#like genuinely i don’t remember doing that

[seumyo]

KENJI SATO ✰ 10:43

“Working overtime really doesn’t suit you, Sato.” The teasing sentence made Kenji grunt in disapproval, slumping against his couch.

“Wow, I didn’t notice. Thank you for that valuable input, [Name],” he says, rolling his eyes at you. 

He can’t help the sarcastic reply. Kenji’s schedule was all over the place. His life has been all over the place ever since his return to his home country, Japan. And now he not only has to take care of himself—which, in his defense, was fairly simple when he just had to worry about himself—he has to worry about an infant Kaiju!

What a wonderful (not) icing on the cake.

“Ken is really appreciative that you made time to fulfill his request, or, shall I say, cry for help, [Name].” Mina’s familiar voice flurried from a distance, closing in to your right in a breeze. 

“Hey! It was not a cry for help—it’s more like a... Asking a friend for a favor,” Kenji says, trying to ease his brain with what’s coming out of his mouth (like it was on autopilot, scrambling to defend himself and the pride he had left).

“Uh huh. And the favor is? I don’t really think there’s anything I could do to her containment unit or any repairs that’re needed in this place.”

“I just need someone to watch over her.”

(“I just need someone to talk to” is a much fitting phrase.)

“Doesn’t Mina already do that?”

“There’s only so much a supercomputer like me can do to entertain a living being, [Name].”

On cue, Emi croons at the video of you singing on stage. A part time career of yours, because when you’re not developing new tech that boosts the economy, you might as well indulge in your hobbies. 

Kenji wouldn’t admit it, but he has a vinyl or two—or even a whole collection of them—that he considers as priceless as his one-of-a-kind sports car displayed in the basement.

“Would you look at that? She likes your singing.” 

He watches as you take a step closer to Emi, observing how she delightedly squealed at the soft melody being played on the holograms. This 20-foot-tall baby Kaiju reminded you of the time you took care of children at the daycare center.

“I just...” he sighs. You didn’t even notice that Kenji was already beside you, offering you a canned drink. 

“How do you do it? Juggle everything?” He murmurs. “You’re the busiest person I know. Working on your thesis, performing at various concerts, taking on charity work, and whatnot. Hell, if you could run for president, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you in the elections, too.”

A quiet laugh was returned. “It’s not easy, that’s for sure. But within time, you’ll learn just what you need and what you can handle.”

“Mm. Don’t you ever just want to run away from all the responsibilities people place on your shoulders? I can barely take care of this young lady,” he chuckles, though it doesn’t hold even the slightest ounce of humor to it.

“I wish, but then I’ll remember the kids who're so happy to see me whenever I drop by,” you say. “They may be a handful at times, but you’ll be surprised to know just how smart and caring they are. How they take in their surroundings and attempt to figure out who they are. We’re all what they have. The least we could do is give them our time and love all the same.”

Kenji lets your words sink in. Simple and touching. The kind that gets the gears in his head to start twisting.

“You really are a charm with your words; did you know that?”  

“Thanks; I try my best.”

The night continues with Kenji and Emi playing baseball on a simulated field with you by the shed, cheering on from a safe distance. Kenji doesn’t remember the last time he’s been this genuinely happy after his return to Japan. It’s a refreshing feeling that he wants to get used to again. To see the baby Kaiju successfully hit the ball with a swift swing after watching after him is a sight that tugs at one’s heartstrings.

Just like a proud father.

“Come on, girl! We gotta run the bases!”

And as the two celebrate their moment of triumph, the baby Kaiju stomps toward you and giggles happily as she hoists you in the air without much warning. You took it all in you not to shriek and absolutely lose all composure, but when you’re up in the air and are being held to a bear hug like some sort of teddy bear by a Kaiju that could probably crush your bones if not careful, it’s hard to not just scream for your life.

“Oh, ok—ok. Baby, put me down gently, please,” you chuckle nervously. 

“It appears that the little one sees you as her other mother,” Mina adds.

Kenji laughs at the sight, pulling out his phone to take a picture. This is definitely a memory he’d want to remember.

“This is not funny, Kenji. Tell her to put me down.”

“Aw, is Baby not listening to her Mommy?”

“Again, not funny. This is like an out-of-the-blue co-parenting a child with you. With you being my annoying ex-husband.”

“Specific, eh?”

“Shut!”

When you’re just about to leave for the night, Kenji suggests that you sleep over. There’s a lot of spare bedrooms in their manor, he reasons. He also doesn’t understand what came over him to offer, but he doesn’t take it back.

But it could be because he’s missed you. And he’s somewhat afraid that this may be the last time you see each other in a while due to your clashing schedules.

“You’re such a girl dad, Kenji,” you tease.

“Haha, good one,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. He took a couple of blankets from the closet and placed them on the bed.

“Just saying.”

“Whatever you say, Mommy.”

“Oh hush, Daddy.”

That ringed out a laugh from him. “Bleh, that sounds so embarrassing coming from you.”

You shrugged. “Hm? Don’t you think you’re embarrassing too?”

“I’m not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. I will not be going back and forth like this with you anymore, Kenji Sato. Good night!”

Kenji can’t hide the smile that appears on his face. Yeah, he definitely missed this. 

Definitely missed you.

SEUMYO © 2024. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[queenpiranhadon]

A/N: AHHH ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT ARE YOU CRYING YET?? IK I AM 😭😭 Thank you @cashmoneyyysstuff for supporting me throughout everything. Here’s the masterlist!!!

Warning(s): Cursing, reader is the daughter of Aizawa, Shinso and Eri are biological siblings, reader is 20 years old, Reader uses "Cattus" as her alias, reader's nicknames are Cactus, Cattus and Cat, war, reader gets hurt and burned alive (a lot), reader runs away again, Kirishima’s just the best, character death, gore and blood, bad war descriptions lol what do you expect from me, reader is AFAB and female, ANGST, someone breaks into reader's house, Eri sleeps with reader bc she's traumatized, PTSD, mentions of burns

Pairing(s): Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ: Retreat

When you wake up, you’re in Chiyo’s home - in the same bed you found your father in all those months ago. 

Your head feels like cotton, even blinking makes the world around you dizzying. Everything hurts, so much you feel nothing, pain so intense it’s numb. 

The last thing you remember was being burned alive. You mentally laugh at your predicament, feeling so out of it that you couldn’t bring yourself to physically do so. Why couldn’t you die?

Immediately, everything rushes back to you, but yet the answers brought forth bring too many questions for you to process. 

Was your family okay? Where’s Ejiro? Seriously, how are you not dead?

Just then, the door opens revealing your family rushing to your side, each with looks of either worry or relief on their faces. You smile weakly, but it lacks warmth. You’re too exhausted to show any form of genuinity. 

Eri takes your hand, sniffling softly, your heart breaking as you can do nothing but watch as your younger sister cries, in too much pain to really do anything. Hitoshi and your father stand there in silence comforting the young girl. 

Entering right behind them is Ejiro, who bursts in, with tears streaming down his face. 

“Cactus, you idiot.” he scolds, but you know he doesn’t mean it, choking on his own tears, enveloping you in his arms. You don’t realize you were crying until the rough pads of his fingers swipe across your face, callused skin felt scarily soft in comparison to your own charred flesh. 

“I missed you, Y/N.” he says, you want to respond, but your vocal chords were too damaged to create any noise. Your heart throbs, and more tears slip from your eyes. You were so glad Ejiro’s okay, but damn your head hurts, your body hurts, your heart hurts, it hurts to function at this point. 

Chiyo enters the room, shooing Ejiro and your family out, insisting that you need rest. You made a mental note to thank her later. You loved your family and Ejiro, but right now, you just wanted space to process everything. 

When they leave, you cry. Your life… it was gone, with these darn burns that covered your body, muscles weak and unusable- would you never be able to walk, run, fight anymore? The thought only makes you cry harder, heart aching from everything that’s happened, wishing that maybe, just maybe in another life, you could be happy. 

Maybe Bakugou would like you, maybe you never went to war and you could’ve happily with your father and siblings - you could’ve been Maid of Honor at Ochako and Izuku’s wedding, or judgmentally sit on the couch with your father and brother as Eri brings home her first boyfriend. 

You just wanted a chance to enjoy the mundane things in live, realizing with a sinking heart that you would never be able to - the chance gone before it was even presented to you.

Sleep overtook you soon enough, thanks to the sedatives Chiyo gave you, and you drifted off, finding solace in your subconscious. 

Why me?

***

It’s the dead of night when you wake again, with a pounding headache- a noise from somewhere in the room startling you awake. 

In the moonlight, you see two carmine eyes staring back at you. Immediately you think of Bakugou, body tensing up before you catch a glimpse of silver hair, realizing it’s your younger sister. 

She steps up to you, tears forming in her eyes again as she takes in your state, your skin black and pink at the same time- even a small gust on wind is enough to make you wince. 

“Hey Cattus.” she whispers, the old nickname turned new name startles you- given how much work you had put in to forget the name entirely, along with the memories that went with it. 

Eri gingerly brings her hand up to stroke your forehead, more tears slipping from her eyes. “I’m scared, Y/N. It’s just so terrifying seeing you like this, you always work so hard for us, I…hate that I never realized I took you for granted.”

Your eyes widened by a fraction, wishing you could talk and console her, telling her none of that was true, and that you owed it to her as her older sister - but you remained infuriatingly silent, frustrated by your lack of ability to do anything. 

Eri wipes her tears hastily and lets out a watery laugh. “Look at the irony- I’m taking care of you this time.” she takes your hand. “I’ve been working on something…before you woke up, I went to the markets and I found this mage…I got this vial from her. Well technically, I got two, but I wanted to make sure it worked before I gave it to you but anyways-”

Your sister cuts herself off, and looks at you, holding your gaze with determination. “While you were gone for those seven months, your garden died out, but I poured one of the vials over the roots- It grew back Y/N! Overnight! The only problem is they returned to their normal state after around two weeks, which was the night before you woke up. But the mage will be in town all month, so I can stock up and you can keep taking it until your body takes over naturally! I think… I think it’ll work.”

Your stare at her in disbelief. You were out for two weeks?! You couldn't believe it. You want to cry, you want to sing, you want to hug her, but you can’t. 

“I’ll make you better Y/N, I promise. It’s the least I can do.”

Eri gives you the vial that night, tilting your head back and tipping the concoction into your mouth, the liquid tasting strangely sour, but bitter as well. 

As soon as you swallow, you start to feel drowsy, falling asleep as Eri strokes your hair soothingly. 

***

When you wake up, your burns are gone. The hair that has been burnt off has grown to its normal length, and it doesn’t hurt to swallow anymore. 

Eri’s there by your side, curled up against you, asleep. 

“Morning ‘nana” you croak, tucking a strand of her hand behind her ear, unable to keep the smile out of your voice. It…worked?!

Eri’s red eyes blink open sleepily, disoriented before she realizes that you were speaking. 

“Y/N! It worked, oh thank the gods…” she whispers, holding you tight. 

You wrap your arms around her, and stare at the ceiling. The gods had given you another chance, even if only for a little over a week - but why? 

***

You spent the next few days relearning everything- from how to eat, walk, and eventually fight. Everything you knew was muscle memory, but with new muscles itself, you needed to adjust. 

Thankfully, Ejiro was there. That morning, after Eri left, your red headed friend had come in to stop by, already informed of the vial- and you explained everything. To say he was shocked was an understatement. 

After he got over it though, he did tease you the slightest bit about your crush, but left it alone for the most part, knowing that physical ailment and heartbreak were both terrible by themselves, but together they were terrible to deal with. According to him, the man named Dabi had escaped, but he and his men had fled after you had passed out- seeing Ejiro, Tenko, and the rest of his troop return, with the orders to protect the village after intercepting a message that was coincidentally meant for the troop that you had fought all the way back in the Chira Forest. Just the thought makes you think about Katsuki. 

First, he helped you walk, guiding you slowly around the room until you finally got the hang of it, laughing and jumping, and crying all at once as you slowly regained your life back. You’d never been more grateful for your best friend, helping you as he always had after your mother died, always being your rock. 

For once, you had hope. 

Slowly, you moved on from the mashed fruits and liquids, making your way to solid foods, starting with bread, to vegetables, and eventually you got used to using your jaws again too. It was funny you thought, getting so emotional over a loaf of bread, but the feeling of digesting solid food was so…liberating? At this point, you’d been healing your broken body for 9 days, feeling more like yourself each second. By the fifth day, Chiyo had decided to let you return home, the contents of the vial speeding up your recovery fairly quickly. 

And so, you started to train again. 

You found some more of the bladed stars your father had given you in your room, deciding that you should refresh on your aim. 

It didn’t go as you planned. You ended up impaling it in a nearby tree, one managed to get stuck on your roof, and another almost ended up killing your brother when he came outside to bring you a glass of water. 

But you couldn’t stop. 

By some miracle, your skills slowly improved throughout the day, your body remembering what to do- from stance to the smallest tensions your muscles needed to create.

It was sunset now, and you dropped your sword, falling into the soft grass below you and soaking in the coolness it provided, allowing yourself to let your body rest, sinking into the ground. 

But you couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something you needed to do, something that you were missing. 

***

You invite Kirishima, Ochako, and Izuku over for dinner that night, and it’s almost like you’re taken back in time, to the night before your life changed. 

Your two childhood friends greet you with crushing hugs, a tearful reunion as they fret over you, checking for injuries. 

Ushering them all to the table, Hitoshi serves the food, bowls of salads, assorted fruits, and a plate of chicken - Kirishima’s favorite. 

You can’t bring yourself to eat though, picking at your food with a fork, and deciding that there was no point in sitting at the table and not doing anything. 

Excusing yourself from the table, you stand up and place a bowl over your food- intending to eat later. 

“I’m going to go over to Chiyo’s and ask for some pain medication.” you lie, smiling as you leave the dining room, a chorus of “Bye!”s heard from the table. Putting your boots on, you leave your home, sighing as fresh air fills your lungs. 

What’s wrong with me?! You think, as you walk down the cobbled stone path that leads to the center of town. You should be happy, you have your life back- what was happening? Why wasn’t everything back to normal- why couldn’t you go back to being who you were?!

When you reach the town square, you see a small boy huddle next to his sister, both most likely around Eri’s age, with tears streaming down both of their cheeks. Your older sister instincts kick in, and you rush to their side immediately. Their names come back to you, remembering how Chiyo used to babysit them, eventually ended up living with the Midoriyas after their father left to go work for King Nezu in the capital. 

“Katsuma, Mahero, is everything alright? Where’s In- Mrs. Midoriya?” you asked worriedly - before noticing the paper in their hands.

“Papa…he’s going to go fight the bad guys in the capital because all the troops are being sent there…but Papa can’t fight!” Mahero trembles, the worry evident in her voice. 

“I’m scared…” is all Katsuma says, barely a whisper.

Bad guys…in the capital?! How did Inimicus manage to infiltrate Vitoris?! Anxiety gnaws at you from the inside, but you push it down, knowing that your own worry would only agitate the children more. 

“I promise everything will be alright. Our army is strong- and your papa will come home safe. Now, let’s go find Inko.”

***

After returning the kids back to their parents, you finally assess the situation. Bakugou, Denki, Hanta, Genken, hell- even Fern Bat, they’d all be in the capital soon - with no way to know what they’re getting into. Dabi…he’d burn everything to ashes. You feel sick to your stomach at the thought. Your friends…dead? Bakugou may have broken your heart, sure - but you didn’t hate him enough to wish death upon him. 

Shit.

You knew what you had to do.

***

You really hated lying to your family - considering the first time you left without warning it didn’t end so well. 

How ironic is it, that for the second time in a row the night after having dinner with your friends and family, you decide to run to fight for your kingdom?

You get back home late that night, packing a small bag with a week’s worth of food - bread and some dried meat - slipping into your brother’s clothes and putting your hair into the same knot you did when you first left- the experience felt almost like a hallucination, as if you were sent back in time, relieving such a pivotal moment of your life. Except this time, you were prepared. You knew what you were getting yourself into. You had your sword, and your stars, and you knew what was coming.

It felt unreal- all the progress you made, finally coming home, getting your life back, only to go back to square one. 

You sighed. This better work.

***

Sneaking out of the house, you make your way down the cobbled path again, heading to the fields where you knew the horse you had rode here on all those months ago would be - having seen the steed galavanting around happily. You felt guilty, taking it away from its new home so soon, but you had to go, soon. 

However, you couldn’t find him, his distinctive white coat should’ve been a stark contrast to the darkness of the night, and yet he was nowhere to be seen.

In the midst of your anxious searching, you don’t realize the figure approaching you. 

“Where are you going?” 

You might as well have been scared shitless, hand on your sword- whirling around to meet a troubled pair of red eyes. 

“E-Ejiro…” you ask in disbelief. “How…”

“Y/N, you’re not that discreet.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You’re going to the capital, aren’t you?”

He phrased it like a statement, not a question. Were you really that easy to read? Or was it just because he knew you so well?

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, staring downwards. “Ejiro, I have to do this- they’re not going to stand a chance! You know what Dabi’s capable of, the whole future of Bellorant is in danger here!”

“Well what about you?!” Ejiro snaps, his voice low in order to not wake up the entire village, but it was deafening all the same. “What about your life, about your safety?! You were burned alive, Y/N- you’ve almost died, twice! You’ve only had a week to recover, you need rest!” 

You can only stare at him blankly, feeling your heart snap in two. “I need to do this, Ejiro. What’s the point of staying safe if this will eat away at me for the rest of my life?! I can’t do nothing- yes I’ve almost died twice, but I’m still alive right? That has to mean something.”

Ejiro sighs, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. Running his hand through his hair again he looks at you with a sad smile. “I can’t stop you, can I?”

You shake your head, returning your gaze to the ground. 

“Then I’m coming with you.”

Your head snaps up at that, opening your mouth to retaliate, but Ejiro beats you to it.

“You’re not the only one who's had to fight before. So if I can’t stop you, at least let me protect you.”

You feel the tears build up in your throat as you wrap your arms around your best friend, hoping the action is enough to convey your gratitude. You’d both come home safe, you promised to yourself, for Ejiro’s sake.

***

Due to last minute changes, you ended up buying some more food at the next village, letting your horse rest before continuing on your journey to the capital, using the map Bakugou had gave you when you made your way home seven months ago. 

“Hey…are you scared?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence that settled between the two of you.

Ejiro looks at you, weighing his words before sighing. “Yeah.” he admits “I don’ t think I’ll ever not be.”

You appreciate his honesty, and yet - you can’t help but feel the knot in your stomach twist with uncertainty, subconsciously rubbing your index finger against your thumb.

Retreat. 

***

It’s been five days now, the sun sinking below the horizon as you approach the gates of Vitoris, dismounting your horse (that Ejiro now has affectionately named Samantha, even though your horse was a male) and setting him free, Ejiro following suit as you realize with a sinking heart that the gates are demolished, charred holes burnt through the once durable metal and the gated entrance blown wide open.

Shit.

Running past the gates, you see masses of soldiers, Inimicans and Bellorans alike. It’s a massacre, you see familiar faces from your own troop dead- and it’s horrifying. 

Drawing your sword, and Ejiro doing the same, you charge, fending off the black clad soldiers as best you can.

You try to formulate a plan, attempt to find out the easiest way to figure out how to end this quickly, but your mind is filled with thrust, parry, dodge, and so on, your mind trying to keep up with your body. Striking the last of them down, you spot a flash of bright yellow hair in your periphery. 

Denki! He was alone, fending off at least five men, and was bleeding from his torso. Shit!

You bolt for the blonde, leaving poor Ejiro to catch up with you, catching the five Inimicans by surprise as you slash at his back. 

One down. 

Four to go. You and Ejiro each take on one, while Denki takes on another, a deadly dance and a challenge too. Luckily, you knew this dance. 

You bring the butt of your sword crashing down onto the top of your opponent’s head - the impact strong enough to cause him to stumble back, giving you the opportunity to kick him in the chest, sending him flat on his back. He’s unconscious, the impact of the stoned pathways knocking him out. 

Wait. There were four soldiers you had to fight. Not three. 

Whirling around, you realize with a pounding heart that it’s too late - watching just as the fourth soldier impales Denki in the abdomen from behind. 

“DENKI!”

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[san8ny]

STILL GOT IT !

?: While you continue reign over your niche internet kingdom, Ellie finds herself consumed with thoughts of you, you and you! So much so, her fans are staring to notice. Joining your livestream, which she’s been trying to abstain from, you quickly remind her on why you’re so addictive in the first place! / E.W / 18+

!: too lazy to write all warnings but pretty tame when it comes to smut. s

Her heart initially falls to her ass when she sees the plethora of comments underneath her latest video, usual adornment of little heart emojis which now turned into discussions of twitter threads. How had a clipping of her rubbing herself inside a public bathroom stall, the usual shtick before she clocks into a boring 9-5– garner this much negativity? What changed?

“Eh, you don’t seem as passionate after the collab tbhhh”

“lost her touch lmfao”

“does this mean we get another video with you and—

She shuts the laptop closed, unable to further stomach her unsatisfied audience with thoughts running rampant in her mind.

Lost..her touch?

Surely these comments were satirical and just baiting her for another video with you, right? I mean, it’s not like she hasn’t gotten hate comments before, though rare for a small homemade creator like herself, but that was besides the point!

it irked her.

Since when has Ellie ever needed anyone for a platform she grew and built, huh? So what if you had given her the best fucking of her life? Genuinely, what about it? It’s not like she goes to sleep with you on her mind, just to awaken the next morning with her pajama bottoms absolutely drenched because she had the most delicious wet dream about you! That’d be crazy..

She rubs her temples a bit to soothe the pounding of her head, she needed a quick fix to this issue and fast! Opening the device back up, she seeks answers.

⌕ [“How do I get horny again without looking at the hot girl who had sex with me’s page?”]

Holding her breath, she types into the search bar. They do say google holds all the answers.

aaaand..nothing.

God, maybe she was dealing with an original experience? 8 Billion people and all useless.

What if you’ve ruined her to the brink of no-return? She can’t even orgasm anymore on her page without watching you, which makes the climaxes lackluster. She can never go back after you’ve given her a taste of the real thing.

That night, she props her laptop up with you pulled up on the screen. You’re wearing a pretty lingerie set, too pretty of one Ellie thinks. It’s the little fancy-pancy one’s you had in your closet that night you graciously let her stay over. Post-nut delirium, but Ellie could still see you liked lace alot, it being the main choice of material inhabiting your wardrobe.

Hot.

Her eyes scower the screen as donations roll in and as per usual, you thank the viewers with a pristine smile, like you didn’t turn Ellie back into a fuckin’ virgin.

She hasn’t been on one of your streams in a while actually, too caught up with work but now, she really remembers why she use to.

You were a guilty pleasure. Addictive, and Ellie didn’t even have a knack for sweets; you just always managed to pollute her head with the most vile of scenarios she could envision recreating with you and fuck, did she hate herself for it— hated herself for becoming so obsessed with someone who only saw her as a collaborater, a co-worker.

She couldn’t complain however, not with the way you manage to talk everyone through it in your streams in a low shaky voice, and especially, not with the way you capture everyones attention with your movements.

and, like a moth to a flame, Ellie finds herself, unaware, cupping her breasts..kneading the flesh like soft dough through her bleach-stained band tee, relapsing back into a place she thought she wouldn’t want to return to; she can’t help the moans that steadily escape her when you let one of your own out, and God, Ellie might really be the worst person because she hasn’t had this good of a masturbation sesh in forever. It’s been feeling so cold and robotic lately with her trying to appease her few followers, but we know how that turned out.

“Ellie’s in the stream?” You whimper out, reading the explosive chat when you slap the silicone toy messily against your puffy clit, swollen under it’s hood but sitting so pretty like an pearl would on its’s oyster, glistening in both your own liquids. “Hi Els..” Your whiney voice calls her out.

Oh God.

Ellie’s eyes roll back abit when she sees your crinkled eyes, lip pulled in between teeth and your flushed cheeks. She practically punches the ‘Co-Host’ request button with her camera off so only her pathetic pants of your name are heard, “H-hi doll..” She hisses out softly, “You l-look so pretty r’now, ah!..’m sorry haven’t been o-on your—mmh!— streams..”

You giggle at this, and the viewer count doubles in amount. Somehow, the stream becomes what seems like a steamy facetime call between two creators, with the rest of the viewers witnessing and prying in on the salacious moment, “‘s okay..just w-wanna hear your noises, Ellie.” It’s like you knew she couldn’t speak to you without a hand busying itself down there..

The girl groans, dropping her camera inbetween her legs to the echoing sounds of squelching and heaven. Though you couldn’t see her in the dark, 2:30 AM lighting of her bedroom she lounges in, you could feel it. She doesn’t even remember the last time she’d secrete this much arousal without the assistance of lube.

“A-ah, me baby? Gosh, ‘jus wanna watch you f’ a sec. Hear me well?”

You nod, eyebrows furrowing and your eyes growing more heavy when you prop your legs up on the gaming chair, displaying your drenched pelvic area— all so messy and for everyone to see. Mainly the broad on the other end of the stream..

You squeal when you curl your fingers into a specifically spongy spot, lips parting and your head thrown back a bit— you’d long ditched the dildo for something a bit more efficient, something to really capture the moment between you. Strands of hair stick to your forehead when an orgasm arises, and you seem a bit upset for cumming too quickly, not when Ellie has just got here!

Prolonging it a bit, you heave and retreat from your digits, rubbing your thighs imaptiently with your sighs stuttering, all while the other girl slaps at her cunt from what you can hear. Painslut

Ellie looks up back at you when she, herself, feels a tight coil in her stomach beginning to loosen, “B-boutta’ cum, dollface. Cmon..put them back on ‘er. Need my girl to do it with me.”

You nod ever so slightly to her voice, though you cannot see her, the raspiness of her voice takes you to a whole other level, “Ellie..” you cry out when your fingers make contact, it seems to be hitting you harder than usual, hypersensitivity of edging yourself all stream. Is it so wrong her green-eyed gaze trains on you intently while you whine and bitch for her?

The muscles in her abdomen tighten when she particularly notices a dumbed out look on you, saliva seeping past your glossy lips and dribbling to the lacy outfit you had on, rubbing her clit as fast as she can, she eggs you on, “Ah! Ah! J-just there w’you..wanna do it ‘wif you.”

Ellie gasps when your legs twitch uncontrollably, and on-cue, as promised, she meets the point with you— biting her knuckle when she spasms through the waves of orgasmic pleasure.

A few moments go past when Ellie picks her phone camera up to see you’d already went past your donation threshold. She can hear your hiccups, hair all messed up and covering your face— sweet baby..

She quickly ends the live-stream for you, a co-host accessible option you’d enabled incase you couldn’t end it from your own screen.

just to run to her bathroom to clean herself up before heading to your place.

Was she invited? No. Was she likely pushing a boundary? Yes, but, was she going to start a ‘no-aftecare’ streak in her entirety of 23 years? Fuck no.

Whether you liked it or not, she was on her way.

@san8ny: “alr she still got it ig”

[arielleslipgloss]

Lessons I’ve Learned On Finding Peace!!

“There are gonna be phases throughout your life, good and bad, and that’s just simply the human condition.” - Emma Chamberlain

Life is not a race. You don’t need to rush everything in your life. Life should be fun, exciting, and nerve-wracking in a good way. The world is already moving fast itself. So, take your time to slow down. Look around at nature. Take a moment to reflect and breathe. Get off your phone for a bit. Read a book or just stare at the celling. Do things that make your inner child happy. Just feel.

2. Discover who you are again! A lot of the times we get really influenced from social media. We waste time & money on trends. We get so obsessed. Until we’re brain dead. Now, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. However, maybe take some time to learn who you REALLY are. 99% of people don’t know who they are. They base who they are off of trends. I, as well do this at times too. Seriously though, is your favorite color actually pink? Is it really green? Is it really purple? Or is it just because that color was/is a trend? Take some time to think.

3. Let go. If you really want peace, you gotta let go. This may mean letting go of people. It may mean letting go of gossiping. It may mean letting go of someone you admire. The list could go on and on! Ofc I can’t list everything you need to let go of. So, think for yourself. “What is getting in the way of me finding peace.”

4. Protect your heart!! Proverbs 4:23 (KJV) says, “Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.” Another translation (NIV) for better understanding, “Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” Basically, protect your precious heart. Protect it from evil or negativity. Don’t let anyone (even yourself) hurt your heart.

5. Live in the moment!! Stare out the car window and look at nature. Twirl around in the wind. Just live in the moment, no stress, no drama, just you. You, silence, peace, and happiness.

6. Learn to love yourself!! Like genuine love for yourself. That’s when you find peace within yourself. Now, I can’t tell you exactly how to love yourself. However I’ll tell you this, spend time with yourself. Those we love, we want to spend lots of time with. So spend lots of time with yourself!!

“And I’m so happy now that you’re gone.” - Lana Del Rey (Happy Birthday Lizzy 💗)

Love ya dolls!! Remember to stay hydrated and pretty 💋🎀

Xoxo, Arielleslipgloss 🤭

Pinterest:

[chvrrycola]

STRAY KIDS X CLICHE MEETCUTES - YANG JEONGIN

word count | 0.9k

warnings | food mentions

now playing . . . appointments by julien baker

AN // the final part !! i hope you've enjoyed

the other meetcutes!

you didn’t know why, but you were not in a good mood today. no real reason behind it, no good excuse for the nasty look you had given the old lady in the street who almost bumped into you. you hadn’t slept badly, no one had said anything particularly mood-ruining, but something in you seemed to have just decided that you were not going to be good company for the next 24 hours.

you didn’t feel like spending time with anyone, didn’t even feel like looking at people, all you wanted was to head to the convenience store, grab your favourite ramen, take it home and let your grumpiness melt away with a dozen or so episodes of your favourite anime. 

headphones on and hood up, you made a beeline for the aisle where you knew the noodles would be waiting for you. you were lucky, there was only one original flavour left, if you had been even a minute later you might’ve missed your chance.

as you reached out a hand to grab the packet, a muffled voice breached your space. you couldn’t hear what it had said over your music, so, reluctantly, you pulled your hood down and removed one earphone, not wanting to mislead whoever had spoken into thinking you might want to have any kind of real conversation. 

you faced the voice, and the human it had come out of, and made an ‘i’m-sorry-what-did-you-say?’ face. 

‘“damn, is that the last pack?”’ he repeated sarcastically. the guy was around your age, and clearly thought he was hilarious, though with your current mood, you were less inclined to think so.

‘uh, yeah, i guess so, sorry.’ you weren’t sure that your response would be much more intelligible than his voice had been, but you really just weren’t in the mood to converse, even if you were denying this guy the privilege of eating what was, as any intellectual would know, the superior instant noodle option. 

he didn’t look particularly satisfied with your answer, and tapped you gently on the arm as you walked away.

‘i know this is probably really annoying, but are those like, your absolute favourite? i haven’t eaten them in a while and they’ve like my all-time greatest ramen.’

he did look apologetic as he begged you to exchange, and you found yourself almost feeling willing to make some sort of a compromise, but they were your favourite too. 

‘kind of, yeah, i’ve tried all the variations but none of them are really on the same level.’ 

‘ugh yeah, you’re so right, i remember thinking that the crispy chicken one sounded really good when they first announced it but i tried it the first day and it was just… bad.’ 

you suppressed a laugh, finding it funny how intensely serious this random man seemed to be about his taste in ramen, before realising that you couldn’t really talk, considering that you still had no intention of sacrificing the packet. 

‘how about this,’ he began, re-energised somewhat by the apparent genius of his idea, ‘you let me have the original, but i’ll pay for whichever other one you decide to get.. no? okay how about i buy you three more packets then?’

he seemed genuinely convinced that this was a good deal - at least until you pointed out that you didn’t want three packets of random sub-par ramen when your favourite would probably be back in stock the next day. 

the man had just opened his mouth to try and offer a different reason why you should give up the noodles when a middle-aged man entered the aisle with the pair of you.

‘sorry you two, you don’t know if they keep the original flavour somewhere else do you?’ he noticed the packet in your hands, ‘ah, i must be too late, my daughter told me they tend to go quickly, nevermind.’ 

he began to leave and you caught your new debate partner side eyeing you as he walked away. maybe you weren’t feeling quite as icy as you thought.

‘excuse me,’ you called out, ‘you can have these, i hope your daughter enjoys them.’

the middle-aged man tried to object, insisting that you kept them, but you were sure. 

‘it’s fine really, there are plenty of other good flavours.’

he smiled and thanked you, turning once again to go and pay. 

‘plenty of good flavours? so there are plenty of good flavours now?’ you rolled your eyes, but he continued, ‘what is it about that guy and his daughter that’s so deserving of the world’s most magical instantaneous ramen noodle experience?’

‘maybe i can buy you three other packets to make up for it,’ you suggested dryly, picking out another flavour at random and moving to go and pay yourself.

‘hey wait up!’ the voice came from behind you, followed by a quiet rustle suggesting that he too had bitten the bullet of semi-disappointing ramen.

‘i’ll pay,’ he said once you were back walking in step, ‘cos i was so annoying about it earlier.’ 

you tried to object but he wouldn’t take no for an answer, taking the packet from your hands easily and beginning to scan the barcodes. 

‘besides, if i pay, this can officially be our first date.’ 

he tried to wink at you, failing miserably and instead awkwardly blinking in your direction, but you laughed and went along with it, agreeing to sit outside with him as the sun set over the river. 

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - Beginnings Part 2

Part 1

A properly written version of these Paris Olympics headcanons. Gale is on the U.S. equestrian eventing team, Bucky is a U.S. gymnast, and they meet on the plane to Paris.

Author's note: Part 2 because brevity is not my strong suit!!!

---

Crazy. He’s crazy. He’s fucking crazy. 

That’s all Gale can think as he approaches the dining hall around 4:00 that afternoon. He keeps nervously running a hand through his hair and then frantically trying to fix it again, not wanting to look like too much of a mess for this… thing. That he isn’t sure is a date. Or not.

On his way to the dining hall, he realized belatedly that there’s a bit of grain staining his shirt sleeve, courtesy of Whiskey begging him for ear scratches while she finished her feed. He was already a few minutes late, and going back to his room to change was not an option. So he stepped into one of the bathrooms in the village and dabbed at it frantically with water, trying to get it out, but eventually resigned himself to the fact that he’s just destined to make a fool of himself. Luckily it’s only a small spot on the back of the sleeve. With any luck, it’ll go unnoticed. 

He can’t believe he’s doing this. That’s the theme of today, and it will continue to be the theme of today. He almost wonders if it’s actually happening. If he and John actually agreed to wander around together in lieu of doing it with any of their existing friends. But they’d remembered to exchange numbers this time, and there is no doubting the text on his phone that says ‘I’m outside the dining hall! See you soon!’ with a little smiley face emoji at the end. It makes Gale’s chest feel funny. 

“Buck!”

Gale turns his head to see Bucky standing by a bench outside the dining hall, and Gale waves, willing his heart rate to calm the fuck down. “Hey! You’re here.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him as he approaches, and he holds his hands out to the sides. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

“No, I just…” Gale shakes his head at himself. “I’m glad you’re here.” He’s blowing this already, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind.

“Looks like I’m not the only one that stained your shirt today,” Bucky muses, reaching out to tug at the back of Gale’s shirt sleeve.

“Whiskey,” Gale says by way of explanation. Then he rushes to add, “The horse. Not… not like the alcohol.”

Bucky lets go of the sleeve, smoothing it back down over Gale’s bicep. “I know.”

“I didn’t have time to change. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“Well.” Gale motions ahead of them, towards the Seine across the road from the dining hall. “Shall we?”

They set off in a random direction along the water, suddenly very aware of the fact that neither of them know where they’re going. They turn away from the river after a few minutes, wander past a few training facilities, run across the road in front of a bus that honks loudly at them, find out exactly which buildings they have the clearance to access. They grab an early dinner of ‘artisan’ sandwiches at one of the cafes, and Gale laughs when Bucky accidentally drops his last bite on the ground and is immediately swarmed by pigeons. They stop to take pictures – both genuine and silly – at multiple Olympic logo statues, and Bucky fights the urge to post a photo of them together on his social media, not yet ready to invite that kind of media storm. It’s nice, in a way. Just getting to exist with a person without worrying about the press. Even if it can only last a day. The media will be all over him again as soon as podium training starts, and he knows Gale will have his fair share of reporters after him with his events coming up right after opening ceremonies. 

But for an afternoon, they don’t have to be Olympic athletes. They don’t have to worry about medals or training or their image. They can just be together, enjoy the company, enjoy the beautiful, blue-sky day. It’s so simple, a few hours spent walking around aimlessly with someone he just met, but it gives Bucky a sense of calm that doesn’t normally exist within him.

By about 7pm, they find themselves in some bar not far from the Olympic Village, promising to themselves that they’ll be proper tourists and take the city by storm another day. As they weave their way through the crowd, hearing a babbling mix of different languages that drowns out any actual intelligible words, Gale trails behind Bucky towards the bar. A young, attractive bartender greets them as they snag two empty seats.

Gale turns toward Bucky and leans in, cheek to cheek, so Bucky can hear. “What do you want?”

“Oh, uh,” Bucky stammers, thrown off. “Whiskey?”

Gale nods and motions to the bartender. “Puis-je avoir un verre de whiskey pour mon ami, et… ah, un French soixante-quinze, s’il vous plaît.”

Bucky’s brain stops working. Suddenly all he can do is stare at Gale’s face and watch as he leans on the bartop, nodding and smiling at the bartender.

The bartender is smiling back. “Avec du cognac ou du gin?”

Gale tilts his head. “Que recommandez-vous?”

The bartender presses his hands against the bar top, leaning in close, conspiratorially. “Le cognac.”

“Ah oui, je veux ça.” Gale nods and grins at the bartender again. They continue speaking back and forth using what are probably words but to Bucky sounds like pretty, cursive gibberish. He recognizes that twinkling look in the bartender’s eyes, the suggestive upturn at the corner of his mouth, the way he leans too much on the bartop in an attempt to be close, friendly. He’s flirting with Gale, quite shamelessly. Bucky just can’t quite figure out if Gale is flirting back.

So Bucky does what any rational person would do when the near-stranger they're crushing on is getting flirted with by someone else. He leans in close to Gale, getting his attention, and he reaches a hand up to gently stroke a loose strand of hair back off of his forehead. He pushes every ounce of sweetness and softness he can into his smile so that Gale focuses those pretty eyes on him instead. The bartender takes the hint and goes about preparing their drinks.

“Jealous?” Gale asks lowly as he turns around on his bar stool, so he’s leaning back against the counter. Bucky doesn’t really answer, just makes a noncommittal huffing sort of noise. Gale shakes his head. “You barely know me, John.”

Bucky shrugs, leaning against the bartop. “I know enough.” He hesitates over his next words, but what the hell. “I want to know you.” Gale takes a deep breath that settles into a smile, and Bucky knows he didn’t fuck up even as Gale looks straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. “What did you just say to him?”

“I ordered you a whiskey, and myself a French 75. He asked if I wanted cognac or gin, I asked what he would recommend, he said cognac, and I said I’d take that. And then he asked if I wanted to hook up when he got off work.” Gale looks casually over at Bucky, who is not making any attempt to hide the alarm on his face, and he chuckles. “I’m kidding. He just asked if I’m here for the Games, and we talked a bit about that.”

“He totally wanted to hook up with you though.”

“Did he?” Gale shrugs and looks out over the crowd of people filling the room.

“How did you not notice?”

“I’m already here with someone else who I can’t take my eyes off of.”

As Gale levels a suggestive look back on him again, Bucky wills himself not to blush. He knows he fails. “I didn’t know you spoke French.”

“Oui,” Gale teases. The bartender sets a glass of whiskey down in front of Bucky, and then hands Gale his cocktail. Gale’s attention is all on Bucky now though. “Est-ce que tu aimes ça?”

Bucky takes a shaky breath before sipping his drink, looking at Gale over the rim of his glass. “I don’t know what you just asked me, but yes.”

Gale laughs and lifts his glass to his mouth, lets the taste of the cognac and champagne linger on his tongue. He looks back at Bucky, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of him. “You’re really something else, you know that?”

“Is that good or bad?” Bucky asks. His voice sounds confident, full of suggestion, but inside he’s teetering on an edge, waiting to see if Gale’s going to push him off or drag him up.

“Mmm.” Gale takes another sip, lets Bucky stew in silence, as if he has to think about it. Then the corner of his mouth pulls up in that way that Bucky is coming to love, and he says, “it’s good.”

So Bucky leans towards him, grabs the hair at the back of his head, and he kisses him. The taste of whiskey collides with notes of cognac and lemon, smokey and sweet. He kisses Gale in a way that he’s rarely kissed anyone else before: gentle and wanting, asking and taking, soft and smooth like a love song. And Gale lets him.

The night goes by in a haze after that, full of laughter and stories and casual touches. They both order a second drink and toast to the Games. It feels like they could talk forever, and it would still never be enough. John has never in his life believed in soulmates, but he also can’t come up with a better explanation for the way Gale Cleven just casually wandered into his life, flashing a smile and booking a rent-free stay in his mind like he was simply coming home.

John Egan never really thought he was the type of person someone could find a home in. But maybe he could be. 

When Gale’s phone rings in the middle of their maybe-probably-definitely-date, he mutters something by way of apology and accepts the call. “Hi Marge.”

“Benny says you’re not in your room. And you’re not with me. So where are you?”

“I’m fine, how are you?” Gale replies. He can hear Marge rolling her eyes.

“Gale, where are you?”

“I’m out. With a friend.” His eyes dart over to Bucky, who is making a show of not listening in too much.

“All your friends are here with me,” Marge counters. “So… how does that work?”

“I’m… with John?”

He hears her take a deep breath, can picture her nodding and putting her head in her hand. “The gymnast. Seriously Gale, you went out with the gymnast?”

“You told me to be social,” he points out.

“That’s not what- okay, you know what. Fine. That’s fine. Good job. Gold star.”

He tilts his head back with a fond smile. “Marge, I’m a big boy. I can go out if I wanna go out.”

“I know-” she pauses. “You’re not sober, are you?”

This almost makes Gale laugh. Almost. Marge knows him too well, can parse out nearly everything he’s thinking and feeling from his voice alone. “Mmm, almost. Mostly. I’m not drunk if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I know you’re not drunk, you idiot. You don’t get drunk.” This is true. 

“I’m fine, Marge. I’m good, actually. John’s… I don’t know. I’m having fun. He’s… well, he’s amazing.” He looks at Bucky again, and this time his eyes are locked right onto Gale. He looks pleased, as if no one has ever said that about him before, which Gale knows is definitely not true. What he doesn’t know is that Bucky has never particularly cared if people like him or not, never cared what they said about him. Until now.

Marge sighs. “Just be safe, okay? Don’t… don’t do anything stupid. I know you won’t but I have to say it anyway. And don’t have unprotected sex!”

“Marge!”

“And I want to meet him.”

“Goodbye, Marge!”

“Love ya babe.”

Gale hangs up the phone in exasperation, and when he looks up again, Bucky is stifling a laugh. “Girlfriend?” he asks, and he’s only half joking.

Gale shakes his head emphatically. “God, no. I love Marge, but not like that.”

“She’s on the jumping team, right?” Bucky remembers reading about her. Gale, Benny, and Marjorie. The three young hotshots on the U.S. equestrian team, all from the same training facility.

Gale stirs the remains of his drink, listening to the ice cubes clink against the glass. “Yeah. We grew up together, actually.”

“She sounds like a good friend.”

“She is. But I don’t wanna think about her right now.” Then Gale leans over and kisses Bucky again, short and sweet. When he pulls away, Bucky wishes he wouldn’t, even though they’re in the middle of a crowded bar.

He asks Gale if he wants another drink. Gale politely refuses. “I don’t drink much,” he confides. 

Bucky starts to nod; they are Olympic athletes, after all. But then he pauses, squinting at Gale like he’s trying to calculate exactly what those words mean. “You don’t drink much,” he repeats slowly. “But your horse is named after alcohol?”

Gale laughs, and Bucky momentarily wants nothing more than to make that happen again. “She’s named after a plane that my great grandfather flew in World War II,” Gale explains. “Hundred Proof.”

And why does that make all the sense in the world? Everything Gale says makes Bucky fall a little more. “That’s… unexpected. And amazing.”

Gale looks pleased in that way that he only seems to when talking about his horse. “A special name for a special mare.”

And a special guy, Bucky thinks.

Even so, the drinks Gale did have were strong, and he can feel it in his head, in the way the world takes just a fraction of a second too long to catch up when he turns around. He’s on that edge where the alcohol is still making him pleasantly relaxed, but it’s almost to the point of reminding him of things he’d rather forget. Plus, he has to be up early tomorrow, and he’s sure Bucky does, too. Bucky must see something on his face, some sort of discomfort or unease, because he puts a hand on the small of his back, stilling him as he looks him in the eye. “Wanna head back?”

Gale nods. “Yeah, yeah sure.” And then Bucky is grabbing his hand, and Gale’s foggy brain spends too long focusing on how big Bucky’s hand is, how it nearly engulfs his own. He thinks about what hands like that could do and it makes him shiver before he chastises himself for wandering so far.

“You okay?” Bucky is looking back over his shoulder at him, a concerned little smile teasing at the corners of his mouth, and yeah, Gale is okay. This whole day has been wildly outside of his comfort zone, and yet he feels okay. John Egan feels safe, somehow. And Gale wants to wrap himself up in that feeling.

He nods again. “I’m good.”

–

It’s 10pm, and outside, the sun is just setting over Paris. “I can’t get used to that,” Bucky muses. “Sunset is so late here.”

Gale looks at him, and he finds that he can’t look away. “It’s beautiful, though,” he says, and he wonders if Bucky knows he isn’t just talking about the sun.

As darkness falls over them, they half stumble their way back to the Olympic Village. Neither of them are drunk, but they are just this side of tipsy. And they can’t stop talking and laughing as they try to figure out where the heck they are and how to get back to their little apartments. They’re still hanging off of each other, like it never occurred to either of them to let go.

“That one!” Bucky yells, pointing enthusiastically towards a building to their left.

Gale pulls back on his hand though, shaking his head. “No, it’s not the right color.”

Bucky stops and tilts his head, squinting at it even though it’s dark now and there’s no way squinting is gonna help. “You sure?”

“Yeah, our building is white. We need to go closer to the river.”

Gale is right. Their building is right on the Seine, and it is, in fact, white. By the time they find it, it’s nearing 11pm. They stop outside of Bucky’s door, hands locked together as they stare at each other like awkward teenagers after a first date. “I guess this is goodnight, then,” Gale says hesitantly. 

Bucky shrugs, uncertain, but then he shoves out the next few words before he loses his nerve. “You could come in.”

“Aren’t you sharing a room with Curt?”

Bucky smirks, darting his tongue over his lower lip, and the way Gale clocks that movement is very satisfying to him. “Curt’s not gonna be back for a while yet. Trust me.” Bucky has absolutely no idea where the guy went, and he’s not sure he wants to know. All he knows is that Curt told him he’d be out late, so if he wanted to bring his little blonde horseback rider back home with him, that would be alright. Bucky punched him in the arm, and Curt insisted he was just doing his duty as wingman. That and he legitimately wasn’t going to be back until late anyways.

“Alright then,” Gale whispers, and the way his voice goes all deep is enough to make Bucky practically drag him through the door.

Bucky’s room is pretty much the exact same as Gale’s. That is, minimal. Small, with white walls and wood floors, basic furniture including an open wardrobe and some shelves. And, of course, Paris 2024 comforters spread over top of two of those cardboard, anti-sex beds that everyone has heard so much about. For sustainability, the Olympic committee said, as the “intimacy ban” from Tokyo has supposedly been lifted. Right. Bucky, however, knows for a fact that such a ban didn’t really work anyways.

“Cozy,” Gale quips as the door closes behind them.

“They like to make us feel special,” Bucky agrees sarcastically, tugging on Gale’s hand again to pull him closer.

Gale lets himself be pulled forward, so he and Bucky are almost nose to nose. “Wouldn’t want us thinking too highly of ourselves.”

Bucky tilts his head and looks down at Gale. Gale has never in his life felt short or small in any way, but Bucky is a good couple inches taller than him and has quite a bit more bulk. When Bucky wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him even closer, though, Gale thinks he likes it. And Bucky is completely obsessed with the way Gale is blinking up at him, his lips parted, watching Bucky like he’s a puzzle he wants to solve.

“I think pretty highly of you,” Bucky murmurs. Then he kisses Gale again, slow and sensual and nothing like he’s used to. But it feels right somehow.

Gale pulls away and looks down at his feet, putting a hand on each of Bucky’s rock-solid biceps. 

“Is this okay?” Bucky asks him.

Gale looks back up at him and bites his lower lip with a breathy laugh. He can’t believe he’s doing this. Letting himself be propositioned by someone he just met at the Paris Olympics. Benny and Marge will have a field day if they find out. Gale himself can’t quite sort out how he got here. All he knows is he doesn’t care; he wants this. So he nods and says, “definitely.”

Then he pushes Bucky back against the wall and… wow. Bucky isn’t used to that. It’s usually the other way around for him. He finds himself gasping as Gale’s surprisingly strong hands grip his shoulders, as soft lips find his own. He can feel the cold wall through the back of his shirt, but he focuses on the warmth radiating from Gale’s body pressed against his and lets his hands settle on Gale’s slim waist as he relaxes into the kiss.

Gale pulls away and Bucky tries to follow, but he opens his eyes to see Gale looking at him, pupils blown wide. “You know,” Gale says. “Part of the reason I flirted with that bartender was to see if you’d care.”

So he admits it. He was flirting. “I cared,” Bucky tells him.

“I know.”

Bucky nuzzles Gale’s neck, nipping at the fragile skin, and he relishes the way it makes Gale’s breath catch. “Is that okay? That I cared?”

Gale tilts his head ever so slightly, giving Bucky better access, and Bucky thinks he has his answer. But he wants to hear it. “I liked it,” Gale confesses. “And I liked the way you touched my hair, too.”

Bucky pulls back so he can look Gale in the eye again, and he reaches a tentative hand up toward the side of Gale’s face, where a wayward strand of blonde hair has fallen down over his forehead, right above his eye. With gentle fingertips, Bucky brushes the strand back, just like he did in the bar, and it makes Gale’s cheeks flush as he averts his eyes, looking down at Bucky’s other hand firmly holding his waist.

“Like that?” Bucky asks. Then his fingers trace a line to the back of Gale’s head, where he twines them in soft hair and grips it experimentally, urging Gale to lift his head again. He presses their lips together and bites gently at Gale’s lower lip, swallows the gasp that follows. “Or like that?” He whispers against the corner of Gale’s mouth.

“Tout ça,” Gale says quietly. All of it.

Bucky puts both hands on Gale’s waist again and spins him around, so they’ve swapped places. Gale now pressed between Bucky’s body and the wall, Bucky kissing him with more passion than Gale’s ever been kissed with before. 

“Do that again,” Bucky growls as he tugs at the hem of Gale’s shirt with insistent hands. 

Gale lets him pull it up, over his head. “Oh? Ça te plaît?” The shirt drops to the floor at their feet and immediately Bucky’s hands are back on him, running up and down his sides, exploring his chest and abdomen and the small of his back with a desperate curiosity. 

“À votre tour. Allez,” Gale grunts, tugging at Bucky’s shirt. “Only fair.”

Bucky obliges and pulls away just briefly to pull his shirt off, letting it join Gale’s on the wood floor below. He sighs deeply when Gale’s hands touch his bare skin, gliding gently over his broad shoulders, his biceps, his back. “I want to look at you,” Bucky whispers.

He takes a step back, his fingertips tracing down over Gale’s arm as he pulls away until only their fingers are brushing, keeping them linked together. He inhales deeply as he takes in the sight of the man he’s so readily invited into his world. This perfect, perfect person. Piercing blue eyes analyzing him, messy blonde hair just begging to be pulled, rock solid abs and strong shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, where Bucky’s hands have decided they belong.

“My god, Gale, you’re…” He doesn’t have the words.

“Parfait,” Gale breathes, eyes roaming up and down Bucky’s body. Strong and imposing, nothing but well-trained muscle, equally messy dark curls that Gale wants to feel between his fingers, the broadest shoulders he’s ever seen up close. Everything about Bucky’s body screams power, and yet everything about how he looks at Gale, how he touches him, is affectionate.

Gale rushes forward, letting his fingers grip Bucky’s soft hair as he kisses him, hard. Their hands can’t get enough of each other, touching everywhere they can find. Bucky stops him, though, when Gale pushes him towards the bed.

“No,” he pants. “It won’t hold our weight. Trust me.”

Gale quirks an eyebrow at him, amused. “Make a habit of bringing athletes into your room?”

“Just once,” Bucky admits, leaning in again to suck at Gale’s collarbone. “I was young and stupid,” he mutters.

“And now?” Gale asks, his hand on the back of Bucky’s head, urging him to keep doing that.

Bucky laughs against his skin. “Might still be stupid, but the decision to bring you here sure wasn’t.” Spending time with Gale today was quite possibly the least stupid thing he’d ever done. “Hold on,” he murmurs. He’s tired of this standing against walls business.

He slips out of Gale’s hold and grabs the thin comforter off his bed, laying it out on the hard floor. Then he takes both of Gale’s hands in his and guides him down, until they’re both on the floor with the comforter underneath them. Bucky’s back is pressed against the cardboard base of the bed, Gale effectively in his lap, straddling him.

Gale presses forward and nips at Bucky’s ear, at his neck, at his jaw. Bucky’s head is spinning from the feeling of Gale’s bare skin under his hands and against his chest. Gale has an absolute fascination with Bucky’s shoulders, unable to keep himself from running his hands over them again and again, his fingernails scraping gently across them and making Bucky shiver. They’re grinding against each other now, and they both feel dizzy from the pleasure.

Bucky starts working at Gale’s belt, trying to get it off, but that’s when Gale pulls away. Bucky worries he pushed too much, but Gale has that soft half-smile on his face. “Hey now,” he says gruffly. “Buy a guy dinner first, why don’t you?”

And seriously, the way Gale’s eyes are twinkling at him like that and the way his soft hair is already a mess just from Bucky running his hands through it over and over, the way this man makes Bucky’s heart beat too fast, too fast, too fast the entire time they’re together… He can’t stand it and he never wants it to end.

So he pulls his hands away from the belt, puts one back on Gale’s hip and the other on his cheek and says, “Tomorrow. I’ll take you for dinner tomorrow.”

Gale nods, pleased, and kisses him again, rough and beautiful and better than anything Bucky has ever experienced before. And he knows that he’s already falling for Gale Cleven. Has been since the plane.

It’s going to be one hell of an Olympics.

[birdsandbeetlesandmoths]

WELL HELL THEY’RE GAYYY

In context, for real, seriously, Kallus being Fulcrum was like a “oh cool, as I knew” cause meeting that Lasat was the turning point for his life.

Zero Hour absolutely 10000/10. What the hell kinda finale did I just watched. It doesn’t dwarf S2 in my book, but it’s so damn good.

But I genuinely don’t know what it was, in the last half of the third season with like, Through Imperial Eyes, I don’t know, he just catches my eyes more?

It’s not like how I felt when I saw Zeb, considering I knew his character from when I watched S1-scattered S2 as a kid, and already had him tagged as a favorite simply because of how expressive he was (and ears/the cat base for his species)

But Kallus, it was weird. Like, I genuinely hated his hair with a passion throughout the early seasons, and being an Imp, it was kinda like, oh I dislike him, he’s just gonna be another one of those weekly villains to them. Which he was for a bit!!

I’d never seen The Honorable Ones before, but it changed my freaking life when I did. The mercy that Zeb grants (with the condition of wanting a fair fight, which sure, his morals aren’t quite in it for killing an unarmed, injured, kinda hot, man), the trust, if grudgingly, that slowly builds between them due to their circumstances, and bleeds out of their circumstances to each other. Trusting each other, enough for them to trust sleeping around each other. Enough for Zeb to offer him a place with the Rebellion.

And the cracks in Kallus’ beliefs grow further, and he turns from the Empire almost immediately after Bahryn.

I’d like to think that Kallus never truly enjoyed any of the work he did for the Empire. He’s described as being surprisingly compassionate for an Imperial. That’s evident in his actions that differ from his fellow officers. While he is ruthless in pursuit, he isn’t amoral or heartless.

I also think it begins as a truth, I’m sensing some childhood trauma here too, but a truth that he thinks he needs to be this cruel and merciless to survive in the world. But that gradually gets worn down by his moral compass and his values changing. I think they were already deteriorated but Bahryn was the tipping point for him. And he’s risking everything he’s worked for, for the Rebellion (just the Lasat, but we don’t need to know that. .)

I feel like he harbors a ton of guilt for his actions, especially after he’s joined the Rebellion and is surrounded by people he tried to kill not long ago. Do I want that to be explored in S4? Yes. Will it? Probably not. But fanfiction has my back.

I don’t remember what the original point of this post was anymore other than a “here are my feelings and thoughts because nobody asked”

I see the Hot Kallus thing now tho. Looked pretty cool beat up and bloody. The stray hair works wonders :^

Anyways, was the teeniest bit disappointed that Kallus and Zeb didn’t talk directly in the finale, but it’s given me ideas for little fill in fics that have most definitely been done before but I’ll still write probably.

[veritas-scribblings]

fool + degree - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1,106

The first time James sees Regulus again, it’s approaching Autumn of 1981 and Regulus is crossing the quad in Pembroke College carrying a stack of books and a coffee, a canvas messenger bag on one shoulder. He looks beautiful, James thinks. He looks French. And, when did he start here? And, when did he get back? And, why did no one warn me?

‘When?’ is all James says, turning to Sirius. He knows he’s standing in the middle of the quad staring at the spot Regulus has left empty. He knows he sounds wobbly and anxious. It’s just that he feels sick: sick with shock, sick with longing, sick with anticipation, sick with regret.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Sirius says darkly, in a tone of warning, the same tone he had used two years ago when he had told James that he would, slowly and painfully and entirely without remorse, skin James alive. He pushes James along, out of the quad, so they go to get lunch.

It’s been so long since James has seen Regulus, since Regulus ran away to France. Apparently on a ‘gap year’, but one year had turned into two years and James had been so sure for a while that he would never see Regulus again. That he’d missed his chance, passed it by in the dark, because he was blind. An idiot. An idiot who hadn’t realised he was in love until it was too late.

Two weeks pass before James runs into Regulus again. This time, it’s at a campus café where Regulus is ordering coffee: a shot of espresso and a latte. So very French of him, James thinks. And again, he looks so beautiful, because he does.

Regulus is wearing a fitted black polo neck jumper, very classically Regulus Black of him, and his hair is a little bit longer than before he left, falling down past his ears. Though just as silky, looking just as soft. James remembers running his hands through the curls, tucking loose locks behind Regulus’s ear. 

Regulus had let him once upon a time.

James’s breath hitches in his throat. His chest is tight and he can barely breathe. Shifting on the spot anxiously, he steps in and out of the line he’s standing in, turns around, and then around again, trying to catch glimpse of Regulus, watching as Regulus pays and walks towards the door. James knows he looks like an absolute loon, because he’s trying desperately to make eye contact. He can’t be the first one to approach. He’s already promised Sirius. Sirius had made him take an entire oath and everything: that he will leave Regulus be, that he won’t go anywhere near him, that under no circumstances will he try anything.

Regulus leaves. Maybe he didn’t see James. Maybe he did and wants nothing to do with him. Maybe that ship has truly and thoroughly sailed and James has been pointlessly holding onto hope for two years.

The next time James runs into Regulus, he genuinely runs into him. Head on, limbs flailing, spilling Regulus’s coffee all over him. When Regulus swears at him in French, James doesn’t even have time to die from embarrassment and horror. Instead, he melts on the spot (Regulus speaks French now? Of course he does. The world wants to torment James) and breathes out, ‘Regulus,’ his voice husky and slightly cracking.

I’m not dough anymore, James wants to say. I have risen. I have proofed. I have baked. I am bread.

Regulus looks up from where he’d been hastily blotting the wet coffee off his clothing, gaze narrowed in that beautifully Regulus Black way of his. ‘James,’ he says crisply. 

He gathers his books, which have fallen to the floor, and hoists his bag over his shoulder. James knows, in that moment, that he is about to be left in the dust and have to watch Regulus walk away from him. And he isn’t sure he can do that. He made a promise to Sirius—he swore an oath and Sirius views oaths as binding—but James is stupid and James can’t watch Regulus walk away again.

‘Regulus,’ James says again. ‘Regulus. Hello. You—’

Regulus just glares at him. There’s true hostility in that glare, in the way that Regulus keeps looking down at his coffee cup laying in a puddle on the floor between them. ‘You spilled my coffee.’ 

James knows that he should apologise, say sorry for the coffee, say sorry for a lot of other things. But that’s not what he says. 'I’m not dough, I’m bread!’ he blurts out before he can stop himself.

Regulus looks around them, confused, and steps to the side so they’re no longer in the middle of the footpath. ‘What?’

James sighs, realising that Regulus genuinely has no context for what he’s saying because it was a metaphor Sirius had used to explain what had happened after he was done punching James. That James was young (dough, not bread), not yet a complete person, unable to realise his feelings for Regulus before it was too late and he had already hurt Regulus. And Regulus had already run away to France.

‘I’m just…I’m bread now, a complete person, you know, I’ve figured myself out. So, can we talk?’

‘You just…get straight in there, don’t you,’ Regulus retorts. He’s holding his pile of books to his chest like it’s some sort of shield between him and James.

‘I’m sorry,’ James says sheepishly. He picks up Regulus’s empty coffee cup and sets it on the floor by the edge of the foot path before stepping aside so he’s face-to-face with Regulus. ‘Hi, how are you? Are…was France nice? How long have you been back? Can…can we talk? I’m…sorry.’

Regulus raises an eyebrow in that judgmental way of his. ‘You have nothing to apologise for,’ he says, sounding a little tired, ‘whatever my brother has been saying to you.’

‘He hasn’t.’ James shifts anxiously from foot-to-foot. Sirius has stayed far out of all of this. After punching and threatening James, of course, because Sirius will always be a little bit crazy when it comes to Regulus. ‘So…can we? Talk? Maybe get a coffee.’

‘Are you asking me out?’ Regulus smirks a little, clearly enjoying James’s awkward discomfort. ‘How do you know I’m not seeing someone?’

James’s feels himself pale, his stomach dropping out from the bottom of him. ‘Are you?’ he asks weakly. ‘Sirius didn’t…he said…’

Regulus rolls his eyes. ‘No, James, I’m not seeing anyone. We can go and get a coffee. You owe me another one anyway.’

[lex-confessions]

I'll say this: When Feyre talks about Elain and Azriel, she suggests that Azriel might be what Elain needs, but she doesn't confirm that Elain is what Azriel needs. They are just two people who are close in proximity, tend to be comfortable around one another, and yes, there's mutual attraction. However, that's because Elain is described as objectively beautiful, and so is Azriel, so it would be weird if they weren’t attracted to one another - at least aesthetically.

---

Now, I can’t remember if I read it in the books or maybe saw a comment about it, but I know there’s one scene—I think it’s in A Court of Frost and Starlight—where Azriel tells Cassian to wait because Elain isn’t at the table. Like I said, I couldn’t remember if it’s in the books, briefly mentioned somewhere, or just an afterthought someone had.

But hear me out: Azriel’s attraction to Elain might be because she reminds him of his mother, and he’s confusing familial love with deep romantic love. Actually, I know he is because not only are they not mates, but they haven’t been around each other long enough to fall in love like that, especially with Elain being practically comatose during the first half of her experience in Prythian. Obviously, they converse and hang out, but I think their knowledge of one another is not as deep as either Azriel projects it to be or as some Elriel fans perceive it to be.

This doesn’t mean I don’t think they may get together, although I would hope not. Considering the situation, it’s just too messy. There’s so much at stake to want to try to figure things out with Elain right now. It’s not the right climate for this, and I hope Azriel wouldn’t pursue it. If everything we’ve learned about him is true, I don’t think he would do it anyway. Even though Rhys explains the complexities involving the mating bond with the Autumn Court and the potential for Azriel and Lucien to challenge each other, it’s too much to handle. We’ve just finished a war; Rhys literally died. The way people act like Rhys was unreasonable for saying that baffles me, but it makes perfect sense. There’s too much going on for Azriel to be messy, especially when Elain isn’t even his mate—she’s someone else’s mate.

If Sarah decides to explore their dynamic on that level, I think they might be each other’s lesson. In A Court of War and Ruin, Elain was still completely brokenhearted over losing her human love. To pivot to Azriel that quickly—come on, we’ve all done it. We pretend the rebound guy is some great love, and then when the actual love happens, we think, "What was that?"

Azriel has a terrible sense of self-worth, which is why he goes after unavailable females. He’ll never actually have to confront feeling worthy; he can just fulfill his prophecy that they won’t want him by choosing unavailable females. Putting Elain and Azriel together would stunt any sort of character growth. If Tamlin, for God's sake, gets character growth, then Elain and Azriel should too. Otherwise, it’s just fan service.

---

Now, when talking about Azriel and Gwyn, I noticed that they complement each other really well just in their abilities alone. Gwyn seems genuinely interested in getting to know Azriel—not just staring at him or sitting next to him in silence, but genuinely asking questions and waiting for his response to build on what she knows about him. One of them is humanizing him, and it’s not Elain. I think Azriel has spent most of his life, especially his childhood, being dehumanized. The way Gwyn chooses to humanize him is not a coincidence, and I don't think it’s unimportant. If it were, Sarah would not have written that bonus chapter. But she did write the bonus chapter and gave it to us to read.

I get confused when people pull up interviews and say that Elain and Azriel are endgame when Sarah has put in so many different things to suggest otherwise. I don’t know why people negate the bonus chapter or argue that Elain and Azriel should be together just because they kissed. Maybe they don’t finish it, because the ending of that chapter is far more important than a heated secret kiss in the hallway. It's similar to how in "A Court of Thorns and Roses," Rhys’s intervention ended up being way more important than Feyre and Tamlin’s heated secret kiss in the hallway.

[antithcsis]

opened up word today to find a 2k word wolfstar doc that i just. don’t remember writing last night??? go off 3am me i guess

[werewolfrevenge]

Another stupid text post meme I made

[oddzo]

I’m excited to finally be able to share my drawing of my favorite Camp Camp X Gravity Falls crossover idea! :D

A long string of my thoughts regarding the crossover under the pics, you have been warned lol

It’s crazy to me that despite all the jokes that Harrison looks like a human Bill Cipher there is absolutely no fanart (that I have found) of him interacting with any of the Pines.

Yeah there’s art of him with Bill, but the Pine’s family are the ones that have trauma from him and therefore would have the best reaction.

Just imagine them meeting the one kid that not only looks like someone possessed by Bill but also does real honest to god magic and has an affinity for fire!

With how much shit the Pine’s have dealt with it wouldn’t be a stretch for them that Bill came back as a kid. They’d probably assume Harrison was being possessed or something.

Harrison especially looks like Bipper so I’d imagine he’d be especially unsettling to Dipper and Mabel. (Probably gonna draw him and Mabel interacting next)

Dipper immediately being super suspicious of Harrison and doing that stalking thing he does to try and figure him out. Dipper seeing Harrison make a mistake with his magic that makes him not look great and Dipper just freaking out more.

Mabel being uncomfortable with Harrison but trying her hardest to be nice to him because he hasn’t actually done anything yet. Becoming friends when she realizes that Harrison is just a kid and not anything like Bill personality and morality wise.

Harrison enjoyed coloring in that one episode so she could probably get him to do art with her. They’d have so much fun with him showing her his magic tricks, he’d be so happy someone is genuinely interested. His magic would probably improve with the encouragement she would give him.

Mabel being reminded of Bipper whenever Harrison gets a bit arrogant. The thought goes away pretty quickly though cause he usually gets humbled really quickly and just accepts it lol

Ford also immediately being suspicious of Harrison but not doing anything rash yet until he can test him. Losing his shit the first time Harrison does magic in front of him.

Someone on here posted a mini fic thing where they said Ford almost dropkicked Harrison the first time he does magic and I love that (I’ll look for the post later and tag it here) Edit: here’s the link! https://www.tumblr.com/the-sprog/659871894550577153/i-just-had-an-idea-could-you-imagine-a-crossover

Stan giving Harrison the benefit of the doubt but keeping a close eye on him whenever he interacts with one of the twins. Not outright hostile to him but not exactly kind either.

Stan somehow finding out about how Harrison accidentally made his brother disappear and immediately noticing the similarities to what happened with him and Ford. He probably gains a bit of a soft spot for Harrison after and gives him pointers on random things, probably a few pep talks.

Oh also I know it’s just a difference in the two art styles but CC characters tend to have more yellow sclera and oval pupils/irises and it really doesn’t help Harrison’s case lmao

I can keep going but this post is already really long so I’ll stop for now haha 😅

[mintharasthrone]

more “gay” pages posting complete homophobic garbage claiming bisexual women are lesbians

[whereismyhat5678]

I haven’t drawn Fake Peppino in AGES

For any Fake Peppino lovers out there that I’ve disappointed I’m so sorry- 💀🙇‍♀️

And for anyone WHO HASN’T EVER SEEN me actually draw him I’M EVEN MORE SORRY 🙏🙇‍♀️🙏🙇‍♀️🙏🙇‍♀️

Now I personally don’t want newer viewers seeing my cringe ass Fake pep art but if anyone who does wanna see it- (HEADS UP FOR INTENSE BODY HORROR-) take these few links (I’m sorry I can’t scroll through my entire blog again just take some examples- 🥲):

Here, here, here, here and here.

The first one is my first ever drawing of him, I did not draw him normal- 💀

Anyways….this means have I changed how I draw him? Yes!

Look at the silly goober!! I may draw him just like this for now however…It was fun drawing him like the slimy disaster he was but it’s fine-…It always took a bit of time to draw those 🤷‍♀️

But just for the fun of it, and for old times sake, take a body horror Fake Peppino: (Warning, it looks kinda bad- 💀)

[kettleghost]

headcanon that claus physically cannot answer those i am not a robot captchas

[luminarai]

I often think about all the people who were forced to go through their periods before reliable painkillers were invented. I just had period cramps so bad, I was frantically googling ‘how to tell the difference between period cramps, ovarian cysts, and a cute appendicitis’ while waiting for the painkillers to kick in and trying not to throw up from the pain. And how period cramps were probably the least of their problems. Absolutely insane. How did we survive as a species.