#ADAMANTLY REFUSES TO BREAK

[bibleofficial]

amazon is off their shit w the way they put ads in everything i HATE how the new ‘premium model’ is just … without ads. like buy an amazon fire tv & have ads built into ur television. a billboard in ur living room

[that-one-girl2020]

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader Pt. 7

A/N: Thank you for 1,500 followers!

Okay, this is the last official part of this short series but I have more ideas for headcanons and one-shots for this series! Like, first kisses with the boys, maybe a smut, the Saja Boys and Mira and Zoey confronting Celine about how she raised the mc and Rumi, etc. So if you have ideas about headcanon or one-shot ideas tied to this series, you can send it to my inbox or add it in the comments!

I hope this is as satisfying as you guys hoped it would be!

TW: Grief, mourning, etc.

Word Count: 3,718

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6

Master List

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, Abby = Kwan)

Rumi sighed pleasantly, sinking deeper into the hot water as steam wafted around her. “Wow. This feels amazing.”

“We’ve been saying that for years,” Mira groaned contently, her eyes barely slipping open to look at her.

“Right? See what you’ve been missing?” Zoey mused, a loopy grin on her face.

“Oh yeah. I wanna come here every day of our three month hiatus…”

“Girls, I’m so glad you and (Y/n) didn’t, like, die…?” Zoey suddenly brought up, grimacing at her own words.

“Wow Zoey, way to be super literal,” Mira smirked, peaking her eyes open to look at their maknae lazily. “But same.”

Zoey started blubbering, sniffling and trying to stop but it was pointless, “I just… you guys just mean so much to me, and I don’t really know what I’d do without you…” Zoey descended into incomprehensible tearful babbling.

Zoey’s tears began Mira’s own crying and then Rumi followed right after them.

You couldn’t help but chuckle and shake your head from where you sat between your sister and Mira as the three blubbered.

How did you get to this point again…?

~~~

Rumi gripped your sword tighter in her hands, not minding if the blade cut her hand. She refused to let go of it as the three girls silently made their way back to the tower after leaving Namsan tower. They had reassured Bobby that everything was okay and that they would actually be taking that break now. But, they still had a lot to talk about—Rumi’s past, the Saja Boys, their fight… you.

There was a space besides them that felt achingly empty as they went up the elevator.

The three silently traipsed from the elevator, their steps heavy as they sat on the couch. They sat in mournful silence, gathered around the sword that had come from your soul.

Eventually, Mira set a hesitant hand on Rumi’s shoulder. “Rumi…” she sighed, her heart clenching at what she would have to say. “You have to let it go at some point.”

Rumi held your sword tighter in response, a drop of blood staining the rug beneath them. A tear fell from her eye. “No.”

“Rumi…” Zoey sighed softly, resting her hand on Rumi’s other shoulder, leaning her head on Rumi’s sadly.

“No,” Rumi shook her head adamantly. “I won’t let her go.”

“But, the sword isn’t her, Rumi,” Mira tried to tell her. Logically, she knew this. But a part of her didn’t want Rumi to let go of the sword either.

“I know,” Rumi choked out. “I know that, but… it’s the last part of her in this world. How can I let that go?”

Mira and Zoey were quiet, unable to say anything because there wasn’t anything to say in this situation. All they could do was offer comfort to each other as they mourned the loss of their sister, Rumi’s cries filling the silence.

Rumi knew she would have to let the sword go and once she did, it would dissipate into the rainbow Honmoon. She couldn’t think of sleeping or eating or doing anything if it meant there was a chance of her letting go of your sword.

But she had to let you rest.

“(Y/n)… I’m so sorry for the way I treated you,” Rumi told your sword, your soul humming through it. “I wasn’t a good sister for you and I wasn’t there when you needed me. I should’ve done better for you… Thank you for protecting me when I needed it most, and I hope you can forgive me someday… I love you…”

Zoey set her hand over Rumi’s on the blade of your sword, “(Y/n), I’m sorry for not hearing you out. You’ve always listened to me and the one time it counted, I didn’t return it… From now on, I’ll do better at listening. And I’ll write a super sweet song in your memory! Just… I hope you know that you were like a sister to me, (Y/n).” Zoey wiped her eyes, laughing wetly as she rested her head on Rumi’s shoulder.

Mira sighed, placing her hand over Zoey’s on your sword blade, “I’m… sorry (Y/n). I jumped ahead and called you a traitor without even hearing you out… I’ve never been great at expressing myself, but… you always just accepted me, even when I was being prickly. I’m sorry I didn’t return the favor. I hope you know that you’ll always be family to me.”

The three girls were silent. They knew the time had come to let you go but they held on just a little bit longer. Just a little bit more time with you…

“Goodbye… (Y/n)…” Rumi whispered tearfully. Slowly the girls let go of your sword. They watched as it floated from Rumi’s lap, the sword dissipating in a cruel reflection of the way you died, bit by bit fading out until it was a floating orb of light purple, pink and blue hues.

The girls were breath taken but their hearts were heavy as they watched. They had never seen something like this before. It was more beautiful than the Honmoon itself, watching your soul depart.

They blinked when the one orb suddenly split into several. Five orbs of different shades of light purple and pink and blue circled around a single orb in the middle, flying and swirling around it… happily. Then the orb in the middle seemed to shake itself, perking up as it joined the joyful dance around each other, dipping and spinning and chasing each other faster and faster until the girls had to close their eyes as the lights combined and got too bright.

“AH!”

The girls’ eyes popped open when they heard the sudden yelp and several thumps. Their eyes widened at the sight before them, latching onto each other in shock, “Ahhhh!”

“Ahhhh!”

“AhHHHH!”

“AhHHHH!”

“Why are we screaming!?”

“(Y/N)!” The girls scrambled off the couch in a rush of tangled limbs and tackled you. The breath was knocked out of your lungs and your back hurt from landing so harshly on the ground, not once but twice.

You honestly had no idea what happened. One moment you were singing with the Saja Boys and then Rumi arrived and reunited with Mira and Zoey. And Rumi was buckling under the force of Gwi Ma and then you were shielding her. After that, your memories were vague. You had some fuzzy memories of… being a sword…? Had you been dreaming?

“Wait, (Y/n)?!” You heard Kwan’s voice and then the bundle of four girls was being lifted so you could be squished by five more people.

You were confused for a moment as you were surrounded by eight sobbing young adults. But then you felt your heart warm and you smiled, tears trailing down your own face at the feeling of being so loved.

“We thought you were dead!”

“Never do that again!”

“You stupid idiot!”

“Don’t scare us like that…”

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n)!”

Yeah… You wouldn’t trade the world for your eight blubbering babies.

“Sorry for worrying you guys…” You apologized, offering comfort in whatever way you could with your arms squished to your sides.

“Wait a minute,” Mira’s eyes were suddenly dry, snapping open to look slowly at the Saja Boys that were in their group hug. “What are you doing here?!”

The group hug suddenly dispersed, the Saja Boys on one side, Mira, Zoey, and Rumi on the other with you in the middle of the two groups, whipping your head back and forth between the two groups with wide, confused eyes.

‘Did they… not work together after you… died…?’

The Saja Boys awkwardly side-eyed each other.

“Didn’t you guys die or something?!” Zoey yelled.

Your head whipped around to look at the boys who sheepishly avoided your gaze, “Wait. You guys died?! How?!”

“Uhm,” Rumi started, “After you… died, they kinda just surrendered and started flaking away Thanos style.”

Your eyes widened at Rumi’s explanation. Then your head whipped back around to look at the guys who were slowly backing away. “You guys just gave up?!”

Jinu shrugged awkwardly, his shoulders going up to his ears as he avoided your eyes with a grimace, “Well… You died and…”

“We swore to follow wherever you wanted to go,” Hyeon explained more bluntly, the slightest bit of a whine in the tone of his voice. Not a childish whine, more like the whine of a scolded dog.

“So you decided to follow me into death?!” You couldn’t help but wave your arms incredulously. You sighed and facepalmed, closing your eyes in defeat. “We all need therapy. Like, now.”

“Might be hard with your current look,” Mira smirked, looking you up and down pointedly. “You look sick though.”

You blinked, looking down at yourself. Oh. You still had a lot of your demon features. Your skin color was back to normal, if a little more gray than before, and the patterns were a lot lighter. But your fingers were a normal length now, your claws weren’t as long now. But you could feel that your teeth were still sharper than a normal human’s and your eyes still glowed amber at you in your reflection in the window.

You looked back at the boys and their appearances had changed as well. Their reaper clothes were gone, back in their human clothes now. Their skin tones weren’t the dark lilac they had been before, more of a gray now as well. Their patterns weren’t purple anymore, they looked closer to black now, more like tattoos. Other than that, most of their other features were still the same.

“Oh,” You blinked. “I think I’ll be alright once my eyes chill, but the boys…” You trailed off. “Can you guys still use your demon powers?”

“Maybe. It feels a little limited though…” Kwan responded.

“We can try though,” Jum chimed in. One by one a ripple of demon energy pulsed over the boys, leaving them with normal skin tones and eyes, no claws and their teeth much less sharp.

You tilted your head at them though, “You guys kept your patterns?” You noted. The black markings were only a light purple now but still covered their arms and necks, their faces the only things they had cleared of patterns. (Like how Jinu looked when Gwi Ma summoned him after the bathhouse fight).

The boys simply smiled, “We couldn’t let you and your sister have all the fun,” Jinu smirked cheekily.

Your heart warmed and you blushed, wanting to coo over the sweet gesture. You stepped towards them, raising your hands to cradle Jum and Hyeon’s faces as the five boys gravitated towards you. “I love you boys. So much.”

The boys’ eyes teared up, their emotions crashing through them leaving them feeling too much all at once. You had died. And they thought you weren’t coming back. You are their hope, their guiding light. So they had followed you.

And now you were all here again, with them. And the Honmoon had been sealed. They hadn’t planned for that.

They were in the human world for good now. There would be no more second chances for them, this was officially it. So, for you, they would do their best to choose better. They had no doubts that you would accept them, flaws and all. But you deserved better than they were.

The six of you would need time. The things you all did, for each other and for themselves were things that they couldn’t just forget or accept as part of themselves just yet. Maybe that was why you all retained so many demonic features.

However, for now? They clutched you tight, wrapping you in their arms as they clutched at whatever part of you they could reach. They closed their eyes as tears dripped down cheeks, leaning their heads against yours as they felt your warmth, breathed in your scent, swallowed back their fading grief.

“Please don’t leave us again…”

The six of you stood together for a long moment, basking in each other’s presence to reassure each of you that you were all there and all alive.

Rumi stepped forward and the boys tensed around you, still weary of the Hunters. You moved to stand in front of them, a barrier between your sister and the boys. Rumi ignored them though, taking your hands in hers, “(Y/n), I’m so sorry for how I treated you. Nothing I say could ever make up for what I did, the lack of appreciation I’ve shown you in the past few years… But I hope you can forgive me someday and we can rebuild our relationship.”

Mira and Zoey joined, adding their hands on top of yours to make it a little huddle as they rested their free hands on your shoulders. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to what you had to say, (Y/n). You’ve always listened to me and I should’ve done the same,” Zoey added softly.

“And I’m sorry for calling you a traitor and… saying we’d kill you…” Mira added slowly, looking down in shame and guilt. “I should’ve heard you out and accepted you like you’ve always done for me…”

You smiled gently, cursing internally at your watering eyes. “Thanks girls…” Your smile fell into a small frown as you looked at your joined hands. “I don’t know if I can forgive you three yet, and I’ll definitely never forget, but I do love you guys and want to rebuild our relationships.”

The girls smiled sadly but they accepted your words easily. Whatever you needed. The four of you would have to talk more, there was still the conversation of how you and Rumi had kept your patterns hidden hanging over them. But that could be another time.

“So…” Jinu broke up the tender moment. “Can we stay the night?” He gestured to the other boys and himself.

The girls blanched. “Uhm. No.” Mira refused bluntly.

“Come on,” Kwan groaned, crossing his arms with a frown, “You’re not the only ones who lost (Y/n) when she…”

“Yeah,” Chungae swooped in, covering up how Kwan trailed off. “We were asking more out of courtesy than anything.”

Mira growled, the two fellow pinkettes grating on her nerves. But Zoey, ever the chipper girl, gasped excitedly as she had a realization, “We can have a sleepover! We can all sleep out here and order food and eat a bunch of junk food and get to know each other!”

And that was how you ended up at a sleepover with your five demon… boyfriends? Well, no one really wanted to leave your side that day.

Or any of the days that followed.

~~~

After that, the girls and the guys had gotten at least… a little more comfortable with each other.

It got better when the boys helped the four of you find the returning souls of the fans. They would just appear in different places around the city, lost and confused, having no memories of what had happened to them or how much time had passed.

During your sleepover, the nine of you had brainstormed and made a statement that you had a health scare which raised tension within Huntr/x, especially since you had wanted to debut as a solo performer, but the boys had supported you even through the health scare. This statement would explain to fans why the pallor of your skin had shifted just a little and also mention how you and Rumi had been born with birth defects that you both had tried hard to hide up till now.

The fans were supportive, glad that the group was taking a hiatus to rest and recover. A lot of fanart of you and Rumi with your patterns and supportive captions filled social media. The fans were especially giddy when the Saja Boys had explained when asked by a fan that they had gotten tattoos in support of their girlfriend, making it official. More fanart came after that.

After the girls and you had talked it out, it seemed like Rumi, Zoey, and Mira were much closer. It was only a matter of time in your opinion, until the three became Polytr/x. The boys agreed with you.

“Couch, couch, couch!” The four of you chanted as you left the bathhouse.

“(Y/n), are you sleeping at the tower tonight?” Rumi asked you.

“Mira’s cooking tonight!” Zoey cheered.

“I’m gonna burn your taste buds off,” Mira smirked proudly. There was a reason people called her the ‘Spice Queen.’ After what happened and you spending more time out of the tower, the girls had started trying their hands at cooking and taking up more chores.

You chuckled, “Sorry girls, I told the boys we could have a movie night. I’ve kinda gotten them hooked on Disney and Ghibli movies…”

Mira snickered, “Good. Don’t be too surprised if I pop in tonight. Gotta get my revenge on Chungae and Kwan,” she punched her hand, the fire of competitive determination flaring in her eyes.

Yeah… Chungae, Kwan, and Mira were having some kind of competition every other day it seemed. Lately, they had taken to surprise Nerf attacks, gaining and losing points based on successful hits assassin style. Last weekend, Jum had joined their spicy food contest and trumped all three of them smugly.

Zoey and Hyeon got along surprisingly well when her fangirling over him had died quickly. You would often see Zoey rambling excitedly as Hyeon nodded along, a small smile on his lips as the younger girl painted his nails.

And Jinu and Rumi acted like the siblings that neither ever wished for. After Jinu apologized and the two talked it out, the two went back to building their friendship. Jinu found amusement in poking at Rumi’s buttons, the two often bickering or debating over little things. But they also often had deep talks or talked about music ideas.

You didn’t wanna think about the shovel talk the girls gave to your boys… You weren’t supposed to overhear, but you were trying your hand at baking in the kitchen and the girls didn’t really know how to be very discreet…

“Oh!” Zoey gasped in remembrance, shaking your arm excitedly, “We gotta work on that collaboration song soon! I have so. Many. Ideas!”

Oh yeah. You had also decided to debut as a solo artist after the whole ‘Your Idol’ fiasco. Fans had accepted the ‘Your Idol’ x ‘What It Sounds Like’ concert as just another show, but had started flooding the internet with theories of who the female singer with the Saja Boys had been. Since you were under dim, red lighting and in demon form, no one had been able to recognize you—although there were some theories that it was you.

Even after those events, it wasn’t hard for you to realize that you wanted to keep performing—keep singing and dancing on stage. Both Huntr/x and the Saja Boys had offered for you to join their groups, almost fighting each other for the right to have you, but you ultimately decided to be a solo artist. You felt like if you had joined either of the groups, you would fall into old habits and become too passive. But you had accepted Bobby’s offer on being your manager since you two had worked together for so long.

Bobby still grumbled about how the Saja Boys didn’t have a manager or anything yet but was satisfied when they had signed under the company so they had access to the billions worth of resources.

You chuckled, nodding, “Yeah, I’ve got a lot of ideas to share too.” You kinda blinked when you realized Zoey was wearing an oversized yellow hoodie with Derpy the Tiger’s face on it. ‘Where had she gotten that…? Was Jinu making Derpy merch…?’

The four of you stopped when you noticed four girls in Huntr/x merch meeting up just up ahead. “Aw, look at them. They’re so cute.”

“You know, I feel like we got a nice little break,” Rumi mused with a smile.

“Yeah, I definitely feel recharged,” Mira agreed easily, crossing her arms.

“Me too. I thought I wanted couch, but I think couch can wait,” Zoey leant on Rumi’s arm. “(Y/n)?”

You smiled, “I got time ‘till the boys will start feeling withdrawal,” You shrugged.

Together, the four of you walked over, “Hi everyone!” Rumi called, the four of you waving at the shocked girls. You weren’t surprised when you kind of fell to the wayside of things as the girls started gushing over Rumi, Zoey, and Mira.

You were surprised when one of the girls turned to you, “And (Y/n) too! There’s rumors going around that you’re gonna debut as a solo artist soon! I just finished a drawing of you and the Saja Boys, would you please sign it?”

You blinked. You had never been asked to sign something unless it was paperwork. You were shaken from your thoughts by an arm resting on your shoulders. You looked up to see it was Kwan, “Wouldn’t you like to have the full set?”

“Guys? What’re you doing here?” You asked curiously with a fond smile.

Arms wrapped around your waist from behind, a nose pressed to the crook of your neck, “Missed you,” Hyeon murmured simply.

“I’ve only been gone a few hours,” You jokingly rolled your eyes. You rested your hands over his, leaning back against him affectionately.

“Even a few minutes away from you is too much, darling,” Chungae smirked at his smooth line while you shook your head at his antics.

“A few seconds is more like it,” Kwan pouted dramatically.

“You’ll let me choose the movie tonight, right, beautiful?” Jum tugged on your sleeve to get your attention.

“You and Chungae picked ‘Howl’s Moving Castle’ last time, Jum, let someone else pick,” Jinu chided the maknae with a little smirk, smiling at you fondly. He turned to look at the girl who looked like she was about to erupt, shaking with excitement and a huge grin on her face, “Is it alright if we signed your drawing too?”

“Of course!”

Yeah, there were still things you needed to do. Therapy being one of them. But for now, you were safe, loved, and comfortable. You were happy.

A/N: Yeah, so the mc and the Saja Boys don’t kiss or anything here, that’ll be in the parts I write later because it just didn’t feel right…?

Go read the Celine Confrontation!

Outtakes:

*During Part 6*

The Saja Boys, Huntr/x, everyone: *Battle ready* “We are going to protect/save (Y/n)!

You: “I’m going to hold your hand when I tell you this…”

(This one was by @ph1lo-s0ph1a and I thought it was great!)

…

*Inside the Sword*

You: *Looking around at the rainbow glow, sparkles, and constellations floating around you* “…Am I high…?”

The Saja Boys: *Somewhere* “(Y/N)!? WHERE ARE YOU?!”

Mystery: *sobbing*

Abby: *trying to swat sparkles out of his face so he can find you*

Jinu: *Habitually trying to summon Derpy and Sussie to search for you*

Baby: *squinting from the too bright rainbow glows* “I can’t see her…”

Romance: *Using the stars to spell out your name to try and signal you, sobbing* “(Y/n)…”

…

*Back during Part 3*

The Saja Boys: *Trying to decide who gets to spend time with you in what order* “Okay… Rock Paper Scissors!” “Ah, NO!” “Betrayed!” “Damn.” “Hehehe!”

…

You: *Looking at Rumi, Mira, and Zoey seriously* “Look. Rumi is my twin sister. But you two are also sisters to me.”

Mira and Zoey: *touched and teary eyed* “Awww…”

You: “Therefore. If any of you hurts one another, I will, objectively, have to kill all of you in the most gruesome way I can manage—which is a lot because I have five demon boyfriends and my own demonic abilities now.”

Polytr/x: *grimacing* “Oh, yeesh…”

…

Romance: “(Y/n) will you be the Sophie to my Howl?”

You: “I don’t know, are you gonna get me a flying castle and a talking fire demon?”

Romance: *Getting Gwi Ma flashbacks* “Uhmmmm…”

…

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[iamthescalesofjustice]

okay so. outside of video game conditions the party would sometimes split. and the thing is. well. the thing is that kio in particular. would end up in a 36-hour vivisection seminar during which there was genuine emotional and intellectual engagement between them and the undead surgeons and they were proud as someone more experienced in this art to help the nurses learn and they would be actually pretty upset when they accidentally tripped the malus suicide condition and then he stayed dead. like it would take them a while to realize he was staying dead. and then they would worry he was doing it on purpose. and then they would stumble back to camp and not tell anyone why they were upset. and then when the party later investigated the house of healing and malus was still dead kio would cry and pretend it was from normal emotional problems and stress instead of. whatever this is.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Breaking Point Chapter 2

Prev / Next

Whitebeard Pirates x Teen GN Reader

4.9k words

Summary: You awake on an enemy ship after failing to evade them the day before. Your mind is heavy with what is to come, and the actions of the people you know to be your enemies only serves to confuse you further. What have you gotten yourself into?

Warnings: suicidal ideation, mentions of previous suicide attempt, brief descriptions of past child abuse, dehumanization, burns, drugging, being unable to move, unhealthy relationship with food

“S-S-Sir!”

Akainu whipped around to face the marine that dared to intrude upon him. He is able to keep his magma from pouring out, but just barely. “What?! Spit it out! I don't have time to be listening to you trip over your own damn words!”

The pathetic excuse for a marine stumbles back, looking like he's on the verge of pissing himself. Why people like this joined the Marines was beyond Akainu’s understanding. Just as he was considering terminating him permanently, the whelp finally finds his words, “W-We got word that the Whitebeard pirates have picked up the medicine, sir!”

“Have there been any communications from them since the last?”

“No, sir!”

The lack of communication from them was grating on his nerves. He assumed this meant that the original plan was still on, but he would prefer confirmation. He needed to see that you were still alive. Akainu releases a sigh that teeters on being a growl, then waves off the marine, “Understood. Now get out of my sight.”

Fortunately, the marine didn't need to be told twice and promptly made himself scarce. Akainu isn't sure that he would have been able to control his temper if he hadn't left. 

It could not accurately be put into words how much Akainu hated everything about this situation. The fact that a bunch of pirates got their filthy hands on his child was bad enough; that already had his blood boiling. But what was really eating away at him was what he saw in the communication feed that had come through.

Since it was of a visual nature, he could see that this wasn't a bluff. They had you in their custody. There was a horrifying moment in the beginning when he thought they were showing him your corpse. The only reason the Marine base wasn't a molten wasteland was because he saw you blink. From there, he was able to also pick up on the steady rise and fall of your chest as you laid chained to some medical gurney by one of your wrists. Sea stone cuffs, surely. 

The look in your eyes was haunting him. They were completely lifeless. As the pirate, Marco, gave their terms, all you did was stare blankly ahead at nothing. He doubted you were even cognizant of the fact that you were being recorded. 

It was clear to him that those pirates had drugged you. That was the only way to explain why you were just laying there instead of fighting. You had never been the type to give up so easily.

Now it was down to a waiting game. The pirates adamantly refused to hand you over before the medicine was on their ship. He fought hard against these terms, but he ultimately had to yield. They had the more valuable bargaining chip, and they knew it. Sure, it was most convenient to get the medicine in bulk now, but it didn't appear to be particularly urgent. They could find more elsewhere at a later date, but Akainu couldn't do the same. If they killed you, that was it. He was backed into a corner, and he was loathing every second of it. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat comes from behind him. It would have made his temper flare even more had he not recognized it. He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves- as much as they could be- and turns to face the Fleet Admiral properly.

For a moment, Sengoku just stares at him with his usual frown. He then sighs and shakes his head, “Of all the people I expected to make a deal with pirates behind my back, you most certainly didn’t make the list.”

That made Akainu’s eyebrow twitch, and his teeth grind down on the cigar in his mouth, “Do you think I’m happy about this?”

Sengoku was undeterred by his subordinate’s behavior. “I never said you had to be, but accepting those terms on your own was out of line.”

“Time was of the essence, I couldn’t afford to wait for you to get here when my child is actively in a hostage situation.” His temper is already rising despite previous attempts to calm it.

The next sentence out of his superior's mouth only fanned the smoldering flame. “A hostage situation that they got themselves into, need I remind you.”

For a moment, he's too stunned to speak. When he finds his voice, the words are forced out through clenched teeth, “Do you want to run that by me again?”

“I know you aren't stupid, Akainu. You and I both know that (Y/N) was nowhere near where they were supposed to be.”

The vein on his forehead feels like it's about to explode. “What are you implying?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you? Are you that blind?” Sengoku pinches the bridge of his nose and heaves a sigh, “That kid has never wanted to be a marine. You know that at least, right?”

That did it. A fiery hole was punched into a nearby wall as what was left of his short fuse burnt away to nothing. “Bullshit! (Y/N) has given everything to the Marines!”

“What they've given is irrelevant to the point. It doesn't matter if they give their all to something if they didn't actually want to in the first place.” Sengoku meets Akainu's furious gaze with one of annoyance, “The point is that they did precisely what I expected them to do.”

The anger cools and is replaced by genuine confusion. “What?” Akainu squints his eyes and steps closer, “Did you plan for this to happen?”

“Not exactly. The Whitebeard's were a wildcard, admittedly.” Sengoku walks past Akainu and stares down at the base below through a window, “I'd had hopes for (Y/N) in the beginning, I really had. They were so promising, and I knew that if they would grow into and accept their role as a marine, that they would be an excellent soldier. Possibly even an Admiral some day. But I never saw that acceptance. They were always only ever following orders. A cog placed into a machine.”

A humorless chuckle escapes the Fleet Admiral as he pushes the window open, “Did you honestly think that I was so desperate for information on Red Haired Shanks that I would send a child after him? Please. It was all a test. I wanted to see what would happen when (Y/N) was cut from their lead and without supervision. Just as I predicted, they ran off as soon as they got the opportunity. It's a shame that so many resources were wasted, but it's for the best that they left now rather than sticking around to cause problems later.”

“Now you wait just a damn minute,” Akainu seethed. “Just because that snot-nosed brat of yours went awol doesn't mean that my soldier did. (Y/N) would never go against orders like that. Something went wrong. Shanks must have caught on to the mission, so they pulled back.”

Sengoku’s reflection betrays the slight grimace on his face at the mention of Rosinante, but it's gone just as quickly as it arrived. Instead, it's replaced by a bitter scowl as he turns around to face Akainu directly, “You can't be this deluded. Not even Garp was stupid enough to force his family to become marines. You-” he lets out a hiss of a sigh, “It's like you're forcing a circle through a square shaped hole.”

“What the fuck do shapes have to do with any of this?” This conversation was going nowhere and getting more and more ridiculous by the second. 

“Just because you can force it to fit doesn't mean that's where it belongs. Was (Y/N) a damn good marine? Absolutely. No one will ever argue that, but they weren't meant to be one. The sooner you accept that, the better off you'll be.” Sengoku makes for the door, but stops just shy of it. “One last thing. If the deal you have with those pirates falls through and they don't hand (Y/N) over… I will not be permitting any further action against them.”

Everything said so far had been one sucker punch after another, but this took the wind from Akainu. His mouth opened and closed several times before he found the right words, “You want me to leave them to the mercy of a bunch of pirates?”

“Yes. They got themselves into that mess by abandoning their mission, they can get themselves out.” He meets Akainu’s shocked gaze over his shoulder, “I expect you to respect this. You're an Admiral, you have to put your position before your family ties.”

With that said, Sengoku takes his leave. Akainu stands alone in his office, thin wisps of smoke still filtering through the air from the smoldering drywall. 

—

It's the sound of turning pages that first starts to bring you out of your stupor. Bits and pieces of your memories seep into your foggy brain. 

Boats… you were looking at boats, but pirates tailed you after you left. The Whitebeard pirates. You got into a… fight? No, there was a chase, but they caught you. You were brought back to the ship and… Oh. That happened. 

When your eyes crack open, you're staring at the ceiling of an infirmary. You're still on the Moby Dick, so that's almost a plus. Definitely not ideal, but at least you haven't been handed back over to the Marines yet. 

God, your head is spinning. What happened to you? Did they drug you? Damn it, you can’t remember what happened. You try to reach up and rub your eyes, but you can't. Neither of your arms will budge. 

It takes a coordinated effort, but you're able to raise your head enough to see why you can't move your arms. Both of them are strapped to the bars on the sides of the gurney by a series of belts. You can't move them at all. 

You also take note of the picc line in your left arm. That definitely wasn't in there when you passed out. Your eyes trace up to the IV bag hanging above your head. Shit. They're probably keeping you on a steady stream of sedatives. That explains the lack of alarm you're feeling despite your current state of affairs. 

With your sleeve being rolled up for the picc line, one more thing was exposed. A large patch of scar tissue covering most of your forearm. A burn mark to remind you of one of the many times Akainu got too carried away while sparring with you. A plethora of similar scars littered most of your body, leading to you having a wardrobe consisting of shirts and pants that covered as much skin as possible. While many of your fellow marines took pride in showing off their scars, yours had always been a source of shame. Resentment. Hatred. Seeing one now only served to further sour your mood. 

“Oh!” 

The voice startles you out of your trance. When you follow it to its source, you spot a nurse sitting not far from you and holding a newspaper. You can immediately tell what her profession is because she has on the most stereotypical nurse's uniform you've ever seen. It's kind of odd to see such a sight on a pirate ship of all places. 

She gets up from the desk she was sitting at and hurries over to you with a smile plastered on her face, “Oh good, you're finally awake!”

Finally? “How-” You stop speaking and cough. Fuck, your throat is dry. Might be a side effect of the meds they have you on. 

Without even needing to be asked, the nurse fetches you a glass of water. She gently tilts your head up and allows the water to flow into your mouth at a steady pace. You greedily gulp it down in seconds. You watch the nurse closely as you drink, taking in her appearance. If you had to guess, she was in her early thirties. Coarse, blonde hair is held back in a ponytail with a few errant curls framing her round face. 

“Better?” The nurse sets your head back down and turns away from you, “You were out cold all night, we were starting to get worried about you. Well… more worried, I should say.” She coughs lightly and returns to your side with a clipboard in hand. 

“All night? What time is it?” Your voice was still a little croaky, but now you were thinking it had more to do with your brief coma than medication. You’re pretty sure it was only roughly midday when you got captured. You find it hard to believe you slept the rest of the day and through the night, but there isn't really any reason to lie about such a thing. 

“It's about a quarter till seven right now.” 

Damn. That shit really did knock you the hell out. You've always risen at five in the morning on the dot. Akainu would physically throw you out of your bed if you ever accidentally overslept, and then you'd have to run a lap for every minute. 

The nurse sat down on a nearby stool and smiled at you again, “I'm Elise. You'll probably be seeing a lot of me from here on out. Can you tell me your name, sweetie?”

Sweetie? The pet name made you cringe. You suppose you might as well answer her, though you can't imagine there's anyone on this ship that isn't aware of you and who you are. 

You tell her your name, making her hum in approval, “Very good! Now, can you tell me how you're feeling? Any dizziness or nausea? Difficulty breathing?”

“I'm… kinda lightheaded, I guess.” It's debatable if that's a side effect of the medicine or not eating for twelve plus hours, though. It could also be the result of prolonged sea stone exposure. Who knows?

Elise nods along and scribbles some notes down, “Good, good… Are you having any thoughts of harming yourself or others?”

For such a heavy question, she says it awfully casually, but the look in her eyes as she peers at you over the clipboard is anything but. You shift under her gaze. As much as you can, at least. The movement makes you realize that there are straps holding your legs down as well. 

What kind of question even is that? You're on an enemy ship, drugged, and restrained. How else does she expect you to feel right now? Especially with the impending doom of what is to come. 

Her stare doesn't let up for even a second. She isn't willing to let the question go unanswered, so you do what you have to. Lie. 

“No.”

It's evident to you that she knows that you're lying through your teeth. Mercifully, she doesn't call you out on it. After jotting down a few more things on the clipboard, it's discarded, and you're the center of her attention again. 

“I bet you're hungry after sleeping for so long. I'll ring the kitchen to bring something for you.” Elise picks up a transponder snail from nearby, “What do you like to drink in the morning? Coffee? Tea? Oh, I know! How about some hot chocolate?”

The response comes out before you can even really think about it, “I'm not allowed to have that.”

Elise gasps softly and brings a hand to her mouth, “Oh no, are you lactose intolerant? I think the kitchen has some alternatives they could use instead of milk.”

“No, I mean that it's too unhealthy. There aren't any benefits to drinking something like that.” Akainu never gave you the chance to form a sweet tooth. All of your meals were nutritionally dense with an emphasis on protein. Desserts were strictly prohibited.

At that statement, Elise frowns and puts her free hand on her hip, “Well that's just silly. Not everything you eat has to be “healthy”. A balanced diet is important, of course, but you're allowed to have treats.”

“But-”

“Ah, ah! No buts. I'm a nurse, so if I say it's okay, it’s okay.” Having made her point, Elise goes ahead and contacts the kitchen to order some breakfast for you. And a hot chocolate, apparently. 

Stubborn woman. But you suppose one has to have a firm foot and a backbone if they're on a pirate ship. Whatever. Might as well make the most of your last meal before you're sent back to hell. And subsequently executed for your misdeeds. 

The infirmary is empty, save for you and Elise. While you appreciate the privacy the vacancy affords you, it does leave you with a question.

“Where's The Phoenix?” You're honestly amazed he wasn't monitoring you directly given your perceived importance for the trade deal they had. 

Elise, having just finished placing the order for food, faces you again. “Marco? He left to supervise the retrieval of the medicine. A precaution in case the Marines try to pull something, I assume. Did you need something from him? He should be back tonight.”

Damn, they already have it? You thought you'd have more time before then. Your head drops down and your hands tighten into fists, “Oh. I'm guessing they'll be handing me over as soon as they're back…”

Genuine confusion flashes across Elise’s face, then realization, “Oh! No, no, no! We aren't going to be releasing you back to the Marines!”

Okay. You were officially lost. “You're… going to try and get more out of having me as a hostage?”

“That isn't it either!” Elise sighs and rubs her temples while quietly muttering, “Must be that medication's doing…”

“Am I missing something here?”

“Yes. One of the side effects from what we gave you initially is mild memory loss. It makes it hard to recall everything that happened right before the dose.” She approaches your bed and starts messing with the levers, “After your… outburst, Marco told you that you didn't have to go back if you didn't want to. Do you remember any of that?”

You wrack your hazy mind for the memory, but you're coming up blank. The last thing you remember is… a knife? Yeah, you got your hands on a knife and tried to stab yourself with it. Everything else seems to be lost. You aren't even completely sure if you just failed to stab yourself, or if Marco's healing abilities far exceeded Marine records. 

The lack of a response is an answer in and of itself. Elise shifts the upper portion of the bed up so that you're in a sitting position. The change makes your head spin a bit, but you keep that to yourself. 

A warm hand settles on your shoulder, and Elise speaks in a gentle tone, “No one here is going to make you go back to the Marines if you don't want to. You can relax.”

“But… if you're not turning me in, why am I still here? It sounds like you've already got what you wanted. I don't see why you'd be bothering with all this,” you nod vaguely at your body, referencing the straps and IV. 

“We can't in good conscience release someone in your state.” Her smile drops, and she stares down at you with what looks to you to be pity in her eyes, “You tried to end your own life, sweetie. That's something we must take very seriously.”

An uncomfortable lump forms in your throat, and your face feels hot with shame. You hated the way she looked at you just now. Like you were some poor, pathetic thing. Like she was looking down at some helpless rabbit ensnared in a trap. Like you were weak.

“I got this ready as fast as I could!”

You’re startled out of your thoughts by the infirmary door slamming open and the proclamation following immediately after. When you look up, you see Twin Blade Thatch entering the room carrying a tray with a mug and a bowl balanced on it. There is a twinge of familiarity in the back of your mind at the sight of him, and you don’t think it’s from seeing his bounty poster before. Did you see him yesterday? Maybe? You can’t be sure.

Thatch hurries over to you and sets the tray on the bedside table before turning to you with a smile on his face, “How are you feeling today?”

His question prompts you to look down at your restrained limbs and the- more likely than not medicated- drip bag, then back at him with an unamused expression, “Guess.”

The smile becomes visibly forced, sheepish even, and he averts his eyes, “Fair enough. Dumb question.” He clears his throat in a dramatic fashion, then recenters his gaze on you again, “I bet you’re hungry after sleeping for so long.” He picks up the bowl he carried in and tilts it toward you so you can see its contents. It’s a bowl of porridge with sliced fruit and nuts arranged on top in a visually appealing method.

But that’s not what you care about, there is a far more pressing issue at hand. You level him with a stern glare, “You better not be planning to spoon feed me. I will bite you.”

Thatch freezes and just stares at you with wide eyes for a moment, and that immediately makes you realize how stupid that was to say. You can’t even move, and you thought it was a good idea to start threatening people? What is wrong with you?! He could slit your throat right now if he wanted to, and you wouldn’t be able to do a single thing to stop him!

Instead of making your thoughts a reality, the pirate does something that shocks you. He laughs. You don’t know what to do with this. What are you supposed to do about laughter? Why is he even laughing? Did he find the absurdity of you spitting out threats despite your circumstances that funny?

“Oh, that’s a relief. You’ve got a sense of humor even after all that.” Thatch chuckles quietly and sets the bowl down before looking over to Elise, “We could take the straps off for now, couldn’t we?”

Huh?

Elise hums in thought, then nods. “I suppose we could, so long as you stick around for a bit to help keep an eye on them.”

Huh?!

They… They’re untying you? On purpose? This must be a trap. It has to be. They’re testing you. That’s the only thing that makes sense.

Your face is grabbed, and Elise makes you look her in the eye. “Do not,” she tilts your head down to look at the picc line, “try to rip this out. Understood?”

“Understood.” You knew better than to do such a thing. That’s a mistake you only make once.

After a particularly brutal training session with your father, you’d ended up in the infirmary. A regular occurrence, if you’re being honest. By the time you’d come to, the sight of the sun being high in the sky sent you into a panic. You were late, and Akainu loathed tardiness. In your rush to get out of there and beg for mercy for such a monumental fuck up on your end, you ripped the picc line out of your arm. Blood went fucking everywhere. On you, on the cot, on the walls. One of the nurses in the room fainted at the sight, followed shortly by yourself because all of your blood was now outside your body. You were out of commission for the rest of the day, and Akainu made certain that you made up for it the following day.

With your confirmation that you wouldn’t egregiously injure yourself, the two set to work on undoing the belts holding you down. Elise was making quick work of them, but Thatch abruptly stopped. You glance at him quizzically, wondering what the hold up was, only to see that his eyes are locked onto the opposing arm. You follow his gaze, and then you get it.

It was the burn scar marring most of your left forearm. Ah. This bizarre situation had distracted you from the fact that it was exposed. You can’t even cover it up because that’s the arm the IV is going into. Not that your other arm is much better. Or any part of your body, really. The skin of your face was the most intact, presumably because Akainu didn’t want to risk giving you the permanent handicap that came with losing vision in one or both eyes.

Elise loudly clears her throat and levels the pirate with a glare that honestly surprised you. How fearless she must be to behave in such a manner toward someone with a bounty like Thatch’s. This tactic, credit where it’s due, was effective. He snapped out of his one-sided staring competition with your arm and freed the other one.

Cautiously, you stretch your arms out now that they’ve been liberated from their confines. Mostly. The left arm stops short. You’d almost forgotten about the sea stone cuffs. It makes sense that they left that on, given that you’re a quite literal flight risk otherwise.

The tray containing your breakfast is carefully placed on your lap. The aforementioned bowl of porridge is on it, but so is a large mug that appears to be topped with a whipped cream. Is this the hot chocolate Elise had insisted upon? Your eyes flit up to the two people looming over either side of you. They’re staring at you expectantly.

All things considered, it seems unlikely that any of this is poisoned. They wanted you alive, that much was clear even if the particular reason behind it wasn’t. Besides, even if it was poisoned, you wouldn’t complain. Being freed from this mortal coil would be a blessing in your book.

Might as well do what they want. Maybe it’ll get them to stop breathing down your neck, if nothing else. You reach for the hot beverage first to see what all the hype is about. The mug is warm to the touch, but not so enough to burn you. Granted, that could just be the nerve damage talking. You’ll find out if that’s an accurate assessment based on whether or not this burns your tongue.

You bring the drink to your lips and sip at it. The cream is cold, but then a warmth trickles through and mixes with it. It’s very sweet. A stark contrast to the black coffee your father would drink and force upon you. The radically different flavor profile is borderline startling… but you don’t hate it. You quite like it.

Instead of savoring the hot chocolate and making it last, you continue tilting it up more and more until the cup runs dry. Okay. Perhaps Elise was onto something with allowing oneself treats such as this one.

“So it was a hit, huh?” Thatch is grinning proudly, “I made sure it would be the best you would ever have after Elise said you’d never had it before. Do you want some more?”

Mild embarrassment spreads into your consciousness at his observation of your enjoyment. This was a quirk of yours you never could really explain. Others seeing you experience contentment felt inexplicably wrong. Like you were doing something you shouldn’t be and being caught red-handed. You shake your head and set down the mug, “No. I’m good.” You promptly take the spoon on the tray into your hand and scoop up a mouthful of oatmeal in hopes of getting him to drop the subject.

The flavors of honey and cinnamon enhance the meal, making it taste far more pleasant than you’re used to. It’s all so good. You can’t stop eating it, and the porridge is gone almost as quickly as the hot chocolate was.

That familiar burn of shame reared its ugly head again. It would be bad enough to be so over indulgent at the best of times. What the hell were you doing doing so on an enemy ship? How disgraceful. 

“Good job! I’m so happy that you were able to finish it all,” Elise claps her hands together, looking weirdly elated over you eating. It’s unclear as to why that would matter to her. She continues, “Since you’re doing so well, how about we take you onto the deck for some fresh air and sunlight?”

“The deck? Like… of the ship?”

“Yeah? What else would it be, silly?” Elise moves behind the bed, clicks something, then begins to push it forward.

She’s trying to take you someplace where there will no doubt be a bunch of pirates. Some of which you may have even crossed paths with before. And you’re completely defensive. You look around at her and plead, “W-We don’t have to do that. I’m fine with staying in here.”

“Oh, hush. This’ll be good for you!” Undeterred, Elise proceeds to wheel you out of the infirmary with Thatch holding the door open.

Good for you? She’s trying to throw you into a den of wolves, and somehow thinks that’s going to be good for you? This was a set-up the whole time. They lowered your guard with a good meal just so they could rip the rug out from under you. Now you’re going to have to face the bulk of the Whitebeard pirates in your current hapless state.

All you can do is hope that pirates of all people will have the good grace to put you out of your mercy quickly.

Taglist: @twotrucksinatree @tigerstarstorm @mu5hro0m @brooks-real @one-piecelover

[seraphicsentences]

you told me your new man don’t make you nut, that’s a damn shame.

closeted/in denial abby anderson x reader

pt.2 here: all mine

tags: internalized homophobia, smut, cheating, tw:owen, fingering (aa!receiving), lowkey sub!aa

A/N: we do not condone cheating here! unless it’s on owen fuck that asshole. sorry i disappeared for 100 years!! hope this is half-decent enough to make up for it. working on reqs i promise!!!! i love you all my sweet angels <333

please click me!!!

it was undeniable— the tension, between you and abby anderson. your queer sexuality was common knowledge amongst the WLF base, and your reputation as a womanizer quite contributory to the hot topic. on the complete opposite of the spectrum stood abby: top soldier, with the highest leading score in kills, and most importantly, dutiful girlfriend to owen moore.

where she stood on the line of homosexuality was made evidently clear. from the way she scoffed under her breath at the sight of your marked-up one night stands, to her weekly mornings at the base’s sunday service, you had found an almost masochistic pleasure in ticking her off to your best efforts.

you would catch yourself throwing offhand comments towards your latest hookups when she was in ears range. “my dick’s better than any man’s, isn’t that right, baby?”

in the mere corner of your peripheral vision you would see abby’s jaw tighten, gaze hard as she refused to look your way— her own sort of defiance to your antics. a haughty smirk threatened to break across your face. you couldn’t exactly place your finger on as to why you were so enamored with her understated reactions, rather than focused on the pretty, blushing girl in front of you. it became a thrill you craved insatiably, and built up as a wall between you two over the years, bound to come tumbling sooner or later.

~

mid-summer now, the longer days and better hunt called for a compulsory celebration. wlf’s central lounge was buzzing with drunken chatter and alight with the golden hue of mini lamp lights.

your childish bickering with abby hadn’t lessened up any bit, and to much of your delight, had begun to stir up more volatile reactions of hers as they’ve persisted.

you sat across her now, separated by only a couple foot’s distance and a beer bottle, which lay empty and flat on its side.

“spin the bottle? what are we, twelve?” abby scoffed at the idea.

she sat crisscrossed, forearms resting atop her legs, muscles straining against her tight grey shirt, and you couldn’t help but wonder how she, the very picture of masc, was so adamantly straight.

“aw, scared, anderson?” you grinned devilishly.

she physically recoiled, as if the very thought of being intimidated by someone like you burned her mind. haughty self satisfaction coursed through your veins, sick pleasure in knowing you could get under her skin so easily. running your eyes salaciously down her figure, you watched as she shifted nervously. cute.

“es solo un juego, abby,” manny says, shrugging.

“whatever,” she replies, “just get on with it.”

as the rounds go by, you can’t help but take note of the way abby awkwardly averts her gaze from whichever two lucky partakers kiss, no matter the duo. scoffing, she teasingly mouths ‘pendejo’ after manny stupidly grins into his third kiss of the night. you watch her smile disappear in a brief second when the your turn arises.

eye contact unwavering, you stare down abby as the bottle whirls around, waiting for it to select its next target. you can’t quite understand why your heart feels like it’s racing out of your chest the closer the bottlehead gets to nodding the blonde’s direction.

it inches closer. slower now.

a person away— and it stops.

…on the pretty girl next to abby.

abby releases a harsh breath you didn’t realize she was holding, chest rising slowly as she catches some air. you blink.

you cross the short distance between the two of you crawling, abby eyeing you down, before swerving your course of action in the last moment to land yourself in front of the girl next to her. without a moment’s hesitation you tug her in for a kiss, or no, multiple kisses as you tongue the girl down hungrily. she groans into it with a matched eagerness, desperate to get a dose of your infamous mouth.

your eyes flicker open between kisses, expecting to get an eyeful of the top of the blonde’s head, but you’re met with quite the opposite. the piercing stare of none other than abby anderson sends a chill down your spine. her breath hitches— she looks like she’s been fucking caught. and as tempting as the girl in front of you is, you can’t tear your gaze away from her.

you begin to dominate what is now a full-blown makeout session, eyes darkened, breaths unsteady, hands pulling. she just watches, bound to the floor. you watch her watch. and you want her to want it.

you pull away with a final tug on the girl’s bottom lip, feeding off the way abby’s eyes follow the action. someone wolf-whistles in the background, but, even flustered now, you can’t shake the undeniable tension between yourself and abby.

the rhythmic thumping of blood rushing through your skull acted rather as a barrier between your awareness and the continuing rounds. thankfully, you were left as a mere onlooker, free of any further unwanted attention.

abby had gone back to staring at her lap, you discovered, watching intently as she picked a stray hair off her jeans.

“hey anderson,” you called over, her reaction immediate— head jolting up.

her eyes relaxed to a glare once she realized you were the one addressing her, raising an eyebrow in question.

“i think it’s ���bout your turn, yeah?”

“you fu-“

“solo un juego, abby,” manny cuts in.

with a huff, abby begrudgingly leans over to give the bottle a spin, tapping her fingers against the floor in anticipation.

the bottle stops. so does your heart, for just a second.

you look up. abby looks to owen. the fucking son of a bitch lends no help, smirking, excited that his perverted fantasies have come to life before his eyes.

“c’mon then,” you nod at her, leaning back on your wrists, almost in invitation.

she moves slowly, braid dangling by her shoulder as she scooches towards you, hands coming to a stop on the floor in front of you.

closer now, you can feel the heat radiating off her large figure onto your own, the light brush of her breaths intermingling with your own. yet— she makes no move to get any closer.

you loop a finger around her neckline and drag her in, teeth clashing from the aggression, noses bumping; it’s no fairytale kiss. but then your tongue licks into her open mouth, perhaps merely by muscle memory, or maybe because you secretly want a taste of more, and she fucking whimpers. so quiet, strangled, from the back of her throat, but you hear it nonetheless, and god, you feel it.

the switch up is almost immediate: abby pulling away faster than you can blink, back in her original spot before you know it, wiping at her mouth. but she was too late. you knew what she craved, and you were going to make sure she’d have to beg for it.

~

the party was in full swing now, majority of the room drunk off of wlf’s own brew, which meant everyone was completely fucked up.

you stumbled over to the serving area, leaning haphazardly over the bar to scan the room without falling over. your eyes caught onto a familiar blonde, seated quietly with a group composed of what you assumed to be her usual patrol friends. she’s seated next to owen, the fucker, who has his arm lazily swung around the skank sprawled on the other side of him. your eyes are glued to the visible scrunch between abby’s eyebrows, fingers itching to reach out and press it away.

“who’s the lucky girl you’re sinking your claws into tonight?”

your head swivels towards the voice, met with a concerned look from alex, wlf’s residential mixologist.

“…you good, babe?”

“fuck— yeah, just got a lit, a little dizzy for sec. the answer to, uh- to, your question is no one,” you hiccuped, grinning up at alex as you rested your head against the cold counter.

“uh-huh, sure. i’ll let you have your secrets. i won’t pry,” she quips.

you laugh, miming an imaginary lock over your lips before tossing the ‘key’ away. “what can i say? i’m a gentleman, alex, no, gentlewoman. i don’t kiss and te-“

you’re cut off by another voice approaching the counter, low and slurring, asking for a glass of straight whiskey.

you roll your head over, faced with the towering frame of none other than abby anderson. she’s closer than you expected her to be, causing you to stumble back a step, and then laugh at yourself, muttering under your breath, straight whiskey for the straight girl.

“i think you’ve had well enough, anderson. even with all the muscle on you, man, i don’t know how you got this hammered. i’ll get you some water, honey,” alex jokes.

abby sulks, spacing out as she begrudgingly sips on her water. you doubt she even notices your presence, using the accidental peace as time to really take in her side profile. she’s stunning, in her own, amazonian sort of way. especially now in the hazy golden light of the lounge, the sweaty blonde strands framing her face made her appear in rather close resemblance to a goddess of some type. and all you wanted was to worship her in that manner, treat her body as your temple and such. perhaps the alcohol really was getting to you.

“what’s got you all pouty, anderson? your little boyfriend not doing you any good?”

it’s so comical, the effect your presence has on abby. her head jerks your way at the first breath of your words, and her pinning gaze blows away any of the fog clouding either of your minds.

her demeanor hardens instantly, as she crosses her arms defensively. “fuck off,” is all she manages to spit out.

you take it as an invitation to continue. “like,” you scoff, “there’s no way he knows how to hit all the right spots. does he even try to? how’s his head game, abs?”

her look away speaks volumes.

“oh? god, what a dick.”

“he-“ she tries.

“-i could show you a good time,” you ramble, “i can assure you that i know how to hit all the right spots. your spots— i mean, only if you want me to.”

she gawks at you, her look half full of disbelief and half full of curiosity. and you can tell that you’ve got her hooked.

“i don’t need you,” she mutters, but a glance at her thighs pressed tight together says otherwise.

you smirk, placing your hand down that just so happens to land on her mid-thigh. her muscle jolts at your contact.

tentatively dragging your fingers higher, you speak lowly, stare locked, “you sure, baby?”

the wall comes crashing.

abby’s snatching your hand off her leg in a heartbeat and dragging you into the closest bathroom, shoving you against the door and pushing her lips against yours.

your tongue is dipping into her open mouth almost immediately, desperate to pull another one of her addicting whimpers out.

“shit,” abby curses in between gasps, before leaning back in to just consume more of you. her hands are searching for any part of you she can reach, grabbing at the meat at your hips, thighs, pressing your waist against hers with a groan.

the feel of your body against her own is so different from owens’, but so satisfying in a way she can’t wrap her head around. you fit into her frame like a puzzle piece, and your touches are needy and selfish, but they don’t feel offensive in the way that owen’s do.

you venture a hand under her shirt, tracing along the ridges of her toned stomach, and abby shudders, breaking your kiss to look down at your moving hand. she’s panting against your neck, heavier now, as you slide your hand up under her bra to cup her chest softly, rolling her hardened nipple between your fingers and watching hypnotically as she gasps into your skin.

with her head down at this angle, her neck is perfectly bared, and you can’t deny yourself a taste, can you? you’re sinking your teeth in before you realize it, soothing the marks with a wet lick over, only to tug the skin in between your teeth to suck at.

the quiet noises abby’s trying to muffle against your shoulder now are sending you into a frenzy, your hands now abandoning her breasts to pull her hips closer against yours.

abby nearly cries at the loss of your direct touches, but stops when your fingers return a place far more rewarding. you’ve unbuttoned her jeans now, your hand cupping her over her boxers teasingly, digits pressing over the damp spot in the fabric.

“bet you’ve never been this wet for owen,” you laugh, running a finger over her soaked core.

“don’t bring him up right now,” she pants in return, hips keening to your touch as she grabs your face to press into a sloppy kiss.

you push her boxers down eagerly, teasing two fingers by her leaking entrance to gather her slick.

god, abby gasps, and it seems to be the winning word of the night when she repeats it as she watches you stuff those same two fingers into your own mouth, and again when you stuff them straight into her pussy.

her pretty eyes are rolling back into her skull farther with every thrust against her gummy walls. “look at me while i fuck you dumb on my fingers, abs, look at me,” you beg.

“i c-can’t,” she whines, blushing a deep red and burrowing her face into your shoulder.

you slow your pumps, using your free hand to grab her by the braid and force her look at you. “awh,” you coo, pouting mockingly at her gaped mouth, “cute.”

your fingers buried as deep into her as physically possible, you curl them to hit that sensitive spot you genuinely believe has never even been touched once. and with the way abby lets out her loudest moan yet, you cannot believe otherwise.

“there it is,” you murmur, massaging your fingertips agonizingly slow inside of her, “see what you’re missing out on?”

her only response is a strangled whimper. baby blue eyes big and pleading as they threaten to roll back with every slight movement.

mhm, you goad her on, “that’s your g-spot, baby, feels real good, huh?”

she nods her head vigorously, quiet mhmmhmhm’s trailing out from her bitten lips.

“now if your little boyfriend’s dick is too small to reach it, i guess he can’t help it,” you laugh. “shame, you make such pretty noises when i touch you here,” you let out an exaggerated sigh, picking up your pace abruptly to slam into her spot over and over.

abby’s nearly gone cross-eyed, tossing her head back now as her pussy throbs almost rhythmically with every thrust. she’s never felt so filled to the brim, so overwhelmed with pleasure, and she’s too blissed out to even care about the stupid fucking smirk you’ve got plastered on your face.

“but his mini- dick is no excuse for not touching you here,” you continue, letting loose of her hair to finally touch her poor, neglected, pink clit, rubbing circles harshly into the button.

abby’s heart nearly jumps out of her chest. she’s moaning nonstop and swearing like a fucking sailor, the combination of your actions almost too much for her to physically bear. after a particularly loud oh god, fuck-please, you have no choice but to stuff abby’s mouth full with the bottom of her shirt. and fuck, was that the right move; the way her ab muscles flex and tighten as she nears her release, glistening with sweat, is enough to make you let out a groan of your own.

“‘m- close,” abby cries around the fabric, hips rocking with your motions as she begins to ride out her high.

“there you go anderson, you got it,” you mutter, circling her swollen clit faster now as you fuck into her g-spot repeatedly.

mmmmph is all you can make out, as abby’s walls clamp down around your curled fingers and she digs her nails into your sides, eyes squeezing shut.

her jerking movements eventually slow along with your own, half lidded eyes staring as you slip your cum-coated fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean. the moistened fabric falls from abby’s open jaw as she attempts to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

before you know it, she’s tugging up her soaked boxers and jeans, shoving past you as she buttons them up and promptly bolts out of that bathroom.

well, that was one way to deal with the tension.

she’ll come running back to you before she knows it.

yikes! i just read that over and yikes! lol uh! sorry guys i’m out of practice!! we love abby anderson though and pray that she gets over her internalized homophobia. she’s too sexy for allat.

send me more reqs!! not that i need any more but send ‘em!

[pucksandpower]

A Crime Against Fashion

Charles Leclerc x fashion designer!Reader

Summary: you love Charles more than life itself, but everyone has a breaking point … and yours is those damn pants

You stride into the spacious open-concept living room of the luxury apartment you share with your boyfriend, tossing your leather tote onto the couch with a huff. Another long day of design meetings and fittings for your upcoming spring collection has left you completely drained.

But your frustration isn’t just from work stress this time. No, it’s those blasted pants again.

As if on cue, Charles emerges from the bedroom wearing the dreaded blue and white tie-dye atrocities that have been your nemesis for weeks now. You can’t hold back a small groan of exasperation.

“What’s wrong, mon cœur?” Charles asks with his trademark lopsided smile, those warm emerald-colored eyes crinkling at the corners.

You gesture helplessly at the offending garment. “Charles … those pants. They’re just … how can I put this delicately? A crime against fashion.”

He glances down at the loose-fitting psychedelic nightmares, seemingly oblivious to their ugliness. “What do you mean? I think they’re kind of funky.”

“Funky?” You echo incredulously. “That’s one word for them, I suppose. Hideously unstylish is another.”

Charles pouts, sticking out his full lower lip in that irresistible way he knows gets you flustered. “But chérie, I really like them. They’re so comfy and casual.”

You shake your head adamantly, trying not to get distracted by how criminally attractive he looks even in those ridiculous pants. “No, nope. As your girlfriend and a designer, I simply cannot allow you to go out in public wearing those any longer. It’s a matter of principle!”

He raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Oh? And just what do you plan to do about it, hmm?”

A mischievous grin tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Well, I do have a few ideas …” You lunge toward him playfully.

With a yelp of surprise, Charles dodges out of the way, those long legs carrying him across the living room as you give chase. You laugh breathlessly, finally managing to catch him and wrap your arms around his slender waist from behind.

“Quit running away from me, Leclerc!” You tease, nuzzling against the back of his neck. “You know this is for your own good.”

Charles twists around in your arms until you’re face to face. His expression is one of feigned indignation but you can see his warm green eyes are dancing with amusement. “I will not be bullied about my clothing choices by you, Y/N Y/L/N! These pants are staying and that’s final!”

You answer by promptly planting a line of teasing kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, making him shiver. “Is that so? We’ll see about that, pretty boy.”

That evening, you make a point to avoid looking at or even acknowledging the offensive pants for the rest of the night. At one point, Charles good-naturedly tries to get a rise out of you by draping the tie-dyed nightmares over the back of the couch right in your line of sight. But you simply turn your nose up with an overdramatic harrumph, refusing to take the bait.

“Very mature,” Charles chuckles from beside you on the couch, his knee brushing against yours in that casual yet intimate way.

You shoot him a pointed look from the corner of your eye. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m simply refusing to lend any credibility to those … those …” You wave a hand vaguely in the direction of the pants hanging over the couch.

“You mean my pants?” Charles supplies helpfully, that infuriatingly charming grin stretching across his full lips.

“Ugh, don’t even call them that! Actual pants deserve more respect.” You lean your head against the back of the couch in exasperation.

Charles scoots closer until his side is flush against yours. He cups your jaw in one of those large, calloused racing hands and gently turns your face until you’re meeting his molten gaze. “You’re just jealous that I look better in them than you ever could, mon amour.”

His teasing words further ignite the spark of competitive spirit smoldering in your chest. With a surge of determination, you press a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Challenge accepted, Leclerc.”

Two nights later, as Charles arrives back at the apartment after a grueling day of training, he immediately notices that something is … off.

He pads through the living room toward the bedroom, brow furrowed in confusion at the odd scattering of fabric scraps and loose threads on the floor. Your sewing machine is set up on the dining table, various rattles and clanks echoing from the bedroom.

“Y/N?” He calls out hesitantly. “Everything okay in there?”

You poke your head out from around the bedroom doorway, cheeks flushed and hair slightly askew. But your eyes are bright with mischief. “Charles! You’re home, perfect. Come in here for a second?”

With a shrug, he follows you into the bedroom. Only to stop dead in his tracks, jaw dropping almost comically. There on the floor in a tattered, unrecognizable heap of fabric are … his beloved tie-dye pants. The ones you had so vehemently loathed.

“Y/N, what … how … why …” he splutters, seemingly at a loss for words as he crouches down and gingerly runs a finger over the ragged remnants.

Resting your hands on your hips, you try not to look too triumphant. “What can I say? The cat got to them.”

Charles’ brows knit together in confusion. “We don’t have a cat, mon ange.”

Oops. Think fast.

“Well, uh, I was actually cat-sitting for Max today! You know how crazy Jimmy and Sassy can be. Those little balls of fluff must have gotten a hold of your pants and just went to town on them.”

You shrug innocently, the very picture of wide-eyed virtue. “Who can blame them, really? I warned you those pants were a crime against nature itself.”

For a long beat, Charles simply stares at the remains of his pants, then at you, eyes narrowed. You can practically see the realization dawning on his stupidly handsome face. Before he can call you out, you pivot on your heel.

“Anyway!” You clear your throat. “Since those pants were so adamantly beloved by you, I decided to give the fabric a little … redesign. Just to prove my point.” You turn back toward him, dropping the robe you had wrapped around yourself, to reveal your new creation. “What do you think?”

Charles’ breath seems to catch in his throat as you reveal the vibrant blue and white tie-dye fabric, repurposed into a sleek mini-skirt that hugs your curves in all the right ways. You punctuate the look by posing with one hand on your cocked hip, letting the skirt’s flirty hem swish teasingly.

“Well?” You raise an eyebrow challengingly, unable to keep the triumphant smirk from tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I believe you said something about looking better in those pants than me?”

To Charles’ credit, he recovers his powers of speech relatively quickly, running one hand through those tousled chestnut curls. “Y/N, you … you look …” He seems to struggle to find the words, green eyes raking over your figure appreciatively. "Incroyable. Magnifique."

You feel your cheeks warming at his praise, suddenly grateful for your impromptu redesign. “So I’ll take that as a point proven then?” You prod teasingly.

Charles finally tears his heated gaze from your body to meet your eyes, crossing the room in a few long strides until he’s crowding into your personal space. You catch your breath as his calloused hands settle on the curve of your waist, fingers brushing tantalizingly over the tie-dye fabric.

“More than proven, mon amour,” he rumbles in that low, gravelly tone that never fails to make your pulse kick up a notch. “I stand corrected — this fabric was absolutely meant for you and you alone.”

Before you can react with more than a breathless giggle, he dips his head to capture your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you dizzy and melting against the hard planes of his chest.

As you slowly break away trying to catch your breath, a wicked grin curves your lips. Placing your palms flat against Charles’ chest, you lean back just enough to meet his lidded, lust-blown gaze.

“You know …” you murmur, trailing a fingertip down the taut line of his throat and relishing the way his eyes darken further. “Now that I’ve refashioned those pants into this skirt, I believe that means they’re officially off-limits for you to wear. Unless …”

You bite your lower lip coyly, letting the implication hang in the air. Charles cocks an eyebrow, a rakish smirk of his own playing about those full lips as he catches your meaning.

“Unless what, ma belle?” His voice is thick with undisguised longing as he pulls you flush against him once more.

Stretching up on your tiptoes, you brush a feather-light kiss to that sharp, stubbly jawline. “Unless you’d fancy giving this skirt a spin for me sometime, Mr. Leclerc,” you practically purr into the heated space between your bodies. “Because I can absolutely get behind that look on you.”

Charles throws back his head with a rich peal of laughter, the sound reverberating through you. As his hands roam possessively over the tie-dye fabric now molded to your curves, you decide you’ll have to put in a request to see that particular fashion show very soon.

[whatsnewsameasiteverwas]

gendered antisemitism and when jewish violence is exceptionalized (is everyone except the jews allowed to be violent?):

elza niego, a turkish jewish woman, was murdered by an older turkish man for adamantly rejecting his advances. he stabbed her to death more than 8 times in 1927. he had stalked her for years and was enraged at her engagement to her jewish coworker. he had even tried to kidnap her with other accomplices. elza and her family complained to the police and as a result he also spent time in prison (only some months). he refused to stop asking elza's family for her hand in marriage and was rejected each time, making him more upset. after his release from prison, he stabbed elza to death and severely injured her sister who was present at the time and tried to protect her. he did this in broad daylight. she was 17 when he first approached her and he was in his 50s. elza died at the age of 18. her murderer was osman ratip, the son of ahmet ratip pasa, former ottoman governor of the hijaz.

her murder sparked an intense emotional reaction from the turkish jewish community and her funeral attracted hundreds of jews to the streets. the turkish press claimed jews had flocked to the streets, blocking traffic and yelling calls for justice. jewish public outrage was unacceptable, seditious, and ungrateful. the press reaction led to the arrest of nine jewish leaders and the curtailing of the jews’ right to free travel in turkey. niego’s murder was an early indicator of the new government’s determination to quash any public jewish expression.

the funeral march of elza.

now these accusations of jews being disruptive and "violent" are mostly BS. but it is always possible that a few were, indeed, violent and unruly. because 25,000 turned up for elza’s funeral, demanding justice for her. it is only logical that some of those 25,000 acted poorly. or maybe even more than just *some*. with post oct 7th logic, does that make the antisemitic campaign demonizing and punishing jews for flooding the streets in support of elza okay and justified? these accusations of violence were mostly false but the world truly fears jewish violence, exceptionalizing it as "the worse of all". i'm not saying we should just do whatever we want and be violent to get back at them but it is important to recognize that jewish violence is treated very differently than others.

the police protected osman, not allowing him the punishment of being lynched and instead sending him to a mental asylum.

the antisemitic press demanded that turkey break off all ties with the jews. anti-jewish demonstrations spread to izmir: jewish schools were closed down and jewish newspapers prevented from publishing. meanwhile the press demanded that the jews be expelled from turkey. hmm...sounds familiar?

a handful of jews (around 9 or 10) were arrested for bad behavior and some reports state they were also arrested for insulting turkishness.

while the trial for these jewish men was being orchestrated, elza’s murderer osman had been deemed criminally insane and remanded to an asylum instead of being convicted for murder and sent to prison.

limitations on travel were then imposed on turkish jews. jak pardo, an elderly jewish teacher, wrote a letter to his former student prime minister inonu during the trial, complaining of maltreatment of the jews, which led him to be arrested for contempt of court. 

as the prosecutor complained in court about jews not speaking turkish enough in public life and being ungrateful, it was evident to all involved that this was a show trial regarding the jews’ national loyalty to turkey. the case did not hinge on the facts specific to the funeral of elza niego. looking for evidence of an organized anti-turkish contingent, the police investigated the chief rabbinate and other jewish communal institutions and interviewed prominent jewish businessmen and communal leaders like albert karaso and marko nahum. and the anti-jewish campaign that was sparked by elza’s funeral was not strictly local. in izmir, the local turkish press relentlessly published anti-jewish screeds, a young jew was arrested after brawling with a man who hassled him for speaking ladino (anti zionists mad at jews for speaking hebrew is the same energy lmfao), and local teachers organized a petition protesting against jews, including a call for taking down hebrew signage at the jewish hospital and rabbinate—which an anti-jewish mob promptly did. 

immediately after the trial, notable works of jewish apologia were published by prominent jewish writers such as muhsin tekinalp (formerly moiz kohen) and avram galante. 

the jewish memory of the elza niego affair, as the jewish turkish press called it, was focused on the proven innocence of jews against accusations of disloyalty, while turkish memory centered on the unfortunate death of a young beautiful girl, minimizing the surrounding politics and pretending like the antisemitism that ensued never existed.

[lucydixon]

Marked by Love

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Summary: You bring Erik lunch at work, and after years of pleading to let him tattoo you, you finally cave.

It wasn’t unusual for you to swing by the shop during your lunch break. Not by a long shot. 

It was one of the perks of working down the street from your boyfriend. 

So, when you walked in through the door with a bag of food in the early afternoon, Erik wasn’t surprised to see you in the slightest. 

He’d been sketching out a design for a client, and you’d come at the perfect time. His hand had been cramping for the last hour, and he desperately needed a break.

Your smiling face always made him feel at ease. You always looked so excited to see him, even after two years, and he loved you for it. 

“I brought provisions.” You set the bag down gently next to his tablet before draping yourself across the piercing chair next to his station. It was your favourite place to sit when you were visiting. It was perfect for lounging after running around at work all morning.

“Perfect timing.” He practically tore the bag open “My hand’s cramping like a motherfucker- Oh! You got the good sauce.” 

“I always get the good sauce.” You scoffed, catching your wrap when he tossed it to you. 

Before you’d even gotten yours unwrapped, Erik had a quarter of his sandwich in his mouth and was groaning happily. 

“Nobody’s gonna take that from you, you know.” You chuckled, looking amused, “Don’t choke on it.” 

“Awe,” He cooed after a good minute of chewing before swallowing, “That’s what I was saying to you last night, wasn’t it, Sweets?” 

“You’re a child,” You muttered under your breath, but he could see that you wanted to laugh.

“You love it.” He rolled his stool over to the chair and nudged you with his shoulder. 

All you could do was roll your eyes. 

“You gonna let me give you a piercing, Sweets?” He asked you teasingly, “You’re already in the chair.” 

For as long as you’d known Erik, he’d been pestering you to let him tattoo or pierce you. He refused to believe that you’d never wanted one, especially after seeing just how much you liked his. 

You could run your fingers along the inked skin for hours if he managed to stay still for that long. He’d even gotten more tattoos over the years just so there was more of him for you to touch, although he’d never admit it. 

It had been semi-serious at first, begging you to just let him leave some kind of permanent mark on your skin, but you’d always adamantly refused. Eventually, there was less pleading and more teasing. He’d learned to accept long ago that he was going to have a blank canvas for a partner for the rest of his days. He just didn’t let that stop him from offering up his services all the time. 

“What about a tattoo?” He asked between bites, “I think you’d look real good with a teardrop, right here-” 

He tried to poke your cheek, but you dodged his hand. 

“Erik!” You shrieked, “Don’t touch my face with your sandwich hands!” 

“What? You don’t love my hands anymore?” He gasped in mock hurt. 

“I’ll love them again when they don't have mustard on them.” You waved them away from you, laughing. 

“Okay, so that’s a no for the teardrop then?” 

You hummed, waiting for him to keep going. 

You tried to keep a straight face despite the idea that had been brewing inside your head for the last few weeks. 

“How about a pretty little flower?” He suggested flippantly, knowing you’d turn it down. “Or a pentagram.” 

“Tempting.” 

“A big skull?” 

“How about a little ‘E’?” You cracked a smirk as you watched him process. 

You never contributed ideas when the two of you were fucking around about tattoos. 

“Are you fucking with me?” He narrowed his eyes slightly. 

“Nope.” 

“An ‘E’ For what?” Erik frowned. 

“For Eric.” You squinted at him. “Dummy.” 

You could tell the moment he realized that you were serious. His eyes widened and filled with startled excitement. 

“Seriously?” He grinned, tossing his sandwich onto his desk when you nodded, wiping his hands off with a wad of paper towel. “Where?” 

“Wherever you want.” You told him seriously. “Ideally, not on my face, though.” 

“Yeah?” He almost looked like he was gonna cry, and yet, he was still joking, “You sure you don’t want it on your forehead?” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“I think you might be crazy, Sweets.” His voice was softer. “You know that shit’s like, permanent right?” 

“I know,” You reached out to brush the hair out of his face, letting your fingertips graze his cheekbones. “Crazy for you, maybe.” 

“You should sleep on it.” 

“I did.” You smiled softly, “For like a month.” 

“So,” You cleared your throat, “Where’s it gonna go?” 

He could hardly hold your stare. Your eyes were so full of love and trust that it made his chest ache. He knew he loved you, and he knew that he always would. So, Erik knew right away what he wanted. 

Almost hesitantly, he reached out and grabbed your left hand. He turned it over and pointed at the skin just below your second knuckle on your ring finger. 

Your breath hitched in your throat. 

“I know it’s not a ring.” His voice was raspy. “But it’s a promise.” 

“Do it.” You nodded, looking so sure. 

Biting back a grin, Erik wordlessly cleaned up the remnants of his lunch so he could get set up to start. You watched him, unable to think about anything but how much you loved this man. You couldn’t picture your life without him and didn’t feel as nervous as you thought when he got the stencil on and gave you a look that just screamed ‘last chance to turn back’. 

But you just smiled and told him to start. 

When he was finished, you both stared at the little letter for what felt like hours. 

Then, Erik muttered a quick “Fuck, now I want one” and started setting up the next station over so he could tattoo your initial on his ring finger while you laughed.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics Gif by @jst2guyz

[lostazuree]

How about boyfriend Kaiser but he's jealous because he accidentally got the wrong idea for whatever reason u like and he thought you didn't like him so he tries to be his normal self about it but fails miserably??

↣♡  ࣪ 𝜗𝜚 ̟⸻ ❝𝐈'𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐦!❞

𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦: He's jealous of the way you talk about Isagi, but adamantly claims he's not.

Angsty-Fluff•Comfort•Suggestive. (Possibly long fic)

↬ It starts off normal, well, as normal as it can get in a life with Kaiser. Lights dim, soda in your hand, you're sprawled out on the couch across from his, and he's there, just there, sitting cross legged like he's the most majestic thing you've ever laid your eyes on. (Which isn't inaccurate) Arms folded, hair sprawled across his face and neck, drenched in sweat and his jersey clinging to his body after the match against PXG, which Bastard München won of course. His stupidly cocky yet damn attractive smirk was plastered on his face as he spoke. He's boasting like always, telling you how fiercely he played on the field, how he de-escalated every attack by the other team, how he knew the field like the back of his hand. All of it, was true. But what you failed catch on was the faint hint of insecurity in his voice as he talked about Isagi, his rival. You had watched the match, and you had seen how well and fiercely Isagi took hold of everything, how well he maneuvered each goal, almost as good as Kaiser, (if not better :( ) So you could't help but comment absentmindedly,: "Micha, That Isagi guy was pretty cool, right? Played so well." And he froze, his pupils dilated and shrunk in the same second and his sweat grew cold. You swear you felt the air get sucked out of the room as he deadpanned at you, his smirk completely dropped. After about a minute, "Really, liebe, Isagi? Don't make me laugh."

He added with another smirk, smaller than the last, he was trying to reassure himself more than you, 'cause what you said, really striked a deep nerve in the most confident man. His pride was hurt, he was already a little insecure, but what you said, kind of shattered his pride and gave him a valid reason to be more insecure. You took notice of it, sure. "Micha? Jealous?" You couldn't help but smirk a little. Seeing him jealous was something new. The man who proclaimed himself to be the best, jealous? This was your sorta guilty pleasure. "Are you kidding me? I'd never be jealous of that...swine!" His expression was close to breaking, so close, you felt guilty. That really hurt, hearing his own girlfriend compliment his rival, while he was Michael Kaiser? No. Way. No. F*cking. Way. He got up from his seat, running a hand through his hair, telling you he needed a 'breather' because he's tired. And you knew you poked a bee hive in his heart. He went to terrace, gripping the railings so hard his veins bulged out as he committed verbal-war-crimes against Isagi, muttering slurs no unfortunate soul should hear. He took deep breaths to calm himself. He didn't know what'd be better, if he'd jump down this terrace or throw Isagi down. Until you came and hugged him from behind, "Micha. You're jealous. Talk to me." You murmured against his back and he stiffened noticeably. "I'm NOT jealous. Nowhere near it." He claimed so, refusing to acknowledge that he's jealous of Isagi, out of all. You couldn't help but giggle at how silly he was behaving, his cheeks tinged with pink, whether out of anger or embarrassment after being accused of being jealous. He was offended. So you decided to rile him up more, "Not jealous? That's great then. You know, Isagi's kinda h—" and that definitely got a reaction out of him. He turned around in your grasp, now pinning you against the railing as he cut you off with a fierce and rough kiss, his tongue sliding between your lips and his nails slightly digging in your waist and you melted. After a few moments, he pulled back, face flushed, warm yet a slightly vulnerable expression as he looked at you with the faintest pout, "Is he really that good, meine liebe?" He said, now doubting himself as he looked into your eyes, you leaned towards him, whispering, "He may be, Micha. But you're Michael Kaiser. The best." Normally, he'd thrive in this praise, throw in a few arrogant remarks and call you cheesy or something, but today, he genuinely felt so full, so relieved after hearing that, and you couldn't help but giggle at this manchild. But about the manchild? You just stopped him from committing possible arson in Isagi's house. "Then I'll show you just how better I am, in 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, liebling." He said, his hand trailing down your waist as he looked at you with his signature smirk, pinching the side of your waist, which earned him a smack on his shoulder, and he chuckled.

"Ich Liebe Dich, Schatz." He whispered against your lips, "I love you too, jealous boy." That earned you a light slap on your waist and a roll of his eyes, before..he went bragging once again, about how low and slacking Isagi is, and how he'd have carried the match, but this time, instead of the couch, he placed you on his lap, so you wouldn't dare speak Isagi's name, again. And you swear you felt something poking beneath whenever you'd compliment him.

Thank you so much for reading! I had so much fun writing this req. Sorry if it's out of character, I tried my best to write it exactly like how he'd be, while trying not to make it too long! I hope you enjoyed. <3

REBLOGS highly appreciated! 🎀 🖐🏻

[honeytae]

“you refuse to meet his gaze, afraid that your carefully constructed facade will crumble if you do. and it seems like that's exactly what is happening - the walls you've built around yourself are slowly falling apart.”

genre: angst, fluff, comfort

warnings: reader is overworked af and petrified of showing vulnerability, brief argument between reader and jk but only bc he cares, so many tears..like a LOT of crying, descriptions of kissing, make out sesh💋, an unforgivable amount of fluff and L bombs, i really didn’t know what to call this one so it’s just riptide, sorry not sorry you guys

wc: 2k

the air in the apartment is mostly silent, save for the gentle scratch of lead on paper and the muted pattering of rain against the windows in your home office.

jungkook’s teeth play with his bottom lip as he fidgets in his seat, intently observing you from the opposite end of the table.

across from him, your brows knit together in an attempt to focus, lips pursed in concentration as you stop for a moment, then resume moving your pencil across the page.

he cringes at the disruption of his phone vibrating on the table, abruptly snapping you out of your daze.

as your pencil slips out of your grasp, you sit up straight and flex your fingers around in the air to release some of the tension residing in your joints.

jungkook murmurs an apology but you brush it off, glancing wearily at him and providing a small smile. a sigh of relief escapes you as he leans in, taking your hand in his and gently massaging your tired fingers with a few strokes of his own.

“that feels good,” you mumble, shifting closer to the table for more of his touch.

he hums softly, taking another few moments to work his fingers into your skin, creating a small pocket of silence.

"are you bored?" you ask, feeling a twinge of guilt for leaving him essentially alone at the table. "i'm sorry, baby, i'll be finished in just a few more minutes."

jungkook shrugs in response, casual as he moves his arm to gently rub up and down your own. his touch is comforting and helps ease your anxiety, preventing you from spiraling further.

“it's okay,” he reassures you with a gentle smile, “just take your time. i'll be here.”

his eyes shift from your face to your hand, a frown forming as he notices the red mark on your finger, evidence of how tightly you've been holding your pencil.

you watch, endeared, as he leans down to kiss the spot, then replaces his lips with his finger, gently rubbing over the indentation to soothe the redness.

"you work so hard," he says, tutting his tongue as he continues running his thumb over the spot.

you can only manage a sigh in response, feeling drained and unable to speak. plus, tears are starting to form in your eyes, and you’re desperately trying to hold them back. jungkook notices, of course he does.his expression turns into one of concern as he studies your face, trying to assess the situation.

your mouth is set in a deep frown, almost a scowl, and your eyebrows are furrowed in discomfort from holding back your true emotions. you refuse to meet his gaze, afraid that your carefully constructed facade will crumble if you do. and it seems like that's exactly what is happening - the walls you've built around yourself are slowly falling apart.

in a rush, he rises from his chair and rounds the table, your eyes following him through tears.

once next to you, his fingers weave through your hair, leading your head to rest on his stomach. he wraps his arm around you and massages the tension from your shoulders as you nestle into the soft fabric of his t-shirt, taking in the familiar scent of his laundry detergent.

“time for a break?” he muses, watching as you adamantly shake your head in response.

“i just need to finish,” you reply, trying to stifle the lump in your throat.

he watches as you draw your laptop closer while blinking rapidly to chase away any tears.

you’ve always been one to persevere, which he greatly respects. but it also irritates him that at times, you don’t allow yourself to fully feel.

jungkook suppresses a groan as he watches you type something else into your search engine, briefly tilting his head up to the ceiling in frustration and closing his eyes to take a deep breath.

it can be hard, to watch those you love push themselves beyond their limit. he understands, knowing that he often puts you through the same thing.

you and him share an achilles heel of refusing to give up easily, which is both a blessing and a curse.

the sound of your fingers tapping on the keyboard snaps him out of his trance and he reopens his eyes, sneaking another glance over your shoulder.

he’s about to drop it altogether when he sees your bottom lip quiver, his breath hitching in his throat when the first tear makes it over your lash line.

“baby,” he utters softly, nearly tripping over the leg of the chair he pulls out from the table to sit beside you.

you can’t help but let out a throaty chuckle at his clumsiness, swiping the single tear from your cheek and trying to wave him off.

“i’m okay,” you sniffle, but jungkook just shakes his head in disbelief. he leans forward, balancing on his knees as he takes your fidgeting hands in his own, running his fingers gently along your knuckles.

“seriously, jungkook, i’m fine. stop making it bigger than it is,” you attempt to push him away, but he refuses to budge.

“stop making it smaller than it is!” he counters, voice raising slightly as his anger takes over.

he takes a breath, continuing in a softer voice.“baby, i’m not gonna stop until you let me in.”

his brows furrow in frustration, wide eyes pleading with you.

in the heat of the moment, you hate how intrusive he’s being. you hate that he sees you as his responsibility and that your struggles are ruining his day.

“jungkook, if i’m just a burden-“

“a burden?” he interrupts in disbelief, “you could never be a burden,” he reaches for your hand when you try to get up. “hey, all i ever want to do is help you, because i love you,” he stresses.

his words instantly calm your mounting emotions, preventing you from any more self sabotage.

“i love you,” he says again, “and i cannot sit here and watch you ruin yourself.”

you simply blink at him, the last of your resolve shattering when he starts to soothingly caress your arm with his warm palm.

even when you’re so difficult, he’s so unbelievably kind to you.

“please let yourself not be okay,” he begs, eyebrows pulling together, pained, as he watches you stifle a sob. “it’s so hard to watch you be so strong all the time,” he says, “please don’t shut me out.”

and just like that, your wall comes tumbling down.

jungkook’s emotions bubbling to the surface seem to be the final push for you to tip over the edge. tears now stream down your face, features crumbling as you weakly lift yourself from your chair.

jungkook’s arms reach out to pull you into him, intercepting your body as you launch yourself onto his lap. his lips press repeatedly to the side of your head as he wraps his arms around your stuttering back, squeezing you to him.

“let go, baby,” he says, feeling tears well up in his own eyes as you collapse in his arms, “just let go.”

broken sobs wrack your frame as you cling onto him, one of his hands securely holding the back of your head while the other runs up and down your spine.

the dam has finally broken, and its cathartic for both of you.

soothing words are spoken softly into your ear as your breaths begin to even out, your face finding solace in the crook of his neck.

after a few minutes, your cries quiet and the pool of tears starts to dry on his skin.

jungkook leans back to glance over your face, reaching up to swipe at the leftover tear trails on your cheeks with his thumb.

“feel a little lighter in here?” he inquires, dancing his fingers over your scalp as you lift your reddened eyes to lock with his.

“a little,” you sniff, leaning into his touch as he starts massaging the crown of your head.

“hm, good,” he murmurs, “we’re making progress then.”

wordlessly, you stare into his big brown irises, the whites of his eyes showing evidence of his own tears. despite this, his mouth quirks in a small smile, and the guilt from ten minutes ago consumes you.

“fuck, i’m so sorry,” your frown deepens, closing your eyes when his lips press to your temple, remaining against your heated skin. “i’m so sorry for lashing out at you, i’m just,” you sigh, “i’m just overwhelmed and,” you glance up in thought, “in my own head.”

“i understand, baby,” he soothes, warm eyes finding yours to show he’s being genuine. “it’s all gonna work out, i promise.”

you inhale and sit up straighter, cupping his cheeks as you position your face in front of his. you stare at each other for a moment before he cups your jaw, adoringly squishing your cheeks with his fingers.

jungkook laughs as you pucker your lips, sliding his hands down to rest under your jaw when you tilt your head to the side, pressing your mouth to his.

with each pass of his lips over yours, you feel the ache in your head lessen. your heart reaches out for him and squeezes him closer to you.

he hums as you pull back and immediately go in for more, taking turns capturing your bottom and top lip between his. you grip on tighter to him to momentarily stop the world from spinning around you.

breaking apart for air, jungkook giggles as you unattractively sniff with your full nose, your fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair.

“sexy, huh?” you raise a brow, and jungkook’s features warm when the sparkle returns to your eye.

“duh,” he rolls his eyes, and there’s a beat of comfortable silence as you both recover from your breakdown.

“i love you so much,” you murmur, “thank you for everything you do.”

“yah, kiss-ass,” he teases, his high-pitched laugh escaping his mouth when you pinch his side as punishment for his snark.

“ugh, nevermind,” you sigh as you stand up, and he smiles at you in return, holding onto your hand to help you back over into your chair.

“i love you more,” he sings, chortling as you squint your eyes at him in response.

you redirect your gaze back to your notebook, still looking tired but not as weary as you did before.

jungkook lifts himself to reassume his position from earlier and stands behind you, dropping his arms around your neck. you tilt your neck as he plants a kiss onto the top of your head.

sensing your reluctance to go back to work, he leans down further, his cheek pressing against yours. the gesture seems to melt you back into your chair as the both of you stare ahead at your laptop screen.

“okay,” he starts, understanding your process, “how about some tea to get you through this last part?”

he waits patiently as you think it over. his eyes travel from the screen to your features, staring at your lashes touching your cheek each time you blink.

there’s a hint of water clinging to your bottom lashes, and the sight makes his heart squeeze in his chest.

“yeah, actually,” you answer softly, gently craning your neck so that you can press your lips to his, kissing him one, two, three, four times.

“you’re the best boyfriend ever,” you whisper against his lips, some of the tension in your body already subsiding.

his cheeks go pink with your praise, dark eyes catching the dining room light as he puffs air out of his nostrils.

wordlessly, you let your head hang off the back of the chair, closing your eyes when jungkook’s hand comes to support the back of your head, dipping down to kiss you again.

his fingers rub soothing circles into your neck, causing an involuntary noise to rise up from your throat.

you break apart with a “tch,” noise, pouting when he pulls his arms from around you.

“nooo,” you try to grip onto his fingers, jungkook chuckling as he pokes your bottom lip back into place.

meeting your lips one last time, it takes everything in him to step away from you, pointing at your dimmed laptop screen.

“i’ll be right back,” he soothes, “and i promise i’ll sit here with you the whole time.”

you smile despite yourself, because jungkook is simply the light of your life.

“you better. you’re my emotional support human.”

[luvtak]

when you know, you know ✭ yji

✭ genre/tw sugary sweet fluff, est. relationship, innie being very sweet, innie and reader being so in love its sick, ‘tiny’ used as a petname, like one swear word ? mostly unedited

✭ w/c 1005

✭ a/n i wrote this in about 5 hours so it could be so bad, who knows :// also, i was listening to the most sickeningly soft love songs so this is where all my devastation went… i hope you love it!! (divider from @cafekitsune !!)

There's something about the morning air that makes you look like an angel: Flushed cheeks and bitten-red lips, your hair still mussed from his hands. He can’t stop himself from staring at you, eyes sweeping to your form huddled in the corner of the practice room. You didn’t want to be here, adamantly refusing when he woke you up this morning, only agreeing when he told you he’d buy you ice cream for breakfast–a deal that left him exasperated until he tasted the sugary treat from your lips. He was reminded why he loved you then… it was the way the sun glinted off your cheekbones, warm light encasing you in a glow that hit him right in the heart. 

When you arrived at practice, greeting all the boys with tight hugs and uncontained grins, the lovesickness started rising up in his throat, and Jeongin did all he could not to embarrass himself in front of his hyungs. He never thought he’d be this gone, so incredibly smitten for somebody, alas the picture you form in his life is endlessly heart breaking.

“You know, in the last ten minutes Innie has looked over here probably five times…” Laughs Seugmin from his place next to you. 

“I did notice that, yes.” you respond. In truth, there hasn’t been one moment of your relationship where you haven’t noticed when Jeongin looks at you. Something about his stare being so hot against your skin that even with your eyes closed you would know he was looking. 

It makes you shy to think about Seungmin noticing your boyfriend’s devotion– your love is so often a secret, a whisper in the dark, a kiss shared with the light off. A love so intimate that it’s often masked with jokes and incessant teasing, anything to make it seem less than it is. When someone is your whole world, when you could survive just off the air in their lungs, that love is too great to be shared. 

Although, you can’t blame Seungmin for noticing. Your boyfriend has looked at you an inane amount of times in the last hour, glimpsing and glaring at you while he should be focused on the choreo. You could count on both hands how many times he’s been yelled at for messing up a step, even now during their break, with Minho berating him, he’s staring at you. 

“See! look at that! What a love drunk dummy, Minho Hyung is gonna kill him.” You can only half hear Seungmin, your eyes stuck on Jeongin’s smile, so pretty and all yours. You didn’t want to be here this morning, having plans to laze around the house in nothing but his sweater and watch stupid tv until he got home, but he begged and begged you to join him; cuddling into you and kissing all over your face until you agreed to come. The ice cream he bought you was only the icing on the cake, as sweet as all the kisses he placed on your skin. How happy you are now that you’re here, getting to see your boy smile and laugh and stare. “Oh god, there you go… you’d think you two would be over each other by now.” 

Unfortunately, the boy is left unanswered as Jeongin finds himself walking towards you, shit eating grin on full display, love in his eyes and mischief on his tongue. He’s so desirable, so undeniably handsome that it kills you to have other people around. 

“Hey loser,” your boyfriend says, “wanna go get a snack?”

“Will that snack be another ice cream cone? Cause if so count me in.” 

“Whatever you want, tiny.” he smiles, grabbing your hand to pull you off the floor and out of the room. Arms holding you tight through the hallways of the company, yet before you can go too far, he’s pulling you into an empty room and pressing his skin to yours. 

It’s not a hug really, his arms aren’t wrapped around you, but he’s so close to you. His nose is settled in your hair and his hands are so warm around your wrists, and even with your eyes closed you know his eyes are settled on you. He’s looking everywhere, from your sneakers to his sweater that wraps around you. Jeongin thinks you’re the loveliest thing he’s ever seen, and if he was braver he would’ve kissed you in the practice room. He would’ve touched you where the light hit, breathed in your air before stealing the words from your lips. If he was braver he would take the teasing from the other boys, if he was braver he would share his love with the whole world… but it’s so safe like this. 

The planet goes silent when he’s alone with you, the only thing on his mind your strawberry kisses. 

“You’re so pretty, tiny.” he whispers, his hands coming around your waist to clutch at you, holding on to you like he’ll never get the chance again. 

“You’re prettier, Innie, like a daydream.” In any other situation, your words would bring a scowl to his face, but here all alone in this empty room, he can’t help but smile. How lovesick can he be that he doesn’t find your silly confessions corny anymore? 

He can’t wait another moment without kissing you, without feeling your life bleed into his. In seconds he’s decided, and without hesitation he’s settling his rosebud lips against yours. The kiss is slow, a profession of everything he won’t let himself say out loud: He loves you, you’re perfect, you’re all he’s ever wanted. He kisses you in place of words that won’t come, his palms encasing your face so delicately, a caress that's been perfected. 

After a lifetime he pulls away, leaving you with goosebumps and shaky vision, you understood what he was saying. Heard every word he put into the kiss, felt every feeling he needed you to feel. 

He may not be able to love you in more than a whisper, but it’s the prettiest lullaby you’ve ever heard. 

© LUVTAK 2024

[solarstranger]

c.w. minors dni. dedicated to all my booksmart, type a girlies out there.

“…babe?”

you blink, gaze refocusing on the dimly lit wall you didn’t realize you were staring blankly at, before it slowly drifts back to the person whose shoulder you were just looking past.

right in front of you, a bespectacled izuku peers at you worriedly, his usually expressive eyebrows furrowed in what can only be his signature palpable concern. dazed, you let your eyes drop to his clothed torso—wrapped in a white, long-sleeved button-down reflecting the sparse moonlight that has managed to filter in through your bedroom window, the one that he insisted on keeping open for the night.

at your prolonged silence, izuku shifts awkwardly, the subtle motion causing his muscled frame to strain against his shirt—the buttons of which are conveniently shielded from your view by a well-ironed tie that you put on him yourself prior to…all of this.

all of this being—

izuku clears his throat.

your eyes snap back to his face, only to find that the uncertainty that was just etched on there has now been replaced with a particular seriousness that makes you gulp nervously despite yourself.

—an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by the greenhead, whose gaze darts from your face to your throat, then back—so excruciatingly slowly that you have to fight the urge to look away.

you barely catch him flashing you a knowing smile.

“i don’t think you heard me,” izuku starts—carefully—voice sterner and lower than you’ve ever heard it.

his teacher voice.

you instantly scramble for a response.

“i’m sorry, s-sir.”

at that, izuku chuckles—a deep, reverberating sound that makes you look up from where you were staring down at your plaid miniskirt.

a hum. “and here i thought you wanted a higher grade.”

“i-i do!” you suddenly find yourself exclaiming, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you can even think them through.

“really, now?” izuku retorts without missing a beat, an amused expression written all over his features. “because you’d think you’d at least pay attention long enough to have a decent exchange with your professor for once.”

now that makes you genuinely frown. “i don’t think there’s anything decent about what we’re about to do, professor.”

another low chuckle. “is that so?”

then, before you can spout back a smartass quip or register what the hell is even happening, izuku leans into you—closer and closer up until his mouth is a feather’s touch away from your ear.

despite yourself, you shudder at the brief contact.

you can practically hear him smiling when he whispers: “nervous?”

to that, you keep your gaze straight at the wall. “n-no, sir.”

izuku laughs into your ear. “well, you should be.”

a beat.

“—because you’re failing my class, you naughty girl.”

you stiffen.

then, without any warning, tears start to prick your eyes, just as izuku leans back—grinning—to look at your reaction.

although whatever show he was expecting to enjoy for himself was most definitely not you crying, if not for the way his face immediately falls the second he sees you, then for the way he instantly starts stuttering through a million apologies while his hands go full-on hover mode around you—utterly clueless as to how to approach the situation.

it takes you a handful of minutes to calm yourself down, but eventually you do with the help of izuku’s soothing hand on your back and his aptly led breathing exercises. neither of you says anything for a moment, with you adamantly refusing to look at the man, although you eventually force yourself to do so when he breaks the silence with a tentative clearing of the throat.

izuku frowns at you, looking like he’s never been guiltier. “…i’m sorry, babe.”

“jesus,” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head decisively. “don’t be. god, this is fucking embarrassing.”

“there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“i just cried, izuku,” you say pointedly, gesturing to yourself with a scowl. “during sexy times.”

“s-so what?” izuku rasps, “i do it all the time.”

“yeah, but this is different.”

to that, you don’t let the greenhead put another word in, opting to march to your side of the bed and plop down on the mattress sulkingly instead. izuku stands in place—unsure—for a beat, before eventually following suit and cautiously taking the seat right next to you.

no one utters a word for what feels like a brief eternity, before you finally bring yourself to say the thing both of you are definitely thinking.

“i shouldn’t have asked for us to do this.”

“it’s okay,” izuku responds instantly, albeit quietly, tone dripping with nothing but sincerity. “i also thought it was a good idea.”

“and to think we dressed for the parts, too,” you ramble on, sighing loudly as you look down at your slutty school uniform then at izuku’s smart get-up. “now the night is ruined.”

“i–uh—beg to differ,” izuku chuckles nervously, scratching at his scarred cheek.

at that, you toss him an incredulous look. “you mean you still want to fuck me? me? in all my ‘despicable overachiever who’s ridiculously afraid of failure’ glory?”

that earns you a genuine laugh from the man, and even you can’t help the smile that breaches your lips, even as he turns towards you and starts looming over your body, crowding you slowly until you’re up against the headboard.

“see, that’s the thing,” izuku begins, a sheepish look on his blushing face. “i always want to fuck you.”

a/n. this drabble is so hilarious to me because what do you mean this is my first fic starring deku. this is so stupid i cannot. inspired by an ancient tumblr post by @/itssexualhour, whose screenshot i stumbled upon as an instagram reel. (0.9k)

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[ed3lsgard]

helena is so insanely mischaracterized and misunderstood it drives me crazy. it’s not a coincidence that it was helena’s innie that ended up being the most inherently rebellious and defiant one. this fact alone adds new layers and depth to helena’s character. she is the heiress of lumon, next in line to be the ceo, raised by jame eagan himself. every aspect of her life is deeply intertwined with lumon, with the kier ideology. a cult essentially, that she grew up in. she was molded to be defiant and willing, whatever rebellion she once had in her snuffed out and buried away. she was raised to be the perfect eagan off-spring that will carry on the eagan name and its legacy.

so then why is helly so adamantly against everything lumon stands for? refuses to just obey and go along with it like the others? helly is helena, as different as they are you cannot separate them. helly came from helena, is a part of her. helly is a manifestation of helena’s resentment and longing to break free. things helena thinks she cannot have, and certainly not show. helly is everything helena lacks and longs to have. helly has more freedom and agency down at the severed floor than helena has in her own life. helly can, and does act however she wants, and faces the consequences head on if she has to. helena does not have that option. she only acts how she is expected to act. whatever power of influence she has, or thinks she has, is an illusion. it’s fake.

which is why i just roll my eyes when people bring her up to be some sort of villain. she’s not innocent, i’m not saying she’s done no wrong. but she is also very obviously not some villain. season 2 made that incredibly clear, cast and show-runners even talked about it. at this point if you don’t understand or if you disagree, it’s genuinely a skill issue.

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ Insufferable to the Core

Ratchet x Reader - transformers prime

The children were insufferable, his growing concern for them was insufferable, but you… you brought him the most suffering of all. And the worst of it was that you didn’t even know it, because all that you did was to try and make things easier for him, doing whatever you could to hold back the children in hopes of giving him a break.

He’d openly complained about having to watch over Miko all the time or keeping his optics on Rafael to make sure he didn’t hurt himself, being as small as he was, and even Jack tended to come up with mischief, especially when Smokescreen was in the picture.

But you… You and your insufferably kind smiles and softly spoken words were meant to soothe, to calm him. You’d once said you’d never wanted to be a mother, but Ratchet found that hard to believe because acting like a mother was something you did so very well. You made Rafael feel seen and appreciated, you helped calm Miko’s explosive and wild tendencies by engaging her imagination, and you gave helpful advice to Jack, who in turn appeared to listen to you quite well.

The children adored you, and so did he.

That is what made you insufferable, because how could you ever feel the same? You were human, first and foremost, and he was an old mech with a short temper who was good for little else than patching up his team when they were hurt, and even that he didn’t see as entirely too useful, because he still hadn’t found a way to fix Bumblebee’s voice box, so what good was he?

What good was he in comparison to someone young like Smokescreen, who seemed to have taken a great liking to you, or to someone as wise and strong as Optimus, who so clearly had a soft spot for you?

And you, lovely, beautiful you… Was it pity that made you come to him? Pity that drove you to ask him how he was, how his day had been, if he’d recharged enough or gotten enough energon? Was it pity that forced you to forgive him when he’d shouted at you…

He could still remember the way your face had fallen, how your eyes had welled up with tears, and how you’d swallowed thickly as you held back your hurt. You’d smiled at him, sadly, and apologized for bothering him before you’d left to return home.

Home… You didn’t live in Jasper, you didn’t even live on the same continent, but circumstances and bad luck had made your paths cross, and though Agent Fowler had wished – wanted to force you – for you to move there, you had adamantly refused to permanently leave your home. You were steadfast like that, and he could understand your reasoning.

If Cybertron wasn’t dead, then he’d refuse to leave it too if he’d been offered a place to live on Earth. And yet… If he’d done so, then he’d never had the chance to meet you. Would he have wanted that?

“Ratchet?” your voice called, and he turned. You were smiling, beaming in fact, as you hauled a massive present in front of you. It sagged against the floor, and you huffed as you caught your breath. “Lost in thought? Busy with work as always, I assume?” you asked, smiling still as you put your hands behind your back.

You were giddy about something.

“Yes, I am busy, so mind telling me why you’ve decided to interrupt me now?” he asked and turned back to the monitors, attempting to return to work before you loudly cleared your throat. He moaned in annoyance but turned to fully face you this time. “What is it?”

“Your present!” You chirped, grinning and practically vibrating with excitement.

“Present?”

“It’s Christmas,” you said, as if that explained everything.

He’d heard the children mention it, heard you most of all as you’d brought a tree into the base; fake, of course, and you’d spent such a long time decorating it and the platform you and the children spent your time on, that Ratchet had thought you’d passed out from exhaustion once you’d finished.

No, no, you’d said. You’d only been resting atop the carpet you’d brought. Just resting, not sleeping. Yes, as if he was supposed to believe that. It had been difficult to resist a small smile at the sight of you, splayed out like that, half asleep.

“Right. Christmas. I must have forgotten,” said Ratchet, holding back the fact that he hadn’t bothered to remember it. Human traditions held little importance to him, but as you stood there, beaming like the sun, he could almost feel a small sense of wonder at what you’d brought him. It was huge in comparison to you; massive.

He took it and felt the softness against his servo. Tearing gently at the paper, he revealed something long and woolly in his colours. Pulling it out, it stretched and stretched until finally, it hung limply in the air. What—

“A scarf! I know you don’t need to wear one, and I’m not sure if you even want to, but I didn’t know what else to make that would be easy for you to wear, sooo,” your grin widened, and Ratchet’s spark gave a pleasant pulse, “a scarf! Took me eleven months to finish it. That’s the reason why I’ve been so sluggish these past months. Had to stay up rather late in order to finish it in time.”

“You…” Ratchet felt speechless, and his spark continued to pulse with warmth, making him almost dizzy from the sensation alone. “You made this… for me?” he asked, and your eager nodding forced him to look down, right at the scarf still held in his servo. He had no use of it, none whatsoever, but it was soft and pleasant, and it was made by you.

You’d spent valuable time; time that your preciously short human life didn’t have much of, on something like this? And just for him alone? You clearly didn’t have anything else with you, and you must have waited until he was alone before you approached him.

You’d wanted to be alone with him so you could give this to him…

“I… I have nothing to give in return,” he said, and he felt embarrassed and stupid for not thinking of it. You’d been so excited for Christmas; he should have thought of something for you.

“A kiss,” you said.

Ratchet almost dropped the scarf as he stumbled on nothing.

“What?!”

Your cheeks flushed red, and you looked down; shy.

By the AllSpark, you were far too precious.

“…” Ratchet glanced around. “… Come closer.”

Your face grew redder as if you hadn’t expected him to agree, but you approached and stood flush to the railing, turning your head slightly to present your cheek. However, a digit came to tilt your chin forward, and carefully, as though you were made of glass, Ratchet gave you a gentle kiss on the lips.

It made his spark tingle, and it made your heart soar.

“Merry Christmas, Ratchet,” said you, voice soft as you smiled at him.

“Merry Christmas, sweetspark,” said he, returning your smile.

Perhaps you weren’t as insufferable after all, and perhaps Ratchet has found a human tradition that isn’t quite as strange or worthless as he first believed, because as it has helped in finally revealing how you truly felt about him, then it certainly couldn’t be all that bad.

[stemms]

I believe that c!Tommy’s kleptomania is one of the most fascinating and heartbreaking parts of his personality, as it adds layers to his character, and explains certain parts of the lore that some people seem to consider a simple bad habit and display of his childishness. I would like to elaborate on that further and explore the way it changed in the exile arc.

To begin with, c!Tommy has been suffering from kleptomania ever since s1, but contrary to popular belief, he had no malicious intentions. From the very beginning of the server, he was already severely traumatised to the point of having PTSD and lacked self-worth. So, understandably enough, he was craving something to make up for his self-hatred, and robbery became that thing. c!Tommy would mostly steal insignificant things because what truly mattered was the amount of things he possessed, not their value or rarity. After all, if he had a large number of objects in his possession, it meant that he was worthy, and nothing else truly mattered.

Since the very beginning of exile, despite his need to acquire items to stabilise his extreme self-hatred, c!Tommy adamantly refused to accept anything from his visitors because he couldn’t help but assume that the gifts in question were “pity items”, and being pitied was one of the things he hated the most. As his exile went on, the belief that no one cared enough to offer him a gift out of genuine care, only grew stronger due to c!Dream’s manipulation, c!Tommy’s severe loneliness, and the heartbreak of the Beach Party. However, with time, the blond has grown to trust someone other than c!Dream — c!Ranboo. Eventually, he allowed the enderman hybrid to offer him things, as long as he promised that his gifts came from the heart. As much as c!Tommy attempted to hide his true feelings, he cherished every single object received from c!Ranboo. These weren’t just objects, like the ones he’d often steal from people to feel worthy — these served as a reminder that there was something to live for, and at least, someone other than c!Dream genuinely cared about him.

Considering that c!Dream has been obsessed with c!Tommy ever since s1 (which included living in his walls and stalking him) and used his kleptomania and “destructive nature” as an argument to get him exiled from L’Manberg, he certainly was aware of the boy’s insecurity, and was looking forward to exploiting it to the fullest to break- no, shatter him :)

The daily routine of discarding his objects hurt c!Tommy far more than we could’ve imagined, because if we keep his deep self-hatred in mind, he didn’t simply find it upsetting due to being stuck in the cycle of obtaining and destroying his items — it was something more than that. Every lost item equaled a tiny shard of c!Tommy’s self-worth, and soon enough, there was almost Nothing left; he was nothing but an empty shell.

Understandably enough, with time, the teenager has grown to believe that he wasn’t worthy to possess anything valuable of his own — he was meant to earn every little thing, and his best friend tormentor couldn’t be more pleased :) :) :)

[muletia]

your yandere starscream snippet?? good lord... 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️as a fellow starscream simp I (and plenty of other followers) are willing to read more if u wanna expand on yandere starscream? (ignore or delete if u dont wanna :3)

[tfp] yandere!starscream x human!reader very incoherent and crack(ish) ramblings because I'm insane about this scrimblo

Imagine it’s four in the morning, and you suddenly wake up to get a drink of water. You lean over to grab the full glass on your nightstand, but you don’t even manage to touch the glass with your fingertips because you notice a pair of scarlet optics staring directly at you in the darkness. Oh, and they’re hovering right above your bed. The best part? This isn’t the first or last time this has happened, because he frequently breaks into your house at night just to look at you.

You’d better hope you sleep through his visit, because if you wake up and Starscream notices, you’ll be bombarded with a monologue about how you don’t pay him enough attention. How dare you bolt the doors against him?! You knew full well he would come to see you. And now, thanks to you, the door is ripped off its hinges, cold air is pouring into your house, and he absolutely detests the cold. So you’d better warm his majesty up—or he’ll shove himself under your blanket. Oh, and it’s only Tuesday, which means you’ve got at least ten more incidents like this to look forward to this week.

Since he enjoys breaking into your house—because it’s nice to have a place where no one takes out their frustrations on you with brute force, and where he’s at least somewhat welcome (or so he convinces himself)—he also loves to snatch a few “souvenirs” for himself. Especially when his obsession reaches its peak and he knows he won’t be able to see you for a while. Usually, it’s your clothes that he takes. They remind him of you when he desperately needs comfort.

He’ll nuzzle and cling to them, imagining he’s doing so with you, using them to stave off complete madness. The only downside of stealing clothes soaked in your scent is that the scent fades far too quickly, especially since Starscream often finds himself in rough patches. So you’ll soon notice your clothes disappearing at an alarming rate. Unfortunately, I’m afraid you’ll never get them back. Starscream will adamantly deny any knowledge of the theft and refuse to return the stolen items. By now, they’ve been so thoroughly abused that they’d never return to their original state of cleanliness anyway.

Without his obsession, Starscream is already demanding attention, but when you add a deranged and unhealthy love into the mix, his need for attention skyrockets. When you’re awake, and Starscream decides to visit you—which happens alarmingly often, especially during his self-imposed exile, he insists you keep your eyes on him at all times.

When you talk to him, you must look at him, listen carefully to what he has to say, and actively participate in the conversation. Otherwise, he becomes unbearable. You can’t walk away or leave him; you’re forced to engage. Any attempt to escape will result in manipulation—and if that doesn’t work, he’ll use force. How dare you use your phone in his presence? He’ll snatch it right out of your hands and force you into a conversation with him. Ignoring him despite his threats and insults? If you’re outside, he’ll pin you in place with his claws, forming a sort of cage, and continue his tirade as if nothing happened. If you’re indoors, he’ll trap you with his body instead.

The problem is that once physical contact occurs, Starscream has no intention of letting go.

He clings to you so desperately it’s almost disgusting. He constantly forces physical contact, whether it’s kissing, stroking, or demanding affection himself, often at the most unexpected times, like that miserable four in the morning. And since he’s nearly impossible to satisfy, these sessions can go on forever.

Hours spent stroking his helm and delivering monologues praising his majesty leave your wrist aching and your throat sore. And the next day? You can look forward to another session of the exact same thing.

He’s intensely possessive and jealous, ready to gouge out the eyes, or optics, of anyone who dares so much as glance at you. You can’t even mention your friends’ names in his presence. He’d be happiest if you stopped interacting with anyone else altogether, shrinking your circle of acquaintances down to just him. You don’t need anyone else, right?

After all, the only thing he needs to be happy is you and you alone.

He’s exhausting, demanding, and unafraid to use force to get what he wants from you, but you’ll never get rid of him, no matter how much you might want to. You can scream at him until your voice gives out, try to fortify your home against his intrusions, but Starscream isn’t going anywhere. He has no intention of giving up the only source of comfort in this vile and unjust world. He’ll fight for you at the cost of his sanity—or even his life.