#maybe that'd get me back into writing things!

[moobloom-mention]

Drunk Words Are Crafted From Sober Thoughts

Summary: Drinking is one of Wukong's favorite pastimes. After all, it's way easier to heal a bruised ego when you're seeking the remedy at the bottom of a bottle.

It's not his fault said remedy always leads him back to Macaque.

Content Warning(s): Alcohol abuse, Mentions of vomiting

Word Count: 3096

It took me drinking way too much alcohol and three hours spent in a toilet bowl to give me the motivation to finish this thing.

Wukong had never known himself to be the brightest lantern set before an altar.

It was a fact he'd come to know well in his millennia of life; something he'd chosen with care to hide beneath his tongue whilst his throat sang melodies refuting such a concept. After all, it had never mattered to Wukong whether his actions proved his dimness time and time again.

Denial was a war, and one that he'd always intended to win.

He never fought hard in the miniscule battles of intelligence he'd lose to cheap jabs that ridiculed his inability to write or frustration with court etiquette. Eventually he'd scrape together some form of "win" and proclaim it to cancel any other loss that came before it.

Besides, being a jack of all trades far made up for it, with hands that had been dipped into almost every barrel of skill known to the Three Realms.

...intelligence just happened to be a barrel his hand was not dipped far into.

The skill of retaining information, however, now that was something he might as well have bathed within. It'd been a skill he'd fostered from the day he was born, from learning how to tell the little ones of Flower Fruit Mountain apart all the way to the thousands of different demons he'd fought.

Of course there were still things- small things, with such insignificance that Wukong would never notice were gone until a thought sparked vague recollection -that would manage to slip so easily through the cracks of his mind, deaf to his pleads to return to him less they become mere droplets in a sea of forgotten information.

It'd first become noticeable after he'd attempted to convey his distaste for a book Peng had coerced him into reading.

In an earnest moment of honesty, Wukong had admitted that almost every word his eyes had managed to flit over was nothing if not a rhythmic patter of gentle rain; an endless contribution to his stream of lost information that quieted only in the moments it had taken to turn the page.

And then it'd been those detailed soliloquies Yellowtusk so proudly dedicated to his sigils.

Wukong had been entertained, sure- the elephant rarely ever expressed his passions -but they were still another complex monologue to cast within the river after they gave their parting goodbyes.

Besides, the dialogue had fit perfectly beside those pesky admissions of adoration that Azure tended to offer like candy to a child.

…okay, maybe his hand didn’t reach too far down the information retainment barrel either.

Wukong was always quick to blame immortality anyway. The small details were so quick to fade when faced with the grand scheme of experiencing millennia of life.

Still, there was always one thing he found himself able to recall even centuries after he'd lost the need for it; a piece of information he could stake his life on knowing without understanding exactly how. It had always just...been there, like a ribbon that'd wound itself tightly about his index finger at birth and refused to leave despite his desperate attempts to get rid of it.

Because why would the Great Sage, Equal to the Heavens themselves, ever need to recall Macaque's whereabouts?

And why would he only ever be able to locate the shadow during moments of intoxication?

The first time Wukong had found himself blackout drunk in front of an abandoned house- one that upon entering revealed an aggressive Macaque -it had been easy to wave off the circumstance as pure instinct. Being in such a state of vulnerability would've triggered some need to surround himself with the familiar.

And with Flower Fruit Mountain so far, and the addicting thrum of Macaque's magic nearby, the choice had been obvious.

But the dozens of times after that? The intoxicated flights away from the island to random cities?

Yeah, no. It was more than a little odd.

For the longest time Wukong had convinced himself it was his wine storage, that every bottle had been cursed to lead him into trouble. But countless visits to bars and the wine cellars of nameless mortals all proved to yield the same results:

A furious shadow and Wukong awaking to memories he could just barely touch the beginning and endings of.

With a sigh of defeat he'd relented that he just seemed to have an internal compass; one that annoyingly pointed itself toward Macaque.

Did he have the capacity to understand it? No.

But was it beneficial in pitiful moments like this? Absolutely.

So maybe he'd overheard a mortal talking about how Lantern City had the best liquor in China. And maybe his ass had been kicked a little too hard during training that day.

Sue him, there still isn't a better remedy for a bruised ego than the bottom of a cheap bottle of whiskey and mortals cheering him on. By the time the bartender had deemed him too drunk and ushered him from the bar, the sun had still yet to rise from the east.

The city had never looked so bright against the darkened sky painted above it. Mindless neon signs flashed around every corner, each with their own calling to whatever craving a mortal could have. A dulled pink one told the story of a rundown sushi shop. Another of some nightclub Wukong could already see drunk patrons stumbling from, their shirts rumpled by their own hands and the weighted drag of sweat.

But he didn't linger for long on the streets; he was on a mission after all.

At least, some kind of mission. His brain hadn't quite told him the specifics, but feet kept walking and fuck if that wasn't reason enough to continue onward.

Sign by sign the city's bright lights began to dull, caving to make way for the humble atmosphere of residential housing. Admittedly, it was nice to know there were still neighborhoods that resembled architecture from a time predating the invention of "electricity".

It was enough that it made his chest bubble with pride, lungs jolting. Ah, nope. Just a hiccup.

With a woeful sigh he pauses to lean heavily against an obscure house's door. The wood feels cool beneath the tips of his fingers, the temperature a kind reprieve from the warming embrace of alcohol.

Apart from its temperature, the door isn't...unique. Which is kinda disappointing if he's being honest.

The door's only a darkened shade of that one Blue Guy's skin, the words of "dark navy" an already long-forgotten thought lost to the midnight air. Who needs fancy words anyway?

The door's some sort of blue. That's all that matters.

Cobbled pebbles consume his vision and it's only after a blink that he finds his claws dug painfully into the grooves of the door. It's a weak attempt to stabilize himself, but it works well enough as he refocuses his eyes.

If he can't stare at the ground then he might as well inspect the door at hand.

Y'know what? Now that he's gotten a closer look at it, it's kinda pretty.

The perfect shade of blue that manages to calm the spots of green that dance behind his eyes, the dark swirls engraved within its wood a calling to Wukong's attention. It's a damn-good piece of wood, and one that totally deserves a place in his treasury.

...isn't that a thought?

A door. In his treasury. A laugh escapes between clenched teeth.

It'd certainly look nice. Not many celestial beings he stole borrowed from had stunning doors. This would be the first of its type to see the light- or lack thereof -within Wukong's hoard.

He could already see the excitement in the door handle's polished reflection. Or maybe that's his own reflection.

If only he could just relocate it to its new home.

"Sorry 'bout this-"

There's a shrill screech as Wukong's claws dig further into the door's wood, intricately carved symbols reduced to splinters in his feeble attempts to rip it from its hinges.

His eyebrows furrow as the door barely moves toward his pulls, a little miffed over its audacity to remain put. His treasury is far better than whatever shithole the door guards now. Why can't it see that?

Wukong's tongue runs itself along his teeth as he finally lets the wood go.

Maybe it's one of those "push" doors?

He swiftly turns at such a thought, shoving his weight loudly against the door. It groans, and much to his delight, begins to bend at its middle.

Ah, that's better.

At least until the door against his back gives way.

Wukong's gasp quickly surrenders to a wheeze the moment his spine hits the ground, vision a chaotic swirl of dark colors and mind vibrant with the sudden thud of a migraine. It quiets only once his eyes refocus on the organized blend of black, red, and yellow shades that cautiously lean over him.

It's undeniably Macaque, alive and just as disgruntled as Wukong had always known him to be. Actually no- he looks just the tiniest bit more disgruntled than usual, a long stick that's notably thicker at its end resting against his shoulder.

Wukong's only half-sure it's some sort of bat.

For a moment he lets himself blink, an odd itch at his fingertips as he gazes at Macaque. There's just...something about the demon that's off.

The frazzled fur and annoyed expression is the same, down the subtle scrunch of Macaque's nose and the flatness of his ears.

...

...oh! His ears!

His claws dig their home within the palm of his hand as he glares heatedly toward the single pair of ears that flick against black fur. Pfft, as if glamors would make Wukong forget about the other two pairs he favored far more than the dulled pink ones currently displayed.

Still, doubt crawls ruthlessly amidst the lining of the deity's stomach and Wukong surfaces the sudden urge to touch Macaque's face- to confirm with every press of his fingers that his internal compass hadn't finally guided him wrong.

It isn't until the familiar demon properly stands up that Wukong realizes he'd already been in the middle of an attempt to grab the other.

"Macaque-" he whines, the name a sweet sap on his tongue. Or maybe that was the one glass of wine he stole from a mortal; wine always did tend to leave a sweet aftertaste.

Ah, nope, it's definitely Macaque's name. Everything about the other sings of sap, from the way the shadow slowly goes back to hovering over Wukong to his honeyed voice.

It's an addicting sound even in its a state of confusion and irritation.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Wukong allows himself a few seconds to swallow the instinctive reprimand of "language" that threatens to escape alongside a hiccup. He has greater things to worry about anyway.

Like how he should’ve warred true hell against the Heavens for ever daring to stand between him and such a beautiful demon. Even the idea of just looking at Macaque is thrilling; it was like looking into the eyes of a siren, one who he’d follow to the ends of the three realms just to hear a single song from. 

Gods, he’d carve his heart out and gift it on a platter. He’d only need Macaque to give the command. 

His mouth unhinges awkwardly to confess such a thing, only for his lips to snap shut at the jarring hiccup that jolts his lungs. His chest hurts amidst the instinctive squeeze, and ever the type to ruin the butterflies within Wukong’s stomach, Macaque’s face does something...odd.

It flickers at the edges of Wukong's mind, sweetly reminiscent of their shared youth millennia ago. A mercy, he supposes, one he only receives in moments where his memory will fail him the morning after.

Dark brows pinch together before they're hidden by a hand that presses against them, a fire in those yellow eyes that feels much tamer than the usual bite of Macaque's anger.

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

Wukong's lips twitch into the beginnings of a smile, praying to the Heavens that his attempt to look smug outweighs the flutter in his stomach.

"...'might be."

There's a harsh hiss that faintly resembles a curse before Macaque takes a step away.

Wukong lurches to his feet at an instant, his mind alight with panic.

Macaque is leaving and he needs to come back- please come back come back comeback comebackcomeback-

As it turns out his lurch only gets him to kneel in the doorframe, mind settling only once Macaque's voice returns.

"Are you coming in or do I have to drag you inside?"

Like a balm, the underlying tones of amusement soothe the thud that plagues Wukong's mind. It floods him with enough relief that he nearly heaves on the spot.

Heavens above he loves the way Macaque asks questions.

Wukong barely takes in the fact he's moving, his legs relying on instinct whilst his mind stares at the curious expression on the shadow's face. If he weren't so drunk he would've labeled it more akin to fondness than anything.

A few steps ahead Macaque pats at a dark grey couch and Wukong barely manages to crash onto the lumpy cushions before the shadow whisks himself toward a kitchen.

For once the world grows quiet, sans for the opening of cupboards and gentle hiss of water pouring from a sink.

Wukong lets himself bask in it for a moment before he decides that he despises it.

"Y'know," he grunts, the pillow beneath his chin pinned rather comfortably between his face and the couch. "You're a worrier."

Macaque's impressive hearing must've failed for once as the demon blinks, curiously, in the corner of Wukong's eye. Half of his body is covered by the countertop as the shadow juggles two cups in his hand. "A warrior?"

Wukong thinks Macaque's gaze to resemble how one would look when confused over a jigsaw puzzle and he silently hopes he has turned into a jigsaw puzzle. Anything to remain the eye of Macaque's attention.

"No," his brows pinch, a spark of anger igniting over the miscommunication. The issue's even frustrating enough to make him lift his face from the pillow- a difficult battle but one he reigns triumph over. "A worrier."

It must've been the wrong thing to say because there isn't a snort of laughter that filters through Wukong's ears but instead a distasteful click akin to nails on a chalkboard.

"I'm not a worrier."

The way Macaque spits the word is almost spiteful enough for Wukong to redirect his anger toward the word as well. If the demon doesn't like such a comment, then it must have been downright terrible.

But then the shadow perches at the couch's arm to Wukong's right, two cups of water in hand. The staple image of a worrier.

"The kid just woulda been a mess if his mentor got himself mugged on my doorstep."

"Pfft, it woulda been fine," Wukong waves aside, and his next thought is funny enough to get himself to snort.

Wish you'd mug me.

Again Macaque's face does a funny thing, his lips twitching into a thinly veiled grin.

Ah shit, he'd been caught. Quiet thoughts, quiet thoughts.

Thankfully, Macaque nods his agreement. "Quiet thoughts are a good idea."

Wukong must've hid his shock a little too poorly because Macaque suddenly laughs. It's a rare thing, and reality be damned, Macaque's subtle laughter is enough to shake the world; to cause a disastrous earthquake historians will write about for centuries to come.

He's only able to bask in such a sound for a couple seconds before a shadow tendril nudges him to lift his head.

"Sit up and drink some water. If you throw up on my couch you're cleaning and replacing it."

Much to Wukong's delight, the moment his head lifts the shadow fits himself close to his side before offering one of the cups.

He barely manages a couple gulps before he sets it on the ground, lolling his head until it leans against Macaque's shoulder. The shadows stiffens only slightly before he melts back into the touch.

A hand even lifts and entangles itself between fur of gold, eliciting a gentle purr from Wukong.

Now this is familiar. It doesn't matter that he can't remember why it's so natural, just that he's grateful he can fall back into a habit so comforting.

There isn't even the echo of television to disrupt them, silence enveloping the house all at once.

He lets himself wrestle with the idea of breaking the silence. While he wouldn't mind letting the peace lull him into a nap, he knows this atmosphere of tranquility is only a mercy he'll be given tonight.

Tomorrow Wukong will wake up back on Flower Fruit Mountain and should he run into Macaque, their conversations will only consist of lashing tongues and harsh words.

An olive branch will only ever be extended during times of intoxication, and truth be told he'd much rather try a civil conversation than fall asleep.

"I've been thinking," he finally decides on.

"That's new," Macaque grins. Yellow eyes only roll at Wukong's tail swats at his thigh. "What about?"

"Mm," Satisfied, Wukong leans further into the gentle fingers that comb themselves through his fur. It's nice; Macaque had always been unfairly talented at grooming. "Your ears."

He nearly whines as Macaque's hand lifts from golden fur, uncertain why the attention had stopped. "What about them?"

"I want 'em in my treasury."

The other's expression falters and again Wukong can't make sense of why. Is this another door situation? Something untakeable?

"I wouldn't take your face," he adds for good measure. "You always look too sad anyway."

At least that gets a scoff. "I do not."

"Totally do."

"You're such an idiot."

Ah, low blow. It's a good thing Wukong's had millennia to practice his retorts. "Nuh uh."

"Yea huh."

But it isn't enough. Macaque's hand doesn't return to comb through fur.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Macaque hums, if a little too quickly.

"...what is it?"

"Drop it."

It's a weak demand, unfitting to quell the king's curiosity. He'll pry and pry until there's nothing left he could grow surprised from hearing. "Nah."

"Please?"

But that one's new.

"...just let me have this?" a black tail flicks in the corner of his eye and Wukong finds himself uncertain at the other's show of anxiety. "You won't remember this in the morning anyway. You never do."

Still, with all the bravado a drunken sage could possess-

"Just watch me."

"Whatever you say, Wukong."

[aclosetfan]

Hellooo, here I am again, after all, you said I could bother you all I want with my random trivia that I have in the middle of the night so I will 😃 (Stop encouraging me if you don't I take it seriously and I won't stop anymore)

Just for the record, I read the fics and loved every one of them. Unfortunately I made up reading The Notion of Loss and re-read Till death do us part for the tenth time (that damn ending always kills me, you will pay for every tear shed 😡) that same night with a heart-wrenching soundtrack and it was the holy trinity that I I could sleep covered in my tears tonight. I force myself to suffer, I know, but... If I don't, who will? 😔

My question for today is something I'm pretty sure you've been asked before, but it doesn't hurt to try, does it? Could you talk about some of your favorite headcanons for a specific character or in general? (And if something has already been discussed here, could you name others, please?🥲) I know it's something that's already been used, but I really like it when the fandom comes together to believe in something collectively in a way that feels like the cartoon itself has already confirmed (CN would never give us that satisfaction, so what we have left is to hunt for our own survival)

By the way, what you said about not being able to leave the fandom is something that I think is very real to almost everyone inside. I really use the community as a place of comfort to hide from real life problems or even spend hours looking at random things like trivia or fan headcanons (Main reason for asking) and I think now I couldn't get out of something that it's already become a routine for me in some way, or even watching random videos and never remembering my comfort characters again, but anyway, just any outburst from someone who is going through a similar situation! 😊

About the new job and the delays...don't worry so much, we all take our time to adjust and for some it may take longer than for others! I think adapting is part of growing up and maturing and I know that there will come a time when you will feel stable enough to be able to focus your head on interesting new stories and plots, or writing bit by bit, I don't really know, I just know that with time everything will settle down and I'm sure that when you release a story or one-short again it will be amazing just because of your writing and plot that never disappoints. Well that was it, take your time, however long it is, and your 'comeback' in writing when you feel up to writing again and I will definitely be here to read everything from my favorite writer in the community!!!💗

Notes :

-Slightly jaded speech, I know, but I really hope that some of this text makes you feel somehow better ♡

-I know I write a lot, it's just that I get a little overexcited having someone to respond to the idiotic questions of the hysterical teenager that lives inside me 😔

- Any mistakes are just a coincidence that I know almost nothing of this language 😀 (If it's not readable I'll cry)

- The emoji thing was real.

aw thank you :))) your continued confidence in me is so kind. I hope I find time to write something soon. Anything, really! I miss writing and want to continue practicing. Also, I'm super happy that you read the fic recommendations. There are some crazy talented people in this fandom who have taken the time to write incredible stories. There are a thousand more out there, and I know some people I follow collect lists of fics, so if you want more, I'd sneak a look at some people's pinned posts. Pinned posts are sometimes the only way I find fics haha

To you're actual question, I have a lot of headcanons throughout my blog. Some are tagged, and some are not. Honestly, I couldn't remember my headcanon tags now! For the sake of not repeating myself too much, I'll give you three h/cs for the three girls :)

Bloss:

Follows rules until she no longer agrees with the rules, and then she makes new ones. Despite what people may think, Blossom isn't so caught up in the technicalities of right and wrong. She doesn't think black and white but is morally gray. She knows what right is, and she does what she needs to do to accomplish it, and sometimes that means choosing the lesser of the two evils and breaking a few rules.

Related to the top one, she has classic leader-martyr syndrome, but as she gets older, she burns out. I think it would be interesting if once she burns out, instead of quitting, she falls to second-in-command and pushes Buttercup to take over, but eventually has to take it back because of her ability to make hard sacrifices that BC lacks, and they both know it. Compared to Blossom, Buttercup is too overly-protective to make hard decisions.

Bad cheesy jokes and puns. She is not funny. No one thinks she's funny. She thinks she is, though, and believes her pep talks can move mountains (they cannot).

Butters:

Like I said, overly protective. When Blossom plays martyr, BC's there to catch her. Her over-protectiveness/toughness leads people to think she's intimidating and standoffish, but in truth, she's also the shyest sister. So, it's hard for her to make friends, but once she's your friend, you've got a ride-or-die for life. Despite how often she complains about things/people, she doesn't give up on others.

I also love her as a classic dude-bro. She loves watching sports, tracking sports statistics, and playing them. I don't think she'd be able to play on teams with normal humans, but given how many mutants pop up in Townsville, I headcanon there are superpowered teams, and she's in at least three of them. Idk which sports exactly, but 100% of the time, one of them is Roller derby.

In the show, she was prone to acts of aggression. I'd like to believe that when she grows up, she's mellowed out a great deal, but she's not at all cool like she hopes she is. If you're her friend, she's nosy, loud, and 100% in your business. If a doorknob pulls out her earbuds, she's 100% punching a hole in the door. Like, she's mellowed out, but she's "spice" for a reason.

Bubbles:

Blossom and Buttercup have 99 problems, and Bubbles is the cause of all of them :)) <3 she's a whirlwind of chaos and is always involved in some kind of shenanigans, which her sisters inevitably have to clean up. For all the problems she causes, she creates an equal amount of solutions. Things tend to work out for her. (I usually h/c Boomer as the same, but shit doesn't work out as well for him).

Her love life is dismal. There isn't much else to say. She's a girl who very much wants to fall in love, but she is not lucky with it. She doesn't understand that Blossom and Buttercup scare off 99.9% of all suitors. Down the line, this is a problem because she begins to think she's the problem, so Blossom and Buttercup have to bully people into dating her.

A nature nut, a cheerleader, a seamstress, a dog walker, a pet talker, and a lawncare enthusiast, she'd definitely be the jack of all trades in the family. She has more hobbies than she could ever keep up with, but she does just fine. Blossom might seem like the busy one, but Bubbles is more so. Unfortunately, unlike Blossom, she's horrible at keeping organized. Given all her odd skill sets, out of the three sisters, she's the most eccentric (and superstitious, but that's another h/c lol).

I hope these spark some interest!! I feel like these are pretty in line with my prior h/cs. I don't deviate from my characterizations of them often lolol

[planet-dusk]

if i were to start writing for enhypen,, what member and/or trope would you like to see me write first?

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[monty-glasses-roxy]

If you don't mind me asking whats your AO3 account called cause I wanna read your fanfics?

It's Detectives_Heart! There's nothing particularly new on there so it doesn't adhere to some of what I talk about now (like the new timeline and what not), and most of it is locked to registered users only still because of the AI stuff that's got me paranoid. I'm thinking of unlocking them, but I'm still not sure whether to do it or not and also I keep forgetting anyway so...

Here's the link to my Ao3 if you want it.

t's mostly Pupcakes/Roxica content for the moment and while that one Gatorbun fic has a cool setting, I wouldn't recommend it. First FNaF fic and all. I would do it way differently now, believe me.

If you do/can read anything of mine, I hope you enjoy it!

[the-mehlwurm]

PLEASE RECOMMEND ME MOVIES (OR SERIES, I DONT REALLY CARE) BECAUSE I WILL HAVE THE APARTMENT TO MYSELF FOR 2 DAYS SO I CAN WATCH ANYTHING I WANT IN THE LIVING ROOM. ILL BE ABLE TO WATCH TV, GET THIS, ON AN ACTUAL TV! BUT I DONT KNOW WHAT TO WATCH.

[rogueddie]

"Something is really wrong with Steve," Robin says.

The party look up, startled. They wait for her to continue, but she starts pacing nervously. It immediately sets the kids on edge, glancing at each other uneasy.

"What do you mean?" Dustin eventually speaks up. "Is he... ill?"

"No, no, it's... his parents came home, right?"

"Yeah, we know," Max snorts. "Dustins mom had to ban him from the house because he wouldn't leave."

"He can't avoid them forever," Dustin points out. "I get that it's hard to talk to them when you have to lie all the time but they're, like, paying for all his shit."

"No they aren't!" Robins voice cracks. "They cut him off years ago! Dude, he hates them and now he's writing up a resignation letter so he can go work for his dad."

"Why is that a bad thing?" El asks, eyes a little wide.

"He'd have to train for a few months in New York for one."

"New York?!" All of them burst out. They all try to speak at once, loud and panicked. They're so loud that Hopper bursts out, confused and tired and panicked.

"What the hell is going on?" He snaps.

The kids all look a little guilty. El stands up so he looks at her. "We are worried about Steve."

"What? Jeez, that's what you're yelling about?"

"He's moving away!" Mike snaps. "To New York! For months!"

Hopper frowns at him like he's not making sense. "New York?"

"To work with his dad," Robin adds. "I didn't know if I should talk him out-"

"They're back?" Hopper asks. He's gone still, voice devoid of emotion and dangerously calm. "How long?"

"A month? Maybe more, it-"

"And they're home now? Do you know if Steve is there with them? It's not one of his shifts, is it? That'd make it easier."

"What? No, he's home. Make what easier?"

Hopper ignores the question, grabbing his coat and shoes. "Stay here, I won't be long."

He ignores the questions that grow frantic and panicked when he picks up his gun, stomping out the door at a fast pace. Robin is yelling from the door as he climbs into his car. She's too taken aback to even begin to think of how to answer to avalanche of questions the kids throw at her.

Hopper gets to the Harrington house in record time, having sped just a little to get there. Mrs Harrington is the one who opens the door and looks a little guilty when she sees him.

"Where is he?" Hopper asks.

She steps back, letting him in. "In his room."

Hopper pushes past her, taking the stairs two at a time. Steve is sat at his desk when he enters the room without knocking, head snapping up and looking startled. He looks a little ashamed when he realizes that it's Hopper.

"Hop," Steves voice is strained. He frowns when Hopper ignores him, pulling his closet open. "Uh, Hopper? What are you doing?"

"Taking you home," Hopper mutters. He pulls out the three bags he knows Steve has been keeping hidden, just in case. "Come on, pack up."

"I can't just-"

"Yes you can. Pack. Up."

Steve only hesitates for a moment. He slowly fills up one with his few sentimental things and some things he considers important (his scoops uniform, the drawings from Will). Hopper stuffs the other two with clothes. It doesn't take them long.

"I'll come back for the rest, if you want any of it," Hopper hands Steve his car keys, waving him toward the stairs. "Wait in the car. I'll be a minute."

Steve hesitates at the door, glancing between Hopper and his mom. He leaves though, doesn't say goodbye.

"Right, here's what's going to happen; I'm going to come back for the rest of his things. I've seen that room, I'll know if somethings missing. And that shit is his, don't try to bullshit me." Hopper eyes her with visible distaste. "He's an adult now. You can't take him back and if I hear that either of you've been trying to harass him again, I'll press charges."

She nods, which is enough of an answer for him. He throws the two bags in the back with the third before climbing in the drivers seat. The air is thick with tension as he pulls out the drive, starting the drive back to the cabin.

"Um... could you, uh, drop me off at the trailer park?" Steve asks, quiet and timid in a way that is horribly familiar to Hopper. "I, uh... I need to see Eddie."

Hopper grunts. He grits his teeth to stop himself snapping. It wouldn't be fair on Steve. So he drives him there, quiet and tense.

"Thanks," Steve mumbles.

But Hopper climbs out too, gently grabbing Steves jacket lapels to drag him over to the Munsons trailer. Hopper knocks.

"Oh," Waynes eyebrows raise. He looks Hopper up and down before turning his eyes on Steve, who he gives a soft smile. "Harrington, you doing alright?"

"No," Hopper answers for him. "Could we come in for a moment?"

"Sure?" Wayne shuffles out the way, shutting the door behind them. "Eddie's in his room, if you want me to get him?"

"You want your boy to see?" Hopper asks Steve.

Steve ducks his head, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket. He mutters, "he probably will anyway."

"Ok. Do you want him here for this?"

"Here for what?" Eddie asks, hovering in the doorway, worried. "What's happened?"

"Nothing," Steve tries to say. "It's... really, it's nothing."

"Steve," Hopper calmly says. Waits for Steve to look back at him, simply raises an eyebrow. "Where?"

"Hopper, it's fine, really."

"Where?"

Steve tries to stare him down, unsuccessfully. He huffs, annoyed, glancing at Wayne and Eddie who, understandably, look confused.

He slowly takes his jacket off, keeping his eyes on the floor. There's a sharp intake of breath when the dark, almost black, bruises on his arms are revealed. They litter the entirety of both arms, the ones around his left wrist and right bicep standing out the most- the ones shaped like hands.

"Steve," Eddie whispers, walking forward slowly. He's careful, brushing his fingers against his skin. "Oh, baby, who did this?"

"It's fine," Steve tries to insist.

Hopper clears his throat though. "Where else?"

Steve doesn't try to argue this time. He grabs the back of his collar, lifting his top off. His ribs have the worst of his bruises.

"Fuck," Eddie carefully, gently, pulls Steve into a hug. Presses gentle, ever so soft kisses to his neck. His hand is just as gentle when he rubs his back. Steve clings to him, grip looking almost painful, but Eddie doesn't complain.

Hopper turns to Wayne, who is also pointedly looking away so the two can have their moment. "His parents are gonna try to find him. Direct them to me if they try here."

"Don't worry about Steve," Wayne glances at the pair, still wrapped around each other, at the bruises. "Worry about them. If they try to come by here, they'll be leaving in a body bag. I'm sick of assholes treating my kids like this."

Hopper looks over at Eddie, who's pulling back so he can hold Steves face, eyes painfully understanding. He nods at Wayne, pats his shoulder. "I'm getting the rest of his stuff, he's got no reason to go back there. It's my cabin he's coming home to."

"I'll drive him there myself," Wayne glances at the pair, who think they're being subtle and sneaky as they giggle their way towards Eddies room. "Tomorrow."

Hopper chuckles, glancing towards the hall the two disappeared down. "Tomorrow."

[hoshinasblade]

second best |3| hoshina soshiro

PART 1 | PART 2 | BONUS: PART 3

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader genre: slight angst, comfort, childhood friends to lovers, a bit of that miscommunication trope snippet: hoshina soshiro always ranks second at everything in his life. god forbid he falls behind in the bid for your heart too. word count: 2k trigger warnings: a bit suggestive at the end author's note: i promised a part three so here it is, hope you guys like it! likes, replies, and reblogs are welcome but im begging you not to copy or steal my works. feel free to sign up for my taglist (which i swear im gonna use on the next fic lol), and i appreciate when people send me asks so let me know your thoughts (or send me hoshina pics, that'd be great too). my masterlist is here! also i gotta let you know that i might put the next fic on hold because i am so tempted to start a short nsfw collection instead - just one-shots so it won't be a lot of commitments. who knows cause i might write angst and nsfw at the same time 😉

soshiro's hands were trembling. you noticed because it has not happened in a while - you cannot even recall the last time you've seen the man nervous, much less shaking. you were going to himeji that morning; hoshina had snatched your backpack from you - "when i said i would make it up to ya, i mean in every way i can," he said, sounding gentle and sincere that your only choice was to let him carry your belongings and blush as he also intertwined his fingers with yours while walking.

there is this story you have been hearing for a while - the red string theory, it is called. according to it, people who are destined to be together will always find each other despite everything and anything. when you were a kid, instead of thinking it romantic, you rather thought it is frightening - fate is a difficult enemy to go against: if it is meant to be, then it will be eventually. when you grew up, you held that belief as a prayer - it means that whoever is the one chosen for you may get lost on their way to you, but they will always - always - arrive.

you glanced at hoshina soshiro and you knew you were right to believe.

it was roughly a four-hour journey from tachikawa to himeji by train, and during the entire ride, even when he fell asleep for a short while, your boyfriend did not let go of your hand. you complained about your palms being sweaty as a joke, and he only loosened his hold. you understood - he is making it up to you, but he is also making up for all the wasted time.  

"we're almost there," you told him when he startled from his nap. his bangs were slightly messy, and he bumped his head to your shoulders. "comfy," he hummed. you giggled.

you are still trying to navigate through dating a high-ranking officer of an anti-kaiju defense force unit. relationships aren't strictly forbidden but still frowned upon, which was a little bit of an issue between you and soshiro when you had a proper and long-overdue conversation about what you guys were. confessing is one thing, but when being friends is all you've known your whole life, you know adjustments are supposed to be made here and there.

 which brings you and him back to your hometown.

he didn't exactly disagree with you, but you are aware he had his reservations about the idea of visiting himeji. "oh i'm pretty sure soichiro-kun would be surprised," you said when you were still planning the trip. "yes, we should kiss in front of him and give him a heart attack," soshiro suggested, and you weren't hundred-percent sure he was just joking. maybe you didn't want him to be.

when the streets started to look familiar, soshiro noted the sudden bounce in your pace. you and he have walked in the same alley years ago - he would wait for you after class and would even make up some ridiculous excuse so you could go home together. "i used to pretend to be tired way back just so i could convince you to slow down. i wanted to spend so much time with you," you reminisced.

"i should have known ya were head-over-heels for me," he teased.

"they miss ya, soshiro-kun. ya don't have anything to worry about." the change in topic wiped the smirk off his face. he was suddenly serious, sad even. there was a part of you that regretted saying the words, but he had to hear it - you only wanted to reassure him after all.

"just that i haven't been here for a long while", he said, squeezing your hand. "i don't know if they think this place is still my home."

"ya need to have faith in the people you care about, soshiro-kun. ya need to trust that they care about ya too," you solemnly advised. "i know that doesn't make any sense sometimes, but that's how i do it."

"have i told ya i love you so much?" he responded, to which you smiled.

"only a thousand times," you joked once more.

the hoshina estate is a spacious one - you have to pass through an automated black gate that directs you to the main house, the cobblestone path lined with cherry blossom trees, their delicate petals swirling when the wind blows gently; the grandeur of the home soshiro grew up in is undeniable with its traditional japanese architecture. a man with striking features and an aura of authority was waiting at the entrance, waiting for his son.

“father,” soshiro greeted the man, bowing deeply.

“an embarrassment that your friend will be the one to bring you home when you could have done it a long time ago,” soshiro’s father scolded him. his stare at soshiro was that of disappointment, which quickly disappeared when he looked at you. “ah, my dear, come on in, hurry, come on in,” he turned and said to you, inviting you in. the hoshina patriarch had always been fond of you - soshiro’s parents had wanted a daughter and they found one in you.

soshiro rolled his eyes. “my father’s favorite child is my girlfriend, great,” he muttered.

the maids made you a great dinner, cooking soshiro’s favorite food per his father’s request. conversation was light, and it was apparent that the old hoshina wanted to catch up so badly on how his son was doing, inquiring in consecutive questions about soshiro’s rank in the unit, his experiences so far, and his long-term plans in staying with the force. soshiro’s replies are detailed, but you know he intentionally did not mention all the instances where he almost died fighting.

soshiro’s father regaled you both with stories of soshiro’s childhood antics - “do ya remember, my dear, when soshiro tripped and fell on his face after training with soichiro? we were so worried, but he only fell asleep,” he recited the memory as if it was just yesterday., his kansai accent thick on his words. the tension that had lingered in the air had dissipated as you finished your meal.

“i had the guest room prepared for ya so ya can rest for tonight,” soshiro’s father had said when his son cut him off.

“no, we can sleep together,” soshiro declared, and thinking it might have sounded improper, he spoke again. “beside each other, i mean. in my room. because we’re tired. from travelling all day," he attempted to clarify but failed.

“ah, may i look forward to a grandchild soon from ya two?” color drained from your face as you slowly closed your eyes. you fought off a laugh but failed.

“ya may, but we aren’t doing that here of all places,” soshiro argued just as his father had turned his back on the both of you, amused with himself. at least now you know where soshiro got his sense of humor.

the hot shower felt great against your tensed muscles, and if you weren’t that exhausted, you would have opted for a bath instead. soshiro wanted to speak to his father alone, so when he ushered you inside his childhood bedroom, he’d let you know that he would be gone while you were cleaning yourself up. you were relieved; you haven’t seen your own father since you were a teenager, and it would be a shame to see it happening to the person you care about the most, not if you can do something about it. and this is not to say that you wanted to fix soshiro’s life - you pointed this out to him once - but he’s had a terrible habit of holding back and assuming the worst, so you had decided that if you could help him out, you would push him to the right direction.

“didn’t ya pack clothes?” his eyes were on you immediately after he came in, finding you on the bed with your phone, wearing his shirt.

“i did, but yours look better,” you replied, holding your arms out and showing him how oversized it is on you - the sleeves are passed your elbows, the hem reaching the middle of your thighs.

“they look better on ya, i agree.” he sat on the mattress for a few moments before lying down, his legs dangling off the edge of the bed. “ya all good?”

“i am,” you said to him. “especially because i scanned yer photos when ye're still little while ya were gone,” you informed him then showing him a folder you created in your device - baby hoshina soshiro folder, you named it - full of duplicates you made of the framed pictures of your boyfriend all over the house. there’s one where he didn’t have any hair at all; there’s one where he was close to crying but appeared to be keeping the tears in; there’s one where he was missing a tooth but smiling like there’s no tomorrow. soshiro moved to take your phone away, but you were quicker than him.

“this is payback, for all the times ya weren’t talking to me.” you were alluding to the three long months when you were still an applicant to the defense force and soshiro acted like you were a stranger. he had apologized for it already, but it is nice to make fun of him sometimes so you brought it up. “that hurt my feelings, ya know.” you laid down beside him, invading his personal space, your shoulders touching his.

“i was stupid”, he said. “and it’s not like i could have come up to ya and said, hey i’m sorry for leaving ya in himeji, by the way i’m crazy for ya.”

“and all those times i thought ya had something with commander ashiro, oh god!” you exclaimed for effect. “by the way, the other recruits thought the same.”

“it’s not like that between her and me.” his gaze on you was brief. “it’s not like that with anyone else.”

“it better not be, because i’m leaking all yer baby photos to the first division if ya mess up,” you threatened him despite not needing to.

“i promise, i won’t.” he grabbed your hand from your side and linked it with his, cradling it to his chest before bringing it to his lips. “i’m not that stupid.”

soshiro’s childhood room was what you would expect from a teenage boy: a king-sized bed, a bookshelf of manga, a cabinet showcasing knives and blades. you never had the opportunity to enter his room even when you were kids, you realized. you looked up to the ceiling and you saw green dots that formed shapes - makeshift constellations, you recognized the patterns - little plastic stickers that you glue to surfaces. “are those supposed to be stars?”

soshiro sighed, his arm on top of his face. “yeah, uh - remember when uh - i think that was in junior high, and ye're so into astronomy? i thought it’d be a good idea to know the names of the stars to impress ya, so i started trying to memorize them.”

you shifted to face him, speechless. maybe if you had known this, if you had known the other things you are certain now that soshiro had done and was willing to do for you, you wouldn’t have wasted years questioning your place in his life and deciphering his feelings. a wave of warmth washed over you as you reached out and lifted his arm off his face, meeting his eyes.

soshiro’s lips felt as soft as it looks like, you thought as you kissed him. you pushed yourself into him, and he pulled you tighter until it seemed there was not enough air for you to breathe - until your chests were pressed together it was as if your hearts were beating as one. something sparked inside you; the sensation of being so close to soshiro about to consume you from within. his hand crawled to your hips and remained there. you drew back a bit after that, and when you saw the panicked look on his face, you kissed him again.

“i love you,” you told him in between pants.

the night went on, and by the end of it, hoshina soshiro discovered that his favorite sound is you moaning his name.

[sophsicle]

I'm Sorry I'm the One You Love

Part I (Part II)

Sirius Black isn't in love with James Potter. Though sometimes Remus looks at him like he is. Like Sirius is sad and pathetic and...he doesn't even know, pining?

But he isn't.

Well.

Alright.

Sad and pathetic, perhaps. Depending on who you ask. On when you're looking. But he isn't pining. And he isn't in love with James.

That would be too easy.

Sirius thinks he could bear just being in love with him. Thinks that's a pill he could swallow. Unrequited feelings and all that. He'd mope around and write sad songs and drink too much. But eventually he'd get past it the way people seem to do with those kinds of feelings. But he isn't in love with James, is the problem.

He's fucking consumed by him.

"Sirius."

"Don't start."

Remus huffs, but, mercifully, goes back to his coursework, shaking his head while he does. Sirius, on the other hand, keeps staring at James and Lily. They aren't doing anything really, Sirius doesn't reckon Evans is one for big, public displays of affection. But then, maybe that'd be better. James and him don't - they've never - done that. Kiss or anything. So. It probably wouldn't feel so much like a kick in the fucking teeth the way watching them now does. Leaning into one another, heads nearly pressed together, whispers traded back and forth, secret smiles, nudging feet. James and Sirius have done that plenty.

Remus sighs again. "Why don't you talk to him?"

After a few seconds Sirius manages to pull his eyes away from the grotesque spectacle on the other side of the library. Why the hell are they sitting there anyway? Surely they could have sat at the same bloody table?

"I talk to him every day," Sirius says blankly. Which earns him a deeply unimpressed look.

"You know what I mean."

"I don't."

"You do."

"Don't."

He gets an eye roll this time. "Fine," muttering as he picks up his quill. "Have it your way then."

Remus has freckles splashed across his nose and cheeks, and just about the longest eyelashes Sirius has ever seen. He's obsessed with them, to tell you the truth. He's asked Remus if he uses some kind of potion for them but the other boy only scrunched his nose up, giving Sirius a look he didn't understand.

Remus's eyes flick up again now, meeting Sirius's, finding him staring. Sirius doesn't look away. He isn't embarrassed. Not about this. Not about most things, honestly.

"What?" Remus ask warily.

Sirius only shrugs. "Astronomy Tower? Tonight?"

Remus holds his gaze for a long moment before dropping his head again. "Fine." He doesn't sound overly enthusiastic but then, he never does with Sirius.

Sirius has never kissed James. Not even once. Though he's thought about it a few times. Sometimes he wants to ask James if he's thought about it too. Just so he knows. He's never kissed James.

But he has kissed Remus.

Loads.

He thinks he might be an expert at this point.

It takes the edge off. Makes him feel less like he's going insane every time he sees James. Like he wants to eat him and not in a sexual way, not really, more like in the way wolves want to sink their teeth into the necks of rabbits. Want to snap their spines. Want to feel them go limp. Want to swallow them whole so that there's no difference anymore. Between them. Between us. I've made you part of me. Bone of my bones. Blood of my blood. Skin of my skin.

See. It's not love. Sirius doesn't know what it is but it's not that.

After a few more seconds he kicks Remus under the table, causing the other boy to look up in exasperation. But this time when their eyes meet Sirius smiles the way he knows Remus likes. Feeling his insides grow warm when Remus smiles back - even if he's a little delicate about it.

Sirius isn't in love with James Potter.

But he might be in love with Remus.

[lvlyghost]

I love your stories so much I can't 😫😍😍❤️

Could you maybe write a angst to fluff ghost x reader story where the reader gets injured badly while ghost is on her side the whole time in the hospital while she is unconscious and he's having breakdowns and anxiety and all really angsty stuff and when she wakes up she comforts him and all is fluffy and maybe a bit smutty 🤭

No More Stars Left to Count

PAIRINGS: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

SUMMARY: Few things made Simon break down. Almost losing his girl takes a toll on him.

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

TW: Smut! MDNI! Angst, hurt, comfort. Injuries. Panic attacks. Grammar mistakes just the usual... Do not read if you're under 18.

A/N: I'm actually quite happy with this one🥹🩷 Enjoy Anon! This is my first time posting smut and in another language so sorry in advance if there are mistakes! Corrections are appreciated ✨🐝

Masterlist✨

Simon's head rests on his left hand, his eyes bore into your fragile body. Several machines are attached to you, helping you breathe, pumping meds into your system. He doesn't deserve you by any means. He doesn't deserve your trust, your laughter, your body.

All he can think about— as his brown orbs can't find the strength to look away— is how miserably he had failed to protect his team. To protect you. It's been twelve days and you still don't show any signs of waking up; it wasn't abnormal for you to not wake up. The damage inflicted to your body had been great. Simon thought for a painful moment he had lost you for good. The woman he cared for. The woman he utterly loved.

He swallows hard.

There aren't many things that'd scare him. He's simply seen too much. But this? Was this truly his destiny? To lose everyone he loved? His family and now you?

He inhales sharply, his free hands traces your inert hand, tracing soft patterns on your pale skin littered with cuts and bruises. That very hand he adores to hold when you were together. He blinks, memories from your last night together flooding his brain as he sinks further down the chair, adjusting the hoodie over his head.

The night before leaving for the mission in Romania.

-

"No, wait look Simon! Give it to me!" You chuckle, under the covers, both of your bodies remain warm. It wasn't unusual that Simon couldn't sleep so he'd often come into your room and spend the night with you. "There." You pointed out. Your hand and his hand stretched out in front of you, slowly you touch his, spreading out your palms comparing hands. Your eyelashes flutter at the mere sight of his big calloused hand outsize yours, completely engulfing it. You splay out your fingers until they're intertwined.

His breath catches in his throat. He loved how small you were compared to him. He wanted to protect you from everything even from himself, but you had refused to leave him when he tried to push you away.

"Come here." He grabs your arm pining you down and under his gargantuan body. You squeal, laughing at the sudden change of position; Simon sets his body between your legs. Your arms rest on his sides, layers of muscle tensing under your touch. Tilting your head back, eyes meet the dark sky outside the window.

"Look at them." You mumble, Simon lays a kiss on your neck taking advantage. He loves the feeling of your steady pulse on his lips. "The stars are so bright tonight." He hums absentmindedly, hands coming to grip his blond locks.

There's a fire burning in your belly and the ache between your thighs when you feel the tent forming through his grey sweatpants.

"Need you, love." He grumbles. His hands undress your bottom half making you gasp.

"Simon..." soft pink lips kiss your body. Your chest, your stomach... until he's lost between your legs. Mouth lapping at your wetness. You squirm under his touch, it's intoxicating. It feels like you might combust. The fire running through your veins, the goosebumps on your sensitive flesh as you clench around nothing. Unable to resist it you grab him by the arms. "You know what I need." In the blink of an eye two bodies intertwined moving desperately chasing the sweetest end together. He murmurs soft encouraging words in your ear that sent shockwaves through your veins, Simon couldn't possibly be more deep inside you, hitting that sensitive spot that made you want to scream, nails digging on his back, surely leaving red marks that he would proudly show tomorrow.

The purple and orange that tinges the sky outside filters through the window, casting an ethereal display of colors around this room that hides away the few moments you get to spend with him as you finish together; feeling impossibly more in love with him.

"It's clearing already." You point out. Simon looks up from your eyes, albeit reluctant to miss the beautiful shade of your orbs. "No more stars left..."

He kisses your forehead, then bumps his nose against you before he finds your mouth.

"There'll be plenty more to count tomorrow, sweetheart. I promise."

But you're not counting them as he promised the night before. Instead he's shouting orders like an enraged man. Heart beating out of his chest, you were so close to the evac point with your squad. Five minutes ago he had squeezed your arm and kissed your temple before urging you to get in the land rover from the SAS. Only to watch it blow seconds later. His heart stopped and then the ringing in his eardrums.

It was an ambush.

And as the rest covered him he rushed to you.

The blood. Crimson blood all over the bodies. He knew what this meant.

"Sergeant!" He forces his body to move, dragging you by the straps of your combat vest to take cover behind one of the vehicles. He knows he shouldn't be moving you like that, but right now he can't think of anything else than getting you out of there... "Bloody fucking hell!" He roars.

What was that feeling, like his soul was being ripped apart...?

-

Releasing a shaky breath, Simon squeezes your hand once again careful not to hurt you. The IV in your hand too foreign. It's too much. The sight, the memories of the vehicle flying through the sky...

The pit in his stomach grows, a wave of nausea and uneasiness hitting him all of the sudden. Simon stands on wobbly legs, taking one last glance at you he steps out the ICU. Crouching down he yanks the balaclava from his face. Why was his chest so tight, and his vision filled with blackness? The incessant ring on his ears is real. Fucking real. It was supposed to be a nightmare... this thing pulling him down.

"Come back to me baby." He pleads in a hushed tone although he knows you can't hear him. Simon lifts his hands to find support on the wall in front of him. He breathes as much air as he can through his nose, tries to blink away the black dots.

"Lieutenant Riley?" A feminine voice wafts through the empty hallway reaching him. He holds out a shaky finger without even looking at her.

"Leave..." he warns.

"Sir? I...-" the nurse hesitates.

"Now!" He barks.

She scurries away but not before calling the doctors and the Captain to the med wing.

Simon stays there until his ragged breathing evens, he then goes back to your room, deep down he hopes—prays— that your eyes will open when you hear him. But you don't. He sits again on the couch where he's tried to sleep, tossing the mask away from him. His throat bobs, what's happening to him? It burns. The door creaks open revealing a concerned John who looks at him in disapproval.

"This isn't going to help anyone Simon." He scolds him.

"What do you want Price?"

"You need to sleep. And for... just for the love of God eat something son."

"Not until I know she'll be fine."

Price sighs closing the door behind him.

"She wouldn't want this." Even then, Price doesn't want to look at you. This had taken a toll on everyone. But Simon wasn't handling it well. Rubbing his eyes he scoffs. "Come on go get some rest I can stay."

"No." Both men stare at each other not wanting to back down. "I'm on leave you don't get to tell me what to do Price."

John crosses his arm.

"I'm worried Simon. I want her to be okay too. We all do."

Simon's jaw clenched, hands balling into fists. They don't really know. They don't know, can't comprehend the extent of his love for you.

"What if this was your girl? Would you leave her fucking side hm?"

A tense pause electrifies the air as the two glare at each other, oblivious to the other person whose eyes are tearing.

The beeping sound increases as your heart rate goes up. Two pair of eyes snap to the sound. Your hand tries to snatch the oxygen from your face, but Simon darts out with dread plastered all over his features. You faintly hear John calling the doctors.

"Easy, love. Easy..." he soothes you. Stopping your hands from moving. Your body is in too much pain, tears slip down your cheeks, once again Simon grits his teeth. If he could he'd take it all away. "Don't force yourself you're..." he trails off. "You're hurt."

It feels like you're body is being torn apart. The drugs are slowly leaving your system.

"What happened?" your croak out, throat dry and inflamed. He sits bringing the glass of water to your lips not before removing for a brief moment the oxygen mask. You take a small sip and thank him with a weak smile.

"Ambush." He explains. Hating that he can see the images all over again in the back of his mind. "Thought I lost you."

More tears well in your eyes, as weak as you feel you reach out your hands tracing his jawline and cheekbone. He closes his eyes, and finally breathes again, with you touching him he feels alive again. He wants nothing more than to go home with you.

"How many nights..."

"Twelve..."

The doctors rush in but before they drag him away you say:

"That's a lot of counting we've missed."

A press of his lips on your forehead, a silent promise to never let anything happen to you ever again. Even if it mean giving his own life for yours. He would do it any day. Better him than you.

"We've got the rest of our lives, love."

[blarshwritezz]

Could you write a yandere worshipper with a god darling? The darling isn't a benevolent god and requires bloody sacrifices but they are willing to offer anything and everything to them. I would imagine a scenario where the god descends on earth for the first time and he gets to meet them, what would they do? An obsessive, extremely delusional yandere that believes they are meant to be the darling's spouse.

Gender neutral reader and male yandere possibly!

(Can have NSFW or not, whatever you feel most inspired to do)

-🔴🦊

Oh yes! The motivation has me in a chokehold with this one! Also, I was planning on adding NSFW, but got super caught up in the writing and didn't. I'm sorry

Yandere Worshipper x God Reader

M yan x gn reader

TW - obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, blood, torture, murder, harming animals, masochism, manipulation

Before you, his life was miserable. Nothing was worth living for. Everything absolutely pissed him off. Most nights he'd go into the forest behind his home and kill whatever small animals he could find rather than sleep. There was something relaxing about causing something to bleed and watching the light slowly drain from their eyes.

On one of those such nights, he just so happened to kill a rabbit on an abandoned altar. Your altar. He didn't really notice. It just seemed like another abandoned structure. Just a crumbling rock covered in vines to him. Nothing special whatsoever.

Oh how wrong he was. That "stupid rock" was exactly the thing that would change his life.

As the blood of the rabbit seeped through the vines and onto the stone, lightning struck. Odd, it wasn't supposed to rain that night. Regardless, he didn't want to get all wet, that'd be inconvenient. He went home, rain pouring as soon as he closed his door. Lucky timing.

It was nearly 3am, and he had to be up in 2 hours for work. Maybe he should actually try to get some sleep. Only bothering to take off his shoes, he went to the couch and flopped down. Tomorrow was going to be just the same. He closed his eyes, sleep taking him faster than usual.

It was dark. He never feared the dark, but there was something...eerie about this. It seemed like, other than a small area around him, this place was entirely void of light.

Was this a dream? It had to be. But it felt so...real.

The rabbit he had just killed tonight was suddenly tossed to his feet, coming from the darkness. But something was off. It had no blood left. It was completely dried up.

"My, you certainly are disgusting, aren't you?" A voice rang out all around him. "I adore it."

He tried to speak. To ask what was going on. But nothing. Not a sound came out of his throat.

"Let's make a deal." An ominous hand extended from the darkness. "I will give you all your darkest desires, let you harm whomever you want as horribly as you want. And all I ask of you is that you sacrifice their blood to me. Do we have a deal?"

Well, there's a reasons dreams are called as such. The idea of getting to live out his twisted desires freely absolutely was his dream.

Even if this wasn't real, he agreed anyway. He took the hand and shook it, feeling how cold it was. Your grip was brutal and freezing. If this was real, you might have almost broke his hand.

"That's a good boy~" Your voice faded away, drowned out by the sudden wind.

He awoke with a start. It was still the middle of the night. Checking his phone, he found that he only got about 10 minutes of sleep.

But he also found a large, unnatural bruise on his hand. Right where yours would have held it. Was that...not a dream?

He was hesitant at first. As much as he wanted it to be true, life just wasn't that good to him. But that next night, he went back to your altar. The rabbit and its blood were gone. It was too clean for some other animal to have taken it. So he wanted to try something out. He found three squirrels - it must have been a good night - and brought their carcasses to your altar.

And when he came back the next morning, there wasn't a trace of them.

So it was real...it really was! It started simple. He'd hunt small animals and deliver them to the altar. At some point, he even cleared the vines covering it and made sure the area was nice and clean for you. He's been getting frequent visits from you in his dreams. Even if all he knew was your hand and voice, you were growing more and more enticing...and he even gained your trust enough to allow him to speak!

But the little forest critters quickly learned to avoid the area. Some nights, he couldn't find a single thing for you. And so, during one of your dream visits, he begged and pleaded for an answer.

"My god, my perfect god, I am so sorry! No matter how far I go, I can't seem to find enough blood for you! Please, give me an answer! How shall I please you without enough sacrifices?" He was pathetic, down on his knees in front of you. Or at least, where he thought you were.

Truly, your mortal pet was adorable.

"My one and only follower, let me give you the answer..."

When you said it...it seemed so simple. And truly he was flattered.

He spent his days and nights doing exactly as you said. His home turned into more of a church dedicated entirely to you. A church he would get people to join. It was difficult at first. His people skills were lacking, to put it kindly. But with your perfect guidance, he was able to sweet talk anyone into joining your cult church. It was getting so big that he got to quit his job. After all, your new followers were paying him now.

Preying on the weak and desperate made it easy! But of course, he still had to make sacrifices to you somehow until these people could be used. He needed their trust first. So how did he give you blood? Why, by giving you his of course! Just like you said to!

He loved to make blood spill. But he never realized it would feel so good to spill his own blood. If it was for you, he'd tear out his organs and bones one by one until you were satisfied.

He was enjoying himself too much, and everyone could tell. Well, his followers didn't yet know exactly what was going on, but they knew something was wrong. He was getting paler. He was tired and confused, he could hardly walk straight, and he seemed short of breath from simple tasks.

You couldn't have this. You couldn't let your prophet die of blood loss so soon. There was still much work to do.

"You worry me, my devoted follower. How will you spread my word when you're so weak?" Your cold hand reached from the darkness in his mind, your finger gently stroking his cheek.

This was pure bliss. If only he could never wake up. Your cold hand on his face, heat quickly rising in his cheeks. How kind you were to worry for him. That must mean he truly was meant to be yours!

He worked even harder after that dream. Soon enough, you had hundreds of followers! Enough that no one would notice a few going missing. That was when he could finally make big sacrifices to you.

Those who weren't dedicated enough to you payed the price. The basement of his home turned into a lovely little torture chamber. Those who displeased you in even the smallest ways found themselves down there, and never found their way out. No matter how much they screamed or cried or begged, forgiveness was never earned, and therefore neither was freedom.

Some were so pathetic that they even died. Those ones were fun. Such large sacrifices pleased you anytime he dragged them out to the altar. They made you grow more powerful.

It took so long to get here. So much work. He's become unrecognizable. But finally it was time. He'll never forget this dream. He'd never dare forget any of them! He made sure to write them down after waking up.

"It's nearly time, my faithful follower." Your voice, your absolutely perfect voice surrounded him and rang throughout his head.

"Time for what, my god?" No matter what it was, he was eager. After all, you sounded so pleased right now.

"Bring all our followers to my altar tomorrow night. Do as I say."

The word echoed through his mind. You said "our" followers. As in both of you, together. Ah, he really was meant to be your husband! And you knew it too! Clearly, otherwise you wouldn't have worded it like that. You were a very wise god, after all. You would never misspeak.

Or maybe you were just manipulating him, preying on his mad desire for you. He wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

As with all your commands, he did exactly as you said. He would never dare disobey you. They were confused, whispering and murmuring to each other. He was confused too, but that didn't matter. He did what you told him to! He was such a good follower.

Thunder roared above, the wind slowly picking up until it could nearly blow the frail man away. Lighting cracked up above, and rain began to pour. Some of the followers tried to love, not wanting to be stuck in this storm, only to be stopped by sudden cracks of lightning.

It was storming about as bad as it was the first night he "met" you. He kept his eyes on your altar, his hands clasped in front of his chest. Something was about to happen...

Then lightning struck it. Your one and only altar was...not destroyed? An imposing figure sat atop it, the storm dying down.

His jaw dropped as he fell to his knees. It had to be...those hands. This immaculate presence. The sheer fear that struck through his heart. Yes, this was most certainly his beloved god.

While everyone else had looks of shock and terror on their faces, his expression was one of pure bliss. His cheeks were red, a wide grin on his lips as drool dropped down his chin. Your perfection was beyond his wildest imagination.

"Footrest." Your powerful voice commanded, motioning for him to come closer with two fingers. He gladly crawled to you, on his hands and knees as you rested your feet on his back.

He just couldn't stop staring at you. He had to memorize every last detail in case he never sees it again. His absolutely perfect spouse...

"I ought to introduce myself properly. Yes, I am your god. Kneel before me!" Your voice boomed, becoming the only sound in the dense forest. Some of your followers kneeled more hesitantly than others. Those who hesitated...were quickly killed.

Your worshipper was in awe of your power and authority. The way you took those pieces of filth's lives with just a flick of your wrist was utterly divine. He's never seen something so beautiful.

"Those of you who do not dedicate your very being to me...are to die here tonight." You smirked as the people uproar. Did they truly think you were as benevolent as they'd been told? It was their own fault for trusting the delusional man beneath your feet.

It was a massacre. A bloody, brutal, unstoppable massacre. No one was spared. No one but him. They would now be your slaves in the afterlife thanks to their (lackluster) devotion to you in life.

He was absolutely enamoured. He's never seen so much blood. Such beautiful red, so many dead bodies...you most certainly were a good deserving of his complete worship and devotion. It was he that did not deserve your magnificence.

"Now, my devoted worshipper...join me. Plunge this world into utter despair and chaos with me."

"Yes, my god!" He would do anything you wanted! Anything...this world would know your name, and it would be all because of him.

Alright, that was a good one! Endings are hard- also, sorry if there's any errors. It was a long one this time! (Yay!)

[bitbugbites-re]

𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝙺𝚒𝚜𝚜 | 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰

Headcanons on how your first kiss would go with different RE men

tumblr exclusive!

characters: Carlos Oliveira, Chris Redfield, Leon S. Kennedy

gender: gn! reader

cw: FLUFF // first kiss :3 // ktober

a/n: guys this is my first non-nsfw post can you believe it

𝕮𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖔𝖘 𝕺𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖎𝖗𝖆 (re3r)

Who initiates?

Either one of you. Although, in most scenarios, it's probably going to be Carlos who initiates your first kiss -- he's a very forward guy

Taste?

His breath isn't awful, although it's not minty either. Very neutral?

I feel like if it was planned beforehand, and he knew he was going to kiss you, he might have chewed some gum? Or at the very least used mouthwash, flossed, scraped his tongue, etc.

He also strikes me as very spur-of-the-moment though, so I feel like in most situations there would be no planning and he'd just go for it. (fuck it, we ball!)

Is there tongue?

...maybe.

No, yeah, this dude would try using tongue on the first kiss LMAO

He'd ease into it though! It wouldn't be straight away.

I don't think it'd be bad if he did, either??? I feel like he'd know what he was doing and it wouldn't be like. AWFUL.

Are they touchy?

YEAAAAAAH !!!!!

You got boobs? They're gonna get squeezed. You got an ass? It's being rubbed. You got arms? They're getting grabbed. You got legs? Already around his hips--

ahem. Conclusion? Yes.

Is it good?

I'd say a first kiss with Carlos, or any kiss with the man at all, would be like an 8 or 9/10. He'd give you the best first kiss out of the other RE men on this list (although, if Ethan Winters were included, he'd easily take that spot. bro's got that supernatural mold-man rizz, or something?)

𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘 𝕽𝖊𝖉𝖋𝖎𝖊𝖑𝖉 (re: death island)

Who initiates?

Probably you, if it's the movie renditions of Chris. I feel like he'd be waaay more reluctant to suck face as compared to his given re5/re6 personality. Although if there were a bit of teasing and build-up, I could see him getting frustrated and kissing you first.

Taste?

Most likely pretty average breath. I don't think he would really prepare for the kiss if he did know it was coming, though

Not because he doesn't care, but because it just isn't on his mind. I don't think he would think things that far out tbh

He might realize afterward though that his breath could've been STANK. I feel like he would ask and be briefly apologetic over the matter before moving on, and that'd be that

Is there tongue?

No. In fact, I think that if you were to use tongue, he'd probably be shocked and say something about it afterward

Chris probably wouldn't really know how to use his tongue well, either. I feel like he'd just get confused and overwhelmed and go back to kissing you in a regular fashion

Are they touchy?

Semi. I don't think he'd be grabby or overly passionate, but I can see him placing his hands somewhere, like on your hips or arms

Is it good?

Yeah, it'd be a good kiss. Maybe like a 7 or 8/10. Not anything to write home about, but it'd be nice. Just a very regular, low-key interaction

𝕷𝖊𝖔𝖓 𝕾. 𝕶𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖉𝖞 (re2r)

Who initiates?

Either one of you, honestly. If he's the one to initiate the kiss, I can see him planning it beforehand -- it wouldn't be a spur-of-the-moment type deal

I'd also like to note, that he'd probably study up on how to kiss you, LOL. Maybe through Google searches or by watching action movies with romance in them?

Taste?

If he's the initiator and it's been planned -- he's probably going to have a slightly minty taste. Bro is gonna come prepared

HOWEVER. If you're the initiator, you're getting what you get, pal. I feel like he's the type of dude to eat really pungent meals too, like onion-y, garlic-y stuff. Therefore, if this is the case -- good luck, brother

Is there tongue?

No tongue. He'd prefer to share a more gentle, slow kiss for your first.

Again, if you slipped him some tongue, I think he'd be a little taken aback. I don't think he'd say anything, though -- he'd probably just try his best to follow along (although I don't think he'd be very good at it -- I'M SO SORRY FELLOW LEON STANS PLS DON'T COME FOR ME)

Are they touchy?

Not unless you got touchy with him first. And even then, I think he'd be a little hesitant and/or clumsy about it.

You'd probably send him into a mini-panic, tbh. He'd pull through, though.

Is it good?

Depends. On. The. Breath.

If you caught him off guard and he ate some kinda garlic-y pasta or chicken recipe earlier in the day, well...I'm praying for you, buddy. Hard 5/10.

If he's got good breath, then I'd say a solid 7/10. I feel like your first few kisses would be pretty normal, and then as time goes on, he'd work his way up to like an 8 or 9/10 on average -- he'd learn quickly what you like and don't like :P

For the official and original Kinktober 23 prompts, check here. Credits to @kinktober2023 for the ideas!

[poppy-metal]

CREEP SEASON FINALÉ

MWAHAHAHAHHA

patrick ends up threatening birdie - to no one's suprise - surprisingly, he isn't as mean as he could've been - or even as much as he planned to be. you had this kind of pathetic aura to you. a kind of wide doe eyed startled expression when you saw him. it was clear you'd dolled yourself up - or at least attempted to. your eyeliner was wobbly. your lipgloss too tacky. your hair was a hackjob, but it could be interpreted as stylish, he guessed. didn't dress too shabby, either.

all in all you were cute. for a stalker, anyway.

"you know." was the first thing he said, looking you up and down from where he leaned against the gym building. "if you'd just approached art like this normally, I'd give you at least a 50/50 shot."

you looked down at your shoes. he could tell you wanted to bolt, but you knew you were caught. his fate was in your hands.

"you're kind of a fucking freak, you know that?"

you didn't answer and patrick felt a spark of irritation. all that shit you spouted about art being your god, about wanting to live in his skin and fucking have his babies, and here you were, shy as a lamb. couldn't even look him in the eye and own up to what a pervert you were.

"i bet you do." he took his hands out of his hoodie pockets and approached you. you backed away as he did, but he followed and it wasn't long before he had you pressed against the brick wall. looking up at him with big worried eyes. like you were the victim, here. "really - you're not half bad to look at. I'd fuck you."

you flinched at the words. worried your bottom lip between your teeth and shook your head. but that was all, still not a word. it was really starting to piss him the fuck off.

"is that what it was all about?" he placed a hand at your waist - felt the muscles in your body jump at the contact but he pressed in close. pinned you. "you need some dick?"

he skated his hand up your body - to the swell of your breast - felt himself get hard, despite it all, because fuck, you really were cute. he hadn't gotten laid since he landed.

"maybe i should see what this pussies all about. you put coke up there or something? got poor artie fucking hooked on some shit he hasn't even tested yet." he squeezed your tit, painfully. enough to make you jump. it wasn't meant to feel good and he leered at the whine you let out. pinched your nipple between his fingers meanly. "got yourself real nice and pretty, huh? what kind of friend would i be if i didn't test the goods first -"

"no!"

it burst from your chest. somehow loud and quiet all at once - your hand came up to strike him, but patrick caught it easily. stepping back and squeezing your wrist so hard you whimpered. "d - dont touch me." you gasped, jerking your hand back. cradling it to your chest - you felt sick. sick to your stomach. you wanted to scream for help but knew how ridiculous that'd be considering what led you here. you were trapped.

patrick glared at you.

"you're going to write art one more letter." he said. your eyes widened. "you're going to tell him it was all a game - that you never meant it to get this far - tell him you never meant anything you said. that it was all lies to mess with his head. that it was supposed to be fun but its not anymore and you're ending it."

you stared at him in shock. the cool night air made strands of your hair float in front of your face like tendrils of doom and you imagined choking on them until you died.

"i cant -" you said. "it wasn't a game. I love -"

"you're sick. you dont know what love is." at this patricks eyes seemed to soften. with pity. your gut churned. "and you can. you dont have a choice."

you didn't like his tone. didn't like the finality of it.

"because i took pictures of everything i saw - the letters - the messages - all of it. its right here -" he pulled a hardrive out of his jeans pocket. "and if you dont do what i say, this is all going to the police."

you closed your eyes. felt a cold calm sense of dread settle over your heart.

"i dont care." you said pitifully, eyes pricking with tears. "turn me in - i dont care. i cant lie to him."

patrick sighed.

"i was afraid you'd say that. which is why im telling you - if you do this - I'll give you updates. on art and how hes doing. if you're in prison - you'll never hear from him or about him again. which of those options sounds better to you?"

you didn’t even have to think about it.

"I'll write the letter."

patrick smiled.

"i knew you would."

the letter comes the next day. It's waiting for art in his dorm room, slid under the small gap - he nearly drops his phone in his rush to pick it up and read it. he's meant to be meeting patrick for lunch - but he can cancel - will cancel a million lunches if it means he hears from you again - gets to read your words - gets to talk to you - he hopes after he reads you'll answer his texts. let him call you. anything.

his eyes scan the inked words on the page and the eager smile on his face slips slowly - his bag drops from his limp hand. he finishes the letter. sits on his bed and stares blankly at nothing for a long time.

something in his chest breaks. in his mind too. he can feel the crack frissure and then the shattering of it. like glass. he tastes blood in his mouth and realizes he's been biting his lip hard enough to make it bleed. he rubs the red stain from his mouth and numbly stares at it. he thinks 'i want her to die for this.'

[littleplantfreak]

Run my hands through - Umemiya Hajime

Made a post about how much i loved Ume with his hair down yesterday and ended up writing something entirely self indulgent //gestures at this official art too

-SFW (but almost wasn't I almost got super carried away but deleted it cause I leave smut to the professionals) so uhhh marking/hickeys, hair pulling, makin' out with Umemiya and slightly possessive behavior on readers part but in a silly way if that makes sense just in case anyone has problems with that stuff.

You're looking at him more than usual. Umemiya can feel your eyes boring into the back of his head while he's re-potting plants on the roof. He asked you about it before but all you do is hum and say you think you're staring a normal amount. Of course he doesn't mind, but it feels like he's under a microscope. When he asked Kotoha if she knew why you were acting weird, she shrugged and said you'd were looking at some old pictures at the children's home so maybe you'd just been noting how different he looked in his childhood pictures. She ended it with a look and tone that conveyed you'd already asked her to keep something secret.

-----

It's his hair again. The hair that's always gelled back in a slight wave keeping it out of his face completely. It's not hard to break it free from the glassy prison he molds it into though. There have been plenty of times strands fell forward from sweating, working or fighting, but you've never seen it fully down in person. That's why, when you saw a semi-recent picture of him with his siblings, long hair falling in his face, trimmed neatly with ends blunt, you started to feel a certain way about it. You innocently asked Kotoha if she had any more pictures of Ume like that.

"Like what?"

"Like with his hair down."

"Oho you have a thing for his hair now?" She teases and although you know she won't tell him if you ask her not to, you're still embarrassed at being found out so easily.

"He's my boyfriend! I have a thing for nearly everything about him."

"But anyone can tell you're kinda obsessed with it with how much you fix and touch it throughout the day. Just ask him to wear it down for you."

It's not that you hadn't thought about it, but the more you thought, the more you started getting frustrated. Why didn't he wear it down more often? It seems like he did in old pictures. If he hated it now you didn't wanna force him to change it

Your self control was pretty good, but once you'd started really looking it was impossible to stop. His most recent fight with Shishitoren had haphazard strands in his face dislodged by sweat and aggressive movement. Of course you were concerned with the wounds spanning across his face and body, but another part of you wanted to eat him alive with how good he looked. You're not quite sure you'd be able to stop yourself from jumping him if you saw him with his hair fully down. Sitting in a chair on the roof, you watch him and think about the feeling of running your fingers through his white locks unhindered by that damn tough gel he puts in.

"Pumpkin can you hand me the small pruning sheers to your left?" he calls over without looking over at you.

"Mhmmm," you barely reply still stuck in a daze.

Pruning sheers...

Right!

You snap out of the daydreams that'd been haunting you to stand and grab them. Just as you're about to hand them over, Umemiya grasps the wrist with the sheers and pulls gently but firmly to drag you down on the ground with him. He sets the sheers down before taking both your hands in his.

"Something on my face? You've been starin' an awful lot."

"Ahh dirt, if I had to guess," a halfhearted excuse while your brain continued to process things slower than usual.

"Sweetheart baby love of mine," he is all dramatics now stringing pet names together in a silly amalgamation. Once he starts making direct eye contact it's hard to look anywhere else, "you have got to tell me whats going on in that beautiful head of yours. I love the attention but if something's bothering you-"

"It's your hair!" You spit out in a panic, drawing your hands away to cover your face in embarrassment. You can tell he's a little worried and it makes you feel even worse for making a big deal about it.

"My hair bothers you?" He's confused. Of course he is. It isn't something you've brought up in the past after all. He thought you liked his hair since you were always fixing it for him and you do. Your voice is muffled by your hands but he can still understand to a point.

"It looks great and I love it, but I reaaallly wanna see it down," you can hear yourself whining the words instead of saying them normally. "You always have it up when you're at school," taking a deep breath as your hands come off your face to speak more clearly. "I was looking at pictures with Kotoha and they're pretty much all of you with your hair down." Taking a second you twirl one of his loose strands around your finger in lieu of staring again, sincerely embarrassed you let it get to you this bad. He finally puts the pieces together from his conversation with Kotoha earlier.

"Our date night's tomorrow right? I'll wear it down then," he says, letting you mess with his hair. He can see a jolt go through you at his words and you lock eyes with him immediately.

"Really? Really really?" You're just about vibrating in place, grabbing his face with both hands and squishing his cheeks.

"Rweawy rweawy rweawy!" His breath is coming out of his nose in amused puffs due to the quick shift in enthusiasm and your hold on his face.

"I'VE GOTTA GO PICK MY OUTFIT OUT OH MY GOD ILOVEYOUBYE!" A small peck on the nose and you're gone like the wind throwing open the door and running past Sugishita who was on his way up the stairs. The long haired boy looks back at Umemiya with wide, questioning eyes before letting the moment pass, his head dips in the usual greeting before he walks over to do the daily gardening tasks.

_____

“I changed my mind we can’t go out tonight.”

“Babe you’re all dressed up and you were so excited to check out that new restaurant near the park,” Hajime sighs exasperated. You’re in the foyer of his home, hands on both sides of the door frame blocking his escape.

“Not looking like that you aren’t! Do you want every girl in a 20 mile radius to fall for you? The men too? I’ll have to fight every single one of them and of course I’d win but imagine the casualties! The collateral damage!” you cry hanging your head in fake hysterics. Both Kotoha and their other siblings have been watching this two-part comedy special for about 10 minutes now, two minutes of which you just STARED at him. Then you began circling like a hawk looking at him from any and all angles as if to commit it to memory. Then you started laying on the compliments and pick up lines but he could tell you meant every one of them. “Who is this absolute knock out in front of me? Is my boyfriend a model now? Did it hurt when you fell because I’m staring at an angel.”

Which brought you both to the current scene and while you were (for the most part) joking, you also…weren’t. You could and probably are just extremely biased but GOD you think no one could pull off that hair quite so well. Usually it takes a lot to make Umemiya blush, but his face is currently stained red by how brazen you are at the moment. He’s smiling and trying to take it in stride but even Kotoha can tell he’s affected by your display and she's relishing it.

“No more arguing,” he picks you up by the waist and hoists you to him in a hug that leaves your face in his chest and feet off the floor. “We’re heading out now.” He sends a farewell back to your amused audience and the kids yell back a cacophony of teases and calls for their onee-san and onii-san to come back soon. You start muffling unrecognizable words into his shirt before he puts you down as he gets further down the street.

“It would’ve been one of the best ways to die if i’d stayed there a little longer,” you breathe and stumble back a bit.

“You are shameless today,” he laughs and goes to hold your hand. Anyone watching you both can tell you're grossly in love by the dreamy look on your face as you watch him while you walk down the street. You realize now that this is the first time in about two weeks you have him to yourself, which may be why you've been clingier than normal. Every time either of you tried to schedule date night with the other, someone or something came up and made you push date night back.

Going two weeks without any prolonged physical contact (save for hello and goodbye hugs or kisses) with your boyfriend has made you starved for him in every way your brain can fathom, which is why it isn't surprising that you end up dragging him through the park to an alcove you know isn't traveled to often. It also isn't surprising when you sit him down on the bench bracing a knee next to him, and pinning him loosely in place. He doesn't say a word, but tilts his head up slightly angled in favor of you closing the distance, daring you with those stormy grey eyes.

Your hands find their way easily to the soft ivory of his hair, delving deeper to twist and pull him in. Caught between a sigh and a moan, Umemiya Hajime is melting into you, lines blurring and nerves on fire. His hands fumble to grab the thigh closest to him as he moves you to straddle him. You haven't let up on your assault on his senses, fingers loosening their hold to rub small circles into his scalp.

Is this how you feel when he goes all out after stress starts to take it's toll on him? Now that he thinks about it he's always been the one to initiate this kind of thing, but god he would've asked you to take the lead sooner if he knew it felt this good. Heartbeat thrumming through his hands, he runs them in a soothing pattern from the top of your hip to you knee giving your legs the occasional extra squeeze.

A wave of calm shifts the clouds filling your head out as you have an idea. Parting from him briefly you start kissing and mouthing your way down to the collar of his shirt. He squeezes your thighs harder as your breath ghosts his neck and you give it a few experimental nips before cooling the spot with your tongue. He's trying to stifle a high pitched noise in the back his throat but once you hear it you latch on biting and sucking a single bright red mark. A soft breath over your work before you sit back to admire it. The mark peeks out just enough for you to see it right now but low enough that when he's wearing his furin jacket, he'll be able to hide it.

"That was-," you start, still breathless.

"Wow," he voice cracks at the same time. His eyes are a little wild but his hair is even wilder, sticking up in some directions and falling flat in others. Giving a small tap on his arm he releases the deathgrip he had on you before his eyes stick right to where he had been holding. Blue bruises are scattered over both legs where his fingers were, but they're just barely hidden once you fix your dress.

"Guess we're uh...even?" you're suddenly bashful at what was probably the same type of stare you've been giving him for a week straight now. Umemiya runs his own hands through his hair trying to catch his breath and make himself a little more presentable too.

"No way are we close to being even you little monster. After dinner I'm getting you back," and you can tell he's not bluffing.

"I'm shaking in my shoes Haji," you shot back feeling a bit more like yourself as you go to grab his hand. He moves towards you but you end up spun around and he picks you up for the second time that night, this time settled on carrying you bridal style.

"Put me down," you squeak in warning, the skirt of your dress no longer hiding the fresh bruises.

"This is part of your punishment sweetheart. Also, no one's coming after me if I carry you around like a princess right?" It was hard to argue with that logic and to be fair, despite your earlier boldness your legs ended up weak. He had probably seen the shaky steps you took towards him a second ago.

Both of you got to the restaurant in time despite the detour and the next day you were sporting a hoodie to hide the payback you took happily after.

[workingbynyx]

heey, saw that you were open for requests so I would like to ask for a romcom jason todd x reader where the reader is flirty and has a crush on Red Hood, but has no idea that he is Jason Todd (their regular at the cafe they own) so he gets kinda flustered everytime he sees the reader when he is going to get coffee

(hope you can understand this, english is not my first language)

Beautiful Stranger — Jason Todd x GN!Reader

↷ summary — after a faithful encounter with red hood one night ago, you quickly developed a crush on the masked vigilante. but, would you believe if the cute regular at your coffee shop was him? ˎˊ˗

↷ pairing — jason todd x gn!reader ˎˊ˗

↷ genre — romance, comedy, a bunch of fluff ˎˊ˗

↷ warning/s — none! other than a few curse words, use of y/n and possible grammar errors ˎˊ˗

↷ a/n — hi anon! dw i LOVEEEE that request sm, i hope you have fun reading this as much as i had writing it ^^ i might've switched it up a bit in the process so i'm so sorry for that 😭 i also figured i'd use the wayne family adventures version of jason for this one since it kinda fits the whole theme of this fic hihi and he turned into such a simp in this so it might be ooc at some point help, enjoy reading! ˎˊ˗

"what the hell are you doing here walkin' around late at night?" the masked man said in between short breaths after taking down a robber that's been following you since you closed down the café for tonight. you were lucky enough to have 'the' red hood on patrol and save you from a potential robbery. the thought of him guiding, if not stalking, you and jumping on the thug as soon as he's about to make a move somehow made your heart skip at the act of service...if its even counted with them now laying on the ground unconscious.

what you didn't know is this man was jason, the regular you'd have come in around 9 to 10 am to have his morning coffee and sit around the shop until lunch. you always observed the guy to be somewhat mysterious but endearing at the same time, he'd always ask for the same coffee and pastry combo over and over again, not bothering to change his order. he became quite an easy customer to remember at some point, other than the fact that he had white streaked hair which made him attractive and memorable to you. in fact, everytime he came in all you had to do was ask "the usual?" and jason'll nod along then go back to his corner, mouthing a silent 'thank you' when you deliver his treat and maybe even strike up a conversation if he's in the mood.

but right now, jason is simply the infamous masked red vigilante who just kicked some ass for your own sake.

"my apartment is this way, how was i supposed to know robbers lurked around here" you replied in return, tucking in one of your hands inside the pocket of your coat as you froze in front of him. jason began approaching you and stopped when you came face to face, the height difference between the two of you forced you to tilt your head upwards— the all-white lens of his helmet staring down at you. "watch the news, its not safe out here. take the route to your right next time, and bring at least a pepper spray with you" if only his mask didn't have a built in voice changer you would've known seconds ago it's him.

you were stunned for a moment as he listed down things that'd probably go straight out your other ear. "y'know, for someone i just met you're oddly protective over me" you finally spoke, a hint of mischief underlying your tone. that's when you begun wondering who is it under that costume. is he cute? is he what you're imagining him to be like?

jason, on the other hand, blinked a couple times out of confusion if it weren't for his get up covering his entire features. "what?" he said. "nothing, it's just...i didn't think a vigilante would care so much for a civilian like me" you answered, an innocent smile creeping up your lips like an idiot in love. "its my job. obviously i should look out for the people of Gotham, shouldn't i?" he crossed his arms across his chest, covering the red insignia of his bulletproof suit.

"obviously, i guess i didn't have the special treatment like i thought" you practically said with a slight pout forming when you look up to him, going silent for a moment. "do you really tell all the people you save to bring pepper spray or just me? i wanna know if i got the special advisory from you at least" you added as a tease, earning a slight frustrated groan from jason afterwards. "i don't have time for this—" "well I do" you bravely chimed in without missing a beat. "i got all night even"

the sigh jason had let out was almost comical, he took a step backward when it's really just him starting to get flustered by his barista seemingly flirting with his other identity, who would've thought you'd find him attractive? not jason that's for sure. "get home safe, take the route i told you if you wanna keep your wallet stocked" then he noticed the small cut on your cheekbone, it must've been from the pocket knife the thug had.

he briefly pointed at it, "you got something" you lifted your fingers to search for it only to be met with a slight sting when you did, a small amount of blood staining your index finger. you hissed at the feeling, squinting your eye when it lingered for a bit. "calm down, its not that serious" jason said. "some alcohol and bandaid should do the trick" and you took his advice, you certainly wouldn't allow yourself to show up at work with a random cut to your face.

"y'know why don't you help and patch me up at this point? i could use some assistance" and you still had the nerve to decide and toy around with him for a bit...to see how far the both of you are willing to go. to be fair, you just wanted to know who was it under that mask— this could potentially lead to it if you're lucky. "what are you, 8?" jason replied. "no but i'm surely a 10" you winked playfully, the corner of your lip turning into a smirk as you watched his body language intently.

"jesus christ.." jason muttered under his breath, starting to walk away from this situation he's stuck in. "aw c'mon! that was a smooth line admit it! oh okay— well, thank you red..man! i'll see you soon...i think" you yelled from the same position you're in, seeing his tall frame go farther in the distance. jason didn't say nothing in return, but he kept a secret smile under his mask as he disappeared from sight.

its been a couple weeks since your last encounter with red hood, you took most of his suggestions that night and started going the safer route when you had to be on the closing shift. since then, you've been at the lower risk of getting robbed again thanks to him and his unforgettable presence. but it's not only you who hasn't stopped thinking about that night, jason was still trying to relive the moment of his barista basically flirting with him. he figured you would've known it's him within seconds...guess not.

it didn't bother him, it's the thought of your reaction to him being behind the helmet is what. jason wouldn't blame you though, imagine how shocking it would be to find out your regular is a vigilante at night. it's like betrayal but in a different form. he usually doesn't care about revealing his identity to the people he knows, but when it came to you it's different. he's conscious for the first time, he was overthinking things and coming up with plans how to avoid it from happening in many ways possible so he stopped visiting the shop for a while. it's becoming weird, you two weren't even close to begin with— so why was he stressing so much about it?

while jason spent most of his nights in Gotham thinking about you, you started noticing his frequent visits slowly turned little to nothing at all. you found yourself always anticipating the sound of the bell when the doors open to each customer only to be met with disappointment when he didn't come through. and today seems to be the same, you kept glancing over the glass doors hoping you'd see a tall, slightly scary and muscular man enter...until he finally did.

you feel your heart skip a beat seeing him after a while, the same feeling you got a couple nights ago but you didn't mind. you quickly went over the cashier, mentally ready to take his order with a smile. "hey! welcome back, i didn't see you in here for a while" you greeted when he stopped right at the counter. jason wore a red hoodie and a brown leather jacket layering over it, he must've liked wearing that a lot. "oh...uh yeah," he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck, trying to come up with something. "i got caught up in work. i didn't have the time to stop buy for coffee" that's a lie. "but i'm here now" is he really?

"oh, you must've been really busy then?" you added, listening to his reason. "definitely yeah," lies once again. jason sucked in a breath, looking away to get a glimpse of the menu like he really is getting anything else other than an americano and cookies. "got anything new f'me?" he asked which took you by surprise. "you're not getting the usual anymore?" you said. "eh well, it gets old after a while" he says.

"that's fair, well we got new cake flavors if you wanna try them out. what would you like?" you then tap a few things into the register to input his order to which he asks for a latte and dark chocolate cake. you tell him his total and he pays for it, giving him his change and receipt. jason mouths a thank you and quickly goes to sit on one of the chairs by the window where you can still see him right in the corner of your eye, you catch him glancing at your direction while you made his coffee which is strange since he never did that.

jason on the other hand seems to be more fidgety, he figured he'd tell you the truth today after you get off of work but it's easier said than done as he's starting to think it was a bad idea. his frequent visits gave him the advantage to eventually learn about your schedule and today happens to be an early leave. he mentally hyped himself up, hunched over the chair with his elbows resting on both his thighs while he waited.

a few minutes passed by and you eventually finished making everything, putting the small plate and fork on a plate along with his drink as you brought it over to his table. you slightly crouched down to carefully place the plate in front of him followed by the drink and fork, jason waited til you were done and looked up to you. he notices the cut still there on the side of your cheek, seemingly in the healing process now. he cleared his throat and nudged his head toward you. "you alright? you got a slit right there" he started.

"hm? oh this. it's uh, it's nothing. i almost got mugged a few nights ago and had to hold up a pretty decent fight" you explained, clutching the tray near to your chest. "oh? well, did you win at least?" jason laid back into the chair, still looking up towards you to see if you'll mention about the 'hero' that saved you. "i guess in some way yeah, someone showed up and kicked some ass within seconds" you said, a smile slowly forming at the thought of red hood creeping your mind once again. "it's a shame i didn't get his name though, he seems like a nice guy"

"...who did you think it was?" jason started, a lump in his throat started forming the more the conversation went on. he waited for an answer, desperate to know what you think and what could be the reason why you did all that during that night. "i have no clue, but he had a red helmet and a pretty sick suit! i'm not a fan of vigilante but that dude's doing it for me. i wanted to ask him out but he looks out of it, he might've been tired so i don't blame him" a slight blush creeped into jason's cheek when he felt it heat up at what you said, he found it amusing that you were practically talking about him while having no idea at the same time.

"that's..that's great" he nodded along, clearing his throat once more as he focused on the food in front of him then back to you. "i uh, i also wanted to ask" your ears perked up at this, pursing your lips into a thin smile. "what time are you...getting off?" he finally says even if he already knew the answer. you were taken back by this, your brows raising at the sudden question. "oh uhm, probably in an hour or so. i have an early leave today so it might be even less than that" you started. "why'd you ask?"

"i..." his voice trailed off, he doesn't seem to get the words out without it sounding like he's asking you out— well, technically he is. "nothing, just curious that's all" he gave a stiff smile as he reached for his fork. "oh okay well, i'll be at the counter if you need me" you said with a smile as you walked away before one of your managers yell at you again for making unneccessary small talk.

jason waited until you went back before releasing a disappointed sigh at himself, he sets down the fork and covered his face with both of his hands— feeling embarrassed at how stupid he sounds asking the question and completely fumbling it over. 'you just had to fuck it up, did you?' he thought to himself. he's never gonna get this over with.

a few minutes passed by and you see jason finishing up his snack, the small plate of cake now left with smudges of frosting and small bits of crumbs and the cup of coffee almost emptied out. you were relieved that he liked the new menu item after months of eating the same thing, it might be the start of something new for him you think. although his question from earlier never left your mind, you tried searching for answers and it all came down to him possibly asking you out.

but why would he? he's way out of your league and he probably knows it, why would he lower his standards to a café worker when he could have anyone out there to go on dates with. was he messing with you or is he trying to give signals? it could explain why he always visited your café and not the famous ones in the city but still, you didn't wanna assume. maybe he's just trying to be friends.

you didn't even realize that jason was already standing on the other side of the counter while you were lost in your thoughts doing the dishes, you heard him call out to you which snapped you out of it. you turn to look behind and see him there with a sheepish smile. you quickly closed the faucet and wiped your hands off as you went up to him, "hey! what's up?"

"nothing, i just wanted to say i'm gonna get going. i still have a few things to catch up on back home" "oh that's fine! goodluck with whatever you're up to then" you cheered him on aa he slightly chuckled, the sound of hearing his laughter for the first time did something to you and you didn't know what it was that made it so attractive. "thanks, i'll see you around" jason finally says with a thin smile.

you waved goodbye and went back to what you're doing as you're trying to shake off the lingering feeling that you just felt, "and y/n" you heard him call out to you again. "make good use of the spray, that's a special advisory" jason said proudly, making his way out of the shop before you could even process what he said

"thank you! I'll ma— wait..." then it finally registered. "WHAT?!"

[wosoragebaiter69]

death is a funny thing

alexia putellas x fem!reader

prompt: alexia angst on 10/10 out of angst scale - for madres bday

A/N: happy birthday madre @greynatomy ! 🥳🥳 you are now stuck at the restaurant

i cried while making this. i dont cry while writing or reading fanfic.

TW: Death, hurt/no comfort, the thought of me not making a part 2 for this

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

2 weeks. That's what the doctor said. 2 weeks until you're dead and you soul is gone from the earth. How does one hold that infomation? How are they supposed to take it? It's not like anyone's alive to really tell you how to cope or react.

So, you sit in silence. Being taken back to the memories of playing football as a child, being in your national team for the first time. Playing for your senior team for the first time. That first kiss with Alexia which was unlike any you'd had before. The first time you'd told her you loved her, and how she immediately said it back.

All of it would come to an end.

You knew you should've been here weeks ago when you first started feeling off, but you weren't one to go a doctor when something felt bad. Just hoped it would go away unless you knew it was an injury that'd affect your career. The only reason you were in the room was because Alexia dragged you there.

What would have happened if she hadn't?

You stare at the wall in front of you, mind without thoughts. Just the shell of someone who used to be there. You feel bad for Alexia, how would she cope? You knew she had plans of proposing, you just didn't know when. That will all be a dream in only a fortnight.

How much will change by then? Will she push you out like she does with most others? Or will she hold you close, thinking that if she did you wouldn't leave her when you both know that won't happen.

When you do look at her, there's tears streaming down her face. Staining her shirt and falling onto the floor. The doctor leads you both out giving a form of all legal action needed before you die. Who to give your money to, how you want to be buried or cremated.

You wonder how they can say such news then proceed to hand papers while being devoid of any emotion. Maybe they've done it too many times to really feel.

- - - - -

Alexia drives home, eyes still leaking with tears. You're not quite sure how she's driving but you both make it home. You watch her mundane and robotic movements, until she's in the living room. That's her breaking point.

You immediately go to her, wrapping your arms around her without saying a word. This makes her sob harder.

"I can't live without you. Please no." Is all you hear over the sound of her breaking down.

"Alexia." You say, but she shakes her head.

"Alexia look at me." Again, it's no use.

"Ale please." She finally listens, looking up shaking as her lip wobbles.

"When I am gone, you will be sad yes but I trust you'll get over me. I trust you will be even better than you are now. You are the greatest woman I've ever met and you are the strongest. I will be with you here until the end and even when I'm not here physically..." You pause and touch her heart with your hand. "I'll always be with you here, remember that. And if heaven or the afterlife is real, I'll watch over you. I promise." You whisper resting your forehead against her own.

She whails into the evening, you cry along with her. Reality and the fear of death finally sinking deep into your bones. You will die. You can't be here forever.

- - - - -

The next day when training is supposed to be on is when you tell everyone at the club, sadness lingers in the air as you hug your friends. The ones who had become a new family for you. The young players like Salma and Vicky whom you'd baiscally 'adopted' when they joined the senior team. You consoled them along with Caroline (your best friend) the most. Those apart from Alexia being the ones you were always with.

It was decided a farewell dinner would be hosted. The last memories and last time to be with you.

- - - - -

Alexia wouldn't leave your side, you didn't want to leave hers either. The weight she'd carry on herself after this is too much for your own failing heart. You wanted to be with her for the rest of your life, and by that you meant grow old. Not die at 27.

The dinner was as much as anyone would expect it to be. Teary eyes and frowns painted on everyones face. The mourning had started before you left, and somehow that was even more painful.

Your will was mainly going to the football club, with no family left to give it to. Part of it went to investment in womens sports and some went to Alexia. You'd asked to be cremated, 1/3 of your ashes in the new Camp Nou, 1/3 of your ashes to be washed away by the heavy winds at the beach you loved so much, and a third to be with Alexia to do as she pleases. Whether to keep or give to people you held so close.

The end is near, it's relieving in a sense. That all this anxiety toward the date will just go. Everything for you will stop. But, you hate being the reason people are upset. All you'll leave is pain and anguish until one by one your friends heal. Alexia heals.

- - - - -

Today was the day, you're not sure how you know but you do. You wait with Alexia, remembering all good times. No words are said, she's trying to remember every detail in your face. Fearing the she'll forget you.

"Alexia." She takes a deep breath, nodding at you to continue.

"I love you, I love you in everyway possible. I love you in every universe. I love you to the moon and saturn. Never forget me, as I'll never forget you." You whisper, breath shaky as you feel yourself drifting away.

"I could never, forget you amor. You're safer wherever you are next. I love you. More than words could ever convey." Her voice breaks.

You don't want to leave her, why did it have to be like this?

She places her lips against yours one last time. Your eyes close, one last time.

—————————————————————————

well... no part 2. reader will not come back from the dead like melanie martinez

but last night i dreamt i kissed taylor swift so theres that