#they need more angry letters that i can press really really hard

[trenchcroats]

Litterally so easy to give up on crochet wtf it this bullshit I fucking hate granny squares kill me now fucking hell

[hey-august]

To be fair, Buggy also seems like someone who’d be into his partner sweating and squirming. If you’re unsanitary he’s even more so.

Really gives me vibes of that one alleged Napoleon letter to his wife. He’s been away for a few days and you’re not exactly worried until you get an urgent letter. Your stomach sinks when you open the envelope and almost cut your finger with the letter opener, only for the „urgent“ message to turn out to be:

„Back tomorrow. Will bring treasure. DON’T. SHOWER.

Ps: I got the cheese you wanted.“

Make all the nose jokes you want but i bet that man just loved to bury his face in his partners neck and inhaaaaaaaale slowly and deeply. Probably more putoff by an overdose of perfume on his partners than a little reek.

he likes how you smell, it's that simple.

the sleepy way you smell in the morning, just after waking up, is a little different than when you're curled up together and dozing off.

he likes the scents of the sun and sea on your skin. buggy's always loved the smell of the ocean, but you make it better. the way the sun and saltwater cling to your body after a day of soaking in both is different than when you're hard at work on a warm day, working up a sheen of sweat.

you even smell different when you're angry. you still smell like yourself, but a little detached, a little removed. sometimes it's enough for buggy to give up the fight and apologize for whatever he did or didn't do, just so he can hug you from behind and rest his head on your shoulder.

one of buggy's favorite scents is just before you bathe. if he manages to catch you before you get started, he wants - needs - to get a big whiff. he might wrap you up in an embrace and shove his face in your neck and huff.

or he'll do your personal favorite. he'll clasp your face in his hands, your cheeks squishing as you try to pull away, and he'll press his lips and nose against the crown of your head and breaaaathe deep. he's practically inhaling your thoughts.

after filling himself with you, buggy will loudly proclaim, "you smell!" and release you to go wash off.

what he means to say is that you smell good. you smell comforting. you smell like home. he likes it.

[myseungsunglove]

The love we share | Hjs

Pairing: Han Jisung x reader

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 660

𖠫Summary: The many ways you and Jisung express love for each other is something special. It’s something you never knew you needed and are endlessly thankful you have.

✎WIP✎: No particular thing planned right now. Send in asks or requests and we can see if it sparks any thoughts. No promises, but it might get me going!

◠ ◡ ◠᭚ιαᵕ̈

「© July 8, 2023 by mysweethannie」

You aren’t the type of person to say the words I love you often. You reserve those three words for meaningful situations. You want those eight letters to leave an impression when you utter them, so you kept them locked away in a vault like the precious treasure they are because for whatever reason you feel your resources are limited and you have to use them wisely so as to have enough to give to those most important to you.

Han Jisung is the complete opposite and seems to have an endless warehouse of I love yous to give. What confuses you the most about that is no matter how many times he says those three words, you know and feel just how much he means them. They aren’t just eight letters thrown around haphazardly. Each moment they are used is specifically picked and important. It just so happens that Han finds most moments rather important, no matter how small or insignificant they might feel to someone else.

“I love you so much,” he mumbles softly against your temple, pressing a firm kiss there as you brush your teeth each morning.

“I love you immensely,” he boasts confidently when you awaken sleepily from an afternoon nap wrapped in his arms.

“I love you endlessly,” he whispers gently as he makes love to you on a rainy summer night.

“I love you completely,” he assures you when you express your doubts about yourself on hard days.

“I love you so much,” he reminds you, even though you’ve been arguing.

“I really love you,” he tells you when you make him laugh so hard he just might cry.

“I love you the most,” he responds when you do finally utter those three words to him one night when you think he is fast asleep.

“I love you the most in the whole world,” he confidently declares when getting down on one knee and asking you to be his forever.

“I completely, madly love you,” he breathes against your lips, capturing your lips with a passionate and reverent kiss.

It’s not hard to understand and believe that Han Jisung loves you with everything he has. While you may not say those words as often, you show him just how deeply you love him with your actions.

I love you so much shows when you bring him dinner in the studio when he has been working tirelessly on a new album.

I love you immensely shows when you pack his bags for him when he is preparing to go on tour.

I love you endlessly shows when you cling to him in the night like you never want to let go, your bodies joined together in love.

I love you completely shows when you are there for Jisung during his hardest and most anxious times, holding him close and telling him all the ways he makes you whole and is enough just the way he is.

I love you so much shows when you resolve to not go to sleep angry but are determined to understand each other in your hardest times.

I really love you shows when you can’t stop laughing at Hannie’s completely ridiculous self, his joy bringing you more happiness than you could ever possibly imagine or understand.

I love you the most shows when you surprise him on tour when he is feeling the most exhausted and really needs you by his side.

I love you the most in the world shows when you put Han’s precious face between your hands and tell him “yes, I’ll spend the rest of my life with you. Loving you.”

I completely, madly love you shows when you tell him you’re pregnant with your first child and you can’t stop crying because of how excited you are to finally get to see him be a dad.

It’s not hard for Jisung to understand and believe that you love him with everything you have. They way you love each other is exactly what you never knew you needed so desperately.

[the-s1lly-corner]

A, B, D, G, H, K, and M for Slenderman pls 😍

Fluff Alphabet w/ Slenderman!

but with these letters :3!

A (Attraction)-

I'm still hooked on the idea that Slenderman is inherently curious, especially when it comes to humans. Sure he may find a lot of them a nuisance, but he can't help but look over them. Because of this I don't think Slenderman would have much of a type. Just don't be belligerent and really you're all set. Though... he has a soft spot for those who carry respect for nature, and have an interest in the supernatural. He doesn't get many people to talk about.. demon stuff with, you know- even if he ain't much of a talker it's nice to have a conversation or two on something that he can relate to/enjoy

B (Bonding)-

Usually bonding activities are domestic stuff; cleaning, reading together, normal everyday stuff. Which is a little funny considering who we're talking about. Slenderman doesn't have many hobbies, so he's more than willing to join in on whatever you have planned so long as it doesn't compromise his existence or home.

D (Dates)-

While I do HC that Slenderman can, if desired, make a sort of "human skin" disguise in my AU I feel he wouldn't be good at it thanks to. well. not really using it. Whole "there are some demons that can pretend to be people" thing, yk? That said, because of this dates are mostly confined to his woods

which is

fine, if that is something youre into. technology at his place is limited, due to his natural interferences with them. if you still have your own place, though, sometimes he'll come over. not much different, though

G (Gift giving)-

Loves collecting various things; stones, flowers, sometimes he presses plants into stuff to preserve them, makes jewelry sometimes with rocks he finds! mentioned somewhere that he refuses to gift you anything from a victim's corpse, thats a hard fat no, unless its something you need and you live with him 100% of the time (ex. meds, or something else) then that's the only time he bends the boundary

H (Harsh)-

speaking of boundaries, he really really REALLY doesnt like eating in front of other people since he literally. you know. dont ask, dont try to convince him, dont intrude, it will end up ugly

while hes not

unhinged, he can get angry; not that he would hurt you but rather he would isolate himself from you or even push you away out of the woods

very firm boundary

also no posting him, that ones kind of a given

tends to soften up after cooling down, though, especially if you're mortal. he's painfully aware that the time he has with you is limited and he'd much rather not waste it. apologizes for any mean behavior, but stays firm on his boundary

K (Kisses)-

very rarely does the thing where he rips his face open to reveal his mouth, and he doesnt really use it for kissing. tying back into the whole feeding thing he doesnt want to kiss you with the same thing thats used to consume humans

though, he does appreciate when you kiss him where his mouth would be

likes bumping his 'face' against your lips, forehead, and the backs of your hands

M (Marriage)-

he never really thought about it, but to be fair he didnt think he would ever have a partner at all. obviously, there wouldnt be a traditional ceremony or legally binding thing, but he might make a make shift ring and give it to you. due to slenderman being solitary there wouldnt really be any. wedding guests, and having your friends/family come over may also put him and them in danger

tough situation, really, but it is what it is

if you want him to, he will stage a wedding and set up a place in the woods, though

the proxies are good enough as guests, as are his brothers, right?

[fairly-linked]

Rest (Time x Overworked!Reader)

@trippygalaxy someone very close to you (a certain internet older sibling 😊😊😊) actually requested a Time piece for you a while ago, so congrats-- this one's all yours. Love you Trippy, you're a sweet lil bean 💖💖💖💖)

Tired. Tired, tired, tired. That's only word that's flooded your mind lately.

You're exhausted and everyone can tell. Drama with family at home being written to you in letters so many that even Wind has noticed the postman dropping by at least once every few days. On top of all the constant battles and bickering between the boys, everything has left you both physically and mentally exhausted.

As the sun begins to set, Time orders the boys to set up camp for the night. When you go to help, he calls your name.

"(Y/n). Stay here, sweetheart, I need to talk to you."

You sigh, going through the list of things in your head that you could've done wrong. He sounds stern, but not necessarily angry... You're not sure. You've always had a hard time reading people anyway. As you watch the boys split up, you step closer to the Old Man.

"Yes?"

He sighs, bending down a little to meet your eyes. Slowly, he brushes a bit of your hair out of your face with a gentleness you didn't know he possessed as his one good eye gazes deeply into your own, much like a father would. He sighs again, speaking softly.

"(Y/n), what's going on, darling? You look so tired... What's been going on with all these letters you've been getting? It's unusual."

You sigh, shaking your head.

"It's... family drama, they say they want me home and it's all bullshit..." you grumble while crossing your arms.

Time raises his eyebrows. He was unaware you had such issues at home, and to hear you speak of them in such a disgruntled way is... out of character for you, he thinks. You're such a ray of sunshine to the group that he would have never guessed your home life was rough...

His hand moves to your shoulder.

"...I see. I won't press you further if you don't wish to talk, but please, at least come to me if you're feeling upset. I will do my best to help."

You sigh, nodding.

"Thanks..."

He stares at you for another moment, noticing the bags under your eyes. With this knowledge, he knows you need a bit more than a good night's sleep...

He decides he'll get you to an inn as soon as possible. For tonight, however...

"You're relieved of any duties for tonight. Your only order is to rest."

You look up at him, eyes a bit wide. He smiles a little in return, nodding to answer your unasked question of 'Really?'

You yawn.

"Thank you..."

He nods once again, patting your shoulder as he stands back upright. "Get some rest, (y/n)."

"Um, can I...?"

Your voice catches him off guard. He looks back down at you with his good eye.

"What is it, darling? Speak."

"Um..." You shake your head, a bit nervous about asking. "Could I just... sit with you for a bit? We don't have to talk or anything..."

Time smiles. He's always known you to be a bit shy and quiet; you opened up once you got more comfortable around them all, but you still have your moments. He nods, waving you over to a nearby tree and sitting under it.

You take a seat next to him a bit awkwardly. He senses your nervousness and smiles a bit more, gently pulling you into him. You're a bit surprised at first that he'd taken the initiative to do such a thing-- but you're definitely not complaining. You shift, getting more comfortable against him.

After a few minutes, you're out like a light. The Old Man can't help but chuckle as he strokes your hair.

"Get some rest, (y/n)..."

...And right before you drift off, you could've sworn you felt his lips on your hair.

[airgiodslv]

Stormcage (AO3)

Jeffcest, rated T

Written, recorded, and soundscaped for shubaka

He hears them approach long before they reach him. The planet-wide storm outside the prison facility never ceases, but he’s been here for long enough to learn the nuances of it, the tempo of the rain and timbre of the thunder.

“Why is he blindfolded?”

The speaker has a high treble voice, made thin by fear and pitched too loud in an attempt at bravery.

He tilts his head toward the sound until he feels one of the overhead lights on his face. He rolls his shoulders back and licks his lips. The chains attached to his manacles rattle, restless and unquiet.

“Some of the guards are afraid. They don’t want him to recognize them.”

As if that would save them, if he really wanted to find them. He knows their footsteps, and the echo of their voices when they whisper nervously to each other in the corridor.

That isn’t what holds his attention, however. He knows that voice.

“Take it off, please.”

“As you wish.”

The door to his cell creaks open. Deft, careful hands pick apart the knot behind his head and pull away the lace that covers his eyes. One of those hands lingers behind his ear, a cool finger tracing down the side of his neck in a secret caress.

When he blinks his eyes open and squints into the harsh light, there’s a man with white-blond hair standing over him, wearing a guard’s uniform. It isn’t his. There’s a fleck of dried blood on the jacket cuff.

Unseen by the other visitor, Sunshine raises his hand and licks the sweat from his fingertip. His eyes dance.

Sunshine’s wearing one of his genetic modification skins, which must be why the woman outside the cell hasn’t recognized him. She, as much as anyone, knows what they look like.

“Mrs. S.,” he greets her. “How unexpected. I can’t say it’s a pleasure.”

His voice isn’t that rusty. He sings, sometimes for himself and sometimes to spook the guards. They tend to stay away when the high notes edge too closely towards a scream.

To her credit, she doesn’t back away from him. “You’re not him,” she says, almost to herself.

He’d prefer not to show any interest, but in spite of himself, he is curious. “How is the commander these days?”

She straightens, setting her narrow shoulders. “He’s missing. He went out on a rocket launch, but it’s been months and no one’s heard from him. My husband’s been writing letters here, so I thought perhaps…”

He glances at her hand and raises his eyebrows. “I see you have a new ring.”

She folds her hands together too late to hide the bentwood circle on her finger, which stands in for the smooth gray metal of her wedding ring. “This isn’t him,” she says again, louder this time. “It looks like him, but that isn’t…”

“Your other husband?” he suggests, to see the angry spots of color rise on her cheeks.

He hasn’t forgotten Sunshine, because that’s a lesson that only needs to be learned once. He hadn’t been watching as closely as he might have, though, so there isn’t much warning before Sunshine’s hand tangles in his hair and jerks his head to the side.

He hisses as his nerves light up, scalp tingling. Old habits are hard to break. And he hasn’t been touched in a very long time.

“Prisoner 00008.” Sunshine smirks down at him. “He’s not a clone, but we know there are more like him out there. They’ve appeared together before. Much like your husband and…”

His visitor’s lips press together into a hard line, but she doesn’t take the bait. “I see. Why is he here?”

“Crimes,” Sunshine says lightly. “Terrible, horrible atrocities, I’m sure. His kind have a talent for violence. Not that your husband would ever be capable of such a thing.”

She’s looking at him rather than Sunshine, so he smiles at her. Not the way the commander would, soft and fond. He shows her his teeth.

She shudders, and this time she does take a step back. “I’d like to leave now.”

“Can you see yourself out?” Sunshine holds up the lace blindfold by way of explanation. “I need to secure the prisoner.”

He can’t resist a parting jab. “Give my regards to the commander, if you find him. And to your husband. I hope his experiment is going well.”

Her hand clenches into a fist around the twisted wood of her ring. “We’re the ones who are running an experiment on him.”

“Sure,” he agrees, and sees the flash of doubt in her eyes.

Sunshine waits until she’s out of sight before jerking his head back, clucking his tongue against his teeth. “Is that any way to talk to a lady?”

Sunshine’s fist in his hair sends sparkles of static across his brain. He curls his hands around the chains so his arms can take more of his weight. Sunshine has been holding him halfway onto his knees, unable to sit back on his heels. His thighs burn.

“I assume you’re here to break me out.”

“Now that our witness can confirm your presence here. One thing at a time, though.” Sunshine tugs on his hair playfully. “Why is Ghost writing to you?”

“None of your business.” He smirks, knowing the answer already. “Are you jealous?”

Sunshine twists the hand in his hair, shoving his head forward. He bites his tongue to hold back a groan.

“You don’t seem nearly happy enough to see me,” Sunshine pouts.

He grits his teeth and exhales through his nose. “The last time I saw you, you murdered me.”

“Yes, but I brought you back,” Sunshine reminds him.

Sunshine drags the blindfold across his exposed shoulder and neck. The lace is a maddening tickle on his skin, an itch he can’t scratch.

“Why is it so warm in here?” Sunshine crouches down so they’re on the same level. “Look at you. All sweaty.” Sunshine runs his tongue over his teeth and smiles.

“I swear you’ve gotten even more feral.” He rattles the chains meaningfully. “Are we going?”

“All in good time.” Sunshine lets go of him to pull out a pocket watch. He snaps it open and studies the clock face, or possibly his own reflection in the glass. “I’ve hijacked an interstellar train. It should be arriving right about…now.”

[nach0]

MCYT Yuri Week; Day Three - Hurt/ Comfort

"Please be patient."

Wordcount: 1419

AO3 Link

Pearl goes to visit Gem while she’s still recovering. But corruption doesn’t heal overnight, and it will take longer than any of them thought to fix the damage.

Pearl wasn’t mad. She wasn’t. She wasn’t even in the slightest bit irritated that practically everyone else had gotten to visit Gem before her. She was calm and collected and other such emotions that would mean she’d be allowed to keep coming back.

(But, really? Fwhip she got, he was her brother. Sausage, maybe pushing it a bit but he did know more than anyone else what it was like to be corrupted. Scott?)

It was fine. She was fine with only getting updated about her girlfriend from everyone else. Katherine had cleared her to visit, so she was fine.

Just… be careful. She’d written in her letter, the one Pearl had skimmed through for confirmation she could come before having to go back and read properly. She’s still affected. You can’t expect too much of her yet, so please be patient.

I mean it.

Which, fine, maybe Katherine had a small point. But as much as the other empires saw her as loud and impulsive, she knew when to wait quietly for a better opportunity to strike.

Gem never would have opened up to her otherwise.

Even knowing this it was hard to still the nervous fluttering of her wings, hands clenching and unclenching out of fists constantly. To anyone that didn’t know her well it would have been a sign of aggression, more comfortable in a fight than in peace, and that assumption suited her needs well for the most part. It was always best to be taken seriously, and most were much more cautious when they took her genuinely nervous ticks as threats. 

Her close allies, like Katherine, like Gem, knew what it really meant, which was probably the only reason she wasn’t immediately kicked out of the Overgrown.

“Be patient with her,” Katherine reiterated softly, giving her a look that was almost pitying. “She’s recovering, but she’s still angry. It’s… no one will blame you if you need to step out.”

Clench. Unclench.

“I know. Can I please see her yet?” Politeness always worked best with fae, even if it was undercut by her fidgeting..

She sighed, hesitating another moment before pressing a small potion vial into her hands.

“See if you can get her to drink this. She needs the effects to heal and so far she’s been uncooperative. Neither of us like the splash, it’s less effective and she reacts… poorly, but it has to be done. You might have more luck than any of us have.”

Pearl just nodded, taking the potion and tucking it away into her pocket with barely concealed impatience. “I’ll bring it up. Can I see her yet?”

The moment the door was unlocked she practically sprinted inside, letting out a sharp breath once she was finally face to face with-

“Gem. How- how are you doing?”

If her appearance hadn’t been a clear indicator, the withering glare she shot Pearl would have been answer enough.

“Great. Just excellent. I love being kidnapped again and force fed untested potions.”

Gem’s eyes flicked to her pocket, the outline of the vial clearly visible in the dim light, her scowl tinged with the slightest trace of fear. Pearl immediately set it aside.

“We’re just trying to help, Gem. Remember, you wanted the help? You surrendered so you could get better. The crystal is gone. It can’t give you orders anymore.”

“I know that!” She bunched up the blanket before deflating slightly. Her next words sounded more unsure. “I know that. It’s just- muddled. But I know that and I’m fine so can you tell Katherine to let me go home already?”

Pearl sighed and took a step towards the bed. Another glare redirected her to the nearby chair instead.

“You’re not fine. I know it’s hard to reach out for help, but you’re being so brave and-”

“Oh fuck off, Pearl.”

Gem looked away, pulling her knee up to her chest and resting her arm across it. Her hand grasped at something around her neck. She didn’t seem to register there was nothing there.

“Don’t pretend like you’re not happy to see me like this. Xornoth warned me about it. About all of you.”

“Why would I ever want this?” Pearl fought to keep her voice even against the evergrowing worry that built in her chest. “I want you safe. I want you healthy. This is neither. Xornoth lies, Gem.”

She didn’t respond.

The two sat quietly for another ten minutes, Gem deaf to the world as she sat staring at the wall, before Katherine came to pull her out again. 

The potion remained untouched on the table.

~

It was a few days before Pearl worked up the courage to go back. She knew she should have sooner, Gem needed any familiar comfort she could get, but Katherine had advised her to stay away for a while anyway.

(Giving her an excuse, she knew, but she couldn’t say she didn’t appreciate it.)

She’d even brought some of Gem’s things from the Cliffs, books, clothes, even her weighted cloak. Anything to make her feel more at home.

Selfishly, she also wanted Gem out of the pale pinks of the Overgrown. It didn’t suit her at all, and she’d always been so meticulous about the colours she wore. She just hoped it would help.

Though anything was better than red. There’d been too much red.

“Today isn’t a good time.”

Katherine grabbed Pearl’s arm as soon as she got close, unfaltering at her glare. The question of why was quickly answered by a loud thumping against Gem’s door.

“Let me out! Katherine, you can’t keep me here! It’s not safe!”

“She’s been… erratic.” She admitted, glancing over at the rattling door. “Convinced she’s in danger, that we’re all going to hurt her. Not even Fwhip got through to her.”

“Please! It’s  just a baby!”

Any thoughts of politeness fled from Pearl’s mind.

“What did you think would happen when you locked her up? That she’d just conveniently forget about the last time she was kidnapped and tortured for information? Because I’ll bet you anything that’s what she thinks is going on.”

Without another thought she turned and stormed into the room, turning the handle with such force it broke clean through the lock. She’d apologise later. Probably. 

“Pearl? Pearl you have to help me, it’s not safe- they want the baby!”

Gem had immediately latched onto her dress. If her trembling hadn’t been worrying enough, the way she melted into Pearl’s light touch would have been like a glow ink sign something was wrong. She gently pulled her away from the door.

“No one here is going to hurt the egg, I promise. It’s still safe in your tower. Gandalf is watching it and he wouldn’t let anyone through. Do you trust him?”

She nodded. It was too hesitant to be of much comfort, but her breathing had started to slow at the very least. 

“Xornoth is going to take the egg, they’re- no- I’m working for them they’re protecting it so someone else is trying- Katherine? She’s… she’s keeping me here. She wants it. You can’t let her, Pearl please-”

“You’re ok, Gemstone.” Pearl ran a hand through her hair with a frown. It was far knottier than she’d ever normally let it get. “Xornoth is gone. They had you for a bit, but you were so strong and fought them enough to come to Katherine. She has no use for the egg, so she’s not going to hurt it.”

Gem’s only response was to clutch her dress tighter, running her thumb over the fabric in the subtle self soothing gesture she’d trained herself into long ago. Maybe one day they’d work through that, but there were more important issues to deal with first.

“It’s so blurry,” she admitted at a whisper. “I- everything’s blended together. I can hear you and I can hear them and I can hear Sausage and Joey- it’s too much.”

Hesitantly, Pearl reached for the potion on the table. 

“This can help you. It might be hard, but drinking it is going to clear your head a bit. You just need to trust me. Please.”

“...Alright.”

~

In another week Katherine had deemed Gem ready to go for short walks. She still needed supervision, in case she regressed or the cane wasn’t enough to support her, but Pearl was more than happy to keep her company.

She reached out to hold Pearl’s hand. In that moment, she knew they would both be ok.

They could heal. Together.

@mcyt-yuri-week

[afraidparade]

Monastic monk Luka with daemon spirit Faust. Luka faces an existential crisis about his faith (perhaps he already was, and meeting Faust confirmed it) and Faust has a similar experience in learning to trust as the OG cannon storyline.

A common lifestyle of earlier christian monastic monks involved living quiet, mostly solitary lives and spent most of their days praying and copying and illuminating (adding art to the texts, like the big fancy first letter of a paragraph or those intricate borders. With like the golds and greens, gorgeous stuff) books by hand (since the printing press hadn't been invented yet. Look into the Gutenberg Bible if you're interested in that it was the first printed bible ever. It still needed to be illuminated, however).

But anyway I can totally picture Faust as being a daemon/fae spirit that totally knocks Lukas socks off. Shenanigans ensue, Faust ends up keeping Luka company while he illuminates a Gutenberg Bible (which can take months, years if it's hand written) by candlelight, instead of working at a computer.

Another thing (some) monks would commonly do was self flagellation (whipping themselves). I can absolutely see Faust witnessing this and perhaps that could trigger a similar conversation to what they had when his arm popped out of it's socket. When it comes to him being vulnerable about how he was severely punished I can see him questioning why someone would willingly do that to themselves, maybe getting angry about it.

And maybe Luka plays with alchemy a bit? Perhaps that has to do with how they met. Either way I can absolutely picture Faust wandering amongst beakers and old scientific tools, being ornery about something or other.

Unfortunately as far as I'm aware there is no medieval version of Hatsune Miku or macaroni and cheese but I will continue my search for a suitable replacement.

You said its up to us 😬😳 this is what my brain imagined - I'm a religious history nerd and a Faust/Luka nerd I couldn't help it. This is a very fun AU tho I can probably think up more specifics too but I won't torture you haha

wh- pff, i mean, duh, yeah, that's EXACTLY what i was thinking anon (< doesn't know shit about religious history)

for real though, it's incredible you were able to piece that together so fast?? took me the whole day to think of an interesting interpretation of the prompt and i thought what i ended up with was kind of a stretch 😭 like, i didn't realize anyone paid enough attention to my OCs to be able to come up with so many (incredibly accurate??) parallels like that. it's really surreal and incredibly flattering! tbh it actually makes me want to think about an AU for this more, but god knows i have my hands full already (apologies to luka for using the lord's name in vain)

here is a faust award for your hard work today, take it easy friend

[multifandomrandomgirl]

The Ropes That Bind Us - Peter Tork x Female!Reader PART SIX

Masterlist:

Taglist: @strawberry-sunset-skies

A/N: Y/h/c = your hair colour 

Y/e/c = your eye colour

“I can’t imagine they’d have taken Peter too far away.” Mike glanced between Davy and Micky who were both attempting to take notes from all the random things that were spewing out of Michael’s mouth. “He’s definitely still in the state.” Michael sighed.

“Mike, babe. Sit down, you’re making this worse for yourself. I’m sure we’ll get more leads as to where Pete is soon, but you need to chill. This level of stress isn’t going to bring him back any quicker. We need to sit and think this through, don’t even think about arguing with me. We need to think this through in a more calm way. Look, I want Pete back as badly as you do, but I know we need to think about this more rationally.” Micky walked over to Mike and put an arm around his shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

“But, but, imagine how scared poor Peter must be, knowing him he probably thinks we’re not coming for him. He’s probably being tortured for information. What if they’re trying to get one of us and they’re trying to hurt him to get to us and he’s taking it rather than answering? Oh god, so many things could be happening to him, what if he’s really really hurt?”

“Michael, we went over this in the last chapter, he won’t be really really hurt, please. You’re not helping anyone.” Davy stood up and hugged Mike’s other shoulder, the one that Micky wasn’t hogging.

“Right, so-” Mike started, Micky slapped a hand over his mouth.

“No, not right now Michael. We need to wait until your head is clearer when you can think straight. We need to do something that’ll make you happy. What makes you happy, Michael?” Micky asked, stroking one of Mike’s sideburns.

“Playing music.” Mike said in a quiet voice, Davy and Micky went to retrieve their instruments and Mike’s guitar, handing it to the Texan. They let him take the lead and Mike started to play ‘Sweet Young Thing’, they had barely plate for a minute before Mike stopped and shrugged off his guitar angrily. Davy and Micky glanced at each other nervously, they weren’t sure what was the reason for him doing this, although, they had a small idea.

“Michael?”

“It isn’t the same. It doesn’t sound fucking right. We need Peter. God, I can’t play music without him. Why am I even trying?” Michael snapped, kicking the table that was in front of him. “We’re nothing without him. Fuck, why’d this Lord Reynolds guy think we don’t need him? Of course we fucking need him! Not just musically but in general! He’s our best friend god fucking damnit.” Davy and Micky began to get more concerned about the Texan, they hadn’t seen him this angry for a long time, and it was scary.

“Mike, please.” Micky was practically begging at this point. “Please just calm slightly. I know it’s hard, I really do, but-” He got cut off by the older man storming out of the house. Micky looked at Davy who just shrugged and went to grab his shoes and the house key.

“God, he moves quickly. Michael? MICHAEL” Davy yelled, Micky followed his lead, shouting the name of the Texan. “Slow down, get back here. Michael!” Davy screamed across the street, getting lots of strange looks from passers-by.

“Don’t make me ground you when we get home.” Micky chased after him. “Wait, why are we doing this?” Micky turned to Davy.

“I don’t know, the author is trying to fill in some space I guess.” Davy shrugged, Micky pulled a face of confused agreement and carried on running after him.

Eventually, they approached a large mansion-like house that had a white wooden fence surrounding the outskirts of it, not much protection from a tall, angry Texan.

“You don’t think?” Davy’s sentence trailed off, surely Peter wasn’t here, was he?

“I think so, hang on.” Mike jumped the fence and snuck up to the letter box, he pulled out an envelope addressed to ‘Lord Reynolds’. A nasty grin spread over his face, the leader turned to his two companions and signalled that they follow him, Micky gave Davy a boost over the fence before hopping it himself.

“Pete’s here?” Davy looked up uncertainly at the house, he knew from past experiences with houses full of rich people that it probably wasn’t the cleverest or safest idea, but then again, he didn’t care about that right now, he just wanted Peter back home where he was safe.

“What’s that?” Micky pointed towards a hatch in the ground that hadn’t been shut properly. He looked up and Mike gave him a knowing look.

“In we go then I suppose.” Mike tried lifting it up, it was heavier than he anticipated, both of his bandmates came over to help him and between them, they got it open. They climbed down the ladder and found themselves in a long hallway with a door at the end.

“You don’t think this might be trap to hurt us all? Take Peter to be able to kidnap us all.” Davy glanced up at Michael who put his hand on his shoulder. 

“No. But even if it is, we need Peter safe, so, let’s go.” The trio made their way down the corridor.

“Let’s hope you’re right about Peter being here.”

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

Peter glanced over to where Y/N was sat, he hadn’t heard a single noise from her for what seemed like years but had really only been three hours. He wasn’t sure whether he should try to speak or let her rest, chances were she had passed out from the stress on her body.

All he wanted was to hug her. And his friends. But right now, his priority was the girl who’d sacrificed herself to stop him from getting hurt.

“Y/N? Y/N, please, just let me know if you’re okay.” Peter whispered loudly, he heard a bit of a shuffle from where the girl was, but no noise escaped her mouth. Peter let ut a quiet cry, he was scared that she was gone for good, she had sacrificed a lot for him and he cared about her, in more ways than one apparently.

“H-hey. Don’t cry. It’s okay Peter.” A tired, croaky voice whispered from across the room, Y/N. 

“Y-you’re alive? You’re okay? Y/N, I’m so so sorry.” Peter rambled, thankful that she was still there.

“I’m fine, Pete, really.” Y/N said.

“I’m glad.”

The pair sat in silence for a bit before they heard a loud bang on the door at the opposite end of the room, both of them jumped, terrified that it was their captor returning to hurt either of them.

“You don’t think it’s?” Peter whispered, he was scared, he didn’t want to get hurt but he also didn’t want Y/N to get hurt either. He shrunk down in his chair as far as the ropes would allow him. 

“Peter? Peter are you in there?” A loud voice from the other side of the door shouted. Peter’s eyes widened, it was Micky. His friends had come for him, Y/N had been right, they do care about him! 

“Micky! Micky!” Peter raised his voice as loudly as he could. He was so happy! He thought he was going to be stuck in there forever. Y/N smiled to herself, she was happy for Peter. She knew his friends would come for him, after everything he had told her, she knew he would be found by them. She was just sad that they had found him this quickly. Y/N knew it was selfish of her to feel that way, but she’d finally felt less alone, she found a friend, someone who made her laugh. She’d been alone for years in the dark before he was kidnapped.

The lock on the door eventually gave way after Davy had picked it, light filled the room, both squinted at the brightness, Y/N hadn’t seen any light for three years. Once their eyes had adjusted, they saw three figures in the doorway, three pairs of eyes searched for Peter and ran towards him, the short Brit ran straight for Peter and untied him, pulling him up and into a tight hug as soon as he was freed. Michael and Micky took their turns in hugging the golden-haired man.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Michael questioned, checking the boy all over looking for any cuts or bruises, Peter quickly shook him off. “I’m fine, Michael. Thank you.” He said, glancing over his shoulder to try and get a look at Y/N who was sat awkwardly, staring at her feet.

“Let’s get out of here then, I don’t like the vibe this place gives off.” Davy shudders, grabbing Peter’s hand, Pete wriggled his hand out of Davy’s and ran over to Y/N. He finally got a good look at the girl, she had y/h/c that reached her shoulders, and y/e/c that were dim due to the exhaustion and trauma she’d been through. Her lip was bust, she had a black eye as well as several other cuts and bruises on her face, he couldn’t see any more of her body to see what the evil bastard that kidnapped them had done to her, Peter thought she was absolutely gorgous though.

“Go, Peter.” Y/N whispered, barely looking up, she knew it would be harder if she knew what he looked like, she caught his long blond hair out of the corner of her eyes.

“I’m not leaving without you. Come on.” Peter desperately tried to pull at the tight ropes that bound her to the chair, Y/N shook her head sadly, finally getting a look at the puppy-eyed man that she had lived with the past few days.

“Peter. You have to leave me here. Taking me would make your escape even riskier. Please, just go. You know I can handle being in here.” She smiled sadly at him, God, he’s gorgeous, she thought as she looked back at her feet again.

“Come on Pete. I know you don’t think so, but she is right. I’m sorry.” Micky wrapped his arm around the bassissts shoulder and began to guide him out of the room, leaving Y/N in the dark, alone again.

Peter sobbed the whole car journey home, he wished he could have saved Y/N.

“Peter, babe, your safe. We have you.” Michael pulled the older man into a tight hug, resting his chin on the mop of golden hair.

“I know, but, Y/N, she-she isn’t safe. He’s hurt her so much. She took all the torture and abuse that the man was going to give me. He raped her for fucksake Michael.” Peter said angrily, Michael and the other two boys who were perched on the end of the sofa were slightly taken aback. Peter didn’t do being angry, Peter didn’t raise his voice out of anger, and Peter most definitely did not swear.

“She’s been suffering there for three years. She isn’t lucky like me, she doesn’t have people who’d come and save her. I’m the only person she had god fucking damnit.” Peter stood up, kicked a book on the floor and headed for his room.

“Don’t you guys see? We have to go back for her.” Peter’s tears spilled over his eyelids and he broke down. Micky went and gently coaxed him back down onto the sofa, Davy stroked his hair. Eventually, Peter cried himself to exhaustion and fell asleep. “What are we going to do?” Micky whispered.

“We’re going back for her.”

[lady-phasma]

Actually I feel a bit sorry for Matt after his interview for HOTD. He tries so hard to add depth to the character and keep Daemon truer to the source. That's what R. Condall lacks: consistency and loyalty to the core of the canon. DW exists for almost 60 years, all details can change, fans can hate rewrites and new settings/history but the Doctor stays the Doctor. The showrunners can change the letter but keep the spirit of the show.

I love these asks! Thank you anon! I can't believe people actually want to know what I think! It's bananas.

Firstly, which interview specifically? Since I don't know which one I'm just going to answer in blanket terms.

Secondly, you are so kind and compassionate. I think Matt does more than tries, I think he succeeds. As of August 2022, Matt has not read Fire and Blood. (Interview here.) I can hear the collective gasp from fans across the world! (I don't have that many followers. LoL) Here's what he said:

[...] he also hasn't read Fire & Blood, the book the series is adapting. "Not in its entirety," the actor replied when asked if he'd read the source material. "It's a big fucking book."

So I guess there may be a need for my post about why actors' input isn't considered relevant or reliable in some critical film theory, huh? I've started it but now I'll have to finish it.

I'm not going to defend or criticize Condall in this answer. Matt is admittedly a fan of Game of Thrones (the tv series, you can find that with a google search) but that doesn't necessarily inform him of canon as anon mentioned above. I think, much like auteur film theory giving too much credit to the director, fans give too much credit to most actors. This is the actors' job, and most seem to love it, but it is work. Put yourself in their shoes for just a moment: you audition, you land the role, the read-throughs start, and the next 6-10 months are a blur of memorizing lines and costume fittings, distant set locations, and then non-stop press junkets and premieres. At what point in that is it reasonable for fans to expect the actor to know canon. So I'm going to extend your compassion, anon, and apply it to the entire cast as well.

The show runners... that's a different story. It is their job to know canon. But, and this is important, it is also their job to choose to ignore it or not. That is a very difficult job when you have such a monumental fan base as ASOIAF or DW.

I don't know if anon is a long time Whovian or new to the series but perhaps they will remember the absolute hate Steven Moffatt received when he began writing for DW. People were livid with the way he changed canon. I love his writing for Sherlock as well but I really enjoyed when he completely destroyed DW Weeping Angels canon and some people are still mad about this. Until Moffatt the Angels never moved when the camera was on them (as if the viewer were watching them/camera lens as eye) but he removed that aspect of canon and showed them move on screen (only slightly but people got angry because DW). I think it was a brilliant move to distance the audience but that's all I'll say about it here. I use this example to point out that "ignoring canon" is a phrase that is used a lot in fandoms... and is based on an unreasonable standard when one thinks that we give so much time to these fandoms and these creators have lives as well. There are choices that are made along the way in any series that will not sit well with fans. It's a risk they have to take.

Humans have short memories. We forget that "the doctor stays the doctor" is a feeling that comes back only after a few episodes into a new regeneration. When the announcement is made that our Doctor is leaving, when the new casting is announced, when the regeneration episode is aired, when the grieving is at its hardest, the Doctor will never be the same, it just won't be the Doctor. And then, before we know it, the Doctor is the Doctor again.

As for Condall.... maybe I really do need to write an essay on contextual formalism and why what creators say is ultimately not as important as the final art object. People might not like that statement but it's one of many art/film theories so if you think that the creator/artist has the final word on the art object take an art history class or a film studies class and you'll learn how rarely most of them achieve what they intended, for good or bad.

[junisfics]

All This Time — Armin Arlert (1)

series masterlist

Pairing: Armin Arlert x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Series Summary: Reader messages her best friend Armin late one night while she's drunk and needy, but will she remember the things she said to him in the morning, and if she does... will she regret it?

Part Summary: After Armin receives a disturbingly vague message from his best friend, he shows up to her house only to find her drunk and needy

Content: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut

Content Warnings: Sexual Content, Mentions of Masturbation, Sexual Fantasies

You met Armin in your freshman year of high school. You had gone to separate middle schools, but those two schools fed into your then high school and you became classmates. You shared a band class together, Armin played clarinet and you played the piano. The entire band was split between two periods, you and Armin’s seventh period consisted of woodwinds while the other period held brass… percussion was split evenly between the two periods. 

That was the first game of chance.

The second one was after-school practice sessions with Mr. Steunberg. Apparently, Armin was struggling with sight-reading just as much as you were, so you were paired together for practice lessons on Mondays. And every Monday for the second semester of freshman year, you and Armin played your instruments in that little sound booth while your music teacher corrected you from outside.

Eventually, the twenty minutes between the end of school and the beginning of lessons was being shared between the two of you rather than each of you hiding off down some hallway. You had decided to come down the band hall early, conveniently at the same time Armin had as well. 

It started with one of you asking if the other had a certain teacher, followed by asking if they had completed the night’s assignment for that class. Over time, the floor distance between you two closed and you’d sit cross-legged on the carpeted floor just outside the booth, knee to knee, sharing snacks before Mr. Steunberg made his way from his History class and down to the band hall. You’d work on homework together and laugh over the squeaking mistakes from the neighboring booths.

Just around the time when you and Armin began to grow comfortable with each other, your organized lessons had stopped and your blooming friendship had been put on pause. Neither of you missed it too much, you barely knew each other, but you still smiled at each other in the halls and occasionally talked before your shared class if there was time, but there really wasn’t.

It was like that for a while; little waves, sentence-long conversations, awkward silences followed by equally as awkward good-byes. It was months before you ever talked the same way you had in that little hallway.

It wasn’t like you craved his presence. Christ, you would completely forget about him if you didn’t see him every day in class. But when he came up to you at the end of the day one day while you were sitting on the piano bench, waiting for the final bell to ring, you couldn’t help but smile.

You still remember the shirt he was wearing, how he pushed those thin-rimmed glasses he still wore up his nose as he talked with you, “Can you help me with sight-reading? I don’t wanna tell my mom I need lessons again and I’m embarrassed to ask anyone else.”

Of course, you had said yes to him, you wouldn’t be pulling your phone out in the middle of the night in the peak of summer to text him while you’re shit-faced to text him if you hadn’t.

Your practicing together turned into practicing and doing homework together, which turned into getting off track and watching YouTube videos together. Then came the hanging out outside of homework and lessons; goofing off at either of your neighborhood parks, walking down the road to get fast-food, running around in a grocery store because there was nothing else to do in the suburbs.

There wasn’t an exact moment where you agreed that you were best friends, it just happened. You were always there for him whenever he got pushed around by the baseball boys, when his parents got divorced and his grandfather moved in, when he got his acceptance letter to the college of his choice; and he was there for you for your first boyfriend and your first heartbreak, he was there when your dog was lost for five days… he being the one that found her, and when you got your acceptance letter, he was the one sitting next to you with open arms.

There were moments when you found yourselves distancing; when you got into little arguments. But at the end of the day, the love that each of you had for each other was stronger than anything. You always came back to him, and he to you. 

No matter how many times you broke his heart by flirting with him just to hook up with some random guy at a party the same day, told him that he was your ‘best friend’, talking about how he was ‘like a brother’ to you, he couldn't leave you and he couldn’t stop loving you.

Armin would do anything for you and you would do anything for Armin. This is why when he got your messages in the dead of the night, he was over to your apartment before he could even text back.

‘armin’ ‘come over’ ‘help’ ‘need help’

Every second between the moment he got your messages until he reached your door, he was mortified. His heart was pounding out of his chest, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering while swerving around corners recklessly, eyes flitting over your parking lot to try and find anything out of the ordinary.

He almost tripped on the curb of the sidewalk while running up to your building. He was whipping open doors and frantically pressing elevator buttons as his keys still jangled in his hands, he didn’t even think to shove them into his pockets. His eyes bore into the red, electric lettering at the frame of the elevator, watching the numbers increase with his hand pressing against the metal doors like it’ll somehow make it go faster.

Once he reaches your door, he knocks frantically, jolts of pain shooting through his knuckles as he does so.

And you’re right at the door waiting for him. You tug it open the second you hear him outside of it, a giant smile of relief on your face.

“Oh my god! Thank god you’re here! I was going to pass out from waiting so long,” You giggle, grabbing ahold of his forearm that was still outstretched from knocking and pulling him inside.

It took him a moment to realize that you’re alright, that you’re standing right there in front of him, unharmed and unscathed, with his sweatshirt pulled over you, the one he gave you before leaving for university. You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet as you grab at his arms to bring him forward, stumbling back over your own feet in the process which just sends you into another fit of giggles.

You had a slight sheen of sweat over your face and neck, not a lot, just enough so when your head turned to look behind you the kitchen lights bounced against the gloss on your skin. You didn’t have pants on as well, just these light grey boy-short panties that completely exposed the length of your legs.

It wasn’t like Armin hasn’t seen you in a swimsuit before. Many times your parents had taken you on trips to a lake where you would go tubing and swimming for hours on end until you were both drained of all your energy. But seeing you in, presumably, nothing but his sweatshirt and panties that bared your thighs and bottom curves of your ass had him far more flabbergasted than a swimsuit ever could.

“You’re — you’re okay?” He asks, voice still wavering with concern as you continue to drag him towards the kitchen.

“Absolutely not!” You sound serious, “I need help… with making my dessert.” Your faux serious tone falls apart and you’re choking back another wave of laughter.

Armin watches you incredulously but intently as you slide your hands down his forearms until both of your hands meet his own, giving them a squeeze before spinning around and gripping the kitchen island’s counter.

You have an array of stainless steel bowls crowded beside each other while a mixture of dry baking goods sits unstirred in one of the bowls. You shuffle through the measuring cups and spoons before picking up a large wooden spoon and holding it up to Armin, presenting it to him, like you’ve found a block of gold.

When you turn away from him, he looks over the state of the kitchen. Sugar and flour remnants cover the countertops, series of baking instruments litter them as well, and on the kitchen table is a bottle of vodka.

And then it hits him; you’re playful nature, unpredictability, clumsiness, and intimacy.

“Are you drunk?” He asks you. He isn’t disappointed, or angry, just slightly taken aback.

You bring your head up from the bowl and tilt your head side to side like you were thinking over his question, “A little.”

It was much more than ‘a little’. Before you had even started drinking you were in a playful mood. You had just gotten the offer for a summer job for lifeguarding at the apartment complex’s pool and you thought to celebrate by binging your favorite television show and having a few shots. Then, a few shots turned to many and you were dancing around your living room while having the time of your life before you had settled on making yourself some food. ‘Another celebration’ you had convinced yourself.

But the measuring and the mixing were too hard and who else was there to call other than your best friend?

“Oh my god.” Armin smiles, shaking his head at you and making his way towards you as you continue to mix at god-knows-what you’ve put into that bowl, “You need actual food, not whatever you’re making here.”

You let go of the spoon, letting out a little huff of frustration at his words, scrunching your nose real cutely as you turn towards him. You take the front of his tee-shirt in your hands, gently fiddling with the fabric as you pout.

“I want dessert, Armin.” You whine, bringing your head forward to rest your cheek on his chest. Your chest was pressing against his torso, bare legs knocking against his own.

“’Tomorrow-You’ is going to thank me for not letting you have dessert.” He awkwardly brings one of his hands to your back, patting it a few times before letting his hand rest between your shoulder blades.

“Please?” You whisper, tilting your head up until he can feel your tiny breaths against his chin. Armin hopes you can’t feel the way his heartbeat begins to pick up in his chest at your close proximity.

“No… No, I’ll — I’ll make you toast or something, how does that sound?” He suggests, snaking his hands between the two of you to gently nudge you off him.

But the space between the two of you is quickly closed when your slide your hands up his chest and around his neck, “Don’t want toast.” You murmur, standing up on the tips of your toes to get in his eye-line. Your nose was only a breath away from his.

Armin carefully takes your wrists in his hands, taking your arms off him as he stammers out, “Well, you’re going to have toast.”

You let out another noise of frustration as you pull yourself away from him, your hands balling into fists at your sides while he pulls open your fridge for the loaf of bread on the top shelf. You watch him with your head tilted in fascination like you’ve never seen bread before, admiring the way his hair falls into his eyes as his pretty hands unwrap the plastic sleeve of the loaf then tug the toaster away from the counter backsplash.

He truly was so beautiful. You always contained your attraction towards him so well, but now your restraint was slipping.

You prance over to him, slipping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his back as he slides two slices of bread from the loaf. His skin is so warm beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders and back flex as he moves his arms, his abdominal muscles twitching as well in reaction to your fingertips skimming over them.

God, he’s so fucking nervous. 

Why is he so nervous? 

Because you’re all over him in just panties and his shirt when he’s had a crush on you for as long as he can remember. You’re being so touchy, so intimate with him, he’s afraid he might explode.

“Go sit down. Can’t — can’t help you if you’re in my way.” He says. Oh but he could help you, he could help you even if you were hanging on him like a spider monkey, he’s just afraid you’ll realize your effect on him if you do so.

“I just wanna be close to you. You’re so cute.” You nuzzle your head under his left arm until you and slip your whole body under it and stand ever so slightly in front of him, wedged between his torso and the countertop.

Your hands play with the hem of his shirt as you look up to him, your eyes glossy, and your pupils were blown. Armin tries his best to keep himself subtly distanced from you, but it’s no use. Every time he inches away, you’re just back on him. 

You’re sliding your hands up his chest, fingers tracing over his jaw and cheekbones as you cling to his side. He can feel your hips knocking against his, your thighs rubbing against his as you shift around to try and get closer. Your fingers follow along the curves of his neck, tracing down his throat then skimming over his collarbones.

“Sit here then. Sit on the counter.” Armin grabs ahold of your torso and pushes you against the counter, the edge of it rutting into the small of your back. You grab ahold of his biceps and let out a flirty little giggle at what his actions could be insinuating.

Your fingers press into the plush muscle of his arms as he strains to lift you, your heels grappling at the cabinets below you to try and aid him. His waist ends up slipped between your knees when you’re finally seated, and you can feel your body flush hot with arousal.

You were already sweating from the exertion you had put forward before he had arrived, but the added closeness with Armin was just driving you crazy.

“Now sit, and stay.” Armin places his hands in front of you to enforce his directions.

You giggle a few times, smiling at the fact that he’s treating you like a dog, “Woof.” 

Armin slips his waist out from your knees to come to your left slide, plucking the now toasted bread from the toaster and setting it on a napkin. He pulls open the drawer to his right for a butter knife, then snatches the butter from the island and brings it to your toast. 

His hands shake as he pulls the glass top of the butter dish, they shake as he dips the knife into the butter, and continues to shake as he spreads the butter over the first piece of toast. He can feel your thigh brushing against his hip as you swing your legs.

You begin to breathe heavier, the heat of exhaustion and heat of arousal begin to grow overwhelming. You fan your face a few times, pushing your hair off your neck, before grabbing the hem of his sweatshirt and pulling it up and over your head.

“What — what are you doing?” Armin stammers, taking a tiny step away from you.

You absentmindedly fold the sweatshirt before setting it aside to fan your face again, “It’s so hot… I think it’s you, Armin.”

You can see his face flush red this time, his ears as well, turning his cheeks and nose a pretty pink shade that doesn’t help your problem.

Armin tries to ignore you, he really does, but it’s so difficult because now you’re in this skimpy little tank top with spaghetti straps. And the straps are slipping off your shoulders and Jesus fucking christ you’re not wearing a bra. He can’t stop his eyes from flitting over your scantily clad figure, drinking in the way your thighs squish against the counter, the curve of your ass as it’s pressed to the granite, the way your nipples tease the thin fabric of your skin.

“Have I ever told you that? That you’re so fine?” You giggle, running a finger down his bicep as he finishes buttering your toast. You’re so grateful that he’s got that stupid white tee shirt on, the one that keeps your gaze lingering over the lean muscle in his chest and back.

“Um, n — no. Toast is done, hop down.” He refuses to make eye contact because if he does, he’s scared he won’t be able to stop himself from kissing you.

“Help.” You pout, reaching out your hands and grabbing for his shoulders.

Armin listens to your plea, setting the toast back down and grabbing ahold of your waist to slide you off the counter. But instead of bringing your feet to the floor, you wrap your legs around his waist and hook your arms around his neck. You have to tilt your head down to look into his eyes, only to see his pupils blown and lashes fluttering as he blinks.  He doesn’t push you off him. Instead, he uses his left hand to snatch the food off the counter while his right hand comes to brace your lower back. 

He’s afraid he’s going to have a heart attack now; feeling your thighs wrapped around him, your cunt hovering just right over his growing cock, your back arching your chest so close to his face that he swears if he looked down he would get a perfect view of your tits, your parted lips all glossy, breath fanning over the bridge of his nose as you run your fingers over the curves of his pretty pink lips.

Fuck. He was definitely getting off to this later.

You’re giggling all the while, and to an extent, you know exactly the effect you have on him. It’s cute, the way he stumbles around your house and trying to keep his footing as he brings you to your bedroom. 

“C’mon, Armin. At least take me on a date first,” You tease as he kneels down to bring your backside to the foot of the bed. Once your legs release his waist, he stands again.

“I’m — I’m not trying — we’re not —” He stutters, bringing his hands forward again like he’s scared you’ll pounce on him.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. Armin wants nothing more in the entire world than to have you beneath him, to have his cock sheathed inside you, to have you moan out his name as you cum around his cock…

But he couldn’t let it happen like this.

You were drunk, so so drunk. And you probably didn’t even know what you were saying.

“We can if you want to.” You speak softly, your knees knocking together as you settle into your seat, fiddling with your hands in your lap as if you got all shy all of a sudden.

And when you look up to him through your lashes, brows furrowed slightly in a pout, Armin almost caves. But he catches himself just as fast, shoving your toast in front of you like it’s a shield.

Your eyes shift down to the food that’s presented before you, and your pout turns into a cute little smile as you daintily take it from his hands. You let the napkin rest in your left palm as you hold the food in your right, immediately taking a little bite out of it.

“You want some water?” Armin asks, still standing in front of you.

You give him a nod without looking up, taking another bite out of the toast while he fills up the cup that he knew rested beside your bathroom sink. As he stands in front of the mirror he takes a moment to breathe in and out deeply as the water fills the cup.

You were going to be the death of him.

“You know, I mean it when I say you’re attractive,” He hears you say, still sitting all obediently on your bed and waiting for him to return, “Everyone’s like, ‘oh Armin got so hot!’, but I always thought you were cute… you just got so — nnghh — in the past year.”

He returns with your glass of water, holding it out to you as you finish chewing. You take it from him gently, holding it in both your hands, careful not to drop it, as you take little sips.

He knew you were being irrational, but he truly hopes you mean what you say.

When you finish drinking, you pat your hand against the mattress as you set your cup to the floor. You want him close again, want the warmth he radiates both physically and spiritually. Armin listens to your ask and sits beside you carefully, running his hands over his thighs as you pull your legs up on the mattress and cross them under you.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” You ask, voice getting tiny again.

That was real… that question… he’s so sure of it. You were always insecure about your looks when you had no reason to be, but he had no idea that you cared what he thought about you.

“I — um… I — I don’t think my — my opinion matt —” He tries to get it to come out sounding right, but the moment he opens his mouth he already knows he’s failed terribly.

“Do… do you not think I’m pretty?” He can hear the feeling of betrayal in your voice, you turn your head away from him.

“No! No, y/n, I think you’re really pretty —”

You grab ahold of his shirt collar and tug him towards you as you let your back fall to the mattress. His torso comes over you and his hand shoots out beside your head to keep him from falling atop you. He can’t even bring himself to pull off of you, because your noses are touching and he can feel your knees knocking against the left side of his waist.

“I — you’re — God, y/n you’re so pretty. Don’t ever think I don’t think that.” He breathes, trying so hard to your lips from touching, for his own sake.

Your mouth splits into a smile and a little laugh escapes your lips. Your free hand grabs ahold of his shirt as well, assuring both you and him that he isn’t going anywhere. You look down to his lips, slightly parted as he pants heavily to keep his composure.

“No, but you don’t understand,” You keep your eyes on his lips, fighting the desire to kiss him, “You’re so fucking hot.”

Armin’s breath gets caught in his throat because you had spoken that in a borderline whimper. Your bottom lip had been taken between your teeth after you finished speaking, and he swears he could see your back arch slightly.

It was completely visible now, how much you needed him. You were holding onto him for dear life, your thighs were squeezing together and your arched back had your stomach brushing against his. You looked at him through half-lidded eyes, irises filled with lust and hunger.

Armin’s so grateful that your legs are to his side and now wrapped around his waist again because he would not have been able to stop himself from grinding down against you… it would have been completely involuntary.

“And — and don’t tell anyone this but sometimes… sometimes I get off to you,” You bring your voice to a whisper as you reveal your secret, lifting your head to move closer to him. He can feel your lips brush against his as you speak, “Actually... like all the time.”

Armin lets out an audible exhale, his jaw slacking at your revelation, he has to shut his eyes again.

“Do you get off to me too?” You ask. And you speak like you didn’t just reveal that to him, bringing your head back down to the mattress and smiling.

Of course he does. Of course he does. 

Junior year of high school you offered to be his first kiss, just for fun, ‘cause you were friends, right? And you wanted to help him get it over with. 

But every night since then, Armin has gotten off to you; laid back in his bed with his cock in his fist, and whispering your name as he cums.

“I — we’re best friends — y/n, I —”

“Best friends don’t wanna fuck each other, Armin.” You say, your voice losing all its playfulness and growing serious like you had suddenly become sober.

You stare into his pretty blue eyes for a moment, letting your own flit between the two of his. You were watching for any change in his expression, any look of disgust or repulsion, but you don’t find any. He just keeps that same incredulous, lust-filled look on his face.

He looks over you as well. Your eyes were still so droopy and hazy, your lips parted like you’re manually breathing. You were so drunk that it almost hurt him. You weren’t going to remember a single thing in the morning, and the two of you would be back to square one because Armin would never be able to repeat to you what you said to him or admit his searing desire for you.

Armin can feel your grip on his shirt tighten once more, and instead of lifting your head to him, you pull him down to you.

“I need you,” You whisper, voice shaking with arousal, “Fuck me... please.”

Armin swallows hard, his arms beginning to shake under his weight. He was going to fucking explode. He needed a break, just a moment, anything so he can catch his breath and regain some of his composure.

Christ, he was so fucking hard. If you were sober, he wouldn’t hesitate for a single second to rip off both of your clothes and push his cock inside you.

“I can’t — you’re drunk,” He murmurs, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. You can hear the fact that he truly wanted to do what you begged him for.

“No, Armin, I want it. I need it. I mean it, I swear.” You plead, your hands pawing at his shirt like he was attempting to get away from you and you wanted him to stay. But Armin was set put, he wasn’t moving, he couldn’t move even if he wanted.

“I need your cock.”

“Not — not now. You need to sleep this off. You’re… you’re not yourself right now,” He takes his eyes off yours, closing them once more and squeezing them shut.

“I’ve — I’ve always wanted you though. Always, I promise.” You continue, hoping that somehow you’ll convince him.

It was true. You wish he could understand how true it was. All the guys you had gotten with after-parties, after football games… they were all just replacements, they were fill-ins for him. You would pretend that it was him that was filling you up, gripping your hips and whispering dirty things against your ear. And for seconds at a time, it would work and you would convince yourself that Armin was right there with you.

And every time you would see him helping another girl with school work, see them flirting with him and getting touchy with him, playing with his glasses or drawing shapes on his hands with a pen… this disgusting feeling would churn around in your stomach and bubble up into your throat. And although Armin was oblivious to their flirting, it still hurt so fucking bad.

“I’ve always wanted you too… just — just not like this. Just sleep it off, okay? And — and then we’ll talk.” His left hand wraps around your waist while his right switches to brace beside your head. He grabs ahold of your torso and shimmies you up the bed until your head meets the pillow.

He sits back on his calves, his left arm sliding out from under you while his right hand brushes your messy hair out of your face before petting your head.

“And, and you’ll fuck me in the morning?” You ask, completely genuine.

Armin swallows hard again, pulling himself away from you and helping you slide your body under your sheets, “If — if you still want me to.”

You look up to him with your eyes full of admiration as he smoothes the sheets over your body, “I’ll always want you to.”

It comes out sounding much more intimate than it actually is to say that ‘you’ll always want Armin to fuck you’. And Armin lets his eyes meet yours again, matching the love that’s filled them.

He smiles to hide the doubt he has inside his chest. In the morning, you’ll either regret every word and ghost him or you’ll forget everything you’ve admitted. Both options made Armin’s heart hurt, but he decides that you leaving him would be the worst of the two. He wouldn’t know what to do if you’d never talk to him again. So for now, he truly hopes you forget.

Armin pulls his hands away from you, shuffling his knees on the bed to get off of it. But before he can bring his feet to the ground, you grab ahold of his wrist.

“Stay, please.” You ask, your eyes struggling to stay open. He wonders if you even know that you’re talking.

He listens to you anyway, bringing his hand down to the mattress as he slips himself under the sheets and next to you. And if he wasn’t sure about staying before, he sure was now because you were so warm and so soft as you shimmied back against him. You take his arm and sling it over your waist, letting his palm splay out over your stomach. You can feel every rise of his chest against your back.

You were going to doze off so easily, he was so warm, he was so comforting. You could feel sleep beginning to creep up on you quickly. But before you let it take over, you slide your hand back and between your bodies to grab the source of the hard thing poking into your ass.

“You’re so hard,” You giggle.

Armin chokes on his breath again and grabs your wrist to pull your hand off his dick, “Stop. Go — go to bed.”

You listen this time, retracting your hand to slip it over his that rests on your stomach, interlacing your fingers as you succumb to your exhaustion.

[moonlit-reveriee]

Baby Blue

technoblade x fem!reader

concept: techno is scared of ‘corrupting’ the reader, but the reader’s kinda into it...

content warning // NSFW, virgin!reader, very minor angst?, small argument that gets resolved

listen to this while you read: BBBlue (Single) by Olivver the Kid

(this fic was heavily inspired by the lyrics of this song, so i highly recommended giving it a listen!)

───※ ·❆· ※───

When Techno found out you were a virgin, he was terrified. Not necessarily of the thought itself, but of the implications.

He’d never forget the look on your face when you told him. You tried to be casual about it, but he knew you well enough to spot the dusting of pink across your cheeks. You nuzzled yourself closer into his side. Whether out of embarrassment or something else entirely, he couldn’t tell. All he could feel was his heart dropping as the voices chanted at him to “ruin her”

Of course you, his pure sweet angel, would be a virgin. He once again crumbled under the idea that you had chosen him. How on earth could a person like you even think of being with a beast like him. Yet alone, giving up your virginity to him.

He hated how horribly turned on he was by the thought of taking it.

The voices had been relentless about it ever since. They were hyper focused on your every move, twisting every thought of his into something promiscuous. When you rolled out of bed in the morning and stretched, a small sigh escaping your lips, it was endless cries of “make her do that again” “you should fuck those moans out of her” “make her scream”

While making breakfast together in the morning, they wouldn’t stop telling him to “bend her over the counter” “take it right here”

Even at times where he was alone, the voices preoccupied him with endless thoughts of you. He was fairly certain they had forced him to imagine every possible way in which he could have you. “imagine fucking her against the wall” “you can be gentle for the first time y’know” “she’d feel so good writhing underneath us” “press her face into the mattress instead” “make her get on her knees and suck you off” “she’ll be such a pretty little slut for us”

He tried to take care of himself as often as he could, but it was becoming impossible to keep up with. There were only so many times a day he could jerk himself off alone behind locked doors. He was desperate, and sexually frustrated to say the least.

He felt disgusting for it.

After a week of this torment, he could barely even look at you yet alone touch you without the voices and his own guilt pounding against his skull. You couldn’t even think about broaching the subject again, because he was avoiding physical contact like the plague. He wouldn’t come to bed until he knew you were asleep, and would leave long before you woke.

As much as he tried to hide it, you could tell he was tired. Something was wrong, but you knew that he’d never just tell you about his problems unprompted. Techno was insufferably stubborn in that way. After several days of avoiding your gaze and leaning away from your touch, you chose to confront him.

“Techno”, you called for his attention quietly, trying to sound stern while remaining gentle with him. He didn’t turn to fully face you, but he glanced at the spot on the wall just above your head.

You struggled to find the words you wanted to say, so you settled on telling him, “Techno, you look tired.”

He turned his attention away from you. “Just a lot of work around the house this week. I’ll be fine after I rest.”

“Then come to bed with me.” You saw the way his body tensed and tilted away from you at that simple suggestion.

“I just need to write a couple letters first. You can go ahead of me.”

“Techno...”, you whined, daring to take a step closer to him. He gave you an almost panicked look, “why does it feel like you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you”, he responded quickly, trying to look through you instead of at you.

“Yes you have”, you responded firmly. A flash of guilt washed over his face at your tone. “You haven’t kissed or touched me for nearly a week now. I don’t even know for sure if you sleep in the same bed as me anymore. Fuck, you barely even talk to me.”

Angry tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, but you wanted to hold them in. Techno felt his chest tighten at the sight of it. He instinctively turned and reached out to comfort you, but forced himself to freeze.

“There”, you said, gesturing towards him, “just like that. You’re stopping yourself. Why are you doing that?”

He repeatedly opened and closed his fists at his side, wanting to have any conversation other than this one.

“[y/n], there’s just a lot going on in my mind right now”, he said. It wasn’t a complete lie. “I just need to work though it.”

“Then let me help you.”

“No”, he responded a little too quickly, “I- I mean, I just don’t want to talk about it with you yet...”

“Why not?”, you retorted, trying to squeeze any information you could out of him.

“I just don’t, okay? It’s uncomfortable, I don’t want to talk about it yet.”

“... is this about me being a virgin?”

“I never said that”, he replied, but the tension in his shoulders was enough to tip you off.

“Ah geez Technoblade, if it was that much of a problem for ya, you should have just told me”, you said sarcastically, “instead of avoiding all physical contact for a like week straight!”

“It’s not a problem, [y/n].”

“Certainly doesn’t feel that way.”

Techno huffed in frustration, grabbing a fistful of his hair at the root. He wasn’t sure if he was more upset with himself, or the fact that a few of the voices were still begging him to “please fuck her already”

“Love, I wasn’t avoiding you because I didn’t want it. They”, he tapped a finger against the side of his skull, “they want it so badly. It’s driving me insane.”

He breathed in and out shakily, trying to gauge your expression in the brief moments before he continued.

“I’m a monster. I’ve spilt more blood than anyone every should in a single lifetime. My appearance is more beast than man.”

He looked up briefly to find you staring right at him, a tight-lipped frown upon your face.

“What does that have to do with any of this?”

“I- ... I don’t want to corrupt your innocence”, he admitted.

“What on earth do you mean by that?”

“[y/n], you’re so perfect”, he answered almost breathlessly, “you’re so kind and so pure. Just living with me does enough to taint your reputation, I don’t wanna-“

He cut himself off to swallow thickly. He almost seemed scared of the words he was going to say next.

“I don’t want to ruin this part of you either...”

A heavy silence filled the tiny sitting room of techno’s cottage. In those few seconds, your eyes widened ever so slightly as his words suddenly clicked in your mind. This hulking boar of a man, an undisputed war criminal, was scared. He was scared of damaging you, your reputation, or your recently revealed ‘innocence’. Compared to himself, he saw you as a pure being who could be tainted by unwholesome thoughts.

If what he said about the voices was true, then his actions of the past few days would’ve made sense for him.

“Oh techno...”, you muttered softly, tentatively placing a hand on his jaw. His posture was curled inward, making him look small despite his size. He was stiff at first, but allowed you to lift his gaze to meet yours. He searched your eyes desperately for an indication of your reaction. You gave him a reassuring smile.

“Do you remember when we first met?”

A small wave of confusion washed over his face, but he nodded anyways. “It was at the festival...”

“That’s right”, you said, moving the hand on his face down to rest over his shoulder, “and do you remember what I did that day?”

“You threw an axe into Schlatt’s shoulder”, he answered, watching as the scene played out in his memory.

You lived with Niki in her bakery at the time, and witnessed firsthand the injustice she faced during Schlatt’s presidency. As the chaos after Tubbo’s execution occurred, you took the opportunity to hurl your axe where Schlatt stood upon his podium. The blow wasn’t fatal, but that wasn’t necessarily your goal. You just wanted to see the man in pain.

“It was a lucky shot really”, you admitted, “I wasn’t even aiming properly.” That managed to draw a small smile onto Techno’s lips.

“And do you remember”, you continued, “when I tried to confront the Butcher Army by myself?”

He grimaced at the thought. You had told him you just needed to make a quick trip to L’manburg for some supplies, leaving him at home alone to recover from the previous day’s events. You returned that evening with a sprained wrist and a couple large bruises forming on your body. None of them were trying to kill you, but you took a pretty good beating from Quackity just for trying to confront them.

“Why are you bringing all of this up now?”, he asked.

“Because”, you said, “this is the evidence that will support my next point.”

He looked bewildered by that statement, but continued to listen.

“I’m not a perfect person”, you resumed, “I have blood on my hands just like you do. I know it’s hard to compare to you, but I’m not devoid of my own sins. I can be mean, I’ve hurt people. I’m not a pure, angelic being who would quiver at a single inappropriate thought. I think you forget that sometimes.”

He let your words swirl around in his head; he couldn’t deny the logic in them. The evidence prevented him from denying the truth of your statement. He could almost be mad that you’d talked him into a corner, but he was more overjoyed at the fact that you knew him well enough to do so.

“And you know...”, you spoke quietly, letting your hand fall down to rest on his chest, “if you did somehow ‘corrupt my innocence’ as you say... I really wouldn’t mind that.”

Techno’s breath hitched in his throat. There were a brief few moments, maybe minutes, where he just stared at you. Then his lips were on yours; sudden and clumsy, but passionate. You gripped the fabric of his shirt as he grabbed at your waist, desperate to have you in his arms again.

“I’m sorry, I had to”, he muttered, his lips left hovering a hair’s breadth away from yours.

“You’re so silly sometimes”, you sighed affectionately, rubbing small circles into his collarbone. He gave you a gentle smirk before pressing another kiss into your lips.

“I’m sorry darling, I really am”, he said as he drew you into a tight hug. He took in your scent and the feel of your skin for the first time in days. It felt like he could survive off the feeling of your arms wrapped around his body alone. He wondered why he ever let himself be depraved of this.

“You know I trust you, right?”, you spoke with your face pressed into his chest.

“I’m not sure why, but yes.”

You decided not to reprimand him for saying that. You could help him unpack all that later. Instead, you brought your head up to whisper in his ear.

“You have my full and unconditional consent to take my virginity whenever you’re ready.”

Techno inhaled and held his breath, though for what, he wasn’t sure. It took a while for the full weight of those words to sink in. He leaned back to stare at your face, bringing one of his large and shaky hands up to cup your cheek.

“Are you sure?”, his eyes were wide with trepidation, practically pleading with you to tell him the truth. You leaned into his palm, indulging in the feeling of his skin on yours.

“I want you, techno. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Techno was lost in your words. The sudden absence of guilt left his heart light and airy in his chest. For the first time in days, the voices were only a gentle murmur.

“she’s so beautiful” “she wants you” “make her feel good” “show her how special she is” “make her smile” “she’ll be so pretty” “she’s always pretty” “be gentle, no need to rush”

“make love to her”

“... I think I’m ready now.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

ayyyy guess who finally finished writing something!!!

parts of this feel a little rushed but ehhhhhh i was just excited to finally post it. i looove writing techno as an extremely self-conscious character who’s too caught up in their own head to see how ridiculous they’re being. so, this was a treat for me to write

i hope you enjoyed :D

-moonlight

[beann-e]

Haikyu characters reacting to their s/o screaming back at them

Nekoma Characters reacting to their s/o Screaming back at them

Read Part One Here

kenma

-it would not take much -_-

- Kenma doesn’t even notice he’s yelling at you or much less using his raised voice when talking to you

-he’s so used to screaming at kuroo through his mic that when he’s finally pissed off and bubbling ; it just happens after you try to ask him what he wants for dinner at the wrong time

-post time skip

“ go left “ The sound of the controller clicking swirled through the room as your boyfriends eyes followed the screen at every turn his character took “ kuroo I said go left “

“ uh which one ? “

kenmas face went into a straight line as kuroos body stiffened knowing he hadn’t been listening in the first place “ no wait which way I meant —which way “

“kuroo I said go left “

“ oh “

“ yeah — go left “ the strain in your boyfriends voice was evident

it showing off the sliver of annoyance he was trying to hold back knowing that you were somewhere in the same house

he hated for you to see him anything other than calm

Anytime he showed any bit of annoyance with you or even showed he was about to give you attitude you quickly shut it down. It was obvious to him who was the dominant one in the relationship and he had no problem with it

Honestly he was scared of what you would think when you finally saw him fly off the handle. Of course you’d seen him have an attitude he was a gamer that was normalized to have one after a lost game but, it wasn’t often he showed you that side because kenma doesn’t do losing

so what would happen if he finally got ticked off so badly due to something that was ‘just a game’ to you would you be scared?

he couldn’t help but think that you would run for the hills and then screw him over in the breakup and tell everyone he still wears tidy whities and forgets to go pee during gameplays unless you remind him by asking had he peed all day

“ hey du— “

“ don’t talk until you kill the leftover guys so we can win“

“ ken you don’t think I can multitask “ kuroos laugh fell into the room over kenmas headphones “ I used to do it everyday i was the captain of the vb team, I keep you in line “

“ sure sure — but are you watching your corners “

“ I keep everyone healthy , and i’m hot , plus I’m about to win this gam— I died “

the silence in the moment spoke volumes before kenma could

his hand grabbing the controller harshly as he refused to blink seeing the word loser flash in bright letters on his screen

Body growing hot and sweaty while he tried to hold in his anger and process what just happened so he could determine the next best course of action

Knowing , He just knew

The amount of trouble he’d get in if you walked in to hear him screaming at kuroo shouting words you hated when he used

He was trying to hold it all in

really he was

he just needed some quiet first just some silence to figure out how to calm himself down his brain going over serveral images of kuroo dead at the bottom of stairs maybe even him getting hit too hard with one of kenmas sets when they played 4 on 4matches

Anger only growing when he heard a voice pour in that he couldn’t figure out who it belonged to much less cared

“ hey ke— “

“ Do you ever fucking listen “ his voice was hard and threatening “ do you ever just shut the fuck up and “

he threw his headphones to his keyboard “ and listen — no you don’t— you go quiet and now here i am upset because you simply don’t listen — answer the questions i’m asking you— you fucking sea creature“

his body only growing hotter as his neck got red eyes darting for a person to scream at and take his anger out on

“ answer me “ he screamed pain eteched in his voice as he finally turned to find you

a look crossing over his face before he blinked looking to the floor then up at you in confusion before turning back to his screen that glowed in the dark room anger hitting him all over again when he saw kuroos wide open mouth and their dead avatars laying on the ground

“ Why the fuck — how the —- I always fucking lose when that asshole —that miscalculated creation— whenever he plays with me it’s so serious to me — i make money off of it i make — i get deals and i — I can’t — can’t lose them they’ll think i’m not good enough— i“

he slammed his fist into the wall speaking low

“ I hate fucking losing “

he turned to you “ it’s not nice y/n — I tried to fucking do your shitty routine of calming myself down first but it just “

he moved closer to you with anger pouring from his body

your eyes wide in a look of fear when he grabbed your face pointing to his screen “ look — “

he screamed in your face when you didn’t tear your eyes away from his “ BABE I SAID LOOK“

your eyes never leaving his as he just grew angrier at your incompetence

“ so your not fucking listening to me either “ his voice grew questioning “ are your ears dirty just like kuroos ? huh ? are y’all apart of some shitty cult for mute wannabes “

his hand gripped tighter on your cheeks “ i’m so stupid your just as fucking dumb as that asshole — fucking — I bet you wanna date him huh — “

his mind ran wild as he thought of the two of you together insecurity blooming

“ you want a loser like him over me right ? you have to like kuroo — look at him you want to date kuroo right “

he laughed “ fucking slu— “

“ finish it and we’ll be playing our own game of kenma getting his ass beat until he finally gives up and cries “

your eyebrows quirked up as you held eye contact with him “ trust me you’ll lose “

you looked at the male in front of you in disgust

“ get your shitty cheeto dusted gamer hands off of me “

his hands loosened their hold on you

“ all the way off you dirty imbecile “

you scoffed as he dropped his hand in a rush of fear

“ I bet your dirty ass didn’t even wash them after I made you pee earlier — yeah made — you wanted to get back to that sweaty chair that badly ? “

his cheeks grew hot as he blinked himself out of his trance only to see what he’d gotten himself into

“ who do you think you are talking to like that “

your stare making him shake even more in fear

You always scared him when you were upset wether you were taller or not your annoyance alone at an action he’d done scared him enough

Your words stood tall and poured in on him making him feel like he was suffocating but, he knew he needed to hear this. You only did this when his anger was out of control like he knew it could be. He stayed on his games all day and all night which was the only way to provide your shared income

at least until he could get his company up and running he had yet to sign contracts because he said he needed to read them first and reading took too much work

this was how he paid your bills. It stressed him out knowing that any day someone on the internet could call him a loser and that same day your steady flow of money may trickle in slower than usual

So when he lost a game any game even something as simple as Mario or even kirby it pissed him off because he couldn’t help but shoulder all the responsibility of taking care of you and himself. He didn’t want to be the reason you lost that stability and all of this catered into his rage. A rage only you could catch and calm down with your sheer words.

“ who do you think you are “ your voice came out low and calm as you spoke down on him “ answer me “

“n-no on — no one babe “

“ don’t babe me “ your hand pressed on his chest “ you don’t deserve that not after you talked to me that way “

“ I -i’m sorry “

“ for what “

“ f-for talking to you like that and “ his voice came out soft as he spoke

“ I cannot hear you “

“ fuck i’m sorry for talking to you that way —and for using force —force and grabbing you like that “

“and i’m just expected to forgive you? you know I hate this — you know this and yet you keep doing it? why ? why do you keep shouldering this and then lashing out “

“ p-please “

“ mm — i’m not seeing it ken— I mean you treat me like one of your other asshole friends and then on top of it you grabbed my face this time— you’ve never gone that far “

“ y-yes I know — I know “

“ so you can see my problem with just accepting your apology right “

“ y-yes ma’am “

“ oh — “ you laughed as you spoke “ now we’re using nice names huh “

“ i—I thought it’d work“ he pouted

“ I wanna forgive you ken “ you looked at him as his head dropped in embarrassment cheeks going red

“ I really do babe but “

“ I swear I won’t do it again y/n “

you thought for a moment staring at the boy in front of you who was pissing his pants in fear

“ y-y/n I swear I didn’t know it was you I was angry and I —I thought kuroo was talkin— “

“ but you realized it was me? “

he paused

“ you even looked from me and back to your screen so you knew correct “

“ yes “

“ and yet you still yelled at me and grabbed my face “

“ really i’m sorry— I wasn’t there all the way “

you took a deep breath before looking to his computer eyes made up in a squint and then trailing back to the boy in front of you

“ ok ken “ his eyes glowed in happiness

“ you— your forgiving me “ he laughed almost mocking you knowing he’d never been let go this quickly you usually took away his gaming system until he’d learned to calm down

he even started ‘doing’ yoga, if you count playing the youtube videos on the tv while he played on his apple watch that you’d forgotten to take, just to fool you into giving his game back “ this easily“

your eyes moved pointedly to his as he fell back into submission

“ i’m sorry I just meant you arent more upset “

“ well i’m deciding that since it was the first time you ever went to that extent of yelling at me I’m gonna let you off the hook “

you smiled “ also I thought you already got enough punishment “

“ h-huh “

you let your head move up to face his computer screen in a slight nod his eyes lighting up before his face fell in sadness

He never meant to fall submissive let alone show who was the dominant one in the relationship to anyone outside of you especially not with kuroo on the other line

“ I don’t think kuroo minds much babe it’s ok “ you said happily changing the whole way you carried yourself earlier and the way you spoke your body easing after beating into kenma

“ no trust me he doe— “

“ goddamn “

your eyes fell onto his friends open mouthed smile

“ and you just let ‘em do you like that “

kenmas eyebrows came together in sadness

“ damn ken —“

your eyes went hard on kuroo

“ and do you think your any better ? because from what i’ve heard churro it seems to me like you couldnt even keep your own team on a leash much less that lev kid so ? “

“ god “ kuroo coughed shifting in his seat whispering softly to himself “ so hot “

he shook his head before speaking again a little bit louder “ uh no— no I completely understand y/n —god i just know your fun “ he laughed

“ kenma keep listening to your s/o don’t mind me “

he moved to log off speaking under his breath “ so fucking scary —swear i’m bringing ‘em in to scare my vb kiddos— shit “

you shook your head in confusion “ uh wha—”

“ he had a — he had a crush on you and yeah I”

“ oh well “ you moved to throw your arms around him in happiness his body stumbling back at the action as he cautiously wrapped his hands around your back

“ n-not in trouble “

“ not in trouble “

“ still love me “

“ still love you “

“ then can I pla- “

“ no “

“ nevermind I didn’t want —want to play anyways “

“ that’s good “

“ yeah “ he drawed out as you grabbed his hand pulling him to the living room “ but babe the monitors still on just one matc— “

your grip tightned on his hand “ movie ken “

“ got it movie — movie “

he spoke low following you wrapping his arms around you as he kissed your cheek “ movie first — game later “

lev

-I don’t think he would ever ever ever scream at you but he would totally say something hurtful and not even realize it because kuroo and kenma said it to him

-so he’s literally just using what he was taught but In the wrong way

- not a time skip

“ lev can you help me “ you shouted to the taller male as you made your way across the court his hands cupping around his mouth as he stared down on you from the other side “ yeah “ he smiled “ totally “

you copied him a smile itching to spread across your face “ just because I yell doesnt mean you yell “

“ well as bossy as you are you should know I’m going to “

your face dropped before it fell back into a happy smile mind racing with thoughts of maybe hes just making a joke he knows you hate when people say that about you

“ hey uh lev ? “

“ yeah babe “ he said running over to you

“ let’s not say that ok cause it kinda — it really hurt my feelings “ his eyebrows furrowed as he looked down on you his voice vibrating along the gym before he smiled again “ babe I like the design you added to your face I didn’t notice but other people said you looked good with it and yeah —honestly they were right “

“ huh — design? “

“ yeah it’s red it’s right by your eyebrow “

your hands moved quickly to cover the pimple from his view eyes darting across the gym hoping no one else heard and was trying to take a look at it

“ it’s fine it’s fine maybe if you put on some makeup you can hide it right ? i mean if you don’t like the design like I do i mean that’s what you usually use it for right ? “

your eyebrows went up face holding nothing but sadness as you spoke “ do you— lev baby do you really think i’m bossy “

he jumped up and down on the balls of his feet in excitement as he kept going “ yeah — I do everything you tell me to and I like it i’m like a puppy and your the master “

you could feel your body heat up at his words his smile spreading wider as he turned to his awestruck teammates

“ babe it’s ok id follow you to the end of the earth because I don’t understand your just stringing me along”

your hands dropped the balls you held onto from picking them up off the floor. head cocking to the side as you studied him trying to see what sparked this new way of thinking

“ oh god “

“ he’s so fucking —so so fucking clueles- “

“ stupid just outright stupid is what he is “ you said as his eyebrows creased face struggling to find the right way to react to the burning hot anger he felt radiating off of you in waves “ lev baby who told you this “

you walked a bit closer to him head leaned back to see him clearly “ who made you think this way “

“ uh what “ he shook his head face coming up in a pout “ babe I — “ he played with his fingers as he looked off to the side hand moving to run across his neck “ for some reason I feel like i’m in trouble —I did—did I do something wrong baby ?“

“ this is not cool lev not helpful, not sweet and nice it’s hurtful “

“ no what ? wait i’m “ he took his hand out to grab your arm his face made up in pure confusion “ no i’m —i’m complimenting you “

“ you— your complimenting me? “

“ yeah “ he smiled struggling to hold it up as his eyes darted across your face

“ lev baby “ you faked a smile as your eyes hardened “ think about your words —what have you just said “

“ well I said that your my master and i’m like a puppy“ he smiled as he thought back “ only because I love you and would do anything you tell me and because i’m hyper and sometimes you have to explain stuff to me in simple form because I can’t pay attention when anyone else talks but you “

he kept going “ then I said that I do anything you tell me to and I would “ he smiled harder voice sure of himself“ because I like following you and making you happy “

he scratched his neck face flashing a deep red “ then — then I said that you cover up your bossine— ok i’m sorry “

his face made up into a pout as he slumped “ really I didn’t know I thought it was nice I heard the team saying it in the back rooms and I though— “

“ FUCKING IDIOT “

“ LEV WHAT THE FUCK “

“ HOLY SHIT LEGS ARE YOU SERIOUS “

levs face dropped as he turned to kenma “ legs seriously ? “

kenma shrugging as he continued to play his hand held game “ eh well everyone else was saying something and you annoy me so — I present legs “

he sighed as he turned back only to see your eyes holding nothing but garbage fires In them as you stared at the group of guys huddled together

“ speak “ everyone whimpered as you stared them down “ explain to me why my boyfriend is telling me I need makeup to cover my pimple ”

kuroos uncomfortable laugh left him quickly as he looked away from the both of you rocking back and forth in his shows “ well um y/n “ he coughed “ you see we were — we’re guys y/n we were making jokes and you see lev doesn’t understand “

“ well I do so explain “

he jumped “ we thought— “

“ not quick enough you sweaty catboy“

“ god ok he came to us wanting to know how to compliment you he said he didn’t want to say anything dumb and —so that made us realize we can really make him do anything cause he’s so clueless—thought if we could get lev to say some dumb shit—trust me we didn’t go that far “ he said pointing to lev who was picking up the balls you’d dropped on the floor chasing after one that rolled away

“ then you’d break up with him and I guess at least one of us would have a chance — well except kenma he says he has princess peach as his wife —wait who the fu—I actually don’t know who that is ken is that an online girlfriend “

he furrowed his brows actually puzzled by his earlier words “ I don’t know why it seemed so normal to me at the time “

he shook his head “ but lev is so fucking stupid that he said everything fucking wrong — we literally just told him what we personally like about you —gave him some corny pickup lines but he said everything wrong like even the phrase about your makeup we were saying how you don’t wear any or when you do it’s not obvious because your natural beauty just radiates through it— then the next thing we talked about is how strong and just how you take directive I guess — and we — we thought it was hot “

“ then where did he get the stuff he said from “ your voice went high now you were confused he couldn’t have made that stuff up

“ y/n he’s just fucking stupid where do you think “ he rolled his eyes “ he made it up because he didn’t understand “

levs eyes widened as he had stopped paying attention to the situation taking place hours ago “ uh I cannot confirm or deny that statement but I will say you are very very beautiful my love “

your heart warmed as the team groaned your body moving into his as you kissed him softly “ did I do something wrong ? “

“ no lev your ok “

“ ok I never want you to feel bad or like y’know how kenma feels I always feel like he’s so angry “ your boyfriend shivered as he locked eyes with kenma who was ready to pounce on him claws showed as he gripped his game harshly “ see —- so angry “

“ not angry lev just “ you looked at him seriously “ babe you have to pay attention to what you say you may say something really really wrong to me one day and then — “

“ and then you’ll tell me what I did wrong while we cuddle and drink hot chocolate“

you smiled squeezing him harder “ no — then i’ll break your kneecaps so you’ll never be able to play volley again and i’ll dye your hair black in your sleep so people will think you look like a tall dirty mop “

he shook before he led you out of the door the team watching as you left leaving all of them to curse silently about their failed plan “ he’s the stupidest guy on the team and he — he got that “

“ bet he doesn’t even know what he’s doing when he’s tapping it “

kuroo laughed “ yeah right like he even gets that far — they probably gotta explain how to continue a kiss without him focusing and staring straight into their eyes — he’s probably learning how to ‘multitask’ right now as we speak—lucky idiot “

the doors to the gym slammed open roughly a few minutes later as you held levs hand tightly behind the door “ HEY ASSHOLES “

everyone tuned to you in fear for themselves and the tall male behind you who you dragged like a mom in a store his eyes stuck on the lollipop that stuck out from his mouth “ guys y/n found me a lollipop—she stuffed it in my mouth when I told her the joke you guys told me to “

“ w-what joke “

“ the one where I called the sex line and said that I requested them because I heard good reviews “

the teams heads all dropped knowing they’d never said anything of the sort or even along the line he’d messed up their original words yet again and put not only himself but them in danger

“ if you guys ever try to taint my boyfriend with your dumb fucking words again I swear I will end you all —kenma i’ll buy every copy of the new game that you want that’s coming out — literally blow all my money so you can’t ever play the stupid game until im ready to allow you to “ his mouth going up in an o as he still had his attention on his game hands only tightening a bit at the threat his body moving behind kuroo for safety

“ kuroos chemistry lab will become a garbage chute for my lunch trays “ kuroos body slumping as he draped himself over kenma only to get pushed off and fall on the floor in pain your mouth moving to tell everyone else on the team what would happen if they didn’t respect your boyfriend and treat him like the nice , caring guy he was

Until finally you flashed a smile and walked off leaving the team in disarray as they couldn’t figure out if you just grew that much hotter or if they were having heat flash from the pissed off emotions they felt when lev turned around and winked at them while he ran his hand down your shoulder to land at your lower back as he followed you out

[kangaroosmile]

I Need U - Jeongin

-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-

description: Jeongin and you broke up when Stray Kids where on a world tour. After they returned you still have to give him all the things he had still in your flat.

But after you two meeting he runs off and you help the other boys finding him.

You two talk about everything but what will happen after that?

pairings: Jeongin x gnreader

genre: light angst, happy ending, fight, exes to lovers

word count: 1.6k

warnings: angst, fight

A/N: It's been a while... well I hope you will like this Oneshort.

Short reminder I'm a baby stay so please have mercy with me should there be some mistakes. Also English is not my first language. Feel free to tell me mistakes I made. 💕

You can find more of my stories under Stray Kids Masterlist

-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-

You don't want to go. It's the last thing you want but you still have to give him the box of things he still had at your flat. You let out a little sigh and close the box. You are still surprised that he had to use such a big one. Jeongin had quite a look of things at your flat. 

You walk towards your car and start driving. It's been months since you last talked to Jeongin and actually you didn't really want to remember it. It was when you two broke up. 

The boys were on a world tour. It was quite hard to even talk to him for a few minutes per day and even harder to see his face. You really struggled during the few weeks since it was the first time not seeing each other personally. It was finally a free night for the boys and Jeongin and you had a facetime date. You waited and waited. Tried to call him but he never picked up. The hurtful thing was, it was not even the first time this happened. 

When he called the next day trying to explain himself you were just so tired of everything and angry. You two fought and after the call ended you had no longer a boyfriend. 

You shake your head, trying to let this memory go. You are quite happy that it was full and it takes a while till you arrive at their dorm. 

You take Jeongins box and walk towards their dorm door. You tip the code and open the door slowly. Originally you just plan to put down the box and leave again but then you hear someone's footsteps. Then Jeongin stands in front of you. Out of all eight young men that could have been it. For a moment he just stands there staring at you. 

Slowly you place the box in front of him. 

"Everything you left at my flat before leaving for the tour is inside", you say, nearly whispering because you don't trust your voice. "I just wanted to give it to you." You see him swallow hard. 

"I", he starts but stops himself. You can't be next to him any longer. It still hurts like hell. Especially since you see him in person again. It's the first time your break up really feels real. 

"I need to go", you say, already starting to escape. 

"No please, wait…", he tries but you shake your head. 

"Jeongin I can't. I'm sorry." Then you leave. 

As fast as you can run to your car and get inside. You start it and drive a bit until you stop. You press your eyelids together and try to breathe. Little tears roll down your cheeks. You kinda hate yourself for reacting like this. It's been months and you still start to cry just thinking about it. 

Suddenly your phone starts to ring. Slowly you take it out of your pocket. 

"Chan?", you ask after accepting the call.

"Thank god that you picked up." He sounds nervous. 

"Why are you calling?" 

"Innie read the letter you wrote and then left without a word." So he read the letter. "You know he is not like that." 

"I know Chan but what do you want from me?" You hear him sighing.

"Do you know any places where he could be?"

"Wait for me, I will be there in five minutes." You let your phone fall on the seat next to you. Jeongin please don't do stupid things. 

You ring the doorbell insistently not caring anymore. A few seconds later the boys are standing in front of you. You can't look at them. Are too scared of their expressions. 

"We are not mad at you. Don't be afraid of us", you can hear Changbin say and look up towards him. He gives you a little smile and the others nod lightly. 

"Thanks… but let's find Jeongin." 

"Do you know where he could be? We have two few places in mind but maybe you have more?" You nod towards Chan and list all places where he could be. 

"Alright let's share out and let's facetime." You nod and walk off towards one of your favorite places. 

You don't think he would go to the Café you had your first date but you never know.

"Not in the café", you let the others know and go to the next place he could be. 

You do that over and over again and slowly you really loose hope. Why would he just run away? 

"Hey don't cry. We will find him. I promise", you hear Chan over facetime. Just now you realise that tears are rolling down your cheeks. 

"I… I think we found him", Felix whispers not even a minute later. 

"Where are you?" 

"I will send you our location." 

"Thanks Hyunjin." When you finally get his message you start running. You just want to be sure Innie is alright. Luckily the location Hyunjin sent you is not too far away. 

"Thank you", you whisper towards Felix and Hyunjin. 

"We are relieved that we found him, too." You nod your head. It's their maknae in the end. "We will go now so you can talk to him." 

"Thank you." 

You watch them walk away before slowly walking towards Jeongin. He can't see you until you sit down next to him. 

"The boys were very scared when you just ran out in the middle of the night", you whisper looking at him. He doesn't answer but that's okay for you. 

"I'm sorry that I ran off and didn't let you speak earlier." Again no answer and you slowly start to feel stupid. Maybe you shouldn't have come. In the end you are no longer together. 

Suddenly you hear him sobbing and see that his shoulders are shaking. Your heart starts to hurt seeing him like that. You go down on your knees in front of him and pull him into your arms. He clings onto you as if you could stop him from drowning. 

"I'm here for you", you whisper, playing softly with his hair. 

You can feel your tears running down your cheeks too. 

After a few minutes he leans back a bit. 

"I'm sorry for bothering you." 

"What? When? You are and were never a bother, Innie", you whisper, wiping his tears away. He gives you a sad smile. 

"But you are here. In the middle of the night and you are not even my partner anymore." 

"No matter what, I still care about you. You were my everything, it's not like I could stop that from one day to another." He nods slowly, playing with his fingers. 

"I'm sorry for my behaviour during touring. It was not fair towards you." For a second you hesitate but then you softly grab his hand. 

"Thank you for the apology. It means a lot to me. But I also want to apologise." You breathe in deeply. "I knew that touring would be a challenge for our relationship but I wanted it to be the same as always, which was not really possible. I ruined it because I wanted to continue as always." Now it's him that's hugging you. 

"We both are to blame that your relationship ended during touring but…", you start but Jeongin interrupts you. 

"I still love you. I still need you." 

"I love you too", you whisper, hugging him tighter. You missed him, his hug, his presents, his sense. 

"If you want", he whispers after a while and draws back a bit. "We can try again… I think we could make it work." Slowly you start to smile. You close the distance between you two and give him a kiss on his forehead. 

"Let's try again." He just gives you the sweetest smile you've ever seen. 

"But now let's get you home. It's late and cold." 

"I don't want to walk. I don't have any energy", he mutters but you are pulling him up with you. 

"Get on my back." 

"No, I'm way too heavy." You just give him a look. He rolls his eyes but then gets up on your back. You totally forgot how it feels to have him close to you. 

Slowly you walk towards the dorm and as you stand in front of it, you can hear Innie snore lightly. Very complicated, you ring the bell and a few moments later Chan opens the door. The other boys are also standing in the hallway. 

"He has fallen asleep the way back", you explain and walk in. After getting out of your shoes you walk to his room and put him inside his bed. 

"Where?", he whispers half sleeping. "Don't go." 

"I will visit tomorrow, I promise. But now sleep." You give him a kiss on his cheek, pad his head and then walk out of his room. 

In the living room the other boys wait for you. 

"And?" It's Seungmin. Your hands are getting sweaty suddenly.

"We talked and everything is fine now."

"And?" 

"We want to try it again." You don't know what you expected but they all start to smile. 

"We are happy for you two." 

"Thank you Jinnie." 

"He is still in trouble. Just running off like that and make us all worried", Minho carps, shaking his head. 

"Please don't be too harsh with him." Minho let's out a little sigh and then nods. 

"I will go home now." 

"Don't. It's way to late. You can sleep here." Slowly you nod. 

"Thanks." 

Slowly you walk back to Jeongin and get into bed next to him. 

"Hmm?" 

"Shh it's me", you whisper while going over his cheek. "Sleep well." You kiss his forehead one more time before falling asleep aswell. 

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[thefanbasewhore]

In Big Trouble.

Summary: Bucky never texts back until he has a reason to 👀

Warning/content: (18+) no real smut but it's little steamy

Paring: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Master list || Bucky Barnes tag list. 

Is everything okay?

Anxious eyes read over the words over and over again, hoping this will be the time Bucky Barnes will finally learn how to use a damn phone. He's been gone for over a week, you try not to call or worry too much but it's not like he makes it easy.

It's been five days since you last heard from him, called from Sam's phone claiming he'll never be able to use his own. Of course, he grew up in a era where cell phones weren't a think but you mostly think it's because he's stubborn, refusing to use any kind of technology because he's an old man at heart.

Feet nervously shuffling on the floor under your desk, chewing on the fat of your lip nervously. It's hard to sit back and act like it's okay not to hear from him, like he's not the only thing running through your mind 24/7 because he is. It's a learning curve really, not a single person in the world has ever prepared you for having a super solider boyfriend and the endless worrying that comes along with it.

Sighing loudly you throw the phone back into the drawer of the desk before getting back to work. He'll be fine. He always is.

***

It's hours later and once again you're staring at the stupid screen but now in the confines of your own home, on your own time but it doesn't shake the worry, it's worse.

Buck are you there? Answer me back old man.

Five days is a long time.. what if he's hurt or something went wrong and he's trapped knees deep in snow in Antarctica or some kind of freak accident happened that Bucky and Sam are trapped on a deserted island?

But then again, how would he be able to text you? No, No, everything is fine, Bucky is fine just technologically challenged. Waiting a few more minutes before throwing the phone onto the the coffee table with a loud grunt.

***

Now it's been eight whole days, still not a single word from Bucky or Sam. Not even a little thumbs up emoji and quite honestly it's worrying.

Bucky on the other hand is well aware of all the messages, reads every single one but scowls trying to press the small letters to form something even close to English but ends up getting aggravated and gives up.

Everything is fine, except for every waking minute he's either on a stake out which means he can't even take ten minutes to call you or out of reach from any kind of service. It's his last day here, the mission is finally over but the debriefings will hold him for just a few more hours.

He looks around the room of people, all politely listening to Sam as he clears up the mission, any loose ends sealed tight but Bucky can't care enough to pay attention. Except this time the phone chimes in the side pocket of his tac pants and it's not like he's doing anything anyways, why not peak?

He looks up, just to make sure no one is looking before angling it towards his face, but just enough it's hidden under the table and presses the notification, it's surrounded by hearts and 'my doll' is in big letters.

He starts to get annoyed, nimble fingers hovering over the screen as it freezes momentarily but the words aren't hard to miss on the screen.

'Miss you, big guy 💘'

It's sweet, the small pink heart after it fills a warmth over his cheeks, flushes his nose just enough that if any one cared to look over they would totally catch the Winter Soldier pinched pink. It makes him smile, a feeling all so new to the solider, never in his life having someone waiting for him, worrying and missing him.

But what happens next causes him to audibly choke, spit caught in the back of his throat as a deep, red flush claims his face which only makes it worse as he looks up to notice everyone is staring at him.

There you are, in front of the floor mirror. It's a simple pose, sitting on your legs, arm over your head while your hand ruffles your hair, back arched so high he can almost feel the similarly of it on his hands, fingers twitching to feel it again.

He notes the way your bottom lip is pulled between teeth, red and puffy, begging for his own. Eyes roam over the long muscles of your neck, small brusies from his departure still stain the skin purple, they trail down your collar bones and stop right between the valley of your breast.

His mouth waters to taste the salty tang of your skin again, bare breast high in the air, pedals pink and puffy, knowing for a fact they have been played with moments before. He can't look away, just follows the path set out from your torso to the skin of your thighs that are strategically placed to hide where you want him most.

He's so, so hot, the temperature of the room at least increased by 20 degrees in the last minute as he awkwardly coughs. "Sorry, Just need so water."

He takes a fake sip, making sure all eyes are somewhere else before looking back down pulling his collar away from his neck. Desire fills his chest and pumps throughout his whole body with a dull ache in his lower abdomen.

Fingers press more harshly then they should, he's so close, has the whole sentence typed out. 'Someone's being a bad girl' before he hovers over the send button but it's too late, there's already another picture.

This time you're laying down, phone raised in the air, thighs spread revealing everything to him. A hand rest dangerously low below your stomach and he stands so quickly the stupid chair spins behind him, he's already almost out the door before a word could be said.

It's not even ten seconds later when the contact picture pops up, letting it ring a few times and answering it with a knowing smirk. "Hi baby."

"Don't hi baby me, what was that?"

Bitting your lip with a smirk and looking around the room innocently despite a soul not being around. "What was what?"

"The pictures, you know exactly what I'm talking about doll." He sounds angry but you know him far too well to know exactly what he's feeling. Voice grovels just enough to being back the memory of the soft words that would be mumbled into your skin as he takes you and it's heaven to your ears.

"Oh those? Just missed you big guy."

It's funny how two basic words have him weak in the knees, desire burning in the pit of his stomach as you continue. "Just trying to get your attention."

"Is that what this is sweetheart? Are you feeling a lonely?" It's pure sugary, velvety smooth how he patronizes you but you want more. The desire to have him buried between your legs is too strong to fight even if you tried.

"Yes, feeling a little neglected here, Buck.." Sultry smooth, each word makes him want to palm his aching hard on as he struts down the stairs, midful of every turn and staircase he takes to avoid any awkward altercations.

"I'm sorry baby, I'll be home three hours tops. Give you all you need. Be a good girl and wait for me." It's easier said then done, a small groan is music to his ears.

"I mean it, wait for me. Don't be a brat." Taking his warning rather low as he hears shuffling on the other side of the line.

"Want another picture, to hold you over?"

His mouth snaps open, but he can't seem to get the words out. It's hard rejecting such an offer, jaw clenching in annoyance, not directed towards you but the aching, heavy feeling between his thighs. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"Don't you dar-." Before the words could even leave his mouth the phone chimed against his ear, brows narrowing in frustration. "You're in so much trouble."

[inkykeiji]

you be the match, i will be your fuse

fluffy anon said: dabi coming home after an absolutely horrid day at work and just needing to be absolutely BABIED by reader (i’m talking cuddling in bed, taking a bath with him and washing his hair then getting out just rubbing his back as he sleeps with his head on your chest)

genre: angst + fluff, laced with just a hint of smut (like two sentences)

notes: aaaah happy birthday dabi!!! this has absolutely nothing to do with your birthday but eeee ily | title cred: sure thing by miguel

warnings: 18+, implied/mentioned death of a child, one instance of implied past physical abuse, self-destructive behaviour + coping mechanisms, co-dependent toxic relationship

words: 3.5k

It’s thundering the day it happens, ferocious growls that rumble through your apartment—a tiny, quaint space you share with Dabi, full of faulty appliances and cracked linoleum—rolling, fluffy grey clouds blanketing the entire sky, swollen with restrained rain droplets as a storm brews within them. Little fingers idly toy with the yellowed pages of your worn pulp fiction novel, flipping through them and bending corners as your eyes search the angry sky, chewing on your cheek.

Dabi should’ve been home by now. It’s not like him to be late without calling, without letting his babygirl know what’s going on—he knows the way you worry, the way you overthink yourself into a frenzy, the way you’re so clingy and needy, teases you about it incessantly and tells you he thinks it’s cute—and a deep sense of dread takes root in the pit of your stomach, dark and bitter and unfurling, quickly spreading throughout the cavity of your chest.

His phone must be off—no, it’s never off, he doesn’t do that anymore, not since you stumbled into his life—his phone must be dead, your repeated calls growing increasingly frequent and urgent every time you’re greeted with the drone of his automatic voicemail.

Something’s wrong, horribly so.

It’s evident the moment he arrives home, scratched brass doorknob slamming against the wall, deepening the crater its left from past incidents of a similar manner.

It infects the air around him, hanging heavy and thick, its dense presence nearly suffocating. His shoulders slump under the pressure, the weight of whatever he’s carrying practically crushing, as he drags his crimson splattered boots through the front door, soles scraping against the cheap hardwood, bringing the putrid scent of charred flesh with him—his or someone else’s, you don’t know.

You swear you can almost see it, this—this thing, this aura, enveloping him in its haughty embrace as his chest heaves under a deep, controlled breath, pausing in the foyer as the door shuts behind him.

Bare feet pad against the floor, your legs moving without your explicit permission, drawn towards him in an almost instinctual manner, the desire to care for, to comfort, burning as it bubbles up in your chest, mixing with that intense sense of trepidation and invading your veins.

He permits you to wrap your arms around his torso as you nuzzle against him, body going rigid for a moment, still and stiff as marble, before he exhales again, melting into your embrace.

Several questions race through your mind at such a speed that they crash and clash together, becoming nothing more than incoherent jumbled lettering, tiny fingers curling in the fabric of his clothing as you try to pull him closer, nonsensical babbling spilling from your lips. A vacant ghost of a chuckle leaves his lips, nothing more than a simple huff of breath, and he squeezes you closer.

“Bad day?” the words are mumbled against his dirty t-shirt, what was once a pristine white now tarnished with ash and blood. You don’t get a response—you don’t expect one.

He doesn’t talk much, not on days like this.

He doesn’t need to.

Bad days—really bad, terrible, awful days such as this one—are surprisingly rare with Dabi. Sure, he’s had the typical ‘bad’ day before, where someone pisses him off, or he gets into a fight with his superior, but those bad days usually require railing you into your creaky, springy king-sized mattress until you’ve forgotten everything but his name and he’s fucked all of the anger and hatred out of his body.

They are not like this one. No, on days such as this, on days where he’s killed someone he deems to be innocent, someone who—like him—is a victim of heroism, he’s quiet, distant, unpredictable, bordering on unhinged, and you’ve learned to tread with extreme discretion.

But you don’t push, either, resolving to communicate through gentle touches, soft fingertips that run along his tense, broad shoulders and press into the hard coiled muscles, tender fingers that thread through inky tufts of hair, sapphire eyes closing as he hums and leans into the motion like a cat.

It’s only for a second, though, just a moment of weakness before he’s breaking out of your embrace, pushing past you and clearing his throat, glass door to the balcony sliding shut a moment later. 

You don’t follow. You know better than that now, a phantom sting in your cheek serving as a reminder, the resounding sharp sound of glass shattering as it’s hurled at the floor slicing through your mind with such viciousness it makes you wince. 

Instead, you sit. And you wait. Like you’re supposed to, like a good little girl, a book clutched between your quivering hands, unblinking eyes staring at the words on the page, nothing but incomprehensible symbols—lines and lines of black ink in meaningless shapes—as scorching sapphire loops through your mind.

Be a good girl, give him space, let him come to you. Be a good girl, give him space, let him come to you. Be a good girl. Give him space. Let him come to you.

It’s standard procedure, really.

And eventually, he does, comes back inside with an empty bottle of whiskey clutched in a hand, along with a crumpled package of cigarettes. You don’t know how long it’s been, muscles sore and joints aching from sitting in the same position for so long, eyes dry from staring at the same page, barely moving, barely breathing. His hand is bleeding, knuckles bruised and gleaming with sticky scarlet that’s still fresh and flowing, but it could be worse. It has been worse.

The harsh clink of the bottle against the kitchen counter makes you flinch, and he sighs, heavy and full of derision, eyes flicking up to glare at your side profile.

“I can hear you thinking,”

“You’re filthy, baby,” the words tumble past your lips, uncontrollable, involuntary, almost reflexive in your response, eyes snapping to his face and voice whiny, voice pleading. “Take a bath with me,”

And you can see it—can see it in the dark cobalt of his irises, what he needs, the very thing he’s fighting himself on, the very thing he’s fighting so hard against. Always so stubborn, so reluctant, so cautious.

Because, fuck, he used to be able to resist it, this pathetic ache for comfort—something that’s only managed to grow in your presence, that’s shifted and morphed from a dull smoldering to a raging fire, an insatiable longing for your fingers in his hair and your breath on his skin and your voice against his ear—a skill he’d been constructing, developing, perfecting, since he was thirteen years old. A skill you succeeded in shattering in the matter of a few measly months.

Because you—you’re different. And he hates it sometimes, he swears to the good Lord he does, but hating it doesn’t make it any less true. You break him down, you make him weak, you make him want, and the longer he spends around you, the more he finds that he doesn’t fucking care. And that’s irritating, that’s exciting, that’s terrifying, that’s new. 

Fury blisters his chest, his lungs, his throat as he holds your stare, jaw clenching twice. But you don’t falter, not like the rest of them, not like anyone else—everyone else. You never falter, always so eager to see the good in him, a snort leaving his nose at the thought. The good in him. Is there any good left in him? Was there ever any good in him in the first place? Are you the good in him, now? Does he care?

And he’s not sure he’ll ever understand it, but he’s beginning to realize that, maybe, he doesn’t have to. 

Maybe, it doesn’t matter. Maybe, it’s okay, if you love him, if he loves you.

Maybe.

It’s too much, and he can feel frustration stinging his eyes, long delicate eyelashes fluttering as he quickly blinks it away. Spears, sharp and cold, splinter your chest at the sight, but you know if you begin crying too, you’ll lose him. You know that if you begin showing what he considers weakness, he’ll pull away, even though this is what he so clearly needs most. 

So you steel yourself, swallowing hard against the pain collecting in your throat, will the tears away and force your body to stay calm, approaching him slowly as if he’s some sort of feral animal prone to lashing out. 

Apprehension is clear in his azure eyes, head tilting a little as they narrow, regarding you with skepticism, with suspicion. 

It’s bold, and dangerous, and—as far as Dabi’s concerned—fucking stupid, but you don’t care, determined to prove to him that you aren’t going anywhere regardless of how many tantrums he throws, no matter how many times he hurts you in his anguish. It’s almost desperate, really, this sheer need to prove to him that you aren’t scared of him, that irrespective of how soft he seems to think you are, you are strong, even if it’s in ways he could never understand, that you can be strong for him, when he needs it, that he can borrow some of your strength, if he needs to.

And that—that’s why he loves you. It hits him hard, as this realization always does, kicks him in the chest and knocks the breath out of him every time, and he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it.

A tiny hand hangs in the air between the two of you, Dabi regarding the offer with a wary hesitance. Wiggling fingers attempt to entice him, earning a tiny smirk—a massive victory—as sapphire flits up to gaze at you through thick lashes, an eyebrow raised.

You match his expression, quirking an eyebrow of your own and nodding at your hand, speaking a moment later.

“Let me in, baby,” the words are barely above a whisper, but they’re so raw, filled with so much unadulterated love it hurts, pure and real and everything he’s never had before. “Let me help,”

And, God, it’s fucking overwhelming, how badly he wishes to give in to this unfamiliar compassion, how desperately he desires your affection, despite the malicious voice echoing off the walls of his skull, berating him for being so pathetic, so weak, so vulnerable.

But the urge to accept, to seek out consolation in you, wins, just as it always does, that nasty voice reverberating in his mind silenced the very instant his skin touches yours.

You let him make the last move, allow him to make that final decision entirely on his own accord, to grasp your hand in his, warm and rough, and pull you towards him, crushing you against his chest as he buries his face in your hair, eyes squeezed shut against that annoying burn of tears, chest stuttered with a hitched breath, air that gets caught in his throat as he chokes on the words he wants to say.

But he doesn’t need to say them. You already know.

“Come,” you murmur to him, fingers threading through the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. “Let’s take a bath,”

     ✰          ✰          ✰

The bathwater stings your skin, just a hint too hot to be comfortable, but you say nothing as you settle onto his lap in the cramped little tub, encompassed by frothy bubbles, dainty scent of orange citrus tickling your nose.

Heated fingertips press into your hips as he finds comfort the only way he knows how to, in your precious little whimpers and broken moans of his name as he bounces you on his cock, so vigorously you’re positive you can feel him in your tummy, the pads of his fingers searing his prints into your skin.

It’s heady, it’s intoxicating, it’s addicting, heightened emotions both pleasant and unpleasant swirling together with the symphony of your cries and his grunts as the water you’re submerged in begins to bubble and boil, to crack and pop, sudsy liquid sloshing over the side of the tiny tub as he forces you to ride him, faster and faster and faster until you’re whining and convulsing around him, and he’s filling you with thick cum, cock throbbing aggressively as he spurts load after load into you.

After, as he leans back against the cold tile, residual droplets sizzling into steam as his heated skin touches them. Gentle fingers card between his hair, water cascading through onyx strands as it pours over his head from a worn plastic cup—a faded Darth Vader staring back at you as you rhythmically repeat your actions until the tresses stick to his forehead and cheeks, drenched and shining in the low light of the washroom.

Heavy lids obscure the most brilliant sapphire from you as shampoo is massaged into his scalp, slow and unhurried and thorough, every stroke, every comb through inky clumps easing the turmoil in his mind bit by bit, calming the storm that’s been raging inside of him for hours now. Deep hums rumble in his chest as your fingers continue their ministrations, your eyes trained on your motions. And you can feel it, the tension dissipating from his body with each circle of foam rubbed into his soft hair, shoulders finally beginning to relax as he subconsciously nuzzles into your touch, following it, longing for it, aching for more.

He shifts then, after you’ve rinsed the soap from his hair, manhandling you into a position between his thighs, bare chest pressed tightly against your back. You work hard to keep your body from tensing, forcing your breathing to stay even, to stay calm as you brace yourself for what’s coming next.

“He was eleven,” he says after several long moments of silence, voice low and trembling, hoarse and heavy with remorse. “This time.”

This time. That’s the third innocent civilian—innocent by his standards, at least—this month.

That’s the first time it’s ever been a child.

You don’t turn around to look at him, not yet—he isn’t finished—simply opting to lace your fingers through his and bring your joined hands to your lips, kissing each wounded knuckle, crude staples catching in the dim warm light of the tiny bathroom. 

You want to tell him it wasn’t his fault, even though it was. You want to tell him anything that’ll make him feel better, that’ll absolve the guilt so evidently gnawing away at his insides, even though you know there’s nothing you can say.

“What are—I don’t even—” his voice breaks and you feel his chest stutter against your back, feel him exhale harshly, breath cool on your damp shoulder, feel him swallow thickly as he tries again. Because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, as much as he would never admit it, you know he needs release this from the confines of his mind—you know you’re the only person who can offer him such an outlet. “Why the fuck were there kids there in the first place? Huh? They shouldn’t—They shouldn’t have been there,”

Orphans are everywhere in this city, you murmur, lips moving against his rough skin. He knows. Orphans of heroes. He knows.

“I’m gonna kill Shigaraki, I swear to Christ. Sending us to a—a fucking place infested with fucking ch-children,” his fingers curl around yours, hand beginning to shake as it clutches you like a lifeline, like that guilt will devour him from the inside out, like he’ll disintegrate into nothingness, if he doesn’t. “I bet you he fucking knew—nah, I-I’m positive he did. Asshole only cares about himself, though. Doesn’t matter that—that the cause we’re supposed to be fighting for affects these stupid kids,”

You’re right, love.

The words leave your lips in a gentle breath, leaning your head back against his collarbone and staring up at him. Cobalt eyes stay trained on the cracked tile wall, jaw methodically clenching as his molars grind together, an attempt to quell the trembling of his chin, exhaling hard harsh breaths through flared nostrils.

“Whatever,” he huffs, voice still wavering and not nearly as self-assured as he wishes. “Th-That brat shouldn’t have been there in the first place,”

He shouldn’t have, you agree, finally squirming in his grasp, turning to face him, to straddle his hips again in the tight space of the tub. And he welcomes your affections readily this time, arms encircling your waist as he holds you tightly to him, blunt nails digging purple-tinged crescents into your flesh as he shoves his face against your neck, finally allowing those emotions he’s been fighting to leak from his eyes and absorb into your skin.

Little palms rub soothing circles into his back as he shudders against you, allowing him to empty his soul onto you as soft lips press chaste kisses to his damp hair, waiting until there’s nothing left, until his eyes are drained, azure glassy and bloodshot, nose twitching and red.

And after he’s done, when he finally pulls back, scrubbing aggressively at his nose as tiny sniffles hitch in his chest, gentle fingers begin to lather soap into his skin, washing away the dirt and grime and blood from the day. Fingertips carefully trace along the metal sutures decorating his body with immeasurable adoration, you whispering all of the things he so desperately needs to hear that he’d never dare to ask for, complimented by the tender touches that cleanse his soul with their unconditional love.

He’s bigger than you are, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to wrap him in a fluffy white towel, using another in an attempt to dry his hair as your hands move in shaggy motions, heart soaring in your chest when you pull a soft laugh from his lips, wet and wobbly and croaky, but a laugh nonetheless.

A mutual silence, gentle and comforting and stuffed full of an immense love, a special kind of love, a love words do not exist to explain, swathes your bodies as he allows you to dress him, pulling a ratty old band tee over his head and a pair of plaid PJ pants up his legs.

“You always look so cute in my clothes,” he rasps from his spot perched on the edge of the bed, glowing crystal eyes watching as you pull one of his t-shirts over your naked body.

A genuine bubble of laughter erupts from your throat as you climb into bed with him, immediately allowing him to latch onto you, to pull you towards him, to hold you close like his own personal plushie.

“Sleep,” you murmur as the two of you settle into a comfortable position, limbs tangled together, his head resting on your chest, fingers threading through his hair and then tracing down his neck, his back. “And then I’ll make you ramen,”

“The spicy kind?”

“Of course,”

I love you.

“Extra spicy?”

Laughing again, you feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin, grip around your torso tightening. “Extra spicy. Now, rest,”

More than anything else.

“With the little fish cakes?”

“Your favourite little fish cakes,”

More than words could ever tell you.

“And the pork belly?”

“And the pork belly,” you feel his chest rise with an inhale, hastily adding, “And those little cream puffs you love so much, from that dingy convenience store downstairs, for dessert. Now sleep, baby,”

He laughs, even though his vision is blurring, even though it comes out more strangled than anything else, because he doesn’t want to cry again, because his chest stings and aches and swells and warms, full of inexplicable emotions, feels like it’s going to fucking burst as it chokes and reinvigorates him all at once, and—God, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

Because even though he’s terrified beyond belief, he’s willing to try—just for you, only for you—as he continually realizes with each passing day that he isn’t sure what the fuck he’d do without you, now. Because you’re too entangled up in his life, too deeply embedded in his very soul, for him to ever remove you, now. Because as petrifying and unfamiliar as it is, he doesn’t want to, now.

Because even though he’s broken, irrevocably so, and you can’t fix him, won’t fix him, you’ll still stay, to hold those pieces so gently, so tenderly in your hands, you’ll still protect those fragments and keep them from shattering further, you’ll still give them the affection and devotion they need, the affection and devotion they deserve. Because you love every part of him, even the bad ones, even the shards with jagged edges that cut into the soft flesh of your palms every time you caress them.

Because you accept him wholeheartedly, flaws and all, and that’s—he’s never experienced anything like that before, this unlimited, unreserved, unquestioning love. And although he doesn’t know how to say this, isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to find the right words to communicate it, he’s beginning to learn that unfamiliar doesn’t always mean bad; that sometimes, it’s okay—it’s good—to be vulnerable. He’s beginning to learn that with you, in the warmth of your shitty little apartment, with the stove that only has two functioning burners and the fridge that’s perpetually too cold, he can be, without judgement, without fear, without trepidation.

Because you are his only salvation, and he wouldn’t trade this for the goddamn world.