sifui

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Interference Part 1

Prompt: You run to your FBI neighbor when you and your boyfriend get into a fight.

Notes: Descriptions of DA scenario, mentions of drug use

Part 2

You tried to go over every thing you did throughout your day that might've caused your boyfriend to be so upset but couldn't think of anything. Maybe it was because you didn't stay up to wait for him to get home last night, even though you gave him till midnight. Or maybe you left some dishes in the sink that he had to clean up.

Either way, his anger was inconsolable and you knew better than to even utter a word as he slammed the doors and walked around the house with a hard set scowl on his face. You just took shelter in the kitchen as you nervously cleaned out the fridge, tossing the expired condiments away.

"This house is always such a fucking mess! You spend at least half the day here, you'd think it would look spotless!"

You knew he wasn't really mad about the cleanliness. You deep cleaned the house every single day till it was shining, he was just projecting. You weren't sure whether to respond to his outburst or just let it go but didn't even have time to make a decision once he came walking into the kitchen. The hairs on the back of your neck raised and your face heated up in anxiety as he stood there staring at you.

That's when you noticed the all too familiar state he was in. Dilated pupils, rapid breathing, slight sweat forming around his brows. He was high.

"What are you doing, huh? Throwing shit away? He said, grabbing the box of leftovers you had saved from a few days ago. "What if I still wanted to eat this? Were you going to bother to ask me?"

"I- uh- it's from a few days ago. I didn't think-

"Exactly! You didn't think! Just fucking throwing away whatever you want!"

You weren't expecting the box of expired food to be thrown at you, hitting you square in the chest, sticky noodles getting in your hair and falling into your lap.

"This is my fucking house! My fucking food! You don't get to throw away anything unless I say you can!"

You had barely recovered from food being thrown at you, you didn't realize he made a moved in on you and grabbing your arm tightly, jerking you up to your feet and pushing you towards the other side of the kitchen, the momentum causing you to lose your footing and fall to the floor.

Your senses were kicking into overdrive as you scrambled to your feet just as he grabbed a jar of pickles and launched it in your direction. It shattered on the wall besides you and you felt the sharp pain of small glass pieces cutting your skin.

You had never seen him this out of control before. There was something behind his eyes that scared you more than normal and you knew you needed to get out of his path of blinding rage. You made a run towards the hallway, him chasing you close behind but you managed to close and lock the bathroom door just in time.

"Oh, you wanna play this game now? Ok."

Your breaths were heavy, so much adrenaline flowing through your veins it almost made you woozy. There was a moment of silence, making you think he had walked away but was completely mistaken once you watched the whole door shake at the impact as he attempted to break it down. Another slam and you saw small cracks forming in the middle of the only thing keeping you safe.

You made a split second decision to escape through the window, sliding it open and trying your best to undo the screen that didn't want to cooperate. Another slam.

You looked behind you at the battered door and knew it could only hold maybe one more before he was able to get through- so like a rat trapped in a corner, you began banging on the screen until it popped off, quickly pulling your body to climb out, scraping your hips on the ledge in the process.

The gravel floor did no favors for you as you landed awkwardly, but at this point you couldn't feel anything. Or at least your brain wasn't giving you any time to register the pain. Springing to your feet, you ran out to the front of the house, your first thought to take the car but realized the keys were inside.

That's when you saw him.

He was standing on his porch going through his mail, seemingly looking like he had just gotten home from somewhere. You had heard rumors from some of the neighbors that he worked for the government or something, giving you some hope.

You began running over to him, not daring to look back to see if your boyfriend was chasing you or not.

He has seen you coming over and immediately looked concerned, putting his mail back in the mailbox and practically catching you in his arms once you reached him.

"Please. Help me- my boyfriend. H-he's gonna kill me."

You were crying now, trying to form sentences when he asked you what happened but couldn't.

When you spotted your boyfriend walk out the front door of your house and look over in your direction, a bat in hand your heart stopped.

"Please. Please," you pleaded, hiding behind his tall frame and holding onto his quarter zip for dear life.

"Here, get inside," he said, opening his front door, the both of you entering as he walked over to his kitchen counter where a gun, badge and handcuffs were set. He grabbed the gun and cuffs, clipping both of them on his waist band and turning to you.

"Stay here."

You nodded obediently and watched him walked back out. He didn't close the door so you were able to watch everything from the moment your boyfriend began waving the bat around crazily towards your neighbor to him pulling out his gun and pointing it at him.

"Get down on the ground!"

For a second you thought your boyfriend wasn't going to listen as he stared at your neighbor with fury but seemed to be coherent enough to drop the bat and put his hands in the air, looking over at you.

"Just you wait, bitch. You'll get yours."

By now, everyone was either peeping through their windows or standing on the sidewalk, nosey to see what all the commotion was about as your neighbor pushed your boyfriend to the floor and handcuffed him.

It wasn't long before multiple cop cars showed up, taking over the scene. Your neighbor made his way over to you and offered you a hand, making you realize that you were sitting on the floor, frozen to the spot, hugging your legs.

"The officers are going to want a report but I want you checked out by the paramedics first."

You took his hand but relied all on him to pull you up as your legs felt like jello. The feeling of relief and sadness overtook you as you fell into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Instead of being pushed away and teased for it like you were used to, you got pulled in tighter and long strong arms wrapped around you, enveloping you in a warm protective embrace.

He let you cry like that for a little until you calmed down enough to walk with him outside to the ambulance that was waiting. He didn't leave as they had you climb inside and lay on the stretcher so one of the paramedics could clean up the small cuts around your arm caused by the glass jar.

"How long have you lived there?" he asked, from besides you on the bench. You hoped he didn't feel guilty for not catching the abuse sooner.

"Not very long. He's been there for years but I just moved in about a few months ago. I don't usually leave the house since I work from home so that's probably why you didn't see me too often," you answered, wincing as the antiseptic touched your raw skin.

Just then, his phone rang.

"Hotchner....I'm actually busy at the moment but you can reach out to my Communications liason, Jennifer Jareau at the office....yes of course....goodbye."

"So you're names Hotchner?" you inquired, wanting to talk about something to keep your mind off the stinging pain.

"Aaron. Hotchners my last name."

"Nice to meet you Aaron. I'm Y/N," you greeted, offering your hand for a shake. He took it with a small smile and shook it gently.

"I wish it was under different circumstances but I'm glad you're safe."

"Thanks to you. I appreciate you by the way. You handled the situation really well."

He did that half smile again and played with his hands, almost nervously.

"Well unfortunately I deal with a lot of high stress situations like that so it was almost second nature."

"Cop?" you prodded, wanting to know if there was any truth to the rumors.

"FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit to be specific."

He didn't go into anymore detail than that but that was more than enough for you. So he's an Federal Agent. You literally couldn't have picked a better neighbor to run to.

- - - -

After the paramedic was done cleaning you up and you gave your report to the officer, Aaron came over, hanging up the phone.

"I know the house is technically not yours but he won't be back anytime soon and I'm sure you need to get cleaned up and everything. I'm gonna give you my card, I wrote my personal cell number in case you need anything but also feel free to come over if my car is in the driveway."

You took the card, reading his slightly sloppy writing and nodded with a smile.

"Thank you again Aaron. Really, you're a lifesaver."

He pulled you in for another hug, surprising you but you accepted it happily.

"No strenuous activity until those cuts and bruises heal," he advised seriously, making you laugh. You both pulled away and it took you a second to actually walk away, not really wanting to leave the comfort of his safe presence but you did and went back into the house, ignoring all of the mess and taking a long needed shower, thinking about everything that happened.

[hello-eden]

Never Wish On A Star

I rewrote this post. It is my post and It is still a prompt post so if anyone wants to add on you can.

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

Just walking up to the barrier was unsettling.

When they got word that Talia had been hit they were very concerned. Fantasy worlds self-contained to one's most desires always end badly. For most Heroes it ends up confronting some unresolved trauma they had no idea an assassin would react to. 

The tinted green bubble that seems to take over the forest was high on the priority list after the villain had been detained.

When red robin and batman went in there seemed to be nothing other than what seemed to be abandoned buildings on a well paved Road with the exception of one building.

the lights were on and there seemed to be balloons on the stairs railings leading up to the house.  The light coming out the windows had the same settling green as the bubble they walked into. The heroes opened and walked through the door.

Tim and Bruce had no idea what they were expecting when they walked through the door. The second they stepped through the door they're outfits changed Bruce's changed from his hero suit to a suit that he would wear to a business meeting. Tim’s changed from his red Robin suit to his office attire.

 It was a normal entryway with shoes and coats splattered down the walkway. There were photos hung up on the walls that seem to contain both people they knew and didn't. They even recognize themselves in some of the pictures. a wedding photo between talia and bruce and a photo of what looks like tims high school graduation.

The two walked through the entryway to the living room. they were variance people they knew and didn't on that couch.

Jason was leaning over Damian's shoulder looking at him playing a video game on his switch.

Stephanie with Cass beside her was chatting with a redhead that Tim almost thought was Barbara till he took a second look.

Barbara was on the other couch seeming to be laughing at Dick as he entertained two toddlers.

Talia was in the middle of a conversation with a man with a red beanie as well as a woman with dark hair. Taila looked up when they came in with an expression they had never seen on her face before.

“It seems you were the last to arrive.” Talia said with a raised eyebrow

“Sorry, the meeting ran late” involuntarily came out of Bruce's throat.

The two toddlers that Dick was entertaining ran up to Bruce babbling as they made a motion to be picked up.

Talia came up to Tim pressing a hand to the side of his face as she spoke. ” I hope the meeting was worth it.” her thumb moving up and down on his cheek ”You almost missed cake.”

 “Mom, you know I needed to be there”  involuntarily came out of his throat. Panic set in as he realized what he called her and what exactly that meant. She either ignored or didn't see the panic in his eyes and kissed his forehead. “I know I know but I still remember your first meeting when you complained and complained about all the boring adult things”.

she turned to Bruce taking one of the toddlers out of his arms and giving him a light kiss. “You are lucky that's twins wanted you to be here to sing happy birthday or else you would have missed the cake.”

“ Why thank you for waiting,” Bruce says to the children. looking at himself mirrored back in their features. He tries very hard not to think of the implications of the fact that his family is there and not Ras. 

If she wanted this so badly why did she say no when he asked?

[aakeysmash]

college!sukuna accidentally bumping into you at a café. *inspired* by this ask!

college sukuna masterlist

The bells right next to the front door chime when he enters the café. Today he’s distracted: the kitchen sink back at the apartment is currently leaking and he’s searching online for someone to come look at it. Not that he didn’t already try to fix it, but he doesn’t have the right bolt to repair it alone. He’s just going to order the usual, sit at one of the tables in the corner and play candy crush until Yuuji gets out of school.

He’s a regular here since his brother’s elementary school is right in front of it. Sometimes he just wants to kill time, and pastries here are good for his macros. Or at least he tells himself so.

“Hello, what can I get you?” A female voice asks him from the register. He doesn’t strain his gaze from his phone.

“The usual,” he says. Then he thinks about the familiar voice he just heard and snaps his head up.

���What are you doing here?” “Sukuna?” You both say at the same time.

His surprised face morphs into a smug one in a split second.

“Didn’t know you liked me so much that you started to follow me, baby. You could’ve just waited for me at home if you missed me that much, I would’ve made sure to put some cream in your… coffee,” he says winking at you.

You put on a fake smile before answering. His innuendos are getting worse by the day, he’s disgusting.

“I’m going to poison your coffee if you keep this up, Itadori,” you whisper, as to not make the manager hear you. “Go get some pussy, please, you’re insufferable,” you whine when he gets closer.

He looks you up and down, licking a corner of his lips, mischief still in his gaze. He knows you’re right, sometimes he does a bit too much, but the way you huff and puff brings him more joy than any game on his phone does.

“You know I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole, Y/N. I don’t fuck snitches,” he responds, rolling his eyes.

You chuckle at that. This has been one of your inside jokes since the start. You managed to file 15 noise complaints in the first three weeks of your stay in the apartment, and the owner had to threaten to kick out Sukuna if he didn’t stop fucking girls so loudly. Sukuna had to agree and bite his tongue 5 times during that conversation. He knew you filed the complaints just because he didn’t want to say he was the one who ate Yuuji’s cookies, instead blaming you. Yuuji didn’t talk to you for a day for that, and you took it to heart.

Also, you exaggerated how many times he fucked inside the apartment. By a lot. You knew he had game, or at least you were certain of that seeing how confident he was, but he also hated when Yuuji managed to see some of the girls. Which happened only one time and it was when you moved in. You just filed noise complaints for every little noise you heard from his room, and seeing how the landlord didn’t doubt Sukuna had game either, you won by default.

“So… One black coffee? I don’t know your usual, I’m just covering a friend for today. It’s been a long day,” you say sheepishly, putting some of your hair behind your ear, cringing when you hear your own voice. Suddenly, the screen of the menu is so interesting to you. It’s not like you’re embarrassed as hell to see him here when you’re clumsily trying to understand how things work. It’s not like you’re trying not to look at him at all. Fuck. He is never going to let you live it down if you make a wrong move.

“I can see that,” he adds, serious. He sees your crestfallen look when he finishes his sentence. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that out loud, even if it is pretty obvious. He never saw you this nervous.

“Couldn’t you just fucking lie?” You grit out, composing yourself, pinning him with some sort of rage.

“Not my style, doll,” he answers, raising his shoulders. Your eyes turn into slits and you’re about to say something else when he catches movement behind the counter. The manager.

“Two coffees and a strawberry cake,” he says, getting back to his phone.

You raise an eyebrow. You thought he hated strawberries. You start typing his total when said manager turns to Sukuna.

“Your total is-“

“Man, I haven’t seen you in ages,” the man behind you enthusiastically interrupts you.

“Satoru,” the pink haired man nods, pocketing his phone and making some sort of special handshake with him. They know each other?

“Mind if your coworker here comes home with me?” Sukuna asks the handsome man you have next to you.

Your manager is silent for what feels like 10 long seconds. “Y/N, don’t give into this brute,” he tells you, staring at you behind those dark ass black glasses he wore the entirety of the day. He managed to do the work of three people without breaking a sweat, but he also spent most of his time tasting pastries the chef cooked. He’s nice, you think. But he’s weird as hell. No wonder they’re friends.

“He’s actually my roommate, boss,” you say, smiling up at him. Then you look at Sukuna and your smile drops. “Unfortunately.” Your said roommate flips you off.

“You know what, fuck you. I was just doing you a favour by letting you go earlier, stupid,” Sukuna says, bored.

The white haired man chuckles at the interaction, then tilts his glasses down his nose to look at the man in front of you, amused. “Oh, it’s her, huh.”

Sukuna snarls. “She’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s talked about me? What did he say? Is it enough to kick him out and ask for Yuuji’s custody?” you ask, mockingly. Your manager turns to you and you’re almost blinded by how blue his eyes are. You genuinely have to blink a couple of times to make sure you’re still able to see.

He completely ignores your questions, giving you a once over. Then he gets his glasses back on correctly.

“Go home, Y/N, don’t worry. You’ve done an excellent job today. Feel free to come whenever,” he says, giving you a smile as bright as his eyes, then leaves while you think about how your cornea must be damaged now.

“Off the clock, come on,” Sukuna says, taking his phone out again, not sparing you a glance.

“Why don’t you jump off of my dick instead,” you hiss, going to take your purse from the service room. You don’t see the way he tips you anyway, even if you didn’t ask, and takes his order to the nearest table, positioning the cake in front of him. Like he’s waiting for someone.

You get back out front and side eye him, rummaging through your purse violently before sighing defiantly. You forgot your keys.

You turn around to look at Sukuna, who is just a couple of tables away, jumping a little when his eyes are already on you. He gives you a confused look behind his cup of coffee, before putting it down and mouthing “You look stupid, come sit.” You raise one of your eyebrows and you’re going to flip him off when someone bumps into you.

“Yo, cutie,” the man in front of you addresses you. You smile politely and sidestep to the left, getting out of the way, but he follows your movement, positioning himself closer to you.

“I was wondering if you were free now that you don’t have that little apron on,” he tells you languidly, swiping your arm up and down with his hand, stopping at your shoulder. When you try to get it off, he just grips you harder.

“Get your hand off of me or you’re getting kicked in the balls in front of everyone,” you deadpan. He’s slimy, probably conventionally attractive for a lot of girls, but he’s creepy.

He whistles lowly. “I love it when they’re a little feisty,” he smirks, trying to get even closer. You’re raising your knee when he gets pushed off of you and you kick a strong thigh instead. You widen your eyes comically and the man you just kicked winces.

“Man, what the fuck-“ the creep starts, before getting interrupted.

“Don’t touch my girl,” Sukuna seethes. The man takes a step back. Your heart skips a beat. You didn’t think he’d come to your rescue. “Even if her kicks are strong as fuck, I gotta say that. I might have unfortunately just saved your sorry ass’ future sad child,” he says, glancing at you. You giggle.

“There’s no way a fine thing like that is with you,” the man continues blabbering, albeit scared of Sukuna’s imposing feature.

“There’s no way a fine thing like me could ever be with someone like you, you mean,” you say, standing closer to Sukuna.

The man scoffs. “You could do so much better.”

"You? Lying is a sin, motherfucker."

On cue, Sukuna raises one of his arms and drapes it over your shoulder. You’re surprised by how delicately he gets you closer to his body, like he’s thinking you aren’t going to like what he’s doing. You look up at him, laying your hand on his chest, giving him the okay. He stares down at you, swallowing.

“Yeah, I’m lucky,” he says thickly, smirking, before lightly kissing your forehead. The kiss is barely there, you wouldn’t even have felt it if right now you weren’t hyper aware of how intoxicating and warm his body pressed to yours feels. You think you might have a fever from how much the spot he grazed is scorching. Your ears are buzzing, and you don’t distinguish the words the two men are exchanging, getting out of your daze only when the creep exits the cafe with his tail between his legs.

“I didn’t need you, you know,” you say to Sukuna, still looking up, letting your hand fall from his chest. Fuck, he’s ripped.

He nonchalantly gets the bag your manager (grinning behind his hand) is passing him before escorting you out. You notice he didn’t get his arm off of you, and you realise you don’t really mind the soft weight of it. Or maybe you just don’t mind being close to him. Or maybe you don’t mind him at all.

“Now you can tell Yuuji how fucking cool his brother is,” he shrugs, getting you imperceptibly closer to him. You roll your eyes, whining, while he huffs out a laugh.

Back at home, Sukuna goes to take a shower, leaving you with a yapping Yuuji. He’s telling you about his day at school and you get your phone out to read the text you just received, noticing the ping sound.

Worst roommate ever: the cake is urs. eat it. or don’t. idc

[bonwonnie]

Three Weeks.

ʟᴇᴇ ʜᴇᴇꜱᴇᴜɴɢ

WC 1.3k

Pairing ⨾ best friend heeseung x reader

Contents ⨾ ft. Heeseung's cologne, fluff, clumsy kissing, banter, angst if you squint, stoic to cute Heeseung, best friends to lovers, back hug, Heeseung teaches yn how to use a controller, they're in love

Synopsis

Your best friend has let his stoic expression slowly slip. You cant quite place your finger on why, but you first noticed his softened gaze three weeks ago— after a house party. Although, you feel like there’s something about that day he’s not telling you.

Notes My first official fic! I've been writing for a while now but I've only recently got on en-tumblr. Critique is welcomed and I'd love to take some requests! Don't be shy to send me an ask! :)

Reblogs and likes are really appreciated 🥹

𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆♡

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

⋆𐙚 You never knew what was on your best friend's mind. As painful as it was to sit there— without so much as an eyebrow raise slipping from his stone cold expression— Heeseung didn't want you to know what was on his mind either.

At least, that's how you would've explained him three weeks ago.

You're not sure what's changed, but ever since you invited yourself to that house party a few weeks prior, you noticed his once stoic expression— had dwindled into something much softer. His small glances to you when you sat beside each other, always offering his house up as a hangout, finding any excuse to touch your hands—none of it went unnoticed.

“So, what? I just sit here and shoot a bunch?" You scoff, your fingers wrestling with the buttons on Heeseungs' controller

Heeseung watched as the small character you begged him to customize ran around the screen, looking just as confused as you.

“No,” he grinned, shifting his weight to sit closer to you on his bed. “Here, I'll show you.”

Before you could even hand him the controller back, his arms slid around yours— completely caging you against his frame. His hands fell overtop of your own, his grip firm as he guided your hands to the right buttons.

“This is the shoot button." You didn't even pay attention to which button he pressed your finger into. All you could focus on was his breath against your ear. “And this is run.” Your shoulders stiffened, and your back straightened against his chest; mindlessly nodding along. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, and smell his cologne; which you had the scent of ingraned into your mind. It was the expensive cologne he only wore to parties. Lucky for you, the strong scent made it easy to find him in a crowd.

It wasn't until his big, bambi eyes met yours, that you even realized you had been staring at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just—” You couldn't stop a small, teasing grin from pulling at your lips. “Are you wearing cologne?”

Sure, a party would explain why Heeseung smells like ocean water and timberwood. But a day in with his best friend, that he invited to his own house to play video games with? You both knew that didn't make sense at all.

His brows raised in surprise, cheeks flushing as if he had been caught like some criminal. The Heeseung you knew three weeks ago would've let go of you by now. That Heeseung also wouldn’t have made his excitement to take your hands in his so obvious. You could see right through his big eyes and parted lips. But unlike before, it felt like he wanted you to see through him.

“You said you liked it.” His arms loosened around yours, and that dimple you so loved had disappeared. “Do you… do you not?”

“When did I say that?” You felt his eyes scanning you, studying every minute movement of your facial muscles. “I mean, I do like it, I just don't rembe—.”

“At the party.” His face dropped, and the warmth of his chest that was previously pressed against your back— disappeared. The fan in his room blew hard, and you heard the low hum echoing through your mind as you tried to wrap your head around the change in atmosphere.

“oh.”

Your mind reeled in an attempt to bring up the memories of that night. But you barely remembered it the morning after; you surely don't remember it three weeks later. You studied his face just as he studied yours. And just like that, his expression became completely unreadable again.

Did you say something wrong at the party? Surely not, he would’ve told you a lot sooner if that was the case. If anything, you said something right— considering these past three weeks you felt closer to him than you have your whole friendship. Then why is he acting so strange?

“So, I guess you don’t remember trying to kiss me then.”

The low hum of the fan made up for your stunned silence. Heeseung didn’t even look at you; and you’re thankful he didn't see your beat-red face and slack jaw.

"Maybe I was, uh, getting the wrong idea.” He scratched the back of his neck; the close distance between you was now uncomfortable. He shifted his weight back to his original seating, and you felt your heart drop.

Everything that happened between the two of you, it all played through your mind. Not from the party. But from the three weeks between then, and now. All of the glances, all of the touches, the grins, the head tilts, the eye contact, the excuses to come over— it all made sense.

And you realize that all of it; is because of you.

Because you did, in fact, know how to play this game, as much as you liked to pretend you didn't. And Heeseung knew you did, too. But he didn't mind using your feigned ignorance as an excuse to be close to you.

“So, did we?” Your voice caught in your throat, closing the distance between the two of you on the bed. And you saw his shoulders relax at the gesture. Your knees touched, and you felt the familiar warmth of his body close to yours again. It was a feeling he must’ve missed too, because he leaned in closer to you as you spoke. "Kiss, I mean."

And in that beautiful smile of his, you saw a beam of hope being restored to his body.

“key word, 'trying' to.” He grinned, holding back a snort. Though, you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out one of your own.

“Well, why didn’t you want to kiss me back?” You nudged him with your knees. Heeseung looked off, pretending to think.

“I guess, I was waiting for the right time.”

“And when would that be, Romeo.” That, made him let out a snort.

Although, when he turned his attention back to you, you felt a whole shift in his demenor. His half-lidded eyes stayed focused on your lips. And with that single glance, you already knew the answer.

His hand cupped your face, pulling you in to meet him halfway.

“Right now.” And just as easily as he held your hands in his minutes ago— he pressed his lips into yours.

You completely melted in the kiss, your hands trailing up his arms to feel his warmth against you. He wrapped them around you like earlier, pulling you flesh against him greedily. It felt as if he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life, and you couldn't deny that you felt the same.

His nose pressed against your cheek, and your heads tilted to feel as much of each other as possible. You felt him smile when you bumped teeth— and you pulled away to let out a giggle of your own. But the two of you never let your grip falter. Firm hands stayed around your waist; and you toyed with the end of his sleeve.

This time, the hum of the fan was welcomed as you two took each other in.

"Well, I’d say that was worth the three-week wait.” His big, beaming smile revealed his dimple. And he committed the sight of you in his arms to memory.

Before you could even open your mouth to respond, the controller you had set on his bed started buzzing uncontrollably. Both of your heads whipped to the screen to see your small character swarmed by evil spiders.

“Noo! It took me so long to make her!” You yelped, snatching the controller in an attempt to save your character from her tragic death. But in your panic, you smashed the buttons, and she shot randomly in all directions. So, all you could do was watch as the character you spent two hours creating fell to the ground, completely swarmed.

“Maybe you should’ve paid attention when I was showing you the controls.” Heeseung only laughed at your overly dramatic reaction, elbowing your side playfully.

You look Heeseung up and down, a smug grin pulling at your lips. You scooted closer to him and held the controller up at the ready.

“Well, maybe you’ll have to show me again.”

*°:⋆xo, bon

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝐸𝑁���𝑌𝑃𝐸𝑁

[seiwas]

you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened. 

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares. 

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower. 

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least. 

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking. 

“Atsumu,” your voice rings. 

Who the hell is “Atsumu”? 

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor. 

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do. 

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team. 

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you. 

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too? 

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling  or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving. 

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line. 

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?” 

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now. 

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.” 

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?” 

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company. 

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you. 

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.” 

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side. 

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?” 

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.” 

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike. 

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.” 

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug. 

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—” 

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him. 

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea. 

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court. 

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds). 

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to. 

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space. 

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out. 

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse. 

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body. 

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to. 

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty. 

He doesn’t want to be away from you. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you. 

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss. 

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter. 

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around. 

.

.

.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home. 

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too. 

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it. 

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you? 

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it. 

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door. 

. 

.

.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there. 

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits. 

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not. 

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance. 

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink. 

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table. 

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody. 

It makes his chest hurt. 

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?” 

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed. 

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.) 

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady. 

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―” 

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not. 

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.) 

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―” 

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up. 

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.” 

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—” 

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.” 

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest. 

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly. 

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.” 

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.” 

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you. 

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink. 

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.” 

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car. 

. 

.

.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.) 

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[malk1ns]

october 29 2024 vs wild, 5-3 loss

inspired by sid having the game of his life tonight after being absolutely miserable for two weeks, and the fact that multiple times i saw him skate to the dot to take a faceoff, look over and make significant prolonged eye contact with geno without either of them saying a single thing, and then them starting off some play that shouldn't have worked but did.

i do think i want to write more in this, expand it a little with worldbuilding and what comes next. not sure when that might happen but watch this space!

Sid’s barely dressed after his post-game shower when Kevin grabs him and hauls him out of the change room.

“What—” Sid protests, because he’s fine, he didn’t take any bad hits tonight, his wrist feels better than it has all season, and if the trainers force him into doing a bunch of postgame testing he’s going to be late for drinks. Kris had booked the back room at Meat & Potatoes, just for the four of them like old times, and Sid was looking forward to having a few and swapping stories about the good old days with the guys he started his career with before Flower has to head out.

Except, when Kevin gestures Sid into his office, Geno’s there too, still damp from his own shower and looking just as baffled as Sid feels.

Well, at least they’ll both be late.

“So,” Kevin says, shutting the door and circling around to sit behind his desk, steepling his fingers and staring at the two of them. Sid doesn’t need to look over at Geno to know exactly the skeptical face he’s making. Kevin seems nice, is clearly very good at his job considering how well his plans have been working for the two of them, but he’s not Stewie, never will be, and they don’t know him yet. “When were you going to disclose that the two of you bonded?”

Sid sits bolt upright in his chair, and next to him he can feel Geno do the same. The game tonight replays itself in his mind, the way all his faceoffs felt simple, the way his wrists didn’t hurt, the way he and Geno would look at each other before starting a play and just know what the plan was, no words needed.

Other things slide into place, too. The way they’ve been asking Sully with increasing urgency to let them play on a line at even strength more. The way Sid knew without anyone having to tell him that Geno needed a visit down in Miami during the worst of his contract negotiations. The way Geno seemed to call every time Sid was feeling down about his own upcoming extension this summer, without fail.

The way Sid really can feel Geno next to him, knows what face Geno’s making because he can feel an echo of that expression over his own. The double-time heartbeat faint in his chest, foreign but familiar like it’s been there for years, waiting to be recognized.

The panic he’s feeling expands, and Sid realizes it’s Geno’s he’s feeling. He turns to the side, meeting Geno’s gaze and takes a deep breath, holding it for a count of three before letting it out slowly.

Geno mimics him, syncing their breathing as he watches Sid with wide eyes, and with that, the last piece fits itself into the puzzle, and the acknowledged bond flares between them, bright and loud enough that Sid feels dizzy.

He’s unable to break eye contact with Geno, thoughts and feelings and memories jangling between them as the bond tries its best to settle and stabilize, and it’s comforting, knowing that everything he’s feeling, every ounce of confusion and fear, is so intimately understood. He’s not alone in this.

The more alarming part, Sid thinks, is how right that feels, that it’s Geno this happened with. He should be terrified, he should be furious, he should be raging at Kevin and demanding an explanation, insisting on the best bond specialist the team can track down be flown in to examine what’s managed to happen without either of them knowing.

He isn’t, though. And neither is Geno.

Fuck.

[epicness1000]

17 REASONS WHY SAMPO KOSKI IS SUS

I'm not sure if I've come across a fictional character more horrendously sus than Sampo Koski.

Since I'm kind of hyperfixated on him (and Dr Ratio too), I will make a post on why our beloved blue scammer is very, very sus.

He is the only character to leave no trace when he walks. No splashes in water, no footprints in the snow. Literally no other character in the game does this.

All of his eidolons, save for one, are made up of two words and are very light hearted: "Rising love", "Infectious enthusiasm", "Big money!", "Huuuuuuuuge money!" and "Increased Spending", all of which reference either his love for money, or his warmth. The one exception is "The Deeper the Love, the Stronger the Hate". What? What do you mean hate? We've never seen Sampo be anything but 'haha funny scam boi'. What a strangely ominous thing to say...

Not to mention the art paired with that eidolon. In every piece of art we have of him, you can see the light in his eyes– not here. The light's completely absent.

His defeat pose. Every character is either kneeling, or sitting down. Sampo is the ONLY one who is still on his feet. This must surely be intentional.

The fact that he's among the few characters with an invalid rating from the rating pistol (Alongside Acheron, Jing Yuan, Feixiao, March 7 and Luocha, all of whom are either extremely powerful, or have a completely unknown past as is the case of March 7).

He is the only character to directly acknowledge the player in-game (Sparkle did this in a trailer, but... it was a trailer, so it doesn't count until it's something in-game). Self-aware character? (This is my own headcanon >:)

He very clearly is not a Belobogian native, this is all but confirmed by the fact that everyone states he just showed up one day a few years back (something along those lines). So... where is he really from? His splash art doesn't seem to be Belobog either...

The fact that the trailblazer turned away from him for ONE SECOND, and he disappeared without a sound??? Like he was never there at all.

The entirety of Funny Bone, which shows a very violent side to Sampo. You CANNOT convince me it doesn't hold some element of truth to who he truly is, because if Hoyo truly intended for him to be harmless comic relief with little more to him, why would they play this song live in an official Honkai: Star Rail orchestra accompanied with the visuals? Would they really approve something showing him in such a dangerous, unhinged and dark light when we've never seen him like that in-game?

The fact that he's a Masked Fool. A Masked Fool who apparently has some moral standards, but a Masked Fool nonetheless. Personally, I suspect he wasn't always so mellow.

THAT WHOLE SCENE OF FIREFLY DESCRIBING HIM, HAVING KNOWN NOTHING ABOUT WHO HE WAS, AND MAKING HIM SOUND LIKE SOME SORT OF SKILLED ASSASSIN?? (I know it was a shapeshifted Sparkle but I think the point still stands. Also, this might just be me, but before I realised it was Sampo following us around, the way FF was talking about our stalker unsettled me and genuinely left the impression that she was talking about an assassin of some kind... wouldn't surprise me if this guy's hands have been stained red in the past).

The fact that his backstory snippets are all of him just goofing around disguised as Madame Poisson? When there's CLEARLY more to him than meets the eye?

THE FACT THAT HE'S ONE OF THE FEW CHARACTERS WHO IS NOT ABLE TO BOARD THE ASTRAL EXPRESS YET????? Even Sparkle can board, so it doesn't have to do with the fact that he's a masked fool. And I think everyone else from Belobog can board, so... hmm... sus....

We find him in the Belobog outskirts. I'm pretty sure it's noted that normal humans can't go out there unprepared without freezing to death, or something? I might be misremembering.

HIS LIGHT CONE! HOW COULD I FORGET HIS LIGHT CONE! Firstly, notice it's not just one sniper targetting him, but there is also a man in the corner pointing a gun at him. The art is called "The Eyes of the Prey", yet when you read its description, Sampo is unsettlingly calm, spotting the sniper from a distance with no warning (makes him sound like he has borderline supernatural awareness, which I think fits with the idea of him being 'self-aware'), and is noted to have more money than the hitman makes from multiple contracts. I think the title is also a subversion– with how in control Sampo is of the situation, surviving TWO simultaneous hitmen, it's quite clear that he is not the prey– rather, it's those who target him.

He knows things he ABSOLUTELY SHOULD NOT KNOW. The fact that he implies that Dan Heng is a dragon? Or his 'knowledge' voice line, which clearly expresses his awareness that we arrived by train (when he should not have this information?).

His eidolon activation phrase is "Everyone has a colourful past, wouldn't you say?" We know literally NOTHING about his past.

So, I'm not sure EXACTLY what this all means, but it's clearly pointing to something. Don't let me down, Mihoyo! You usually do, you filthy gacha bastards, but... try to do Sampo justice please.

[sugarcreambiteskingdom]

Excuse me can I have poly relationship fic about the 5 beast cookies with male!reader living together please

Star Anon ⭐

Cream Oreo Cookie: One word...CHAOS

Shadow Milk Cookie:

He is the type of roommate who always gets everyone annoyed by there endless story and tends to do pranks on you and everyone in the palace

He will always will annoy everyone with his endless puns

He will always drag everyone to watch his puppet shows

And since your male...you alongside Burning Spice Cookie and Silent Salt Cookie are his BEST TARGETS for shenanigans like again...pranking but more extreme...as in it can hurt someone...but your a mild exception since your just a regular cookie

He will still prank you just to annoy you from time to time by hiding your items or swapping your food with liquid or liquid with solid foods

If your the first one to sleep he will definitely write on your face...your lucky if it wasn't permanent

Mystic Flour Cookie:

She is the "Parental" Cookie in the group and made sure everyone is in line and doesn't get too cut up with there antics

She tends to be more quiet but once she's angry everyone will shut up

She doesn't talk that much unless it was important or if it's just you she needs to talk to...

She's the type of parent who's patient but once that patient was emptied then all hell will break lose

And you alongside Silent Salt Cookie are the only ones who gets to calm her down and the only Male Cookie's she can tolerate unlike the other 2...

Burning Spice Cookie:

SPAR!!!!

He will always ask you to spar with him every single day and if you say "No" you can't because it's either Spar with him or he will play hide and seek with you and his ALWAYS the seeker...if you get caught your up for a very hard punch to the shoulder and you better endure it or walk with a broken arm if you can

His just doing this for your own good...you have to be STRONG and so you'll learn how to protect yourself more easily from enemies

Though he will give you some days off since your dough is still fragile and you still need rest after all...

Eternal Sugar Cookie:

Your there errand boy...

There too lazy to do anything okay? Stop complaining and just do what she tells you to do

Your there to help them do the things they're too lazy to do which is to get there cloud bed to be pushed around...or if she wants a drink or need to tell the other beasts something

It annoys you and whenever you tell them "No" they will pout and whine which won't stop since you've tried that and it never worked Unfortunately so...yikes...

They only lets you into his room and not the others because they trust you more than the others if they're quite honest

Although because of your work they do tell you some secrets from here about repay you by telling everything and anything and even...the other 4 Beasts secrets...

Silent Salt Cookie:

He also Spar with you at times but not much like Burning Spice Cookie

He only mostly play chess with you or any bored games that doesn't require any needed voice either that or he'll just use sign language to talk to you unless you know them

He also loves to collect weapons and show them off to you

He even lend you one but you just have to make sure to not let the other Beasts Cookie's knows t was him who gifted it to you if not he will never hear the end of it from his fellow beasts

He would at times show you his techniques of sharpening your tools more quickly and clean

And he will also show you how he make his weapons(A/N: I Headcannon this Cookie to be his own smithy)

[stabbyfoxandrew]

can I still ask for some arsonist neil/firefighter andrew?

WIP Wednesday (10/23) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 252)

After the game is finally over— the Jaguars winning by two points— they watch the post game interview. Which Kevin Day is the star of, of course. Andrew's not particularly interested in his thoughts on the game, but 10 is still watching so he leaves the TV on. Kevin smiles exuberantly and says kind things about his team, frets over Washington— whose wrist is indeed sprained. When the interviewer starts to direct their attention on Jeremy, Kevin looks into the camera before mouthing,

"Hi Andrew," with a wink that he makes look accidental a couple seconds later, rubbing at his eye like there’s an eyelash in it. Andrew sighs. The bastard.

10 gasps. "Did Kevin just—"

"Oh. Catch that, did you?"

"Yeah."

“He thinks he’s hilarious, I’m sure. I told him I wasn’t going to watch this game and he said I would. And I suppose he wins, but I’m not going to tell him I saw that. I’m not going to tell him anything.”

“Just admit you like watching Kevin play.”

“Never.” Andrew says, making 10 laugh. Speaking of Kevin, Andrew glances at the framed and signed print he's got sitting on the table in front of him. He supposes maybe he should wrap it, since it’s a gift. But he hasn’t got any wrapping paper and he doesn’t want to buy an entire roll just for one thing and— “Hey 10?"

"Hm?"

"When are we going to meet up for the great gift exchange?"

"Oh," 10 sounds startled. "Um..."

"Don't tell me you've got cold feet already."

"I don't. I don't," 10 says, though he sounds nervous. "I just... I don't know. I mean, you have work tomorrow. Don't you?"

"Yes." Andrew still doesn't know how he feels about 10 having his schedule memorized. It's either creepy or sweet. Creepysweet, he decides. "Day after tomorrow?"

"The day after," 10 concurs. "At the Magnolia, 1pm. Just like last time."

"It better not be just like last time." Andrew threatens. If 10 turns out to be a no-show again Andrew will have no choice but to hunt him down.

"Oh right. No. I mean, no. I'll be there this time."

"Do you promise?" 

"I promise."

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 22: ~

Reunions Part 2:

And now, it's Addair's turn. The next chapter will be a one-shot release for Halloween. It'll be out tomorrow.

Addair and Raffs had no reason to work together on The Beria, but on the farm, they oddly worked well together. Raffs thought Addair must have been a handyman in his previous life because he seemed to know everything. And not just from checking the fences.

When they passed through a deserted field, Addair's eyes caught the attention of a tractor that was beginning to rust. Instead of helping Raffs pry off the broken board for a new one, he lifted and examined the vehicle. From the punctured tires to the cracked clutch. Instead of being frustrated with Addair, Raffs was in awe of him. Not for the god-like strength he now possessed because he knew he could never come close to that, but for how knowledgeable he was.

He watched the engineer point out the faults and how he would fix them. Raffs was always willing to learn, and even if he'll never see farming in his future, it was a good way to break the ice with a man he was told to avoid.

'Will it ever run again?'

'After some trial and error, it might.'

'How do you know that?'

'I've only been an engineer for six years, Raffety. Before that, I did anything to scrape by.' That wasn't an original story. Like Caz, Roy, Innes, and possibly many others, they all came to the rig to either escape something or make a change. Raffs was different. He just followed Brodie. Brodie came for the prospect of money. Something that wasn't at all selfish in this economy.

As the pair finished their round, the sound of the snow crunching beneath their feet got closer. They didn't react at first, thinking it was Caz coming to help as Raffs began to hammer a nail into the post. That was until Addair heard the voice.

'Dad! Dad!'

Like with Gibbo, time froze, but unlike Gibbo, Addair turned with a smile on his face. He dropped the fence board he was holding, leaving Raffs to deal with it alone, and scooped up his son into a hug.

'Richard.' The youngest of his boys. Only seven years old. 'I missed you so much. Did you miss me?' Raffs was surprised. Not just because Richard didn't care what his dad had become, but because he had to remind himself that Addair was a member of the National Front. Looking at him now, you couldn't tell. Here, he was just being a good father. Who knew someone like Addair was a person under his political beliefs?

Richard nodded. 'Did you get my Christmas card?'

'Of course, and I let everyone know you made it. Now, where's Elliot?'

He knew where he was. It was a game the twins would often play. Richard would cause a distraction whilst Elliot tried to scare their dad. It never worked. Addair would either pretend to be scared or figure out his hiding spot. This time, it was the latter. Elliot had snuck is way around by going through the field. Raffs saw but didn't say anything. Instead of scaring his dad, Elliot felt a tendril wrap around his arm and be pulled up and over Addair's head. 'Oh, here he is.'

'Here I am!'

With a laugh, Addair brought his sons into a hug. Being the only one of two infected who still kept his arms had its advantages. Raffs smiled. It was a sweet reunion, but that soon came to a halt thanks to the voice of a woman only a few yards away.

'Calm down? How can I be calm?!' It was Jennifer. She stood beside her second eldest son, George, who looked both shocked and terrified by his mother's rage. Addair noticed, too, and set the boys down besides his work colleague. That was Raffs' cue to take them back to the house. 'My husband, your father, has been turned into that!'

Well, that stung. Still, Addair wasn't worried. He approached Jennifer, who had her back turned, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, turned, and took a few steps back. Okay. Now it hurt. Whatever remained of Addair's smile faded, and slight worry began to creep into his mind. He saw her eyes. She was scared, confused, and didn't know what to do with herself. This was Geroge's time to slowly step away and follow his brothers to the house.

'Jennifer. It's okay. It's just me.' She didn't reply. More worry. 'It's okay...'

'Stop saying that, Addair.' Now, complete worry entered his mind. She never called him by his name. Jennifer swallowed her fear, which was born from shock. But, now it was replaced with worry, but she couldn't bring herself to move. 'Look at what's happened to you. How are you okay?'

The words cut deep. Addair's jaw tightened, trying to hold himself strong to her words. A look of shame was in his eyes. Jennifer noticed and began to feel guilty, wondering why did she say such a thing. He wasn't okay, and they both knew that.

Addair carefully held out a hand and reached forward. 'But, it's still me, Jennifer. ' His hand rested on her cheek. After a moment, she leaned her face into him and, like Trots, rested her hand on his wrist. Her shoulders dropped, and she closed her eyes. She moved her head so that her face was in his hand. His smell was still there. Now, Jennifer didn't want to let go. Her fingers traced and touched his wedding ring. Tears swelled, but she stayed strong as she started to play with it.

Addair moved closer and adjusted his body to make it look like he was sitting. Carefully, he pulled and lifted Jennifer up and into one of his signature bear hugs. She clung to him, now no longer caring if she was hugging an exposed organ or blood vessel. 'Does it hurt?'

'No,' Addair answered truthfully. 'Not anymore.' More silence, as the pair enjoyed the moment. 'How's Tommy?' The question broke the hug. Jennifer's eyes were still full of tears.

'Still the same,' she replied as she began to unfurl her scarf to wrap it around Addair. 'The doctor said he still has brain activity, but apart from that, he's still sleeping.' A pause. 'I just want him to wake up.' Now, she began to cry, and Addair pulled her back into a hug. 'But that could take years.'

'And, we'll be there when he does. Okay? Please don't cry, Jenny.' Addair hated seeing his Goddess upset.

Of course, they had to think of Addair. How can he go back into society with a job, let alone go and see his son? That's what he wondered back when the fog was lifted. The question fueled his own anger towards Rennick, but Gibbo got to him first. But this wasn't about him anymore. He was just grateful to be back on land. He was grateful to have his wife in his arms and to see his sons smiling. The only thing they had to worry about now was Tommy.

He felt a kiss on his cheek that tightened the hug. They'll stay like this. At least for a little while.

[semperama]

[knock knock knock] trick or treat !!

Hi, happy Halloween!! So...I've had this idea in my head for a while of a fic where Buck kind of has a moment of temporary insanity and forgets he and Eddie aren't actually together and absent-mindedly kisses him one day, but every time I've tried to start it, I haven't liked how it's turned out? I still want to write it someday, but for now, have the beginning of my last attempt, which will likely get scrapped and rewritten several more times lol.

----

One week after Christopher comes home from Texas, Buck briefly loses his mind.

It’s been a long summer—trying to hold Eddie together, trying to hold himself together. It fucking sucked, but he managed to grit his teeth and handle it. He got reacquainted with all the lumps and bumps in Eddie’s couch, kept his fridge stocked, added a dozen new recipes to his repertoire just to get Eddie to eat something. He learned how to respond to texts from Christopher with a straight face, learned how ignore the impulse to punch Gerrard, learned not to flinch at Eddie’s half-hearted attempts to get him to fight or flee, barbs that might have hit harder if they weren’t flung a little too wide.

So yeah, it’s no surprise that he goes a little crazy. What’s surprising is how it happens.

The last few days have been…perfect. Perfect in a way Buck never thought they’d have again. He has hugged Christopher a hundred times and Eddie almost as much. He has posted up in the Diaz living room and played hours of video games and gorged himself on pizza and takeout, the three of them relearning how to move together and be together and paint over all the bad shit that happened with new memories. Buck and Eddie have made it through two whole shifts where Buck didn’t feel like he had to stay in arm’s reach of Eddie the whole time to make sure he didn’t do something stupid. They went to the zoo. They went to Santa Monica. They had a homecoming party for Chris at Maddie and Chim’s.

All of it is like a dream. Or maybe it’s like finally being awake, rousing from a nightmare that felt like it would never end. Either way, Buck feels like he’s drunk on it, his mind playing the same refrain of, we did it, we made it, we’re okay, on loop.

Which is probably why it happens. Why he wakes up on Eddie’s couch one morning and stumbles into the kitchen, following the smell of coffee. Why he moves easily into Eddie’s space like he does it all the time, comes right up behind him and wraps an arm around his waist, tucking his nose into his neck.

Why he kisses Eddie’s neck. His jaw.

Why his lips are grazing the stubble at the corner of Eddie’s mouth before he stops, time stops.

Buck doesn’t know how long it takes him to move. It feels like minutes, long enough for him to register the way Eddie’s body feels pressed against his, the smell of his toothpaste, the softness of the skin on his cheek. The horror comes over him slowly, melting away all the warm contentment he woke up with. And Eddie is—not moving, not even breathing, so unnaturally still against him.

That stillness is what finally gets Buck moving, jerking backward and stumbling until the corner of the fridge catches him between the shoulder blades, making him hiss in pain. “Fuck, Eddie, I—”

“Buck,” Eddie says, a croak. He’s holding a mug in his hand, has been this whole time, but he sets it down now, the ceramic rattling against the counter. He looks—first at Buck’s mouth, then up to his eyes. “What—”

“I don’t know what I—” Buck wants to turn into mist, fade backward out of the room. “I swear, Eddie, I don’t—”

Eventually one of them is going to have to get a whole sentence out, but right now Buck barely has enough connection with his brain to keep his lungs working.

[leaping-lemur]

Thoughts on the Narrator

Played Slay the Princess: Pristine Cut over the weekend and while I expected to be feral about it, I ended up having a lot of thoughts. Like, philosophical thoughts. Mostly about the Narrator.

So without further ado, let's go to the spoilers under the cut. And boy do I mean SPOILERS: everything after this assumes you've beaten the game and are familiar with its structures and themes.

I mostly figured I'd putz along and go with my gut and see where I landed for the first playthrough, with a vague “I should kill the Shifting Mound this time around," but knew I would almost certainly go with a “leave with the princess” ending because I'm a softy, and a predictable softy. So predictable that my initial playthrough path was this:

Specter > Thorn > Stranger > Prisoner > Wraith (via the Nightmare) > time loop ending (because I was a derp and picked up the knife. Hero wanted it and I can deny him nothing.  Also I expected the Contrarian to tell me to throw it out the window but he didn't join that ending.)

I don’t think it’s because I already know the basic conceit and am numb to the “do I inflict violence now, or later?” mechanism of play, because I’ve definitely wanted to claw my own/someone else’s face off during previous playthroughs. Sure, I picked nicer options because I was treating it like a first run, but we all know how totally jacked up trying to be nice can get you.

Zero rancor for the Narrator, and the final conversation with the Shifting Mound felt… kind? Part of it was the new ability to talk to the vessels directly (it felt new anyway?) with less hard edged “we fought and hurt each other and raaaaah.” To the point where some of the angrier Explore options didn't feel relevant to the playthrough, where normally I'm like “you are not the culmination of my best girls, return them >:( “ I think part of it was because I went for the gentler routes, with just enough knowledge to know when to push (my first playthrough ever got me The Prisoner which probably tells you everything you need to know about how consistently wishy-washy I am).

It was all just nice. It felt _nice_ and I was so surprised that I felt this overall magnanimity toward everyone.

I tried it again and quickly realized that this first time was a fluke. Shifty is unable to give straight answers and it was a serendipitous confluence of options that made everything feel… gentle. Subsequent playthroughs, I scraped up against the same jagged edges I’d felt before, the bits that made me go “wait, NO!” and not in the funny way.

One thing jumped out at me. I don’t know if it was present in the base game, but I never noticed it until now.

I know I said everyone felt nice in my first playthrough, but of course the Narrator is…. You know. …himself. A smug prick. So when I say nice, I meant nice _for him_, nicer than I expected/remembered, but not… nice or supportive.

And then this interaction in The Tower:

This is after Broken tries to kill you, Hero fends him off, and you do your damndest to kill Tower. Normally in scenarios where you both die, the Narrator is frustrated, disappointed, sometimes hits you with “I told you so” in some way. But… not here.

I was so struck by this feeling of the Narrator saying “you did your best, good job, buddy. I am not going to lay the weight of my entire reality dying on you, because you tried.” I don't recall another time where he thanks you as you die, either. He knows when you die, the world is potentially destroyed. He still says "you saved the world" as you're dying. There's no need for him to soften that blow except to send you on to the next world with some hope and kindness.

Then you get to Chapter 3 Fury and this Narrator is much more typical. He's furious you'd even think about dying because his world will die.

I had this weird little gut punch when I realized that 1) this totally feels like a different guy and 2) fuck this guy in particular. I'm only saving the world for Tower Narrator now!

And you know it's not just a matter of making sure the Princess dies before you, because if you kill yourself after, the Narrator is... not happy. Well, there is some language suggesting that maybe the world isn't destroyed when you die, so much as you're sent to another world with a chance of fucking things up so please just stay in the void where the Princess is dead, no do-overs, kthnx, but the Narrator also says that the previous realities have been doomed in later chapters, so the only certainty is probably that any time you start in a new reality, there's the chance you destroy all of them, so a reality where both you and the Princess die isn't necessarily saved.

I thought a lot about the Narrator when the game first released, and I'm thinking about him a lot now. I think he's neat.

He is a man (bird, mortal being, whatever the mortal beings are; all that matters is that they’re people) living at the end of his universe’s timeline (maybe it’s the heat death of the universe, the big crunch, who knows). He can either make his peace with the end of all things, or he can do the very human thing and _do something about it_. This dude literally _rewrites physics_ to save humanity (birdmanity?) even knowing he, personally, will never get to reap the rewards of his work. All he has to do is rip a god/the laws of physics apart and excise certain immutable laws of thermodynamics. Sort of. He, as a mortal, can’t do this himself, but he can set certain laws of the universe against each other and tip the scales to one side over the other. (Was the singular god sentient before the Narrator did this? Unclear. Neither Long Quiet or Shifting Mound seem aware of personhood prior, just memories of feelings). He makes a Construct in which he can run this experiment - a sort of large hadron collider for baby gods. The major rule is: the more the baby gods know about the Construct, the more they can shape it, so he can’t just _tell_ them about it. Corollary: if the experiment fails, that instance of reality dies and the Construct moves the experiment to another one.

Getting caught up in LQ or SM’s feelings is kind of beside the point. Humans hurting others in these abstract/metaphysical ways is pretty common but rarely posited _quite_ in this same way. In thinking about it, I was oddly reminded of the Ring Entities from the Expanse: to achieve FTL capability/wormhole teleportation, the rings allow ships to travel through another dimension inhabited by the Ring Entities. They are _really pissed_ about it. This becomes really clear to everyone! _It doesn’t stop humanity from using the rings, it’s not even a debate._ The Ring Entities are something very beyond human understanding and thus, abstract. Humans are very good at punching holes in reality when given the tools and damn the consequences once we have the tools in hand. Gods, extra-dimensional entities, whatever. We'll punch 'em. And that’s just, y’know, space travel!

_This_ is ending death.

Sure, we call it hubris, but that just feels like the human condition.

Which brings me to the philosophical point that many people take as a given, that I’ve never understood: that death is necessary to make life meaningful. Life matters because we know it ends.

This is one of those “understandings” people have that feels totally alien to me, right up there with “if people didn’t have jobs,* they wouldn’t know what to do with themselves.” Every time I heard someone say that about themselves, I just had to sit in that feeling of realization (again, and again, and again) that people have vastly different experiences and inner lives from each other. Periods where I didn’t have a job were hands down my most productive, fulfilling years. No longer was I scratching out an existence for myself at the margins of what little time I was allowed, I could devote myself whole-heartedly to pursuits I cared about.

*By job I mean the capitalistic ‘sell labor for money to someone’ and not a job as in ‘having a task-oriented purpose.’

I know plenty of people who do good work, whose lives would have meaning even if they lived five hundred years, or forever (I do a lot of work in wildlife rescue/rehab spaces, which may color my view of things and how driven people are, and no I’m still not over being fucking _robbed_ of some of the heroes we’ve recently lost in those spaces). Death doesn’t have inherent meaning or nobility - it’s just a fact of life, and physics, and entropy. It’s the shortening of telomeres and the accumulation of mutations. We need death to mean something because fuck, if it’s pointless, if it’s just atoms rearranging themselves in a cold, unfeeling universe, how do we face that? 

And if a flippin’ _god_ can’t give me any argument for why death is a thing that should exist beyond “stupid mortals derive meaning from it” (not that they need it for meaning, just the assumption that they do) - yeah, I think the Narrator deserves to have the scales tilted in his favor. Even if, ultimately, his argument isn’t in support of some immutable meaning about the nature of the universe, so much as “it would be the kind thing to do.”

It's so human, in the face of something that purports to be inevitable. You're at the tipping point where the inevitable isn't, anymore, and the only argument inevitability can make is... itself.

I’ve also heard people say that the Narrator’s ideal universe is a bad one: without death, he describes a cycle of forgetfulness and rediscovery. I’ve heard it decried as lonely (forgetting your friends! etc) and pointless, but all _I_ heard was my own ADHD experience when I go diving through my closet and rediscovering old hobbies. I have had a lot of hobbies. I’ll probably have a lot more. I’ve accepted that I pick things up with passion for a few months to a couple years, then drop them. Many I come back to, eventually. As I get older, the more I think that this is a pretty cool way to spend eternity.

Death being the thing that gives life meaning is axiomatic, a conclusion without support. We already know death is undesirable and the reasons why. Is death desirable for reasons other than this nebulous “meaning”? Does the universe change? Does it matter? There is already more to do in the universe than can be done, because time and space are both infinite.

Ultimately, I don’t think he’s objectively wrong, or a bad guy (this is, of course, assuming that the rules of the Construct are the rules by necessity due to the kind of story the devs wanted to tell, because the Narrator would clearly not build the Construct the way he did if he didn’t absolutely have to). I think he’s a prick, and I think he cares more about his goals than about the gods he’s made, but he doesn’t _not_ care, and sometimes he seems to care more than others.

And I find that fascinating.

UPDATE: One of the new endings addresses this point and (in world) undermines my thoughts entirely! ....I think it's still wrong from a philosophical point of view, but that becomes a disagreement re: metaphysics between the author(s)'s opinion and my own. I don't think living forever would lead to everything being done and nothing left to do (because again, infinite time means infinite space means infinite things to do) but it's purely hypothetical, can't be proven either way, and is argued over by nerds for literally thousands of years. Not like we could ever empirically know.

[tinytalkingtina]

Not a "Big Deal"

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild kinktober day 21 prompt "ride" Rating: E (18+ only please) | ~1.3k words | Ao3 link

A sequel to Not Your "Cute Little Button" from day 10 (either can be read as a standalone though, just wanted to give these two a chance to let Eddie top in the micropenis AU <3)

Tags: Steve/Eddie, Eddie has a micropenis, mutual insecurities, blow job, fluff/smut/comfort, anal sex, Top Eddie/Bottom Steve, Steve's oral fixation continues to be happily fulfilled, modern AU, bisexual Eddie and Steve (it's not brought up in this one but I want it to be known lol), no feminization, the boys fall hard for one another

Many thanks to steddiecameraroll-graphics for the divider!

Eddie stared at the box of condoms, half expecting it to explode at any moment. The packaging claimed they were good for a “snug fit.” As if that would preserve his dignity for being too small to buy normal sizes. Belatedly, he realized Steve had continued talking after he had walked in and slapped the incriminating object onto the counter like it was nothing:

“I figured the kind I usually use probably wouldn't fit on you so uh, I got these? The lady at the store said they'd work fine unless you were super thick.” Of course Steve would have no problem asking someone what to buy for a tiny dick.

“You…you really want me on top?” Eddie asked. Steve nodded eagerly.

“Are you sure? It's okay if you don’t, it might not feel super good if I can't reach your prostate and you should feel good, it takes two to tango after all, right? Not that I'm saying I don't want to, because holy shit, you have a ‘well-turned ass’ as a French peasant would say, or maybe they wouldn't say that because it's too lustful and the Church of course—”

“Hey,” Steve interrupted his ramblings before he could launch into a wildly off-topic tangent about medieval Catholic guilt. “Weren't you just saying last week that the rim is a, what's the word, erroneous zone?"

“Erogenous,” Eddie wheezed, his face bright red.

Steve snapped his fingers.

“Oh yeah that's it, erogenous! When you do that thing with your tongue I see fucking stars man, so why wouldn't your dick feel the same? Don’t think we’re gonna have a problem though. Your fingers are shorter, and they've definitely managed to reach my prostate. If the play ends up not working then we'll regroup and try out another one, yeah? Change up the position.”

Eddie squinted at his boyfriend.

“Are you trying to give me a pep talk like this is the championship ball game and I'm the next guy up at bat to make free throws?”

“First of all, you know they’re called home runs, you came to two games when my kids made the playoffs, and second of all I don't know what you're talking about,” Steve said, like a lying liar. "It's working on you though, isn't it?"

“…A little.”

“Good.” Steve gave him a confident smirk, and G-d, Eddie had never been more attracted to the man. “Get undressed already so I can blow you first. Want you to last if I'm gonna ride.”

He eagerly followed him to the bedroom, leaving shed clothes in their wake without a second thought. Two months of dating and Steve lavishing compliments on him any chance he got meant that Eddie's instinctive self-consciousness about someone seeing him nude was finally giving up the ghost.

After one enthusiastic blow job—holy shit did his boyfriend love having something in his mouth when there was no risk of gagging—Eddie was rather proud of the valiantly quick rally on the part of his dick, eager to get to the main event of the afternoon. 

Steve pushed him onto his back against the pillows. Impatiently, he rolled the condom down and slathered on some lube before straddling Eddie’s legs. They both moaned as Steve slowly lowered himself, relaxing quickly.

A whispered “fuck!” escaped his mouth as he bottomed out and without pause began to frantically bounce straight up and down.

“Feels okay sweetheart?” Eddie had to check, even if another part of him continued to thrust in time to match Steve’s movements.

“Yes. See, I ohhh, told you so,” he said breathlessly, giggling when Eddie stuck out his tongue in retaliation. Steve was so beautiful like this, lit up in gold by the setting sun, chasing his pleasure with abandon.

As his boyfriend rode him ever faster, Eddie had to concentrate on not coming for a second time so soon. He grabbed Steve’s hips when he finally lost his balance and collapsed onto his chest, stomach muscles trembling from the effort of keeping himself upright for so long.

The movement was too much though, and Eddie felt himself slip out enough for Steve to whine in protest.

“Shit, lost it,” he said, desperately trying to find his prostate again from this angle, but it was no use like this. The bitter voice at the back of his head got louder and more insistent the longer he took. Steve was going to leave him now, he couldn’t satisfy him. He’d be nice about it probably, let him pick up the things he’d left in his apartment but—

“Eddie?” A hand to his face shook him out of the spiral. “Do you wanna stop?” Steve’s thumb brushed his cheek and came back wet.

“N-no but I’m so s-sorry, I can’t make you feel good.” Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and stilled his hips. “I can blow you or eat you out, whatever you want, just let me get rid of the condom and—.”

He let out a yelp when Steve suddenly flipped them over without pulling off, and locked his legs behind Eddie’s back.

“If you don’t want to stop, can you tell your brain to shut up? Told you we might just need to change the position.” He huffed out. “Come on, what I want is for your abs to get a workout instead of mine now.”

It took a few seconds for Eddie to process what Steve had said. But another bitchy demand had him get with the program. He hitched Steve’s legs higher over his shoulders before grinding down. Better able to move like this, it wasn’t long before:

“Yes, there, right there, please don’t stop!” Steve writhed underneath him, openly moaning as his hand drifted closer to his dick, where it slapped against his stomach with every thrust.

“There you go,” Eddie panted. “So gorgeous, so good for me.”

Steve moaned louder and looked up at him with pleading eyes. His lips, still slightly puffy from the earlier blow job were so inviting. Eddie gave into his impulses and stuck a couple fingers into Steve’s mouth. His boyfriend sucked them down and hummed happily. The sight had Eddie careening straight towards an orgasm. He just barely managed to hold it off while babbling:

“There you go, just needed to be filled up on both ends huh?” Steve frantically nodded. “That’s good sweetheart, take what you need, you’re so tight around me holy shit.”

It didn’t take much more encouragement for Steve to finally stiffen and come. Squeezed from all sides, Eddie pretty soon followed him over the edge.

Later, after they’d wiped themselves off and changed into clean clothes, Steve curled up in his arms like a giant contented house cat. Eddie considered letting three words slip from his lips, ones that he hadn’t quite worked up the guts to let out just yet.

“Thank you,” he settled for instead. “You’re kind of a mensch when it comes to dealing with my shit, you know that right?”

Steve didn’t open his eyes, just nuzzled further into his neck as he snorted. “I’ve dealt with worse shit than yours. ‘sides, it’s worth it, you make me happy. I'm gonna start yelling at your brain to fuck off with the bullying,” he continued. “Not too good to fight it to get the point across for someone I lo-like. Someone I like a lot.”

Steve heartbeat plucked out a staccato rhythm against his chest from his slip-up.

Eddie placed a kiss on his forehead and held him tighter, hoping it conveyed the intended meaning. Someday soon, he’d find the courage. 

Because Steve was worth it too.

Author's Notes, aka some irrelevant G-rated world building for this AU: -Steve is an activity coordinator at the local YMCA and coaches Little League. His team didn't win the playoffs that year, but they were very excited to be there! -Eddie is a session musician. Wayne has a display of the albums he's appeared on in his trailer, right under the mug collection.

[irevanity]

hello rdr2 fandom

[giulzart]

Selfishly thinking that Orion could be persuaded to act in one of the band music video. Just once.

Anyway, go play @infamous-if cause it’s amazing!

Little bonus, I put the rambly scenario that sprouted these under the cut in case you wanna know more 🤷‍♀️

It’s got to be a team effort and a chore to get Orion on board but somehow they manage to convince him in the end(cause he got a soft spot). In my head the idea was Violet and Rowan’s, Iris jumped right in cause it sounded fun and then Jazzy and Devyn joined in. Chris tagged along too cause heck yeah. They all come up with a list of pros and cons cause they know that Orion will fight against it, but thanks to Devyn they come up with sound and logical enough reasons. Rowan and Violet do the presentation and after a lot of debate, Orion accept in the end to everyone (and his own) disbelief. The video is a success, the views count gets higher and half the comment are about Orion.The band tease him relentlessly and Orion swears never again. The end.

[fisheito]

on one hand, i can make olivine the biggest juiciest bottom where eiden has to top him with climbing gear attached

on the other hand, i could make olivine the equally powerful priestly short king who only reaches eiden's bellybutton but can twirl that boy around his finger like a weighty necklace