as you dig into dessert. Halfway through, you look up at him through misty eyes. “I’m waiting for the ‘I told you so,’” you say softly. 

“Huh?”

You tell Eddie everything: Billy’s claim that he wanted something casual, his reaction to you asking to keep your shirt on, the venom he spewed earlier today. “I never should’ve trusted him.”

But Eddie’s seeing red, fists clenched and jaw squared in pure rage. “The fuck did he say?” He stands up so quickly that he nearly knocks over the pint of ice cream. 

“Where are you going?”

“To kick his sorry ass!” Eddie exclaims, grabbing his keys from the table where he tossed them. 

“He’s not worth it,” you tell him. “Just…can you stay here and eat ice cream with me? Please?”

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles, plopping back down next to you. “But I still wanna punch him in the face.”

“You and me both,” you agree, taking another spoonful before posing the question you’ve been too afraid to ask. “Do you think I’m a slut?”

Eddie nearly chokes on his bite of cookie dough. “A slut? Because you slept with some douchebag?”

“No,” you say quietly, “for having sex with someone because I wanted to feel beautiful.”

His whole body deflates. “That’s why you…why wouldn’t you think you’re beautiful?”

You bark out a tense laugh. “Where to start? Um, my face, my hair, my body…oh, and apparently, now I’m too insecure and uptight to love, so…”

Eddie cradles your face between his strong, calloused hands. “Listen to me,” he says. “You are the most goddamn beautiful person on this Earth. Your eyes…I could stare into them all day. You have the cutest nose I’ve ever seen. Your smile makes me smile. And your hair…no matter how you wear it, you always look good. Sometimes you say things like, ‘ugh, my hair’s a mess today,’ and I’m just flabbergasted.”

“Flabbergasted?” you interject, amused by his word choice.

“Flabbergasted,” Eddie affirms. “And your body is…I’m gonna sound like such a creep here, so forgive me, but your body is so fucking hot. Like the night we had that argument, you said something about no one else wanting to sleep with you. But I know for a fact that that’s not true.”

“It’s not? Who wants to sleep with me?”

Eddie laughs nervously as he slowly raises his hand. “Um, me? But not, like, in a smash-and-dash way. Like in a take you on dates, hold your hand, be your boyfriend kinda way? Oh my God, just tell me to shut up. Please.”

“You’re just saying that to cheer me up,” you mutter.

“Nope. It’s the truth. Cross my heart.” He makes the slashes across his chest with his fingers. “Wait…the thought of us together cheers you up?”

You nod shyly. “Just never thought you’d be into me like that.”

“Well, I am. I so fuckin’ am, holy shit.” Eddie looks like he wants to kiss you, but he’s holding back. “Can I take you on a date? Maybe tomorrow?”

“I’d love a date with you, Eddie Munson.” You watch as a grin spreads across his face, and you rest your head on his shoulder. He lays his arm along the back of the couch, not quite sure whether to put it around you. That’s how the two of you fall asleep as the remaining ice cream melts in its container.

Seeing Billy at work the next day still stings a bit, but it’s easier than it was. You know he’s an idiot, a player, a manipulative piece of shit. And you have a date with Eddie, who is the kindest, gentlest soul you’ve ever met. And you deserve that kindness.

Eddie picks you up from work as usual, but instead of his typical ripped jeans and a concert tee, he’s wearing…well, un-ripped jeans and a concert tee. But he smells like a new cologne as he kisses your cheek, blushing as he pulls away.

“You look absolutely incredible,” he muses, reaching over to hold your hand. “Seriously, I’m so lucky you agreed to go out with me, shit.” He smiles at you, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Nothin’, I just…” He can’t seem to shed his dopey, lovesick grin. “Told myself I wasn’t gonna kiss you; like, kiss you kiss you, until the end of the date. But you just look so goddamn gorgeous.”

“Shut up,” you duck your head, trying to hide from him. “I’m the lucky one. My date is hot and has a kickass personality to match.”

“Guess we both got lucky tonight.” Eddie bites his lower lip when he realizes what he’s just implied. “I mean–”

You squeeze his hand, effectively silencing his racing thoughts. “Where are you taking me?” you ask, trying to change the subject. It’s not that you were embarrassed by his Freudian slip, but after what happened with Billy, you weren’t looking to rush into sex.

“You’ll see,” Eddie says, excitement building in his voice. A few moments later, you’re walking into the Coffee and Contemplation Café, with Eddie holding the door open for you. Your sundress swishes along your thighs as you take a seat across from Eddie. He immediately takes your hands in his, caressing them with his thumbs.

“Eds?”

“Mm?”

“I need to look at the menu.”

“Oh.” He lets go of your hands, looking a bit sad as he does. “Sorry, baby. Shit–can I call you that?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I really like that, actually.” Baby. You’re Eddie’s “Baby.”

When the waitress comes around, you order a vanilla latte, and Eddie orders coffee with cream and two sugars. “That’s what Wayne always orders when we go to the diner,” he explains. The two of you decide to split a piece of crumb cake–one slice, two forks.

“This is a really nice date, Eds.” You wrinkle your nose. “Hmm. I need a cute nickname for you now, huh?”

Eddie taps his chin as though he’s deep in thought. “How about…stud muffin?” He feigns offense when you giggle. “What? Am I not studly?”

“Oh, the studliest,” you reassure him, still laughing. “I like ‘babe,’ though. Because you are a babe.”

“I dunno…kinda like stud muffin better,” Eddie teases, taking a sip of his coffee. “Now, tell me all about your day.”

And so you fill him in on every detail, from the kid who peed in the pool to the mother who berated the lifeguards for “allowing” it to happen. “Like we can control their bladders or something,” you add with an eye roll, and Eddie cackles. A strand of hair falls in his face, and you tuck it behind his ear.

“Thanks, baby,” he murmurs, peering at you from under impossibly long lashes. That’s when you lean in and kiss him, soft and slow and sweet. He’s not expecting it; probably thinking he was going to initiate when he dropped you back off at home. His lips remain frozen for a second until his brain registers what’s happening. Then he’s kissing you back, palm on your cheek.

“Was that okay?” you ask finally. Eddie’s response is to slam a $10 bill on the table and grab your hand, leading you back to his van. He kisses you again against the side door; it reminds you of how Billy kissed you that night that you…

Eddie notices that you’ve stopped kissing him back, and he pulls away. “Baby? You good?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stammer. He’s not Billy. Not even close. Not even a little bit. You take a deep breath. “Just nervous, c-cause the last time I did this, it, uh, didn’t end well for me.”

Eddie wraps his arms around your waist, gently pulling you towards him. “Hey, hey,” he coos. “There’s no rush, yeah? And I’d never–never make you do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I know.” And you do. So for now, you just rest your head against his chest, listening to the beautiful sound of his heartbeat.

The next month before you leave for school is filled with dates, each better than the last. Eddie takes you to the carnival, the drive-in movie theater, picnics at Lover’s Lake…anywhere he can. The kissing gets more fun; you’re able to focus on Eddie–your Eddie–and not on your past experiences.

The night before you’re set to go back to college, you’re ready to take that next step with him. The two of you are sitting on his bed and listening to music; your plans for an outdoor music festival having been squandered by the pouring rain. You move closer to him, straddling his waist as you press your lips to his neck.

“‘M gonna miss you s’much,” you pout, moving your mouth to his. “Want you, babe. All of you.”

Eddie gives a terse chuckle. “I want you too; so fuckin’ bad. But we don’t have to do this just because you’re leaving. I’m not gonna break up with you. In fact, I…” he swallows thickly before continuing, “I think I love you, baby. Shit, no; I know I love you.”

“I know I love you, too,” you smile, kissing him again. “And I want to have sex with you because I love you, and I want to show you.” You dig your fingers into Eddie’s hair, nuzzling your noses together. “Is that okay?”

“More than okay,” he breathes, hands settling on your hips. “You’ll let me know if you wanna stop, right? Just tell me, and we can go back to cuddling. Promise me.”

“I promise,” you say, and it’s the truth.

Eddie nods. “Okay. On your back, baby. Let me take care of you.” 

You do as he asks, and you feel his lips trail down your torso, stopping just before he reaches the throbbing ache between your legs. “Yes?” he looks up at you patiently.

“Yes.” With that, he unbuttons your shorts and tugs them down your legs, running his middle finger along your lace panties. He shivers as he feels how wet you are, all for him, and he nearly tears the underwear in half trying to yank it off of you.

“Wanna taste you,” Eddie mutters.

“Y-You can taste me.” You whimper, and Eddie wastes no time licking a soft stripe along your folds, easily finding your clit. “Right there.” His lips wrap around your sensitive bud, flicking his tongue over it. “Holy shit, yes, right fucking there.”

Eddie detaches from your sex for a second, chin already shiny with your slick. “Keep makin’ those pretty noises f’me, please.” He sounds just as desperate as you do as he plunges back between your legs, this time slipping a finger inside you as he licks. You’re moaning, and there’s no faking it this time. Eddie’s touch has you floating, You can vaguely sense him rutting up against the mattress, so turned on just by eating you out. He’s holding onto your hips, eyes never leaving your body.

“Gonna come, feels s’good,” you whine, never wanting this feeling to end. You grind up into his face as you ride out your orgasm, gripping the sheets and screaming his name. “Eddie, Eddie, I’m coming, holy fuck!” After he brings you back down from the high, you push yourself up onto your knees.

“Where ya goin’?” he asks. “Was that too much?”

“Just wanna return the favor.” You lean over to rub him through his tented jeans, but he shakes his head.

“Not tonight,” he mutters, “I’m too pent up. I’ll never last in that perfect little mouth of yours.” He kisses you deeply, and you can taste yourself on his lips. “Can I be inside you?”

“Yes, babe. Please.” You look down, realizing that your shirt is still on. You want to show him all of you, let him touch every last inch of your body, but you hesitate to take it off.

Eddie must be able to read your mind, because he tilts your chin in his direction. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wanna see you naked,” he admits, “but only if you’re ready. You can keep it on if you’re more comfortable.”

You inhale in for three and exhale for three before you respond. “I’m ready. I’m comfortable.” You lift the shirt above your head, revealing your bare breasts. The incredulous stare on your boyfriend’s face is almost comical. “Are you okay?” you giggle.

“No, I think I died and went to Heaven,” he says, letting his thumbs graze over your hardened nipples. He undresses himself in record time, revealing his long, thick cock. Pre-cum drips from the tip. “Baby, I wanna spend all night touching you, but I’m gonna bust if–”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him. 

He reaches into his dresser drawer, pulling out a condom and removing it from its wrapper. “Can you put it on me?” he whispers, and you oblige, rolling it down his length. He hisses at your touch, too sensitive to ask you to linger there. He sets you back on the pillows, slowly pushing into you a little at a time until he’s fully inside. “Good, baby?”

“Mhm,” you mewl. “S’good. You can–you can go faster, whenever you want.”

Eddie threads his fingers with yours, putting your hands up next to your head as he rocks into you. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he groans. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you.” He punctuates each I love you with a kiss to your lips.

“I love you, Eddie. ‘M all yours.”

“All mine,” he echoes, “my baby’s all mine. And I’m hers. Her pussy belongs to me and–shit–my cock belongs to her.” He squeezes your hand, not possessively, but as a reminder that it’s him. It’s him, it’s you, it’s the two of you together. His eyes never leave yours, and he suddenly smiles. “You make me so damn happy.”

“This has been the best summer of my life,” you agree, “and it’s all because I have you, babe.” 

His chest rubs against yours ever-so-slightly, and the sensation of your breasts has him weak. “I’m gonna come.” His expression is apologetic. “Shit, I didn’t wanna–”

“Let go for me,” you assure him, feeling yourself come undone as you speak. “We c-can come together.” Your second orgasm of the evening happens on his cock as he spills into the condom with a wanton moan. He’s still for a minute, catching his breath before removing himself from your warmth.

“I love you,” he says as he kisses you, sliding off the barrier and tying it. “Let me toss this, and then can we cuddle? I kinda just wanna hold you.”

“I’m down to cuddle before round two,” you say, laughing at his dumbfounded expression. “Don’t worry; I’ll give you a few minutes to reload.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he says, climbing back into bed and sighing happily as you snuggle into his chest. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

--

[yuoimia]

FLY ME TO THE MOON

summary: you ask them to fly you to the moon.

characters: aether, albedo, alhaitham, ayato, baizhu, childe, cyno, diluc, heizou, itto, kaeya, kaveh, kazuha, thoma, tighnari, wanderer, xiao, zhongli.

cw: gn! reader, not proofread.

stares blankly - aether, heizou, zhongli, albedo.

bombarding them with odd questions never ceases to render them completely speechless, despite the countless times you have. their intelligence flies out the nearest window. and this particular one, asked so nonchalantly, so casually, like an enquiry about the weather, a generous minute is needed to recover. to blink away the confusion, and sneakily observe you. do you seem serious? or are they just the victim of your usual dosage of self-indulgent teasing? sometimes distinguishing the difference is harder than the question itself.

“hey, could you please fly me to the moon?”

“…”

hands you some cheese - childe, cyno, itto, diluc

thinks they’re very funny. absolutely hilarious. they can’t even hide the muffled sniggers as they look into your face of disbelief, cheese dangling in your hand where it was placed. cheese? of all possible answers, you were given a block of cheese. and their face, an annoyingly smug grin plastered onto it, almost makes you want to shove the piece of cheese right into their mouth. you were expecting some romantic answer, complimented with some cute gestures, but��no. all you received was some smelly piece of camembert.

“cheese?”

“yes, camembert.”

“…do you get it? well, it’s because-“

“the couch looks nice, doesn’t it?”

“how about we watch it together instead?” - kaveh, kazuha, thoma, baizhu

smiles whilst answering. kind as ever, they’re willing to do the next closest thing. if they can’t fly you to the moon, they dearly hope watching it with you will be just as enjoyable.

when you explain it was just a joke, that you weren’t serious about being flown to the moon, they softly laugh and reply with something along the lines of just wanting you to be happy. your happiness is their happiness, they will always try their best for you. so sometimes, it makes you wonder how someone could be so infinitely loving and beautiful.

“keep on dreaming” - wanderer, xiao

meanies who understand the joke but takes it seriously (to purposely rile you up ??) in all honesty, they would 100% take you to the moon and back a thousand times if they could. they tend hide the depths of their love under sentences that have double-sided meanings. all dreams must come to an end, don’t they? something (or someone) will have to wake you up. they know they can’t fly you to the moon, but that doesn’t stop them from doing something just as miraculously sweet.

“what a crazy mind you have” - al haitham, tighnari, ayato, kaeya

secretly amused. despite having a disapproving tone in their voice, their face and mannerisms tells a different story. your creativity with these questions get his mind thinking into overdrive, as he tries to come up with a reply just as smooth and unforeseen. but today, they settle with a comment on your thought process. (affectionately and jokingly, of course.)

“i was thinking… could you fly me to the moon?”

“what a crazy mind you have.”

“so that’s a no?”

“when you do find a way to fly to the moon, tell me.”

he does want to fly you to the moon <3

© ayaboba. do not copy, modify or translate in any way.

[awkward-tension-art]

Clones and Your Grief HC's

I’m coping with the fact that a family member died by writing headcanons for copy-paste-men. Yes, this is entirely self indulgent. Yes, I am writing based on what I had felt/gone through in the last 24 hours.

CW: Death of family member, reader is gender neutral, This isn’t proofread at all, grief, mourning, If i miss a tag lmk

Clones: Rex, Fives, Wolffe, Hunter, Echo, Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair

Minors DNI

You got the call this morning. Right before you got ready for work, you got the call of your family member passing away in the night. no warning. all so sudden.

It felt like you were struck with a speeder. Then, you felt nothing. 

Logically, you knew it was shock. Your brain was overloaded, and you were unable to process. You weren't incapacitated yet, so you got up.

You have work to do.

So you went to work, shutting down and doing what you needed to do in order to make it through the day. You were in a daze the entire time. 

Time went by too fast but also too slow.

You don’t even know when you got home. You just know that you clocked out and walked into your apartment. Unsurprisingly, your clone lover, who had a key, wanted to see you that night.

He took one look at you and knew something was seriously wrong.

When you told him, the grief finally hit you. 

Rex

Will hold you, remaining silent.

He's lost brothers on the field and was forced to continue as if nothing happened. He knows why you shut down due to shock that morning.

So he understands.

He's just going to hold you tightly, and not let go until you do.

Rex is well aware that sometimes talking about it isn't going to help. So he keeps quiet and lets you speak when your ready.

He's a silent comfort. Let's you come to him if you need him to hug you, listen to you or cuddle you.

Fives

Immediately his arms are around you and he's whispering comfort

He might get teary-eyed too out of pure empathy.

He knows grief. he knows pain. and he knows what your feeling. So he wants to help you through it.

He had shut down too before, and only truly felt the emotion afterward. He gets how numbness might hit you in waves.

He'll go with you to the funeral if you want. he just wants to be by your side to help you.

Expect a lot of cuddling, honestly. He just wants to hold you and not let go until he's certain your alright.

Wolffe

He was one of 4 survivors of his entire legion getting killed. Trust me, he knows the feeling of grief.

His brothers and him all leaned on each other through their grief, and he's going to do the same for you.

He'll ask what you need, and act accordingly.

He's a steadfast shoulder to cry on. Like Rex, he doesn't talk much.

You'll have to go to him, he isn't going to push or pry. He knows if he tries to force you to feel what your not ready to feel, it'll do more harm than good.

He'll hold you, keep you close and try to give you everything you need.

Hunter

He knows something is wrong even before you walk through your door.

He's the type to try and comfort with the usual words of 'It'll be ok' or 'they're in a better place.'

If this doesn't help you much, he's flexible and patient. He'll adapt to what you need from him. Space? you got it. Closeness? he's there.

He's going to catch on very quickly if you don't eat or drink properly, so he's going to be pushy in that regard.

Hunter isn't going to let you abandon yourself because of your grief.

Like I said, he's patient and flexible, he'll do whatever he needs to help you through your grief.

Echo

He's the softest out of all of them. He's going to hold you, kiss your face and just be there for you.

Like Fives, he's extremely empathetic. He'll shed a tear just because your crying.

He'll take care of you, honestly. bring you meals, brush your hair (if you want), help you to bed, everything.

Your his heart, and he's in actual pain that your grieving.

Though, if you shut down the same way you did that morning, he's going to worry

He understands how quickly someone can spiral in grief, and he's going to move the entire galaxy to help you.

Wrecker

Like Rex, he's holding you and never letting go.

He's going to try and distract you, make jokes, get you outside into the sun, or get you moving at the very least

He won't allow you to close yourself off. He'll give you space, but he won't let you shut him down completely.

Also wants to attend the funeral with you, if you allow him. He'd be holding your hand the entire time. Though, if it's a family-only event, he understands.

He's pretty quick to pick up on what you need. You need someone to hold you? he's there. You need to get your grief-driven anger out? He's got a pipe ready and some scrap piles that need beating up.

He's going to be by your side through it all.

Tech

First thing he asks is 'What happened?'

Admittedly, he gives some standard responses, such as 'I'm sorry for your loss' and other things like that.

If it doesn't help much, he stumbles slightly. He knows your going through mourning. He knows whats happening logically. but he can't logic his way through this.

So, Tech is going to act with his gut feeling, and try his best to help and comfort you.

He does some researching and looks more into how best to help you through your grief. He's fully prepared depending on the stage of grief you've hit.

He'll talk you through the bargaining phase. Help you get your anger out. Make sure your eating and taking care of yourself through the depression phase.

He's with you, to the best of his ability.

Crosshair

He's not going to say a lot. his words are minimal at best, instead opting to physically comfort you.

He becomes...protective. more so than usual.

It's because your at an extremely vulnerable position emotionally and mentally. He'll be damned if he lets something or someone cause you any more pain and grief.

He's going to attend the funeral with you. if its family-only he's going to go anyway and remain at a distance. Practically shadow you.

Crosshair is going to be extremely sweet and soft holding you. He doesn't want you to bottle up your emotions, so he's going to just wrap his arms around you and let you cry.

Again, his comfort is more physical rather than verbal.

[elllisaaa]

eli i’m having dirty bookworm thoughts again… they can at least break me from my reading slump not only make me more addicted to sunghoon 🤨 DOES SUNGHOON EVEN READ why am i coming up with these kind of ideas 😭

i’m thinking 💭 you’re writing a romance novel with a few sex scenes sprinkled in there and when sunghoon finds out about them after you give him to read your first draft he gets jealous?? you’ve spend so much time thinking about these things what if you were horny and you touched yourself after writing them out? and you didn’t tell him a thing?? he decides to do every single intimate scene from your book to you tonight but TIMES better 🙃

sunghoon is really going to be your bias sweetie i think, you're constantly losing your mind over him (but don't ever stop, i love it). it's so funny to me how we're always associating him with books lmaoo but i'm here for it and i love to write it everytime. 

SUNGHOON has always been very supportive of you and every project you started. so when you announced that you had been writing some novels and wanted to get serious with that, he couldn't have been more proud of you. 

he was so attentive to your every need whenever you started another writing session. he brings you tea or coffee when you're thirsty and cooks for you when he knows you've spent the whole day working on your novels and didn't eat. but sunghoon was always there to take care of you and help you out of your writing blocks by giving you idea, or reading your texts to help you improve. 

so when you told him that you wanted to start writing a romance novel, he was all in helping you even if he teased you a little bit by reminding you not to describe him too much as the perfect boyfriend. but apart from that, he doesn't try to interfere in the creative process too much, not asking about the plot if you don't mention it to him. but sunghoon is always there to help you whenever you need it.

it's not until you give him the first draft of your novel to read that he notices the few sex scenes that you also wrote. and listen, sunghoon is not easily getting jealous, he trusts you with his life, so how did words on paper were getting angry ? because he was. he could only imagine you thinking about all the dirty scenarios you wrote, all alone while he could have been there and make them come true. he couldn't help but wonder if you touched yourself while writing all this. 

sunghoon didn't even reach the end of the novel before picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom. you don't even understand what's happening until your boyfriend starts to undress himself. 

"you're such a naughty girl princess, writing all these things when you could've just told me that you wanted to get your ass spanked."

your cheeks were burning as you tried to defend yourself. yes, the sex scenes of your novel were self-indulgent, including all the fantasies you couldn't voice to sunghoon. but you didn't think that he would pick up on that. though he clearly did as he caged you in with his arms, lips inches away from yours.

"gonna make all these things you wrote real hm ?"

and he would so do that : manhandling you in all the positions you described, slapping your ass, fucking you rough until you cried and letting you sit on his face. eveyrthing you wrote, he did it ten times better, resulting in you orgasming too much time to count and your body dripping with sunghoon's cum.

"now you will tell me everything you want baby, right ?"

when you nodded mindlessly, too fucked out to focus on anything else than his beautiful face and his cocky smirk.

"good girl. you know i'm the only on to make you feel like that"