#off pretending to be a borrower to hide from mom

[a-conspicuous-leaf]

TFW you have to make a completely different outfit for every AU…

[highvern]

Waited

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader

Genre: smut (18+)

warnings: mentions of mental health/poor self image, drug use (weed), alcohol consumption, cheating, violence (nothing explicit), oral, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, degrading, spanking, marking, jealous Yoongi, rip Namjoon, bi Taehyung

Length: ~4.2k

Note: this originally was gonna be a short FWB smut but alas nothing turns out like i plan hahahahahahahahah shoot me thank you @the-boy-meets-evil and @onlyhuis for subjecting yourselves to this mess.

Summary: Best friends since childhood means you can tell each other anything. Right?

m.list + support my work

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Yoongi enters your world three days before you turn six years old. His parents buy the house across the cul de sac that's sat empty for months and show up with a moving truck and their two sons. While they're unpacking your mom walks over to welcome them to the neighborhood and you hide behind her leg to stare at the boy with a choppy bowl cut who stares right back from behind his own mom’s leg.

You dub Yoongi your best friend in fourth grade. It’s a silent declaration but one he quickly falls in line with. He’d always been the smallest in class, easy cannon fodder for bullies that want to push around the quiet kid. One time too many people called him stupid under their breath and you snapped. After school detention for three weeks and a handwritten apology addressed to the boy with a broken nose is the price you pay but no one messes with him again after that. 

The first time you realize your best friend is handsome is senior year of high school. An hour before prom your date decided he wanted to go with someone else and Yoongi, who had zero interest in “cliche, organized humiliation rituals” trugged across the pavement to your house in a borrowed tux too big in the shoulders.

He posed for pictures while both your parents cooed, hands respectable at your waist as you both smiled through the awkwardness. His brother drops you both off and slips a contraband flask full of shitty alcohol in Yoongi’s hand before taking off. 

You pretended not to notice when Jisung and Yoongi both simultaneously disappeared, only to reappear twenty minutes later; Yoongi sporting bruised knuckles and the traces of what would become a black eye come the next morning along with a split lip. Instead, you take another sip of what must be gasoline and pull him to the dance floor. During the singular slow dance he allotted, with your head against his shoulder and the reak of his older brother’s after shave burning your nose, you realized you wouldn’t mind if he kissed you. 

The rest of the night is spent emptying your guts in Yoongi’s ensuite because your parents were so confident nothing would happen between the two of you that sleepovers at Yoongi’s were too common.

The first time you kiss Yoongi is also the night you lose your virginity. Your sophomore year boyfriend broke up with you two days before finals. Yoongi couldn’t stand Taehyung or the way you apparently believed he shit rainbows so you expected him to find nothing but joy in the news. 

But when you showed up outside his apartment, elephant tears streaking down your face as you gasped around an explanation, Yoongi said nothing. He simply walked into the kitchen, pulled out the bottle of liquor he saved for special occasions, and passed it to you along with a shot glass. 

He let your drunken sobs stain the collar of his shirt until you laughed yourself hysterical at the irony of it all. How Taehyung claimed he wasn’t ready for anything serious when he pursued you first, how he broke up with you after you told him you weren’t ready for anything physical. 

“Fuck him,” Yoongi grumbled, burrowed between the pillows of his bed.

Your head lulled onto his shoulder with a snort, “I think that was part of the problem.”

Then you kissed him and Yoongi kissed you back. And when you planted yourself in his lap and touched him, he took the chance to touch you too. At some point your clothes were gone, allowing your best friend to take as much liberty as he liked. But even though the details are fuzzy you know he was gentle and devout. Yoongi took all the time in the world, pushing and pushing until you almost broke and melted to the floor.

And after all was said and done you cried while Yoongi held you until your eyes swelled shut.

The next day Taehyung called and asked to work things out. Like a naive fool you agreed and then two years passed in a blink before you caught him fucking the doe eyed underclassmen from his fraternity the night of graduation. 

You wanted Yoongi but the last time you ran crying to him about Taehyung sat in the back of your mind. Since that day he’d taken a step back, missing your calls or dodging plans. Still your best friend but not present like before. Half your own fault because he warned you getting back with Taehyung was a bad idea but rather than listen, you told him to fuck off and mind his business. So he did and managed to get a girlfriend in the process.

But the universe has a weird way of shoving people together. Sipping from a bottle on the steps to the should-be-condemned house you rented with six other girls, eyes glassy and unfocused, you didn’t realize someone was calling your name until he sat down beside you. 

“I heard,” Yoongi says, snagging your drink and downing his own mouthful before going back for seconds.

Your lips bruise under your teeth, the pain barely managing to consume your focus away from the new wave of tears threatening to crop up. “That I’m an idiot?”

Cold hands find the blanket wrapped around your shoulders, pulling it back up in the places it's dropped before curling around your frame and wrangling you into the boney side of his. 

“That Taehyung is still an asshole.”

It's too familiar. Your hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt, his neck wet with your cries. Yoongi barely managed to get you upstairs and in bed without fuss, a plethora of pathetic cries none of your roommates are around to hear blurring your vision. 

“Where’s Tiffany?” You ask, fumbling into the mattress. You’ll ask him anything to get your mind of the hurt.

Yoongi fought to tuck you in, shoving you back into the pillows everytime you tried to get up and attempted to convince him to go to the bars where your classmates are currently celebrating. Where Taehyung is probably strung out across whoever will give him the time of day.

He lets you pull him into a hug when a new wave of sadness erupts. It’s the first time you get a good look at him in months despite the blur in your vision. Silver in the streetlights flooding through the slits of the blinds, the dark dye he used to appease his mom washing out at the fried tips of his hair. Any more to drink and you’d convince yourself this is all some cruel dream. A ghost of the past haunting you in misery. 

Yoongi might as well be. Nearly two years gone from the face of the Earth, only to be caught in short glimpses at parties or between class changes. Both of you spent the time reserved for each other with new people.

You missed him. 

He turns to leave too soon; already halfway to the door before you speak.

“Stay?” 

Even in your double vision you see the crack in Yoongi’s mask, the regret swelling to the surface. “She’s waiting back at my place.”

The summer comes with the suffocating muggy heat of your childhood home. Your parents fail to stifle their thrill Taehyung is out of the picture, more content to pretend he never existed in the first place. 

Everyday blurs together, a routine you’ve maintained since you can remember. Hot days by the pool in your parents backyard (without Yoongi hiding in the shade), dinner at the greasy restaurant by the river with friends (but not Yoongi), and packing your room one last time (which holds too many memories of Yoongi).

The news comes from your mom. 

She probes for information about the last time you heard from your neighbor turned friend turned stranger, complaining she misses having him around like when you were kids, asking what he’s been up to lately. It’s evident by your short response you haven’t heard yet.

He’s on the dilapidated swing set in his parents backyard when you find him. Shoulders slumped, toeing in the dirt, while he gazes beyond the treeline. 

Silently, you take a seat in the second swing, ignoring the way the wood creaks under your weight. Without a word he hands you his phone. The screen is bright with the last messages.

Tiffany: you just seem to have a lot going on…

Tiffany: i don’t know if I can handle all of it

You hand back the device. There's nothing to say. Cursing her till you’re blue in the face won’t make him feel better and neither will platitudes. Yoongi won’t believe anything contrary to what she said, at least not right now when he’s reeling from a blow to his most vulnerable parts.

So you sit in silence until the moon swells in the sky. He isn’t ready to talk about it when you both fumble down to his parents basement. Or when he hits the Rick and Morty bong Seokjin bought him for Secret Santa years ago. Definitely not when he tries to kiss you and you let him. And not when you end up in his lap, both naked and fighting to detach from what exists beyond the tattered upholstery of the couch. 

Yoongi finally speaks hours later, shoulder to shoulder in the comforting murky darkness of his room. You both still have the heated glow of bare skin sticking together where you touch but it turns clammy when he spills his guts.

He told her those three words after meeting her parents the week before. The first girl you’ve ever seen him be serious about. She said them back but Yoongi didn’t believe her. And the proof he was right sits immortalized in texts messages.

Each word cuts like a knife. Admitting his hurt, his vulnerabilities and weaknesses before shifting the focus to something safer like your break up from May and if Taehyung has tried anything.

He softens when your lips crest his shoulder. The lingering franticness fades with each peck as you move across his chest, then his throat, then his lips. Because you know Yoongi wants to talk about this once and never again. Needs to put it behind him before it becomes too real.

You leave for the city two weeks later and Yoongi follows after managing to snag a shitty IT job. He spends more time at your apartment than his own and when the girl you met through a roommate group moves out, Yoongi moves in.

Maybe it becomes too common of an occurrence. What was once reserved as an escape from the crushing weight of rejection, a way to find comfort in each other more than before, turned into a quick fix at the slightest annoyance. When you’re too pent up or Yoongi had a hard day. If you were feeling insecure after another failed date, or he simply wanted an easy lay with someone who knew how to get him off without the awkward pauses of learning.

Now, Yoongi bends you over the counter at three in the morning, lapping at your cunt like he didn’t have you sitting on his face before leaving for Namjoon's apartment to pre-game. The dig of the marble edge in your ribs is less alluring than the comfort of your bed; but what Yoongi wants he more often than not gets, so how do you refuse when he shuffles you into an Uber with hunger in his gaze and possessiveness in the grip on your thigh. 

“Yoongi,” you sigh. Reaching back, one of your hands anchors in the short tufts of his hair, pressing him firmer into the ache of your pussy. 

The tug of the cool counter top against your nipples works in his favor, leaving you desperate with a hitch in your throat each time you rock back into his waiting tongue. It dips into your opening, wedged between his fingers that dig into your walls just right after years of practice. Yoongi knows how to push all your buttons, he’s sewed half of them on. 

Your forehead meets the marble on the next swell of his tongue except this time is across your ass and punctuated with a bite you’ll feel next time you sit. A harsh clench around his fingers grants you sinful drag of his tongue across the hole only ever explored by him. 

“Fuc–Yoongi!” 

Sloppy kisses follow your spine until he’s at your ear with his cock resting against the meat of your ass. You're bent back at the waist once again so he can pluck at your nipples the way he likes, until you're shuddering away and pleading for mercy in a way meant to spur him further.

“Bet Namjoon wouldn’t do this,” Yoongi grunts with a tease of his cock inside, bare.

He’ll never let you forget the semester of freshman year you drooled for his friend's dick while Namjoon remained none the wiser. Every unconscious shut down sent Yoongi into a sadistic fit of laughter until you cut your losses and called it quits. 

You know why he’s bringing it up now. Namjoon looked good tonight. Newly single with a buzzcut that ruined most men’s allure. Maybe you contemplated re-igniting the old flame when he first showed up but now there's history and comradery that didn't exist in your younger days and it's too complicated just for the chance to satiate your curiosity. They’re all the same reasons you shouldn’t be fucking your best friend since grade school but none of it seems to have the same weight.

It didn’t matter what you decided because Yoongi saw enough temptation in your gaze to bring it up like he isn’t the one fucking you regularly.

Your pants fog across the marble. “Should we call and find out?” 

His palm stings into your ass, heating the skin on impact. The opportunity to neg him into another smack passes too quickly. You’re already at the mercy of Yoongi’s mouth on yours, the taste of whiskey, stale cigarettes, and your pussy less than appealing but his tongue is hot when he licks behind your teeth.

A hand takes up the work between your legs, rough and rushed as you trapeze down the hallway towards the bedroom. Yoongi thumbs at your clit with intent. You nearly collapse against the wall with buckled knees from the onslaught of too much stimulation.

Breaching the bedroom door proves too much a struggle. Yoongi bounces off the door jam from a rough grope against his zipper which leaves you flailing before catching in the corner of the mattress. His room is too damn small for the king bed he insisted on but it makes for a great backdrop to your fucking. Miles better than the more practical queen hidden in your room further down the hall.

You manage to push him off long enough to dig your knees into the sheets, crawling to the pillows with an arch you know he’ll rib you for later.

“Coming?” You ask over your shoulder, eyeing the flash of his boxers creeping through the opening of his zipper.

Flopping on your back, you splay across the over abundance of pillows like a queen while Yoongi works off his pants. His hair is a mess and a bruise the size of your mouth blooms high enough on his neck he’ll have to wear turtlenecks for the next two weeks. “Spread your legs.”

“Do you one better.” It's a goad in the most obvious sense. He likes to watch you huff, failing to get yourself off until he intervenes and gives exactly what you need. So you throw your legs wide, bent at the knees just to make it clearer in the faint light spilling from the window, and sink a hand down and play with the mess he caused. “Mmmm, Yoongi.” 

“Finger it for me,” he drawls.

Muscles melt at the first pass inside your already battered walls. Not as deft as his fingers but you won’t tell him that unprompted. Yoongi’s ego is big enough when it comes to your sex life, fueled by the knowledge he’s collected many of your firsts. But the way he palms over his underwear in mimic of your rhythm tempts you to break that rule.

“Come here.” 

Yoongi just smirks at the demand, pushing the mess of his pants off until he’s bare and the maroon head of his cock makes you drool.  “You come here.”

“I’m not playing naked chicken.” You growl. “Come fuck me before I get my vibrator.” 

Flipping on your front with your ass in the air, you drive a hard bargain Yoongi’s never been capable of saying no to. The bed dips behind you, knees between your own, shuffling them wider so he can stretch you until you’re pliant and aching.

His chest melts to your back, sticking uncomfortable but you don’t care because it feels good. Like he’s consuming you. “How bad do you want it?” Yoongi bites into your shoulder.

“Yoongi, fuck.” Your arms collapse under the first rush of his hips, spin dipping harshly to take every inch until he’s flat against your rear.

In a blink, you’re parallel to the mattress, pinned under his weight. It’s pathetic for so early in the game but Yoongi is the same man who gave you so many orgasms you’ve cried so it only stands to reason he crumbles your bravado like it's nothing. 

Sniffling in his hold, you turn to nose at his cheek over your shoulder. “Please, fuck me.” 

“Shit,” he spits with a harsh thrust. “You’re so fucking tight for me.” 

The next press of his hips leaves you heaving. Your hands scramble when he cants a bruising pace against your ass. Hard. All while every noise he tries to hide sings straight into your ear.

With immense effort, you wiggle onto your back. Yoongi meets you with a kiss, tongue to tongue while he works back inside where you both need him most.

The callous of his palm rakes against your throat, not squeezing, just a possessive firmness.

“H-harder,” you beg, nails leaving crescents in his shoulder.

Yoongi hitches your thigh over his; slowing so he can fuck you deeper, crushing every noise hiding in your gut out. 

Shocked from the sudden rush against your clit, your leg kicks out straight. It’ll leave you sore in the hips come morning but right now you don’t even register the discomfort. “Oh, oh, oh!” 

“Like that?” Somehow he manages to drag the head of his cock deeper from the praise.

“Just like that,” you pant into his mouth.

He leans back to watch your decay into desperation but stops when you tug him back by the sensitive roots of his hair. Cracking open your eyes, you find his brown ones inches away. Forehead to forehead while you both synthesize into a heap of flushed skin and need.

Fingers intertwined, Yoongi pins your hand on the pillow. Then he stares. Not at your face as you crest the first wave of an orgasm but your fingers curled between his. Like he’s never done it before, like he doesn’t know exactly how you two got in this position. 

“Oh my god, Yoongi.” 

You cum hard. Nearly managing to drive him out from the force to your insides. Every muscle twisting tighter and tighter until it breaks and when you pull his mouth back to yours all you can do is shake under his lips with cracked mewls.

Yoongi might be shaking too but he swells inside you with a groan, collapsing into your neck before your brain catches up to consider the idea.

Dodging an attempt at a final kiss, he favors his lips on your throat. Fleeting wet pecks that get you choking on air. Then your breasts where he takes up his abandoned work on your nipples, teeth flashing across the sensitive peaks until your shoulders cave and you're desperate for him again; grinding into the fingers he’s so readily supplies.

He’s fucked you like this before. When he has something to prove to the non-existent entity constantly creeping on his subconscious, when he feels he isn’t good enough in some intangible way. Asking him what's wrong won’t do anything. Yoongi will tell you when he’s ready; if he ever is. Years of friendship and the fear you’ll see a part of him capable of scaring you away still eats him alive. So you’ll give him whatever reassurance he needs this way and hope he understands.

Your second orgasm comes faster than the first. Trails of the previous pleasure pushing you swiftly along. Yoongi latches his lips around your clit and sucks until spots flash and your thighs nearly crush his head.

“Fuck, Yoongi. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You cry, threatening to fold in half under his fingers. “G-gonna cum again.”

Flares of lightning in your blood explode. Throat raw from wailing, Yoongi works you through until you dig your ankle into his ribs and kick him off.

The cold air in the room helps cool your feverish skin unlike the dark haired man flopping next to you. It’s quiet around two sets of gasping breaths and the rain tapping at the window.

Shoulder to shoulder, you calm in the drum of the overhead fan. Yoongi’s fingers tangling and untangling with your own confirms your suspicion. Whatever he needs to tell you bubbles below the surface, swirling until he finds the safest words to share his feelings. There's no point in guessing but it doesn’t stop you from spiraling through the possibilities.

The major suspects lack any clear indication. His date last weekend ended with mutual disinterest. Nothing concerning his job registers in your vague memory. Both your parents were fine the last time you visited months ago. Yoongi’s nephew is fine—

 “I told my mom you're my girlfriend.”

Well that's new. “Oh.”

“It was an accident but—”

“What’d she say?” You cut him off. 

Yoongi hesitates. Your voice doesn’t betray disdain or hope, only reluctant curiosity. If you set too many expectations he’ll clam up and avoid you for months like when he lost his virginity at a party freshman year. Yoongi shares on his terms and you listen.

“That it was about time I got my head out of my ass.”

You wait for him to continue but he doesn’t. Yoongi’s palm slick against your own betrays his nerves, the ghost of squeeze begs for some kind of reassurance he isn’t crazy. 

“Huh.” You exclaim to the ceiling. It’s not the worst idea. And its definitely not the first time you’ve entertained it.

He lets you go the second you tug on your connected hands, anticipating swift rejection that leaves you feeling sour. But you’re rolling into his chest, the now free hand protecting his sternum from the dig of your chin so you can stare him down until he finally blinks your way. You won’t let Yoongi wiggle away from this ten year overdue conversation.

“Is that what you want?”

The answer is clear in his eyes. Yoongi’s mouth rounds over the words to tell you, floundering silently because he’ll admit he isn’t good at things like this. But if it’s worth it to him then you need to hear him say it. 

Rising up, you sit bare in his lap while he works through his nerves. Finally, when your hand cups his cheek and his eyes sink closed, leaning into the warmth, he tells you.

“That’s what I want.”

Your nose wrinkles with a shy smile. “Kinda cliche.”

Yoongi snorts when you kiss him but melts the cold facade swiftly.

“Yeah well,” he huff. “So is losing your virginity to your prom date but let's not talk about that.” Yoongi may spit the words but his hands, gentle where they trace the curve of your sides, betray his euphoria.

“We can talk about that too if you want.” You whisper into his jaw, lips prickling from the shadow growing there. “Prom me probably would have let you fuck her.”

“Yeah?”

You choke on a laugh at the pleased shock on his face. “Yeah, but not after that black eye came in.”

“Cheap fucking shot.” He grumbles under his breath, but you’re already there kissing the words from his lips. Yoongi indulges, melting further into the bed when his tongue timidly slips along yours. After you dip away to press more languid pecks where his cheeks round, he speaks again.  “If I asked you out then what would you have said?”

“Well the only reason I said yes to whats-his-fuck was because someone else was too stubborn to ask me himself.” You hum in his ear. “Does that answer your question?” 

You're on your back in a flash, pinned under your boyfriend who smiles as you flounder and fail to push him off. 

“You need to be nicer to me,” he grunts when you knock out his arms and collapse his chest to yours.

“If you wanted someone nicer, then you had years to figure that out.”

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @lovelyhachi @sliceofwoozi

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[leqonsluv3r]

you are in love

— leon realizes he’s in love with you after being his best friend for years, a blurb

masterlist taglist

an: thank you guys for 300 followers, i love you all so much <33 thank u for supporting my silly lil writing and blog :,)

from a very young age even to now you weren’t sure where you began or leon ended.

you two grew up together, best friends since you both knew how to walk. your moms were best friends and therefore so were you and leon. he only had a year on you.

but you both went through all the stages of childhood, teens and adulthood together. you both had seen each others lowest and highest points in life.

leon had held your hand when you were seven and he was eight, on the first day of school when you were nervous at the other kids for maybe making fun of you. even then, he protected you.

when you were fifteen and he was sixteen, when he punched a guy in the face that you were with because he simply called you fat and unlovable. leon made sure that he paid, because you were neither of those things.

in his eyes, then and now, you were perfect. there wasn’t a single thing he would change about you.

now, you were 21 and he was 22. he had just came over to your apartment to borrow something. you had just gotten out of the shower, your hair was wet and damp with water as well as your skin.

your cheeks flushed as you tugged on your sleep shirt a little to hide your chest beneath it from his eyes, even after years, you were still somewhat embarrassed to even think about him seeing you that way.

he grabbed what he came for, rubbing a hand over your shoulder and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head for comfort. and it was strictly platonic, at least in both of your minds it was written off that way.

but it didn’t feel that way.

slowly over time, both you and him realized in your own ways that you both had been denying the truth to each other for the longest time.

you both wrote it off as friendship, as caring for each other so deeply that it had overridden everything else. you were both in love with each other.

you didn’t see the signs at first, you didn’t recognize that what you felt him went way beyond the friendship boundary. you loved him as a best friend and somehow overtime it had blended together.

the hugs, the comforting caresses, they had all melded into something else overtime and you didn’t know how to come to terms with it. you were in love with your best friend.

and it was getting harder to avoid as the days passed, as you both hung out and time went by. that was until he came by your apartment one day, a movie night.

a tradition you guys have had since you were kids, carrying it into adulthood. you didn’t question it and neither did he, the both of you just kept carrying it.

being your inner child’s for just one night together. a night you could pretend that jobs didn’t exist, could pretend that life was simple. that you both didn’t have a care in the world.

he brought himself, a box of pizza and a couple DVDs (because some traditions never change). you smiled at his options for the movies, Pretty in Pink, Breakfast Club or Dirty Dancing. it seemed 80s rom-coms were a theme and you didn’t mind, you’d both watched them a thousand times.

he knew how much you loved those movies after all, always blushing at Dirty Dancing whenever patrick swayze would say, “Nobody puts baby in a corner”. it practically made your ten year old brain melt when you were both kids and watched it for the first time.

you popped in Pretty in Pink first, the night was still young, the both of you could probably watch all three if you were feeling up to it. it was friday night movie night of course. you both sat on the couch, pizza on paper plates and ate, watched the movie.

you were fully entranced, having someone like these fictional characters in these 80s movies made your expectations so much higher. and the scary thing was, you knew leon met all those requirements.

as the night went on, Pretty in Pink ended and you guys had two slices of pizza left. you popped in The Breakfast Club next, watching the characters on the screen. the comparisons running through your mind. you were still nervous.

the two pieces of pizza were long gone by the second movie and you had moved closer to leon on instinct to get comfortable. you put in the third and final movie for movie night, Dirty Dancing.

you watched as your breath caught in certain points in the movie, he looked over at you, watching you never take your eyes off the screen not once. he knew it was dangerous but he had an idea.

it could either go very badly or very well.

he waited until that one part of the movie, towards the ending. he was waiting for that line that had made you blush and giggle since you two were kids. when it got right up to it, he gently reached his hand up.

he swallowed all of his nerves, all of the emotions flooding through him and he gently turned your chin with his fingers and said, “nobody puts baby in a corner.” along with patrick swayze.

you felt your pulse pound as you stared into his eyes when he did that. your breath catching only a little. the shift happened between you two, it was hard to ignore. you didn’t even turn back to the tv screen, just felt him rub his thumb over your bottom lip.

you didn’t even move, you couldn’t deny yourself the truth anymore and it seemed neither could he. he leaned forward towards you and pressed his lips slowly to yours. your lips were soft, softer then he ever could’ve imagined. he cradled your cheek and let you kiss back, your lips moving with his.

he wasn’t scared anymore. you seemed to want him just as much as he wanted you. you both seemed to love each other and that wasn’t determined. you hadn’t said it to him yet, he hadn’t said it to you.

but this kiss, it changed everything.

it changed the way you saw him, the way he saw you. you both had harbored feelings so deep between the two of you and you couldn’t deny it. neither of you could.

the movie played on in the background as you two continued to kiss each other, the caress of his hand on your cheek…melted something within you. you moved your hand up to his jaw and cupped it, mirroring his movements as you guys kissed and poured your love into each other.

spoken words muttered between caresses of lips and teeth and tongues; i love you and a i love you too. the line between friendship and love was more thin than the both of you thought after all.

and you both had all the time in the world to accomplish that for each other now. you were both in love, and it was the best thing for the both of you.

love conquered all, even friendship.

and you both knew that now.

an: this was way longer than i intended but i just love this song by taylor swift. it literally defines a love story and i knew i needed to write something for it with leon. i hope you guys enjoyed, please like & repost if you would. working on oneshot requests as we speak. taglist is linked at the beginning if you’d like to be on it. i love you all. kisses, xx. <33

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for blowing up at my mom for getting pizza grease and sauce all over my w-2?

In some ways, my mom is like a giant toddler. She doesn't have any learning/neurological disabilities that might hinder her motor control. She's just, to put it bluntly, disgusting. Mainly in the way that much like a toddler, she always has some sort of sauce/grease/crumbs/etc on her face and hands and clothes. I try to keep an eye on her to tell her to wipe her face/hands, but I'm not with her 24/7 and she is a grown adult and I shouldn't have to monitor her to make sure she cleans herself. But since it's embarrassing and gross for me, I tell her whenever I notice she has a mess on her hands/face/shirt/etc.

I had an issue with receiving my w-2 from work. So I had to get onto my work account and find it myself to print it out.

So I went to staples to print it (I don't have a printer) and realized I accidentally printed out the wrong form. I went back in to print the correct paper and in the maybe 5 minutes max that I was in the store, my mom got pizza grease and sauce fingerprints all over the first paper. I got mad at her and she tried to grab the second paper I printed out and I told her she needed to wipe her fingers off and not to touch the paper at all. She pretended to wipe her hands and took the paper before I could stop her and when she handed the paper back to me, it ALSO had pizza grease and sauce all over it and now I have to hand a pizza-covered paper to a tax professional.

I was pissed and called her disgusting for not wiping her fingers off and why does she always fucking do this? She has ruined MANY, MANY important papers of mine because she doesn't wash her hands or make sure her hands are clean before handling paperwork. I have been forced to hand in medical papers and school papers with god knows what stains on them because she wouldn't leave my stuff alone. I had to print out several copies of my resume and hide them from her so I could have clean ones. Even "unimportant" papers that I still wanted to save, such as nice birthday cards from loved ones or yearbooks or letters end up covered in dirty fingerprints. If she borrows clothes from me, she always spills something on them.

It's also just generally embarrassing to be out in public with a grown adult who has perpetual cheeto fingers.

Literally as I'm typing this, she spilled 1/4 of a can of coke on her shirt and immediately afterwards got hoho crumbs on her mouth and shirt. It's revolting.

But now she's mad at me for yelling at her, which I probably shouldn't have done, but it can't unstain my paperwork. She refuses to pay for a replacement.

What are these acronyms?

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1

Dustin half-expects the phone to ring in the evening—that maybe Eddie will have said something to Steve about how he’s been a dick to him—but no such call ever comes.

So he pretends like he’s busy with homework, times heading to dinner carefully, so that his mom’s got her back to the stove when he limps over to his seat.

At night, he waits until he hears the click of her lamp going off, then manages to smuggle a bag of peas out of the freezer without being noticed. He wraps it up in a dish towel and places it on his ankle, under the bed covers.

He doesn’t sleep.

-

If the weather’s not bad, he usually rides his bike to school, but he pretends to oversleep and gets the bus instead.

The day drags, but it’s fine.

It’s fine until he decides to go to the bathroom during the tail end of last period—reasons that so long as the receptionist doesn’t catch him, he can head to the bus stop early afterwards.

He thinks he’s alone.

But then as he’s drying his hands, he hears a stall door open lightning fast, and he’s suddenly pinned up against the wall, so close that he can see Aaron’s nostrils flare.

“The thing is, Henderson,” he says, as if they’re just picking up from where they left off; he’s got that tone, Dustin thinks, that ‘good people of Hawkins’ tone. Hiding behind a mask of respectability. “Folks seem to think that the buck stopped with Munson, huh? But I know he would’ve passed his sick shit on.”

It takes a moment for the penny to drop.

“You think I’m leading Hellfire,” Dustin says. He almost laughs. A surge of adrenaline briefly overtakes the fear, and maybe he feels like he’s borrowed a little of Steve’s daring, a little of Eddie’s sharp tongue when he says, “Oh, you’re fucking stupid.”

It happens very quickly.

Cold metal pressed to his throat.

He freezes. Thinks of Sattler Quarry again, of a switchblade, a threat to cut his teeth out.

“They say he took Chrissy’s eyes first,” Aaron says. “Gouged them out.” He presses a little harder. “I could do the same to you.”

Dustin grits his teeth, tries to hold his breath. Feels the ridge of uneven grouting digging into his back.

The school bell shrieks.

And he’s falling.

He only just stops himself from hitting the ground, bangs his knee against a sink. Left alone, he coughs and coughs as the stampede of people leaving class rumbles on outside.

Saved by the bell, says a wry voice in his head. It sounds a bit like Eddie.

Eventually he manages to look in the mirror. There’s a line across his neck, almost touching his Adam’s apple; tiny beads of blood from where the knife was pushed hard against his skin. He cleans it up with paper towels, tries not to gag.

Steve had a mark like this, he thinks; he remembers seeing it when they first discovered the gate in Eddie’s trailer.

Steve never flinched.

-

His mom’s packing for a wedding out of town, which means he’ll be spending an ‘extra long weekend’ at Steve’s, Thursday through to Monday—something he’d ordinarily be looking forward to.

But right now he can only focus on hiding his neck. He keeps his coat zipped up when he enters his house, all casual, then changes into an old sweater that covers the mark if he folds the turtle neck just so.

As his mom triple checks her case, he relies on her distraction and steals an old tube of foundation.

He dabs it on his neck, wincing at the abrasion.

Another sleepless night.

Why is this so hard? After everything that’s happened, this is nothing.

It should be nothing.

-

He almost misses Eddie’s van completely, even though it’s parked obnoxiously at the very front of the parking lot. It takes Eddie honking the horn for an embarrassingly long time until Dustin notices him.

“Steve’s picking me up,” he mumbles.

“He took Robin’s shift, she’s sick. So you get me,” Eddie says, complete with the world’s most passive-aggressive jazz hands. “You know, if that’s okay with you and all.”

Dustin doesn’t have the energy to bite back—sure, Eddie’s snippy, whatever—so he just huffs in acknowledgement and gets in the van. His head aches with fatigue; he can barely even feel relief that the day passed without incident.

Lucas had passed him a piece of paper with a comical stick figure during History: ‘Are you okay? You look like your brain is melting through your ears.’ He didn’t even have time to enjoy the stupid drawing, because the teacher busted them for passing notes soon after.

“What’s up with you?”

Dustin starts at the question—only then realises that he’s been pressing his forehead hard against the window as Eddie makes a turning for Steve’s house.

“Nothing. What’s up with you?”

And it should land on just the right side of petty for Eddie to give him shit about it.

But instead, all he hears is the uneasy drumming of rings against a steering wheel, a soft, “Right, right.”

Eddie isn’t angry anymore; he’s worried. Guilt twists Dustin’s insides.

He heads straight upstairs for the bathroom when they reach Steve’s, uncaring of the fact that Eddie can probably see him limp up every step.

The problem is that he doesn’t think—he just does.

Throws off his coat. Turns on the faucet. Splashes cold water in his face.

It helps, but his eyes still itch. Maybe he can pull out the mountains of homework card again, camp out in the guest room and sleep until Steve—

A faint knock on the other side of the door.

“Hey, uh. Just checking you haven’t died, man.”

And Dustin hates that he’s made Eddie sound hesitant.

“Yeah, I’m so dead. Oooo.”

Eddie chuckles slightly. But then he says, “Listen, did I do something? Like, tell me to fuck off, if so.”

“Fuck off,” Dustin says, not convincing in the slightest.

In the silence, he can practically hear the cogs in Eddie’s brain turning.

“You didn’t run track.”

It’s not a question.

Dustin rubs at his eyes. “I got tripped.”

“…Tripped,” Eddie echoes. “Dustin. Come on.”

“Fine. I… got in a fight.”

“You?”

“What, is that hard to believe?” Dustin snaps.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is, actually.”

There’s something in Eddie’s tone that makes Dustin’s eyes threaten to burn. It sounds like I know you.

“Well, go on. Gimme the details. What, did you place bets in the cafeteria about who would—”

“No-one else saw,” Dustin says, then immediately cringes at the fact that he’s walked right into Eddie’s trap and given answers.

“Oh, well fucking done,” Eddie says, and maybe it’s meant to sound sharp, but Dustin can only hear how it’s tight with anxiety. “So someone started shit, and you decided, in your infinite wisdom, to settle it alone, when anything could’ve—”

“What the fuck was I supposed to do? Just let them keep saying—”

“You run,” Eddie says. “Jesus Christ, Henderson, I don’t give a flying fuck what they were saying. You run like hell out of there, and you don’t look back, do you fucking hear—”

“You didn’t run!” Dustin says.

He hadn’t planned on saying it at all; the words feel like they’ve been ripped out of him, his voice wrecked.

Silence.

The door opens. Eddie looks completely floored.

“Was this about me?” he asks very quietly.

Dustin looks away. “He—he just—you didn’t hear what he was saying. Eddie, it was. Bad.”

And I’ll never repeat it, he thinks. I’m never using that fucking awful word.

“Hey, what’s that on your…?”

Eddie’s eyes narrow, and Dustin realises too late that he’s staring at his neck.

“Are you wearing make-up?” Eddie says, faintly baffled, and Dustin sees the exact moment that he recognises the mark for what it is, because his eyes widen. “Oh, Jesus.”

Dustin uselessly tries to cover it up with his hand. “It’s—it’s fine, it didn’t even—”

But his words die away at the sight of Eddie’s rapidly paling face.

Stop it, Dustin almost wants to say. Between everything that Eddie and Steve have… this is nothing.

He doesn’t expect Eddie bursting into tears.

“Oh God,” Eddie’s saying, and his breathing’s all wrong, “Dustin, please, please don’t—” But it’s like the words are choking him, like he can only stare at Dustin’s neck as if the world is ending.

The front door opening. Steve’s voice echoing, calling out a questioning greeting.

“Hey? You in the kitchen?”

Dustin moves quickly, shoves past Eddie.

“Dustin,” Eddie says again, loud in his panic, “d-don’t go, come on—”

He knows precisely when Steve can hear the fact that Eddie is crying, because his footsteps are rapid on the stairs, speech just as quick and frantic, “What happened, what happened?”

Dustin briefly feels Steve’s hand close around his elbow, “Hey, hey, what’s—?”, but he wrenches himself free. Runs down the stairs as fast as he can, stumbles on the last step.

He feels his ankle give way, and his heart is suddenly pounding like he’s back in The Upside Down—and he lies there, guilt and embarrassment in every heaving breath he takes.

[artiststarme]

What If Steve Were To Leave Hawkins?

Part 1 of 20

As Steve drove down the highway, he pondered his decision once more. Admittedly, leaving Hawkins may have been a bit of a drastic decision. But what other choice did he have? For months after their last encounter with the Upside Down, he waited for anyone to need him or reach out to spend time with him and he was left disappointed every time. Steve knew it would only be a matter of time before they outgrew him. As soon as the kids entered high school and made friends with Eddie “the Freak” Munson, he knew he wasn’t needed. 

Why would he be? He didn’t know how to play Dungeons and Dweebs and he couldn’t help with any of their homework. Looking back, that’s why Steve had been so jealous of Munson in the first place. He knew he had a lot more in common with the kids and was actually cool. Way cooler than who Steve pretended to be. He knew deep down that he was only kept around to babysit or chauffeur people around town. 

He wiped an unsteady hand under his eyes to get rid of the watery tears leaking from his eyes. He had no right to be upset when he had seen this coming for so long. After the Upside Down, he had briefly thought that everything would be alright. Once Eddie had his name cleared and had been released from the hospital and when Max had woken up, things seemed to be ok. Steve had checked in on Max and driven her to physical therapy when her mom wasn’t around. He had hung out with Eddie on multiple occasions either smoking and listening to music in Eddie’s trailer or having the older teens over to his house for movies and drinks. Steve had thought that they had become friends and was happy to have a friend his age outside of Robin. 

However, it had only lasted for a few weeks before Eddie started declining his invitations to hang out. Robin became busy with Vickie, Nancy and Jonathon were busy with each other, and the kids all had their own relationships to worry about. Things got lonely again at Steve’s empty house. Everyone stopped reaching out and Steve didn’t want to bother anyone.

Even when people were around, Steve was still lonely. Vickie and Eddie visited Robin at work on shifts they shared. If Steve tried to join in on the conversations, he either third-wheeled awkwardly or caused the conversation to shut down completely. It was always easier to hide in the back rewinding tapes or in the aisles organizing films than to try and infringe upon anyone else’s visits. At Party meetings, Steve usually hung on the outskirts of whatever event was being celebrated. Hardly anyone ever sought him out and anyone that did always accepted his vague excuses to leave without question. Eventually, he stopped going to Party meetings altogether. It was easier to go to bed early than to intrude on the Party that didn’t want him there. 

When the older teens were set to graduate in June, Robin asked Steve if he could organize a graduation party at his house. He of course accepted. He would do anything to make his friends happy. So, he called off of work the day before their graduation to set up his house and organize everything. He went to the actual ceremony and cheered on each of his friends as they walked across the stage. The kids were also in attendance and loudly cheered as Eddie finally accepted his diploma and flipped Principal Higgins the bird before darting off the stage. 

After their graduation ceremony, Steve drove Robin and Eddie to his house for the party. Before Robin’s friends from the marching band and Eddie’s bandmates from Corroded Coffin arrived, Steve gave them their gifts. He had gotten Robin a new pair of blue converse with a pack of sharpie markers for her to doodle on them with. He gave Eddie a new battle jacket with new pins and patches to replace the one he had borrowed and bled all over in the Upside Down. He gave Nancy a new notebook to use for journalistic purposes and gave Jonathon the newest album from The Smiths. All of his friends smiled and gave him a hug, or a peck on the cheek in Nancy’s case. Eddie’s reaction was the strongest, and most adverse, of them all. When he opened his gift from Steve, he blushed and stammered out a small ‘thank you’ before abruptly walking away towards Robin. 

Steve didn’t expect anything different from Munson. He realized that he had made him uncomfortable at some point over the two weeks they had been hanging out. He had tried to fix the issue but had come to the conclusion that Eddie was just faking being nice for the rest of the Party. Regardless, Steve didn’t hate Eddie even if Eddie hated him. So, he still got him a gift he would hopefully enjoy. After his negative reaction though, Steve wasn’t much in the mood to party and went to sit by the pool. At 1 AM when most of the partygoers had gone home, Steve went back inside to tell Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Eddie, and Vickie that they were welcome to spend the night in any of the guest bedrooms. However, they all declined and went home with Vickie, their designated driver.    

Steve was left once again in a house too big for just him with a mess around him. He spent the early hours cleaning up red solo cups and a particularly nasty pile of vomit in the corner of his dining room. When he finally fell asleep, he was awoken by a vicious nightmare and remained awake until it was time to  get up for his morning shift at Family Video. 

Steve worked a double, working his morning and covering for Robin’s afternoon shift, half-asleep and on the verge of a migraine. He didn’t receive any calls of gratitude from any of the older teens or any social calls from the kids. 

His next week and a half passed in a bland routine. He woke up early due to nightmares, worked a shift or two at Family Video, went home, tried to eat a meal or two, then went to sleep before repeating. Things came to a head on a Thursday evening when Steve pulled up to his house after a long shift at Family Video to find his parent’s car in his spot in the driveway. 

He walked into his house with his head hanging low and a grimace on his face. His father was waiting in the foyer with a scowl set on his grim face. Upon visage of his son, he immediately started his typical barrage of insults and complaints. Why was Steve still working at a dead-end job making minimum wage? Why hadn’t Steve tried to apply to any more colleges? Why hasn’t Steve dusted the bookshelves or cleaned the curtains? Why was Steve such a failure? 

When Steve attempted to brush past his father to go to his room, he was slammed into the wall and held there by his father’s forearm. His father had told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going to have some failure of a son living in his house. Steve listened to his father’s insults with his head leaned back against the wall and his eyes glazed over until his father released him and went back into his study. 

Steve entered his room with tears running down his face. He sat against his locked bedroom door with his face in his hands. What reason did he have to stay there; at home or in Hawkins? His mind immediately went to the kids but he hadn’t spoken to any of them since he had refused to let them rent an R-rated movie two days after the grad party he threw. He thought of Robin and Eddie who had been trying to make plans with him. Robin had invited him to watch movies in Eddie’s trailer a few shifts ago but Steve knew it was a fake offer so he declined saying he had plans. Eddie showed up the same shift and extended an offer of pizza and weed for that night but Steve knew it was only made out of pity so he declined and said he wanted to get to bed early. At each of his excuses, they had looked at him in concern but Steve knew they must have only asked him out of courtesy. 

Steve stood up from the floor with his mind made up. He took his pre-packed bags from under this bed and glanced around his room. There was nothing else he needed to take. His favorite clothes were already in the bags, as were the pictures of him and his friends and his few essential belongings. He waited for a few hours before making his way downstairs with his bags. What Steve did not expect was to pass his mom drinking a glass of wine in the living room. She stood from her spot and wrapped her arms around Steve. He couldn’t remember the last time she had hugged him. She told him to stay in touch and stay safe. He nodded wordlessly before he continued his trek to his car. 

Steve considered leaving a letter with one of the kids or even Joyce before he left. He would have told Robin of his spontaneous plans but she was out of town with her family visiting her ill grandmother in Cincinnati. He decided against bothering anyone and drove past the Leaving Hawkins sign without so much as a backwards glance. 

He didn’t know where he was going or what he would do when he got there but there was a sense of freedom that came with the uncertainty. He set his course north and drove until he saw the sun rising to his right. He stopped at a nearby motel to get some sleep. He was just outside of Chicago and decided to try his luck there for a while. It couldn't be any worse than it had been the last several months in Hawkins.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20: Epilogue

[boycasanova]

Pranks the housewardens would play on you

Riddle wouldn’t prank you, but if you’re close enough and he’s feeling frisky, the mood might overtake him. He tricks you by “hiding” catnip in your pocket, but in reality he’s enchanted something you own to act as catnip. You think you’ve bested him by throwing the catnip away but it’s really just oregano. You played right into his trap fool. Dozens of cats follow you around the campus and the island, even Lucius, the one Riddle thinks is the most controversial and noisy.

Leona pretends you’re invisible and he realizes he likes ignoring you a little too much. You can call for him and scream his name, but he’s not budging. He only breaks once when he’s laughing so hard his eyes water because you’re bawling behind him, thinking you died like one of the Ramshackle ghosts. Eventually he shifts from you being invisible, like reacting to your poking and prodding but not seeing you, to you being dead. “I can still hear them sometimes. Sad, but they should’ve never challenged the king of beasts to a fight.” Apparently he killed you?

Azul has no time for you, but he’ll make time to call you stupid 💔 He’ll often volunteer you to preform or do things that put you out there, claiming that you were so excited beforehand to preform your song and now our rude hosts were denying you the opportunity. OR, he changes your name to something silly. It’s legally binding so you have to go through the courts to change it back from Toilet Idiot chan. And that was your birthday gift 💔💔💔

Kalim tells you to look over there and tickles you when you turn. He only knows how to play little baby pranks that he does on his younger siblings. Or, when flying on the carpet, he’ll pretend that you’re crashing and won’t pick the carpet up until you scream. He’s done this several time, but you can’t be too sure that he’s joking.

Vil mixes up your hygiene routine, not enough to kill you, but enough to annoy you. If you ask to borrow sunscreen, he knows you prefer super sheer, but he’ll hand you a pigmented white one. Or, because he’s a mom, he’ll tell mom/dad jokes. “Hi Hungry, I’m Vil.” “Don’t call me Shirley, and I’m not joking.”

Idia knows that you’re not aware of the history and customs of Twisted Wonderland so he’ll make up outrages lies and berate you for not knowing them. These are effective because you only catch on when someone, probably Riddle, corrects your knowledge of the Kingdom of Hearts, an imaginary fairytale setting. You’d expect Ortho to step in and say something, but he interprets Idia’s behavior as fitting of a friend, so he’ll just back up his lies.

Malleus doesn’t know how fragile humans are so he flies you high up and drops you with no intention of catching you. Before you break your spine he uses magic to catch you. You try to tell Lilia who tells you not to tattle, but to not accept rides from Malleus. Unfortunately, his rides are too convenient for someone without a car, bus pass, or a broom so that’s off the table. There’s a 2 in 3 chance he’s going to “prank” you, but you must get used to it.

[manestjerne]

Let me save you pt. ll

Juice Ortiz x female reader 

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: mention of a toxic relationship 

My day off went by fast, I should’ve go get some groceries but instead I just spent the whole day in bed and ordered a takeout. I had no break in a week, so felt like I could use a lazy day. Reading a book under covers with a cup of hot coffee was one of my favorite ways to relax. I completely ignored the „baby, where are you? Are you running from me? What’s wrong?” texts from my ex’s new account. It’s not possible to block him so I can just pretend I don’t know what’s going on. The next day I took a shower in the morning, ate a bowl of cereal and enjoyed my free half of the day by playing some video games. When it was time to leave I went to grab my car keys, but then I remembered. Fuck, I was supposed to get some gas yesterday. After a quick fight with myself I chose to just walk there, it was about 15 minutes, and my shift started in 20. Yeah, that’s better. For me and the damn environment. I grabbed my purse and and left for work. On my way there I saw a cat sitting beside the sidewalk, so of course I had to go there and pet it, how could I just ignore that cutie? But that wasn’t a cutie.

- Ah you nasty bitch - the cat bit me and scratched half of my arm - Let go!

When I got free from the attacker I moved on looking in my bag for some tissues to wipe the drops of blood. Don’t pet stray cats ever again. Got it.

After cleaning the rest of my arm from blood I got behind a bar and started my routine by cleaning. Every time I heard the door opening I stealthily looked that way wishing Juice would come in, but he didn’t. Instead of him I saw Joe. Joe was one of our regulars, but he was a total prick. We all tried to ignore it and just serve him, but my day started bad enough, I didn’t have the patience to serve him now.

- Nat, your boy is here, come on - I yelled at the back door, waiting for her to appear.

She stood there so happy I almost felt bad doing that, but then I remembered every time she used me to deal with rude customers, so I just smiled.

- Oh, are you kidding me? I’m not-

- Sorry darling, I need to bring some coke from the back.

- There’s enough in the fridge!

- Yeah, remember last week, when you made me play pool with those creeps? You owe me one.

She still looked pissed.

- What about when some guys were fighting over that redhead? Or when I ha-

- Alright, alright. Go and hide, pussy.

Hanging out behind those magic doors was the best thing to do when something bad happened out front. Our boss didn’t really care, if the money was good one of us could literally go out and he wouldn’t give a shit. I saw a perfect opportunity. A whole lot of bottles were sitting on the floor, that’s the job for me, let’s put them away on the shelves. I had about two hours before the biggest crowd show up, so I decided to just stay there, coming out once in a while to bring Nat some more ice or sodas.

- Could you stand behind the bar for a minute? I need to call my mom.

Just 5 minutes, nothing bad can happen. I started pouring beers and mixing drinks, 10 pm and it was still quiet, but some of them have already had enough drinks. A guy tried to toss me a glass, he sat just two stools away from me, but refused to get up. I wanted to catch the sliding glass but it fell over and everything inside it went straight on my top. There wasn’t much left, about two melted ice cubes and a sip of cuba libre, but it was enough to get me wet.

- Oh shit, I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to do that.

- It’s alright, don’t worry.

It wasn’t, but what could I do? Can this day get any worse? I went behind the magic door and Nat was just putting her phone in a back pocket.

- Shit, what happened?

- You have a spare t-shirt I could borrow?

- No, sorry. Is it that wet?

- Nah, I look like a three year old who just ate noodle soup and smell like rum, but it’s fine.

- Just try to get it off, I can go back there.

Yeah, water didn’t help with the coke stain on my white shirt, so I decided to just keep stocking the bottles up. After only a few minutes I heard Nat.

- Hey y/n. Now your boy is here.

I rolled my eyes, pulled my pants up as much as possible to hide the stain and went through the door, ready to see a whole crowd of people, but it was shockingly quiet.

- What happened?

She just smiled, I looked around trying to find what’s wrong when I saw him.

- You know him? - I asked trying not to look at him

- Nah, but he came here yesterday, looking for you.

- Wait, you were here yesterday?

- Yeah, Laura told me you two had a hard Wednesday and wanted me to cover her. He’s cute.

- A little, but I’m not sure about that.

- Just give it a try, you’re so stressed, a dick would help.

- Oh shut up - I said when he sat on the stool across me - What can I get you?

- Just a beer - he smiled and put his phone on the bar

- What are you doing here, Juice? - I asked while pouring his drink - Another bad day?

- Yeah, stepped in on my way home.

- You live here?

- Not quite. You look like you had a bad day, what’s that? - he pointed at the stain on my stomach

- Oh yeah, very funny - but the words came out softly, not as rough my thoughts, I realized I’m not as stressed anymore

- No, seriously. Maybe you should drink with a straw next time.

I rolled my eyes handing him a beer.

- Trust me, if I had something else to wear I would put in on, but I came here on foot today. I left my spare clothes in the car, wasn’t expecting a cuba libre landing on my white shirt.

- I can borrow you a shirt - his voice was so soft, didn’t match his appearance

- Well, I don’t know you.

- It’s not a promise ring, just a shirt, and I have a jumper on, trust me I won’t freeze. But if you want to look like a three year old, then-

- Okay, that’s enough - I squinted my eyes - I’ll take it.

He smiled and went to the bathroom, came back a minute later with a white t-shirt in his hand.

- But watch out, I don’t have another one.

- Very funny - I said and went to the back

I finished changing when Nat came in with an empty keg.

- Wow, what’s that? - she asked pointing at my hand - And whose shirt is that? Oh my! You got it from the cute gangster, didn’t you?

- Stop yelling and change the keg, in 15 minutes we won’t have time for that.

I went to the tables and started collecting empty glasses, after wiping the tables I moved to the bar and wanted to get Juice’s glass but froze when he gently stroke my hand.

- What’s that?

- A scratch? - I said with fake disbelief in my eyes, trying to play it cool

- What happened?

- It’s nothing, I cleaned it already, I’m a nurse, remember? - but he acted like he didn’t hear me

- You okay? Who did this to you? - I couldn’t help but started laughing - hey, what’s so funny?

- I saw a cat on my way here… - his faced relaxed in a moment

- Natalie, could you please help me? Sure y/n, enjoy your date and I’ll serve everyone else, don’t worry - I heard a voice behind my back

- Am I interrupting you? - Juice asked nervously looking at my coworker

- Don’t worry, she’s just playing. They actually pay me for entertaining guests.

- So you’re entertaining me?

- If I’m not then why would you come back?

I felt a phone buzzing in my back pocket. I took it out to check who’s calling, but when I saw my ex’s name I quickly put it away. Yeah, whatsapp, I haven’t used it in years.

- You can’t use your phone at work?

- Of course I can, just didn’t want to pick up - I smiled trying to look as calm as possible

- Can I get your number then?

- What for?

- Well, you have my shirt

- Well - I smiled - but it’s not a promise ring, remember?

He looked me for a second not saying anything. I went to serve another guest, still smiling. When I came back after a while he took one of his rings of and gave it to me.

- And what’s that?

- A promise ring, so let me start again. Can I get your number? - I laughed at loud this time, took his phone and wrote my number down, putting his ring in my pocket - unbelievable…..

Rest of the night went by pretty fast, as always during the weekend, but this time my smile wasn’t a „customer smile”, it was real, whole damn night. I didn’t care about rude customers, I didn’t get mad when they whistled at me, I didn’t care about young boys hitting up on me. I didn’t, because I could feel him staring at me the whole time. There wasn’t much time when I could talk to him, but he still stayed, sitting at the bar all alone. People finally started to leave, so I used a moment to go back behind the bar.

- You want a lift home?

- Nah, I’m good.

- What about all the bad guys out there? And bad cats… - he smiled - you sure you want to go on foot?

I heard a phone buzzing, but this time it wasn’t mine. Juice’s phone was still on the counter. I caught myself staring at it so I looked away quickly. Jax doesn’t sound like a girls name, that’s good. He put his phone down after a minute and looked at me.

- What time do you finish?

- In 20 minutes, why?

- I can still give you a ride home.

- Don’t worry, I actually need a walk, I’ll be fine. Your boyfriend probably needs you more than me if he’s calling that late.

- You sure? - he smiled

- Yup, go home. See you - I didn’t mean to say that, felt my cheeks getting red, he just gave me a warm smile

- Get home safe, okay?

- Okay - I said, my cheeks were burning at this point

He left with a smile on his face and I was just standing there, looking at the door.

- Hey y/n, can I get another one?

- No Joe, we’re closing in 15 minutes - I said not even looking his way

My walk home was scarier than ever before, but I knew it was only because of what Juice said. When I got home I took a shower, ate some leftover pizza and got ready to go to bed. I looked at the pile of clothes tossed on the chair. Took the borrowed shirt with some other white stuff I could find and put in in the washer. I wanted to do laundry tomorrow anyways. Then I picked up my jeans and took the ring out of a pocket. I looked closely and saw „Sons of Anarchy” engraved on it. Well, a promise ring from a biker, that’s funny. I put it on my necklace and went to bed when I realized how much my head hurts and how tired I am. I refused to get up to get some painkillers. I got a text message, probably from Nat or my ex, so I ignored it. This can wait ’till morning. Another one. God. Then my phone started ringing. With my eyes closed I picked it up ready to tell him to fuck off and leave me alone.

- Hey, sorry, were you sleeping? - I opened my eyes, his voice as soft and worried as when he saw my arm

- What? No, I- I was making dinner, sorry. What’s up?

- I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.

- I’m okay. Thanks Juice.

- Wonderful, goodnight y/n, you should get some sleep.

- Goodnight.

He hung up, but I couldn’t close my eyes now, I wasn’t expecting that. My headache was gone and suddenly I was not sleepy at all, so I got up and made myself some tea.

[coffeeman777]

I have a bit of a silly dilemma, and I don’t know if you actually have any advice for it, but, I thought I’d try asking anyway.

I lie a lot. I know it’s wrong, and it’s about the dumbest thing. I read a lot on my phone, and sometimes it’s books I own, sometimes it’s books I borrow from a library, and sometimes it’s fanfiction. And when I’m reading fanfiction, and I get asked what I’m reading, I lie about it. I don’t read anything objectionable, I’m just embarrassed and afraid people will judge me, and by people I mean my mom.

I love my mom but she can sometimes be a little bit judgy. She really strongly dislikes any and all fantasy/sci-fi and has made it clear to me. And by fantasy I don’t mean game of thrones or even harry potter, neither of while I’ve touched or have any interest in, but like… she doesn’t like the animated disney princess movies. Like, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty. She doesn’t try to push her convictions on me explicitly, but I can still feel very judged sometimes by the ‘ick’ way she reacts to things. I struggle with legalism and scrupulosity and find myself trying to follow my mom’s standards and convictions for right and wrong, and I really have a hard time knowing where the line between ‘honor your father and mother’ and ‘don’t do anything that could cause a brother to stumble’ and just straight up legalism is.

That to say, I guess I can’t know for sure, but I think she’d really disapprove of me reading fanfiction sometimes, or even just think it’s super weird. I wish she just didn’t ask me what I was reading, but if I say that I’m afraid she’ll think I’m hiding something or doing something wrong. I guess I just don’t want her to think bad of me, and whether I tell the truth or brush it off I’m afraid she will, so I claim I’m reading whatever book I last read or recount one of my favorite books I like to reread when she asks me to tell her about it. I know it’s hurting me spiritually to lie, especially when I’m making excuses to myself over it, which I do far too much. And it’s a much bigger issue now that I’m visiting home from college over the summer and am already getting asked much more frequently than I have, because I’m around now. I don’t know what the right choice is. Do I be honest with her? Do I ask her to stop grilling me, even though I know she’s just trying to make conversation? Do I cut this out of my life? My instinct is to cut it out, especially since I don’t want to. My anxiety tells me that self-denial of everything is the most morally right way to live, and I know that’s flat out false. I’m afraid if I cut it out I’ll end up in the cycle I’ve been in before where once I start cutting things out of my life, the next thing I know I’m convinced that if I don’t get rid of or donate everything I care about or like the smallest bit and spend all of my time either praying or reading my Bible I’m going to Hell. When I enjoy something, I worry that must mean it’s sinful or an idol or both and I need to purge it all from my life, now. But I don’t know if I’m just making excuses for myself and saying ‘oh it would be legalism to get this out of my life’ in order to keep sinning. I just… I don’t know what to do, but I don’t want to keep ignoring this sin in my life, no matter how small I tell myself it is, even though it’s easier to pretend.

Heya! I don't think your dilemma is silly. Little stuff like this can cause big problems. It's important that we be able to consistently apply Biblical teaching to all areas of life.

My position on honoring your parents is this: when you're living with them, obey them. Even when they're being ridiculous and unreasonable. The only exception to the rule is your parents telling you to do something that's against God's commands. But in all other matters, obey them patiently, even when it means a personal loss. This greatly pleases the Lord.

Now, when you're grown up and out of the house, you're no longer beholden to your parents. You still deal with them respectfully, still look out for their well-being, but you're free to live your own life. Obey the Lord according to your own convictions, and within that constraint do what you want. When you're around your parents, apply Romans 14; for the sake of your mother's disposition, do what she likes. Don't read anything she doesn't like, or do anything else that violates her convictions, not because it's sinful if you do, but just because you love her. That way you're honoring God's commands and loving your mother.

I hope this helps!

[ursafootprints]

For the ask game: 37 Do you research before writing or while you write? Is it fun or boring for you?

As someone who hasn't been in sci-fi fandom much I'm always curious how people who write fic in marvel fandom go about research! But also I love the way you write the therapeutical/trauma side in your fic too? If this is too much to answer then no worries ofc haha /o\

Awww thank you!

I research while writing, as something comes up that I need the details for! Honestly I feel like my process isn't really something that would be helpful to extrapolate from, because for any of the sci-fiesque things I've written I'm usually just starting from some speck of knowledge that I already have and googling around for jargon to make it sound legit.

I need my sex pollen to require partnered sex instead of masturbation? Okay, well, orgasms cause the release all kinds of neurotransmitters and other chemical reactions, what do those actually do? > Some of 'em help the body return to its pre-arousal state? > Great, does partnered sex make more of those? > Okay, there's my sci-fi babble excuse for my porn!

I need some bullshit reason for Peter to overcome illusion tech? Let me think of real-life examples of things that fuck with visual processing and pretend those would in any way be helpful, no googling required!

The way Hanahaki works in my Starkercest fic is modeled after cancer staging, Peter's method for hiding his plan in double-blind is based on reversing the fact that there's bacteria that's harmful when aerosolized but safe to ingest, and so on.

It helps that I pretty much only ever write like… biomedical-adjacent sci-fi since I work in allied health and those topics are more familiar to me haha, and then I just borrow from canon when it has to do with tech or whatever!

(And then all the trauma/therapy stuff is off the dome, lmao. I've had a lot of therapy for my own experiences, I have training in basic counseling skills for my career, and my mom is a licensed mental health counselor 🤷)

I wouldn't call it boring but sometimes it can be frustrating if it takes a while for me to get the info I need! But it's also very satisfying for the research to all come together for the actual fic, so I'd call it more fun than anything.

Thanks for playing! 💖

[tinyinvadr]

Back when I first started on Tumblr, I wrote a few one-shots based around an Invader Zim AU where Recap Kid is a borrower and friends with Dib. I’ve really wanted to go back to it, and I’ve recently gotten inspiration to revamp it, so, here we go! It’s pretty different this time around, but the basic premise is the same.

TW: Abandonment

Borrowed Family

Chapter 1

I should start this story with a recap! (This’ll be funny later, trust me!)

My name is Rosie, I’m ten years old, and I’m a borrower! I live in the walls of a human house with my Mom and Dad, and one day, when I’m ready, I’ll be able to venture out of my home in the walls to borrow things for my family. It’s a super important job, since it’s how we’ve survived for all these years.

There’s a BUNCH of rules we have to follow, though.

Rule #1: Don’t get caught.

Humans are big and mean and scary and they’re just awful! DO NOT ENGAGE!!!

Rule #2: Take only what you need.

If you go around taking everything, it’s stealing! I told my Dad that technically, we’re stealing no matter what, since we don’t ask the humans or give back anything we take. He got mad at me.

Rule #3: Don’t go looking for danger.

The world’s SUPER super dangerous for us since we’re tiny, so we have to be careful! Don’t go picking fights with wild animals, don’t jump off of stuff without the proper equipment, and seriously, STAY AWAY FROM HUMANS!!!

There’s some other stuff, but it gets pretty repetitive after that. Basically, anything and everything wants to kill us, so we’ve gotta pretend we don’t exist in order to continue existing. Or something like that.

But I’ve gotta say, life as a borrower is reeeeally boring. You’ve always gotta be quiet, and hide, and you never get to do anything fun. I’ve been trying all my life to find something fun to do, but every time, my parents always say “No, Rosie. You’re being too loud.” But I can’t help it! I’m loud when I’m happy!

Anyway, our story begins the day after my tenth birthday. My Dad told me he had a surprise for me, but we’d have to wait until after dark. I was so excited, I knew exactly what the surprise was: he was gonna take me borrowing!

My parents told me that borrowers usually don’t start going out until they’re 14, but I guess they trusted me enough to let me start early!

The entire day before our big trip, I was practically running all around our home in excitement. Mom had to sit me down a couple times because of the whole “loud” thing.

But soon enough, it was nighttime, and all the humans went to bed, meaning it was finally time to head out! Dad took my hand and told me to be very quiet as we crept out from the walls all sneaky-like.

“What are we gonna borrow first, Dad?” I asked. He didn’t say a word as we just kept walking.

“Oh, it’s a surprise, got it! I can’t wait!”

We traveled through the kitchen, and I took in the sights of all the huge furniture. I’d only seen glimpses into the humans’ house before, but actually being out there really put into perspective just how small we are. It’s kinda scary, but also really cool.

Dad walked me to the front door of the house, and pointed out the small gap under the door. “Follow me.”

He crawled under it, and I followed him, and soon, we were outside the house. A chilly breeze blew past us, swaying the tall grass that seemed to go on forever.

Dad took my hand again and we walked to the house next door. It had a round roof, and these blue sparkly things sticking out of the lawn. I tried to reach up and touch one, but Dad pulled my hand away.

“That’s an electric field, Rosie. I shouldn’t have to tell you not to touch that.”

We kept walking, and we reached the house’s front steps. Dad held onto me as he tossed his grappling hook, and we climbed up to the door.

“So, what are we doing here? Aren’t we just supposed to borrow from our house?”

Once again, he didn’t say a word, and just crawled under the door. I followed him, and soon, we were inside the house.

“This is a very important test to see if you’re ready to be a borrower. You must do exactly as I say. Understood?”

I nodded rapidly. “Yep! You’ve got it, Dad!”

“I want you to hide here. Prove that you can stay hidden and quiet for an extended period of time.”

“OKAY!!!”

Dad glared at me.

“I mean… okay. But, why am I hiding here? Wouldn’t it be easier to do it back at our house?”

He still wouldn’t answer me.

“Just stay here and do as you’re told.”

With that, he turned around, heading for the door.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” I asked. “I’m… not sure I’m ready.”

He stopped and looked at me one last time before crawling back out under the door.

“I’m your father, I know what’s best for us.”

After he left, I just stayed there, looking at the door.

“Okay, Dad! I’ll be right here when you get back!”

I waited by the door for a few more minutes, but it got really boring really fast, so I decided to walk around for a little bit. I figured it would be okay, since all the humans were asleep. As long as I didn’t go too far, since Dad would surely be back soon.

There wasn’t too much to look at, but there was a cardboard box next to the couch. I was able to climb one of the flaps like a ramp, and inside was a bunch of colorful-looking books with pictures on them.

I slid myself down into the box and pulled open the first page of the book on top of the pile. And just like that, it was like I entered a whole new world! There were all these squares with pictures of people and talk bubbles, and right at the top of the page, in bold letters, was “RECAP!” (See? I told you it would be funny!)

I don’t know why, but I like that word a lot. Maybe it’s just the way it was written out on the page, but it looked so cool and important.

So, there I was, just lying on the page, when suddenly, I heard someone coming. I quickly jumped down deeper into the box, hiding myself in the corner.

“Why did I leave this box downstairs? And why am I still talking to myself? Oh well.”

I tried not to scream as the entire world shifted. A human picked up the box and was taking it somewhere. My curiosity got the best of me, and I couldn’t help but sneak a peek up at him.

He was a boy, a few years older than me from the looks of it, with glasses and dark hair that spiked up at the top in a very odd fashion. He didn’t notice me, looking forward as he walked up the stairs. All I could do was stay very still, hoping he wouldn’t look down into the box and see me.

Luckily, he didn’t. He just put the box down and walked away.

“Eh, I’ll read these tomorrow. I’m tired right now.”

When I was sure he was far enough away from the box, I climbed back up into the books so I could peek out of the box. He had taken me to his bedroom, and he was already in bed, facing the opposite direction. At least he didn’t see me, but I still had no idea how I was gonna get out of this.

No, there was no need to worry. Dad would find me.

Soon enough, the human fell asleep, so I decided I might as well get out of the box.

Unfortunately, this turned out to be a REAL bad idea. I didn’t realize the human put me on his desk, and the moment I climbed out of the box, all I could see was the edge, and the huge drop below me.

I froze up, my legs shaking as I couldn’t take my eyes off of the floor, so far down from where I stood.

All I could do was try to steady my breathing and back away from the edge. I was still terrified, but I had to keep it together. I didn’t want to wake this human up.

I kept on backing up until I was up against a wall. I let out a relieved sigh as I realized that I had some form of support.

After I calmed down, I started to move away from the wall, only to realize that my hair was caught on something. Even worse, it hurt when I tried to pull it out.

Resisting the urge to scream, I looked around for something, anything that could help. Conveniently, right at my feet was a pocketknife. I maneuvered it with my feet until I was able to get it standing up, then I shut my eyes as I sliced through my hair.

To be honest, I’d always wanted to cut my hair. My parents wouldn’t let me, though. I didn’t have much of a choice in this case, so I was sure they wouldn’t mind. Curious about how I looked, I checked my reflection in the knife’s blade. Not bad, all things considered. It looks all spiky now.

At that point, I just sat down and waited for Dad to come get me. He was probably already in the house, checking every inch the first floor. With that in mind, it was going to take a while for him to reach the second floor, so I figured I should get some rest.

Of course, I couldn’t sleep out in the open, in case the human woke up, so I looked around for a place to hide.

I went with an opened pencil case, since it was the closest thing to something soft. It smelled really bad in there, but it would only be for a little while until Dad rescued me. I pulled my hood over my head and curled up, trying to force myself to sleep.

Well… emphasis on TRIED.

Every minute that passed only made me feel more and more afraid. I was alone, in a human’s bedroom, with no way to defend myself if he found me.

With that in mind, I made the mistake of sneaking another peek at him. He rolled over, mumbling in his sleep, and it looked like he was about to wake up.

Terrified that he would see me, I panicked, crawled out of the pencil case, and ran around the desk to try and find another place to hide. I ended up tripping over the case, accidentally kicking it over the edge of the desk, where it fell with a loud crash.

The human immediately woke up, grabbing his glasses and looking around the room. Then, his eyes landed on me.

“…What?”

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

rant

I'm never getting out of here because my dad keeps borrowing thousands of dollars from me. He borrows, pays me back a nickel here a dime there, then borrows more and more and more. At one point he forgot how much he owed me and insisted that I was the one trying to rip him off. He borrowed even more today, and my mom is trying to be peacemaker, reassuring me that they're good for it and will have me paid off by the end of the summer. Sure, just like you said last month. And the month before that! I have nothing! My dad treats it like it's free money, an interest free credit card with no limit and no due date. He spends most of his waking time "doing the numbers," keeping track of the finances in countless notebooks that he has strewn around the house, stuffed in every nook of every room, most of them full to bursting with additional papers and envelopes stuffed between their pages. I looked at one once, and it was the scribblings of a madman, just page after page of nonsense figures and symbols like a fucking zodiac killer. He had a stroke in 2020, and he's never been the same. I don't think it even makes sense to him, because he's always whiplashing back and forth between "we're rich, let's spend hundreds of dollars on shit we don't need" and "we're destitute, we're ruined, we're gonna lose the house" because he thinks he can do math in his head (he never could, even before the stroke). I don't understand how he's able to hold down a job if he acts like this in front of us. Is he able to hide it in public, or do all his co-workers think he's fucking insane? He doesn't know how computers work. He's been using them since before I was born, but he doesn't know how to look up files or attach them to emails or close tabs or reset passwords or google ANYTHING! If he doesn't know how to do something, he just won't do it, won't even bother looking for tutorials or asking how it's done, he'll just pretend like it's not his problem, and somehow it always works out for him. I don't understand, I hate him so much. He's an abusive alcoholic motherfucker who is cruel to every single man, woman, and child he sees (he once threatened to drop kick a little girl in front of her parents in a grocery store because she darted in front of his cart when he was leaving an aisle, and I'm surprised her dad didn't kick his ass right then and there). It is so much worse than I could possibly put into words here, there are so many little ongoing things that keep adding up, I feel like I'm being dragged down into hs crazy little world to stay. God help me, I can't handle this anymore, I want to just pack up and leave but I have no money and nowhere to go. I can't move away until I have an apartment, I can't get an apartment until I find a job, and I can't find a job until I move away, fuckin catch-22! My current job is killing me, and I don't make enough to live on my own, but I can't stay with my folks any longer. It's to the point that I would rather be homeless than stuck here. I feel sick, I just want it all to stop...

[unknownjpegs]

camping

Lark catches him with one leg out the window. He’s fully kitted; holstered, prepped, armored, ready. A dark pack slung over his shoulder. 

In the low light, Xavier pretends the look on his face isn’t fully, completely wounded.

“Are you leaving?” He asks.

Nothing about Lark is timid. He’s cool. Even-tempered, mostly, where Xavier knows he runs way too hot. They temper each other. Bring the baselines up, down. Around him is the most normal Xavier thinks he’s felt since getting here, being this person. And so the quiet tone of his best friend’s voice cleaves him in fucking two. 

One for you, he thinks, and one for you to send back to my mom. You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you? Make sure I get there? Make sure I get home?

Instead of answering, Xavier pulls the balaclava further down his face. For one single second, one skip of his heartbeat, Lark’s expression is obscured. When it comes into view again, the furrow of his brow and sorrowfully twisted mouth have vanished. He’s Lark again; not a scared boy facing what might be loneliness for the first time in a long time. He’s Lark. Cool, even-tempered. Has found, without Xavier’s help, his baseline. 

“Just for tonight,” he says. Even to his own ears, he sounds off. Falsely chipper. “No worries, man. I’ll be back by morning.”

“You’re not being careful anymore.” His friend crosses his arms over his chest. “You weren’t in the first place, but you’re really not now. Sneaking out is insane, Xavier.”

He’s glad for the balaclava. It obscures him, too. Hides the guilty set to his jaw. 

“I’m not going to get you in trouble, okay? I’m not asking you to look-out or anything. You don’t have to—”

“Dude. It’s not me I’m worried about, you fucking asshole.” Lark seethes.

He takes another step into the room. Xavier has the insane thought, the out-of-body swoop of nostalgia, that if he were a different person, Lark would trip over a pile of clothes. A pair of boots, a backpack, a discarded pizza box.  But Xavier’s quarters are stark and empty. 

Xavier tilts his body back into the room, cool night air whipping against just one side of his face now. 

“Matilda doesn’t know.” He reasons, one palm cutting through the air as he speaks. It comes up to tap the collared mic at his throat. He’d fucked with the electronics within. With a solder borrowed via favor from one of the repair techs, he’d fried the conductor on the chip that handled GPS; couldn’t be tracked. With a scalpel he’d slipped into his back pocket on a trip to medical with a broken nose, he’d dug into the tiny microphone; couldn’t be heard. Xavier wasn’t messy. He wasn’t without thought or care or concern. And he certainly wasn’t fucking stupid. He was prepared. 

He might feel pitted, gutted, carved out by the Shadows, but he wasn’t above doing a little gutting for himself. 

 “She doesn’t. Promise. I wouldn’t do that without telling you.”

“I’m not worried about her, either.” Lark scoffs. Xavier notes honest and deceptiveness in it, somehow. He figures Lark trusts her to handle herself. Figures maybe he would like to do it for her, so she didn’t need to. 

“Well then, what in the fuckin’ —”

“You,” Lark hisses, his voice nearly rising above their frantic hissing whispers. “You, Xavier! I’m worried about you.”

They blink at each other. The sliver of moon in the sky outside the window barely cuts into the room. It illuminates a diagonal strip across Lark’s face. And despite his bravado, his confidence, Xavier finds himself memorizing that visage. He wishes Lark would, too. Wonders if he has already. 

“I’ll be back in the morning.” 

“This is stupid, Xavier.”

Xavier’s head, beginning to poke out the window, wrenches back on his neck. He stares at Lark. Lark stares at him. Sick panic slips between each of his ribs like a heavy, acidic ooze. He imagines it eating at the bone, the cartilage. Imagines it dripping off the remains, settling in his stomach, eating him up from the inside out.

This whole time, Lark? You too?

Lark takes a step towards him. “I meant—”

Xavier turns and launches himself from the window. It’s not a far drop, but he lands on the ground with a heavy thud. His arms pinch in towards his sides as he stomps across the base, avoiding cameras and eyes and lights as he seeks the hole in the barbed wire fence and slips through it. One of the sharp coils of metal catches his pants at the thigh. The fabric rips, his skin rips; the tears soaking under the sockets of his balaclava aren’t from the pain.

*

Benji doesn’t like it out here. The wilderness. The fact he’s so far from base, from home, makes the darkness of the forest that much more oppressive. It’s another country. Another continent. And he feels the night seep into him like every winding kilometer between him and his bed — even if it’s currently without a frame, even if the floor it rests on needs refinished, has been eaten through with a burgeoning colony of termites. 

As he sits at the campfire, his back to the tent that provides meager shelter and even less comfort, Benji imagines going back to that property and finding nothing. Nothing but the brick at its base, the fancy gifted pots and pans from Saha sitting on a stone floor because bugs have eaten the rest of everything. 

Nothing, he thinks, would be leagues better than this.

He’s well and truly alone, which is probably making the paranoia worse. Probably making the crunch of twigs and dry leaves louder. The call of an owl becomes the cry of a monster. Not for the first time since he joined up, not even the first time this deployment, Benji is reduced. Made less. Smaller. He feels young and scared. Feels how he had at thirteen, brought along up north for a hike in a nature reserve. He’d gotten lost, then. Found his way back to the group with shaking knees that he still wouldn’t admit to.

 The big sprawl of greenery hadn’t been like Crosby, with its view of the shipyard and distant skyline, evidence of humanity in the occasionally litter-strewn scraggly grass. No humanity out here, besides him. No evidence of it except the trail of smoke into the sky. 

As if on cue, the wind picks at it. Brushes across, some divine hand guiding water-laden bristles through the grey. Making it fade, disappear. Once the fire’s out, where will the evidence be? Where will Benji?

“Hopefully not fuckin’ here,” he mumbles aloud, mostly because it’s nice to hear a voice.

“I like it.”

Benji’s shoulders tense. He nearly nearly goes for his weapon. He should. It’s sitting right beside him, one gloved hand resting on the stock. He should lift it, turn on a knee as he’d been trained, aim and let his training (the muscle memory) solve the issue of an intruder for him.

Except he doesn’t. The owl calls again, the leaves crunch, but he feels only that initial zap of panic. A cold flare up his spine, tingling his scalp; only that tiny, tiny moment.

Because he recognizes that voice.

“Fucker.” Benji accuses. He twists on his ass, peering over his shoulder into the close-knit interlocking of trees. At the shadowed edge of his terror, in the darkness he tries not to think about, stands a figure. Materializing it — well. Like a shadow. How funny.

 And isn’t it strange, isn’t it awful, that such an imposing cut of a man strikes not a single fucking chord of fear in him? Rather, the lingering dread of the forest washes away. The smoke rises in a straight plume once more, and it just slightly obscures Xavier’s face as he rounds the fire and sits opposite.

“Coulda killed you.” Benji continues. The other man busies himself peeling off his gloves, his helmet, the dark hood covering his face. 

“Nah.” Xavier sticks his tongue out and touches two pale fingers to it, makes such a cutely contrite face as he plucks lint off that Benji finds himself grinning. He watches the American throw the balaclava to the side, and it skitters across the dirt to disappear at the edge of their orange-glow sanctuary.

“Ugh. I hate this shit. So cheap. Falls apart on the second wash.”

“Lyin’ liar.” Benji deadpans. “Smell you lot constantly. No washin’ happening over there, I’ll tell y’that much.”

“Fuck you.” Xavier chirps. He scrubs a hand through his already messy hair, makes it even more tantalizing. “I’m sure you’re not getting regular showers out here either. Playing Boy Scout.”

Benji pretends that the hint of fond amusement is triple its strength, because it warms him more than the fire. Xavier’s long legs bend. He rests his chin on his knees, tilts his head slightly as he regards Benji. The consistency of that stare makes heat rise to his cheeks. 

Benji raises two fingers in the air. “On my honor, or whatever.”

“It’s three.” Xavier points out, raising a massive hand to demonstrate. “Pretty sure two is for the girls.”

He corrects it with a nod, a suggestive whistle. “Ooh. Thanks, mate. Wouldn’t know know about that, personally.”

Xavier blinks at him. A gorgeous wash of color, not from the cold of the air surrounding them or the crackling fire, touches over his cheeks. He barks out a fantastic laugh that beckons Benji to join in with a huff of his own.

“Alright. That one was pretty good.”

“I know.” Benji’s cheeks already hurt from smiling. “Thanks.”

The conversation lapses once they’ve done their strange ritualistic check in. They ask things. Rarely do they ask the questions that beg to be put forth, and this time is no different. Benji asks about a tattoo on his wrist when he wants to ask: are you eating all right, are your friends all still alive, have you got any new traumas? 

Xavier asks if he’s keeping up with his hair, because it looks longer. Instead of asking: do you think you can keep doing this for much longer, when do you think this shit will ever stop? Will it? 

Will it? 

Eventually, Xavier’s growling stomach drives a wedge in their chatter. Benji snorts and retrieves the hotplate from his pack, the dehydrated meal, and the main course of one of his meals: a near-expired can of mixed vegetables.

“Oh, fuck.” Xavier groans in such a way that he has to ignore it. He puts a hand on his loud stomach. “You’re such a jack of all trades, man. What are they going to do without their chef? Their medic?”

“I’m only out here for the next —” Benji checks his watch, flicking the sleeve back to note the hands. “Two hours.”

Because you told me to be here, because we’re both in the area, because I want to see you, because we only ever get —

Xavier huffs, blowing a red-gold strand of hair from his forehead. “Two hours.”

Benji ignores whatever thing laces the end of that complaint. He can’t think about it like he can’t think about the groan Xavier had let out at the sight of food. It feels too real. Too personal. Too intimate. It makes him wonder, maybe, that he isn’t the only one who wishes for more time.

“S’enough to catch up, play cards.” He shakes the can, grimaces at the wet sloshing of its contents. “Eat a three course meal.”

Xavier bats his eyes, then shuffles around the curve of the fire. Puts himself closer to Benji, their crossed knees bumping. “That’s a cute nickname for me.” 

“Awful.” Benji accuses as he cracks the can with his pocket knife, sets it up to warm at the fire. From his pack he retrieves his canteen and a plastic bag. 

“Dude. If that’s weed —”

“It’s spices —”

“Oh, man. Benji. If that was weed I was going to fucking—” Xavier makes an obscene gesture, tongue tucked in his mouth, an eyebrow quirked. “You’re already like, my favorite British guy other than that one old guy from Taken.”

“He’s Irish, mate. Fuckin’ hell.”

“S’the same thing, almost?” 

Benji regards him impassively, eyes unblinking. “Xavier. You ever our side, you cannot say that shit.”

Xavier falls back to his elbows, his legs kicking perilously close to the fire as he laughlaughlaughs. Benji loves the fucking sound. He’s growing used to hearing it, although it’s only occasionally. Every so often sort of noise. He wants it to be a regular one.

“Holy shit. Benji, you should have seen the look — oh my God. Oh Jesus. Your face!”

Benji kicks at him half-heartedly, turning to focus on the food so the grin he sports is half as visible. 

*

They eat and chat. Then they retreat into Benji’s tent. It’s barely big enough for him, so they’ve got to cram together. Got to, of course. No other way around it. Xavier could leave, be back where he needs to be on time. But instead they fit piece by piece, limbs and arms and torsos. Wrap together, shove and knee and prod, until they find something comfortable. There’s not enough room to play cards. Not enough room to do much but face each other, chat more. Benji keeps the arm not tucked under his head on Xavier’s waist — because his hand fits there nicely, but also because he needs to see his watch. 

Because they talk. Because they can pass hours like they’re minutes. 

“Oh, she’s posh.” Benji’s laughing, trying to keep his voice down as much as possible. They’re playing a dangerous game already; his volume doesn’t need to add to the peril. “Won’t drink water plain, hates the taste.”

“You have bad water over there?”

“Naw. S’good, actually. Anyway, she, like — she’ll put frozen fruit in, yeah? Makes this whole concoction, says it tastes better.”

“I always forget to drink water.” Xavier admits. “She sounds smart.”

Benji snorts. “Yeah, she is. Smarter than me anyway. Smarter than the whole lot of us just by default. She didn’t join up.” 

Xavier squirms a little in place because Benji has tilted with the force of his laughter. The movement brings there. Bodies together again, Xavier’s hip more under his palm, their legs tangled together. It feels intimate. Their heads rest on their arms, on the cold ground; it feels like pillow talk, anyway. 

“You ever been camping?” 

Xavier switches topics like that naturally. Like he knows when something is hedging too morose for Benji to linger on. Like he can sense it, place guiding hand on his shoulder, steer him somewhere nicer. Benji wishes they were somewhere nicer. He wishes they were in his bed, actually. He shuts his eyes and imagines it. When they blink open, though, they’re still out in the middle of nowhere, Montana. At least — he thinks they haven’t crossed borders, anyway. Might be nowhere, Saskatchewan. He’d like that. Never been to Canada. Never been camping.

Benji tells him as much. Then keeps going, and tells him about that teenage trip to the nature reserve. How scared he’d been, how embarrassed.

“I think camping would be fun with you.” Xavier’s big palm brushes over his side. They’d both taken their vests off. Their weapons rest in the corner of the tent, shoved far enough away they don’t dig into any soft places. 

“Yeah? You don’t seem the type.”

“I like the water better.” Xavier says with a gleam to his eye. Like it’s the sun off the surface of the water right there, reflecting through a memory. Benji smiles a bit. It should frighten him just like the forest: how easy it to imagine Xavier in nicer, softer, prettier places. On the water with salt and spray and wind in his hair. 

In Benji’s bed, maybe. Even though it lacks a frame. 

His eyes lid, smile slipping. “If I fall asleep, will y’wake me up?”

“You have, what —?”

“Hour.” Benji hums. Most of the word trails off in a sigh.

“Sure.” And then, quieter: “I’ll just…keep watch.”

One of his eyes cracks open. He shoots Xavier a narrowed, knowing look of smug satisfaction. “Freak. You gonna watch me sleep?” 

“Yeah. You’re so pretty, Benji.”

Benji’s eyebrows climb his forehead. Xavier presses his lips together immediately. 

The words had escaped on their own, it seems. Immediate — manipulation or honesty, Benji’s not sure. He doesn’t care either. He watches big green eyes get bigger, blow wider in their panic. Round and wet. Benji thinks of spring rain, stark emerald leaves against a washed grey sky. He loves that contrast. It suits Xavier well, too. Thee crown of his hair in the low light still saturated, lovely; green eyes against the dark tarp behind him, over his shoulder. Benji brushes a hand over it, fingers tracing muscle that shivers under the touch. 

He doesn’t feel like he can sleep, anymore.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He murmurs. He traces the defined curve of muscle beneath Xavier’s black t-shirt, fingers slowing as they move from fabric to skin. His collarbone is sharp and stark; Benji traces that first, dips down to the hollow of his bobbing throat, moves upwards over his jaw. “Takes one, I suppose?”

Xavier blushes, then. And he really won’t sleep — he won’t do anything but push Xavier onto his back. Shove, more like. He shoves and Xavier goes. He makes a soft noise, hands landing on Benji’s lower back as he settles overtop him. 

“We don’t have time for this.”

Xavier huffs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he shakes his head. “I would be, like, so quick.”

“Love that you’re freely admitting that.”

“You’re kidding. No shame here. You are —” Xavier’s touch coasts up the back of his neck, fingers burying into his hair. Benji makes a noise of his own, something vulnerable and surprised, when it tightens. “Okay. Um. Tell me now if you’re serious about time. Because I’ll roll over and leave you alone. But —”

“Roll over.” 

Xavier swallows hard. He rolls over, shifting onto his other side. It’s warm from where they’ve been touching. Benji tucks himself against that broad back, face burying between his shoulder blades. 

“How quick?”

“Oh, fuck.” Xavier’s hips push backwards. It’s so fast Benji knows it’s reflex; uncontrollable. “That depends.” 

“On?”

Xavier draws in a long, slow breath. It wheezes out of him a little shaky, and his hands come up to cover Benji’s where they rest on his slim waist. In a delicate, submissive voice he says: “On, um, whose hand it is?” 

“Yours. I want to watch.” 

Xavier moans then. There’s a rustle in the bushes not far from their clearing that makes them both pause and laugh. The sound had spooked something out there. Something, Benji thinks, that sounded blessedly small. And yet he feels safe here — it wouldn’t have mattered if the thing stomped away. Not when Xavier’s belt clanks as he undoes it, not when the whole mass of his warm body tucked to Benji’s chest, quivers and twitches. 

“This all you want to take me camping for?” He rubs his face into scratchy black jersey-knit fabric. Inhales the scent of pine, dry leaves, cool mountain air, Xavier. “Charming little bastard.”

Xavier’s heavy breathing hitches; either on a laugh, or the fact that Benji has guided his hand, with fingers encircling his wrist, down the open zipped of his pants. He can feel the exact moment Xavier touches himself. The taut pause of his body, heart set to a racing pattern. Benji tucks his nose against the pulse in his neck, tongue darting out to swipe salty skin.

“Could roast marshmallows.” 

“Already cooked for you, dickhead.” Benji teases, keeping his voice soft and low. He cups Xavier’s elbow, chasing a hand up and down his forearm as it moves. He’s thinking of that array of tattoos; stark black against pale skin, how freckles peek through the blank spots in cute little constellations. 

“S-Stargaze?” Xavier gasps. The pace increases. His head falls back, skull knocking almost painfully against Benji’s forehead.

Something in his chest jumps at that: the simple, sweet offer to lay on their backs together, look up at the cosmos. It feels so normal. Peaceful. He thinks about the hole in his roof, the one he’s yet to patch. He can’t see the Milky Way from Liverpool, but wonders if something plucked the tent away if they’d be left under that wash of starlight and distant celestial bodies. 

Benji shuffles closer, wedging a knee between Xavier’s thighs. He presses upwards until he knows Xavier gets that good, mean little bit of pressure. And he knows it’s good because he pushes back, ass against where Benji himself is rapidly growing hard.  

Xavier whines properly, then. His hand pauses. Benji’s eyes lock to the tendon in his arm, how the whole limb shakes with effort. 

“Ooh.” He coos, briefly setting his teeth in a nip to Xavier’s shoulder through his shirt. “Interesting. M’taking notes on that.”

Xavier laughs again, although it’s far pitchier and shot-through with desperate, aching arousal than any of the laughs he’s gathered. Pretty. Breathy. 

“Yeah? Is that what that is — pen in your pocket?”

Benji bites down. Harder this time. He punctuates the trap of flesh beneath his teeth with a punch of his hips into Xavier’s plush ass. It pushes him forward with a gasp, a little jolt of his body across the small space of the tent. 

“Keep wankin’.” 

Xavier starts up again, his hand moving faster and moans coming quicker, with more desperation. “Do me a favor? Don’t say wanking.” 

“Right, okay.” Benji snorts and adjusts to put his lips to Xavier’s ear. His voice lowers without much of his own input. “Keep touching yourself. Don’t stop, Xavier. Get yourself off, huh? What a gorgeous fuckin’ boy you are. Go on.”

“Oh —”

Benji squeezes Xavier's hip, his side. His hand roams upwards, darts a path between firm pectorals. His fingers coast only briefly to his throat, the lovely line of a pale collarbone, before two touch to a soft, spit-wet bottom lip. A shiver runs through Xavier when it drops, goes slack, opens; when he welcomes the digits in with tongue, with soft suction, Benji offers a filthy moan.

Using that leverage, Benji tilts his sharp chin to the side. He wants to watch. See how as Xavier’s eyes squeeze shut and his cheeks flush with color. Wants to watch it wash over him, shake him. He keeps his other hand firm to Xavier’s waist, presses them together and bites his own lip at the instinctive nudges of Xavier’s hips backwards. 

He’s noisy. Louder still when he cums, teeth briefly clamping onto Benji’s fingers where they’re pressing down on his tongue. He strokes his thumb over Xavier’s jaw as he rides it out, still moving and rolling himself back. The friction isn’t enough, but it’s good. So good Benji can’t help but once again imagine them on the floor, in his bed.

He’d get out the nice sheets. He’d cook again. And that scares him. That terrifies him. More than the forest, more than getting lost, more than being alone. 

But he holds Xavier through the aftershocks, murmuring softly and patting his hair away from his temple. It scares him, how easily the tenderness fits into them. Into this —  it’s not a tender life, and it’s only inevitable that it rips apart this, too. Benji doesn’t want to be caught cleaved in two when it happens.

So, when it’s time for him to go, he doesn’t wake Xavier. He lingers, sure. Watches him sleep. A fist tucked under his chin, other long arm splayed out — it’s the most room he’ll have without Benji in the tent, and yet he still looks much too large. 

Much too pretty. Too there, too real. 

Benji’s quiet as he sets about getting ready to trudge back. The sun will be up, so he won’t worry about the forest, the darkness, the owl calls distorting into something nasty. He thinks about the beach as he walks. He thinks about little bits of frozen blueberry floating in seltzer water, tinting the bubbles lilac. He thinks about camping. He thinks about his mattress on the ground.

Xavier’s warmth lingers all over him. Enough. It has to be enough, for now.

*

When Xavier arrives back to basecamp, Lark’s shocked to find him looking more weary than he’d left. That’s not typical for his rendezvous asides. Usually, he's floating about a foot off the ground and concussion-loopy, grinning. Not now: he settles silent into the spot next to Lark, accepts a tray of unseasoned mush slid his way. 

“He doin’ okay?” Lark asks, focus darting to either side to ensure they have no eavesdroppers. 

Xavier’s gaze lifts for just a moment, but it feels as though it drags. He nods, then pauses, then shrugs with heavy weighted shoulders. He’s got dark, sleepless smudges underneath; he’s admitted before, in a gross display of affectionate longing, that sometimes all they did was talk and sleep. Sleep sleep. 

Xavier’s eyes well up as they stare at one another. There’s no apology necessary. Lark doesn’t need one. He doesn’t expect it of Xavier, either. He doesn’t expect a lot of things from Xavier, but what he admits next is not one of those things. 

“How do you get over…I mean. Every time. Every fucking time it’s like that, you know? What if this is it?” Xavier asks. He tilts his head for privacy, keeps his rough, sad voice low. “What if he’s — and what if that’s all I get — and I never —?”  

Lark swallows, too. He can’t reach out and hug Xavier; not with dozens of cold, prying eyes around them. So he nudges their boots together beneath the table, trying to communicate the feeling of his arms around Xavier’s shoulders with eyes alone. 

“I don’t think there’s any getting over it?” Lark admits just as quietly. After a moment, he sighs. “And I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“I know.”

It’s the corporal who responds. He watches as Xavier sits up a bit straighter with a purposeful, steadying breath. He pushes the tray away. Something flicks off behind his eyes. That makes Lark want to cry more than the conversation, than Xavier’s constant jumping into danger for one, two, three unguaranteed hours.

[tommybaholland]

building a relationship with him

featuring: natsuo todoroki

here’s something that i’ve wanted to write and post for literally forever. it’s based off of a single line of natsuo’s dialogue out of like, the three that he has in season five. anyway, it got me thinking about what it would be like to form an intimate relationship with him. i just think he seems like he’s rather fun and charming but that’s just a front and he’s actually very guarded and somewhat loses his sense of self when it comes to his other relationships. anyway, there will be a second part as i’m not entirely sure where it’s going and don’t want to finish it here without rushing. hope you enjoy! 

he never wanted to feel like he was going to carry around a burden for the rest of his life. for a while, he didn’t even compartmentalize that he had been neglected. he figured that only toya and shoto received the brunt of punishment which both produced long-term consequences. however, no matter how much brighter the future seemed, he had his own qualms to hold onto. 

he would never forgive his father. 

“hey, todoroki. thanks for letting me borrow your notes. you’re a lifesaver.”

“there’s no need to say that. it’s my pleasure really,” he replied modestly as he retrieved the notebook from your hands. 

“no, seriously. i could barely read what i had written. yours are so organized,” you complimented. 

“i can...show you how i set them up if you want,” he offered, hesitant at what your response would be.

“i’d like that. wanna come to my place?” 

and that’s where your relationship began. since that day, he’d come over everyday after class to hang out and study with you. he found you to be very easygoing and welcoming, your family being just as lovely as you are to him. it was nice to be in an environment that wasn’t full of dysfunction and tension. 

in fact, he had urged you to use his first name, not wanting to hear his tainted family name from your mouth. he wanted to protect any close relationships from his family history, or rather, turmoil. 

also, it was just hard for him to talk casually about it. the urge to say that his father was abusive and neglectful to the entire family, driving his mother to madness and regrettable actions. to say that he has three other siblings instead of just two, that one was killed by their father. to say that his family is broken and has never been what one would call ‘normal.’ 

how could he say all of that to you? 

nevertheless, he’s found his ways to cope and deflect. he tries to continue his life as if nothing is awry and that he is a typical college student trying to make the most of his life and have fun. he had his charm and kindness, he figured that was all he really needed to survive. 

he sprinkles himself in your conversations, mentioning fuyumi and shoto, certain things about his mom, or that his dad works a lot; all the vague yet harmless information. you seemed satisfied enough with that yet he wished he didn’t have to hide, that he could take you home to his family. 

yet he hoped that you would never find out who he really is. unfortunately for him, he’s been in love with you for a while now. but he doesn’t think he can have you if he has to keep playing pretend and that’s the only option if he wants a chance with you. 

he’d rather live in a delusion with you than in reality without you. 

 “hey, what’s up?”

“hey. i missed you tonight.”

“yeah,” he sighs as he nears the stairs leading up to his apartment. “sorry our plans had to be canceled.”

“oh, no! don’t worry about it. i know how demanding those family functions can be,” you replied. 

 “but i’m free tomorrow. we could go see a movie or something?” he offers. 

“that sounds good,” you replied. “are you okay? you sound a little upset.” 

he paused, biting his lower lip hard as he thought about what to tell you. he figured if shoto’s friends were unwillingly going to find out their entire family history, maybe it was time to let you in too. he just needed a little longer to get his story straight. 

“i’ll tell you tomorrOHHHH AHHH--”

“natsu? are, are you there? natsu?!”

the next thing he knew, he was in his father’s arms as endeavor, the number one hero, was apologizing to him once more. 

“get off me!” he yelled, pushing endeavor away. “i don’t care how many times you apologize, i can never forgive you!”

“i do not want to be forgiven,” replied the hell fire hero. “i know i will never be forgiven and for that, i want to atone. i’ll start by building a new house for your mother, where you all can live without me.”

natsuo didn’t know how to respond, not expecting this level of vulnerability while in public. 

he stood by his brother and friends while the villain, ending, was completely detained by the police. 

“natsu?”

his ears perked up as he heard his name from across the street. he looked over to see you, hesitantly walking into the street. 

“y/n?” he whispered as his legs grew a mind of their own, carrying him over to you. 

“natsu, are you okay?” you asked once you met him in the middle. 

“i’m fine. what are you doing here?”

“i was on my way to your place to make sure you were okay,” you explained. 

“so wait, did you see…? what did you see?” he asked frantically. 

“those kids saved you and endeavor was ... .hugging you?” you recanted, finding your statement confusing as you say it out loud. 

natsuo couldn’t speak. he didn’t know what to say. he just kept looking down, waiting for you to put it together. 

“natsu, is endeavor...is he your father?”

he looked up at you finally before nodding slowly, his eyes filling up with tears. it was rare for him to cry, at least, in the past decade. 

you reached out to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. he leaned into your touch until his body was against yours with your arms wrapped around him in a comforting hug.

“it’s okay. we don’t have to talk about it now,” you consoled. “come on. let’s go to mine and i’ll make you some tea.” 

he could count on one hand how many people have seen him as he is now. you were now on that list and he didn’t know whether to feel relieve or scared out of his mind.

for some reason, it was a little bit of both.

winning on wild card night... the inbox is hungry for requests...

much love and prosperity to the patrons for supporting this blog:

Syd || ruboo || Jenée Raiford || helena

for exclusive nsfw writing and extras, join us on Patreon!

buy the blog a coffee for a special shoutout!

[kazemitsuyuri]

Honesty

summary: your little karaoke session on your road trip caused some bewilderment, but it only helped you and bakugou come closer together

pairing: bakugou × gn! reader

genre: extreme fluff at your service 🤩💕

warning: if you read anything that has bakugou in it, brace yourself for profanities

ft. 🎶"traitor" by olivia rodrigo

a/n: i lost all ability to form words, my brain cells are fleeing out thru my tears (ya girl rlly be writing fluff while going thru heartbreaks) hope you all enjoy this adorable little piece i put together at 3am 🥺 so if there are any mistakes please forgive me and feel free to give me a heads up 💕 thank you

ah yes a road trip with the infamous bakusquad

you happened to be the beloved partner of the angry blonde man behind the wheel for your whole trip

it wasn't a long one, but enough for you all to let out some stress

bakugou was complaining when denki suggested it at first, something like "why the fuck should i drive a bunch of dimwits around town?"

but the moment you were persuaded by them to join, he (in his very tsundere way) agreed to drive

you were one of the reason he changed in many ways, he became more aware of his emotions, softer (at least only around you), and less angry all the time

your trip started in the evening when the sunlight won't bother your eyes, only the tender shade of red and orange from the sunset flashing on your skin

"i call shotgun," sero screamed and you all were dashing forward to bakugo's borrowed car

it was his mom's :D i think you can picture the angry face he had when his mom allowed him to borrow it but kept nagging him about driving rules and such while he has already mastered them

you ran, using your quirk to speed yourself up, you came first and sat triumphantly on the passenger seat

the others whined saying it wasn't fair, while you only laughed it off

bakugou slowly sat in the driver's seat and plunged into the keyhole

"you know," he scowled at you, "you didn't have to run that hard. i would just kick them to the back if you wanted."

with the offended "hey"s coming from the back, you turned to face him and grinned,

"i wanted to win fair and square."

in his list of importance, winning was a factor high up in his top 5 priorities (below you and his friends ofc)

especially when it was a fair fight, winning just tasted so sweet to him, he loved it

so when he heard that coming from you, he felt like falling in love with you all over again

the trip began with everyone singing along to the songs you picked

you were always so comfortable around them, they made you feel at ease and fearless

so you have never had a problem playing your favorite songs without the fear of being judged for your taste in music

it was as if every song you chose was their favorite song

all your voices together sounded far from perfect tbh but you were having the time of your lives

bakugou was having a good time as well, as mina caught him smiling (it was more like a smirk because he's trying so hard to hide it) and she pointed it out, resulting in a loud denial

the next song that came on was traitor - olivia rodrigo

"oh yeah! olivia rodrigoooo, denki yelled out enthusiastically

before bakugo could start his complaint of how he didn't understand why she got so famous, you were singing (more like screaming your fucking lungs out) to the song

you were acting out the lyrics, clutching your shirt, pretending to cry and overexaggerate every word, leaning and pointing at bakugou

the poor guy sat there wide eyed and confusion as you continued singing

you were acting as if your heart was smashed into pieces, singing till your heart's content

the two of you had a healthy and happy relationship, you both have been going extremely strong and often saw a long-lasting future with each other

so of course you were messing around

plus, this song is crazy good

the bakusquad took it as a way to tease bakugo

"damn bro, y/n is going OFF. did you forget to reply to a text or something yesterday?" kirishima grinned

"or maybe did you put one slice of cheese instead of two in y/n's sandwich this morning?" sero joined the fun

while you were there, screaming out "YOU BETRAYED MEEE", with mina and denki singing the backing vocals

bakugo scoffed at them while his eyes were still on the road, sometimes glancing at you as you kept singing the song so loud

the song finished with giggles and laughter from all of you but bakugou

it wasn't supposed to bug him that much

he was silently thinking back on the week to see if he did something wrong to you that had you let your frustrations out in the song

you had the hint of something off with him, but when you asked him, he only denied

so you kept partying with the squad

you knew best not to ask him to tell you something he didn't wish to sound out, it was something you learned from your relationship: trust and respect for each other's decisions

it was your patience with him that he fell for in the first place, after all

hours flew by and your energy was nowhere near dying out with all the dopamine from laughing, joking, and singing

although, your throats were pretty parched from all the singing (screaming) so you all told each other stories instead, happy sounds coming out here and there from time to time

it was pretty late out, a little past midnight

denki had been asking for a bathroom break for 20 minutes, with bakugo nagging him for not telling him earlier when they went past the gas station

whereas the rest of you kept teasing him, making him listen to water sounds to annoy him to the very edge

finally, after another 10 minutes, you stopped at a gas station

denki ran so fast to the bathroom that you all laughed out loud

the others went and looked for some gas station food and snacks

you stayed with your boyfriend as he refilled the gas

he was grumpy, you could tell it, so you joked around

"why the long face, babe? did my singing annoy you that much?"

"actually, yes," he replied to your surprise

you pretended to grip your heart in pain while faking to be sad, "too straightforward that it hurts."

once again he caught you by surprise with his reply

"wait, shit, i didn't mean that. i didn't hurt your feelings again did i?" he took it so seriously you stood there speechless like🧍

"what do you mean again? babe, you've never hurt my feelings since we've been together."

"so was it back when we first met? shit, i already told you it was me being a dick, right?"

true, he was mean to you at first but that was before the ✨character development✨, and you have forgotten about it a long long time ago

"babe, slow down, i don't understand. what's wrong???" you were confused with him being so apologetic

he didn't tell you at first, but knowing how patience and persistent you were, he caved in and confessed,

"you were singing your fucking heart out to that olivia rodrigo song, so i thought maybe i did some wrong shit that upset you."

you weren't supposed to laugh but you did

he was being so serious about something like this that you couldn't help but let out a laugh

and he was staring at your laughing posture like "wtf is going on?"

you stopped and hugged him, explaining to him that you just enjoyed singing along to the song and were joking around

what did that lead to, you ask? a pouty, sulking bakugou

it was the cutest thing you saw today

you weren't able to see this side of him often so you wanted to take your phone out and snap a picture soooo bad

but you only consulted him and gently patted his back

"you know i would never hide any of my frustrations from you, right?" you smiled and gave him a peck on his cheek, "i'll even complain to you about everything in the world, as long as you don't find me annoying."

there was something about you that he loved with his entire heart

you never called him annoying or dramatic (even if he was just a little bit), you gave him a safe place to share his secrets

you were his sweet soft spot; you always knew how and when to comfort him

"thanks, y/n," he gave you his little smile that only you could see

he looked into your eyes ever so sweetly, one hand still holding on the fuel pump (the nozzle i think that's what it's called???), the other snaking around your waist pulling you close to him

he gave you a gentle kiss on your lips, and you two stayed like that for a good minute

the others, unbeknownst to you, were observing from afar, smiling to themselves, happy to see how happy you make each other, before cutting in with a tease

"bakubro, better stop pumping fuel or it'll spill!" kirishima was first to tease him, before he received a loud yell from bakugo

the rest of the trip was a mix of chaos and quite giggles

at the near end of your trip, the squad fell asleep (you guys were enthusiastic for fucking hours, ofc you were tired)

you tried to keep your eyelids open and accompany bakugou who was of course awake

his hand stroked your head lightly, then it soon slipped down to your thighs (😳)

the two of you spoke to each other in whispers, you'd hold in your laugh when you saw his embarrassed reaction when you teased him about the singing incident earlier

after all that's happened, you both learnt to have honesty as a key role in your relationship <3

i mean, even at your wedding in the future, you mentioned your little incident and cherished that memory

it made you two closer than ever

[vikkirosko]

Hello I hope you're doing well. I was wondering, how would Kyle react to a 1 inch person (a borrower)?

💚 Kyle Broflovski x Reader headcanons Borrower ✡

Kyle has always been quite skeptical about all kinds of mysticism. He didn't believe in dwarves until he saw them in person and talked to them. When a piece of cookies that his mom brought him disappeared from his table, he was surprised. After that, he began to notice the loss of some small things that he would not have paid attention to before

Kyle did not believe that the loss of his belongings was due to his forgetfulness. He remembered exactly where he put this or that thing. He could not understand the reason for the disappearance of things until one day he dozed off with his head on the table. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was someone's silhouette. He opened his eyes and saw you. You looked at him with interest, standing on his desk, but as soon as you noticed that he woke up, you ran away. Kyle didn't even have time to do anything

Ever since that day, Kyle has been trying to see you again. He wanted to know more about the little creature that was stealing his stuff. He often pretended to be asleep, but he was actually watching you. You never took too much. You could take a small piece of something, but you never stole the whole thing. Quite often you were in no hurry to leave his room, instead you watched him, but never came close so as not to disturb him

One of those nights, Kyle couldn't pretend anymore, but when you just wanted to run away, he hurried to assure you that he wasn't going to hurt you and just wanted to talk. You were tense, but you stayed. Kyle asked you questions about you, about why you were taking his stuff. You answered him honestly, seeing no point in lying, but you were forced to leave, because your family was waiting for you. You started talking a lot when you came to his room. You told him about your life and about your parents, and he told you about how he lives

You are used to hiding from people because many people would not be happy with such a neighborhood, but Kyle took you quite positively. He didn't consider you a pest or a parasite. He didn't mind talking to you. Thanks to him, you were able to go out during the day. He even took you to school, even though you hid in his jacket pocket all the time, looking out only occasionally so that others wouldn't notice you. He became your first friend and even despite your differences you were still able to find a common language